was the
second time she’d called him that, not that he minded
it.
It implied something, but she was
riding with him and it couldn’t be all bad.
“ Well…” Hank gathered his
thoughts.
People thought he was intelligent, but
he had a habit of thinking for a while before he spoke. That’s
really all it was. He simply couldn’t help it. He tried to tell her
about Earth.
She’d never seen it, only heard about
it and maybe seen pictures.
The trouble was he didn’t do that sort
of thing very well. But maybe she wanted more than the truth. That
other world was fascinating to someone who never had and never
would see it.
“ There are things I miss.”
There were a million things he missed, coffee for one. “A real
forest would be nice—I once swam in the ocean, it was real warm. My
folks took us to a tropical island, with palm trees and a coral
reef. A place called Jamaica. We were there for a week.”
The tears were very close to the
surface. Thoughts of his mother and father always brought up such
sadness. He felt such guilt, for surely he had railed against
going, leaving school, and his friends, to get on a ship and go off
into space.
They were doing what they thought was
right.
He realized that now.
And yet some of those friends had
clearly envied Hank, saying he was so lucky to have the
opportunity. How little they knew. All they had to go on was the
slick recruiting ads that were all over the media back
then.
She said nothing. How could anyone
explain or describe coffee? It simply didn’t grow here, and it was
prohibitively expensive. The free stuff at the café was ersatz, and
he couldn’t even really define the word ersatz.
“ I don’t miss the big
cities, the traffic.” She had no idea what traffic even was. “I
don’t miss the crime, the poverty of the soul. The pollution, and
the news media. The constant noise, the blaring sirens. Voices
yelling in the night and no one even looks out the window
sometimes.”
Polly listened, with eyes a bit round
and with a little white showing.
He looked at her.
“ There is a world of beauty,
and a world of pain. People who were born here will never see that
beauty. In some ways they really are better off than us back there.
They have things you and I can never dream of.” Hank was just
confusing her.
There were certain things they would
never be exposed to. The place had some advantages.
She told him about a magazine, a couple
of years out of date. It was going the rounds as such things did.
Her friend had lent it to her and she was obliged to pass it on to
a friend or even a deserving stranger. That homely spirit, the
neighbourliness, was the best thing about Third World. She took it
for granted, of course.
She loved pictures of New York, and the
insides of people’s houses. It’s not like women didn’t dream, and
the pictures helped.
It was the way things were done, very
pragmatic and very altruistic the people were around
here.
It made sense to feed your neighbour
when the odds were they might be feeding you in a year or two.
There was some sort of communal spirit.
Maybe that was what was different about
Hank. He still knew what private property and possessions were, and
a time when magazines littered the coffee table.
Peltham still knew what credit was.
There were a few old-timers left, and then what?
“ Oh, look.”
He broke out of his reverie to see a
pony-cart off to the north, coming down a wisp of a trail towards
town.
“ Huh.”
The white-clad figure of a girl sat
beside a darker figure, probably male but they were still a ways
away.
“ It’s Emily.” Polly peered
intently. “That must be Ted.”
“ Oh.” He had no idea of who
she was talking about.
“ They’ve been stepping out
for a while.” She gave him a quick look. “You’d think at some point
there would be an announcement.”
Hank grinned in
acknowledgement.
“ If he hasn’t made up his
mind by now…” She left the rest unsaid.
Hank felt kind of
second time she’d called him that, not that he minded
it.
It implied something, but she was
riding with him and it couldn’t be all bad.
“ Well…” Hank gathered his
thoughts.
People thought he was intelligent, but
he had a habit of thinking for a while before he spoke. That’s
really all it was. He simply couldn’t help it. He tried to tell her
about Earth.
She’d never seen it, only heard about
it and maybe seen pictures.
The trouble was he didn’t do that sort
of thing very well. But maybe she wanted more than the truth. That
other world was fascinating to someone who never had and never
would see it.
“ There are things I miss.”
There were a million things he missed, coffee for one. “A real
forest would be nice—I once swam in the ocean, it was real warm. My
folks took us to a tropical island, with palm trees and a coral
reef. A place called Jamaica. We were there for a week.”
The tears were very close to the
surface. Thoughts of his mother and father always brought up such
sadness. He felt such guilt, for surely he had railed against
going, leaving school, and his friends, to get on a ship and go off
into space.
They were doing what they thought was
right.
He realized that now.
And yet some of those friends had
clearly envied Hank, saying he was so lucky to have the
opportunity. How little they knew. All they had to go on was the
slick recruiting ads that were all over the media back
then.
She said nothing. How could anyone
explain or describe coffee? It simply didn’t grow here, and it was
prohibitively expensive. The free stuff at the café was ersatz, and
he couldn’t even really define the word ersatz.
“ I don’t miss the big
cities, the traffic.” She had no idea what traffic even was. “I
don’t miss the crime, the poverty of the soul. The pollution, and
the news media. The constant noise, the blaring sirens. Voices
yelling in the night and no one even looks out the window
sometimes.”
Polly listened, with eyes a bit round
and with a little white showing.
He looked at her.
“ There is a world of beauty,
and a world of pain. People who were born here will never see that
beauty. In some ways they really are better off than us back there.
They have things you and I can never dream of.” Hank was just
confusing her.
There were certain things they would
never be exposed to. The place had some advantages.
She told him about a magazine, a couple
of years out of date. It was going the rounds as such things did.
Her friend had lent it to her and she was obliged to pass it on to
a friend or even a deserving stranger. That homely spirit, the
neighbourliness, was the best thing about Third World. She took it
for granted, of course.
She loved pictures of New York, and the
insides of people’s houses. It’s not like women didn’t dream, and
the pictures helped.
It was the way things were done, very
pragmatic and very altruistic the people were around
here.
It made sense to feed your neighbour
when the odds were they might be feeding you in a year or two.
There was some sort of communal spirit.
Maybe that was what was different about
Hank. He still knew what private property and possessions were, and
a time when magazines littered the coffee table.
Peltham still knew what credit was.
There were a few old-timers left, and then what?
“ Oh, look.”
He broke out of his reverie to see a
pony-cart off to the north, coming down a wisp of a trail towards
town.
“ Huh.”
The white-clad figure of a girl sat
beside a darker figure, probably male but they were still a ways
away.
“ It’s Emily.” Polly peered
intently. “That must be Ted.”
“ Oh.” He had no idea of who
she was talking about.
“ They’ve been stepping out
for a while.” She gave him a quick look. “You’d think at some point
there would be an announcement.”
Hank grinned in
acknowledgement.
“ If he hasn’t made up his
mind by now…” She left the rest unsaid.
Hank felt kind of
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