Chapter One – Day One

Randoll sighed.

This day was... how had the old Earth author put it? “The best of times, the worst of times.” Everything in her life was, well, working out... but still! Four council meetings in as many days, The Doers and Makers still squabbling as if they were children, and an election coming up to prepare for.

If only she weren't so busy.

But it was what she wanted, certainly. She wouldn't trade it for the world.

Her eyes drifted to the aide standing in the corner. Thank goodness for Jesse, she thought thankfully. Everything would be chaos, instead of just insanity, without her omnipresent comfort.

She returned her thoughts to the matter at hand. The Makers council was in a dispute with the Doers, and her own council, the Leaders had appointed her mediator to the argument. It was her first independent assignment, and she was anxious to have it resolved quickly and in the best interests of all involved. It was the first chance she had, after all, to show her true capabilities to the Council.

She was determined not to let them down.

The dispute was fairly complex: the Makers council insisted that the Doers were not meeting their supply goals, and the Doers were similarly insistent that the Makers were asking too much. Normally, such an issue could be easily resolved by consulting the contracts drawn up between the two parties. The contracts were re-negotiated every year so as to take into account everything imaginable – weather, trade, health of the population, and hundreds more factors. However, this year the unimaginable had actually occurred. War had broken out back on earth, throwing the normal supply chain into disorder and placing huge stress on their own population. It was obvious that the Makers needed a replacement source of goods for their own interrupted ones, but it was just as obvious that the Doers were not at all equipped to meet that demand.

It was a complex case, but Randoll had been born and bred to deal with complex cases.

She had been born on this colony, Sigma VII, to an unknown mother and father, as were all Sigman children. Only the Nurturers, those in charge of the youngest children among them, kept records of childbirth, an those were carefully guarded against leaks. Not that anyone would particularly want to know who their mother or father were. They spent early childhood with the Nurturers, learning everything and more that they could have from biological parents, and just as loved by a whole community of people. She had learned all the fundamentals there – language and math, of course, some basic geography, arts, and politics. At the age of ten she had been chosen for a Leader, and the so the second part of her life had begun.

Ten was an auspicious age for all Sigman children. It was the age that they were chosen by the various lookers for placement into a Function. It had been frightening, of course – leaving the only home she had ever known, and her family. But it had also been exciting, and she was ready for it, prepared to leave for a new chapter in her life. It was not adulthood, but the first onset of responsibility for a young Sigman, being chosen. And the life the Leaders had given her – it was worth everything and more.

It was what she wanted to do, pure and simple. She had heard the earth way of doing it – letting everyone choose, themselves, what to do. But how to choose? How to know? This way, everything was taken care of – yourself, those around you, society. Earth's way led to wars, chaos, disorder. She had heard of things like homelessness and poverty from travelers. Such things did not, absolutely did not, exist on Sigma VII. There had never been a war here.

She was trying to consider the best way to approach the problem with the Makers and Doers when a knock came on the door. Jesse started for it from her desk, where she had been enjoying s steaming cup of coffee.

That coffee, Randoll thought suddenly, is from both of them. The Doers grew it, the Makers refined it, and it ended up here. There should be a way to remind them that they're working together on this, too -

“It's Yet Crougall, Rand.” Jesse said quietly. There was a small look of sympathy about her face. For good reason.

Yet Crougall was an Earth diplomat. There was nothing wrong with that in and of itself, of course, most diplomats were fine people. But he was the proof, in Randoll's eye, of Earth's backwards ways. She needed him in the discussion between the Makers and Doers – he was key to helping them understand the trade difficulties the war imposed. But he hated their way of life. He was continually going on about 'freedom of choice' and 'individual rights' and 'the one over the many'. He completely refused to acknowledge their ways.

Privately, she had always wondered at whoever had appointed Yet to Sigma. It seemed like too big a blunder to ignore.

But she needed him. It was crucial.

She sighed again, and again recalled that phrase -

“It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.”

She eventually motioned for Jesse to let the unwanted visitor in.

“Hello, ambassador,” she made the Sigman gesture of welcome, a loose salute to the chest. He returned it gracefully, if perfunctorily.

Ass, she thought, then felt surprised at herself. She had thought she had more self-control then that. She decided to review self-composition techniques that night.

“Hello,” he returned. She motioned for him to sit in the plush chair facing her desk, and they both sat.

“I'm glad to see you in good health,” she ventured. The ambassador had, if rumors were to be believed (and they were), picked up a nasty virus recently on earth while on a trip home.

He looked surprised. “I'm feeling much better, thank you. I'm a little surprised to know you you heard of my recent infirmary.”

She shrugged as elegantly as she could. “I do my best to keep up with the doings of everyone I work with, sir.”

He nodded, “A wise position. And how are you? Strain of the jop not starting to take its toll, I hope?”

Randoll smiled enigmatically.

“What does not kill us, makes us stronger? It was one of our own Earthers who said that, was it not?”

Yet leaned forward. “Indeed. But it was not one of 'our' Earthers, it was one of 'mine' – wouldn't you agree?”

Randoll shook her head.

“We all share a common kinship, sir, different planet or no.”

“But since the colony has been founded – Earth has produced many great poets. People separated from you by light years upon light years; Denarr, Acres. Great names. Surely you cannot identify with them?”

“I can,” she said emphatically. “And what's more, I do. We're all human, after all.”

“Indeed,” he said simply. “Indeed, we are all human. But on the other hand – for example, I do not self-identify with your great poets.”

“No?” she questioned. “'And over petals softly stepped/the gently buzzing ladybird.' You feel nothing for this? It's the work of one of the greats, after all.”

“But don't you see? I am from Earth, there are no ladybirds on earth. Have you ever seen a thrush?”

She acknowledged the trap with a shake of her head.

“I have not. But I would bet you, sir, have not seen many of the animals poetry is so fond of espousing.”

“They're from my planet.”

Dimplomat shliplomat, she thought irritably. This man is incompetent.

“In any case,” she said smoothly, “Can we agree to disagree?”

“Oh?” he said, “On the contrary, I think this is an excellent lead-in to the real matter at hand.”

“You think?” She sat up straight in the chair, one arm leaning gently on the polished wood of the desk. “I must admit I don't see the connection between our disagreement and the Maker-Doer disagreement.”

Her mind was whirring, trying to fit all of the pieces together into the final picture. She needed more information to see what he was getting at.

“Indeed? Why, just think of the situation in both cases.” His voice was gently leading her on, he wanted her to see before he could say it. “Why, the Makers and the Doers – one party thinks the other isn't doing enough, the other thinks it's asking too much. In our disagreement...” his voice trailed off.

“...One thinks the other is a citizen, the other doesn't?”

“Close, my dear.” He said quietly, and she saw it.

SHIT.

“Why, I think they have everything to do with each other.” He finished, and his serious gaze was telling her that, once again, her intuition was bang, dead on.

SHIT SHIT SHIT.

“Indeed so.” he voice betrayed none of the inner turmoil she felt, nor did her face. Both were calm as only years of training could accomplish.

“Indeed. Now, of course, normally I would approach the council for a matter like this. But I went to them, and was informed that you – and solely you – were responsible for the Maker-Doer mediation, and any, ahem, accompanying issues. So here I am.” He spread his hands broadly. “So I suppose we're going to tell this as it is.”

Her mind swore, every epithet she had ever heard.

“What could this all be about then, ambassador? Surely our small, internal dispute - “

“You know.” He interrupted. His voice was no less civil, but there was an icy glint in his eye, previously unseen. “I know you know, so let's do stop being coy about the matter, shall we?”

I don't want to hear this, she thought giddily.

He looked at Jesse.

“This is highly confidential, may we speak privately?”

She nodded.

“Of course.” Although she would prefer to have Jesse nearby, she knew better. Jesse recognized the dismissal for what it was, and rose, several files clasped underneath her arm.

“Ill go ask the Nurturers about that meeting on the 16th,” she said easily. Randoll nodded.

What the ambassador didn't know, of course, was that that was code – 'Nurturers' and a date meant 'I'll go wait, gather some hopefully relevant information, and we can discuss this issue later.'

Jesse had the same security clearance as Randoll, after all.

The ambassador largely ignored her leaving. After he had gone, the door closed securely behind her, he continued:

“As I was saying...” He paused, seemingly to gather his thoughts. “Well, yes. In a matter like this, I suppose brevity and clarity is of the utmost importance. Earth – my planet – has decided that, in view of its ongoing war with Rendia, it will be unable to continue any pretense of supply delivery and overall support to Sigma VII.”

She nodded, but her whole body felt stiff with horror. Even having known what was coming, it was hard to hear it. But there was more.

“Furthermore, our government believes your planet has finally reached the maturity needed to support itself. Permanently.”

And that was it – the real blow.

Her planet wasn't ready for that. She knew it, her government knew it, every council knew it. Children probably had suspicions.

She wanted to physically reel, but she held herself up by force of will. They NEEDED those imports. Food they could supply easily, but medicine – human medicine, had to come from earth. An their industry was not at the level to support a booming colony.

This was – this was murder.

“Of course,” he continued smoothly, “that doesn't mean we want to stop trade entirely with you. We simply think that you're ready for some – ahem, independence.”

He should have gone to he council with this, she thought. She immediately would, of course. This was hardly an inconsequential matter.

The Maker-Doer dispute seemed like nothing, now.

“I see,” she said. Her voice remained as level as it had during the entire conversation, trained by years upon years of testing for occasions such as this. Except not for occasions like this. Earth had no right to do this! “And this has already been decided? As far as I know, we were not informed that such proposals were even under consideration.”

“You misunderstand me. This is not a proposal. This is law.” He shrugged. “With communications the way they are lately, we could not take the risk of an, ahem, interrupted transmission. And, of course, we are informing you. Now.”

“Now,” she echoed. “When will the last supplies be delivered?”

“You have them,” he replied.

“We – are you -” with an effort, she forced down the furious tirade about to break loose. “We have them. I see. They came with you?”

“Indeed, I'm glad you understand. Those transports will be leaving your space soon, and, of course, I will be aboard them. Earth is in a bit of a precarious situation right now.”

“Ah.” She felt nothing but utter confusion, shock and dismay. She needed to inform the council immediately. She needed to find something to do – anything – to help the situation. She needed to talk to Jesse. She needed a drink. “Ambassador, I must inform the council of this – development – as soon as I can.”

He nodded, recognizing the hint to leave. “Of course. We should reconvene shortly to discuss the Maker-Doer matter. I'll be in touch to arrange that meeting.”

Don't patronize me, she thought, but the vicious, sudden hatred had no place in her life, or face.

“Of course. Until next time.”

He rose and left. On Jesse's desk, a lonely wisp of steam rose gently into the air and disappeared.

-

Dan pondered the piece of fruit in his hand tiredly.

It was a nazquot. Something like an Earth apple, but with skin of a dull, dreary blue, not shiny in the least. The thing actually almost seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. Nothing really exciting to ponder over, but when one has been awake for three days, he smallest decisions can become all-encompassing.

Did he want a nazquot or an orange?

His eyes shifted dully back to the orange, grasped tightly in his other hand. The orange had more of the taste he craved right now, but the nazquot had a skin that could be ground to make a fantastic shade of pigment, and he needed – he needed -

He needed to sleep. Why was he here, again?

He'd buy both.

The shopkeeper, standing behind a huge display of fruits, was a self employed Doer. Dan approached him and gave an easy smile. The man smiled back.

“You'd just like those two?”

Dan nodded. “Please.”

“Two donal, please. Want a bag for those?” There was no cash register in sight, so the shopkeeper fished change for Dan's five donal bill from his apron.

“No, thanks.”

“Come back anytime.” He replied. He paused, then added, “Maybe you should get some sleep, kid.”

“Yeah.” He shoved the change in his pocket. “I need to eat something first, though.”

The shopkeeper smiled sympathetically.

“Exams?”

“Yeah.”

It was quite an honest answer, but the question hadn't been quite honest itself. Every Function had its own kind of trials – exams, projects, mentorship. Some way of proving that the trainee wa ready for the big world of independence. Dan was going through review. As a Dreamer, it was the culminating point of his final training. His final exam had been this morning, an exhausting critique by fifteen of his past professors. He would be let loose on the world next week.

IF he had passed.

He didn't know what Doers did to show they were ready, but he supposed it wasn't really important. At least to him.

The shopkeeper nodded.

“Good luck.”

“Thanks.”

He left. The bright sun glared into his eyes as he left the shadowy doorway. It occurred to him that it was only about 11 am. It felt like he had simply left time behind three days ago. Everything was a blur.

He needed sleep, had needed it years ago.

He glanced around as he walked down the sunny avenue, the sunshine-riddled displays catching the attention of his foggy mind with ease. Core was a beautiful city, planned and developed by the best architects on Earth even before the colonists were chosen. Earth had spared nothing in the development of its colonies, desperate as it was to relieve itself of millions of excess bodies. Sigma VII had no such population problems, guided as it was by enlightened birth policies.

The street itself was lined with tall trees, their purple blossoms fluttering in a gentle breeze. Sunlight, hot and strong, filtered through to a spotless sidewalk. He absently noticed, but paid no attention to, colorful shop fronts in every color of the rainbow, displays heaped in front, and the wide, largely empty road.

Most Sigmans walked for the short distances over the city.

For such a nice day, he thought, there sure aren't many people out. In fact the street seemed abandoned, except for the occasional storekeeper stocking outside -

What was that?

He looked down curiously towards the sharp glint that had caught his eye. It was a tenth-donal piece.

Good luck, he though with a grin, and bent down to pick it up. Find a tenth and pick it up/all that day you'll have good luck. He shifted the fruits to one hand to examine it, and someone knocked into him with an 'oof'.

He fell, unbalanced as he was by the combined collision and fatigue. The other person almost fell backwards but recovered themselves in time.

“I'm sorry!” She said, and Dan looked up to see Elise Claire.

“Hey, I know you,” He said, surprised. “You're that hot-shot young Healer. The one who cured that Rigellian cold, you know, about two years ago...”

She blushed furiously and he saw she was young, much younger than the holos made her seem, perhaps as old as he was. Quickly, though, she got herself under control, and reaching a hand out to help him up said:

“Yes, I am. But I'm not – I mean, I'm not a 'hot-shot'.” Her mouth twisted wryly. “I'm just past my exams, after all.”

“Oh?” he said, surprised. “But you're so well-known.”

“Mm,” she said with a sigh. “I know. But it's nothing I want, you know. Anyway - “ She glanced at the nazquot, which had gone rolling and now lay against a shadowy building. “I'm sorry for knocking into you.”

He brushed himself off and picked up the nazquot. It looked fine, but he was sure it would bruise.

Oh well, he thought. He didn't really mind. It wasn't every day one met a minor celebrity, after all.

“It's no problem,” he said easily, and was surprised to find that he no longer felt as exhausted as he has. “Actually, it was my fault. I shouldn't have stopped suddenly, really.”

She cocked her head sideways.

“Why did you?” she asked curiously, and although it was stupid – a children's thing, really – he told her.

“I found a tenth piece on the ground, so I wanted the luck.”

Her eyes shone excitedly. “You know it? 'Give a donal to a friend/your good luck will never end.'”

He blinked. “No, I was thinking of 'Find a donal, pick it up/all that day you'll have good luck', actually. I've never heard your version.”

“I haven't heard yours!” She said happily. “It's silly, isn't it? But still – there can't be any harm to it. I mean, at the least, you're a tenth richer.”

He nodded with a smile. “Exactly! And it feels good, knowing there might be some magic hanging over me now.”

She nodded. “Yes, definitely. Hey – I think your orange is bruised.” She picked it up and examined it minutely. “See, it's going all soft. Let me buy you another one? And another nazquot, too.”

“No, it really was my fault – I appreciate it, but I'd feel awful.”

“Please,” her eyes put more into the word than he would have believed possible. “I'd love to.”

And that was how he found himself out for a day with Sigma's most prised health care worker.

-

Randoll stared at her desk, lost in thought.

She was trying to figure out what to do next. Of course, the Council had to be informed of Earth's proposal. But then what?

She felt responsible, somehow. It was entirely out of her jurisdiction, but issue like this was everyone's problem, in truth.

She wondered if the Doers could do more. Perhaps, with some help, they could up production levels to the point that the Makers could produce extra goods for trade. They needed to establish trade, or medicine levels would drop dangerously low, probably faster than she'd like to think. But how to establish that? She was sure that they were already producing what they could, there would be no way to increase levels without either more automation or more people.

So there was little to do, really, on her end. It was maddening.

Her computer pinged gently, signifying a new message flagged 'important'. She flipped the screen open and navigated to her inbox. It was a message from Doer Sargo, and it read

DATE: 04-04-2037

TIME: 1127h

TO: Randoll Carmissan

FROM: Sargo All

CC: Amy Chan, Rick DeYoung

RE: Council Meeting 04-05-2037

Are we still meeting tomorrow? I have not received confirmation.

Regards,

Sargo All

And yes, she had of course entirely forgotten that. It was strange that Jesse had as well, though. Perhaps she had been working on it when she had been forced to leave.

Where was she, anyway?

With a mental shrug, she decided to just confirm the meeting herself. Although the meeting tomorrow was certainly an order of magnitude or three less important than the one she was about to set up with the Leader's Council, business must continue as usual or people would start to lose their heads about the precarious situation.

And it would give her a chance to delay – ahem, compose her thoughts – regarding what she would have to say to them.

DATE: 04-04-2037

TIME: 1127h

TO: Sargo All

FROM: Randoll Carmissan

CC: Amy Chan, Rick DeYoung

RE: Council Meeting 04-05-2037

Yes, I apologize that this was not confirmed on schedule as expected.

The meeting will be held as planned tomorrow, 04-05-2037, at 1300h

My best, Randoll Calrissan

She hit 'send' after triple-checking it for errors, and closed the small, bright screen, reverting the personal computer to its small, almost invisible inset position on her desk.

And now for the council. She couldn't put it off any longer.

-

Ambassador Yet stood before the bay window of a transport, looking down at the planet below.

He regretted what had to be done, truly he did. He had once had fond memories of Sigma VII, and if Rachel were still alive... he'd rescue her from what was to come. But she wasn't that was the hard, cold reality of it, and it was her death that had spoiled the beautiful planet to him in every way.

Because he knew the truth of it, now.

He would never return, neither here nor to Earth. For Yet knew could smell the scent on the wind, and that scent was the reek of death, decay and unabashed misery. There were many changes to come, and Yet had always been a man who valued the tried and true – namely, his own happiness.

Without a backwards glance, he retreated to his cabin, with the window that stared into the deep black velvet of space.

He'd find a new place for happy memories, ones that didn't carry the tinge of subjugation.

-

Sigman children are taught, at the very youngest ages, the same nursery rhymes as their Earth-side counterparts. They recite the familiar 'Baa, Baa, black sheep', 'Mary had a little lamb', 'Pop goes the weasel', and 'Jack and Jill'. But as they grow older they begin to learn new rhymes from their friends, ones criticized back on Earth for being, well, a little weird.

The Sigmans consider the Earth ones creepier, though.

One is sung:

Sue went to buy a little doll

She tripped and took a nasty fall

When Sue returned to home that day

The sent her far far far away

Nobody knows where they learn them, or where they came from. Sigma lacks the thousands of historical years Earth claims, of course, so they must be recent rhymes.

Another:

Pam and Pete went out to meet

A boy by Habberd's alley

When Pam and Pete lie down to sleep

Their dreams have no finale

So the Sigman children keep singing them, and the Sigman adults wonder why those innocuous chants seem so disturbing now.

-

Dan wondered where the day had gone.

After buying new fruit, they had gone to a small cafe and chatted for what seemed like only minutes – it was an hour and a half. Then to an exhibit he'd been dying to see, but didn't want to go alone to. Then dinner at the somewhat exclusive Napo's, and finally, home.

He'd lost the fruit somewhere along the way, but it was no real loss.

The tiredness had vanished with lunch, but that afternoon it had been returning, slowing, like the tide. He could now barely keep his eyes open. Stumbling towards his bedroom, he yawned hugely and near-collapsed onto the covers.

He was asleep even before he could pull the blankets up, and he never saw the small white envelope lying gently on the desk.

-

Ella Brampton was also wondering where the day had gone. Maugre an enormous amount of distractions in the form of racing, shrieking, happy three-year-olds, she had managed to get quite a bit done – including laundry, finally.

Laundry was the bane of her existence, in all seriousness. She loved her job, and there was absolutely nothing she'd rather do – the children were absolutely, unequivocally, the joy of her life – but she did hate laundry.

She smiled as she saw three children, geared up in full warm outdoors wear, tear past her.

“Calm down,” she called cheerfully, “The outside won't be going anywhere, you know!”

They paused for a moment, little faces looking up at hers very seriously.

“No, but we might have to go. Study or something.”

“Study?” she exclaimed. “Who told you about studying?”

“Jamilla,” One of them, a small boy, replied. “She said when you get old you have to study all the time. And it's all done inside and you can't play at all!”

She laughed.

“Oh, I see. But that's not until you're old, so-”

“I am old!” the same little boy responded. “I'm three!”

And with that, they tore off again.

She smiled and continued on her way.

She lived with many children, and several other Nurturers, in a care center. Every week babies came in, and every month children were assigned new homes with their Function members. She remembered being chosen for a Nurturer, how pleased she had been that she would continue to look after people her whole life. It was easily the best function.

....well, except for the laundry. But that was done for now, and she didn't have to worry about it again for -

Her sharp eyes noticed a trail of dirty outerwear leading down an adjacent corridor, and she started following it, picking up child-sized garments as she went.

Well, until tonight, apparently.

The trail led to a bedroom. Each child shared a bedroom with one other child, and she noticed the nameplate on the door, which displayed, in colorful letters,

“Sheska Roeings and Danna Fighyt”

Ah, that explained it. Sheska was notoriously messy.

As a slightly younger child, she had been the type always leave things out. All children were like that to some degree, but Sheska had seemed to take a perverse pleasure in tearing an area into as many pieces as possible. She never finished what she was eating – more food ended up on the table and floor than in her mouth, and if her bed had ever been voluntarily made (without being under the watchful eye of a Nurturer) Ella would be very, very surprised.

The door was closed. Ella took this as an ominous sign.

She knocked twice, gently. She believed the two inhabitants were about nine years old, and nine year olds were picky about their privacy.

After a moment or two, the door creaked cautiously open. Just a notch, though, and Ella's bad feeling racketed up another few notches.

“Hi, Miss Ella,” the voice said calmly. Ella could see a bright green eye and a shock of red hair. She placed them as belonging to Sheska.

“Hello, Sheska,” she said cheerfully. “May I come in?”

The door opened perhaps another centimeter as a the green stared up at her suspiciously.

“May I ask why?” the girl asked politely.

“Oh, no reason.” Ella replied. “It's just that I um, found a trail of clothing which I believe is yours.” She held up the accumulated muddy clothes as evidence.

A surprised look passed Sheska's eye.

Gotcha, Ella thought.

“Okay, um... can you just hand them to me, please?”

“How?” Ella asked easily. “There's only an inch of door space.”

“Here,” the door flashed open and, before Ella could react, flashed closed again. The clothes, amazingly, were snatched from her grip in that time. But not before she could see the scene inside.

The room was bright, livid purple.

Everywhere.

“Okay, no, that's not okay!”

The door was closed firmly shut again, but she knocked and knocked again. There was no answer forthcoming. She knew Sheska was in there though.

Knock, knock.

No answer.

She sighed.

Off to see Matilda, then.

Matilda was the Nurturer for these two children, in fact, for this whole section of children.

She made her way down the hall, to Matilda's room. It had much the same look externally as did the children's, but the inside, Ella knew from experience, was a veritable oasis of warmth, peace and motherliness.

She tried that door and after just a second came the voice of the woman she sought calling a cheery “Come on in, it's open!”

She opened the door onto bright yellow walls and warmly colored furniture. Matilda sat in a cushiony armchair, watching two babies in a playpen and flipping through a book.

“Oh, hello, Ella,” she said. “What's up?”

“Something,” Ella replied wryly. She held up her mud-stained arms. “Sheska Roeings – and maybe Danna Fighyt – well, I'll start at the beginning.”

She detailed finding the trail of muddy boots, coats and hats; trying to get into the room, and that brief, incriminating flash of purple. Matilda looked more and more incredulous as the story progressed, and by the end of it there was open laughter on her face.

“I think I might have an idea as to what's going on,” she said once Ella was finished. “Let's go see if I'm right, shall we?”

Matilda called for a trainee to come mind the babies and they made their way back down the corridor towards that girl's rooms.

Upon arrival, Matilda knocked as Ella had, and met with the same amount of success.

“Alright,” Matilda said calmly, but Ella saw the grim flash of determination that passed across her face. She put her mouth close to the door and announced: “I'm coming in, you two!” reaching for her pocket, she extracted a jangling set of keys and fumbled for the right one.

Without further ado, she opened the door.

-

Randoll faced the room she had just stepped into with her heart in her stomach, and her face the perfect picture of serenity. The council had convened immediately to hear her problem, which was her right, if a seldom executed one, as a Junior Senator.

She couldn't ever, in fact, recall a time when a Junior Senator had demanded, or even requested, a full convention of the Council Members.

Five people sat against the far wall, behind a huge wooden table that ran across the room. They regarded her seriously but not altogether without warmth. She had trained with three of them and knew the other two by reputation – as would most Sigmans. Each had been chosen for the Council after many, many years of service as Leaders, and were known to be wise, judicious and fair.

The man seated at the centre, Leader Giles, cleared his throat.

“We've convened here, as you asked, without delay. What is the urgent matter you so desperately wish to discuss, Junior Senator Randoll Carmissan?”

He was straight to the point as ever. She mentally steadied herself, took a deep breath, and spoke.

“I'll put this simply. Ambassador Yet approached me this morning with some very important news. He said he had attempted to meet with you, but you told him to meet with me?”

“Indeed,” Leader Ambrosius said. “He said he wished to discuss some aspect of the Maker-Doer dispute, if I recall correctly, and that of course falls within your jurisdiction, Junior Senator.”

“Yes, it would,” she said cautiously. Warning bells were going off in her head. Had he lied to her? He has said that he approached the council and was rebuffed, after all, but with this new matter of Earth relations, not the Maker-Doer dispute. “But that was not the issue he wished to discuss with me. In fact, it was far more serious.”

“More serious than our Makers and Doers?” Leader Carlisle said, his eyebrows arching speculatively.

“Very much so,” she took another deep breath. “In fact, the ambassador told me that Earth is – no, I apologize, the Earth already has – cut off our colony status. They plan to stop the current shipment of supplies. Permanently.”

There was uproar.

“What?!” Two people cried at once. Another voice shouted that it was madness. A fourth, Leader Manao, mouthed silently the words 'stop shipping us all supplies'. Leader Giles called for silence.

“Quiet all! Please, friends, be quiet.” It calmed down after a moment.

“Are you certain of this?” he asked her, his blue eyes deathly serious. “What were his exact words, Junior Senator?”

She repeated them as best as she could for the council.

Giles took a deep breath. The others were typing furiously into the computers which had risen, as if by magic, from the apparently seamless tops of the table.

“I see.”

The two words had a ring of finality, which reverberated through Randoll's body like a death knell. Those words, to her, were an acceptance of their fate- a willingness to do nothing.

They was anathema to her.

“Not 'I see'!” she said incredulously. “We can fight this!” The of the council members were nodding with her, eyes determined, but Eeves was shaking hers, and Giles was solemn. Eeves spokes up.

“Not really, we can't. Of course, we'll increase our own goods production, but without the medicine-”

Manao looked horrified.

“We can trade. They said we can still trade-”

“In the midst of a war, Leader?” Giles asked. “A war which they are losing? They won't trade a thing. Don't you see what they're doing? Conserving for themselves.”

Earth was losing the war? That was certainly news to Randoll.

Suddenly the Ambassador's message made a lot more sense.

“That's sick,” Ambrosius said. “Thats – this whole thing is genocide. What are we going to do?”

“We can trade with other planets,” Carlisle said, but his voice had a lackluster tone. He finished the statement by adding what they were all thinking, “but of course, there's no guarantee they'll have what we need.”

“So what should we do?” Randoll asked, and at once five heads swiveled towards her, as though they had all simultaneously remembered she was there.

“You,” Giles said with authority, “Should return to your office, and continue work for that Maker-Doer meeting tomorrow which I believe is scheduled.”

There was general agreement.

“But I want to help,” she said desperately. “This is more important.”

“No,” Carlisle said, “ It's more important to do your duty. We will solve this problem, not you.”

She tried to find the words to voice her displeasure with this plan, but they didn't exist. Finally, her mouth twisting, she made the Sigman salute and silently walked out.

Five pairs of eyes watched her go in equal silence.

-

They opened the door to a completely indescribable scene.

Sheska had obviously procured paint, a great deal of paint, from who-knows-where. She had then, judging by the state of things, attempted to paint her bedroom a violent shade of purple. The result was of mixed success – while the room's walls were actually fairly well covered with the stuff, so was absolutely everything else.

Including most of her hair. It was a minor miracle that Ella hadn't seen that the first time.

The room was also curiously free of smell – the window was wide open, and she must have procured the scent-free type of paint.

Matilda recovered herself first.

“Oh, my goodness,” she said with a shocked voice. “Sheska, what on Earth is this?”

The small face looked up at them defiantly, streaked with purple and mud. There were also several small scratches and, looking closer, Ella made out brambles and a small twig caught in her hair.

“I like it,” she said stubbornly, “And – and that's it. That's why.” Her eyes swiveled between their faces, suddenly starting to look nervous.

“It's certainly different,” Ella said unsteadily. She had the worst desire to laugh.

The room looked ridiculous, and most of the stuff inside – clothing, furniture, floors – were likely ruined permanently. Why did she find this funny? There was no way any of this stuff could be recovered. One of the beds appeared to have had paint spilled on it, and the other had paint-stricken clothes streamed across in a jumble.

It was insanity.

Matilda sighed.

“Alright, let's go get you cleaned up,” she took one of Sheska's paint-encrusted hands in her own and went for the door. Sheska looked up at her fearfully.

“Am I in trouble?”she asked, eyes wide.

Matilda pursed her lips.

“I should think so. Whatever in the universe possessed you to do this?”

Sheska's lip quivered.

“My room was so – so boring – and I thought it would be pretty...” her voice trailed off unhappily.

“Why didn't you ask someone first?” Matilda asked.

“I did,” the child replied solemnly. Both adults started at her as though she was crazy.

“You did ask someone? Who?”

Sheska looked up at them, silent for a long moment, and then replied, “I asked Danna.”

“Oh!” Ella exclaimed. She could not resist the laugh that bubbled up in her throat. “Sheska, you must know that's not what we mean when we say 'ask someone'. We mean you have to ask an adult.”

“Why?” Sheska inquired. “Danna's the only other person who lives here.”

“But-” Ella struggled for the words and Matilda took over.

“Sheska, you simply can't do things like this without an adult around. You should be old enough to know that by now – you're nine!”

“You WERE around,” she replied petulantly, “You were down the hall.”

“Which also is not what I meant,” Matilda said firmly. “Now, like I said, we're going to go get you cleaned up. Ella dear, could you go request some maintenance help with the room? And we'd better find Danna, too. She should be outside with her group, they're doing a nature watch...”

Ella nodded, and retreated down the corridor, in the opposite direction of Matilda and the pouting, paint-covered Sheska.

"The contest pitted the 47-year-old Obama, a first-term Illinois senator who rocketed to stardom on the power of his oratory and a call for change, against the 72-year-old McCain, a 26-year lawmaker known whose mettle was tested during 5 1/2 years as a prisoner of war in Vietnam."
Link.

That pretty well sums it up.
I'm so excited. Going to be really, really hard to pay attention in class tonight.

"When Linux was first ported to the Furby platform, it suffered from significant stability and performance problems, which gave the Furby an unfortunate reputation as being unsuitable for enterprise-level computing."

The Ford Nucleon: Powered by a nuclear reactor!

Fuck.
I forgot how awful late October was. Everything just crams up and there's no time - well, unless you're willing to forgo large amounts of sleep. We had a lab and an assignment due for CEG today, neither of which were done before 4am this morning. Sounds bad, but I worked all weekend, Sunday night was all that was left.

So:
CEG lab #2
CEG assign #2
Prep for CEG lab #3
SEG assign #4
Study for CEG midterm
Study for CSI midterm

SEG #4 isn't out yet (or wasn't last night) and I don't know when we're going to do it. CSI is Thursday morning, CEG is Saturday afternoon. I'll study for CSI Wednesday night, and CEG... Saturday morning?

I came up with it one morning when I just couldn't sleep anymore, but I didn't want to get up, either.
It's a future utopia, broken into groups of people by their trades. There's seven (iirc) basic trades (of course that could change) and then specialties and sub-specialties within each. The Groups never physically talk to each other ('cept for the Healers and the Leaders), or interact, but the whole planet is governed by a Leading Group that ensures information and trade flows freely.

Everyone is basically happy, it's just... a look at their lives, really. Just little drama, little things.

I'm just not sure where it would go. But it sounds cool.

Like the Leaders, the Thinkers, the Makers, Doers, the Dreamers, the Nurturers, and the Healers. They're pretty self-explanatory - the Leaders co-ordinate the groups, the Thinkers come up with new technologies and stuff, the Makers actually create the new stuff and produce consumer goods etc, the Doers are like farmers, the Dreamers are the artists and musicians etc, the Nurturers raise children until they join a group (age of ten ish?) and the Healers, well, heal, the doctors && nurses etc.