For nearly an hour, this single book was carefully passed from student to student. Each of them took a turn reading a page aloud to the others, then summarizing what it said. Meanwhile, Isabela made a vocabulary list on the blackboard. After all the reading was done, she asked the students to come up with probable definitions for each word, based on the part of the story that they had just heard.
In an enclave school, there would have been follow-up questions requiring students to practice a whole raft of critical thinking skills; but Isabela had evidently decided to let these teens draw their own conclusions. Considering how closely their situation paralleled the one in the book, that was probably the wisest course to take. Olivia hadn’t given herself a chance to fully appreciate the novel; Juno figured that the image of Carlos with the face of a pig was going to be difficult to erase from her mind.
Next on the schedule was numeracy. Juno recalled the math classes at Clearmeadow High School and couldn’t imagine solving problems without a compupad in her hand. To her astonishment, the students in Mrs. Bakshi’s class were able to estimate crop yields, figure out profits and losses, and manage a credit account, doing all the calculations in their heads. When Juno praised one of them for it, he shrugged and replied, “You just have to turn on the computer inside your brain.”
Then came current events — a sharing of worldwide news items, not one of which Juno could recall seeing or hearing about on the InfoCommNet. A strike by waste management workers in a district in Indo-Asia over unsafe conditions that had already cost more than fifteen lives. A power plant accident that had killed forty people and injured many more in the League of African Nations. A storm that had ripped through a pineapple plantation in Pacifica, resulting in twenty-eight confirmed dead and another dozen missing and presumed dead. Every casualty was an Ineligible. A disturbing thought occurred to Juno then, but before she could examine it she heard Isabela calling her to the front of the room.
Smiling, Mrs. Bakshi explained to the students that the new teaching assistant was to be the highlight of today’s current events class — a special guest speaker who would describe what it was like to be a teen living in an urban district. Juno’s stomach turned a slow cartwheel as she looked at all those curious faces. They were thirsting to know what life was like on the other side of The Flats, and she had just begun to realize how little she could tell them about it.
Carefully avoiding the ‘E’ word — and anything else that might sound as though she were “flaunting her wealth” — Juno plucked an uneventful week from her memory and did her best to describe it. When she was finished, hands shot up in the air. The students had questions — well-framed, thoughtful questions. It embarrassed her now to recall them and admit to herself how poorly she had answered them.
These youngsters had intelligence and talent. Given a proper education, they might achieve great things. They could enrich the world. Instead, all they had to look forward to was spending the rest of their lives being shuffled around the various industrial zones like pieces on a game board, performing manual labor or — if they were lucky — working in the skilled trades. All because of the Relocation Authority.
Lunch had arrived promptly at noon, carried on a horse-drawn wagon. Eight boxes of sandwiches, four kegs of juice, and two large baskets of pears had been brought inside and parceled out to the four classrooms.
Juno had been surprised at how hungry she was. Nonetheless, “Have I earned this meal?” she’d wondered aloud.
Isabela had laughed softly. “Of course you have. Learning is hard work.”
So that was what she’d been doing, Juno thought ruefully — learning what a privileged life she’d led, and how truly uneducated it had left her.
They ate in silence for a while. Then Isabela remarked, “You look very pensive, chica. You must have questions. This is the time to ask them.”
Juno washed down the last of her sandwich with a swallow of apple juice. “The hard copy book the students have been reading — where did it come from?”
“I found it in the library of the old school building.”
“The one that burned down?”
“Yes. It was struck by lightning, something you don’t have to worry about under a weather control dome. Out here we need rain for the crops in the field, so we’re at the mercy of the elements.”
“But you could set up a weather shield and put in irrigation pipes,” Juno argued. “Then you wouldn’t have to worry about lightning either.”
Isabela smiled indulgently at her. “There’s a reason we remain low-tech, chica. Weather control technology is costly to run, and irrigation systems need to be installed and maintained. Why go to that much trouble and expense when Mother Nature provides the water for free? We’re not stupid — we make sure all the structures of the settlement are grounded — but there’s no point sticking a lightning rod on a crumbling old wreck located kilometers away down the road. That was what Carlos called it, anyway,” she concluded, no longer smiling as a faraway look came into her eyes.
“All those books, printed in ink, on paper. Hard copy requires no special technology, only sufficient light to read by. That was why we set up our classes in that old school in the first place. Most of the electronics had been stripped out of it long before Veggieville was established, but the books on the shelves had been left alone. What a treasure! It gave me the idea for a community library — a meeting place that had nothing to do with sleeping or eating or working. A dining hall for the mind. So, I convinced Carlos to apply for a credit grant to erect a new building.
“Meanwhile, the five of us teachers began sorting through the school’s collection to identify and pack up all the books that were still in good enough condition to be handled. Our plan was to move them to temporary storage near the construction site. But there were so many of them.” She let out a brief sigh of regret. “We worked as quickly as we could. Unfortunately, we weren’t fast enough.”
“The lightning struck?” Juno guessed.
“Yes. As soon as we saw that orange glow against the sky, we knew. We raced to the fire and saved as many books as we could, but hundreds of titles literally went up in flames that day. Shortly afterward, our construction grant was approved. So, instead of a nearly empty library, Veggieville got a brand-new school.”
“It’s still a dining hall for the mind,” Juno pointed out, “only the minds belong to children and the books are inside the teachers’ heads. And Carlos must have seen the value in it, or he would have put the credits to some other use.”
A smile tugged at the corners of Isabela’s mouth. “Carlos didn’t really have a choice in the matter. I told him that I held him personally responsible for the loss of the old school, and if he didn’t replace it I was going to have the teachers conduct their classes inside his house instead. Did you enjoy Animal Farm this morning, chica? I made a point of rescuing that book. If you hold it close to your nose, you can still smell the smoke.”
— «» —
“You don’t look good.”
“I’ll live,” muttered Angeli, easing herself onto the bench across the dining hall table from Juno. “It takes more than a loudmouth with a stick to put a Fo— to put a person like me off her game.”
“Careful,” Juno teased. “You nearly gave away your last name.”
“I told you, I don’t have one.” Angeli glanced up gratefully as a server set a pot of something savory down in front of her and handed her the ladle. She quickly took two full scoops of what looked and smelled like a delicious beef stew before handing off the serving spoon to the man beside her. Then she grabbed one of the last chunks of bread off a tray that had just been delivered.
“Was the overseer expecting you, like Carlos said?” Juno wanted to know.
Angeli started to shrug her shoulders but apparently changed her mind. “He was waiting for me, all right,” she replied darkly. “Made me cultivate a
whole field by myself. Beets, I think. So that was my day. What was yours like?”
“I told a bunch of kids about a way of life that they’ll probably never get to have. I felt really stupid a lot of the time. After school I helped Isabela clean up the classroom for tomorrow morning. Mopped the floor. Wiped down the blackboard. And I learned a few things.”
“Oh? Like what?” she asked between mouthfuls.
The ladle had finally made its way around the table. As Juno leaned forward, a little surprised to find a full serving of stew still left for her in the pot, she commented casually, “I learned that Isabela doesn’t like Carlos.”
Angeli stopped chewing long enough to utter a snort of laughter. “Nobody likes Carlos.”
“But she’s his sister.”
“We don’t choose our family, Juno. Just because two people are related to each other, that doesn’t mean they have to be friends as well. Finish your dinner,” she urged. “We still have something to do before we can go back to the house.” In response to Juno’s blank stare, Angeli prompted, “Have you seen Ronny since last night?”
“Ronny?”
“Our driver. We’re supposed to check in with him each day. We make sure he’s all right, he makes sure we’re all right, and then he uses the MPV’s comm unit to update Forrand on our progress. You didn’t think the Supreme Adjudicator would simply hand over a fully-fueled longcar and send us off to explore for a year without putting some sort of monitoring in place, did you?”
Guilt pierced Juno as she realized that not only had she not seen the driver all day, she hadn’t even thought about him — or about Angeli, for that matter. She felt even worse an hour later, when they arrived at the debarkation point where the MPV was supposed to be parked.
The area was empty. Both driver and vehicle were gone.
CHAPTER 4
With daylight waning and the temperature perceptibly dropping, Angeli and Juno stood at the center of the area bounded by lampposts — the plaza, Carlos had called it — where they had disembarked from the MPV less than twenty-four hours earlier. The longcar was nowhere in sight, meaning that its driver was missing as well.
As Angeli had finally explained, Ronny was under strict orders never to leave the vehicle unattended — the synthesized fuel in its storage tank alone was worth a fortune. Equipped with a washroom and a sleeping alcove, the MPV was to be his home for the next twelve months. Forrand had even made provisions for all the driver’s meals to be delivered to him at the various stops on the itinerary.
“He wouldn’t simply abandon us here, would he?” A cool breeze swept across the plaza, raising gooseflesh on Juno’s arms. And the thought of being stuck in Veggieville under the thumb of the universally disliked Carlos Calvera was sending additional shivers down her spine.
Angeli’s scowl deepened. “No. Not without telling us where he was going and when to expect him back. Look,” she said, and Juno stepped closer to see what she was pointing at. “The ground has been raked, probably to cover up tire tracks. Someone doesn’t want us to know where the longcar has been taken.”
“Maybe Carlos borrowed it to transport those three families to Breadbasket,” Juno offered.
Angeli shot her a withering look. “Borrowing without permission is called theft. And if you’re right and Ronny was a willing accomplice, then he’s crossing a Supreme Adjudicator and can expect to have his ass handed to him when Forrand hears about this.”
“Are you sure he’ll hear about it?” Juno asked nervously. As Isabela had earlier informed her, Veggieville was low-tech. She’d seen no evidence so far of the InfoCommNet, so the settlement had to communicate with the outside world in some other way, one that Carlos undoubtedly controlled.
Deepening shadows made Angeli’s determined expression look even grimmer than Juno felt at that moment. “Trust me,” she said, “Forrand has been watching over you your whole life. He’s not about to lose you in a turnip field. Or a classroom. All right, let’s get back to the house. We can’t do much more in the dark, but I’ll snoop around tomorrow morning and see what I can find.”
— «» —
Angeli had already left the house when Juno opened her eyes the following morning. Her sleep had been restless, broken up by dreams that eluded her memory but had left behind a persistent residue of fear and indignation. Yawning, Juno slipped out of bed and into the clothing she’d laid out the night before. Then, pausing only long enough to brush her teeth — the rest of her morning toilette would have made her late for breakfast — she hurried to the dining hall, hoping to run into Angeli and hear some good news.
There was no sign of the other girl at any of the tables. Robbed of her appetite, Juno chewed thoughtfully on a cold sausage, took a few sips of apple juice, and waited until the last possible minute to head over to the schoolhouse.
Isabela kept her busy all day, giving her no chance even to think about anyone outside the classroom. Evidently, the time for friendly conversation was over as well. During the lunch break, Mrs. Bakshi graded students’ tests while Juno prepared the room for the afternoon session. Any questions she might have had about Veggieville or its inhabitants were firmly put on hold.
By dinnertime she was exhausted. She dragged herself over to the dining hall and dropped down onto the bench nearest the door. Glancing up as another weary body sank with a groan onto the seat directly opposite her, Juno stared in shock when she realized who it was.
Angeli looked terrible. Her face was ghostly pale except for a splash of heat on each cheek. Her expression was taut, her mouth a short, straight line. And there were marks on her arms that might have been dirt but suspiciously resembled bruises. If she’d been in a fight, there were probably more of them beneath her clothing.
Swallowing hard to clear the lump that had risen in her throat, Juno leaned across the table and asked, “Did you have any luck?”
In response, Angeli straightened her shoulders and darted cautious looks at the rapidly filling benches around them. “Some. Then Carlos caught me poking around the machine sheds and personally escorted me to my work assignment.”
“More beets?”
The other girl’s lips quirked briefly. “Lettuce and spinach. The hydroponic greenhouses are even farther away from the settlement than the fields are. And just to teach me a lesson, he left orders that I was to walk back here instead of riding in the wagon.”
“He was hoping you’d be too late to get any dinner.”
“Or too tired to eat it.” She shifted her weight on the bench, wincing with pain.
“What’s the matter?” asked Juno, alarmed.
“It’s nothing. A muscle strain,” Angeli assured her. “I’ll be fine. Stop looking so worried.”
“Can I feel worried, at least?”
“You can feel whatever you want, as long as you don’t draw attention to us. We need to take a walk after dinner, just you and I. I think I’ve found our MPV.”
— «» —
Angeli was in pain. Juno could see it in the careful way she moved and hear it in every word she spoke. This was more than a simple muscle strain. It might be a broken rib, or internal bleeding, or both.
Dinner — a thick lentil stew containing barley, carrots, potatoes and onions — had been eaten in silence. Angeli had taken just a single ladleful. She’d chewed and swallowed each mouthful slowly as though unsure whether it would stay down, and had wordlessly shaken her head when Juno had tried to pass her one of the fresh-baked rolls that accompanied the meal.
“You need to be seen by a doctor,” Juno informed her as they pretended to stroll casually toward the rows of boxlike buildings where the field hands lived. Angeli kept her arms crossed while walking, pressing both hands to the sides of her ribcage as if she feared it might spring apart.
“Yes, I do,” she agreed, speaking deliberately through clenched teeth. “And since the nearest real doc
tor is at the hospital in Breadbasket, fifty-five kilometers away, that makes finding our MPV and its driver our top priority at the moment.”
“You’re sure it’s inside one of the big mechanical sheds?”
“I looked through a window and saw a shadow that was the same size and shape as our longcar. Then Carlos grabbed me. So no, I’m not absolutely sure. But it’s the best guess I’ve got.”
Conversation ceased as they concentrated on moving unseen from shadow to deepening shadow. Once past the worker housing, they stole across a broad field conveniently studded with thick shrubs and the broken remains of stone fences. At last they came in sight of the three metal-clad sheds lined up beside the plaza, just in time to watch the circle of tall overhead lights turn on.
Angeli dropped down behind a slab of rotting wood that had once been a gate. It stood at an angle, its posts now leaning crazily in opposite directions.
Juno gasped as the other girl grabbed her arm and pulled her to her knees in the grass. “Is someone there?” she whispered. “Were we seen?”
“I don’t think so,” Angeli whispered back. “Those lights are probably on a timer. In any case, it’ll be pitch dark soon, so we’d better move fast. According to the field hands, Carlos keeps the settlement’s various vehicles in the two large sheds closest to the plaza. The smaller one at the end is the repair shop. It’s supposed to be empty right now. But it’s the one I was peeking into when Carlos caught me this morning, so that’s the one we need to get inside first.”
“But if he knows you saw where the MPV was hidden, wouldn’t he have moved it by now? Or drained it of fuel?” Juno added, recalling what Angeli had told her earlier.
The Relativity Bomb Page 4
