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door the entered from.
    Before eating, the rebels would have a toast or say a word. But the Legion commanders do not observe this ritual. As soon as their food is placed before them, they begin eating without speaking to each other. Irritated, I carefully cut a piece of the chicken with my knife and fork and place it in my mouth. Although it does not smell like chicken, it tastes like chicken, though is tougher than I am used to. It feels like rubber in my mouth. Even when I swallow I feel as though a thin film remains on my tongue.
    The potatoes and carrots are the same. Everything somehow tastes artificial. I cannot restrain myself any long and turn to A350.
    “Where does the food come from?” I ask softly. She chews mechanically and swallows before turning to me.
    “The food production lab.”
    “Are there real chickens?”
    She thinks for a moment about the question before answering. “It’s not the kind of chickens you know from the educational lessons. These are specially genetically modified and developed for their meat producing properties.”
    “What about the potatoes and carrots?”
    “Similarly, we modified their genes so they can grow without light, so they are protected from the radioactive contamination.”
    I will refrain from telling her you can taste the genetic manipulation. Instead, I ask her another question.
    “Why are D-Class women up here? I thought this area was reserved for Legion commanders.”
    “They cook for us. Likewise, there is a D-Class person who cleans for us, as well as a private B-Class doctor.” She says it as though it’s a simple matter, but that’s not it.
    “Do you have no fear that they could tell the others about it? About what they see here?”
    A350 casually dismisses it. “That cannot happen. Once they ride on the elevator to come to this area, they can never leave. They live with us.”
    “Do they eat the same food we do?”
    Before A350 could answer, she is interrupted by someone on the other side of the table. It is a fourth generation Legion commander. He slams his hands angrily on the table and looks at me angrily.
    “Enough! She’s only been here a few hours and she’s already causing problems!” He laments reproachfully.
    “She’s interested in learning more,” A350 immediately says in my defense.
    “She is sticking her nose into things that do not concern her,” the main replies, unyielding.
    “She is trying to understand what we do here,” A350 continues. It bothers me that they are talking about me as though I am not there.
    “She should not be questioning our ways. We are the Legion commanders, what we say is law.”
    That’s enough. I stand up. “My name is A518, what’s yours?” I say to the man on the other side of the table. He is taken aback. Apparently he thought I wouldn’t dare speak out.
    “My name is A489, who gave you permission to speak?”
    “I do not need permission, I am a Legion commander,” I reply.
    A489 laughs, his mouth sneering. “Oh, look at that. And why do you think you’re here?”
    “I am here to ensure the safety of the people in the safety zone.”
    “Exactly, and that includes not questioning everything we have achieved. Without the Legion there would likely not be a human on Earth. There is no reason to criticize us.”
    Obviously, he feels attacked. Whether he really feels he’s being attacked or lacks self-confidence, I do not know. “I am not criticizing anyone. I’m just being honest. We’re eating food that’s different from what the rest of the safety zone is eating. Would we be able to provide the people in the safety zone with the same food?”
    Horrified, some cover their mouths with their hands. Others seem to think about my words.
    “We can set up a dining room where everyone takes in food together. The current food allocation department teams can learn to cook.”
    A489 just shakes his head. “The people would be totally overwhelmed. They would get scared. They fear