The Queue That Is Not a Queue
Nobody lines up. Everybody knows who is next. A man from two nodes over tries to buy his way to the front and learns that thirst has a local government.
A fictional narrative within Callizto Dark Symphony.
The man had a clean chip and a surface accent he was trying to hide by using it less.
Kesh did not look at him until she had filled the child, the woman with the bad hip, Tam’s second can, and Rell’s hinge.
“I can pay extra.”
“Then you can wait extra,” Kesh said.
A murmur that was not quite a laugh. The unofficial government of thirst had no flag. It had this.
“I’m not from—”
“We know,” Tam said, too young to be that dry.
The man stood. He did not push. Pushing was how you became a story Vesh told without names.
When his turn came, Kesh took ordinary payment. No surcharge. No sermon.
“You wait because the water is for the node,” she said. “Not because I dislike your coat.”
He left with full cans and a smaller idea of himself.
Rell, watching, filed it under fractions: half of dignity is not arriving thirsty in the wrong order.
Mentioned in this record
- informal undercity credit networks