One difference to expect, on a world where day plus night last twenty-eight and a half hours? That teens would finally get enough sleep. Even wiped out from both the shock of interstellar abduction and a long day of hard labor, almost everyone roused well before sunrise.
One surprising consequence? That politics would turn into a pre-dawn art.
“Come on everyone, rise and shine,” Principal Jeffers urged from a dais at one end of the gymnasium, while the narrow windows showed nothing but blackness and a few, glittering stars. “I know yesterday was rough. We all have aches and pains. But ten hours of sleep should be enough for anyone, and we ought to thrash out some things—make some decisions—before we get back to work, by daylight.”
That elicited groans. While Ms. Liang and Ms. Pacheco rousted all the girls, nudging them to fold and stuff their blankets under the bleachers, female students and faculty stumbled toward two lines. The first one—more urgent—led circuitously, by canopied pathway, to the nearest latrine. Some of the boys—wandering in from their own sleeping quarters—spoke smugly of skipping the wait, by peeing along Kristina Zhirinova’s newly planted seed garden. Strutting in, they declared seeing no sign of bat things.
Well, after all, night is almost over. And another great day begins.
Having awakened less than an hour ago, in a nearby room set aside for exhaustion patients, Mark wandered through the gymnasium doors like an old man, creaking and crackling, trying to stretch out kinks, distracted by the itchiness under his clothes. By a smell that was familiar from past camping trips. By the scratchy stubble on his cheeks.
He, too, had used the garden, with Kristina standing guard under an umbrella, making sure the boys kept their business along one edge, and contributed only one kind of fertilizer. Liquid was welcome. The other? Not so much.
A second queue—desperately alluring—snaked past tureens where final remnants of the Food King’s freezer section were dished out as another goulash. After this, it would be canned food, cereals, rice and pasta. Until those also ran out … or the bio crews declared something local to be edible.
They had better, Mark thought, finding a place in line. He still felt certain that Na-Bistaka’s folk wouldn’t drop Earthlings on a world unable to sustain them. Nasty as they were, the Garubis aliens obeyed the strict letter of some code. Or had seemed to.
While students, faculty, townies and carnies grumbled, shuffling about, Jeffers handed the microphone over to Scott Tepper, who recited an agenda of urgent business that would commence in twenty minutes, starting with committee reports. And boy, it seemed he would be all day just listing them! Well, well. Did you expect a mere crisis and galactic kidnapping to slow down politics?
All right, maybe “politics” was too fancy a term. Perhaps “tribalism” served better. From his place in line, Mark scanned the gym as still-groggy students took their meager rations to particular sections of gymnasium bleachers, banding together on the hard, wooden seats with siblings and best friends, or with familiar faces from their old clubs, sport teams, or ethnicities. Even teachers did this, gravitating toward the comfort of their pals.
Nor did Mark feel immune. He felt some sympathy for the resentful looks that students cast toward carnies and townies who joined the line for food. Everyone knew they had supplies of their own. And guns.
Front and center among the varied clans, gathered closest to the dais, were Scott’s people. An assortment of kids who had high status in ancient times—three days ago—on the old world. Student government. The social crowd. Colin Gornet’s overlap of sports and money. A loose alliance that now included many others—at least a hundred—eagerly orbiting their aura of success.
And Helene was down there, busy with her pad, doubtless preparing for her inventory report, one of the most important committees, of course. Mark blinked when Scott Tepper put his arm around her shoulder. She did not reciprocate or respond. But neither did she shrug the arm away.
Thankfully, Mark was still too tired to fret over what it all meant. Much.
A little while back … maybe an hour or two ago … he recalled emerging briefly out of the night’s stupor, rising on one elbow and blinking in the dimness, to find two women—Alex and Helene—curled up next to each other, close enough to feel their breath and hear their soft snores. Reassured, he dozed off again, then awakened to find himself alone.
Well, well. Mark knew who his people were, and he spotted them, up high on the west side. X-guys and gals, climbers, skaters, hikers … though not Dave McCarty or Froggi or Nick Hammar, who were down below, over in a corner beyond the dais, conferring with Gracie Donner. Up here near the X-Crew were also some of the tech-nerds. But not many. Mark’s foggy brain realized why—the sci clubs must be getting ready to present lots of sciencey things.
A slim figure up there waved at him. Alex. And he grinned back from his place in the food line.
The queue was moving quickly. Too quickly, Mark realized, when two juniors in front of him glanced his way, then, without any fuss or commotion stepped aside, taking position behind him.
What the fart?
And he realized, that wasn’t the first time. And soon it happened again, and while he tried to refuse, politeness seemed to demand that he accept with a smile. Anyway, the food smelled so …
“I’m not giving up my place for any Garubis-loving bastard,” growled a very tall senior, whose equally tall pal agreed, and that was the end of that.
Forget anonymity, Mark resigned himself. People remembered everything, the good and bad, choosing to focus on what they wanted. And some would always see him as the twerp who saved the life of Na-Bistaka. Which led—indirectly—to this galactic exile.
If I can’t avoid politics, then so be it. And if the girl at the tureen ladled a bit too much of the goulash into Mark’s bowl, then so be that, as well.
The meeting formally started while he was still ascending the bleachers with his bowl. And Scott Tepper’s first topic focused on what they should call this new world—an absurd priority, it seemed. Till Mark saw the sense of it. Let people finish waking up and eat their breakfast while thrashing an abstraction.
Somber voices rose, proposing to name the planet Arlene or James or Julian after some of their schoolmates who'd died. Other kids voted for America-Too or Planet Twenty-Nine, and Leo Kelly lightened up the mood by suggesting Tattooine! Of course, Scott's majority finally cemented on their leader’s choice: New Mojave, with a promise it could be reconsidered, maybe in a month. Even skeptics like Froggi seemed to grudgingly approve, and Mark agreed that giving the place a name made it seem less imposing and creepy, more like the kind of frontier that colonists were portrayed taking on, in movies and books …
… though this was also another chance for Scott to assert himself.
“You have to admit, New Mojave is better than Scott's World,” Alex joked.
And so, the committee reports began. Helene went first.
“We don’t have enough of anything. But we’ll post the inventory list to ten tablets set up around the school and listen to ideas during lunch break. Meanwhile, if you need something from the store-rooms, get your request approved by one of the committee chairs and a faculty member, then submit it to the Council to get assigned a priority. Sorry it seems bureaucratic, but we looked it up; this is how our great-grandparents did it, in World War Two.
“Anyway, we don’t even know what will turn out to be vital, yet. Our lives may hinge on the littlest thing that we’ll regret using up. It just makes sense to be stingy, rather than sorry.”
Hands shot up. “What’s the food and water situation?” Ms. Pacheco demanded, without waiting to be called.
Helene frowned. “Of course, that’s the elephant in the room.”
“If we had an elephant, I’d eat it!” snarked someone halfway up the bleachers opposite Mark. Helene gave that a weak smile.
“Today we start First Stage rationing. Eighteen hundred calories a day. You’ve just had half of that … not one third.”
“A guy needs more than a girl does,” grumbled one large football player, standing near Colin Gornet.
“There’s a point to that,” Helene nodded. “And counter arguments that I’m sure we’ll all hear tonight, after the work-day. And I’m sure hunger will sharpen our opinions.” That brought a few, wry chuckles. “But this is the plan, for now. And things will soon get even tighter. If we don’t find any local food, then we’ll go to Second Stage rationing. And you don’t want to know what happens after that.”
“So?” Came a shout from the back. “What about the local food?”
“What about water?” Came a more urgent cry.
Helene moved aside and the bio kids stepped up, accompanied by Ms. O’Brien, with Ms. Takka tremulously standing at the back of the group.
“There’s bad news and good news,” Kristina Zhirinova said, as spokesman. “We’ve lab-tested a lot of fruits, berries, tubers, leaves … and the flesh of some small animals. Several of them had nasty alkaloid compounds and stuff we’d likely call toxins. Especially most of the leafy shrubs.”
That elicited groans, but she wasn’t done.
“Having eliminated those things, we fed some of the rest to our limited supply of lab mice … and hamsters from the pet store. They turned up their noses at some items and we crossed-off those, as well. But they proceeded to chow down on some fruits and tubers.”
“And?” Micah Johnson urged from the first row.
Kristina sighed. “And we are running out of mice.”
Scott held up a hand, to dampen the commotion. “You said there was good news?”
“Oh, sure. Maybe a third of the test rodents seem okay, so far. Though we won’t know for certain till a couple more days have passed.”
Barry Tang stepped forward, more assertive than Mark ever saw him, before.
“Meanwhile, we’re putting those hopeful candidate foods through extra chemical analysis. Our high school equipment was never designed for dissection of a new world! But I have real hopes for some of the sample fruits brought back by the Donner expedition.”
Mark saw Gracie and Dave getting ready to step forward, ready to present several shopping bags of show-and-tell. But Scott shook his head.
“I just received some news about the water situation. We had hoped those clouds to the west would bring us rain. They didn’t.” He held his hand up again. “But lookouts reported a thick fog passing through, around midnight, condensing on the roofs and window panes.”
“So?” sneered a kid in the bleachers.
“So, our gutters and barrels collected several hundred liters!”
That was greeted by applause and happy murmurs across the gym. Though Mark exchanged a look with Alex. He made that sound like a lot, but it’s not nearly enough for more than a thousand people.
“Of course, we can do better,” Scott continued. “Mr. Davis and the physics guys have a great idea.”
The teacher stepped up with his band of brainiacs.
“We’ve been working on how to make a clock for this longer day. And getting a handle on the weather and climate. And what season it is and whether it’s heading toward summer or winter … though we couldn’t get a fix on any stars last night with all the clouds and fog …”
“Though no bats!” Someone shouted, rousing some applause, though Alex leaned into Mark, speaking low: “We could hear em flitting around, about midnight. And Barry’s BTD showed they’re still out there.”
BTD … oh yeah. Bat Thing Detector.
Mr. Davis tried to continue. “It appears this planet does have slightly lower gravity than Earth.” He went on to describe some other attributes that Mark found fascinating. But Principal Jeffers now intervened, since it would be unseemly for a student to interrupt a teacher. “Let’s focus on the water, first, Carl.”
“Yeah, well, we can hope for rain, of course. But if it’s fog we get, then let’s take advantage of fog. There are all sorts of ways to increase the collecting area, like the fabric dew-gatherers they use in Peru and Chile …”
Sharing another puzzled glance with Alex, Mark thought—Are they joking? Donner and her team found a huge water source, just a couple of kilometers from here! He could see Gracie and Dave, nervously waiting to be called to tell their story, while the physics teacher explained dew-collection in way too much detail. Until Scott cut in, at last.
“That’s great, Mr. Davis. And I’m sure the fog collecting project will get top priority when the Council meets this morning to modify today’s work plan. But now we have to move on to what’s really important—”
Mark leaned in as Gracie took a step toward the dais.
“—because as everyone can see—” Tepper gestured at one of the high windows, where blackness was fast turning into gray. “We’re going to have to start issuing assignments, now. It’ll be another busy day, though I hope less grueling and frenetic. So, let’s get on with that. When your name is called, please head for the team leader you’ve been assigned to. Starting with food services—”
Mark saw Dave McCarty rush up to exchange hurried words with Gracie Donner, who wore a stunned expression. She pulled at Dave’s arm, futilely urging restraint as the boy swiveled and stormed the Dais.
“Bullshit! You know what everybody wants, Tepper! Don’t you all want to hear about the Donner Mission? Where we went and what we found?”
Applause rippled through the stands, though not in front, where most of the students, teachers and carnies took their cue from Scott’s dark frown. Except Helene. She joined in, clapping vigorously, along with Micah and a few others.
Mr. Jeffers stepped up, raising both hands.
“Yes, of course. That’s significant. Important. And we’ll report everything, either during noon break or this evening. After an inquiry.”
“I hear they found water!” Someone shouted.
Jeffers nodded.
“Yes, but so far away that it seems next to useless, for now.”
“Let’s hear from Gracie!” shouted Greg Hammar, seated not far to Alex’s left.
“We will,” the Principal promised. “But first, the Council has serious matters to discuss. Three students were injured during that rash trek. One of them seriously. And I blame myself, for letting an expedition of inexperienced students head out into that dangerous jungle, without adequate preparation.”
Dave McCarty seemed on the verge of exploding. It took both Gracie and Froggi’s tight grip to restrain him, while Jeffers continued, in a dour tone.
“We’re on an alien world! And every step should be—should have been—carefully considered.”
The principal was clearly guilt-wracked over each injury or death suffered by young people entrusted to his care. Scott Tepper put a sympathetic hand on his shoulder. And compassionate nods coursed the gymnasium. But Mark was awed by the stunning display of manipulative skill. Oh, lord, Scott is good at this.
In a stroke, this would neutralize Gracie Donner, a potential rival for leadership, by turning her bold expedition into a rash act of bad judgment. It also cemented Tepper as the fellow who was clearly keeping the principal steady under his heavy weight of burdens. Jeffers nodded gratefully to Scott, before concluding in a hoarse voice.
“The Council will decide where blame belongs. And how to deal with this third tragedy to strike us, before we even finished a second day.”
Gracie and Dave seemed to go pale with shock, as Colin Gornet and Zach Serpa approached, gesturing for them to move away from the dais. Scott started reading from his list of work parties … till McCarty broke free, dodged around Gornet like a running back evading a tackle, and appealed directly to the crowd, stammering,
“We found a lake! And—and lots of different possible foods! All right, Hector shouldn’t have kept sampling them … and the jungle was thicker than we thought … and … and we kinda got lost twice …”
Mark felt Alex’s fingernails dig into his thigh, as he realized. It’s time. Now or never.
Dave was running out of steam, tumbling from manic action into the lassitude that comes with despair, as Serpa and Gornet caught his arms, hauling him back. Still, he kept trying.
“… and we shoulda been more disciplined about lookouts when that thing jumped on Jorge … But … b-but Gracie’s a great leader! And the risk … it was … it was …”
Mark stood, stepping onto the bench, and shouted.
“It was worth it!”
His own voice shocked him, making Mark blink, as more than a thousand sets of eyes turned his way. That tone—it seemed, for a moment, that Dad was the one who bellowed, making the gymnasium reverberate. Well, when you were raised by a Marine …
“There—” He gritted down to overcome his own stammer. Shaking his head, Mark lowered his voice a bit.
“There are no children on New Mojave.”
The statement was so unexpected—it seemed such a non sequitur—that no one spoke, puzzling at his meaning, giving Mark time to resume.
“There will be children here, though. In less than an Earth year. None of the precautions Ms. Pacheco is urging—and you should listen to her!—will prevent that from happening. There will be a new generation born on this world. We students are gonna be founding mothers and fathers of a … of a civilization. And the sooner we start thinking of ourselves as adults, the better this will go.”
Scott Tepper was getting over his surprise, inhaling a deep breath to take back control, and he had every advantage, so Mark rushed ahead.
“Principal Jeffers, we all respect you! But we’re not kids, anymore. Our ancestors had to grow up at sixteen and seventeen and … and it’s not your job to keep us from risking our lives. Only to teach us wisdom. To do it better, smarter.
“This is not your fault! And yes, some of us … more of us … will die, foolishly or well, getting stuff done. But we need to stop thinking about huddling on this Rock, and start making this planet our home.”
A smattering of applause rolled through the bleachers like a wave that built. Not thunderous, but approving. Best of all, it briefly drowned out whatever rejoinder Scott shouted. They’re looking at me, right now, Scott, not you, Mark thought as he raised both hands to cut off the clapping.
“So … I volunteer now to lead another expedition. Maybe better planned, sure. We’ll learn from yesterday’s mistakes—and make some of our own. And we’ll check out whatever it may take to bring water from Donner Lake to people here.”
Or bring people to the water, he thought, but didn’t put that into words.
The applause was stronger this time, with some students, dozens, then more, getting to their feet. Alex and Greg and all the X and nerd folks were standing, as if volunteering to go. But when Mark turned to look toward the dais he saw none of the expected disappointment or chagrin on the face of the student body president.
Scott Tepper smiled, like the cat who had a canary.