The Colonists (The Movement Trilogy) (9 page)

I'm not sure I can do it, Varien thinks. What if it isn't good enough?

There's more at stake than you know, Varien
, David says.
Do you ever think about the future? About where humanity goes from here? We can't live in the black forever. We cannot serve the Citadel forever. They're just the latest in a very, very long line of rulers who have stifled the voice of the people. So take the long view. Where do we go from here?
 

Varien shakes his head. I don't know.
 

Now you know why I'm here,
David says.
 

You know the answer?

I know exactly where we're going.
 

Where? Varien asks.

Not yet
, David says.
When you're ready. When I trust you.

But --

Not yet,
David repeats.
It's been very fine to talk to you, Varien. Return me to Tasneem now, please.

•
 
•
 
•

Tasneem takes the databand from Varien.

Well? she asks.

Varien says, When is the next broadcast?

Tomorrow, Tasneem says.
 

The boy stands up. Can I write it now?
 

Do you know what to say?
 

Varien pulls the heavy door open, and looks back at Tasneem.

I think I know exactly what to say, he says.

Show me.

The boy nods grimly, and closes the door.

Tasneem replaces the earpiece.
 

Alright, she thinks. What did you say to him?
 

I just gave him some context
.

Does he know yet?

About Asiel?

You've named it, Tasneem thinks.
 

Yes.

It's delicate. I like it. What does it mean?

It's an Earth word. It means refuge, or asylum.
 

Tasneem considers it. It's right, she thinks. It's the right name.

Thank you.
 

I would like to name an island for my mother, she thinks.

An atoll named Heidi might be nice, too. An ocean named Audra.
 

Tears fill Tasneem's eyes.
 

We've lost so many, David.
 

We've lost them all.
 

What will it be like?
 

It will be like the first days in space,
David says.
When we came together, and we were one.
 

Those were peaceful days.
 

They won't last, though.
 

They never do.

Some will rise up. Some will cower.

Some will push back.

Some will always push back.
 

Varien doesn't know?
 

Not yet. Just you, and me.
 

Asiel, Tasneem thinks.
 

Asiel. Home.
 

THE BLACK

The years unfolded slowly, and the Citadel's reach only grew. In the four years since Catrine Newsome's departure from the
Maasi
, eleven minor revolutions had been violently put down on various outposts and moons. The bloodiest was on Miranda, Uranus's little moon. There, an entire Machine outpost had been murdered by six Citadel operatives as punishment for a weak attempt to steal supplies from an Onyx ship. Forty-three Machiners exposed to the bitter cold and inhospitable atmosphere of the moon, including thirteen children and a newborn.

Tasneem heard about them all, and wept privately for every death.

Her little broadcasts were picked up by a few local ships and stations, and her messages were carried as far into the black as they would go, but few heard them.
 

Hope was in short supply, and the darkness was only growing deeper.

AMATERASU

The tiny screenview illuminates the cavern beneath her blankets, casting a pale golden glow on her face. She adjusts the volume, dialing it down until she almost strains to understand the words being spoken, and only then does she relax. The gentle female voice soothes and excites her at once.
 

Amaterasu delights at the words, which are grand and thrilling, and conjure images of swelling throngs of people, arms upraised, pushing over great statues, their voices thunderous across the horizons of planets and moons, echoing in the corridors of sleek sailing ships.

One species. One species. One species. Must we remind ourselves?
 

Amaterasu's fingers caress the screenview. She knows, somehow, that the words are dangerous. That if she were to repeat them in class tomorrow, Miss Hamus would warn her, then probably call her grandparents. She doesn't want this. Amaterasu's grandparents would send her to bed without a meal, and threaten to take her out of school altogether.

They are scared old people, she knows.
 

If only they would hear the broadcasts. If only they would listen.

Anger is not the solution. Violence is not our recourse. We scrape along in the dark, chewing on our pain until it courses through our veins like a deadly poison. We must let it go.
 

Instead of seeking revenge, we must seek our lost pride.

We are one people.
 

We have only forgotten.

Amaterasu listens until the broadcast falls silent. It will repeat again in an hour, she knows, but it is enough to have heard this small piece. She turns the screenview off and emerges from beneath the blankets, then stretches out and falls asleep.

Her grandfather listens at the door and sighs to himself. He pads quietly across the hall to the room he shares with Amaterasu's grandmother.

She is still listening? Grandmother asks.
 

Grandfather nods.
 

Talk to her tomorrow, Grandmother says. It is not fit for a girl. It is not fit for a Machiner.
 

She only dreams of something better, Grandfather says.
 

Grandmother clucks at him. And you know better, old man. Our parents discouraged us, and for good reason. Things do not change anymore. Dreams only make the living of a life that much harder.
 

Grandfather sighs again and sits down on the edge of the bed.

You'll talk to her tomorrow, Grandmother says.

He hangs his head. Yes. I'll talk to her tomorrow.

•
 
•
 
•

But Grandfather breaks his word, and he walks her to school, her little hand tightly held in his tired old one.
 

Grandfather, Amaterasu says as they walk.
 

Yes, Ammie, he answers.

I listened again last night.
 

I know, Ammie.

They walk through the glass corridor, just two among a steady stream of Machiners on their way to work and school and home. The night workers are tired, their uniforms wrinkled, their backs hunched, their lunch containers empty. The day workers are tired, their eyes unfocused, their steps reluctant.
 

Do you ever listen, Grandfather?

No, Ammie.
 

Why not? Amaterasu asks.

Your grandmother wouldn't like it, he says.

We are all one people, Amaterasu quotes proudly.

Grandfather stops and guides Amaterasu to the side of the corridor. He drops to a knee and says, Ammie, you know that the broadcasts are forbidden, yes?
 

Amaterasu nods.
 

Do you know why? Do you understand?
 

Because we are Machine, she says. Because we are beholden to the Onyx.
 

Grandfather nods. And do you know what that means?
 

It means that we are in a dark period, she says, quoting again. It means that once again, man believes he can impose his will upon other men. But, Grandfather, nobody can own me.
 

In theory, he says. But, Ammie, you are Machine. I am Machine. We do not have the luxury of -- of dreams.
 

What do you mean? I dream every night.
 

Grandfather hangs his head. I promised your parents that I would care for you, he says. And part of caring for you is making sure that you understand your place in this world, Ammie. It's not a kind world. It isn't a fair world. You and me and Grandmother and even your parents, we don't have choices.
 

I make choices every day, Amaterasu says.
 

Those aren't the sort of choices I mean, Ammie.
 

What choices do you mean?

You learn the same history that I did when I was a child, Ammie. When does history begin?

History begins on Citadel Meili, with the Grand Council, Amaterasu says.
 

That's the same history, alright, Grandfather says. But do you know what happened before that?
 

How can something happen before history? Amaterasu asks. If it did, wouldn't it also be history?

Grandfather wants to cry.
 

Instead, he says, Do you know of Earth, Ammie?

Earth is one of the system planets, Amaterasu says.
 

That's true, Grandfather says.

It's the third planet.

Yes. Did you know that we come from Earth?

Nothing comes from Earth, Amaterasu says. It's like all the other planets. No planets can support life.

Grandfather does cry, then.
 

Grandfather? Amaterasu asks. Why are you crying?

He lifts her in his arms. How do you feel like playing hooky today?
 

What's hooky?
 

•
 
•
 
•

Amaterasu stretches out in the grass and giggles.
 

It's tickly, she says.
 

Grandfather is stretched out beside her, arms crossed behind his white hair. Above them, the glass dome seems to touch the pale yellow Martian sky above Olympus City. Within the dome are trees and grasses and flowers, all cultivated from seeds originated from Earth which was.
 

Did you ever wonder why this place is called the Earth Room, Ammie? Grandfather asks.

Amaterasu shakes her head.
 

It's because the grass we're lying on comes from Earth originally, he says. And those trees, they once lived on Earth, too. Does that make you wonder anything about Earth?
 

These are plants, Amaterasu says, running her fingers through the glass.

Yes.

Plants are alive, she says.
 

Yes, they are.
 

So if they were once on Earth -- that means Earth has life?
 

Yes, Grandfather says. Can I tell you a story?
 

I love your stories, Grandfather.
 

Grandfather turns on his side, and Amaterasu mimics him.

Once, Grandfather says, there was absolutely nothing at all.
 

Nothing at all?

Nothing, he says. No system. No planets. No sun. There weren't any stars. There wasn't a Mars, and Olympus City didn't exist. Pure, utter, complete nothing.

Nothing, Amaterasu repeats.
 

And then one day, everything exploded.

What exploded? she asks.
 

Nothing, he says.
 

But you said everything did.
 

Nothing exploded and created everything, he says. Do you understand?
 

No, she admits.

It's okay. I don't really, either. But listen what happened next.

Okay, she says, scooting in close.

All of that nothing exploded, and there was a lot of dust and stuff floating around. And some of it got stuck together, and then more of it got stuck together, and it started to turn into things.

What kind of things?

Oh, you know. Planets and stars and stuff.
 

What? Really?
 

Oh, yes, Grandfather says. This is all very accurate.

I don't believe you.

That's because you've been sheltered from the truth, he whispers.
 

Like in the broadcasts! she says.

Like in the broadcasts, he says.
 

Then what happened? she asks.

Well, all of those planets sort of grouped up together, and made systems. Our system has thirteen planets, but some have just two or three, and some have hundreds.
 

Wow, she says. Then what?
 

Then a lot of time passed, he says. And the same thing happened, but on a much, much, much, much smaller scale. Remember how all the stuff came together and made planets?
 

Yes, Amaterasu says.

Well, a lot of smaller stuff came together and made life, Grandfather explains. And that life started really, really small and simple. But then, as a lot of time went by, it started to get more and more interesting. And eventually, do you know what happened?

Amaterasu shakes her head.
 

Some of that simple life turned into very complex life, he says. And that's where we came from. So in a way, you could say that you and the sun are cousins.

Amaterasu laughs and claps her hands. Tell me more!

Well, when we first showed up, we lived on the planet Earth, Grandfather says. And we were pretty helpless at first, but we got better and better at things. We figured out tools, and we figured out fire, and we figured out how to eat other things to stay alive, and we learned how to make babies and --

How do you do that? Amaterasu asks.

Grandfather smiles. Maybe that part we'll tell a little later, he says. But for now -- we got better at being alive. And then we learned how to build things, like houses and towns and cities. And then we started making vehicles, like little things called automobiles that rolled around on the ground very fast, and other things, called aeroplanes, that soared around in the sky, also very fast. And do you know where all of that happened?