LEGACY BETRAYED by Rachel Eastwood

peered at her. “Exa,” the Widow Coldermolly hissed. Widow Coldermolly was seventy-nine, hunchbacked, and reclusive. People also said she’d lost her mind when her husband died. Legacy was ashamed to admit that she’d always accepted this, by default, as true.
    But when the police had gone to collect Legacy from her home a few days ago, the Widow Coldermolly had offered her a basement in which to hunker down and wait. She’d seemed not only lucid, but more aware than even Legacy’s own parents as to what was going on in Icarus.
    “Widow Coldermolly!” Legacy greeted buoyantly, traipsing to the opened shutters. “How are you doing?”
    “Shh!” The old woman glared up at her. “Get in here!”
    Legacy glanced about, deduced that this was a good idea, and nodded. “Sure,” she agreed, going to the front door. As she reached for the handle, it swept open – for the hobbling old woman still moved faster than she did, high as she was – and the Widow grabbed her hand and yanked her inside, slamming and locking the door.
    “They’re watching us, you know,” the Widow snapped. “They’re watching us, and they’re waiting for you to come home!”
    “I told Dax you were always listening,” Legacy said, not focusing on the more pertinent information. “He didn’t believe me. He believes what they say about you. You know. That you’re crazy and stuff, since your husband died.”
    Strangely, the Widow Coldermolly smiled. “Oh, is that when I went crazy?” she asked, walking carefully toward her kitchen. “I didn’t know that. To me, losing my husband wasn’t that difficult, because, you see, I never loved him.” The Widow returned holding a cracked jar, its top removed. “I loved someone else. You know what I mean, I suspect.” Her eyes gleamed, and Legacy realized she even knew about Dax, recounting the kisses the boy had stolen from her as they’d ascended the complex stairs. “But he’d already been dead for a long time,” the Widow went on. “My Companion –he was a good man. That’s why I pay extra attention to you, Exa,” she explained, extracting a satchel of coins from within the jar. “Because you want to reform those damn laws.”
    She reached forward and took Legacy’s hand in her own, unfolding it. She firmly pressed the satchel into the girl’s palm and closed it. “Take this. It will help you get by and move forward,” she promised. Then her eyes darkened. “But don’t use it on that drink!” she snapped. “It dulls your mind. Makes you forget what’s smart, or even just what’s important, even just how you feel, all right?”
    “I knew you were always listening,” Legacy replied breathlessly.
    “You don’t get to keep living in an air city by not paying attention,” the Widow said. “Not at my age.” She hobbled toward the door, gesturing.
    “What do you m–”
    “Just that the monarch likes to get rid of people.” The Widow nudged Legacy forward. “You knew that already, though, didn’t you? Go on, now, get out of here. Keep the money. I have plenty.” She opened the door and thrust Legacy through it. “ Go, ” she said, and closed the door, locking it behind her. “And stop being so damn loud, damnit,” Legacy heard her mutter bleed through the shutters.
     
    Meanwhile, a small troop of Old Earth workers snuck through the dark, deserted street of their small dome. They kept to the shadows instinctively, knowing that there must have been some periodic observation at this time. As the Widow Coldermolly suggested, the elderly were shuffled off somewhere with meager provisions if they didn’t have the savings to stay in New Earth. They were given jobs that they were told would be as easy as babysitting blind kittens. Of course, this didn’t happen all too often. The environment of New Earth was likely to kill you before Old Earth would have its chance.
    “I think I might like to be called–” Coal 111 chirped.
    “Shh,” several people hushed