Out in the corridor, exactly at her eye-level glowed the amber words CHENA’S BEDROOM, along with an arrow pointing to her left. She looked to her right. In that direction, the corridor had been completely blanked out. Not even the night-lights cut the darkness. Chena felt resentment, fear, and rebellion stiffen her back.
“Don’t worry, Chena Trust,” said the complex. In front of Chena, her reflection shifted, becoming another girl about her own age, but taller, broader, with bouncy chestnut hair and dusky skin. “My people and I will take good care of you. You just need to let yourself get used to us.”
Chena looked away as fast as she could. She started running in the direction the arrow pointed. The corridors lit up for her, with helpful arrows and signs, and within minutes a green curtain drew back and she tumbled into her sleeping alcove. She dove under the blankets and drew them all the way over her head, curling up into a tight ball. She shivered and prayed that under here, at least, the thing, the complex, couldn’t see her, wouldn’t speak to her, wouldn’t read her mind. She wished desperately she was back in the trees with the flowers and the bats, even the ants. She wished she was back on the station with the whirs and clicks and stinking corridors and Eng and King and their stupid games, or away out on some strange world with her father. She wished she was anywhere, anywhere at all but here, where the walls were watching her, and smirking about it.
It took a while, but eventually the startled fear gave way to anger, and Chena was able to unroll herself, although she did not stick her head out of the blankets.
I need to let myself get used to it, do I? She clenched her teeth, her fists, and every muscle in her body. That is not happening. I’ll find a way around you if it takes me ten years. I promise you I will.
Morning came all at once. Warm light touched Chena’s face, turning the darkness behind her eyelids red. She blinked and sat up. The blank night world was gone, replaced by a grove of trees that looked like they had been taken straight out of the forest around Offshoot.
“I’ll pick my own walls, thank you,” muttered Chena as she kicked the covers back.
The trees faded away, leaving behind blue screen and touch pad area. Chena scowled and ignored them. She pulled her curtain back, stumbling into the dark common area. She blinked and knuckled her eyes. It was still night out here, as well as behind Mom’s and Teal’s curtains.
The stupid complex had woken her up early.
“Next time I’ll wake your sister up first,” said the complex’s voice. “You need to take turns using the washroom anyway.”
“What the piss kind of computer are you?” demanded Chena in a hoarse whisper.
“My own kind,” replied the complex. “How hot do you like your shower?”
“Leave me alone!” snapped Chena. “Or do you like ogling little girls in the shower?”
This time there was no answer. Chena stormed into the shower, wishing there was a door or even a drawer to slam. But there was nothing. She thumped her fist against the wall but it produced nothing except a muffled thud, and it hurt.
The shower was frustratingly comfortable, the towel was thick, and the clothes in the drawer were brainless-looking—just a green shirt and black pants, but they were clean and more comfortable than anything she’d worn since they’d gotten to Pandora.
All of which just made her more angry.
She stomped out of the bathroom just as Mom was coming out of her sleeping alcove.
“I hate it here!” Chena announced.
Mom blinked at her. “This is not news, I’m afraid, Supernova. What do you hate?”
“Everything!”
A chime sounded outside the curtain that opened onto the corridor. Mom smoothed her nightshirt down and went to open the curtain. Chena followed, trying to make her pay attention. “There’s this computer, it runs the whole place and it spies on everything, I swear Mom, it’s not safe. It’s probably—”
Mom drew the curtain back. On the other side stood a smiling woman. Her skin was pale, but her hair was coal black and bundled into a knot at the back of her neck. She wore a loose white tunic and a black skirt that reached down to her ankles.
“Good morning, Mother Trust,” she said, saluting. “I’m Abdei and I’ll be one of your daughters’ teachers. I’m here to take Chena to her testing appointments.”
“Oh.” Mom returned the salute a little uncertainly, glancing down at Chena, already washed and dressed.
“Mom,” said Chena urgently. “I told you—”
“Chena,” she said sharply. But then she turned to Abdei. “I’m sorry. It’s still a little early and I was hoping the girls and I could have breakfast together before they started school.”