"What's this?" I say, "new clothes?"
Theresa is wearing a yellow shirt and a pair of pale blue coveralls. She has barretts shaped like rabbits. The difference is amazing.
"They let me have my first draw," Alexi says.
"I didn't know you were earning credit," I say.
"Newcomers earn a luxury allowance," he says. "I finally earned enough to get something. I got them a little big, so she can grow a bit." His voice is a little questioning, looking for approval.
"That's good," I say. I've never bought clothes for a little girl in my life-ask me about goats, I know a lot about goats.
"Well, we can't stay long, we're supposed to be on the way to New Arizona. He shifts from one foot to the other. He's still in the utility coveralls the commune issues and since he's small, they're too big.
"I'm glad you came by," I say. "Listen, I was talking to McKenzie, she picks up the milk delivery, and she thinks that a lot of people would be interested in having you adapt their separator programs. It would help you earn some credit, you could use credit when you get your own place."
"Okay," he says, "'Resa, we've got to be going."
She is halfway under the table and doesn't pay much attention. I am surprised at how blase he is about my suggestion.
"I'm sure that there's more than separators that need to be adapted, you could probably get quite a little business started."
He nods pleasantly. I bite off the impulse to add that my honey business has made all the difference, paid for all the little extras in this house.
"Have you heard anymore about reassignment," I ask.
"No, just that they've got some sort of committee to handle it. Theresa, come out of there, we have to go."
"I'm on the committee," I say, sharply.
"What? You are?" he says, and I feel as if I really have his attention for the first time since he walked in. "Why?"
"I volunteered."
Goats run across the kitchen floor and Theresa backs out from under the table, blue bottom appearing first.
Alexi and I are looking at each other and my heart is pounding.
He is looking at me and what is he thinking; what right does she have? Is he wondering if this is some sort declaration I am making? Is he angry at me? I want to look down and I can feel heat in my face.
"You didn't have to do that," he says.
"I'm running for a position on council," I say, "it will help to look as if I am involved."
He looks away first, perplexed. "Oh. I didn't know you wanted to be on council."
"There's a lot you may not know, Alexi," I say sharply. Only afterwards do I realize that he might mistake that to mean something about my feelings for him. Which is not what I mean at all. And then suddenly I am tired of them. I want to be finished with this conversation, I want them out of my house. Theresa has gotten one of the nanny-kids to stay still and she is petting it.
"What's its name?" she asks.
"Theresa-the-goat," I answer. "It's Cleopatra's baby." I meant that to be a surprise, a big deal, but it comes out matter of fact."
"That's my name!" Theresa says.
"How many people are they sending?" he asks.
"The request is for five, but the committee hasn't met yet."
"Is it two years? Really?"
"I don't know," I answer, "Philippa is going to send me the notice, but I haven't seen anything."
"Come on, Theresa," Alexi says, "we have to head on to New Arizona." But the peremptory note is gone from his voice. He's off balance.
"Can Theresa-the-goat come with us?"
"No," he says, "she has to stay with Martine and Cleopatra, she's only a baby."
"Can she come to the transport with us?" Theresa begs.
"All right," I say, "but I'll have to carry her." I scoop her up and we walk out to the transport. Goats aren't lap animals and the kid struggles on and off all the way. Theresa skips and bounces in the martian gravity. Alexi alone seems strained. He opens the hatch on the transport and lifts Theresa in and I see a big duffel bag behind the seats. I'm surprised only because I remember how little he had the first time they came; a little bag with a night gown and a change of clothes for Theresa, a change of coveralls for himself.
He is looking at me oddly, and I think he is going to say something. But apparently he changes his mind and says, "Bye Martine, thanks for everything." Then he grabs the handle by the door and swings himself into the cab.
Theresa waves energetically and blows me a kiss, but I see only Alexi's profile as he starts the transport and shifts into forward.
Another airleak, this one comes in at about 10:30 at night and it's after 1:00 when I find it. When I first started it took me six, seven hours to find an airleak, but by now I know where to look. Still, I'm worn out when I finally get to bed. I wake up from a dream of forests and squirrels; the red fox squirrels from where I grew up, big-eyed and leaping from tree branch to tree branch. I am standing in the passageway that leads from the house to the goatyard, standing barefoot in my nightgown. I haven't been sleepwalking in years and it scares me a great deal.
The Committee on the allocation of people for the water reclamation project finally meets. Cord has been unable to make time until a week before the next council meeting. He doesn't bother to hide his irritation at being on the committee. He's middle-height and stocky, an old-timer. During the height of Cleansing Winds he was publicly accused and convicted of anti-revolutionary behavior in one of the infamous 'People's Trials,' a polite euphemism for trial by unruly mob. He was badly beaten, I'm told. It explains his attitude toward the commune.
We don't like each other. Cord doesn't really care for anyone, he and his wife are still married but the gossip is that their eldest son sleeps in the front room so his father can have a room away from his mother. I don't care for Cord because when the Army moved against the W.P.B. (Winds of the People Brigades) we arrested people who'd run those trials and I'd seen the Army allow them to be tried by the same mob. That eye for an eye justice doesn't seem right to me. As an officer I allowed it because it served as a kind of catharsis for the people, but Cord reminded me of decisions I'd never been proud of.
Phillipa is a teacher, a newcomer; she's been here six years. She's married to an old-timer, a man twenty-five years older than she is. She's in her early thirties but her hair is graying and she wears it pulled back. It's a matronly look. I don't know her very well, our paths don't often cross. We were in the dormitory together or I wouldn't know her at all.
First we discuss the requirements, or at least Phillipa and I do. Five people to be sent to the reclamation project at the pole. It's understood that landholders don't go. What would happen to my goats, or Phillipa's corn if we were gone for two years?
"So it'll have to be five from the dorms," Phillipa says. "And it probably should be newcomers who've been here a year or less since the others are eligible for a holding after three years.
"But we never have a holding ready," I point out.
Phillipa shrugged. "We might."
We have a list of all the newcomers who've been there a year or less. There are four. Alexi's name is first on the list.
"Well, that's four," Phillipa says. "What happens if we can only come up with four?"
"This man, this Dormov fellow, I know him," I say. "He's been relocated four times, he's a widower and he's got a six-year-old daughter. The counselors on Earth said that all this dislocation was bad for her."