Chapter Ten

~ Noah ~

 

He could sail back to Sapphire Haven and the tar-paper roofs, stay here, or do whatever else he could imagine. The thought made him grin, baring teeth against the cold wind that had set in. He was home, and it was almost Christmas.

“Don’t you people do anything for the holidays?” he asked Leda, walking up behind her to wrap his arms around her. They owed each other, for a couple of moments in the fight.

Leda shivered. They were in the west corner of the farm, which was becoming a hangout spot. There was a pavilion here, raised above most waves and floating stable enough for people to rest in the shade inside. Leda was in a slick wetsuit, supervising the workers who’d shown up yesterday. Pilgrim types were coaxing the new guys through fish-feeding and equipment-fixing.

“With Sir Phillip, we didn’t,” Leda said. “He said it was sinful.”

“You don’t have to do the traditional stuff with the fat white burglar. But how about presents? A tree, even?”

Leda slipped out of his grip. “I used to do all that, with my old family.”

“So let’s start it up here, and have some fun.”

“We’re not here for fun,” she said, looking over her shoulder. “The point is...”

Leda looked Castor over, seeing the impossible island Noah had been staring at since he arrived. “It’s to serve each other, isn’t it? Or God, if you put it that way.”

“Sure,” said Noah. “But we’re here to have a good time too. You want the Pilgrims to be happy, right? We could all use some good cheer about now.”

Leda looked uncertain. “Well, there’s no tinsel or anything.”

* * * *

Noah walked to the door of the Honest Raccoon, the only restaurant for miles around. The place had opened after days of his own work alongside the Dentrassi brothers. It’d been fun, hanging on to this big sprayer like a fire hose, as it blasted concrete into molds. The stuff had come out full of bubbles and shredded paper, stretching the material, and become a set of blank, dank walls. It was funny how when he’d been asked to clean up the trash from the construction, he hadn’t minded at all. Now that there were walls, a framework, the Dentrassis had done the rest. Now they had nice pine tables instead of the cheap plastic ones in the galley and Dockside. The whole place was lined with ships’ wheels and nets and other nautical things. He was about to go in when a rumble caught his ears.

He bounded up to the topdeck to see a rusty ship stacked with steel cargo containers. “What’s that?” he asked a passing Pilgrim.

“It’s for the hotel.”

Sure enough, the old couple running the station’s room bookings was looking to build a whole little platform of their own. Noah was already getting experienced at the construction methods around here, so he got hired to help turn a cluster of floating boxes into a hotel. The work had him mixing concrete and making slabs to balance on the containers. It was scary to stand out there, but before long he was the expert. It looked almost like solid land, parked near the main platform. He cursed and sweated through the work until he could stand on the ocean, and stare at what he’d made. The Pierpont family was there, bundled up and talking about the next construction steps, getting a building onto the platform. It surprised him to feel he understood some of the technical detail, and for the first time he actually cared about math. He’d been cheated in school by teachers not making him get his hands dirty.

Rickie had been good with numbers. He’d be better here. Too bad about him.

“Mister Ardent,” said Jarvik Pierpont. “What do you suggest for decor?”

Mister. Noah smiled. “Peek into the new restaurant for one idea. They’ve got ships and stuff on the walls like any fish restaurant; looks nice. You could go with that, or do something a little crazy.”

Jarvik and his wife talked. Noah stared at the empty sea beyond Castor, huge and cold. Everything they’d made was a toy next to the real spectacle of the blue. It was a privilege to be out here seeing it, one that could get snatched away if they weren’t careful.

Jarvik said, “Between those styles, which do you like?”

“Definitely crazy,” Noah answered.

* * * *

Christmas Eve. The station had red and green lights on the topdeck, and a palm tree with soaked cotton around it. Something was weird about the crowd that was gathering, braving the wind. Noah picked out Martin, some Pilgrims, those new scientists, and strangers. He stood on the black suncloth, thinking of what the difference was.

There were kids here!

High up, far from safe shores. Noah marched over to the pair of families who were herding four boys and girls and a baby between them. He felt half angry, half confused. “What are you doing here? This place isn’t safe.”

A mom held her son’s hand, getting tugged around. “It’s a present for them. We wanted to be here for the first Christmas in this place.”

“The first?” said Noah.

She smiled. “First of many, I hope.”

Noah walked away, beaming. Man, he’d have to do a good job if people were going to be bringing kids onto the station.

Then he got caught in a rush of people coming up, Leda, the captain and everyone, so that the deck was packed. There was a cordon up to make it less likely someone would get pushed off, but still no guarantee. There really ought to have been more of a wall. People seemed to expect entertainment, though nothing had been scheduled. The wind sounds had grown to a murmur of over a hundred people talking.

Leda led them, singing in a clear, strong voice. “Silent Night...”

Dozens of voices took the song up at once. “Holy Night...”

Then it seemed that the ocean was full of music. Instrumentals got piped in from somewhere and people went through one song after another, with forays into “Dixie.” Castor didn’t feel like such a dangerous place after all, like they were pushing the wilderness away. They could do this; they could hang out and have a good time together.

When they were all exhausted, they wandered off and the sounds of wind and waves faded back in. God’s background music. Noah was there watching the stars when Leda returned.

She offered him a box wrapped in newspaper, and he was ashamed.

“I’m sorry,” he stammered. “I’m poor. I didn’t buy you anything.”

“It’s okay. You’ve worked to make this place livable.”

Leda still held out the box, so he opened it to find a grey wool coat. “I’d be honored if you joined us.”

Noah ran his hand over the warm fabric. “It’s nice, Leda, but, I mean, this stuff about dead generals...” He didn’t want to say he thought it was disrespecting God; that would hurt her.

Leda looked around at the near-empty platform. “People need to believe in something, don’t they? They’re still with God, worshiping in a different way.”

Noah shook his head. “I don’t get it. What do you really believe in?”

“Us!” she said. “Castor, I mean. We have this place and I don’t want to lose it. Whatever we feel when we’re here together, singing, we can call that God, even if we don’t all mean the same thing.”

Noah thought back to the singing. It had been nice, but not like being in church, not as focused. They’d been having a good time. Back when he’d first seen Castor, that wasn’t God either, at least not directly. It was him seeing something that had a meaning, a purpose.

“This Pilgrim thing is something that can bring us together,” Leda said. “Because it’s new and small we can shape it, make it something that gives people strength and, well, hope. We can be the ones who decide what Castor is.”

She was flustered and pretty in the night air, trying to explain things he’d never put into words. Maybe it didn’t matter exactly how you did your worship as long as you meant it, and wanted to serve people. That was what life was about, right? Some silliness about Bobby Lee was a small sacrifice to put up with for the sake of helping people, of being part of the team.

He tried the coat on.

* * * *

~ Garrett ~

 

Wow. The parents had demanded a Santa Claus, and Martin had refused, the jerk, so Garrett had to throw an outfit together for himself. An improvised red jacket, a white beard, the hat, and for his own amusement a costume fox-tail. The way to approach kids while in costume was to kneel with open arms and let them come to you. They mostly did, sometimes almost tackling him. He didn’t care that he was getting stared at; there was a kind of anonymity behind the outfit, so that he may as well have actually been Santa for the duration. Surrounded by gratuitous affection and enthusiasm, the focus of some kid’s dreams. Nice.

Santa time had to end eventually. He’d hardly pulled off the beard when the new chief scientist tapped his shoulder, outside Garrett’s office. “Santa, can you bring me some electricity?” The man wore a long black overcoat like a Victorian gentleman, and shivered though he hadn’t been outside for long.

“Doctor Jenner!” said Garrett. “Where are you from, anyway?” He’d not had much time to research exactly who was coming, although the credentials being tossed around were interesting. Heavy on advanced practical genetics rather than theory.

“Atlanta,” said Jenner.

Now Garrett shivered, guessing that this was the Jenner he’d heard of on the news years ago. “You worked with the killer flu strain?”

Jenner looked at his boots. “I did what I could.”

“Thank you.”

“We need electricity,” said Jenner. “My team is eager to set up, and liquid nitrogen only lasts so long.” There would be supplies that needed refrigeration.

Garrett had to get his brain in gear, back to facts and figures. “Right. Our electric supply system is getting hammered from all the people here, and the decorations. But we can expand our power grid right now if you’re up for it.” He smiled. “My Christmas present has arrived. Are you ready for a swim?”

“In this weather? Sorry, Captain, but I’d rather keep to my test tubes. Brr! Besides, I don’t know anything about your branch of engineering.”

“Neither do I!” Garrett had been trying to tweak Jenner a little, see if he was a decent guy, but it seemed like a mistake to leave things at that. Besides, there was something that needed discussion. “It’d be good to have your group work on this. You should get a feel for the bigger picture of how Castor works.”

“We’re biologists, though. I doubt we’d be useful.”

“Around here you have to do a little of everything. It’s not safe to ignore all the distractions from your work. The water’s warm enough, and afterward I’ll treat your team to hot cider courtesy of your rent money.”

Jenner looked indecisive. “What exactly do you want help with?”

“A big pile of sheet.”

* * * *

Getting the engineers into the water took promises of cider, good times, electricity, and cake. Motivating smart people with snack food, ah, it was like being a grad student again!

“Here’s the sheet,” Garrett said, opening a crate in Dockside. Because of all the foot traffic, he’d built a few more interior walls down here, separating the hangout of Phillip’s Place from the cargo area. The setup was awkward but workable.

In the box was a whole lot of SeaSheet material. They’d gotten orders from people wanting to play with mech-birds and dolphins, and could sell power to the bio-lab, hotel and restaurant. Even as he unfolded a panel of the stuff it was creating a trickle of voltage.

So they donned wetsuits, he bandaged his leg, he loaned them some knives, and they went to start paneling the ocean. The material looked translucent, absorbing sun and waves. Garrett made himself pay attention to the crew instead of calculating the added wattage.

Doctor Jenner was first among equals in the research group. A couple of them were students, used to living cheaply; or young, ambitious researchers, all American. A decent bunch, picking up quickly on how to duck beneath floating rods or slip over them. Soon they were handling the sheets, unfurling them for the growing power array.

“I understand your station is already involved with some biotech research.” Jenner said.

“You’re swimming with it. The plant and animal selective breeding is an ongoing project.” If only Alexis were around to appreciate how far her work had come, how they’d expanded the farm to something that justified a farming crew. He should name something for her, meaningless as the gesture would be.

“And the cybernetics studies?” Jenner asked. “We’ve been put in charge of the rats you ordered.”

Garrett bobbed in the water. “Rats?”

One of the grad students piped up. “I didn’t know anyone but DARPA was working on bioshells these days.”

Oh. Martin’s latest attempt to go behind my back. Lark was the only one around that Garrett could trust these days. Well, there was also Noah, and maybe Leda and the Pierponts. Maybe he wasn’t too alone after all. “I wasn’t fully informed. Sorry. I’m trying to get a better hold on things, but there’s a lot to think about. Remind me, what exactly will you be doing?”

“Everything!” said a young grad, a Wilbur Chen from San Francisco. He steadied himself on a floating walkway. “We’re free here to do all the experiments you’re not allowed to do!”

Garrett had been keeping quiet about the Jenner group’s role. Eaton made vague promises of a prestigious tenant that Garrett need not worry about. This time Garrett wasn’t that oblivious. Instead he wondered if Martin or even Eaton knew their specific research plans. “How unethical do you think you’ll get?”

They all fell quiet.

“I get the idea,” Garrett said. “Why come here, and how would you get funding for your business, unless you were planning to push some stateside legal boundaries? You said as much.”

“I–I thought you were all in favor of individual rights.” Jenner stammered.

“I’m on your side. I love cool techie projects. But I do have to pay attention to other things, and I’ve got people to protect. If you guys abuse the legal environment here to do sloppy or blatantly evil work, I’ll be first against the wall. And you, second.”

Jenner, Chen and the others stumbled over themselves trying to answer. Jenner was first. “Captain, we’ll earn your trust. I don’t know where you stand on human embryos–”

“I say no working brain means it’s not a person, but some of my colleagues will call you Nazis.”

“Damn it, no!” said Chen. “We eventually want to try certain experiments on brainless balls of cells or willing, informed patients, but we’re trying to help people, not kill them!”

The others murmured assent.

Garrett looked them over. “I didn’t say you were.”

“You called us unethical,” Chen countered.

“No, I asked if you were.”

Jenner got between them. “Let me finish. Yes, we know all about how we ought to give up biotech because it’s a threat to God or Nature or the eco-social market economy. We all gave up jobs elsewhere so we could work at things we believe are good and useful. We’re not planning to throw away what might be a great chance for our field.”

“I’ll be keeping tabs on what you’re doing,” said Garrett. “Partly out of sheer curiosity.”

“Of course. If you’ll sign a non-disclosure form.”

The researchers and Garrett looked each other over, warily. Garrett pulled off a wetsuit glove and offered them all his hand. “Show me what you’ve got.”

* * * *

“Hey, what’s this?” Garrett was hobbling along the west walkway to check out the hotel construction site when he noticed another. A couple of cheap catamarans had anchored out here as they’d announced, bringing people to gamble and get laid. But now people were working in the water between them, dumping trash–no, it was building materials. There was wood and plastic, and a huge mesh bag of soda bottles bobbing on the waves. Dirt-cheap flotation. Some guys were climbing on the mess with tools.

He pulled out his headset. “Lark, check this out.”

Low-tech, thought Lark. Refugees?

Garrett made for the rafters’ site. Let Security know. Aloud he called out to the people working there. One man hopped down and approached him on the walkway. In the distance a set of silver windvanes turned, part of the hotel site. “Ay, Captain! Good to see ya!”

Garrett shook hands, puzzled. “What are you working on?”

“We scrounged some materials and we’re setting us up a house.”

“You didn’t tell us you were planning that. You’ve got, what, coke bottles and wood there? That’s some interesting style.”

The builder beamed. “Old tricks. A couple of us sailed from Cuba to Florida on a Styrofoam raft.”

Marsh Arabs? said Lark. There’s some kind of swamp-dwelling Free Iraqi group planning to come here, says the Net. Oh, it’s not these guys though.

“You can’t do that,” said Garrett, winging it. “We’re happy to consider applications from people who want to live here, but you just showed up.” A mech-gull wheeled overhead and perched on a nearby mast to watch them.

“So?” said the builder.

“So! I mean, you didn’t ask permission.”

The man crossed his arms. “Okay then, how much of the ocean do you own? I can park a ways out.”

“Security,” said a Pilgrim man.

“Come here.” Garrett wasn’t sure whether he or Lark had said it. “I don’t own the ocean, but I do own this station.”

“How about right where we’re standing? This walkway? Or the water right over there?”

“Not the water, but–”

“Aha!” said the man. “Then we claim the patch of water we’re using.”

Garrett didn’t know what to say to that. “I need to confer with my people about this.” He walked away, troubled, and met the Security guy on the way. They stood with the main platform towering over them. Garrett wondered exactly what Castor was, these days, and where its true boundaries were.

“Never mind,” he said to the Pilgrim. “But keep an eye on the group building over there by the hotel.”

“Yes, sir.”

* * * *

Garrett, Martin, Lark, Leda, and Noah waited for Eaton to arrive. They’d talked over the situation and decided to bring him in.

Eaton came bundled in a coat, and shut the conference room’s door behind him. “Things are getting out of hand.” Even the meeting area was a work in progress, with glossy photos of Garrett’s original designs overshadowed by a real-time aquaculture production chart and a painting of Gettysburg.

“It’s not a problem,” said Martin, leaning on the plastic table. “This was bound to happen eventually.”

Leda frowned. “We’re still trying to help the Bermudan workers settle in, and that was a structured group brought in with fair warning. These people are strangers.”

Eaton took a seat. “Where do you stand on this, Captain?”

Garrett sighed, wishing the issue had never come up. “I’m operating under a fig-leaf license from Bermuda as a business, with the non-farm people being my tenants. The Pierponts’ hotel is paying rent for using rooms in this platform, and for food and so on. But the Pierponts will say, why should they pay rent on their new building? They’re providing the materials and capital. Having that one little rafter group out there screws up my whole financial model.”

Martin laughed. “What do you think people outside Castor are saying about us? Anyway, this only affects the rent, not the rest of our income. There are other ways to stay afloat.”

The rafters were a thorn in Garrett’s side, but they might become a serious problem later if he didn’t keep control of the situation. “Right, just the best opportunity we have. It’s not even safe, what they’re doing. When somebody dies from the foam-blocks getting swamped or something, I’ll get blamed.”

Leda nodded. “We should refocus, then, and go back to being a group of farmers instead of this, this mess we’ve got. We can’t let people come here if it won’t be safe and under control.”

Eaton rolled eyes. “Safe! None of you are safe! It’s a matter of what the security risks are, which I assume is why you called me.” He talked about the usual US customs approach: fingerprints, eyeprints and DNA on file; T-ray body scans, semantic Web search linked to the Universal Dossier System, lie detector test for people with known subversive beliefs, and the occasional old-fashioned body cavity search. Oh, and a scan for dangerous produce.

Garrett was intimidated by the complexity and cost. “And that will make us safe?”

“No,” said Eaton. “‘Safe’ would be if you fit everyone with locked shock collars so you can kill them any time you want to. Telepathic ones, so you can sense evil thoughts before anyone goes jihadi.”

“When I left America I didn’t go through any of that.”

Eaton leaned back in his chair. “Yeah, I looked into that. You broke the law when you left. Your pre-departure medical checkup didn’t include the proper paperwork or fees. There’ll be questions when you go back. And when you leave again you’ll need permission.”

Noah was sitting with Leda. “We do need to protect everybody.”

“We should be encouraging people to come here,” Martin said, “Even if we’re not in charge of exactly who’s here or what they’re doing. This is a free-trade zone, not a fortress.”

Everyone was lost in thought. Garrett sighed. Fortress or not, there’ll always be a need to stand ready to kill people, won’t there? He noticed that Lark had raised a hand, and pointed to him.

“I might be completely wrong here,” Lark said. “But I see two patterns in what you’re saying. Two approaches. Garrett, you asked me, ‘What exactly is Castor?’”

I did?

“Right now,” said Lark, “Castor is an ad-hoc colony with several major activities going on, with the sea-farm as our central reason for being here. What Martin seems to want is a decentralized system with many unreliable streams of income, and many individuals living here under little or no direct control. What Leda seems to want is a central management charged with protecting the group, and having authority over all people here. Is that roughly accurate?”

“You’re getting this from that philosophy stuff you and Tess read with me, aren’t you?” asked Leda. “The Aristotle and Plato? That stuff’s outdated. We can’t afford to let people go around being chaotic, especially when there are kids here.”

Martin frowned. “The most reliable way to have a functioning colony is to have those ‘unreliable income streams.’ They’re a constantly-evolving response to problems.”

Garrett wished he didn’t have to be here arguing when there was work to do. Still, they’d keep at it until he made a decision. “Look. I’m not happy about people arriving unannounced. I want all construction projects reported, and at least the names of everyone who shows up. But the rafters are right that we don’t own the water, and we’ve got no authority to forbid construction. If we can’t justify charging rent on stuff we don’t own, then we should go into the construction business ourselves and offer more living space and utilities. If businesses pan out, that could be more profitable than the actual farming.”

“But we’ve still got space aboard this platform!” Leda said. “How can we let people live in deathtrap junk piles when they could be in the existing rooms, where they’ll pay and we can keep an eye on them?”

Martin answered. “It’s not a matter of letting people choose where to live. We haven’t got the right to tell them where.”

“Of course we do. It’s our duty to protect them. And if that means we have to give them instructions for their own good, so be it.”

Martin glared back at Leda. “Then where’s the border of Castor? Where does our authority end?”

Leda sounded bewildered. “Nowhere!”

“In practical terms, your border is the range of your guns,” said Eaton. “Where do you think the three-mile territorial sea limit came from? I notice by the way that you’ve got nothing bigger than some used Kalashnikovs.”

Garrett rapped a fist on the table. “Enough! I’m an engineer and a businessman, not a politician. I’m going to err on the side of trusting people to run their own lives. The rafters can build what they want. I’m going to look into building alternative housing while warning these guys that if they die it’s their own fault. Let’s find a way to bring people in, and make money off them.”

 

* * * *

~ Tess ~

 

The world felt wrong. It lacked the faint creaking of Castor or the sway of floating walkways, it smelled of exhaust instead of seawater, the dry air scorched her skin, buildings jutted up everywhere, cars roared constantly by like a fake tide, and there was no voice in her head helping her.

On Christmas morning her parents gave her new pretty clothes, a new computer game about space pirates, and dance shoes. She stared at the stuff atop its pile of wrapping paper.

“What’s all this?” She couldn’t use any of this stuff. Even the game she didn’t have time for, what with her work. There was stuff to maintain, plants to inspect.

“For school,” said Dad.

Oh, right. She wasn’t an engineer anymore. She wasn’t really anything.

“We thought you might want to try a new hobby to replace the busywork you’d been doing, so we signed you up for some dancing lessons,” Mom added.

Tess stared at the nice presents, feeling empty.

That night she shut her door as she did aboard the station, plunged beneath the covers, and tried to sleep. Here on land the nightmares were worse. She woke up grabbing for the wristcomp and turning it on to whisper with Lark or what there was of him. It wasn’t quite him but she knew how he thought, what he ought to say to chase away the mixed-up dreams of the sea crashing in on her house.

Her parents worried about her when she trudged around bleary-eyed, jaw jittering as she tried to comment on everything, as though talking to a dial tone. By New Year’s Eve she was wearing her headset openly and staying in constant contact with the mini-Lark and her tribe. Much better, full of thoughts and speculation, filling the world with annotation again. She mailed Lark several times a day, like running a Net connection by carrier pigeon.

* * * *

Mom made pancakes for her on the morning the spring semester started. Tess protested that she’d be late and could get breakfast at school, but Mom insisted and the food was okay. She’d forgotten what home cooking tasted like.

At school the guards stopped her. “No outside computers.”

She didn’t know what they were talking about until her hand brushed against the headset on her jaw. Kids were jeering at her for holding up the line, so she pulled it off and stuffed it into the scanner with her wallet and wristcomp. “Fine, I’ll put it in my locker.”

“No, ma’am,” said a guard. “Confiscated goods go to Guidance and Discipline.”

Tess cursed.

She trudged through the halls, seeing grey. Nobody here meant a thing to her. It was weirdly quiet, maybe from the soft new floor. Morning pledge and classes went by before she remembered to get her stuff back.

Miss Henweigh’s office now advertised “Guidance and Discipline.” Tess entered during a free period, imagining she’d see the counselor in black leather. Instead Henweigh looked beleaguered, with grey roots and with one fewer photo on her desk than Tess recalled. The photo of her perfect daughter was still there as an advertisement, half hidden by bonsai trees.

“My computer,” Tess said, not feeling articulate.

Henweigh’s tone was serrated sugar. “Miss de Castille, how nice to see you again.”

“I need it back. The guards took it.”

“That was an unkind prank of yours.” Tess blinked, and Henweigh prompted. “You left a rude message on your machine.”

“What? Where is it?”

Henweigh brought out a box with the headset and wristcomp. Tess snatched at them but Henweigh kept them out of reach. “I understand that you’ve been off in the wilderness, but you should have known our new policies. You can’t bring an unsecured, unapproved machine into school. Didn’t you hear about the terrorist hate crime shooting?”

“I’m not here to shoot anyone.”

“You’ve been exposed to quite a lot of violence. People can’t help being influenced by their cultural surroundings.”

The thought of the gun battle made Tess squeeze her eyes shut, with hands on the knees of her jeans.

Henweigh’s voice was soft again. “Let it go. You’ve been through a lot, Tesla. Maria, rather.” Back to her old home, back to her official generic name.

Tess tried to relax, and for once it actually worked. Her shoulder muscles unclenched and she slumped in her seat. “I’ll put my stuff away in my locker if I can have it back.”

“At the end of the day. Now, about that machine’s content.” The counselor’s brow furrowed. “It didn’t respond to standard administrative codes when I tried to get in and have a look.”

“You snooped!” said Tess, looking up again.

“You really have been away too long! You can’t keep secrets from the people trusted with your guidance. It’s technically illegal to lock me out like that, and it shows a lack of respect. Now that you started this mess by bringing the machine to school, I would have to demand your encryption code. To make sure you’re no threat to anyone. Not that I think you are, of course. But it wouldn’t do any good.”

“Huh?” said a tired Tess. The nonsense weighed on her.

“Your computer came active long enough to call me some very rude names, then announced that it was deleting itself.”

Tess sat there faintly amused, until she realized what had happened. She lurched to her feet saying, “Murderer!”

“Calm down.”

“You killed him again,” said Tess. She put her hands on the desk for support and bowed her head, thinking of Lark. Part of her was dead again.

* * * *

Mom and Dad kept up the pampering, so that after a couple of days she barely cared about anything. She let Castor’s Net site go without updates, left off the long messages to Lark, went with the flow at school. She wore the cute skirts and after class she went to dance lessons, where she learned to stand in line and move with everyone else. Alone. Even her tribe barely interested her.

School felt dim and quiet. Peaceful. It was a couple of days before she noticed that her eyes looked drugged, and by then she didn’t care enough to complain.