From the Indie Side (11 page)

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www.katedanley.com

Twitter:  @katedanley

Cort eyed the
school’s entrance warily; its double doors gaped open, swallowing
children like krill.

He really didn’t want to be one of them.

“Mom—”

“We’ve been over this, son.” Melanie adjusted
the strap on his breathing pack, jerking his torso around as she
cinched it up.

“It’s not a parachute,” Cort said,
frowning.

“Don’t talk with your mouth,” she told him.
She tugged on the other strap, then lifted his chin to make him
look at her. “You need to work extra hard to get along, okay?”

Cort grumbled, but pushed his breathing tube
back in his mouth. He tucked a thumb into one of the straps and
tried to wiggle some circulation through to his shoulder. Behind
him, the pack whirred purposefully, as if doing something. But it
was just a prop to help him fit in.

He nodded to his mom, then waved goodbye to
his dad, who sat in the car, his mouth a flat line. He didn’t feel
like trying to communicate with the machine. He hadn’t been
practicing like he should.

Cort turned to the hungry building and sulked
off, trying to merge with the flow of Martian kids, blending in
before they were all swallowed whole. It took every ounce of effort
in his ten-year-old body to look straight ahead. They’d only been
on-planet for three weeks, so he still had a tendency to walk
around like a tourist, gazing up at the ruddy sky beyond the
habidome.

It’s my last year of middle grades, he
reminded himself. Next year will be even worse.

Somehow, that made him feel better.

He jostled against a few other kids as the
wide column squeezed past the hinged teeth and into the maw. The
kids pushed against each other, wading forward, eager to be
digested. Cort fought the urge to spit out his stupid tube; he
found it hard to breathe through his nose while he was
concentrating on it.

He tried to focus on the kid’s backpack ahead
of him, forgetting about the breathing so he wouldn’t panic.
Beneath a plastic grille, he could see a large fan spinning, just
like his. The only difference was, this one wasn’t for show. It
actually pushed oxygen somewhere, mixing it with proteins and
fluids before circulating the slurry though the kid’s lungs.

Cort felt bile rise up in his throat just
thinking about it. He quickly reproached himself for being
judgmental, remembering what his mom had said—

Something hit the back of his heel, nearly
pulling his shoe off. Cort stumbled, hopping on one foot, and
knocked into the kid ahead.

The one behind shoved him. “Watch where
you’re going, freak!”

The kid’s voice was perfect. Deep, gruff, and
enunciated with crisp precision. Cort didn’t dare turn around and
try to reply. It would just make things worse.

When the flow of kids started branching, Cort
concentrated on moving with the smaller number, trying to find air,
some room to breathe. He used his thumb and finger to pull the
saliva away from the corner of his mouth, then wiped his chin with
the back of his sleeve. He really wanted to tear the plastic tube
out, but, impossibly, he was able to resist.

He needed to get in a pod before his head
exploded.

Cort followed the masses down another hall,
this one lined with individual learning units. He scanned ahead for
“unoccupied” lights, but each one was grabbed by one of the other
kids, usually a bigger one.

As the crowd thinned, Cort could see an end
to the agony—a line of pods with green lights. Two kids wrestled
with each other after choosing the same one. Cort slid past and
grabbed the next one, practically falling inside before ripping the
tube out of his mouth. He sucked in huge lungfuls of glorious air,
nearly hyperventilating with relief. It had been like a
kilometer-long swim underwater, blending in with the fishes.

He bent over, both elbows resting on his
knees, and tried to take slower, deeper breaths. Sweat, partly from
effort, partly from nerves, dripped off his nose. He rubbed his
hands up his face and wiped them off on his thighs.

There was no way he could do this twice a
day. Every day.

He wanted to go back to Earth.

* *
*

The first lesson flashed up on the pod’s
screen: a mixture of history and math. It was geared heavily toward
the Martian perspective, asking for calculations using dates he
hadn’t yet memorized.

After a string of ten incorrect answers in a
row, it kicked him down to fourth-grade history, which just made it
harder to concentrate.

Luckily, the next few had a mix of Earth
dates, but with a strange bias. He keyed in his answers quickly,
watching the clock, and got back into fifth-grade history. Once
again, the instructor wanted information he just didn’t have. Cort
wiped more sweat from his brow, which just made the keyboard slick.
For the next hour, he felt like he spent more time between the two
grades than he did in either one of them.

When the Mathory lesson concluded, he had a
few minutes to relieve himself in the suction potty before the next
course. He was hoping for Englo-Bio, but got Poli-Theism
instead.

He groaned to himself. Not only did he hate
politics, he could never tell the Roman and Greek gods apart. He
tried his hardest to stay out of third grade, but it was no use.
The political structure of Mars made even less sense to him than
Earth’s. And why teach this stuff anyway? It’d be eight years
before he could vote!

He read the questions and typed in his best
guesses, his concentration waning and waxing.

Had he known recess was up next, he would
have at least enjoyed the opportunity to breathe freely,
unmolested.

* *
*

At the end of the Poli-Theism lesson, Cort’s
morning report flashed up, along with a list of the people it would
be sent to. He wondered if his mom would be one of those doting and
bored parents, waiting on the real-time status update for
everything their spawn was up to.

He looked at his dismal performance and hoped
the report would get flagged as spam and never be delivered. In a
smaller window, an instructor popped up and informed them that it
was recess, a map underneath him showing directions to the
gymnasium.

Cort immediately felt the urge to use the
suction potty. He wondered if he could just stay in the pod, if
anyone would notice. The sight of the three cameras mounted on the
testing wall provided the answer. Not a good idea.

He took a deep breath and inserted the tube,
trying not to think about breathing through his nose. The door
behind him popped open on its own; he turned around to see the
opposite wall disgorging a line of students. In the pod directly
across, a mane of blond hair spilled around a face—a face as pretty
as one can be with a tube pumping oxygenated fluid into it.

Cort smiled, but the flash of niceness was
lost in a sea of passing kids. He waited for the flow to weaken
before moving out into the hall and trailing along with the other
stragglers.

The games were already underway when he
arrived in the gym. The sounds of metal clashing against metal
drifted up from the pit, the kids along the balcony leaning forward
to look down through the glass.

The upper level looked completely full, so
Cort followed some kids heading down a flight of stairs. They came
out in an identical room—a large, rectangular donut of a balcony
overlooking the gym’s pit—and the kids ahead of him took the few
remaining spaces.

One of those spaces was right beside a wild
mane of blond hair. Cort felt his heart thumping in his chest. The
girl turned, shifting her chair over, as another boy took the space
beside her.

Once again, their eyes locked. Cort felt his
breathing constrict even more. He started to wave, but someone
knocked into his back, sending him sprawling forward. Scrambling to
his feet, he rushed to join the kids moving down another level, his
cheeks burning with embarrassment.

The nearby spots were already taken on the
lowest level. That was fine with Cort; he wanted to sit on the
other side. He fought the urge to run, and shuffled as fast as he
could, working his way around the balcony. He ignored the clashing
of the large robots beyond the glass.

On the other side, he took one of the empty
spots directly across from the girl. He could look up through the
glass and see her blond hair waving as she concentrated on the
action below.

He had to tear his eyes away to view the
action. Dozens of robots clashed across the parquet floor of the
gym, each one controlled by a team of kids.

He looked at his controls. He’d been assigned
to the green team, left leg. Cort saw his robot immediately, but
the lower-level seat meant it was hard to gauge the overall action.
He grabbed both his sticks and the AI relinquished control of the
green bot’s left leg, handing it over to him. Pushing and pulling
on the two sticks, he did his part to keep the thing upright,
watching his display for instructions from whoever controlled the
head.

The stress and exertion forced him to hold
the tube with his teeth, breathing around it and through his mouth.
He did his best to not be a hindrance. Cort wasn’t very good at
bot-ball, but at least he could keep his side of green team
upright, not tripping over anything. He even had a few good plants
while the right leg got some good shots off. It wasn’t bad playing
a support role, especially since he didn’t make a fool of
himself.

In the first fifteen-minute period, they got
two shots on goal and did adequate damage to the yellow bot.
Everyone received the exact same score, of course, but Cort kept
his own tally and thought his team had done well. Not that he would
say such a thing. Not on Mars.

When the horn sounded, signaling the first
intermission, Cort glanced up to catch the girl’s attention, maybe
see which team she’d been on.

But she was gone.

He looked around as the kids on his level ran
for the exit to get refreshments and use the public suction
potties. Cort used the time to gather his breath. He watched the
kids file out of their level, all in the same direction, clockwise
around the glass partition. He turned back to his controls.

The blond girl sat beside him, arriving from
the opposite side.

“Hello,” she said through her computer.

Cort reached up and pushed the breathing tube
back in his mouth, biting down on it hard. He concentrated on the
words, forcing them into the computer. “Nice see you,” he said.

He shook his head, his forehead breaking out
in a clammy sweat, and tried again. “Nice to you,” it came out.

The girl looked away, through the glass
partition and across the gym’s pit. Her hair—that close—it was like
staring at liquid gold. Cort wanted to reach out and touch it, or
smell it. He felt dizzy.

“Talk with your mouth,” the girl said through
her computer. She looked around to make sure they were alone. “I
want to see.”

Cort felt like he was going to wet his pants,
he was so flustered and anxious. He looked side to side before
pulling the tube out, allowing it to hang from his pack. He turned
his head away while he wiped his mouth dry.

“My name’s Cort,” he said, looking back at
her. It was all he could think to say.

“Riley,” she said. She stared at his lips.
The computer made her voice ring with a sonorous and pleasing tone.
Cort wanted to be able to speak like that. But with a boy’s
voice.

He smiled at her.

“Did it hurt?” she asked.

“Did what hurt?” Cort glanced up at the
balcony above. Some of the kids were returning to their seats,
holding colorful refreshment canisters up to their breathing
tubes.

“Your first breath,” Riley said. “They say it
hurts real bad, and that all Earth kids have to go through it. They
say it makes you scream.”

“I don’t remember,” Cort said. He licked his
lips, self-conscious of doing the opposite of what his mom had told
him.

“It was that bad?” Riley asked. “Have you
blocked it out?”

Cort shook his head. “I don’t think so,” he
said. “I actually don’t remember much before I was five.”

Riley brushed some of her golden hair back.
Cort saw one of her ears poking through, white and smooth. It made
her look like an elf princess or something equally mysterious and
regal.

“And it doesn’t burn? The air?” She leaned
forward, staring at Cort’s mouth.

It made him want to cover his mouth with both
hands. Or open it up and let her look inside. Or both, somehow.

He shook his head. “It doesn’t burn at all.”
He watched the fluid circulating through her breathing tube. “How
does that feel?” He pointed shyly toward her mouth. “Is it like
drowning?”