Mythos Effect

Chapter 18: Scant Options

It was Adrien's personal opinion that things, to put it crudely, were in the shit.

Two weeks had passed since the Federation had torched their supplies and already, the fruits of their labors were showing. Frustration and humiliation at their impotence in the face of the enemy, coupled with the constant fear of another attack that might come at any moment, had contributed to a collective mood among the Turians that was both morose and volatile. And to add to the problems, Adrien's efforts to formulate the miracle that Tarkin wanted had thus far amounted to nothing.

Adrien was sprawled out on his cot, staring up at the ceiling as though he could somehow find an answer to his problems if he just stared hard enough. If there were any to be had, then they weren't being very forthcoming. All Adrien saw was a blank, colorless surface.

The knocking on his door provided a welcome distraction. Without moving from where he laid, Adrien called out, "Come in."

The door swung open to reveal Viggo standing there. The past couple of weeks hadn't been any kinder to him than Adrien. There were bags under his eyes and he looked a bit thinner than he had been.

"Hey boss," he said, pasting a small grin on his face. "How's it going?"

"Oh, things are going just wonderfully, Viggo," Adrien said with exaggerated cheer. "In fact, everything is so great that I could just dance for joy."

Viggo chuckled. "Well, I'd put the dancing on hold there. It's almost chow time; the rest of the guys already left, so we should start heading over the mess."

Ah yes. Chow time. One of the ironic torments to crop up in the past couple weeks.

As it turned out, when the quartermaster had said that they would have enough to last a month with proper rationing, he hadn't meant that they'd be able to eat their fill for that time. Instead, all that the newly-enacted regimen permitted was the bare minimum calorie amount to keep them from dying. That meant no one got more than nine hundred calories a day, which essentially broiled down to one meal stretched out over the course of twenty-three hours. In essence, everyone got to eat just enough to survive but still feel the need for more.

It was torture, plain and simple. There had been no less than three attempts by hungry soldiers to steal extra portions from the stores, each one ending in a fight between the store's guards and the would-be thieves, with the latter being tossed in the brig. It was a small mercy that at least none of the confrontations had ended fatally.

Adrien's stomach gave a loud gurgle and he sighed. A small part of him wanted to just stay where he was and spare himself the agony of not being satisfied, but the logical part of him prevailed. Better to have something than nothing, and if he didn't get his portion, then someone else would take it in a heartbeat.

The two Turians arrived at the communal mess area, which was already jam-packed with their fellow soldiers. Some of those that had gotten their allotted portions polished them off in just a few bites, though most opted to eat as little as possible at a time, as if by prolonging the meal, it might somehow satisfy them. The rest stood in line, faces drawn and hungry as they shuffled forward to where the quartermaster was set up. He divvied out carefully measured portions of food to each soldier. Nobody looked particularly happy with what they got, but the armed guards that flanked him discouraged any troublemakers.

Adrien and Viggo took their places in the line and waited for their turn. Some minutes later, they reached the quartermaster, who promptly handed them their servings. It was a truly pathetic sight: one scoop of some kind of stew and a side of protein crackers to go with it.

"Spirits, that's just depressing," remarked Viggo as he stared down at his ration with a sour look. "I think this is actually smaller than what we got yesterday."