Page 12 of Homebound
“How are you today, Number 34?” Gemma said.
Arlo snickered.
“Number 34? That’s harsh. My name is Arc, Gemma.”
Gemma only smiled at Number 34 as she and Arlo moved past. Better set the tone right from the start. She hadn’t expected alien males to make a pass at her because most found humans repelling in the romantic sense, just like the humans found most aliens too strange to contemplate a coupling. But here, bored to tears in their cells, some might try to strike a friendship.
She wanted to show this Arc she wouldn’t be game. They had specifically warned her at her training that making friends with a prisoner always ended badly. They invariably exploited their relationship with the helpers.
At the next cell door, no one was waiting for them with a bowl in hand. The darkened interior remained undisturbed by any movement and seemed unoccupied.
Simon.
Arlo wasn’t pleased. “Well, if he can’t be bothered to come out for food, then I guess I won’t be bothered to give him any.”
He made a move past the darkened cell where skeletal Simon was sitting with the blanket over his shoulders just like Gemma had left him.
“Wait!” Gemma’s strong reaction startled Arlo. “Wait. He can’t stand.”
“Then he can’t eat,” Arlo countered.
“Let’s give him his portion. It’s only fair.”
“Who cares?”
“Where’s his bowl?”
“I dunno. You can ask Ruby later.”
Arlo moved along, but Gemma put the bucket down. When Arlo reached to scoop the gruel for the next prisoner, his ladle found air. Annoyed, he turned to her.
“Seriously?”
“It’ll be just a minute,” Gemma assured him and rushed back to where Ruby was cluttering her bucket that doubled as a rolling tray for dishes.
Gemma snatched the only remaining bowl from the bucket and hurried back, ignoring Ruby’s questioning look.
She made Arlo pour some food into the bowl and unlocked Simon’s cell by pressing her hand to the onyx plate. The door unlatched with reluctance as if it didn’t appreciate the disturbance of the occupant of this solitary cell. Crypt, that’s what it reminded her of. Death was coming, and no one should interfere with its arrival.
She clamped down on her imagination spurred on by the depressing atmosphere that surrounded him. He wasn’t dead yet.
“Simon,” Gemma said gently, aware that he couldn't hear her. “Food. You need to eat.”
She didn’t expect a reaction but was nevertheless disheartened to have her expectations realized. His bony hands lay limply in his lap. His sightless eyes never moved. He hadn’t moved. The rank air of the cell hung still.
“What’s taking you so long? Come on, you’re screwing up my routine!” Arlo’s angry shout brought her head around.
She carefully placed the bowl on a chair next to the cot and sank the spoon in it.
“Eat, Simon. Please try.”
She left his cell and picked up the bucket.
The lunch, by no means satisfying, tidied the inmates up until dinner which consisted of more of the same gruel with an addition of a bread roll made from sub-par, stale corn flour.
After every cell received a portion, Arlo complained that his hand was killing him and disappeared, leaving it to Gemma to take the empty food bucket downstairs. She was both miffed and relieved to find herself abandoned by her co-worker. She was beginning to realize that sometimes Arlo was more work than help. Most of the time he was more work than help.
Meanwhile, Ruby went around and collected dirty bowls and spoons, making sure everybody returned both to her. Human or alien, inmates were notoriously creative in using spoons in all kinds of inventive ways, and not to make coat hangers.
