You'll Like It Here (Everybody Does) (20 page)

“Oh, no, that wouldn't be practical,” Tom says. “It's too far away.”

“How far is it?”

“I … I'm not real sure,” Tom says, and scratches his head. “I don't think I ever heard anybody say.”

Then he closes the door in our faces and locks it. Mom, David, and I stand looking at each other, too stunned to move or speak. Never coming back.
Never?
We'll never see Gramps again?

As
The Family Hour
comes on, Mom sinks onto the
couch and covers her ears. David and I sit on either side of her. I try very hard to stop the flow of tears, but I can't. Then I feel Mom's arm around me, and I realize that all three of us are crying. We sit huddled together, trying to comfort each other, as the white bus flashes by us on the television screen.

Sherry Cross is chirping like a songbird, “Another happy group of seniors on their merry way to Vacation 65!”

Miserably, we watch the old people, with Gramps among them, get off the bus at the grand resort. He's smiling. I'm glad of that. But he doesn't know yet, does he? No, he doesn't know. He couldn't smile if he knew he was never coming home to us again.

When it's announced at the end of the hour that we have thirty minutes until lights-out, Mom speaks up with determination in her voice.

“We have to find him and steal him away.”

“But how?” I ask.

“They are taken to a place called Farlands. We have to learn where that is,” Mom says. “All we need is a location, and the Carriage can find it.”

“The Carriage?”

“Yes. We have to set it up now while we have lights. Come, help me.”

We follow Mom to the bedroom.

“Make room for it,” Mom says to us as she takes the backpack from the closet.

We understand, and begin to rearrange the room so there will be space for the Carriage when it's fully restored.
For the next half hour Mom works quietly, doggedly, giving brief, curt commands to me and David.

“Hand me that dowel.”

“Snap it here.”

“Take the kink out of that corner.”

We obey without a word, as we know we're racing the clock. When the lights go out at ten, Mom is fitting the last dowel into its socket. The Carriage makes a soft humming sound as its walls begin slowly to rise.

Later we sit on the balcony with the Gilmores.

“I need to know where Farlands is,” Mom says to Gil.

“But my dear,” Gil says, “believe me when I tell you your dad is as happy as a clam. They say Vacation 65 is so wonderful that you forget everything else. At first you might miss your family, but in time you're so busy, and your life is so full, you just leave all your worries behind you.”

“Don't give me that baloney!” Mom shouts at him. “Do you know where it is or not?”

All is quiet. I have rarely heard Mom raise her voice, and in the darkness, I can sense the fear beneath her angry words.

“No, I have no idea,” Gil says softly. “I would tell you if I did.”

“You have good reason to be upset, Mrs. Blue.” Colin speaks. “I would be too, if it were my dad—and someday it will be—because Vacation 65 is not a vacation at all!”

“What do you mean?” Mom snaps at him too.

“Oh, sure, they're given
three days
of vacation,” Colin
explains. “Then, on the third night, they are given a shot at bedtime. The people of the Resistance have managed to leak this information to us. Now everybody knows it, but they go on pretending. It's easier that way. So you don't have to admit that the Fathers are killing our elders.”

“Stop it, Colin!” Gil commands his son.

“K-killing them?” I stammer. I almost say this in Chromish, but I muzzle myself by placing my face against Mom's shoulder.

“Yes, killing them!” Colin goes on, in spite of his dad's command, and his voice is almost as angry as Mom's. “So they won't become a burden. Just as they kill the handicapped and the seriously ill.”

“Colin … please don't.” Gil protests only mildly now, with a tremble in his voice. In the darkness, I can see him place his head in his hands.

“His bus left this morning,” I say. “So this is his first night.”

“That gives him about forty-eight hours to live,” Colin says without emotion.

“Gil, you work for the television station,” Mom says, “so you must know how I can find out where he is. Please help me.”

Gil lifts his head. “Maybe I could find out,” he admits, “but what good would it do? I'm telling you, it's hopeless. Don't you know that's why we swallow the pills? It's easier to take what comfort you can and live out your days in a fog—than to know what's really going on. We have learned that to fight back means an earlier death.

“You wanted to know what happened to my wife? Well, I'll tell you. She was careful not to involve me or the kids, but she was working with the Resistance, trying to undermine the Fathers. Someone—probably Tom Lincoln—turned her in, and the police took her away. We never saw her again. That's what you get for defying them.”

“I understand,” Mom says gently. “But suppose I told you there is hope for us? There's a way out, and I have it. We can escape and take our children to a free society.”

“I wouldn't believe you.”

“You said you might be able to find out where my dad is,” Mom reminds him. “So if I convinced you that it's possible to escape, would you find out for me?”

“I would certainly try,” he whispers.

Mom reaches over and squeezes my hand, then does the same to David.

“I have to tell,” she says to us.

David and I agree. In exchange for Gil's help, we have to tell him the truth.

“We did
not
come from the Western Province” is how Mom begins to unfold our story to the Gilmores.

“I suspected as much,” Gil says. “But where on Earth …?”

“Not from Earth,” Mom says, “not originally.” Then she tells them everything.

Being a teacher, my mom is thorough and descriptive in telling a story. Still, it's obvious that the Gilmores don't immediately swallow it. Far from it. Who would? But their fascination is obvious, and they listen.

Colin is the easiest to convince. “That first day we met, Meggie, you said something about a foreign language. Is that what you were doing in the park, speaking the language of your world?”

“Yes, I was speaking Chromish,” I say. “It comes to me automatically when I'm upset, and it's hard to stop.”

“And the blue light in your hair?” Colin goes on.

“Yeah, Meg, tell them the legacy of the lights.” David's voice comes out of the darkness. “You wear the blue better than anybody.”

I nearly choke. Did my big brother actually say that? I take a long, deep breath and begin our story. I manage to tell it proudly, confidently, and I realize it's the first time any of us has spoken about it to anyone outside the family.

“And that's why you call yourselves the Blues?”

“Yes, just as you are the Caucasian race, we are the Blue race.”

“And the alien hunter?” Colin goes on. “He really isn't crazy?”

“Oh, sure, he's crazy,” Mom says. “But … later, later. Right now we have urgent business.” She turns to Gil. “What do you think?”

“How do you expect us to believe such a fantastic tale?” is his answer.

“David,” Mom says to my brother. “Please fetch the Log.”

Of course—the Log. It holds the record of our lives, and when it's played, anybody present can see the memory and feel all the sensations of the moment it was recorded, even if they weren't there. That's how it was
designed to work, but some Chromians play it better than others. Mom is really good at it, but Gramps, the artiste, is better. Someday he'll teach me to play. I
know
he will.

Mom scans the Chroma years only briefly before going to America. Wheat fields, wild horses, summer rains, and sea mists appear and make themselves real to us. The Gilmores laugh and cry as they experience
almost
firsthand the beauty and bittersweetness we have captured in the Log. At midnight, to signify the end, a golden retriever nudges us with his cold nose.

Colin reaches out, trying to hold on to it. “Oh, please play it again,” he whispers.

“There'll be time later,” Mom tells him.

“Not for me,” Colin says sadly.

“What do you mean?” Mom asks.

“My time has run out,” Colin says. “I have to go to war tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow!” I gasp as tears spring to my eyes. “You didn't say a word.”

“I didn't want any sappy goodbyes,” Colin says.

Mom speaks up. “But don't you see, Colin? Now you won't have to go!”

“How do you figure that?” Colin says, but there's hope in his voice.

“The Carriage,” Mom says. “We can leave here in it.”

“Will it hold us all?” Gil asks.

“It will hold two thousand pounds,” Mom informs him. “And all of us together don't come close to that. We will, however, be crowded.”

“But I'm scheduled to go in the morning,” Colin says. “They'll come looking for me if I don't report.”

“You
will
leave this place with us, son,” Gil says as he places a hand on Colin's shoulder. “I promise.”

“What about Gramps?” I ask.

“We still have to find out where Farlands is,” Mom says.

“I know it's on a coast,” Gil tells us then. “That's all I know. I don't see how I can find out more before tomorrow night.”

“I know.” Jennifer speaks up, and I realize she hasn't said anything all evening.

“You know?” Her dad is incredulous. “How could you possibly know?”

“Mom gave me a book before they took her away,” Jennifer says in a very soft voice. “It has maps in it.”

T
he six of us crouch together on my bathroom floor with a burning candle. We picked this room because it has no windows and our light can't be seen. Outside, a storm has risen, and the wind shrieks like a lost spirit. Jennifer's mother's book lies open before us.

“Mom made me promise,” Jennifer explains to us, “never to show this book to anyone until I felt the time was right. I didn't know what she meant then, but now I do. I think the time is right now.”

Gil hugs his daughter. “You did good.”

“And do you forgive me,” Jennifer says to Meggie, her voice a pitiful little whisper, “for forgetting to tell you about the wiretap?”

Meggie hugs Jennifer. “There's nothing to forgive.”

So everybody's hugging Jennifer. Will I ever get a turn too?

We can't all hover over the book at the same time without blotting out the candlelight, so we take turns reading aloud to each other.

The title is
Land of the Fathers
. No author is named, but it's a treasure chest of information.

“I think it was written by somebody in the Resistance,” Mom says, “because it tells it like it is.”

The book tells us that the Land of the Fathers is completely controlled by big-money interests.

“ ‘Once there was legitimate oversight,' ” Gil reads.

“That means it was like America,” Mom explains to the Gilmores. “There was a body of lawmakers who worked for the people.”

“ ‘But,' ” Gil reads on, “ ‘its leaders became corrupted with greed and betrayed the citizens. They took bribes and contributions from those who wished to influence their decisions. Gradually the people's government fell under the complete control of large corporations. Then the true role of leadership was forgotten, and the Fathers, shrewd businessmen, made the laws of the land to suit their own greedy purposes.' ”

The color-coded maps show us that Fashion City stands near the spot where Missouri is located in the United States of America. The western half of the country is green and is marked as the Western Province. Fashion City borders it. That's probably why Officer Brent took it for granted that we came from there.

“Look at this purple strip down the east coast,” Mom points out. “It's where the Fathers live. They have all the coastal property.”

Inland from the purple strip is a brown mass representing the industrial cities. There are more than a dozen of them, each one manufacturing a different product.

The Western Province, we're informed, is a beautiful place, still partly wild, where animals roam freely and the people try to live in harmony with nature. The families build their own homes, choose their own livelihood, and coexist peacefully with the red natives of the land. Their government is a democracy, operating within the framework of a robust constitution. The powers of government are balanced among three branches.

Abraham Lincoln, Martin Luther King, Jr., and the Suquamish tribal chief Seattle hold equal positions in the executive branch. The legislative and judicial branches are similar to those in the United States.

“Sounds utopian,” Mom muses out loud. “So I wonder why people escape there to come here?”

We also find that answer in the book. Fewer than two hundred people have actually returned to the Land of the Fathers in all the years since the insurrection, we read. At the beginning the returnees were the ones afflicted with a condition somewhat like gross vacillation, because they were so indoctrinated by the Fathers they couldn't adjust to the freedom in their new society. As a result, they could no longer make decisions for themselves and felt insecure without forced regimen and discipline. In more recent years there has been only a small trickle of refugees who are unhappy with the government of the Western Province.

“Malcontents, unhappy with their leaders,” Mom
explains. “Even in America we had our protesters, and some of them left the country. But I'm quite sure that those people who come to the industrial cities from the Western Province, believing things will be better for them, are completely ignorant of the facts, or they have been misled in some way by outside agitators, perhaps working for the Fathers.”