The shuttle wound through the overly-complicated shipyard transport network, until, finally, it brought me out on to the main road heading north. My Mum’s place - my Mum’s old place, I began to condition myself - wasn’t far from the shipyard, just a few miles north. This would be the last time I would have such an easy journey. The transport network around the Woolwich Peninsula, on the other hand, was nowhere near as smooth - not that anyone on Terra would be so negative as to admit such a flaw.
I exited the shuttle outside the block of flats that had paid host to my childhood home, and I looked up at it, taking it in one last time. Every few floors were painted a separate colour, each relating to a certain profession. The idea had been that neighbours who worked in the same industries would have more in common, and it would make for a more civilised living arrangement. This was classic 2290s New Age nonsense.
I took the transmat to the thirty-first floor (which was a pale fuschia, signifying that artists lived there), and the front door sensor alerted my mother to my presence. The door, recognising me as a trusted user, opened automatically, revealing my mum crouching beside a pile of hovering metal crates.
‘Syl! You’re here!’ she called out, acting surprised, as though her Home System hadn’t already told her this.
‘Yeah, I’m here, Mum. How are you?’
‘I’m good sweetheart, I’m good,’ she replied, wrapping her arms around me. ‘And how is my little girl?’
‘I’m twenty-four, Mum. This “little girl” business has to stop at some point.’
‘Oh,’ she replied, waving dismissively at me, ‘Let me have that one.’
I looked around at the apartment, which was still, largely, unpacked.
‘I see it’s going… well,’ I said.
‘I know, I know! I’m behind. What’s new? That’s what you’re here for, though, isn’t it? To help?’
I resisted the urge to roll my eyes. ‘Yes, mother. Can I at least get a cup of tea first?’
Mum asked the house for two cups, and the machines in the kitchen whirred into life. In my youth, the equipment had been new, operating silently but for a soft purr. Now, after years upon years of use, the gears in the machines were beginning to grind, the pipes were slightly clogged, and, to be honest, it could all have done with being ripped out and replaced. But we don’t do that, not on Terra, not any more.
‘So how have you been? Really?’ I asked.
She shrugged. ‘I don’t want to say things have been hard. I mean, we live on Terra after all. It’s not like there’s anywhere better out there.’
‘You’d be surprised, Mum.’
‘Maybe there’s places for you, Syl, but not for an old girl like me. Terra’s the only place I’ve known… it’s too late for me to start anywhere new. Right now, though, this just doesn’t feel like home.’
‘Turknan is supposed to be nice at the moment? Since the droughts ended.’
Mum shook her head. This was a pointless exercise, it seemed.
‘Is this anything to do with the move?’ I asked.
She looked me in the eyes, a pained expression on her face, and nodded. ‘There’s just no work for me, here, not any more. The whole floor is moving - art isn’t important to Terra like it used to be. Government’s preoccupied with standard of living, but what’s the point of living in a world without the arts?’
‘I know, Mum, I know…’
‘It was that…,’ she paused, bent towards me conspiratorially, her hand partially covering her mouth, and whispered a word I’d never heard her say before. ‘…bloody GMU business, wasn’t it?’
‘Woah, Mum, no need to swear like that!’ I responded, in both jest and horror that my own mother would use a word like ‘bloody’.
‘I’m sorry, Syl, I’m just so wound up by it all. Didn’t know I’d lose my home, did I? Thought leaving the GMU was just about preserving our culture, it wasn’t like they explained all the nitty-gritty trade details to us. Not like I knew that Terran arts were propped up by GMU subsidies…’
She shook her head, forced a smile, and continued, ‘Sorry. You don’t want to hear about something as boring as trade agreements when there’s a whole galaxy of adventures out there, do you?’
‘No, Mum, it’s OK, honest. I get it. I’m sad to lose this place too.’
‘The new place will be nice, too, though,’ she replied, her voice wobbling in that way it did when she was lying to herself.
‘Have you seen it?’
‘Yeah. Set up the transmitter there yesterday.’
‘You got a transmitter? Very posh!’ I said, encouragingly.
‘Comes as standard with state-provided housing, don’t you know! Saves you loading all your stuff in a shuttle, which, let’s face it, is the worst thing about moving.’
When I needed a break from my mother, as all daughters often do, I offered to start packing in the study. My mum, grateful for any help that I could give her, told me to have at it.
I remembered Dad using the study a lot. It was one of the few memories I had of him. He would position himself in the corner of the room, in a large armchair, sat facing the very left-hand side of the window, where you could see a small slither of the view to the south. I never knew what he was pondering so deeply, but even then, I could tell from his body language that it was important.
Nowadays, Mum had set up shop in there for her art. A huge digital tablet, her pride and joy (even more so than me) sat on an antique wooden easel.
Now, you have to be careful with this, Syl, it’s very old, from the twenty-second century. Do you know how long ago that was? That was over a hundred years ago! You’ll be careful, now, won’t you?
Yes, Mum!
I trod slowly about the easel, heading first for the desk in the corner of the
