“And while I am educating our youngest”—Michael used one of the spoons to send a few lettuce leaves down the organics chute and then dropped the spoon and the dishes into the solids chute—“what will you be doing?”
“Going to a teacher conference with our oldest. Dean wants Chord in the fast track. I want to hear what Chord thinks.” Jolynn looked skeptical.
Chord was eleven, just gearing up for adolescence and all its attendant delights. “He could do it, if he were willing to try.”
“And with Chord that’s always the question, isn’t it?” Jolynn sighed and shook her head. “Well, what will be will be, and all that. I’ll see you tonight.” She gave him a parting kiss and sat back down. “Now, get out of here. Some of us have work to do.”
Michael grinned at her as the door slid shut between them. Now he had it, all the reason he needed to do his job, as hard and unpleasant as it might get. He’d arrested friends before. He’d told hard truths, in public. He did it because he loved his home, his wife, his sons. This was his place and it was a good place, and he would not let anyone change that.
Not even Grandma Helen.
Yan Quai had planned on being early to the performance mosaic at Shake & Jake’s, but a customer had called with a last-minute order, and by the time he got out of the stream, got changed, caught the monorail, and paid his admission fee, he was an hour late and the place was jammed.
Shake & Jake’s had been a warehouse or factory at some point. Now, it was a series of performance spaces. The cocktail and chat crowd circulated on catwalks, balconies, and platforms, looking down on the dancers and actors below. Each act had its own stage with a seating area bounded by sound-dampening screens so the music and dialogue couldn’t get out and the rumble of casual conversation couldn’t get in. The air smelled of clashing perfumes and spicy snacks.
Quai leaned over the railing on one of the catwalks, watching a trio of French cirque-tradition performers in sparkling costumes giving an exhibition of slack-wire walking. To their left, a slender couple danced a sensuous and elaborate tango. To the right was the obligatory Shakespearean scene. He couldn’t hear, of course, but it looked like Macbeth and the witches. The audience seemed enchanted.
Mari, you always do throw a good party.
“Quai!”
Quai turned toward the sound of his name. Marietta shouldered her way through the crowd.
“Mari!” Quai hugged his friend and hostess. Marietta wore a scarlet sheath dress without any kind of head scarf at all. Her shoes were high-heeled pumps in a matching red, with ribbons that wrapped around her ankles. “What’s this? Going historical?”
“Like it?” She twirled. Quai shook his head. Mari grimaced and smoothed the front of the dress down. “Yeah, well, actually, it’s uncomfortable as all creation. I can’t breathe and my feet are killing me. I’m not doing this again.” She returned her focus to Quai, and a cheerful expression covered her face again. “So, how’s your end of the revolution going?”
Quai laughed. Mari’s direct approach to politics, and life in general, was legendary among her friends. “Slowly, slowly. There’s a lot of thought drifting around the stream that now is the time to be a still water and run deep and not give the yewners an excuse to come busting in.” No need to mention where that thought was coming from, of course.
Mari leaned against the wall to take the weight off at least one of the killer shoes. “Yeah, I’ve been hearing that, but I don’t know. I’d feel a lot better if I knew what we were waiting for.”
“Ah.” Quai held up one finger. “But we do know. We’re waiting for the yewners to be relieved that we didn’t kick up a fuss at the height of the Discovery brouhaha and for them to relax. Then it’s our turn.”
“Mmmm.” Mari shifted her weight to the other foot. “I’m not entirely convinced, but I’ll take it under advisement. I like to know what the money I raise”—she swept her hand out to encompass the entire performance space—“is going toward.”
“Same thing it’s always been going toward, Mari,” Quai assured her. “Finally returning full citizenship rights for the colonists.”
All the colonies had suffered at the result of the Bradbury Rebellion. All colonists had a harder time getting seats on the U.N.-controlled shuttles that flew between Earth and the planets. They found it impossible to obtain licenses for starting manufacturing or shipping businesses. Their privacy was invaded more frequently, their taxes were higher, and not one of them had been allowed to hold an independent election in twenty years. Yes, they all suffered, except maybe the long-lifers in their resorts.