strong.”
Her image disappeared. The Persian boy’s video game returned, asking him if he wanted to buy a new magical staff for his wizard character. Reza very casually clicked “Yes.”
“So . . .” Cleo raised a finger, swiveling in her chair. She looked at Gabriel. “Wasn’t that your mom, dasher?”
Gabriel frowned, angry. “Is that the new hip word all the clan brats are using? Dasher ?”
Cleo shrugged. “It fits.”
“It’s a slang term for a trendy individual,” the Historian pointed out. “It isn’t actually new. Slang words tend to disappear and then pop up again over time.”
“Maybe I should just use dude ,” Cleo offered. “That pops up often enough for a free citizen to recognize.” She crossed her legs. She looked to Gabriel like a child. And she’d tampered with her Ecosuit! She’d switched out the boots for something uglier, with heavy treads on the soles.
“Did you toss your sanctioned boots?” Gabriel asked, pointing to her feet. He turned to the Historian, who had his head slightly tilted to avoid bumping into the handful of steel storage cabinets and medical devices that lined the wall above him. “I want that officially recorded. Including her attitude.”
Cleo made a raspberry sound with her tongue. “Ease up, government boy. All I was doing was asking if that really was your mom. I don’t see why you went all rage-master on me.”
“Yeah,” Wei chimed in. Gabriel turned to her, giving her the stink eye.
“We’re almost at the end of the mag-track,” the Spartan girl announced. “Detaching in just under a minute.”
Cleo turned back to her console. “I’ve downloaded the coordinates. All we gotta do is follow the blue line all the way to the station. This is gonna be so easy. I bet it’s the solar array’s photovoltaic heat dispersal. I practically majored in photovoltaics!”
“Detaching in thirty seconds,” the Spartan girl announced. Gabriel leaned in to watch. She had both hands underneath the glass piloting console, tucked inside a small compartment, her hands clutching twin joysticks. Gabriel was sure there was a more technical term for it, but the steering contraption looked eerily similar to a game that might be found at a virtuarcade.
“Watch,” Gabriel told Wei. “This is going to be neat.”
Ahead was the farthest western train station and just beyond that: the end of the tracks, punctuated with a yellow barrier composed of rubber and massive springs designed to absorb the impact of any wayward trains. But as the Tumbler surged forward, the rubber barrier began to slowly descend. Beyond it was a concrete frontage road leading out between the last few squat robotics factory buildings. Beyond those were essential GMO crops — soy, corn, hemp — undergoing testing by Clan Athens. Little white towers loomed over the corn stalks.
“What are those?” Wei asked, pointing to one of the towers.
“Bee hives,” Gabriel answered. “They pollinate the Athenian fruit trees in the parks.”
“They pollinate everything,” Tahlia said. “We use a slightly modified breed of apis mellifera . They dance to communicate!”
“They’re pretty awesome,” Cleo added. “We built these little machines that can transport the hives to the crops beyond the Xenoshield.”
Beyond the crops were the VR guns. Each one was the size of an autotaxi, aimed out at the tree-covered hills beyond the Xenoshield, laid out in a neat row along the invisible perimeter.
“Detaching!” Skye shouted. Beneath their feet, they could feel the Tumbler’s heavy wheels lock into place. The mag-lev deactivated and the Tumbler’s wheels hit the concrete. The vehicle jolted slightly and slowed a moment, then sped up as Skye’s little brother tapped his finger on the glass command console.
They passed the experimental corn crops and beehive towers. Gabriel watched through the windshield, remembering the lines of an ancient poem:
We hoarded the fresh berries in the
Her image disappeared. The Persian boy’s video game returned, asking him if he wanted to buy a new magical staff for his wizard character. Reza very casually clicked “Yes.”
“So . . .” Cleo raised a finger, swiveling in her chair. She looked at Gabriel. “Wasn’t that your mom, dasher?”
Gabriel frowned, angry. “Is that the new hip word all the clan brats are using? Dasher ?”
Cleo shrugged. “It fits.”
“It’s a slang term for a trendy individual,” the Historian pointed out. “It isn’t actually new. Slang words tend to disappear and then pop up again over time.”
“Maybe I should just use dude ,” Cleo offered. “That pops up often enough for a free citizen to recognize.” She crossed her legs. She looked to Gabriel like a child. And she’d tampered with her Ecosuit! She’d switched out the boots for something uglier, with heavy treads on the soles.
“Did you toss your sanctioned boots?” Gabriel asked, pointing to her feet. He turned to the Historian, who had his head slightly tilted to avoid bumping into the handful of steel storage cabinets and medical devices that lined the wall above him. “I want that officially recorded. Including her attitude.”
Cleo made a raspberry sound with her tongue. “Ease up, government boy. All I was doing was asking if that really was your mom. I don’t see why you went all rage-master on me.”
“Yeah,” Wei chimed in. Gabriel turned to her, giving her the stink eye.
“We’re almost at the end of the mag-track,” the Spartan girl announced. “Detaching in just under a minute.”
Cleo turned back to her console. “I’ve downloaded the coordinates. All we gotta do is follow the blue line all the way to the station. This is gonna be so easy. I bet it’s the solar array’s photovoltaic heat dispersal. I practically majored in photovoltaics!”
“Detaching in thirty seconds,” the Spartan girl announced. Gabriel leaned in to watch. She had both hands underneath the glass piloting console, tucked inside a small compartment, her hands clutching twin joysticks. Gabriel was sure there was a more technical term for it, but the steering contraption looked eerily similar to a game that might be found at a virtuarcade.
“Watch,” Gabriel told Wei. “This is going to be neat.”
Ahead was the farthest western train station and just beyond that: the end of the tracks, punctuated with a yellow barrier composed of rubber and massive springs designed to absorb the impact of any wayward trains. But as the Tumbler surged forward, the rubber barrier began to slowly descend. Beyond it was a concrete frontage road leading out between the last few squat robotics factory buildings. Beyond those were essential GMO crops — soy, corn, hemp — undergoing testing by Clan Athens. Little white towers loomed over the corn stalks.
“What are those?” Wei asked, pointing to one of the towers.
“Bee hives,” Gabriel answered. “They pollinate the Athenian fruit trees in the parks.”
“They pollinate everything,” Tahlia said. “We use a slightly modified breed of apis mellifera . They dance to communicate!”
“They’re pretty awesome,” Cleo added. “We built these little machines that can transport the hives to the crops beyond the Xenoshield.”
Beyond the crops were the VR guns. Each one was the size of an autotaxi, aimed out at the tree-covered hills beyond the Xenoshield, laid out in a neat row along the invisible perimeter.
“Detaching!” Skye shouted. Beneath their feet, they could feel the Tumbler’s heavy wheels lock into place. The mag-lev deactivated and the Tumbler’s wheels hit the concrete. The vehicle jolted slightly and slowed a moment, then sped up as Skye’s little brother tapped his finger on the glass command console.
They passed the experimental corn crops and beehive towers. Gabriel watched through the windshield, remembering the lines of an ancient poem:
We hoarded the fresh berries in the
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