Ch. 5 - 

“Vice President Rumik lives at an exquisitely decorated and painstakingly manicured estate on the edge of Demeter 

AgriCenter.”  Paul explained as he drove the tiny groundcar through the back access hallways of the Admin Complex.  

It was too funny to me to be in this little cart, driving along more slowly than we could have walked.  “The 

country place isn't for a lowborn to see, though, so I'm supposed to take you to the office.”



“So'okay, man.”  I murmured, fidgeting.  The red dress was rut on legs, sexy as hell, and finer than anything I 

had ever worn, but it was tight, hot, and itched like a son of a bitch.  I was just as glad to skip the visit to 

the Admin's very fancy homestead.  The less time I had to spend in this torture chamber, the less likely I was to 

do grievous bodily harm to someone.  If I was gonna fake being pleased as punch to meet Rumik, it was probly 

better I didn't want to physically punch him at the time, plus there was the AgriCenter thing.

  

I had never seen food actually growing.  In fact, I had only seen a real live plant once.  Where I grew up, real 

fruit was something you maybe got to sniff once at a festival, and vegetables were pretty pictures on the wrapper 

of your vitamin tab.   Soil on Cthonia was bad for growing things, and the sight of so much green, growing food 

might have made me freak.  I would meet the big bad wolf where he hunted and that was fine by me.  



“Whatsis complex called?”  I asked, hoping words could distract me from that tickle at the base of my spine that 

usually meant I was cutting toward bad rock.



“This is the Clio Administrative Complex.  Home of the Administration of Public Relations, protectors of truth.”  

He snorted and I resisted the urge to join him.  Something told me I'd better get some practice hiding my 

reactions.  “This is where we doctor events and put enough spin on them to keep the lowborn and the Board of 

Administrators happy.”



I just shrugged.  If what I'd seen so far was typical, truth didn't have much to do with Admin's version of events.  

Frankly, given what I knew about the state of history on Cthonia, the name of the place wasn't lost on me.  My 

fingers were twitching with the desire to sculpt a muse in chains, mouth stuffed with dross and fingers broken.



I let that feeling hide itself inside my belly, covering my rising apprehension with rising apprehension.  After 

all, when a monkey meets a god, there's bound to be some wide-eyed shaking in somebody's boots.  



Paul pulled the cart over and parked it near a bank of elevators.  I followed him into the first one and we 

started to go up.  And up.  And then up some more.  Then, well... we went up.  I swallowed nervously.  Diggers and 

heights don't mix well, and I was born to live underground.  Paul smiled gently and patted my arm, then squared 

his shoulders as the lift slowed.  The doors opened onto a paradise, and all I could do for a moment was stare in 

shock, open mouthed.  



Paul cleared his throat, and I followed after him meekly, any thought of the great performance lost in the noise 

between my ears.  It wasn't hard to appear overwhelmed.  I had seen pictures of old Earth temples that hadn't been 

as well appointed as this.



The hallways were cut out of solid grantium, inlaid with gold and offworld marble and the vaulted ceilings were a 

good twenty feet up from the floors.  The theme of decor was Greek, probably in honor of the Complex's name, but 

it all struck me as more like the Sun King's court in all it's excesses.  Outrage gnawed at my guts until they 

writhed inside me like a rock worm exposed to light as I filled my eyes with the richness of the place.



There were fountains full of fresh water, and I could smell it was the good stuff, the clean stuff, no radiation, 

no rock taint.  Any one of those fountains contained enough safe water to serve an entire living complex for at 

least a month, more if you cut it with the filtered stuff to make it stretch.  I counted five fountains just in 

the hallway we walked through to get to the next lift.  



“The fountains are... amazing.”  I managed at last.  Paul grimaced and moved a little faster.  I think he was 

worried I'd lose it, and maybe he was right.  I was thinking of the new edubuilding in the barrens next to the 

abandoned ruin of Shaft 7.  They were giving their kids water from the old refinery stores and it was barely 

filtered and mixed in with just enough fresh water to keep toxicity to a level that wasn't fatal.  I was thinking 

of the kids I knew personally whose backs and shoulders were already twisted by the rock they got in their 

drinking water.



At the end of each hallway we passed, there were two fancy little tables bracketed by huge, leafy, green plants.  

I didn't know what they were, but I could see that they were actually planted in giant pots full of soil, growing 

in real dirt.  The tables all had bowls of fruit laid out on them for decoration, huge golden things piled high 

with nutritious decoration.



“That fruit all Admin perks?”  I asked, hands trembling.  Paul's eyes closed for a long moment while he walked, 

and I wondered if he was gonna fall.  When he opened them again, they stayed trained on the inlaid grantium floor.

  

“It's just for show, dear.”  He managed, but so, so softly.  “It sits there 'til it starts to go bad, then  it's 

thrown away.”



“Nobody eats it?”  My mouth fell open.  “Nobody steals it?”  



“Why would anyone steal fruit, sweety?”  His voice was tight, shrill, hollow.  “You can get it from the cafeteria 

whenever you want.”



I thought of old miners who couldn't dig anymore but hadn't yet been pitched down a mined out shaft.  I thought of 

how brittle their bones got and how their teeth darkened when they no longer got the vitamin tabs that are given 

out weekly at the bottom of the mine.  The Imperial charter says everyone gets them, but there's no specification 

in Imperial law about how or where.  You had to go down and dig to get those tabs, and without them, scurvy was 

abundant.  The reason most folks died in the mines was because you had to keep digging to survive.



I did the mental math on the amount of water and good soil needed to create just one of these tableaux and my 

hands started to shake.  We had passed at least ten of them just in this little stretch of hall, and this place 

was immense.  No one was eating that food.  There was dust on some of the apples.  This fruit was here to be 

looked at, and no one would get any other use out of it at all, never mind that even one rotten piece placed in a 

nutrient reclaimer was enough to make vitamin tabs for a week.  



The miners of Cthonia hadn't needed to be told about how harsh our world was, but we had been well schooled about 

how limited our natural resources were.  Every schoolchild knew that Cthonian soil was bad for growing things so 

we had to dig, dig, dig to get the ores to trade with the Impies for the basic necessities of life.  We'd been 

taught from birth that the Company Admin existed to keep us from getting fleeced by the evil Imperials, and that 

things were hard because of the nature of our world.  I wondered at myself that it had never occurred to me to ask 

where we got our food before the Imperials came.



I was seeing plenty for the first time, and by the time I got to the elevator, I couldn't see much of anything 

through tears I wasn't going to shed.  Surely, there must have been enough for everyone if this much could be 

wasted on display until it rotted and no one who worked here ever stole any.  There must have been more than 

enough untainted water somewhere if there could be fountains full of it that no one drank from.  



My poor Cthonia.  My people.  My family, my friends.  Little brother Boo would someday die a battered, broken, 

misshapen thing so that they could display this fruit like rotting jewels on tables in hallways where no one ever 

really even stopped to see them.  I followed the purple pink blur that was Paul's back into the lift, bleeding 

from the soul.  The ride up on this lift was even faster than before, and this one was made of glass, but somehow 

it didn't bother me this time.  I was still reeling when we reached our stop, but not because of the height.



I followed Paul into the outer offices blindly, allowing the senses I used in the dark of the mine to guide me and 

keep me from bumping into things.  We moved through a massive outer office into a smaller one, where a very pretty 

girl who might have been an Imperial for how tall and well built she was sat behind a desk made of real wood.



“Is Mr Rumik available?”  Paul gushed.  I could hear the tightness in his voice, but the girl just smiled up at 

him sweetly, totally clueless.  She was flush, full of health and good food.  Her straight, white teeth said she'd 

never had to pick the rock dust out of her bread, and her shiny bouncy hair shouted about water to bathe in.  For 

a moment I hated her.  “His twelve o'clock is here.”



The little goddess consulted one of her little datapads, the chips from which could have improved the safety 

monitoring equipment of an entire shaft by twenty five percent.  It was close, but I didn't vomit.



“Mr Rumik is in his office.”  She leaned over and picked up a communit with hands that would never have callouses.  

Her hands were beautiful, delicate, and I was pinned between artistic ecstasy and the agonies of Dante's 

nightmares.  I wanted to sculpt her.  I wanted to hit her.  I wanted to be her.  I wanted to fuck her.  I was so 

glad to be getting out.  She whispered into the communit and I was transfixed by perfect red lips and the dance of 

her flawless skin over her unbent bones.  I wanted to see her walk, dance, stretch.  I wanted to see her cry, 

bleed, cower.  I wanted to see her unmarred complexion ravaged by rock exposure, and I prayed to the gods of art 

that it would remain forever the exquisite expanse of ideal smoothness that it was at exactly this moment.



I was saved from a complete meltdown by Paul, who pulled me bodily through the door and into a waiting room.  My 

head was spinning and all I could see was marble and flesh and fruit.  I was lost in the burn, and it wanted to be 

fed.  The world was a wash of peachy skin and rotten oranges and rock, rock, rock, rock, rock.



The slap came out of nowhere, and it was hard enough to turn my head.  I stumbled a little and then Paul's arms 

were around me.  I sagged into his embrace, flower scented and chiffony as it was with relief and clung to him 

like a traumatized Rhesus.



“I'm a monkey.  I'm a monkey.  I'm a monkey.”  I managed at last, and the room returned around me as the red haze 

faded from my sight.  “I'm okay.  I'm just a monkey.  I'm okay.  I'm getting out.”



“Get it together, 'Temi, he's coming!”  Paul was losing it, and his near panic chased off mine.  I saw his pallid 

complexion under the paint and then I was calm.  This situation was a whole shaft cave-in all on it's own, and 

there wasn't time for histrionics.  I could have a screaming, wall-pounding fit later, if I needed to.  Right now, 

I had to cut rock or die.



“Miss Grace, I presume.”  The voice came from behind me and I whirled to face the great Him... and almost fucked 

the poodle right then by laughing out loud.  



“Mr. Vice President, sir.”  I tried to bow and curtsy at the same time and ended up looking foolish.  But the 

little gnome looked pleased, so I played up the awkwardness of my height and the discomfort of the dress to finish 

covering my surprise.  Of the two of us, Augustine Rumik was the one who looked like a monkey.  



He was no taller than my Dad, for all he was straight-limbed and delicately boned.  His robes hung from thin 

shoulders like curtains over a bed frame, and the fancy lines of it were ruined by a bulge of overindulgent belly 

fat that stuck out in front of him like an impossible pregnancy.  He wore a very fancy black fur wig that was 

dotted with jewels, and it gave him the look of a man wearing a star spangled, bear fur hat with.  His high, 

stiffly starched and bejeweled shirt collar was so tight that his head looked like a pumpkin emerging from a 

marble bag, and it was all I could do not to fall over at the sight of his stacked heel shoes, cunningly made to 

look like fanciful mining boots but covered in gemstones.



I had a fleeting thought to wonder how the hell Paul managed to fuck this without laughing his ass off, and then 

reminded myself that this little gnome of a man could kill entire shafts and sleep well after.  Maybe Paul just 

channeled his very real and rational fear into the semblance of awe.  Then again, maybe he was just a consummate 

actor.



“Issan honor to meet ya, sir.”  I gasped at last, sticking out my hand.  He blinked twice but took it and gave it 

a hearty pump before letting it go.  



One look into Vice President Rumkin's eyes was enough to pop my funny balloon in short order.  They were cold, 

calculating and dead as a cave spider's and he was measuring every breath I took.  No fool, this man, and I 

figured I'd better not underestimate him if I wanted to keep breathing, stacked heels or no.  I swallowed 

nervously, wishing I had my cutter instead of a red satin dress.  



This was a man who could be satisfied with awe, but would prefer fear and cultivated it every time he could get 

away with.  I pitied Paul even as I started my song and dance, pulling provincialism around me like a blanket and 

praying that he didn't ask me any question I couldn't answer.  My guts had turned to ice when I remembered how I 

got the submissions off to the Impies in the first place.  I knew I didn't want to answer any of this man's 

questions about Saint.



“I haven't had the opportunity to see any of the artwork you submitted to the Imperials, my dear.”  He said sadly, 

eyes glittering.  “How did you first become interested in Art?”



“I saw the Rose Window of Notre Dame in the Educomp.”  I answered truthfully.  I didn't want to lie to Rumik if I 

could avoid it.  I had the sneaking suspicion he would smell it if I did.  “It was so pretty, ya know?  I wanted 

to make something like it.”



“So how did you ever manage to learn to sculpt?”  He asked kindly.  I figured he was kind like a cave spider.  He 

might kill you quickly, if you didn't struggle.



“Oh, mostly I just played with my tools in my off time, sir.”  I ducked my head slowly, Keeping my words at a 

snails pace.  Just a stupid country cousin.  Nothing to see here.  “You know, practice cutting so I'd be faster in 

the mines.  But I got so I liked doing it.”



“How many sculptures have you made?”  He was looking over Paul's work on my outfit critically, and I made sure I 

stood a little hip-shot, off balance and crude.



“Bunches at first.”  I smiled, as dull as I could manage.  “Just, you know, when I was fu... uh, messin' around 

after hours.  Less lately, but then, I been pullin' lots of doubles in th' shaft, ya know?”



“I have seen your work record.”  He snapped a little, showing just a hint of annoyance.  He didn't like the slow 

way I was talking.  Impatient.  I swallowed and opened my eyes a little wider.  “Your work ethic is quite 

remarkable.”  



“Thank you, sir.”  I beamed at him as if he had just handed me an extra paycheck.  “It's nice to know someone 

keeps track of all that, ya know?  Ya wanna know someone's seen how hard you work, yeah?”



“Well, we'll be sorry to see you go, but the Company is delighted to have an artistic representative such an 

historic competition.” He nodded abruptly, pursing his thin lips.  He'd made a decision, and it was agony trying 

to guess what it was.  After all, it wasn't too likely he'd tell me if he was gonna kill us all.  I just hoped 

Paul knew what his tell was.



Rumik droned on a bit about upholding the honor of Cthonia and the great opportunity I was being given, but he was 

winding down.  I just beamed at him, pie-faced, complacent and stupid, and agreed with everything he said.  



“Well, I'm glad we got to have this little chat.”  He smiled at me and my flesh crawled.  “Paul, get the camera.”



Paul jumped up and grabbed a large gilded box out of the closet.  He placed it on the floor next to me and then 

pulled a fancy digicam from the desk drawer.  The evil little man clambered up onto the box with an economy of 

motion that said he'd done this a lot and pulled me in next to him while Paul shot a few pictures. 

 

The box made Rumik nearly as tall as I was, but not quite, so I was instructed to kneel down instead.  The box was 

removed, pictorial evidence of his height and the Company's approval was taken, and the old monster shook my hand 

again.  



“Good luck in your contest, Miss Grace.  The thoughts of Cthonia will go with you.”  Then he was gone before I 

could get up off the floor, wafting out of the room like a tall ship under sail, trailing the scent of expensive 

offworld perfume behind him.



“He bought it.”  Paul said softly, collapsing onto the sofa.  “He wouldn't have bothered with the pictures if he 

was going to have you replaced.”



Relief made me giddy, and I sagged against the cream skinsilk upholstery and gasped for breath.  I was gonna live.  

The Vice President believed I was a monkey.  My family would survive and I was leaving this awful, horrible, 

twisted place for freedom and art in the Imperium.  Paul looked up at me from where he had fallen onto the couch 

and smiled broadly.



“That's my girl.  Well done.”  His voice was thick with relief.  “I knew you could do it.”



“You got more faith in me than me, man.”  I chuckled.  He just smiled tightly.



“According to the paperwork filed by the Imperials, the grand prize for your contest is an audience with the 

Emperor himself.  If you make the final 1000 artists, you get to ask him for a boon.  Even if you don't win the 

final prize, you make it to Dracis Prime if you place in the third round.”  I looked up into Paul's sharp brown 

eyes and grinned.  “Do I have to ask you to help us?”



I just shook my head.  Really, the Company Admin would have been way better off if they'd just left me alone.  

Until being threatened and brought here and threatened again I had meant to leave the planet quietly and make art, 

not trouble.  I'd planned to take whatever work I could get off planet if I lost in the contest and mainly just 

enjoy myself.  



I still intended to do my best in the contest, but now I had some powerful new motivators.  Imperial auditors 

couldn't be any less thorough than shaft overseers, and I was in the mood to make some serious damn noise.  Little 

brother Boo was gonna get some of that fruit if I had to break into the Imperial compound to get it for him.