Children of Hope by David Feintuch

we were really free, he’d ordered Hope Nations nets to disable trace functions. They were the mark of repressive government, he said, and Hope was a nation of free men. Nets were essential to modern life, and the Commonweal wouldn’t use them to trace and monitor its citizens.
    Most folk thought it was still so. But Anthony, elected First Stadholder, had quietly reinstated primary trace. I’d have to find another way. A public caller, perhaps.
    It was a new day, and a long sleep had worked wonders. Again I’d gone with Mr Dakko to his office; this time after a few hours’ labor, he’d taken me to lunch. I’d expected a nearby restaurant, but we drove to a rambling home not far from downtown. An energetic, florid woman greeted us at the carved oak door; she offered me a hand.
    “Hilda, you’re ahead of me. This is Randy, one of Kevin’s friends. Randy, Dr Zayre.”
    “Good to meet you.” Her handshake was firm. “I’m due back at the hospital in an hour; let’s get seated.” She gave a series of brisk instructions to the micro, and led us to benches in an enclosed, sunlit nook behind the kitchen.
    Table talk ranged far and wide, from weather to politics and beyond; out of courtesy, Dr Zayre or Mr Dakko occasionally made a point to include me. Generally, I was content to sit and listen, though the conversation bored me. Over fresh salad with a cream dressing, Dr Zayre fretted about the problems of her minuscule yard. Her usual gardener had quit, seeking more highly paid plantation work. And her shed needed rebuilding and painting.
    The men and women who ran the Commonweal actively discouraged an unemployed labor pool in the city, and the industrialization they claimed would inevitably follow. It was a situation that had occupied Dad, and Anth after him. Since Hope Nation’s colonial days, there’d been tension between farm and town. Laura Triforth’s rebellion and Zack Hopewell’s successor government had wrested control away from the city, vesting real political power in the Planters’ Council.
    Hope Nation was an agricultural colony, its wealth inevitably tied to the fertile land. Perhaps that was why Dr Zayre found it hard to keep a gardener at paltry wages.
    “Well?” The adults were looking at me expectantly.
    “Huh?” Furiously, I tried to recall what she’d just said.
    Ms Zayre’s tone was patient. “Would you be interested? I know the pay isn’t much, but you’d have a place to stay, and there isn’t all that much to do.”
    “As your gardener?” I finally found my voice.
    “And handyman. I work long hours, and don’t have time …”
    I looked to Mr Dakko for guidance, but he was impassive. I couldn’t stay at Kevin’s after school began, else Mr Dakko would be harboring a wayward youth, a serious offense. Even if he had no wish to turn me in, my presence would put him in jeopardy. And he couldn’t make work for me for long; I’d be dependent on his charity. Dad would hardly have approved.
    With the doctor, I’d have a real job, no matter how low the pay. And Anth would never think of looking here.
    Still, I’d prefer to be near Kev. Reluctantly, I nodded. “I guess so.”
    She asked, “Tomorrow, or thereabouts?”
    “Yes, ma’am.” If I’d be working for her, living in her home, she deserved simple courtesy. Moreover, she and Mr Dakko were friends; I owed her as much as I did him …”
    I thought back to the introductions. No, he hadn’t called me anything but “Randy.” “There’s something you should know,” I said with a grimace. “I don’t think Mr Dakko mentioned—”
    “Hilda, excuse us a moment.” Mr Dakko stood. To me, “Let’s take a walk.”
    I gaped.
    “Now, please?” In a moment, he’d steered me out the back door. “And what was that about, joey?”
    “I wanted to warn her that Anth—”
    “Do you ever think before you speak?”
    The silence stretched, until I stirred in unease. “Please. I don’t …” I shrugged helplessly. “I was