by Brenda Hiatt
But Mum’s looking stubborn again. “Conserving Nuath’s power for future generations is far more important than winning games, Kira. You need to reexamine your priorities.”
“My priorities? What about yours? I’m starting to think those Mind Healers did worse things to your brain than Faxon did. How—?”
“Kira!” With two quick steps, Dad gets in my face. “Don’t you dare speak to your mother like that, after what she’s been through. You’ve seen the statistics on the feeds, we all have. Nuath’s power can only be extended if we start the emigration process now, during this launch window. When the Sovereign called for volunteers, your mother and I agreed it was our patriotic duty to step forward. We booked berths on the Horizon for all four of us.”
“Patriotic—!”
Adina hurries into the kitchen, still tying the top of her tunic. “What’s all the shouting about?”
“Mum and Dad want to haul us off to Earth!” I tell her before they can answer. “We don’t even get a say, apparently.”
“Really?” She looks to Mum and Dad for confirmation. “We’re all going to Earth? Cool!”
I glare at her. “It’s not cool! Do you really want to leave all your friends? The farm? The sheep?”
That last word finally dims Adina’s smile. Determined to at least get my sister on my side, I press my point.
“This won’t be some sightseeing trip, like a school visit to the Central Pillar. This would be permanent. We’d have to say goodbye to everything and everyone we know—our whole world. Pretend to be Duchas for the rest of our lives. And for what?” I demand, turning back to my father. “As a favor to the new Sovereign? Mum may believe everything will be better with the Royals in charge again, even for us lowly Ags, but that doesn’t make it true. She’s stuck in the past and you know it.”
Mum lets out a little gasp but I’m too upset at the idea of leaving to think how insensitive I sound. Then I notice Dad’s expression. Even before he speaks, I know I’ve crossed an invisible line.
“To your room, Kira. Now.”
“Fine.”
Tears of fury pricking my eyelids, I stride from the kitchen. If the door to my room were slammable, like the ones I’ve seen on Earth television feeds, I’d slam it. The little hiss as it slides shut doesn’t make nearly as strong a statement. Probably the only thing I’d like about Earth.
Not that I plan to go. If I can’t talk my parents out of this ridiculous idea, I’ll find another way to stay on Mars. Everything I care about is here. Especially now.
* * *
Five minutes later, Mum taps on the bedroom door. “Kira? Dinner’s ready. I realized you must be very hungry, so I had the recombinator make that casserole you selected. I’m sorry you’re upset, but please join the rest of us so we can talk.”
I want to refuse, but it would be stupid to waste this opportunity to convince them they’re making the wrong decision while there’s still time to change it. Besides, I’m starving.
“Fine. I’ll be out in a minute.” I take several deep breaths, tamping down my totally-justified outrage so I can argue—rationally—why moving to Earth would be a terrible idea for all of us.
Which I do, all through dinner.
“What will happen to our farm if we leave?” I ask at one point. “It’s been more productive these past few months than I can ever remember.”
“That’s why I expect the Murraghs will be happy to add it to their own holdings, as their farm shares a border with ours,” Dad replies. “We plan to talk to them tomorrow.”
Mum nods and I glower at both of them before launching my next volley. “Did you know my first playoff game will earn me—us—fifty sochar? If we win, the next one will pay twice that. Only last month Dad mentioned wanting an aquaponic agbot to speed up the harvest. Those extra credits would more than pay for one. We’d be able to eat a lot better, too. Maybe add more crops to our rotation.”
But my parents don’t budge. Mum is a hundred percent convinced they’re doing the right thing and Dad will do anything to make her happy these days.
By morning, I’m no less determined to stay in Nuath than I was last night. The moment I wake up I start rehearsing more arguments, like how it will affect Adina’s education to attend a massively inferior Duchas school instead of her current one here. I’ll bring up caidpel again, too, and how rewarding it’s been for me—though not the Populist angle, obviously.
“Efrin,” I mutter, spotting my school tunic crumpled in the corner of the bedroom. “I totally forgot to clean this last night.” My dirty caidpel uniform is still stuffed in my bag, too.
“Do it now,” Adina suggests, yawning. “There’s time before school.”
Throwing on my tattered old robe, I hang my burgundy tunic and leggings for school and my green and yellow caidpel uniform in the ionic shower on our way to the kitchen for breakfast. When my sister and I leave for school half an hour later, my class outfit is as clean and wrinkle-free as Adina’s pale peach one and my caidpel uniform is neatly folded in my bag.
“Is it true they don’t have ionic sanitizers or food recombinators on Earth?” she asks as we walk the half mile to the village school.
I refrain from snapping that it doesn’t matter since I have no intention of going there. “Not outside the Echtran compounds, according to my Earth Studies class last year. No anti-grav transport, either. The Duchas are centuries behind us, technologically. Practically primitives. Why Mum and Dad—”
“Maybe it won’t be so bad.” Adina, ever the optimist, grins up at me. “There are supposed to be thousands and thousands of different kinds of animals there. I can’t wait to see some of them. Ooh! Do you think Mum and Dad will let us get a…a dog, I think they’re called? Some Duchas keep them as pets.”
“Let some animal live right in the house with us? Ew. I hope not.” I’ve read about that weird Duchas custom. It sounds totally unsanitary to me.
“I think it would be great.”
I slant a skeptical look at my sister. “Do you honestly want to move to Earth? What about your friends here? What about the sheep?”
“Okay, yeah, I’ll miss my friends. And the sheep, but it’s not like they let me keep more than a few at a time anyway, and never for very long. If I could have my own dog, though…”
Watching the animation in her face as she continues to chatter about what an adventure it will be, my spirits sink further. If I can’t even convince my little sister we’d be better off staying in Nuath, what possible chance will I have with our parents?
I don’t mention our potential move to any of my friends at school, though I’m sure Adina’s telling everyone she knows. Maybe, if I can’t talk my parents out of this crazy idea, I can convince my caidpel coach, or Brady, or even Crevan Erc himself to come up with a way to keep me in Nuath. I refuse to assume I’m leaving until I’ve exhausted all of my options.
At lunch, I briefly consider messaging Brady. Then, remembering his almost-tender goodbye last night, I worry that might seem clingy, since I’ve never messaged him directly before. Better to wait till I see him at practice.
Today’s is in Bailecuinn, northeast of Hollydoon. About twenty minutes in, Brady and I happen to be next to each other between drills so I grab my chance to tell him about my parents’ horrible surprise last night.
He quirks an eyebrow at me, which weirdly makes him look even more handsome than usual. “Did they buy into the Sovereign’s whole ‘Nuath’s running out of power’ bit? We suspect she—or her handlers—are just using that as a scare tactic to manipulate people and concentrate power further. Same kind of stuff Faxon used to do, so everyone would be afraid to oppose him.”
“You mean the power reserves aren’t really that low? They’re faking all that data?”
“Crevan thinks they might be. He says it’s too coincidental that the very groups he hopes to benefit most are the first ones signing up for Earth. I saw the first two Earth-bound manifests myself—not a single Royal on them.”
>
I didn’t realize the Sovereign’s new campaign was mainly targeting the lower fines, but it makes sense. They’d be the easiest ones to convince they’ll be better off on Earth.
“Do you think—?” I begin, but Coach’s shout cuts me off.
“Kira! Brady! We’re not here to socialize, we’ve got a playoff to prepare for. Take your positions!”
We don’t get another chance to talk until after practice ends.
“You were right earlier,” I tell him as the team heads for the zipper station after turning in our sticks. “My folks are convinced it’s our patriotic duty to emigrate to Earth—but I totally don’t want to go. Do you…do you think Crevan Erc might be willing to help me stay in Nuath? He seems to think I can be useful here.”
“I’ll talk to him,” Brady promises softly. “He has a lot of connections—more than most people realize. Bet he can manage something.”
His confidence is contagious. During my short zipper ride home, my spirits are higher than they’ve been all day.
5
Cannarc
cannarc (KAN-ark): rebellion; mutiny; resistance
* * *
The following day, I discover—no surprise—that everyone at school has now heard about my family leaving Nuath. My friends are about evenly divided between sympathy and envy.
“Oh, wow, I’ve always wanted to see Earth,” Brigid bubbles before Astrophysics class. “The cities are huge compared to ours—so many people! And the planet’s more than half water—can you imagine? Do you think you’ll get to see an ocean?”
I scowl at her. “If it was just a visit, I wouldn’t mind so much. And I doubt we’ll be in an actual city. Mum wants us to move to the same village where the Sovereign grew up. It’s barely bigger than Hollydoon and nowhere near any oceans.”
“Yeah, that’ll suck,” my friend Ros agrees. “You might as well move to a teachneaglis village like Keary if you have to give up recombinators and everything. At least in the cities there’d be cool stuff to see and do, but even those are primitive by our standards.” She shudders.
“The whole dabhal planet is primitive,” I say loudly enough to earn a glare from the teacher. Not only aren’t we supposed to be talking in class, anything we do say in school is supposed to be in Martian—not just the curse words.
Alan is the most understanding, coming over to sit with me at lunch again. “Hey, I just heard. You, too?”
I frown at him. “What do you mean?”
“My folks signed up for Earth, too—I think after talking to yours. Can’t say I’m happy about it, but you—! How can your parents expect you to leave when the Ags are finally in the playoffs?”
“Trust me, I’ve asked them that at least a dozen times. Unfortunately, they’ve never really been into caidpel.”
“Even so.” He shakes his head gloomily. “The Ags won’t have any shot at all at the championship without you. At least I won’t be here to watch us lose. We’re on the Horizon, too, and it launches the same day as our first playoff game.”
* * *
Rather than risk him hearing it from someone else, I reluctantly tell Coach the bad news at practice that afternoon.
“What? This close to the playoffs? They can’t do that!”
His outrage gives me a shred of hope. “That’s what I tried to tell them! Can you try to talk them out of it?”
“I’ll do better than that, I’ll take it up with the League. You’re one of my best players—and almost as big an attendance magnet as Brady. At the very least, we need to delay your departure until after the playoffs. Don’t worry, Kira, I’ll take care of it.”
A surge of relief rushes through me. If anyone can talk my parents around, Coach can—especially if he has the Nuathan Caidpel League’s support.
Near the end of practice my hopes are buoyed further. Between drills, Brady whispers, “I talked to Crevan last night. He definitely wants to keep you on board, says you’re too valuable to lose.”
“Yeah? That’s great! Coach promised to help, too.”
“It’ll be fine, Kira. You’ll see.” He gives my shoulder a little squeeze, then sprints off, leaving my spirits even higher than they were after yesterday’s practice.
* * *
I’m still feeling upbeat at dinner that night, even when Dad starts talking about all the reading we’re supposed to do before leaving, to prepare us for life on Earth.
“I just took Earth Studies last year,” I remind him. “Nothing will have changed since then, so I shouldn’t need to—”
“I, ah, imagine this will go well beyond what they taught you in school,” Mum says warily—probably because I’ve blown up at her and Dad so many times over the past two days. “We’ll need quite a lot more than basic facts and history to actually live there.”
Not that I expect to need any of it myself. Clinging to the two assurances I received during today’s practice, I just smile and nod. My parents should hear from either Coach or the League tonight or tomorrow.
“Do we get to skip school?” Adina asks. “Reading up on Earth will be way more interesting than dumb Chemistry, and Nuathan history won’t do us much good once we leave.”
“Sorry,” Dad tells her, though with a smile. “You’ll both continue with school until the last few days before launch, though your teachers may allow you to use class time for the reading. There is an orientation session tomorrow afternoon in Cleirach that we’re all expected to attend, but not until the end of your school day.”
“Just the one, right?” I try to keep the alarm out of my voice at the thought of missing a single caidpel practice this close to the playoffs. Especially for some stupid Earth class I won’t even need.
Dad glances at the info on his omni. “There’ll be another the day before we board, then a full training program once we reach Earth. I’m copying the schedule to each of you now, including a link to all of the reading materials.”
My momentary panic subsides. Unless Coach and Crevan Erc both flake out on me, I should have permission to stay in Nuath before that second class.
Since there’s no getting out of that first orientation session, before school the next day I message Coach I’ll be missing practice—and why. I hope it’ll also remind him to follow through on his promise.
I’m not allowed to check my omni again until after school—a rule going back to the Great Unplugging a couple of generations ago—but when I do I’m elated by Coach’s reply.
On it.
Renewed hope makes me almost cheerful when I join my parents and Adina at the zipper station an hour later. Almost.
“Ready to learn about our new home?” Dad’s joviality seems slightly forced but Adina nods eagerly.
“Will we be allowed to ask questions? I want to know what kinds of animals they have in Dun Cloch—that’s where we’re going first, right? That’s what it said in the file.”
Mum smiles at her enthusiasm. “Good for you, Adina, getting a head start. I’m sure they’ll allow questions at the end. I wonder if they can tell us how many will be accepted for Jewel? Maire heard they’ve already received more requests than the Echtran Council is likely to approve.”
“I messaged to ask about that, as I know it’s so important to you, Deirdra,” Dad says. “I was told there will be a selection process, though the specifics are still being worked out.”
“We must all be on our very best behavior, then.” Mum glances pointedly at me.
I shrug. “Hey, I’m more than willing to stay behind if that will improve your odds of being chosen.”
Though she mutters, “Don’t be silly, Kira,” she still looks worried.
Cleirach is just two zipper stops from Hollydoon, so we don’t even bother to find seats. Dad leads the way to the Aquaponic Engineering building, where a large lecture hall has been set aside for the hundred-plus Nuathans expected to board the Horizon six days from now.
“Welcome, everyone,” a tall, thin, redheaded man greets us with what I consider unne
cessary enthusiasm. “I’m Willis, under-secretary to the Minister of Terran Relations. On behalf of Sovereign Emileia, allow me to congratulate you all on the exceptional bravery and patriotism you’ve shown by volunteering to emigrate to Earth. Today I’ll be sharing a few basics that we hope will make your transition not only easier, but downright enjoyable.”
I manage not to snicker and roll my eyes, limiting myself to a barely-audible huff that’s still enough to earn me a quick glare and head-shake from Dad. Mum and Adina, hanging on the instructor’s every word, don’t notice.
“Now, if you’ll all open your readers to the first file in your emigration packet, the one titled “Earth Basics,” we’ll begin.”
Half an hour later, it’s all I can do to stay awake. Nothing this guy is telling us goes beyond what I learned last year. I can’t believe I’m missing caidpel practice for this. To console myself, I angle my reader so neither of my parents can see it and pull up this season’s playbook, since this class is clearly intended for people who’ve either never taken or completely forgotten Earth Studies.
I look up occasionally, paying just enough attention to be sure I’m not missing anything important. I’m not. But from the way Mum and Adina chatter as we leave the lecture hall two hours later, you’d think Willis had just unlocked the mysteries of the universe.
“Did you hear what he said about all the different animals Earth farmers raise?” Adina’s practically squirming with excitement. “Not just sheep and chickens, like here, but cows, pigs, geese, even rabbits! I’ve never even SEEN a goose or a rabbit.”
“You know they’re mostly raised for slaughter, right?” I tell her, stifling a twinge of guilt when her face falls. “They haven’t figured out how to synthesize meat yet, so they have to kill it themselves.”
“Kira!” Mum admonishes me, though she has to know I’m right. “It’s not the Duchas’ fault they’re behind us technologically. Our ancestors on Mars did the same, as you know perfectly well.”
