“I do it because this is the way to redemption, Delta.” Her voice is firm, almost annoyed. “This land is fertile because people here are loyal to the General. He’s gods touched. Did you see his chain? The stars that line it? He is close to them, and he believes they will return soon. If we continue to do as he says, they’ll come back. This paradise will extend beyond Bedrock. All the wastes will be reborn.”

“What the hell are you talking about? If he was gods touched, he’d be able to read. And I know he can’t, because yesterday he couldn’t read the map.”

She doesn’t even seem concerned that the map I’ve been told to protect my whole life has been exposed. She just looks bored.

“The gods’ blessing manifests in many forms. Now, where is your basket? If you don’t pull your share, you won’t get as much water.”

“Ma, we have to get out of here. You, me, the rest of the pack. You’re in danger, and I can’t protect you here. We need to leave.”

A girl a row ahead of us turns and whispers, “You’re gonna get the switch if you don’t— Oh, hi, Delta.” It’s Pewter. Her cheeks are red with sunburn, and, like Ma, her eyes seem dazed. “Where’s your basket? Why aren’t you working?”

“I don’t want a damn basket!” I practically screech. “Pewter, you trust me, right? I taught you how to dam the lake, how to mend a saddle and patch a tear. I wouldn’t lie to you.”

She considers this a moment, but turns away as the clanking toll of a wooden bell floats over the fields. Every worker jolts at the noise, heads snapping up. A mule-driven wagon is approaching. Several guards sit in the back, along with a series of barrels. “High noon water call,” one of the Loyalists shouts. “Three ladles for a met quota, one for everyone else.”

The workers grab their baskets and race for the wagon. I stand there dumbfounded, watching as they battle for positions in line, pushing and shoving. Some grab harvest from the basket of a neighbor, attempting to boost their own haul. Several fights break out, and guards patrol the line, pulling quarrelers apart.

When Ma gets to the wagon, she dumps her peas into a large barrel. From a different barrel, a guard ladles out three scoops of water. She drinks directly from the spoon, then touches her forehead in thanks and carries her empty basket back to the field. Without so much as glancing at me, she kneels and returns to harvesting.