This Place Has No Atmosphere (5 page)

He stands up. “We understand how hard this is for you. Don’t think that we don’t. However, all things considered, we are going to the moon as a family—because we
are
a family. Your mother and I have agreed that if it’s absolutely unbearable for you after a year, then we’ll reconsider. And maybe let you return and stay with Grandma and Grandpa, even though we hate the idea of breaking up the family.”

Five years. Even a year seems like an eternity. And a year from my life is a higher percentage of time than a year out of my father’s life. Even I can figure that out.

“Daddy, please.”

He shakes his head sadly. “Honey, be reasonable. There’s company downstairs. Take ten minutes to pull yourself together and join us.”

After he leaves, I feel like throwing one of my squashed animals at the closed door, but decide not to take it out on them.

Instead I slam my hand into a pillow and for fifteen minutes think about possible disasters that could befall him that I couldn’t be blamed for.

Even though no life as we know it has been discovered in outer space, I hope that there is such a thing as a giant lunar lizard. And I hope that it eats my
father—slowly, chomping on him with sharpened steel fangs, oozing lizard glob all over his body, breathing terrible slimy lizard breath on him during his last horrible moments.

After the monster’s done with my father, he can have my mother and sister for dessert.

There’s a knock on my door.

This time it’s my mother.

My parents like to alternate knocks on the door.

She comes in and stands there with her hands on her hips. “Everyone wants to see you. Come downstairs
right now
and act like a human being. You don’t want to spend the entire evening in this room and miss saying good-bye to everyone. Just think of how unhappy you’ll be if we leave for the training center and you haven’t said good-bye. Juna and Matthew and the rest of your friends are downstairs already.”

I stare at her.

She’s trying to sound calm, but I can tell that she’s not happy. “It’s up to you. It’s your choice. Come down now or stay up here.”

What a choice, I think. Giving in to them and joining the party as if everything’s okay or not having a chance to see my friends one last time.

I relent. “I’ll go downstairs.”

She smiles. “That’s my girl. And remember, no long face. You don’t want to turn this party into a disaster.”

When we get downstairs, my mother puts her arm around my shoulder.

I stand stiffly.

What I really want to do is yell and scream, but I can’t. Parents have a way of not letting you get away with stuff like that.

Since I want to be an actress someday, I’ll just pretend that this is all a play.

“A
re we almost there yet?” Starr whines for the nine hundredth time.

“No, we’re not.” My mother turns around in the front seat of the car. “Look, can’t the two of you find something to occupy yourselves?”

“
I’m
not bothering anyone,” I remind her.

“Well, you’re the oldest,” my mother reminds me. “Keep your sister company. Do something with her.”

“What should I do with her?” I put my sunglasses on. “Teach her to dance? Pickle her?”

“Don’t be fresh to your mother,” my father orders. “Girls, look around on this trip. It’s going to be almost your last chance to see earth for the next five years. When we come back, everything will be different.”

Starr uses her sweet-child voice—“Okay, Daddy”—and looks out the window. In about three minutes, though, she flicks on her TV watch and checks out a favorite soap,
As the Earth Spins
.

I pretend to be asleep, but do look out the window. When you’re wearing sunglasses, it’s hard for parents to tell what you’re doing. No way will I let them think I’ll do any more than I have to do—not after what they’ve done to me.

The car passes lots of new construction. All over the country, single houses are being torn down and environmental hives are being built. That’s because there are many more people because of the last baby boom, which my father calls a “baby blast.” Anyway, there are so many blasters now, as a result of births, test tubes, and cloning, that there’s not a lot of room to live. (My father says that all that cloning around isn’t funny and he’s so upset by the situation that he
won’t even let me play Rita Retrograde’s song “Send in the Clones.”)

One of the reasons my parents love the idea of going to the moon is that there’s not this kind of overcrowding.

Personally, I think that’s because not a lot of people want to live on the moon.

I’m sick of hearing how privileged we are to be chosen.

“Look!” My father points. “There’s the farm museum that we visited last year.”

“May we see it again?” Starr looks up from her wristwatch. “I’d love to.”

“Not enough time—as much as I’d love to stop.” My father shakes his head. “The first training-camp session takes place tonight. We have to be there.”

“What a shame.” Starr pretends to be soooo disappointed, but I notice that she goes right back to watching her soap opera.

What a fake she is! It’s my theory that in every family of two or more kids, there’s always the Goody Two-shoes and there’s always the bad one.

We have, I guess, decided which is which in the Williams household.

“Cows, horses, pigs,” my father says. “I remember when I was a kid there were still a lot of farms.”

“Ones that grew their own food,” my mother sighs.

I bet she’s remembering her own garden, which had to be given up when it became illegal to own more land than what your house stood on. Zero lot lines, it’s called.

Now there’s no need for old-time farms, either, because of the invention of Agri-Culture, by which food and animals are manufactured in artificial mediums.

My father pulls into a rest area. “Pit stop.”

We all get out of the car.

My parents hold hands for a minute and smile at each other.

Then Starr, Mom, and I go into the restaurant while my father stays outside to put a gas pellet into the compartment and to use the CAR-scan card computer.

I hope he enjoys using the car now while he can. There are no privately owned cars on the moon.

Starr, Mom, and I sit down at the table and punch our orders into the combination jukebox–food server. In a few seconds the music starts and our food arrives.

Mom starts another one of her heart-to-heart talks. She’s big on that . . . but not so big on heart-to-heart listening.

“I really want to thank you girls for cooperating and agreeing to come to the moon.”

We weren’t allowed the choice, I think.

She nods. “I know.”

It’s not great having a mother who is very talented in reading minds. All people take the courses that the parapsychologists have developed, but some are better than others. My mother is one of the best. In fact, she’s so good that she has had to learn to tune out a lot or she says that her brain would never rest or be focused. Maybe that’s why she’s so strong about what she says. Anyway, she doesn’t block out what I think. I’ve worked hard at trying to keep my thoughts from her, but it’s hard. She says she’ll never abuse her power and get too deeply into my thoughts, but sometimes I wonder.

It’s weird having a mother who doesn’t listen but can read your mind.

She takes my hand. “Aurora . . . trust me. We really do know what’s best for you and are sure that someday you will thank us for this experience.”

Someday, I think, and don’t care if she’s tuned in.

She takes Starr’s hand, too, and says, “By becoming settlers we will help all of humankind—not just because of your dad’s and my work but also because of both of you. We’re so proud that you’ve both agreed to be interviewed and tested. Just think how your input will help when Mars is settled.”

My input about going to the moon is making me very unsettled.