The next day, we arrive at Bio-4, one of a dozen domed cities in the territory. It isn’t fully enclosed, but it’s protected from harsh ultra-violet rays by a huge geodesic cover. Fields of soybeans, hydrated through drip irrigation, stretch outside the perimeter, while more delicate vegetation is nurtured inside the dome.

J.D. and I get onto the north-south road and enter with other travelers. It’s cool inside and dim, like the underground cities. It’s good to see so many people moving around above ground, without fear of the sun. It feels friendly.

I hear the sound of running feet and glance across the road. An artist with a strong sense of the fantastic has painted a life-size trompe l’oeil mural on an outside wall. Beautifully-rendered splashing fountains send a white spray of water into the sky. As I watch, a small child runs up and presses her tongue to the wall, then steps back in confusion and disappointment.

J.D. and I exchange a glance. He grabs my elbow and steers me away. “Come on,” he says.

We walk into the interior, taking in all the activity around us. I try to absorb the sounds and smells of the noisy, crowded market. It’s disconcerting to be among people again. There are stalls of food, real food, not the pressed, packaged stuff. There are baskets of kelp, as well as squash and beans and chili peppers. My eyes nearly fall out of my head when I see apples. I can’t remember the last time I tasted an apple, but my mouth is watering at the sight of it, and I tug on J.D. to get his attention.

“I want one of those apples.”

“There are too many people around,” he whispers into my ear. “Right now, just keep your eyes open.”

My eyes, however, aren’t the only thing being assaulted. All of my senses are on alert and now it’s my nose that causes me to stop in my tracks. A sidewalk vendor is selling roasted crickets and the smell has me salivating, holding onto my stomach with both hands. I’m so hungry. J.D. senses my torment and steers me down a side street, away from the food and the distraction it causes.

Bio-4 contains several wide foam-biotic lots around the inside perimeter where travelers can bed down temporarily, sheltered by the dome. Numbered parking spaces are available for rent. After giving the superintendent a credit (I don’t ask where he got it), J.D. and I are assigned space sixty-eight.

We snake through the crowd of people and find our space, eight by ten square feet of insulated surface made from organic materials. We drop our packs and turn to check out our neighbor. Lot sixty-seven contains two occupants, a dark young woman with a baby on her lap.

“Hello,” we say, cautiously.

“Hello.”

J.D. steps forward. “I’m J.D., and this is Kira.”

“It’s nice to meet you. My name is Tamara. This is my daughter, Shay.”

I step closer to shake Tamara’s hand. She’s sitting on a small stool, the baby in her lap. J.D. kneels down to get a better view of the baby and becomes fixated, gazing with fascination into wide, staring eyes. The baby girl, Shay, looks like a small Buddha, her serene face crowned with dark curls.

J.D. and the baby gaze at each other, engaged in a spontaneous staring match. The baby doesn’t know she’s a competitor in the contest. Nevertheless, she wins. J.D. blinks, and the baby turns her wide, curious eyes to me.

“How old is she?” I ask the mother, stroking the baby’s large round head.

“Eight months.”

I love the silky feel of her curls. They remind me of the softness of my flower back at the orphanage, filling me with a sudden and unexpected sense of loss. My fingers tuck a curl behind the baby’s ear and I freeze at the sight of a second, half-developed ear just below it. I glance to the other side of her head where loose curls cover whatever ear or ears are there.

Gently, the mother untucks the hair, letting it fall back into place, concealing the tiny deformity.

Both J.D. and the mother are watching me. The baby, of course, has not blinked. I can feel their questioning expressions, even though I don’t look up. I know they’re waiting for my reaction. I’m jarred by what I’ve seen. I can’t deny it. But clearly, this child is sweet and endearing. I wonder if she has great hearing.

I raise my eyes to catch the mother’s gaze on me. Her eyes are wary, as if daring me to slight her child in some way.

“She’s adorable,” I say softly.

“Thank you.”

We chat for another moment then J.D. and I move to our pad and sit to discuss our next steps.

“I’m going to find Tuck and get us more sun block.”

“We’re out of food, J.D. I think that should be our first priority.” My stomach’s growling and I’m unable to think about anything else. “We’re sheltered by the dome now. The sun block can wait. I want to eat.”

“It takes credits to eat in the Biosphere, Kira. Tuck may be able to help me with that, too. Just promise you won’t steal anything. There are too many people around. You’ll get caught.”

“I beg your pardon? I’ve managed not to get caught so far. I don’t know why it’d be any different in the Biosphere.”

“Trust me. It’s different. For one thing, there are cameras everywhere, even places you can’t see them. For another thing, territory officials patrol the streets, especially in the marketplace. Don’t even think about getting away with anything here.”

“Then what am I suppose to do?” Why am I even asking him? J.D. is not the boss of me. I don’t need his permission to do anything.

“Just sit tight for now. I’m going to see if Tuck can set me up in a temporary job. With a few credits in my pocket, we can restock our supplies.”

We do need to restock, that’s true. Bugs provide ample protein, as well as calcium and iron. But it’s a balanced mixture of red, green and brown algae that supplies our vitamins and minerals, as well as important fatty acids. Without algae bars, our energy levels will be too low to keep walking. And I want an apple.

“See if your friend can get me a job, too,” I say suddenly, surprising myself.

He stares at me curiously. “What do you know how to do?”

I don’t say ‘make water,’ because it’s obvious I can’t do that here. There’s nothing else, really, I know how to do.

“I’m smart. I can learn to do anything.”

“We’re not going to be here long enough for you to learn a trade, Kira. I need to know what you’re willing to do right now to earn credits.”

“I can clean house,” I snap. “I’m not afraid to get down on my hands and knees and scrub. And I could babysit for someone.”

“Then that’s what I’ll try and find.” He stands and looks down at me. “I don’t know how long this will take. Are you going to be okay here by yourself?”

I don’t say a word, just cross my arms and give him a look. He grabs his pack and leaves without another word.

I watch him slip out of the parking lot, his thin frame disappearing into the crowd. Why did I do that? Okay, sure, I hate being treated like a baby, and I really, really hate anybody telling me what to do. But maybe he was trying to be thoughtful. After all, he knows more than I do about being in a Biosphere. He was probably being nice, and I responded by being a jerk. Way to go, Kira. I want to kick myself. Then just as suddenly, I’m angry with myself for being angry with myself, which makes no sense at all. I drop my head into my hands. Why is being around other people so hard?

I mope for a while, chin in my hands, watching the other travelers in the lot. There are both families and solitary drifters spread out on their patch of rented space, pushing bedrolls and possessions up to the limit of their boundaries. I watch them going about their small, daily tasks until, finally, I can’t sit still a moment longer.

There’s simply no reason why I can’t explore on my own. It’s not like I have to sit here and guard our space. J.D. paid for it. And according to him, there are security cameras and personnel monitoring every square inch of the camping lot.

I jump up, slip my pack over my shoulder and head east along a wide boulevard. It’s overwhelming to be part of a crowd all of a sudden. But it’s invigorating, too. I laugh out loud, for no reason at all. I watch people bartering at food stands, workers climbing enormous scaffolds to repair holes in the dome, and kids playing hopscotch on the sidewalks.

I enter a particularly dense area, drinking in the sounds and smells. Market stalls crowd together, filled with household goods, handcrafted sandals and men hawking the latest cure-all for whatever’s ailing a person. As I pass a small shop, a woman reaches out and grabs my arm. I inhale a rich, musky odor and glance into the wrinkled face of a woman with wide, white eyes.

“Let me tell your fortune,” she whispers.

I hang back, reluctant to enter the gloomy doorway looming behind her. One swift tug would free my arm from the woman’s grasp, but it would also drag her right off her feet. She’s tiny, looks to be half my weight, and I’ve grown strong during my journey.

“Let me tell your fortune,” she repeats.

“I don’t have any credits.”

“Let me tell your fortune.”

Giving in, I let her lead me through the dark doorway into a room filled with shadows. A small lamp illuminates her table, a stack of crates covered in hemp cloth. She motions me to a stool, and I sit.

She grabs my hand and pulls it toward her. She runs her fingers over my palm and I can’t tell if she’s actually seeing something there or not. Her white eyes have me spooked. I’m not sure if they’re contacts, masking the true nature of her pupils, or maybe she’s blind. If she’s blind then surely she can’t read my palm, she can only feel it. Finally she speaks, her voice low and hoarse.

“’In the world there is nothing more submissive and weak than water. Yet for attacking that which is hard and strong, nothing can surpass it.’ Loud Zoo said that.”

What in the world? I look into the woman’s milky eyes, trying to figure this out. “Loud who?”

She drops my hand. “You may go.”

I stare at my hand, limp on the table, as though it’s something apart from me. Then I glare at the old woman. “That’s it? That’s all you have to say?”

“Be careful.” She stands and leaves the room, her long skirt swishing softly as she heads into the dark recesses of her shop.

“What?” I stare after her retreating back, feeling alternately baffled, then angry. How dare she drag me in here promising me a reading, only to deliver some stupid, cryptic quotation—no matter that I didn’t want my fortune told in the first place. “Well, that was a cracked fortune,” I shout into the darkness, finally finding my voice. “I hope you do a better job with the people who actually pay to hear what you have to say.”