"I take it your sister has discovered the shower," he said quietly.
"I tried to warn her, but..." I shrugged helplessly.
"It takes some getting used to." Getting up from the couch, Mr. Lagler walked into the dining nook. "Have you had breakfast yet? Don't waste the coffee...it's not scarce, but it is expensive."
"Thank you. I won't." Running a hand through my damp hair, I walked over to the dining nook and picked up the carafe. It was self-heating, so the coffee was still hot; I poured some in a mug and was about to ask for milk before realizing that this was an absurd request--the closest cow was nearly a quarter of a million miles away--and resigned myself to taking it black from now on.
Mr. Lagler put a muffin on a plate and handed it to me, then sat down at the nook table. "Have you seen the news yet?" he asked, then shook his head. "No, of course you haven't...you just got up."
"Sorry. Didn't mean to sleep late."
Shaking his head again, he pulled a pad from a shirt pocket. "You need to read this," he said as he ran a finger across its screen to open something he'd bookmarked. "Three or four news stories I've saved for you...mainly from British sites, since the American press appears to be either parroting the government line or avoiding it altogether." Another frustrated scream from the bathroom, and he pushed the pad across the table to me. "I'll knock on the door, see if she needs any help," he added as he got up. "Read."
I went through the stories Mr. Lagler had bookmarked, skimming them at first, then going back to read them more closely. I'd just gotten to Andreas Sullivan's stupid claim that Hannah had been abducted by the Chinese when a red light blinked in the pad's upper right margin, alerting me that a related news story had just appeared.
I tapped my finger against the light and a window opened on the screen: vid footage of a large mob of protesters running away from a dense white cloud billowing in their midst. The caption stated that this was a demonstration in Lafayette Park across the street from the White House; it had been broken up by Washington police and National Guard soldiers, with at least twenty protestors taken into custody. The attached news story said that anti-government demonstrations--peaceful for the most part, but violent at a few--were spontaneously occurring in cities all over the country, with many also being squashed by local and federal authorities.
By then, Melissa had stomped her way back across the apartment, wrapped in damp towels and angry as a wet cat. I ignored her as she slammed the bedroom door and instead looked up at Mr. Lagler as he returned to the table. "This is because of what Hannah said last night, isn't it?"
"Yes, it is...although her speech was heard early yesterday afternoon in Washington. Apollo is on Greenwich Mean Time, so there's a five-hour difference in time zones." I glanced at the time stamp at the top of his pad, then took off my watch and reset it. "The White House must have been expecting something like this, because they were ready to shut down the feed to the ISPs. But they couldn't do anything about European sites, which is how it was leaked to the US."
I glanced again at the Lafayette Park demonstrators being dispersed by tear gas, and suddenly lost my appetite for the muffin in front of me. "So...what happens now? Are you going to send Hannah home? They'll probably want the rest of us, too."
Mr. Lagler shook his head. "I've spoken with Loren about that, and he's against it. So far as he and the town council are concerned, all six of you have sanctuary here for as long as you want. But it's not entirely up to him. Something as important as this had to go before the town. Apollo has a democratic government, and all major decisions are made with the consent of the residents."
"You're going to have a vote?"
"A town meeting is scheduled for this evening, at which time a formal resolution will be submitted." He paused. "Since you're not an Apollo citizen...not yet, at least...you won't be able to vote. So you don't have to be there...but it may help if people can see you and your friends."
I slowly nodded, understanding what he was telling me. If Hannah, the other kids, and I were going to remain on the Moon, the majority of Apollo's inhabitants would have to agree to let us stay. And that meant defying the president of the United States. Mr. Porter would have to make a case for us, but showing up for the town meeting would be in our own best interests, whether we wanted to be there or not. "I'll talk to the others and let them know what's happening. Can you tell me how to find them?"
"That reminds me." Mr. Lagler reached into his pocket, pulled out a pair of wristbands, and handed one to me. "You need to wear this at all times. The other is for your sister."
I took the wristband from him. A thick plastic bracelet, it contained a LCD, a miniature mike and speaker grille, and a green bar that I didn't recognize at once. "It's GPS-enabled," Mr. Lagler explained, "so we'll be able to find you at any time, even if you're out on the surface. And it's voice-activated, so all you need to do is say the name of the person you want to reach. It only works inside the crater and ag domes, though...you need to use a suit com when you're outside. But the most important thing is this..." He pointed to the green bar. "That's a radiation dosimeter. It should be green at all times. If it ever starts to turn black, it means you're in danger of exceeding the safe dose of REMS and you should get to a radiation shelter as soon as you can...the big one underground would be best."
"Thanks." I fastened it around my left wrist, next to my watch, then pushed back my chair. "So what should I do now?"
Mr. Lagler picked up my plate and cup. "There's little for you to do. We can't enroll you in school or Colony Service until we know for certain that you're staying, so..." He shrugged as he carried everything to the kitchenette. "Walk around a bit and get to know the place. Talk to the others and let them know about tonight's meeting. Other than that, I can't think of anything else."
It sounded like good advice. Knowing that it could take hours for Melissa to emerge from our room, I left the apartment before Mr. Lagler did. Logan might not have a wristband yet, so I'd need to find him and speak with him about the town meeting. Nina, too, although I'd leave it up to her whether Eddie should be there or not; he might not understand what was going on, or be able to sit still and be quiet for the entire meeting. And as for Hannah...
Walking along the Tier-3 balcony, I was just thinking about her when an apartment door opened about a hundred yards away and who should appear but the First Daughter herself. It wasn't hard to recognize her from a distance; there couldn't be very many girls in Apollo who wore Washington Nationals ball caps. There was a slender, dark-skinned woman with her, whom I assumed to be Ms. Porter. As she shut the door behind them, Hannah happened to glance my way.
Both of us stopped dead in our tracks. For a moment or two, neither of us knew what to do, even though it was obvious that we'd spotted one another. Hannah tentatively raised a hand, and when I waved back she turned to Ms. Porter and said something to her. The city manager's wife looked at me, then gave Hannah a quiet nod. Hannah turned and started walking toward me.
I met her about halfway. "Hi. How're you doing?"
"Okay...you?"
"All right, I guess." I hesitated. "So...I saw you last night. On the holo, I mean."
Hannah's face colored. "You saw that?" she asked and I nodded. "Yeah, well...it was something I had to do, even though I didn't want to. Get in front of a camera, I mean."
"No, no, I understand. And I think you did fine. But..." Feeling a sudden flash of anger, I turned to lean forward against the balcony railing. "When were you going to tell us who you are?" I asked, not looking at her while trying to keep an even tone. "I mean, that you're really...?"
"The president's daughter?" She rested her arms against the railing, clasping her hands together. "I was waiting for a chance."
"We were cooped up in a spacecraft for three days. You had plenty of chances then."
"I know that, Jamey...and you're right, maybe I should have." Hannah sighed. "Try to look at it my way. My father had just died. I still don't know what happened to my mother. I was pulled out of bed in the middle of night by a couple of Secret Service agents who were loyal to my dad and pushed into the back of a limo before the vice president's people could get their hands on me. I didn't even know where I was going until five minutes before I met you. Do you really think I was going to jump up and down and say, 'Hey, guess what? I live in the White House!'"
"No, but..." I floundered for a second or two, trying to figure out what to say. "You could have trusted us."
"I do trust you." Unexpectedly, she laid a hand across my wrist. "And if you want to know the truth, I like you."
Even if that hadn't come from the First Daughter, I would've jumped out of my skin. How many girls do you think have said that to me? You can start at zero and count backward.
"I...I...I..."
"You saved my life during the blowout. I never got a chance to thank you for that, either. And even if you hadn't done that, I would've been impressed just by the way you've learned to..."
Her voice trailed off and she looked away, embarrassed by what she seemed to want to say. "Walk?" I asked quietly.
"Yeah, I guess that's what I mean." She looked at me again. "That took a lot of courage."
I was still trying to come up with an answer when she glanced at her watch. "Look, I've got to be somewhere just now, so...well, don't be mad at me, okay? And next time we see each other, let's try this again."
"All right, sure...."
"Okay, then." She hesitated, then suddenly gave me a quick kiss on the cheek. "See you later."
And then she was gone, which was probably just as well. It took me a minute or two to learn how to breathe again.
The town meeting was held in the colony's largest room, the storm shelter beneath Apollo. This was the place where everyone was supposed to go when the colony received warning of solar flares. Every few years, storms erupt upon the Sun's photosphere, which cause massive geysers to shoot out into space. These flares release lethal amounts of radiation that can penetrate the crater's regolith shield.
The shelter was there to protect Apollo's inhabitants during these storms; behind its mooncrete walls were the colony's water tanks, which provided additional radiation protection. There were also reserve air tanks holding enough oxygen and nitrogen to keep everyone alive for up to thirty days. And since the bunker was designed to be large enough to hold a thousand people at a time, it provided enough space for residents to gather for events such as town meetings. There was even a big wall screen at the front of the room.
When Melissa and I arrived with Mr. and Ms. Lagler, I thought she and I would be hidden in the back of the room. We weren't full citizens, after all, but rather a couple of kids who'd shown up on the Moon like orphans abandoned on someone's doorstep. So I was surprised when someone met us at the door to usher us to the first row of folding chairs facing an elevated platform. Mr. Porter was seated in the middle of a long table set up on the platform, the five other council members on either side of him. He smiled when my sister and I were brought to seats directly in front of the table; clearly he wanted us to be seen by every person in the room.
Logan was already there, along with the Hernandez kids. I'd called him earlier that afternoon and told him that he needed to be at the meeting, and said the same thing to Nina once I got in touch with her. Eddie fidgeted in his seat; I could tell that he didn't want to be there, but Nina did her best to keep him calm. Shortly after I sat down, she pulled a pad out of her pocket, opened a children's maze game, and handed it to her brother. Eddie was instantly mesmerized, and we heard little from him for the rest of the meeting.
I glanced over my shoulder at the audience behind us. People were still coming in, but so far as I could tell from the scarcity of vacant chairs, it seemed as if nearly everyone in Apollo had decided to show up. I recognized almost no one, though. I caught a quick glimpse of Gordie as he made his way to a seat about halfway to the rear, and Nicole gave me a little smile and a wave from three rows back--I wanted to go over and say hello, but realized that this wasn't a good time to be seen flirting with a girl--but just about everyone else was a stranger.
It was not until Hannah came in that anyone paid attention to the six of us. An abrupt hush fell across the room as Ms. Porter escorted her in. Hannah wasn't wearing her cap tonight, and she proudly kept her head up as she walked down the center aisle. She was used to being the center of attention, I suppose, because she showed no sign of nervousness. Yet a low rumble of voices followed her, and although most people smiled as she walked past them, I noticed a few frowns as well. No doubt everyone had seen her speak the night before, and some probably thought she and the rest of us were nothing but trouble.
Hannah sat down beside me. She was able to do so because Melissa moved over one seat to make room for her. My sister was still mortified by the lousy way she'd treated her on the way to the Moon and was eager to make amends. Hannah barely paid attention to her, though; instead, she turned to me.
"Hi," she whispered. "Have I missed anything important?"
Other than your arrival? I thought. "No, not really," I whispered back. "They haven't started yet."
"Good." She hesitated, then bent a little closer. "Have you thought about what I said?"
That little kiss on the cheek had haunted me all afternoon; so had what she'd told me just before then. "Yeah...sure." I swallowed a lump, then looked her straight in the eye. "We're square, okay?"
"Sure, we're square." A quiet smile. "Hey, do you think maybe you'd like to get a snack after...?"
She was interrupted by the sudden bang of a gavel. Mr. Porter was calling the meeting to order; the rest of our conversation would have to wait.
"I'd like to thank everyone for coming this evening," Mr. Porter began after the room had gone quiet, his voice carried by the prong in his ear. "I realize this is sudden, but the matters before us are too important to be held off until our scheduled monthly meeting. I'm sure most of you are already aware of the situation, but I'll begin by summarizing recent events..."
He gave a brief run-down of everything that had happened over the course of the last few days, beginning with President Wilford's death and continuing with the flight of my friends and I from Earth, ending with Hannah's testimony the night before and the town council's decision to suspend helium-3 shipments to the United States until President Shapar gave an honest account for her predecessor's death and the detention of ISC officials and others.
"Since then," Mr. Porter said, "the president's response has been unsatisfactory, to say the least. First, her spokesman claimed that Ms. Wilford is still in Washington--" some muted laughter at this "--followed by the allegation that she's been abducted by PSU agents working in collaboration with us." The laughter grew louder and more derisive, and Mr. Porter tried not to smile as he raised a hand for silence. "Less amusing is the White House's demand that we immediately send Ms. Wilford back to Earth. Although they haven't explicitly said so, we may assume that they'll want us to return the other children as well, since their parents are ISC officials who've been detained."
Once again, I felt a chill. Somewhere back on Earth, Dad and Jan were in federal custody, charged as criminals simply because my father had spoken out against Lina Shapar. Melissa made a hissing sound, and I looked around to see her face pinched in anger. My sister had finally realized the seriousness of our situation.
"If we refuse to do so," Mr. Porter continued, "President Shapar has threatened to retaliate against other ISC countries. They haven't yet said what actions they may take, but apparently they believe that our sponsor governments will pressure the ISC into forcing us to turn over the children."
He paused to let his words sink in, then went on. "The town council has acted on its own to impose an embargo, and in doing so we are acting within the provisions of the ISC charter, which allows us to forfeit production shipment to any member country that takes actions contrary to the interest of others. We also recommend that Apollo refuse the Shapar administration's demand to send back the children, However, the latter cannot be done without majority assent of Apollo's citizens. Therefore, as town manager, I'm entering a motion that these children--" he gestured toward the six of us "--be granted unconditional political asylum and allowed to remain here as Apollo citizens." He turned to another council member. "Ms. Fleming?"
A stern-looking woman with white hair stood up. "As moderator, I'm allowing one hour for debate before calling for a vote. Anyone who wishes to speak may now do so."
It took a few moments before anyone stood up, but I could hear townspeople quietly murmured to each other. Then someone near the back of the room raised a hand. He left it up while Ms. Fleming pointed a scanner in his direction; once she'd checked his identity by reading his wristband, she acknowledged him by saying his name. He got up and walked to a mike stand set up in the center aisle.
"Loren," he asked, "if we suspend helium-3 shipments to the US, isn't that going to take money from our pockets?"
"It will, at least for a while," Mr. Porter replied. "We estimate a ten to fifteen percent drop over a six-month period, if the embargo lasts that long. However, since we'll continue to provide He3 and other lunar materials to the remaining ISC countries, we don't expect the shortfall to severely affect our profit margin over the long term."
Another resident raised a hand and approached the mike after the moderator pointed to her and said her name. "Have we received any word from Bill Sturges, the American ISC director, about the embargo?"
"Katherine, there's been no official communications from ISC's Washington headquarters since Lina Shapar took office," Mr. Porter said. "We're not sure what this means, but we suspect that all senior ISC officials in the US have been detained." The woman who asked the question stared at him as voices rumbled through the room. "However, Ronald Voss has assured us that he and the other European directors will stand behind whatever decision we make."
Another person stood up and started to speak immediately, but stopped when Ms. Fleming reminded him that he first had to be formally recognized. He apologized and waited to be identified and given permission to approach the mike. "Why does Lina...President Shapar, I mean...want us to send back Wilford's kid? Maybe she really does think we've kidnapped her."
Laughter and a few disgusted snorts greeted this question. Mr. Porter tapped his gavel, then let another council member answer the question. "If you'd seen last night's broadcast," he said, "you'd know that Ms. Wilford's testimony contradicts the White House allegation that President Wilford was assassinated by a PSU agent. No doubt the Shapar administration wants Ms. Wilford in their custody in order to prevent her from revealing the truth about her father's death. As for the second...you really don't think we're collaborating with Moon Dragon, do you?"
More laughter, and the guy who'd asked the question turned to shuffle back to his seat. Beside me, Hannah shook her head in disgust. "Can't believe anyone would think I've been kidnapped," she whispered.
I shrugged. "You never know. Some people don't..."
"Mr. City Manager!" an angry voice shouted from a few rows back. "Do you seriously think that Americans here should commit treason?"
Startled, I looked around to see who had yelled this. Not far from where Nicole was sitting, a heavy-set man with a shaved head stood up from his chair. Beside him sat Billy Tate; his arms were crossed, and there was an equally determined expression on his face.
Mr. Porter brought down his gavel again as Ms. Fleming glared at the man who'd spoken out of turn. "Mr. Hawthorne," she said, "you may address the meeting at any time, but you must be recognized by..."
"Answer my question, Mr. City Manager! You're proposing that we commit an act of treason against the United States, aren't you? What right do you have to force any American here to...?"
"Mr. Hawthorne, sit down!" Ms. Fleming's face turned red. "The floor has not recognized you!" She pointed to a hand that had been raised from the aisle just behind mine. "The chair recognizes Luis Garcia."
A short, muscular man with a salt-and-pepper mustache stood up and walked to the microphone. Mr. Hawthorne shut up, but he didn't sit down. "I'd like to address those last remarks, if I may," Mr. Garcia said once he reached the mike. Both Mr. Porter and Ms. Fleming nodded, and he turned toward Mr. Hawthorne. "Donald, with all due respect, no one here is suggesting that any American citizen here betray his own country. However, if you feel that strongly, I'm sure the town council would have no objection to you forfeiting your shares so that you and your nephew can take the next LTV back to Earth."
A few scattered chuckles from the audience. Donald Hawthorne scowled and appeared to chew his lower lip, but he didn't respond. Luis Garcia looked toward the rest of the room. "The actions undertaken and proposed by Loren Porter and the rest of the council are not directed against the United States or its people. Instead, they are directed against a president who has apparently assumed power through a coup d'etat. This same president has also detained individuals...fellow Americans, in fact...who've spoken out against her administration's intent to unilaterally claim lunar resources protected by international law."
"Hear, hear!" someone in the back row yelled. It sounded like Gordie, but I couldn't be sure.
Garcia nodded in his general direction and went on. "As Apollo citizens, it's our right...and our responsibility...to preserve those same resources for the benefit of all humankind, not just the United States...."
"You're going to be singing a different tune when the Marines land!" Hawthorne snapped.
Mr. Porter banged his gavel again. "Mr. Hawthorne, speak out of turn again, and I'll have the constables remove you from the room."
Hawthorne remained standing as Garcia turned toward him. "Donald, if Lina Shapar decides to send troops to the Moon, rest assured that my Rangers will be ready to meet them." He glanced at Billy as he said this, and Hawthorne's nephew looked down at the floor. "But resistance to injustice does not always mean having to take up arms and fight to the death. Sometimes it can simply mean standing in place...and refusing to move or be moved."
Applause erupted among the audience members and swept through the room. Donald Hawthorne sank back into his seat as Luis Garcia turned away from the mike. As he walked past Hannah's chair, though, he briefly laid a hand on her shoulder.
"Welcome to Apollo, Ms. Wilford," he said quietly. "Glad to have you with us."
Hannah gave him a grateful nod. She didn't say anything, but her eyes were rimmed with tears. Garcia caught me looking at him. A quick smile and a wink, and then he moved on. I had no idea who he was, but I was glad he was on my side.
After Mr. Porter tapped his gavel again, Ms. Fleming asked if anyone else cared to speak. She waited a minute, and when no one raised a hand, she told Mr. Porter that the town was ready to vote. The city manager read the proposition--that Hannah Wilford and her friends, my sister and I included, be granted political asylum and allowed to become Apollo citizens--and then called for a vote.
Looking over my shoulder, I watched as townspeople ran fingertips across the LCD screens of their wristbands. Apparently the measure had been transmitted to everyone; no show of hands, but rather a secret ballot. That must have been why Ms. Fleming checked the identities of everyone who wanted to speak; the council was making sure that any nonresidents who might have shown up for the meeting wouldn't be able to skew the vote. After a few minutes, Mr. Porter, Ms. Fleming, and another council member downloaded the ballot into their pads. The three of them studied the totals, checked the numbers they'd received against each other, and then Mr. Porter stood up to announce the results.
In favor: 732. Opposed: 209. Abstaining: 37. Absent: 22. The ayes had it; the motion passed.
And that was it. I was now a citizen of the Moon.
"Why walk when you can fly?" Nicole asked.
We were standing on the edge of a parapet overlooking Apollo. It was just below the bottom of the ceiling dome, about 300 feet above the crater floor, and we were about to jump off.
I tried not to look down, but couldn't help myself. The parapet jutted out from a guardrail-protected platform that circled the top of the crater and was normally used to inspect the dome. Just past its edge, the crater's interior walls sloped down toward Apollo's landscaped groves and meadows. The parapet didn't have a railing, so there was nothing to prevent a misstep that would cause me to make a long fall to the bottom.
Nothing, that is, except the paragliding suit I wore. It was a red, one-piece outfit, skin-tight and made of some elastic composite, with long, thin membranes that extended out from my arms and legs when I stretched them apart. The suit would let me glide upon thermal drafts rising from the solarium; wearing it, I would temporarily become an airborne hybrid of a human being and a flying rodent.
Yeah, right, I thought. Just call me Batboy. Paragliding was perfectly safe so long as I followed instructions. Or at least that's what I'd been told. "I'm not sure if I can do this," I murmured, stepping back from the precipice.
"Sure you can." Logan was up there with us. He stood on the other side of Nicole and wore a suit identical to ours except in color: his was dark blue, while Nicole's was teal-green. All three of us wore helmets and goggles; small packs containing parachutes were strapped to our backs. "The first step is the hardest. After that, all you have to do is keep from falling."
Not funny. I gave him a sour look and he grinned back at me. Logan had already done this before, with Nicole as his instructor. I'd watched from below, and when they'd landed I'd told them that I'd like to try this myself. Big mistake; they took me seriously. So for the next several days, I'd taken afterschool lessons in paragliding when I wasn't sweeping walkways and emptying trash containers. I wasn't bad at it, but up until then I'd only jumped off a low balcony on Tier 1 with a padded mat as my touchdown point. This time was the real deal. If I was going to earn my paragliding permit, I'd have to make a 91-meter jump....
Who was I kidding? I wasn't really interested in paragliding. I was just jealous of the fact that Logan was spending more time with Nicole than I was. In fact, she was dangerously close to becoming his girlfriend. If I wanted her, then I'd have to show her that my best friend didn't have more guts than I did.
So there I was, about to do something crazy. Only a few weeks ago, my idea of risky behavior had been crossing the street in my mobil. And now...
"C'mon, Jamey." Logan was becoming impatient. "Jump already."
"Stop pushing him," Nicole said, then looked at me again. "If you don't feel like you're ready for this, then don't...."
"Oh, the hell with it," I said, and then I jumped off the platform.
The morning after the town meeting, I began to settle in. Maybe I was rushing things a bit--after all, only a couple of days earlier I'd arrived on the Moon--but I didn't want to sit around and wait for someone to tell me what to do. Neither did Melissa, but that was to be expected. Her boredom threshold was even lower than mine; besides, I think she wanted to meet some boys. So Ms. Lagler took a day off from her job at the comptroller's office and escorted us to those places in Apollo we'd need to visit in order to fully become citizens in good standing.
First stop was City Hall, a warren of offices on Tier 1, where a clerk took fingerprints and retina images from Melissa and me and added them to information embedded in our wristbands. The wristbands were redundant--our fingers and eyes were all that we'd need for the scanners that unlocked doors throughout Apollo--but since they also contained our comlinks and dosimeters, we were told to wear them at all times anyway.
We were also registered to vote. The minimum voting age was sixteen, and as Apollo residents we were expected to cast our ballots in all elections and civil referendums. That was as much of a surprise to Melissa as it was to me; until then, no one had ever treated us as adults or respected our opinions in matters of public interest. I walked out of the clerk's office feeling just a little taller.
With the right to vote, though, came an obligation to help the community. Our next stop was the Colony Service office, where another clerk had us press our fingers against a scanner before downloading into our pads a long list of job openings. The list ranged all the way from cleaning toilets and sweeping floors to spacecraft maintenance and aeroponic farming: something for everyone, regardless of age, gender, or skills. As Mr. Lagler said, there was no getting around this; Colony Service was mandatory, no excuses accepted. Not that MeeMee didn't try, but the clerk only frowned at her when she tried to cite a list of ailments and allergies--most of them imaginary--which would prevent her from working twenty hours a week. We were told that we'd have a few days to pick something from the list, but if we didn't volunteer for a job by the end of the week, one would be chosen for us.
And finally, we dropped by Apollo High.
The school wasn't anything like my school in Burtonsville. Instead of a big, two-story building with three wings and a parking lot, we found ourselves at a three-room schoolhouse on Apollo's east side that somewhat resembled a Spanish hacienda. Classes were already over for the day--they began at 7 a.m. sharp and ended at 12 noon, five days a week--so only the principal and his secretary were present when Melissa and I came in.
As it turned out, Logan was there, too. He and Dr. Ernsting were in the principal's office when we arrived. The principal's name was Giovanni Speci, and he was one of the school's only two full-time employees; all the teachers were part-timers who did this as Colony Service. Apollo High had only twelve students, so we'd be in the same classes as the kids who were already there; our teachers would come and go through the morning, each taking turns to spend fifty-five minutes with us, until school let out at lunchtime, after which we were expected to report to our Colony Service jobs or, if we had any time left in the day, participate in sports.
At first, it sounded like Apollo High would be a piece of cake: shorter hours, smaller classes, and part-time teachers. Any notions that my new school would be easy, though, disappeared when Mr. Speci downloaded our textbooks into our pads. Trigonometry and calculus; German, Spanish, and Mandarin; third-level English, with an emphasis on grammar and composition; American and European literature; world history; biology, lunar geology, and physics, including a seminar in astronomy; ethics and philosophy. I had to dump all the texts already stored in my pad just to make room for the new material. Compared to Apollo High, my old school in Maryland was the cakewalk I'd been expecting here.
Melissa stared at her pad when she saw what it now contained. "How can you expect us to learn all this stuff?" she protested, her voice rising in horror. "We're in class only five hours a day!"
"Oh, you won't be getting it all at once," Mr. Speci said. "Some of this, like the language, literature, and science classes, will rotate every six weeks. But you'll need to spend at least a couple of hours a night on homework if you're going to stay on top of everything...if you have that much free time, that is."
Logan raised an eyebrow. "What do you mean?"
"The three of you are new here. That means you'll need remedial education in some areas." As he spoke, the principal turned to his secretary. "See if you can find someone who's available for the next three or four weeks to put them through Basic Lunar Skills." The young woman on the other side of the office quietly nodded as she typed something into her comp. "That's the course we give everyone who relocates here," Mr. Speci went on. "How to wear and operate EVA gear, how to react in an emergency, how to walk..."
"I already know how to walk, thank you," Melissa said testily.
"Really?" Mr. Speci pointed to her ankle weights. "Take those off, then walk to the coffee maker over there. If you can bring me a fresh cup without spilling it, then I'll believe you."
MeeMee glanced at the carafe on a table next to the secretary's desk. It was only eight feet away. "Sure, why not?" she said, then bent down to unfasten her weights. She was careful enough to stand up slowly, but the second step she took was a little too hasty. Suddenly, it was if she'd decided to leap headfirst toward the table. She went sprawling across the room, arms flailing for balance as she yelled something scatological, and probably would have careened into the opposite wall if Mr. Speci hadn't stood up to catch her.
"Nice try," he said dryly.
Melissa scowled at him. The last thing she liked was making a fool out of herself. I was laughing out loud, but I shouldn't have. As it turned out, I'd have plenty of chances of my own to look like a dunce.