to risk a possible miscalculation or a renewal of the conflicts over resources and fertile land that had nearly destroyed Earth more than five hundred years ago. At any rate, much of the grain could outlast even this drought.
I should be doing lessons, Iris thought. But she liked to get outside whenever the heat did not confine her to the house, and she would get in an hour of study before bedtime. Her friends still teased her about her pursuits, but more gently. The story of her encounter with Jawaharlal had grown in the telling until some believed that the Linker had predicted great things for her. If there was a chance the girl might rise, perhaps to a Counselor's post or even to a position such as Regional Coordinator, it would not hurt to be on her good side; at the same time, a little ribbing would keep her from getting a swelled head.
Iris heard a shriek, then a shout from Daria; the red-haired girl had tagged Tommy as he was racing for the tractor that was their goal. Iris peered out through the grain, watching while Tommy protested to Daria, then ducked back before Daria could see her.
Tad had sent her a message that morning. She hadn't believed her father when he had told her that he would send messages regularly, but he had sent three since spring and two had been confidential, for her alone. Those had been transmissions, recordings of his words and image, but the third had been a call where she had been able to talk to him. His image had appeared on the screen in the common room, as lifelike as if he had actually been present. Iris had accepted his call there instead of in her room, knowing that Angharad and Constance would want to talk to him also and not wanting to seem selfish.
Iris had sent messages to Tad, too, asking the system for his location and then routing her words to him. The first time, she had sent the normal transmission, but Tad had surprised her by asking for a letter next time. He could not read the words, but he liked seeing the symbols form on a screen while knowing that his daughter was tapping them out, and a voice would give him the words.
His fourth message, the one that had come that morning, had been different. She remembered the excitement in his voice. He had called from Bogota; he was leaving Earth, taking a job in satellite repair, and would let her know in a few days which space station was to be his home base. He had been grinning; his flushed cheeks and slightly slurred voice had made her think he was a little drunk. She was happy for him, but she also knew she wouldn't be hearing from him as often. He could not spend all his credit on calls to her from so far away, and she couldn't afford many more letters, either. She had already spent much of her allotment on a keyboard with letters and numbers to attach to her room screen. Maybe she could transmit words alone, without an image and voice, to her father. That wouldn't cost as much, and he might find someone who could read them to him; on a space station, there would be many who knew how to read.
Constance and Angharad had not been pleased by Tad's news. "Tad thinks he's a Habber," Constance had said scornfully. "Going up there, when there's enough to do here." Angharad at least had the wit to object; Earth depended on such space ventures and Tad was working for the Nomarchies, not the Associated Habitats, who had long ago abandoned any enterprises near Earth orbit. But even Angharad had not managed to hide her displeasure. Anything that resembled Hab ways was open to some question, and she had seemed worried about the example Tad might be setting for his daughter. Angharad had watched Iris with narrowed eyes after the call.
She suddenly realized that someone was calling her name. Iris peered out from the wheat again, and saw Sheryl standing by the tractor, hands cupped around her mouth. Tommy and Daria were next to the dark-haired woman; Laiza and Greg had come out of hiding.
Iris hurried toward them, wondering what
I should be doing lessons, Iris thought. But she liked to get outside whenever the heat did not confine her to the house, and she would get in an hour of study before bedtime. Her friends still teased her about her pursuits, but more gently. The story of her encounter with Jawaharlal had grown in the telling until some believed that the Linker had predicted great things for her. If there was a chance the girl might rise, perhaps to a Counselor's post or even to a position such as Regional Coordinator, it would not hurt to be on her good side; at the same time, a little ribbing would keep her from getting a swelled head.
Iris heard a shriek, then a shout from Daria; the red-haired girl had tagged Tommy as he was racing for the tractor that was their goal. Iris peered out through the grain, watching while Tommy protested to Daria, then ducked back before Daria could see her.
Tad had sent her a message that morning. She hadn't believed her father when he had told her that he would send messages regularly, but he had sent three since spring and two had been confidential, for her alone. Those had been transmissions, recordings of his words and image, but the third had been a call where she had been able to talk to him. His image had appeared on the screen in the common room, as lifelike as if he had actually been present. Iris had accepted his call there instead of in her room, knowing that Angharad and Constance would want to talk to him also and not wanting to seem selfish.
Iris had sent messages to Tad, too, asking the system for his location and then routing her words to him. The first time, she had sent the normal transmission, but Tad had surprised her by asking for a letter next time. He could not read the words, but he liked seeing the symbols form on a screen while knowing that his daughter was tapping them out, and a voice would give him the words.
His fourth message, the one that had come that morning, had been different. She remembered the excitement in his voice. He had called from Bogota; he was leaving Earth, taking a job in satellite repair, and would let her know in a few days which space station was to be his home base. He had been grinning; his flushed cheeks and slightly slurred voice had made her think he was a little drunk. She was happy for him, but she also knew she wouldn't be hearing from him as often. He could not spend all his credit on calls to her from so far away, and she couldn't afford many more letters, either. She had already spent much of her allotment on a keyboard with letters and numbers to attach to her room screen. Maybe she could transmit words alone, without an image and voice, to her father. That wouldn't cost as much, and he might find someone who could read them to him; on a space station, there would be many who knew how to read.
Constance and Angharad had not been pleased by Tad's news. "Tad thinks he's a Habber," Constance had said scornfully. "Going up there, when there's enough to do here." Angharad at least had the wit to object; Earth depended on such space ventures and Tad was working for the Nomarchies, not the Associated Habitats, who had long ago abandoned any enterprises near Earth orbit. But even Angharad had not managed to hide her displeasure. Anything that resembled Hab ways was open to some question, and she had seemed worried about the example Tad might be setting for his daughter. Angharad had watched Iris with narrowed eyes after the call.
She suddenly realized that someone was calling her name. Iris peered out from the wheat again, and saw Sheryl standing by the tractor, hands cupped around her mouth. Tommy and Daria were next to the dark-haired woman; Laiza and Greg had come out of hiding.
Iris hurried toward them, wondering what
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