After a few minutes of silence, Ayla got over her previous upset at the suggestion that her aunt could callously sacrifice Earth for the good of the fleet enough to start singing about her current task. Sam waited a few minutes longer, taking the time to marshal her thoughts. The current state of affairs in their factory farm building did not please her. She should figure out a way to improve conditions for herself and all the others.

"Hey, Ayla, is Darla your boss?"

Ayla shook her head. "Oh, no, no, no. Emsal is the boss. She brought all of you here. I am first in charge of the first floor. Kistlen is in charge of second and third floors. And Darla is first in charge of fifth and fourth floors. We are all equal."

Sam nodded, pondering the best way to continue. Direct and simple to start with. "Darla sure is mean sometimes."

"Darla is nice. She is just upset she is losing her kinetic talent."

That information should be useful. "What talent does Kistlen have?"

"She is a brute. That means she has teleotic and kinetic."

Pretty and doubly talented. Jess would not enjoy learning that bit of trivia. Sam considered the best way forward. Her first instinct was to pit Ayla against the other supervisors, but she suspected her friend would fold the moment her peers applied any pressure. Ayla could not be the staunch ally Sam wanted. For the moment, pumping Ayla for information seemed best. "Does your boss have a lot of talents? Emsal?"

"Emsal is a noetic. Very smart, very good telepathy. She runs all food production in this sector."

"Are you close to running out of your talent?"

"Not close yet," Ayla said, voice a touch morose.

"What about Kistlen?" If she recalled, having a double talent made one burn out twice as fast.

"Close, probably. Kistlen doesn't talk a lot to me."

So their supervisors didn't have as much power as it had first seemed. They didn't have an on-site leader with institutional authority, two of them were likely close to losing their talents, and they had some interpersonal conflict. The supervisors could probably be manipulated, by flattery or gossip or fear. The potential of an uprising . . . . Sam shook her head hard to clear a searing hot pain from it. The agony receded into nothingness, leaving her confused. What had that been? She glanced to Ayla beside her, who happily chopped vegetables with no clue as to the plotting happening beside her.

Plotting . . . . What had she been plotting? Thoughts darted away from her recall like fish escaping a hand thrust into still waters. She resumed chopping cabbaginos, vague unease heavy in her gut. Something was wrong. Had been wrong for a while now. She couldn't come at it too directly without consequences. Best just to obey. Be good. Serve the fleet like she should.

Right. But Darla and Kistlen could be nicer. "Hey, Ayla, do Darla and Kistlen like each other?"

"Of course! Everyone likes each other. Except the new girls don't like me. You and Jess, but the other ones aren't nice."

There was the first opportunity. "I think Darla and Kistlen are wrong about that."

Ayla perked up. "You think they like me?"

"Yes, definitely. Maybe Darla and Kistlen just don't want you taking too many helpers."

The gears began to turn in Ayla's head. "That's not good. We are equals." Bingo. One small step for Sam, one giant leap for her group.

"I'll tell my Aunt Cassandane," Ayla said.

Sam closed her eyes for a moment. There was nothing like snatching defeat from the jaws of victory. "Isn't your aunt really important?" As in, don't drag an influential person into the middle of a petty power play.

"She's my aunt." Ayla shook her hands and every bit of contamination fell free as if her hands were non-stick, then marched towards a touch screen panel on the wall. Sam went back to her work on the cabbaginos, not sure what the fallout would be for her latest blunder. Probably loss of privileges. Joke was on them, she had none to lose.

When Ayla returned from typing out a message, she seemed happier. "It will be fixed."

Sam told herself that Darla and Kistlen had indeed been assholes to Ayla. She hadn't lied about anything. The fact that she had been strategically revealing a truth could not be proven.

"When do we get a lunch break?"

Ayla pinched a bundle of greens and popped them into her mouth. "Food is everywhere down here, friend Sam!"

Please let her be joking, Sam thought. "Is this where you eat all your meals?"

"No, we go to the sixth floor," Ayla said. "But you're not allowed to go there. Want me to bring you some food down?"

"Uh . . . sure."

Her supervisor sprinted for the doorway and disappeared. Sam glanced around the room she had unsupervised access to, then went back to work. A few minutes later, a breathless Ayla burst back into the room carrying two plates. She plopped them down on the counter, smiling, then smacked herself on the forehead. "No spoons!" Before she could say anything, Ayla was off again. Sam eyed the meal before her. Baked fingerling potatoes and asparagus sides drenched in oil, a generous helping of rice and beans, a small pile of fruit, and what looked suspiciously like a chocolate bar. With all the whole foods she had been eating, the dessert looked out of place . . . and decadently delicious.

Ayla returned, covered in sweat but as excited as ever. She presented a spoon like it was an award, which Sam accepted with a smile. "Is this chocolate?"

"Yes! We have yummy imports from Earth!"

Wielding her spoon like a shovel, Sam began putting the rice and beans away. They tasted better than anything she had eaten among the Angmari and didn't last long. The asparagus, which she normally didn't care for, tasted exquisite, a blast of juicy sweetness balancing the bitter. She regretted the vegetable was gone after she finished the last one. The potatoes were likewise perfectly done. She gobbled down the fruit, then finally turned to the chocolate. At the first nibble, a groan escaped her lips. Dark chocolate, seventy percent by her estimation, with the crisp texture, earthy aroma, and rich flavor of top quality.

The meal left a distinct impression on her that they were not eating the best food the Angmari had to offer. "That was delicious, Ayla! Your food is so much better than what we've been eating on the fifth floor."

"Yes, I know." The tiny woman leaned close. "Teleotic talent wins again!"

Sam blinked. "You mean you use your talent to make the food taste better?"

"For cooking. Not the fruit and chocolate, of course."

"Your ingredients are better, too," Sam pointed out.

Ayla shrugged. "Tell Darla you want to do the food order."

That sounded like a terrible idea. Still, nothing risked, nothing gained.

"More chopping now! We need to finish the cabbagino before we can bottle greenjuice."