I swear I won’t cry. But she was already sobbing as the air lock sealed.
Too late it occurred to her that this was her chance to try Dad’s trick.
See how he liked mopping up after her for a change.
As the water swirled over her face, she shoved the portable breather
into the slot in her throat, hard, so it hurt. Angry and sore, Tay swam
away from the pod.
She didn’t know that her mother was watching from the porthole,
admiring even then her daughter’s grace and strength, until the glow of
her skin disappeared into the dimness. Then, with a sigh, Mum turned
away.
“Should I... ?” Dad let the question trail off as she shook her head
sadly.
“Leave her be,” she said. “I remember feeling just the same.”
AS SHE SWAM past the school, Tay could see the Grouping
below hers in class. She let herself drift for a bit, watching, thinking,
That used to be me. I used to roll up every day, like them, plug in my
audio helmet, listen to Mr. Lomond maundering on.... I wonder what
they’re doing today?
She kicked a little closer.
It was history.
Every child in the Enclosure was taught history. That was required
in the original Charter.
The Charter covered every part of life. It was so old, it had the
actual signature of Ensign Leith, the last living member of the starship
Macmillan’s crew. Every child was shown that signature specially. It
was spidery, and shaky, and pale. Leath was an old man by then.
There was something a little forlorn about that signature.
Anyway, the Charter held firm, even after all this time, and chil-
dren were taught the events of Year 0, simply at first, with stories and
drawings, and then, as they reached their teens, with the Video.
The Video lasted only a few moments. It had survived the crash,
when so much data had not, by some fluke that no one understood,
and then it had been transferred to equipment developed to operate
in seawater and at depth. The school was situated behind the
Administration Pod and made use of its outlets to power the audio
MAUNDERING
MEANS SPEAKING
IN A RAMBLING
WAY, BLAH,
BLAH, BLAH...FORLORN MEANS
FEELING LONELY,
SAD, AND
ABANDONED,
WITHOUT HOPE
OR COMFORT.
(SOB!)