From Beyond the Starlit Sky
"...and we've recently had some disturbing signs coming from the north-eastern district of Region 3, though it's still unclear what exactly..."
Arzhela Ar Garreg paid little attention to her virtual assistant's monotone voice. There were a great many things to do, and dealing with whatever climate event was wreaking havoc with the mineral exploitation on a remote continent was far from the top of her list. Still, it was part of her job to be aware of everything happening on Perseverance – Planet REH-327, she mentally corrected herself; even if she probably was the last person to use the assigned number outside of paperwork, she felt like properly upholding the company policy on nomenclature also was part of that job – and part of her mind was filing the information with the litany of catastrophes besieging her. Weather perturbations, mine collapses, hydroponics failures, medicine shortages, and, according to the report occupying most of her attention while the car drove itself to the Head Office, an ill-defined "social trouble" brewing from some board members' families with too much time on their hands and not enough loyalty to their mission.
She sighed and turned her eyes towards the window, barely noticing the report's visual interface shutting down as it detected her shift in focus and disappearing in her peripheral vision. There were few other cars on the road at this time, far from any change in shifts. She'd rather not think about how there were few other cars on the road at any time. Pers— REH-327's fledgling economy made them a luxury good of sorts, and most workers just used whatever shuttle their workplace had. It was quite a long way from the standards that B&M expected of their installations, but what could she do? They had neither the population nor the high-grade industry to build the entire supply chain needed to manufacture all the components.
She closed her eyes for an instant and let out another sigh. Getting everything up to B&M's exacting standards technically was her job, yes, but it was not one supposed to be done without any kind of support. 'Good enough' would have to be enough for the foreseeable future. The buildings went by significantly slower than what she would have liked, than what she would have expected. The road was not in pristine conditions and the delay meant she had all the time to really see how dilapidated the apartment blocks were. Even 'good enough' was a tall ask these days.
The interface chimed again with the urgency of an impossible-to-ignore message; it took the best of her effort not to swear. If this continued to deteriorate at that pace, it would soon become impossible to manage 'not a dead world'. She turned her attention back towards the bare-bones interior of the car. The holographic screen sprang to attention in an austere square floating a meter away from her face. She ignored the usual flurry of notifications of varying importance, every employee on the planet apparently vying for her attention, and settled her gaze on the most insistently flashing one. The menu was replaced with the face of a young man wearing the company's uniform, his eyes wide open with something too close to panic for her comfort.
"Ah, uh, Ma'am," he said after the briefest of instant it took for the connection to be made in both directions.
"Please don't tell me it's the mines again. Or that imbecile Dosser and his idiotic notion of doing away with the..."
"No, no, it's... No, it's not that."
"What then?" Her voice was harsher than what she would have liked, and the communication operator — she felt like she should have known his name; there weren't that many people working in the Head Office — visibly flinched.
"We've got an alert on the jump buoy," he quickly explained before she could apologize, the information spilling out of him in one almost continuous word.
She just blinked, slowly. She had no answer to something of that magnitude.
"Ma'am?"
"The jump buoy? You're absolutely sure of that?"
"Yes, it was wired on an entirely independent circuit from the other systems." He looked as if he would very much prefer to be anywhere but there, eyes flicking nervously from side to side. "It cannot mean anything else."
"And it's not a false positive?"
"I'm... I'm afraid not. We wouldn't have bothered you otherwise." Once again, he explained before she could interject and note that given what they had at times bothered her with, she highly doubted it. "The orbital grid has detected some particle emissions in a time-frame coherent with the buoy's alert."
"Alright." Her vague hand gesture was promptly interpreted by the car. "I'm on my way. Warn me if they say anything, and do not let Comms answer anything."
Arzhela realized she hadn't said anything in an uncomfortably impolite amount of time and forced herself to look away from the windows. They were polarized so as to block enough of the fierce sunlight while still showing the blue tops of a row of trees leisurely swinging in the breeze. She remembered reading in the first version of the company's rulebook that the same regulations that got her the second largest office and the second fanciest desk also implied that said office should be at a rather higher floor, that she should physically be at the apex of the establishment and able to contemplate the entire city instead of a few overgrown plants. Then again, it wasn't as if there were any taller buildings on the planet.
"I guess I have no ground to complain," she finally chose to say. Thankfully, her assistant — Edel, quietly working behind the third fanciest desk in the building, much to the chagrin of some of the Board — knew her well enough not to answer yet. "They're behaving as they're supposed to, I knew there wasn't going to be any kind of confetti, and no B&M envoy would ever be overjoyed about anything. But we've done exactly what was asked of us, with severe limitations and an extremely tight budget. After all this time, was it really too much to expect more than polite formalities?"
"Well," tentatively began Edel, "I can't say you were giving anything but the polite formalities yourself."
"I…" She groaned. He was right, as annoying as it was. After all, that was why she was paying him; she had no need for a yes-man. "I wasn't about to lie outright, but you know how the company is. I could hardly be upfront about our issues."
"I know how the company was, how it's supposed to be, but…"
"But it's been quite a long time, yes, yes." She was too annoyed to bother to stop her pacing across the room. "But they still call themselves B&M, still use the same protocol, still recognize the exploitation claim. I don't think they would like that kind of news to be given in a way that does not involve the complete information formatted in the exact correct way, and the usual illustrative presentation. Not to mention that whomever they had operating the comms on that ship probably doesn't have the accreditation for that. And," she added, abruptly stopping to face Edel before he could add anything, "I know that we do have that report, and I know they'll send us someone authorized. But that doesn't really change the core of the issue. I couldn't, at that time, give them the bad news, but I'd still have liked some appreciation for what we've managed to do. No need for classified info, the simple fact that we're still there should have been enough!"
"Ah, well, you know how large organizations are supposed to work. We'll get a thank-you card in a business decade or two."
She sighed. It was hard to argue against Edel; as far as her familiarity with the company's training material and archives could let her guess, that sounded like the kind of things corporations tended to do. She moved back to her chair, the screen flickering into existence. The last message the ship had sent them was still open, with telemetry confirming their position and trajectory.
"I guess we'll have to inform the public before they arrive."
She looked at the numbers again. Whatever data they had on plasma engines clearly was outdated, because the ship was crossing the empty space from the jump point significantly faster than what the manual said; they would not have much time to organize everything.
The sky was, of course, blue. According to some old exploration reports, the first inhabitants thought it was more of a deep indigo — she found the notion preposterous. Blue was, by definition, the color of the sky. And yet, straining her eyes against the dark background to try and see the shuttle descend, she could not help but feel like something was slightly off.
A point of moving light finally became visible, rapidly growing towards the welcome party: herself in her best company clothes, whatever Board members were in the city at that time, an honor guard in what she hoped looked like parade uniforms but knew merely was over-recycled fabric. And Edel, of course, holding a briefcase containing the necessary paperwork, a respectful few steps behind her. The day was sufficiently late for them to be there on the naked tarmac without any kind of protection, the sun low enough to deform their shadows in long streaks of half-light.
Quicker than what she had expected, the shuttle was upon them. There was no space-worthy vessel left on REH-327, but Arzhela had a few vague memories of the old orbital service boat, a rickety affair never really worth its maintenance costs; it was hard to believe the two machines were of the same kind. The shuttle was elegant, all rounded shapes and fluid curves that felt streamlined by nature, as if it had been molded in one gigantic cast. It was gently settling down in an almost eerie silence, massive metallic landing feet surfacing from hidden service ports. Its gleaming white paint made the bright colors of what she assumed was the B&M logo — the letters were there, but everything else was disconcertingly different from what she had always seen used on REH-327 — even more visible.
"I hope they didn't send the same bone-headed guy we had to talk to at first," said Edel in a low voice. It was not that funny, but Arzhela appreciated the attempt at levity.
A last whine from the pneumatic dampener, and all was still. Time seemed to pass with a peculiar sluggishness, second after second feeling like hours of immobility, until a dark line materialized on the flank of the shuttle. With an almost imperceptible speed, the line became an impenetrable square of blackness, from which a ramp expanded.
They held their breath, waiting for the occupants to disembark. A lone figure advanced, walking with no hurry in their step, and Arzhela regretted the absence of a fanfare. It seemed like the sort of preposterous nonsense high ranked executives and representatives would appreciate. The figure resolved into that of a woman wearing something that resembled the type of company clothes she herself was wearing yet looked more intricate and better crafted, her hair held in a strange braid that managed to look both old-fashioned and avant-garde. The woman approached at a steady pace, her now visible face looking stern. She stopped in front of Arzhela and stood precisely two meters away from her. A spark of reassurance came over her; in that, at least, their rules and regulations were still the same.
"You are welcome on REH-327, Breguen and Mehaute Establishment 1," Arzhela proclaimed with as much formality as she could muster. "I am Adjunct Executive Ar Garreg."
"Thank you, Adjunct Executive." Her voice was just as formal, yet she somehow succeeded in having a grander presence. "I am Fourth Specialist Bomand, mandated by B&M's Administrative Council to ascertain the viability in continuing the exploitation of REH-three-two-seven, as well as to assess the currently obtained results." She paused, looked around the landing pad, then locked eyes with Arzhela again. "I would have expected the Principal Executive to be there."
"The… the Principal Executive?" Arzhela's stomach suddenly tied itself into knots. That was not a question that should have been asked. She did not even dare to think about what it would imply.
"According to procedure, that is." She raised an eyebrow. "I am quite sure that even the ones you were last given mention this."
"It was assumed that was why… that it was the reason for your arrival."
"I am not sure I understand how you, and your Board," she added after a side glance in the general direction of said board, "would reach such a conclusion."
"Regulations state that on-site administration personnel cannot be promoted to the office of Principal Executive without a full assessment of Human Resources' Main Branch, and that the final nomination must come from Headquarters," she explained in a firm tone that surprised even herself. Yes, that Bomand seemed cold and intransigent, and working with her would probably not be the most pleasant thing in her career, but this was a topic she knew, that she was intimately familiar with given her current position. "As such, with the resignation of Principal Executive Uv Hoelo in 147— that's After Landing, in TSU it would be…" Bomand made a small hand gesture that she interpreted as dismissal. She came back to the main point. "Until Headquarters comes to a decision and nominates someone, the position stays vacant and the highest-ranking official on REH-327 is, as per regulations, the Adjunct Executive."
Bomand did not answer. Her stern mask broke for a brief instant, showing something suspiciously close to stupefaction. When it reappeared, it did not look as certain.
"You… you are waiting on the nomination of a new Principal Executive?"
"Indeed. And that's… that is what we assumed that the first B&M ship to jump in this system since Principal Executive Uv Hoelo's resignation would bring. Or, rather, given that your files would not be up to date, that the ship would directly bring a new one, or at least someone with the discretionary powers to name one here."
"You've waited two centuries for someone to bring a new Principal Executive?"
Arzhela would not have thought she would feel soured about B&M's renewal of contact that quickly, but having to trawl through the Archives under the supervision of a constantly frowning Bomand certainly did the job.
They had spent the better part of the day, almost continuously since welcoming Bomand to the Head Offices, in the brightly illuminated white room. It felt almost surprising, that light. Some part of Arzhela always expected a dimly lit room full of dust when going to the Archives. There weren't enough personnel to constantly have an archivist at hand, and they had to do everything themselves; habits that only foreigners used to the normalcy of largely populated worlds would find peculiar.
No-one could reach the higher echelons of the corporate bureaucracy without being well-versed in the dozens of rules and regulations that were put into place over the centuries, but that woman had taken it to an artform. She was requiring old documents with an ever growing precision, as if what she was given at first — the suitcase full of production reports and the most urgent notices about the current situation — barely deserved an examination. She wasn't entirely unjustified in her irritation, in her desire to know exactly how the situation of a perpetual empty Principalship had come about, but things were getting quite unproductive.
"So, to summarize," Bomand said with the same kind of voice a teacher would take with a inattentive student; or perhaps that of a trainer with a misbehaving animal, "after former Principal Executive Uv Hoelo resigned, despite the clear stipulations of Regulation III, article 7, paragraph C, you kept no digitized record of the subsequent meetings' minutes?"
"That is correct, as far as I've been made aware."
"Why? You appear to have followed the letter of the rules to extreme lengths, but not on that specific point?"
"That is correct." Why would she know, anyway. That was almost two hundred years before, and no-one had thought to write down what they were doing. "My best guess, based on the history I have of this establishment's ressources since the founding, is that the production of rare earth was at that time insufficient to produce all electronic components without importations." Good thing she had read these histories; as far as she knew, most Executives did not. Her predecessor certainly never bothered. "With a limited supply, they had to prioritize."
"I will grant you that this is a hypothesis that makes sense," Bomand answered slowly, as if each syllable was a painful admission. "I assume then that you have the physical copy stored here."
"I… assume that if there is a physical copy, it would be there, yes. Or rather," she added after a second, calling to mind where exactly which years were stored, "in Aisle C, the third left down that corridor."
Bomand squinted with an air of disapproval — such hesitation about whether copies were stored was in fact against one of the rules whose number Arzhela didn't remember at hand — but said nothing. For the briefest instant, it looked as if she was going to sigh.
It was the largest, grandest room on the planet. It was also, feared Arzhela, not even comparable to what Specialist Bomand would have experienced back in proper civilized space. She must have seen... Her imagination wasn't enough. Her grandparents' grandparents were not alive when Perseverance — PEH-327, now was especially not the time for such lapses in propriety — was last in contact with known space at large through a regular courier service, how could she even begin to conceive what had happened and been invented since? Alas, it would still have to do. A certain number of things appeared to have diverged since then, but based on Bomand's reaction to the lack of Principal Executive to welcome her, the handbook concerning protocol and decorum seemed to still be the same: the occasion called for a formal dinner, and the large conference room, once emptied of all its actual conference equipment, was the closest they had to a reception hall. A sorry excuse for one, with its utilitarian beige ambiance and false ceiling, but a reception hall nonetheless. Thankfully, someone in her team had managed to hang a few pictures on the wall, aerial shots of the various installations on the planet that achieved a decent level of decorum. The streamers chosen to be in B&M's color strewn about the room did not.
Arzhela scanned the room without stopping on anyone in particular or listening to any conversation. As many chairs as possible had been crammed around the large rectangular table, yet the selection of whom to invite had been arduous. Unsurprisingly, it seemed as if every last person in the entire system had wished to dine with Bomand. At least that way, the people that were admitted would be too overwhelmed by the privilege to complain about the plastic seating.
"Adjunct Executive?"
Bomand's voice came from her side at the vast table; what passed as the place of highest honor. They had until now not shared much more than the requisite platitudes since the meal began, as the man right next to the Specialist monopolized her conversation. She was not sure whether to be glad she avoided the icy looks or afraid that one of those oafs from the Board was trying to look too important.
"Yes?"
"What are those?"
It took Arzhela a surprising amount of willpower not to raise an eyebrow. That straightforward and curious tone felt at odds with her earlier stone-hard behavior. She glanced at what Bomand was pointing in her plate, and this time there was no containing her eyebrows.
"The…" She hesitated. Was it a joke of some kind? Should she play along and pretend she had no idea either? No, Bomand definitely did not feel like the type of person who would make stupid gags about her food. "...tomatoes?"
"Tomatoes?" Her voice continued to feel curious, albeit colder. Not the heights — the depths, maybe — it had previously attained, but still left an impression of guardedness.
"I… yes?" She felt even more at a loss than discussing the missing archives; did Bomand think that she was being facetious? "They're grown in a facility not far from here, but they're pretty common everywhere."
"Ah," said Bomand, a flash of recognition in her eyes, "a local plant."
"We had no access to any other kind, after all, since, well…"
"Oh, or even before that." She was waving her fork, probably without realizing it, as if to emphasize her point. It was surprisingly earnest. "I guess the economics of cargo shipping across interstellar distances naturally have fallen out of fashion here but even to this day, with all the improvements in jump technology, it would not be profitable for B&M to directly send you food."
"Indeed?" prompted Arzhela. There was something fascinating in that manner of explaining, she thought. A way of sharing the excitement about what she knew without any condescension, that struck her as quite at odds with her conduct in more professional settings. She appreciated it.
"Yes, that's why there's so few asteroid-based manned mining exploitations. If you cannot grow the food needed by the personnel directly on-site, importing it will eat your entire profit, and then some."
"I see…" She remembered something, though. "If I may be so bold as to ask, why were you surprised, if food is always grown locally?"
"Oh, no, that's not what I meant by 'local'." Another wave of her fork. "I guess I should have said 'indigenous'; this doesn't look like anything in the common seed bank that is given to all new B&M installations. And, more to the point," she added, pointing at the offending vegetable in her plate with a slight smile, "that's certainly not what tomatoes look like back home"
Fortunately, Bomand had not yet wished to go back to the Archives. Instead, they were installed in Arzhela's office. She had offered Bomand to take the much larger one reserved to the Principal Executive — despite lacking an occupant for several hundred years, it had always been kept clean and up to date in case B&M sent them someone — but she had refused, explaining that she herself was not above the rules, and had thus taken place behind Edel's desk.
"Adjunct Executive," she said, raising her head from the stack of yellowed paper brought back from the Archives she was perusing. The constant formality was starting to get grating. "Did you really expect that a new Principal Executive would ever get approved, or appointed?"
"I don't think anyone thought it would happen in their lifetime, but we had to." The answer was immediate, almost instinctive. It was a question she had often asked herself, that her predecessor had admitted to often asking himself.. She suspected every Adjunct from the last two centuries had asked themselves that same question at one point or another, probably eyeing the majestic doors to the principal office. "You haven't been there long enough to really see it, but Perse– PEH-327," she corrected herself, hoping her slip of the tongue hadn't been too noticeable, "is not a very hospitable planet. We can breathe the atmosphere, which I guess puts us a step above some places in our data, and we can even eat some of the local plant-analogue life, but it's not an easy or especially comfortable life. You've seen the reports, we're always on the edge of some disaster, mostly due to the small population. If we stop believing that B&M will send someone, that we're not doing this in vain, then we're just wasting our lives filling warehouses with useless ores, and what would be the point of that?"
"And you were never tempted to promote yourself?"
"Principal Executive Ar Garreg…" She had said the words with a deliberate slowness, tasting the words. "There's a certain ring to it, isn't it? But then, especially in the first years, when it became evident that no supply ship would be getting here anytime soon, following the regulations was the most important thing."
"Yours isn't the first case of… such circumstances." Bomand's tone was hesitant, careful. Before Arzhela could even voice her surprise, she was pressing on, as if she had decided something. "The fiscal years around what you call 147 After Landing were especially hard for the pure metal markets, and B&M had a significant loss of revenue. It became necessary to cut spendings, and several mining outposts were written off."
"Abandoned, you mean."
"I'm not the one who wrote the nomenclature in those days," answered Bomand with what looked like the slightest of shrugs, "but yes, all supply runs were canceled, and the local personnel were not warned to avoid the expense of evacuating them. It's only recently that we've been able to recontact some of these installations. Yours is among the… fortunate ones."
"Given how hard it was for us to survive," she began in a voice whose grimness she wasn't expecting. She was enough generations removed from that time for it to lack most of its emotional impact, but she had read the production reports. "I assume that for most places you've checked, there simply wasn't anyone to answer."
"Correct. But more surprisingly, in a lot of cases, what happened is that people on the ground rebelled."
"Rebellion ?" Arzhela had to agree that it was a surprise. B&M liked single-minded focus and loyalty, and she assumed it was even more marked back when they could actually check what their employees were doing.
"Oh, not the bloody revolution kind, though that did happen. No, what the most common occurrence looked like is… akin to your circumstances, at first A struggle to be self-sufficient with the resources that were left behind as no cargo came. It's afterwards that things differ, usually. The absence of supply runs meant the absence of export shipments, so production generally was stopped. Some Adjunct Executives, or sometimes the Board directly, seeing that no replacement was coming, appointed themselves. People stopped thinking of themselves as part of B&M, merely putting on an act when we came around. This is why checking the archives and the proper following of procedures was so important." She stood up and walked in front of one of the large windows. It was midday, and they were maximally polarized, shrouding the exterior behind dark hues. "In fact, yours is the only establishment that truly stayed loyal in this… indefinite waiting."
There was nothing Arzhela could answer. She stood up too, and rejoined Bomand by the window, and looked at the low buildings, beyond the treetops that filled most of the view. The town, really, even if people liked to call it 'the city'. It did not even have a name; only a B&M-issued numerical designation.
The shuttle was resplendent as when it had first descended, gleaming white even with the sun almost set, towering above the landing grounds where they all stood, waiting for the ramp to expand. Arzhela had not bothered bringing the honor guard stipulated by the regulations, and none of the Board had made the trip. Bomand did not appear to mind. Only Edel had accompanied them, hoovering at a respectable distance, seeming as if he had no idea what to do with his hands now that the suitcase full of documents wasn't needed.
"On behalf of REH-327, Breguen and Mehaute Establishment 1," Arzhela began in a stilted, formal voice, "I wish you a pleasant voyage back home. I hope everything was to your satisfaction, and we all are saddened by your departure."
"Things were satisfactory, yes," answered Bomand with something that looked suspiciously close to a smile. "Most people are not quite as distraught at seeing the official sent to supervise them go away."
"It's…" The frankness of it confounded Arzhela, though she took no more than an instant to find her footing back. "We have waited for such a long time for someone like you, for some proof we weren't alone. It is no surprise that people expected… more."
"More?" She still had that slight smile, the corners of her lips barely raised, as if she found something in the situation amusing. "A courier will come as soon as I can send a message to Headquarters, and with it normal operations; export of your production and your stockpiles, import of what you need."
"But what about our hierarchy?" She hesitated. Just how honest could she get? Bomand had said everything was satisfactory, they had both signed paperwork about the results of this inspection; she hardly would renege her word now. Still, it would be ill-advised to anger her before the promised supply actually came… "One of our most pressing concerns was the absence of a Principal Executive, and I know the Board has been… unsatisfied that you did not resolve it."
"Are they, now?"
Arzhela braced herself for the criticism she knew was coming, trying to look just past Bomand's shoulder to avoid meeting her eyes in a respectful manner. She had no reason to believe that a plenipotentiary like Bomand would appreciate having her decisions questioned.
It took all her willpower not to gawk in amazement when, instead, the answer she got was a discrete laugh, without a trace of mockery.
"I guess you share that feeling, don't you?" Arzhela knew better than to answer that rhetorical question. "Waiting for someone on whom you could just dump the entire situation and wash your hands of it. I'm afraid I do not bring you a savior from the stars. After all this time, no-one would be familiar enough with the situation to be adequate enough with your troubles. My apologies, Adjunct Executive." She let the end of her sentence trail. "Or should I say, Principal Executive."
"I…" This time, Arzhela did gawk. She lacked the will to maintain composure faced with that kind of news. "Should you?"
"You are quite literally the most qualified candidate in existence," Bomand pointed out with the same smile, "and while I do not bring a rescuer that would take all your problems away, I do have the authority to approve promotions without referring to Headquarters. Congratulations are in order, I believe."
"I… I thank you," Arzhela responded, sounding less meek than she felt. It was a way of solving that particular problem, and Bomand was correct in assuming that there likely was no one with a better grasp on the situation, but it was hard to feel happy about it. She suppressed an almost instinctive sigh. She indeed had been among those who had hoped that B&M's rescue would take the form of a hypercompetent administrator who would have been able to set everything right; and now she would have to do all the work herself. With more resources, yes, desperately needed ones, but still.
A pneumatic whine and a loud metallic clang took them out of the conversation. The ramp was entirely deployed.
"This is my cue," said Bomand as she started her walk towards the inside of the vessel. "There is no amount of reparation the B&M can give you that can possibly compensate for these last two hundred years, but we have taken steps to avoid such things happening ever again." She turned back as she reached the end of the ramp. "I will, as soon as possible, transmit the new version of the rules and regulations. They now explicitly forbid not warning the personnel on the ground before decisions of that magnitude, and you have my assurance that the supply convoys will resume."
There was another ringing noise, and the ramp retracted itself. For some reason Arzhelacould not guess at, the movement in that direction was much more rapid. Bomand's silhouette would soon be entirely hidden.
"Goodbye, Principal Executive Ar Garreg."
Arzhela watched the ship lift into the heavens, unbothered by the wind its take off had raised. It was quick to rise, as quick as it had been to descend, before long it was invisible to the naked eye. Only a long contrail, lit by the purple hues of the low sun, was left as a trace of its passage.
Finally, she tore her eyes from the sky. Principal Executive… She had never even dreamt of that, but as she had told Bomand in her office, there was a certain ring to it. Yet it came with a heavy weight. She was acutely aware of the many problems Perseverance faced, and of how limited her options were.
She sighed, now that there was no one to see her. Well, except Edel, but he was used to it. There was some comfort to be found in knowing that their struggle to hold on for so long was not in vain. There was even some meaning in that, in the assurance that these vast warehouses had not been filled uselessly.
However, it was by now clear that this would not be a permanent situation. She was certain Bomand would hold to her word and that B&M would eventually send supplies, but she would not bet on how long that would last. Things that had happened once often found a way of happening twice; no amount of promise, of change in the rules, could make the menace entirely disappear.
Perhaps loyalty to B&M would not be the best way to proceed. She had been given some examples, after all.
And who knew — maybe it would make Bomand come back.
