That’s why Mom pretty much dresses all three of us—or did. . . .
Because Mom is billions of kilometers away, on a tiny dust mote in space, and she will never dress me again. . . .
With a sudden gut-wrenching pang I think of Mom, and family, and everyone again, as Gennio tells me all this girly stuff, assuming I’m interested.
Maybe I should be, it occurs to me momentarily. Now that I’m sort of dating someone. . . . What would Logan think if he ever saw me nicely dressed, and possibly wearing actual makeup and cosmetics?
And then I get a weird fleeting thought—what would Command Pilot Aeson Kassiopei think if he saw me all dressed up?
I can count on my hands the number of times in my life I’ve been really nicely put together. Most of them involved going to the Opera to attend Mom’s own infrequent performances. And even in those cases I did as little as possible to my appearance. I wore lipstick, eyeliner and mascara maybe three times, and hated it—the horrid gunk got in my eyes. And it made me look weird—like someone else—which kind of scared me.
What would happen, I think suddenly, if I tried again? If I went all out and got dressed up, made up, and did something fancy to my hair?
I mean, I don’t even have any nice clothes packed in my duffel bags, just practical stuff.
Okay, now I’m really curious about those 3D printers. And once more I feel a lonely strange sense of not belonging anywhere—since I’m not a Cadet or a Civilian, I don’t even have the dorms and barracks officers to tell me what’s going on with the Zero-G Dance preparation.
All I’ve got is Gennio. And if he hadn’t mentioned the 3D printers, I would have no clue at all, not even enough to ask anyone.
At 4:00 PM I head to the remote outer section of Red Quadrant Residential Deck One, near Storage. Here I get scanned by guards who verify my class schedule before admitting me past secure doors inside the locked dim corridor. It’s similar to the one I’d seen last night with Aeson Kassiopei when we visited the interrogation room.
Here I, and a few other Cadets and Civs on their way to the same class, go down another corkscrew stairwell to level Seven. We emerge in unexpected brightness—a glassed hallway that walls off a sudden great open space, brightly lit with daylight illumination.
It is stunning. . . .
On the other side of the glass is a green oasis. Trees and shrubs and climbing vines fill a greenhouse that must span the entire length and width of the ark-ship, because I see no end, no horizon line. . . . Earth plants mingle with what appears to be strange alien Atlantean vegetation. They hang, cleverly suspended from special support beams overhead, into shallow troughs or deep containers of running water, their roots growing directly in the water without any presence of soil.
The water must contain a perfect balance of nutrients and chemicals necessary for growth, I realize. And it flows abundantly everywhere, including sprinklers and mist delivery systems.
So . . . this is Hydroponics. This is the deck that provides the ark-ship with food, oxygen, and other things necessary for life support.
An Atlantean stands at the end of the short hallway. He is tall and somewhat big, with short golden hair and reddish-brown skin, and a blue armband on his uniform sleeve. His features are pleasant, soft and rounded, and he reminds me a little bit of Gennio—he could be Gennio’s slightly older brother. “Over here, everyone!” he says in a loud comfortable voice, waving to those of us newcomers who are still coming in from the spiraling stairwell.
At some point, when the hallway is so packed there seems to be no standing room, the Atlantean opens a glass entrance into the Hydroponics section, and motions for us to follow him inside.
A blast of glorious oxygen-rich air hits us, together with fine mist spray. There’s also the surprising sound of birdsong and the buzz of living insects.
Wow, I think, this is not just a greenhouse but a true ecosystem!
The Atlantean stops at an open area near the entrance, and we gather around him. “I am Klavit Xotoi,” he tells us, “and I will be teaching you Technology and Systems. Most of what we’ll be doing in the coming months is learning how everything on this ship works. We will observe the various systems, starting with this one. Hydroponics is the largest and most vital of the general systems, and the H-Deck makes up the entirety of the ship on Level Seven. In the coming days we will learn all about it. . . .”
As Instructor Xotoi speaks, I look around in wonder, and so does everyone else.
“My God . . . it’s like the Garden of Eden,” a Civilian girl whispers in reverence.
As we stare at this incredible place, I notice eight-feet tall, flat stacks of grey material, piled in rows, not too far from the entrance. It has the look of orichalcum, and I realize all at once that it’s stacks upon stacks of hoverboards.
“Now, before we continue, I want each one of you to grab a hoverboard from over there,” Instructor Xotoi says in the very same moment that I realize it. “The nature of Hydroponics makes it nearly impossible to work here without having the ability to access the growing trees and plants at any height level, all the way up to the ceiling—which, as you can see, stretches about seventy feet to accommodate most common varieties of trees. Some of the crops here are so delicate that the only way to harvest them gently is from above, via hoverboard, without disturbing their ground root systems, and without having to walk through endless expanses of water. Furthermore, since the H-Deck area itself is so vast, the most efficient way to get around here is via hover flight. So—get your boards, key them to yourself, and let’s get going!”
In moments, everyone around me starts singing the keying sequence, in some cases ending up in a minor vocal tug-of-war for possession of specific boards. I quickly pick one and key it with practiced notes before anyone else does.
My board comes flying toward me, and I get on top, straddling it by habit. A few people stand up, in snowboarder and skateboarder style, but I notice that many choose to sit, just like me. Momentarily I flash back to the dark horrible subterranean tunnels of Qualification Finals during which we all had to lie on top of our hoverboards for the duration of what seemed to be a hellish eternity. . . .
As soon as the whole class is airborne, Instructor Klavit Xotoi tells us to follow him. And then he commands his hoverboard to rise and starts to move into the heart of the green oasis.
An hour later, after completing a high-speed overview flight tour of H-Deck, with all its green growing wonders, we return to the entrance area that leads back upstairs to main level, and surrender our hoverboards. I feel strangely refreshed and at peace, as though I’ve been out on the surface of a planet for the last hour, flying in the gentle breeze among fragrant greenery, instead of in the bowels of a huge starship.
Others in the class seem to feel the same way. Hydroponics almost made us forget.
“Next class, we will continue on H-Deck,” the Instructor tells us. “But now, we make a short detour to the Manufacturing Deck. It’s up on Level Six. Since we have the Zero-G Dance coming up the day after tomorrow, and many of you will require things such as new clothing, I’ve been asked to demonstrate to you our 3D Printing process.”
Many girls and quite a few boys clap in excitement. I suppose their commanding officers had told them all about it, and what to expect.
We turn into the corridor on Six, and another large area presents itself to view. Although much smaller than Hydroponics, it’s still an impressive warehouse of machinery and materials. Rows of industrial 3D printers line the walls, and rows of various organic and artificial raw “ink” materials fill storage containers up to the ceiling.
Atlantean crew members move about, working the machines, and levitating robot vehicles transport boxes around from one pallet to another.
The Instructor talks in Atlantean to a few of the crew here, and then takes us to a smaller office enclosure where we are shown how to enter specific printer programs into consoles.
“Once you have your clothing program
ready, you simply email it to the 3D printer device driver app which will queue the specific print job for you. The finished product—in this case, your new outfit—will be manufactured, and then delivered for pickup here at the end of the assembly line. You will be notified via email when it’s ready, and you can come get it the day after tomorrow, before the Dance.”
The Instructor points out the various raw materials containers. “These are the material ink compounds that will be used to create an endless variety of clothing fabrics.” He turns to point to another section of the office containing memory storage drive chips. “And here is a huge library of Earth and Atlantean fashion, historical and modern. Most of it already resides in the Fleet Network Cloud for your immediate access, but if anything is missing, it can be requested here, to be manually loaded into flash memory for your use. Just email us with the catalog item number.”
A girl raises her hand. “How long do we have to get our programs ready for printing?”
Klavit Xotoi thinks. “I suggest you don’t wait any longer than by noon tomorrow to submit your program. The 3D printers will be extremely busy, even running non-stop 24/7, and it takes at least ten minutes to assemble a single outfit, assuming a basic three piece including matching shoes. There are thousands of you on this ship, and only so many printers. So please be considerate of others and don’t wait until the last minute.”
Another girl raises her hand. “As far as our personal body measurements, how accurate will these outfits be?”
“Perfectly accurate, considering that you begin your program with a body scan.” And Klavit Xotoi points to the opposite end of the warehouse. “Incidentally, body scan machines can be found over there in Section M-12. Once you are scanned, your measurements variables will be permanently matched to your ID token and stored for future use, as well as also used to populate the 3D printer template. Then you build your dressy outfit from there on.”
I take a deep breath and raise my hand. “This may be a dumb question, but do we have to wear these fancy formal outfits in order to attend the Dance?”
Klavit Xotoi raises one brow and looks at me curiously. “Civilian, you are absolutely not required to have such an outfit. It is voluntary. In fact, you are free to attend while wearing your everyday uniform and boots, if you so choose. However, most people do prefer to get dressed up for the occasion of the Zero-G Dance.”
“Oh, super,” I say. “In that case, that’s a relief.”
It’s settled—I am so not getting dressed up!
Chapter Twenty-Three
Most of the teens in the class look at me funny after I make that last remark, but I don’t care. Technology and Systems Class is over, and I head back to grab dinner, and think about what to do for the rest of the evening.
Briefly I think of Logan, and then of my sister Gracie, and Gordie, and Laronda. Haven’t seen any of them for a while. And come to think of it, Blayne Dubois wasn’t in Pilot Training either today or yesterday—at least I don’t remember seeing him there.
I eat alone at the Officers Meal Hall in Command Deck Two. It occurs to me that I am actively avoiding returning to that Yellow Quadrant Cadet Deck Meal Hall where the hostage situation took place. Honestly, I don’t think I can bear seeing that room again. The dead bodies will always stay in my mind’s eye.
Meanwhile this room feels safer somehow. I glance around and see familiar Atlantean officers, including Oalla Keigeri and Keruvat Ruo. A few officers even nod at me in passing.
Incidentally, there’s no sign of Command Pilot Kassiopei anywhere. I wonder where he is, and if he ever actually eats like a normal human being, since I’ve never encountered him in this meal hall or any other—at least not since that very first day when he showed me the way here.
I am so alone. . . .
“Gwen Lark.”
I look up and see a petite Atlantean girl standing behind me. She is holding a tray with food and has a slightly shy expression on her face. “May I join you?”
“Oh!” I say. “Oh, sure! Please, sit down!” Okay, I didn’t expect this. I have no idea who this person is, but I think I’ve seen her in the meal hall before.
The girl puts down her tray very carefully across the narrow table from me, and takes the bench seat facing me. She is very slender, with a curvy hourglass figure and porcelain-rosy skin. Her features are pixie-like, and her heart-shaped face—framed by short metal-gold hair in a blunt cut—has a charming low-key beauty. She wears a green armband around her slim arm.
“If I may introduce myself, I am Vazara Hotat, and my Assignment is in Brake and Shields,” she says in a sweet, highly pitched voice with just a trace of an Atlantean accent. “You don’t know me, but Gennio Rukkat asked me to make friends with you—that is, if you don’t mind?”
My brows rise, but I am smiling at her. “Of course I don’t mind. I could use a friend—and thank you. That was very nice of Gennio, considering that I’m somewhat isolated in my present odd position as CCO Aide who’s also an Earth refugee—all my siblings and most of my friends are on other ships. And since I don’t live in a dorm or barracks with other people, I seem to miss out on a lot of what’s happening.”
“Well, I am not an expert on what’s happening,” she says, picking up her glass of nikkari. “But I think I can help just a little with the basics. For example, have you decided what you are going to wear to the Zero-G Dance? I can help you with your program and show you some of the common fashion trends in Poseidon, and even what they wear at Court—”
“Wow,” I say. “Believe it or not, I’m all set in that department.”
Vazara raises one very pixie-ish brow. “Oh, really? And Gennio was all worried that you had completely no idea.”
I snort. “Gennio is very sweet, and I appreciate his efforts—and yours. But, yes, I’m all set. It’s very simple—I am simply wearing my Fleet uniform.”
The Atlantean girl’s smile disappears, replaced with immediate concern, and she stops eating. “Oh, no!” she says. “But that’s not good! Everyone dresses up for the Dance, it’s an old tradition. How else would you enjoy yourself when you are up there in perfect weightlessness? Your outfit should be dreamy and gorgeous when you fly with your partner!”
I pick up a bite of something alien and spicy with my fork after swirling it around on my plate. “Well . . .” I mutter. And then I explain to Vazara that I don’t expect to be doing much flying or much dancing. “If anything,” I say, “I’ll be operating the Zero-G tech together with Gennio, and making sure the levitation and gravity transitions happen properly with the music. Now that to me is the most exciting part of this event. I can’t wait to see how it all works!”
But Vazara does not give up. “You know, I can show you how we dance in Atlantida—all the latest modern dances. It’s really easy and so much fun! You can learn in a few hours!”
Poor girl. . . . She has no clue she is talking to Gwen the Klutz.
“Look, I really appreciate it,” I tell her. “But, maybe next time. I’m really not up to dancing right now. And I’m sure you have better things to do than get your feet crushed by an elephant. Besides, wouldn’t all the boys be looking up the girls’ fancy skirts as they’re flying around, up there in Zero-G? I don’t really want to deal with any of that silliness. . . .”
“Oh, goodness, no!” Vazara bites her lip with the effort of explaining it to me. “The outfits are made cleverly to hide your underclothing—either in the way they fold and unfold during dancing, or with extra hidden layers that cover you from below as you fly. And in some cases you can always wear additional form-fitting shorts underneath.”
But I shake my head. “Sounds way too complicated.”
Vazara watches me sadly. “All right, but please let me know if you change your mind. I am very eager to help you!”
I smile. “Yes, I can see.”
We chat for a while longer, and I find that Vazara is extremely pleasant, but somewhat too “girly” for my usual kind of pal. She goes on a
nd on about formal dresses, shoes, party decorations, shoes, and dance music—and did I mention, shoes?—until my eyes start to glaze over. I admit I miss my friend Ann Finnbar from back home in Vermont, and I seriously miss Laronda, Dawn, and Hasmik, my Qualification friends.
At last we part, and I promise Vazara that the moment I need any help whatsoever, I will contact her or drop by her quarters in the Green Quadrant, Command Deck Three.
Yeah, that’s likely not going to happen, at least not in the near future.
I return to my cabin and plop down on my bunk and think.
Just, think.
Where is Logan? Is he still doing the interrogations down in the bowels of the ship? Yet again I flash back to the image of Logan—grim, intense, and surprisingly cold and clinical in his levels of patience—facing off that tough Earth Union girl. . . . That’s definitely a new side of Logan I’ve never seen before—hard and calculating. I’m not too sure what to think of it.
And then I recall the look in another person’s eyes, when we were down there in that one-way observation chamber adjacent to the interrogation room. Aeson Kassiopei, watching me with raw, inexplicable eyes. . . .
Talking about—where is the CP? Do we have the voice training today or not?
A strange little twinge of concern comes to me. I haven’t seen him all day.
At 8:00 PM, I arrive dutifully at the CCO, and the guards let me inside, and there’s no one there. I sit around for about ten minutes, waiting. Then it occurs to me to check my email.
There’s a message from Command Pilot Kassiopei:
“Lark, my apologies, but we have to cancel your voice training again for tonight. I am going to be unavailable all night. I will see you tomorrow. —A. K.”