“You are the salvation of the human race. That is not nothing.”
“I don’t want that!” she yelled. “I want a life! My life. I want to live in a culture where people respect each other, where we have the liberty to follow whatever goals we can find for ourselves. I want to be free!”
“We all do,” Jenner said sharply. “But we had that freedom taken from us when the enemy found us. Now, all that is left is for humanity to run. To fly between the stars and find a refuge world for a few hundred years where we can breathe for a brief sweet time before running again. I too want to live a life without fear. I want a home to go to. But there is none in this damned galaxy, not for humans. None of us have a choice anymore. So now we will join the Five Saints, and fight back. We have to. My part in this campaign is trivial. It is so small that it will never be known. But you, you and the boys—you will gather together with others like you, and you will win. You will liberate this galaxy. And humans will have a home again.”
—
Three days after they were rescued from the crash, the clan’s senior year finally moved out of their dormitory dome in the middle of the main campus complex. Genten construction remotes had built them a crescent of neat little bungalows in a fresh section of the clan compound. They all had the same basic layout of five rooms and a cohort den under a curving roof, with broad glass doors opening onto a terrace shaded by palms and vines. In the center of the crescent was a communal hall, with indoor and outdoor swimming pools and gyms and a dining room if they still wanted to eat as a group, as well as lecture theatres and design studios and all-body combat simulation eggs. There were also portals to various sites for combat exercises with live weapons and out to a skyfort for more zero-gee training.
After breakfast on the exodus day, muncs and remote wagonettes carried everyone’s belongings out of the senior dorm and across the compound to their new homes. Behind them, the new senior year swooped in on the vacated dormitories and started heated squabbles over who got which bed.
Dellian had been tempted to leave everything behind. After all, the only things in the boxes on the wagonette were relics of childhood. He considered that over now, obliterated by the resort island and subsequent ordeal on the wilderness mountain. But there were blankets the muncs were fond of, and books and old drawings that still managed to tug at a few sentimental strings deep inside. So he brought it all, telling himself he’d chuck most of it into his new home’s disposal chute. Somehow, he suspected the long line of his fellow yearmates had come to the same conclusion.
The door opened for him, and he stepped over the threshold.
He didn’t have any idea what he wanted. Just…not this.
His arms were by his side. He lifted them slightly and wiggled his fingers. The muncs bounced about happily at the freedom he’d just bestowed and rushed around the bungalow to explore. There was an outbreak of happy squeaks and groans as they discovered their den, with its shelf beds, next to his bedroom. They liked that.
Dellian stared down at the boxes they’d abandoned and the remote wagonette waiting patiently for his instruction, and scratched his head in perplexity.
“Hello?”
He turned to see Yirella framed by the open door, her head only just below the lintel. “Hey, you. Come in. Welcome to my home. Saints, that is so weird saying that!”
“I know.” She walked in, looking around, her expression of dismay as deep as his. “Nice,” she teased. “What are you going to do with it?”
“I have absolutely no idea.”
“I can pull up some old files on décor if you’d like. Our ancestors seemed to have a much greater imagination than us, especially when it came to artistic flare. It may give you some ideas.”
“Sounds good. Have you done that already? Looked, I mean?”
“Yeah. These homes all have a good fabricator. They can produce just about any effect you want, and the remotes will fit them for you. I’ve already been trying some stuff out.”
Dellian realized he hadn’t seen her in the line of yearmates walking into the crescent. “How long have you been here?”
“A couple of days. My bungalow is next door.”
“Really? That’s great!”
“It wasn’t chance.”
“Yeah? Who made that happen?”
“I did.”
“How did you manage that?”
“We’re the brains of the outfit, us girls, remember?”
“I thought this is an equal society?”
“No, Dellian, it isn’t. It is very far from that.”
His good humor faded at how serious she’d suddenly become. “Sorry.”
“Don’t be. We didn’t choose any of this. It’s not our fault.”
“Are you okay?”
“Sure. How about you? What did the doctor say?”
“Oh, that? The a-skin has peeled off. So I’m fine.”