A voice said: “This stage of your journey will last approximately three days. When we reach the staging platforms at nine thousand miles out, you will have a brief recess while your pod is shifted to the higher-velocity elevators that will take you on the next lap, another twenty thousand miles to the export station. That journey will also take about three days. The officers passing among you will give you a dose of tranquilizers and one of time-release Halt, to shut down excretory function.”
There were no windows. There was no wasted space. Rows of heads stretched in every direction. No one spoke. When the pod clamped on to the belt, a few people gasped, but only momentarily. Evidently it didn’t clamp on all at once; it slid a little at first, then gradually firmed up so we didn’t get jerked around. The feeling of being crushed eased, and after about three hours, I noticed that I felt lighter, though I didn’t care greatly. Endless hours passed in a kind of dim nothingness. Orderlies came through, checking pulses. One or two of the people in seats nearby went limp, were unbelted and taken away. I was just starting to feel nausea when the pod abruptly unlocked from the belt and slid off to one side. The doors opened. People stumbled to their feet, out onto the domed, transparent-floored platform where we all stared disbelievingly downward at the Earth, a large blue ball, floating in blackness.
I had to go. So did everyone. As we filed toward the toilets, we were given premoistened cloths to wash hands and faces. There were no mirrors. I noticed men rubbing their hands over their stubbly faces. We were given something tasteless to drink before going into the next pod. The same announcement. The same shots. The same dimness and detachment.
At thirty thousand miles, the doors opened, we filed out. This time the drink they gave us was slightly larger, the time in the toilets was a bit longer.
“Pick up your baggage to your left,” we were commanded. Our line shuffled forward, picked up our baggage, joined a new queue.
“Colonist number seven-seven-zero-five-nine-zero-two,” said the checker, rubbing his eyes. “That way, to your left…To your right…”
I was so drugged and distant that when I felt myself split, it didn’t seem to matter. One of me turned left, one right, into areas seemingly open to space. Half a dozen ships hung high above, tethered to the station by swaying skeins of boarding umbilici. Five of the ships were immense. The sixth ship hanging above the transparent dome was small in comparison to the others. The access lane leading to it stretched empty across the wide lobby space, while those of the larger vessels held seemingly endless lines of boarders.
“Margaret Bain,” said a uniformed officer, glancing from my forehead to his list. “Number seven-seven-zero-five-nine-zero-two.” He stepped to the lane divider and opened a gate. “Through there,” he said, pointing at the empty access lane leading to the smaller ship.
“But, am I the only one going there?” I asked.
“Your number is the only number going there right now.” The officer glowered. “Get over there and stop asking questions…”
I stared at the empty lane doubtfully. “Is that a colony ship?”
“Look, little girl. That’s the ship you’re supposed to be on. Now get over there before I have to call security.”
I opened my mouth to say, no, it’s wrong, but the officer was red in the face, angry enough to let me know it would do no good to argue. Cowed, I turned into the empty access lane, meeting the glances of those occupying the crowded lanes far to my right, a few staring at me curiously. Among those crowded bodies was another me, walking away, just the way Wilvia had walked away years ago, going somewhere else. I opened my mouth to yell at her…me…but couldn’t think what I would say, even if she, I, looked back.
Before I could make up my mind to do anything, someone put a hand on my shoulder, a tall, robed woman. Her face looked familiar, as though I had seen it somewhere before. Not on Phobos. Not here on Earth. Where?
The woman smiled. “Are you hearing contentious voices, child? It’s the place, don’t you think? Or the situation? Almost guaranteed to make one question every move. Well, don’t let voices bother you. This is where you belong.” She took my hand and led me into the boarding tube. “Before leaving Earth, you had begun the study of nonterrestrial languages, isn’t that so?”
Perhaps I answered, perhaps not, I don’t remember. I do remember turning at the ship’s door and looking across the huge lobby. If I was over there, I was lost in the crowd.
In the lock of the ship, the woman turned. “You’re extremely young to leave home like this. All I can promise you is that you will not be unhappy where you are going.”
“I was told it would be a colony planet.”
“Oh, yes. The planet you’re going to is called Chottem. It is a colony planet and my home. I know it very well.”
“I’ve heard your voice before,” I said, suddenly recalling. “The day the proctor came. Was that you? Telling me it would be all right.”
“Did someone tell you that?” the woman asked. “Perhaps it was a friend of mine. We’re all inescapable busybodies.”
“May I ask your name, ma’am?”
The woman smiled briefly, somewhat ruefully. “Why don’t you call me what everyone else calls me. I’m just the Gardener. And since you need a new name to go with your new life, let
