You'll Like It Here (Everybody Does) (11 page)

I go to the closet and pull the backpack down from the shelf. I rummage around in the Carriage material and find the control panel, which Mom folded so carefully down to the size of a book.

Suddenly there's a tap on my door. “Finished, Meg?” It's David.

“Uh … no, I'm still working.”

I'm glad my brother has the good manners not to come barging into my bedroom without being asked.

“For real?” he says. “My class is over.”

“Mine has a ways to go,” I lie.

I climb back into the center of the bed and open the control panel. The computer automatically lights up. The keyboard is built into the panel just below the tiny screen. The mouse is a ball that rolls in the keyboard. A question pops up.

I click on yes.

For the next ten minutes or so I'm totally engrossed as I focus on a distant planet called Crisis, all circled with rainbow rings like Saturn, but it's not Saturn. The text tells me strange and wonderful things about this world.
In spite of the beauty and richness of their planet, the people are constantly embroiled in some kind of battle. The civilization is many millions of years old, but for some reason, its people are like children who never grow up.

I think of the blue streaks I would so like to see in my hair because they are a mark of maturity in the world I came from. I wonder if I can do a search on Chroma.… Then it hits me like a truck.
This text is not in English
. It is, of course, written in Chromish. I have been reading Chromish!

I scan the menu. Yes, I can read this. Yes, I understand that. Yes, but how?

A flash of memory comes. I see myself as a three-year-old resting my head on Dad's pillow. I see a diamond-shaped electronic book, and I see my dad's finger move down a column of symbols as he reads aloud to me.

The sound of voices in the living room interrupts my thoughts. Mom and Gramps are back from the store. I scramble to close the control panel, tuck it into the backpack, and return it to the closet shelf.

As Mom and Gramps are preparing dinner, David and I watch another idiotic sitcom, but my mind is racing. I can read Chromish, and I'm almost sure that David can't. I don't think he can even speak it very well anymore. I have all this information at my fingertips in the Carriage computer. What am I going to do with it? I can learn anything, go anywhere—cyberwise, that is.

The doorbell rings, and David leaps to his feet. It's Jennifer with two other people, who must be her brother
and father. The boy is a few years older than Jennifer, and really cute. The man is around forty with a touch of gray at his temples and pleasant blue eyes. I guess he's cute too, for a dad. He's holding a huge cake loaded with chocolate icing. It makes my mouth water.

Gramps and Mom appear from the kitchen.

“We're the Gilmores,” the man says. “I think you have met my daughter, Jennifer, and this is my son, Colin. You can call me Gil. Everybody does. We have come to welcome you to our building.”

“How nice,” Mom says, taking the cake. “I'm Linda Blue. These are my children, David and Meggie, and this is my father, Sam Lane.”

“Just call me Gramps. Everybody does,” Gramps echoes Gil. “Won't you come in?”

“No, we didn't come to intrude on your evening meal,” Gil says. “We'll visit another time. We just wanted to say welcome to Fashion City. We know you'll like it here. Everybody does.”

“Why not come back and have dessert with us after dinner?” Mom suggests. “There is surely enough cake here for two families.”

“Wouldn't that be nice?” Gil says, turning to Colin and Jennifer, who nod eagerly. As they leave us, I suspect that invitation was exactly what they were hoping for. With the Gilmores expected, we are excited at dinner. We can imagine we're really at home and everything is normal. Even the nuked meals aren't bad. The sight of the chocolate cake on the countertop makes me eat faster and clean my microwaveable plate. Afterward David and
I tidy up the kitchen quickly, then sit down in the living room to wait for the Gilmores. I manage to get to the door first when the bell rings.

“Tell us about yourselves,” Gramps says to the Gilmores as we dig into the cake.

I'm not surprised that it tastes like an American cake, because I figure the ingredients are about the same—flour, sugar, eggs, butter. I like it. (Everybody does.)

Jennifer and Colin are sitting on either side of their father on one couch, while David and I sit with Mom on the other couch, with the coffee table conveniently arranged before us. Gramps sits in an armchair and balances his dessert dish on his knees.

“I'm in charge of programming at the television station,” Gil says, “and the kids, of course, are still in school.”

“But I'm turning sixteen this season, so I'll be joining the military,” Colin says happily, as if he has announced he's going to the Super Bowl.

“Don't you want to go to college?” David blurts out.

There's no immediate response, just big-eyed stares, as if David has said something in Chromish.

“
I
certainly do,” David adds, seeming a bit uncomfortable under their gaze.

“I will gladly give four years to serve the Fathers,” Colin finally says. “And so should you, David.”

“Four years is a long time,” David says.

“At the age of sixteen in Fashion City every young man and woman joins the military,” Colin explains. “They do it gladly. Of course, we don't have to fight for
the first year. We're in training until the age of seventeen, when we go to the front lines.”

“Front lines of what?” Gramps says.

“The war, of course,” Colin says.

“What war?” Mom says.

“Whatever war we happen to be fighting at the time. People are always attacking the Land of the Fathers.”

“What people?” Gramps persists. “What countries attack you?”

Colin shrugs.

“We don't know their names,” Gil explains. “We don't need to know. They are people who hate us because they envy our freedoms and our way of life, and we have to defend our land. This is one way we can repay the Fathers for all they have done for us.”

“And the girls go too?” I say, looking at Jennifer, who sits quietly eating her cake.

“Some of the girls are kept at home to tend the day care at the factories,” Gil says. “When the time comes, we will apply for Jennifer to have that job so she won't have to fight. Your mom will no doubt do the same for you, Meggie. But there is much competition for those jobs.”

He places an arm protectively across Jennifer's shoulders. She seems so delicate, it's impossible to picture her in military gear. I can't see Colin fighting either. He seems like the kind of kid who, on our Earth, would have kept his nose in a book or his eyes on a test tube.

“But I'm puzzled about something,” Gil says. “You all ask so many questions that I thought you would already
know the answers to.” He speaks directly to Mom. “I'm sure, Linda, that things in Fashion City have changed somewhat since you lived here before the insurrection. You must have been very young when you left, and your kids were born in the Western Province.” Then he turns to Gramps. “But it seems that you, sir, would remember the wars from having grown up here.”

Oops. You can almost hear the wheels turning as each of us searches for an explanation. But as usual, it's Gramps who saves the day.

“I had a blow to the head that left me with amnesia,” he tells the Gilmores, just as he told Joe, the telephone man. “I remember very little about Fashion City.”

“And in a place like the Western Province”—David speaks up, trying too hard to be helpful—“we learned not to listen to the wild stories we heard from other people. There were some real wing nuts there. You know what I mean?”

“Wing nuts?” Gil says.

“Left wing, right wing, radicals?” David is out of his element. He wouldn't know a wing nut if it hit him in the head. Neither would Gil, is my bet.

There is silence in the room for a moment, as the Gilmores study our faces, and I wonder if we have blown our cover totally.

“I see,” Gil says slowly, looking at Gramps. “Amnesia, huh? I have never known anybody with amnesia.”

“Well, it's a bummer,” Gramps says. “Makes you forget absolutely everything. Now, what were we discussing?”

I feel an attack of giggles coming on, but Mom reroutes my thoughts by jumping quickly back to the conversation.

“The young soldiers,” she says, “they do come home at twenty, don't they?”

“If they live, yes, they are allowed to come home, as I did. But not everyone is so lucky,” Gil says seriously.

Here I manage to put on a straight face.

“Sometimes they're killed,” he continues. “That's the reality of war.”

“Sure, they come home and go to work for the Fathers,” Gramps says as he slaps his napkin irritably on the lamp table beside him. “Then they marry and have as many kids as possible, who will all wind up having the same life!”

The Gilmores are bewildered by Gramps's behavior, but only for a moment.

“I know what you're feeling,” Gil says with a smile. Then he reaches into his shirt pocket, pulls out one of the blue Lotus pills wrapped in plastic, and hands it to Gramps.

“One Lotus for a difference you will notice,” he says pleasantly. “Have one of mine.”

“What the …?” Gramps stares at the pill, and I think he starts to say a bad word, but he checks himself just in time. “No, thanks,” he mumbles instead.

Gil shrugs and returns the pill to his pocket.

“Suppose Colin decides he doesn't want to go,” Mom asks. “What then?”

“Of course Colin wants to go,” Gil says sternly. “He has to go!”

Colin's face can't be read.

“The military police always get you,” Jennifer says softly. “There's no way out.”

The cake isn't as good as it was a few moments ago.

“That's too bad,” Gramps says.

“I'm assuming things were different in the Western Province?” Gil says in a somewhat mocking tone. “Better, perhaps?”

Gramps sighs. “I suppose not.”

“What's it really like over there?” Colin wants to know.

“Why did the Lincoln-King regime kill your husband?” Gil asks Mom.

“Did you really have to eat—you know—disgusting things?” comes from Jennifer.

There's a solemn pause before Mom says, “We prefer not to talk about it.” After all, it had worked on Amanda Harp.

“Of course, of course,” Gil says sympathetically. “It must have been awful.”

There's silence again in the room, then Mom says with too much enthusiasm, “This is the most delicious cake I've ever tasted!”

While Gil is taking credit for baking the cake, and his kids are bragging about their dad's cooking skills, Gramps catches my eye and mumbles, “It's a nice change from eating rats.” Then he winks at me, and once again, I have
to stifle giggles. Fortunately, I don't think anybody else hears him.

At that moment I notice how Gil is smiling as he talks to Mom. Is he flirting with her? But, hey, why should I be surprised? I look at her in her Fashion City pants and an olive shirt that reads on the front
YOU'LL LIKE IT HERE
and on the back
EVERYBODY DOES
, and I can see that even in these cheesy threads, she looks pretty, in spite of being way over thirty.

When everybody has finished with the cake, David and I gather the dirty dessert dishes, and Colin and Jennifer pretend to help by following us into the kitchen. Once there, of course, we linger for a while, apart from the adults.

“Do you guys play any kind of sports?” David asks as we settle around the table.

Again the blank faces.

“We're too old to play,” Colin says. “Homemaking takes up much of our time.”

Homemaking? But I won't go down that road. It sounds boring.

“And there's school, of course,” he goes on.

“What level are you in?” I ask.

“I'm in seventh, the last level, and Jennifer's in sixth.”

My eyes meet David's. Maybe we should have done
better on the test? It seems that David, at least, should be at Jennifer's level.

“How long do you stay in each level?” I ask.

“As long as it takes to finish,” Colin responds. “It takes some people a short time and others a long time.”

Could they
be
any more vague about time in this place?

“I gather we can't go to the park, except on specified days,” David says. “But is it all right to go for a walk sometimes, you know, on the sidewalk?”

“Oh, certainly,” Jennifer says. “A strong body serves the Fathers far better than a weak one. Walking is encouraged.”

Her voice is monotonous, but her words are good to hear.

“So is biking, if you're lucky enough to have a bike,” Jennifer continues. “As long as you don't neglect your work.”

“And as long as you don't loiter or assemble in large groups,” Colin adds.

“And why is that?”

“The insurrection, of course. Nobody wants a repeat of that.”

“For sure,” David mumbles.

Colin leans forward and whispers to David, “Can we trust you?”

“Trust me with what?” David says.

“With a secret.”

“Oh, sure,” David says, then looks at me and makes a zipping motion across his lips.

“Right,” I say, and imitate my brother.

Colin whispers again, “I have a book.” Then he smiles with pleasure at his guilty secret.

A
book?
One
book?

“That's nice,” David says. “What's it about?”

“It's about wolves. Did you know the Land of the Fathers used to be wild, with animals and vegetation? There were no people, except for a few primitive native tribes. Don't you find that fascinating?”