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  It was time for me to face the unpleasant truth that I’d been avoiding thinking about for weeks. Crozier had been right to use the past tense about my tag leading for the history club. I’d held the team 1 tag leader spot for the last two years, but I was giving it up today. I’d chosen to dedicate this summer to getting my private pilot’s licence, and that decision came with a price.

  It was impossible for me to have flying lessons and lead the excavation of ruined buildings at the same time. I couldn’t keep the team 1 tag leader spot if I was away every morning. It would be horribly unfair of me to march back in the afternoon, shove aside people who’d been working for hours, and take over their excavation site.

  Since last Year Day, I’d been constantly aware that this was my final year as an underage ward of Hospital Earth. This was my final year living a strictly supervised existence in a Next Step residential home. This was my final year attending one of the understaffed schools run by Hospital Earth. This was my final year with the school history club.

  On Year Day 2789, I would leave all those things behind me, and start studying at University Earth. I was eager to escape from my Next Step, and wanted to forget all about most of my school life, especially the vindictive science teacher.

  The history lessons and the school history club were different though. Those were the only parts of my life that I’d chosen for myself, rather than had forced on me by the rules of Hospital Earth.

  I’d planned to have one last glorious summer with the school history club, but then I’d been given this unexpected chance to get my pilot’s licence. For the last few weeks, I’d been totally focused on that goal. It was only now that I realized just how much it would hurt to give up my team 1 tag leader spot.

  I was relieved when the others started drifting back into the hall. The rest of the Seventeens came to join me, making all the usual complaints about the beds being too hard and the storage spaces too small.

  “The thing I hate most is the fact these domes have no windows,” said Dezi. “The second I close the door, that tiny, windowless room makes me feel like I’m shut inside a coffin, and the artificial lighting is entirely wrong for painting.”

  “At least we’ve got rooms, which some people haven’t.” Meiling pointed a finger in my direction.

  “Oh yes.” Dezi glanced guiltily at me. “Sorry, Jarra.”

  “Don’t worry,” I said. “Crozier says that I can sleep in the store room.”

  “Really?” Dezi wrinkled her nose. “I don’t think I’d be able to sleep in there with all the equipment shelves towering over me. There’s something creepy about all those racks of impact suits with their hoods down. Have you ever thought how much they look like headless people?”

  I stared at her in disbelief. I often thought about the impact suits we wore on dig sites. I was grateful for their protection, and I wished they weren’t so dreadfully heavy and restrictive to wear, but comparisons to headless people had never entered my mind.

  “No. Why are you suddenly babbling about coffins and headless people?”

  “I’m thinking of doing a painting with a host of haunted impact suits roaming the corridors of an unlit, empty dome,” said Dezi. “Don’t you think that would be incredibly atmospheric?”

  “I think that would be incredibly gruesome,” said Radley.

  “How could you do a painting of haunted impact suits roaming an unlit dome?” I asked. “It’s a nardle idea. Standard dig site impact suits are black, and dig site accommodation domes don’t have any windows. If the lights in the dome were off, you wouldn’t be able to see the impact suits at all.”

  Dezi sighed. “The history club is a creative wilderness for anyone with an artistic soul.”

  Crozier walked in at this point. “You can all have lunch now. After that, I’ll give my usual introductory talk, and issue impact suits and other equipment.”

  We formed a disorderly queue for the food processors. Due to us changing time zones earlier, this was our second lunch of the day. Our confused stomachs weren’t sure what they wanted to eat, and half the food dispenser menu options didn’t work without toasted wafers.

  We didn’t bother complaining about the food ourselves, just waited to see how Crozier would react when he discovered he couldn’t have his usual lunch of baked greens and tomato on toasted wafer. Crozier never used any of the swear words of modern Language – at least not in front of us – but he belonged to several historical re-enactment groups. When irritated, he’d resort to using archaic words from forgotten tongues.

  “Od rabbit it!” Crozier grabbed his lookup and tapped at it.

  “New York Fringe Dig Site Maintenance, how can we help you?” said a bored, male voice.

  “Thou art a swaggering gull-catcher,” said Crozier.

  All of us Seventeens were sitting at a table in the far corner of the hall. “Do you think Crozier’s being rude?” asked Milo, in a low voice.

  “That sounded like it was from sixteenth century Europe,” I said, “which probably means it’s rude. Crozier uses eighteenth century words when he’s being polite.”

  “It’s not a good idea for Crozier to be rude to Dig Site Maintenance,” said Radley. “We’ll be stuck without toasted wafers all summer now.”

  “Thou art a foresworn churl,” said the voice of Dig Site Maintenance. “Would you like to fight in our re-enactment of the Battle of Wilson’s Creek, Crozier? We need some more Confederate soldiers.”

  “Of course I would,” said Crozier. “I’ll bring my history club along to cheer as well.”

  The man at Dig Site Maintenance was clearly a friend of Crozier and shared his interest in historical re-enactment groups. We all relaxed.

  “So why don’t our food dispensers in Dome 14 have any toasted wafers?” asked Crozier.

  “According to our records, the food dispensers in Dome 14 should be positively overflowing with toasted wafers,” said Dig Site Maintenance. “I’m afraid that I can’t do anything about your problem today – we’ve got a flooded dome disaster that has to take priority over everything else – but I’ll send someone over to check your food dispensers first thing tomorrow morning.”

  There was another exchange of sixteenth century insults before Crozier put his lookup away and grudgingly ordered a substitute meal from the food dispensers. He took it over to the nearest table, and frowned as he saw the box from Wren’s impact suit was still on it. He glanced at me.

  “Jarra, you seem to have finished eating. Can you please take this box to the store room for me? We’ll need it when we return Wren’s suit.”

  I went to pick up the box. It had an assortment of old labels stuck on it, bearing the names of people who’d been issued this suit in the past. I was shocked to see the first label had my own name on it.

  Chaos, Wren had been given the same suit that I’d worn six years ago.

  Chapter Four

  I tucked the suit box under my arm, and hurried off to put it on a random shelf in the store room. I’d always been convinced that fate hated me. It was responsible for the one in a thousand roll of the genetic dice that made me Handicapped and imprisoned me on Earth. Now it seemed determined to make other ludicrously unlikely events happen to hammer home the resemblance between Wren and the 11-year-old me of six years ago. What were the chances of New York Fringe Dig Site still having my old impact suit after so long, let alone them issuing it to Wren?

  I stopped to think about that for a moment, and realized Wren had been almost certain to get my old suit. She was 12 rather than 11, but was small for her age. It made sense that she’d need the same suit size that I’d worn six years ago. New York Fringe Dig Site had had to order that suit especially for me, so it was brand new back then. There wouldn’t have been much demand for a suit that small, so it would still be in good condition, and was probably the only one they had in that size.

  I stood there staring at the faded label on the box that bore my name. I could still remember the delight I’d felt when Croz
ier had first handed my suit to me. That delight had soon turned into frustration when I discovered how heavy the suit was, and how difficult it was to walk when wearing it.

  The clinging fabric of impact suits was designed to go rigid when struck. This was intended to protect the wearer from falling rubble and other hazards on the dig site, but the suit fabric could also be triggered by a stumble or an unwary movement. A novice wearer was often left frozen in mid-motion until the fabric relaxed again, looking like a ridiculous human statue, and an easy target for unkind jokes.

  I was hit by a series of old memories, each with its associated emotional pain. I’d arrived at New York Fringe armed with a mass of theoretical knowledge about dig sites, but doing anything practical was a struggle when I was so small. Every failure, every mocking comment, and every laugh at my expense had stung my pride.

  I turned the box round so the label with my name on it was hidden against the wall, and then hurried back to the hall. I must have been in the store room for longer than I’d thought, because I found Crozier had nearly finished his standard introductory talk for the new club members. I tiptoed across to sit with the other Seventeens.

  “You will have to wear your impact suit whenever you’re outside this dome, and have the hood up and sealed if you’re actually working on an excavation,” said Crozier. “You’ll find it’s tiring to wear an impact suit for long periods. We’ll be working for about three hours on the dig site in the morning, returning to the dome for a two-hour break from impact suits, and then working for another three hours in the afternoon.”

  He paused to glance around the room. “I want to make some significant announcements now, so can the rest of you please wake up and pay attention?”

  There was a rustle as people hastily opened closed eyes or put away the lookups they’d been furtively scanning under the table. I found myself tensing. This was the moment I’d been dreading.

  Crozier looked at me. “Are you sure you want to go ahead with this, Jarra?”

  I hesitated. Crozier was offering me a last chance to change my mind about the flying lessons. I just had to give one shake of my head, and I could keep my position as team 1 tag leader, and lead the history club excavations exactly the same way that I’d done the last two summers. Obviously I’d have to call Gradin and tell him the news, but he’d be delighted to hear that he wouldn’t have to give me any more lessons.

  It was very tempting to give that shake of my head, because being an archaeologist was my dream, but getting my pilot’s licence was hugely important to me as well. When I was a child, I’d gazed up at the night sky, seen the stars, and felt a burning sense of injustice that they could never be mine. The stars were for the norms, who could casually step through interstellar portals to visit any one of hundreds of colony worlds. My faulty immune system kept me a prisoner on Earth, despised as barely human by the “real” people.

  The first time I saw a plane flying above a dig site, it changed my life. I’d looked at it and known I could never have the stars, but I could have the skies of Earth. For years now, I’d been begging pilots to take me for rides in planes, and rejoicing in the minutes spent high in the air. The minutes when I felt I’d escaped my prison and was truly free.

  This summer, I had the precious chance to get my own pilot’s licence. Once I had that, I wouldn’t have to depend on others to take me flying with them any longer. I’d have the freedom of the skies in my own right.

  I looked Crozier in the eyes. “Yes.”

  “In that case,” he said, “my first announcement is that Jarra will still be history club captain this summer, but she has chosen to stand down from her role as our team 1 tag leader.”

  Everyone turned to stare at me with grazzed faces. I felt oddly shocked myself, as if I hadn’t believed it was true until I heard Crozier say it.

  “Some of you will be aware that Jarra has a long-term interest in flying,” continued Crozier. “The New York Dig Site professional pilot is currently flying a full new aerial survey of New York Fringe. Jarra will be spending a lot of her time having flying lessons from him, with the aim of becoming a qualified pilot herself.”

  The watching faces were even more stunned now. “Flying?” repeated Landon. “You mean up in the sky in a plane? That can’t be safe.”

  I sighed, and repeated the argument I must have used a score of times by now, with everyone from my friends at Next Step to Crozier himself. “People were constantly flying in planes back in the days of pre-history. Now we can portal everywhere, aircraft are only used for a few specialist jobs, and people have this nardle idea that flying is dangerous. It isn’t. It’s perfectly safe.”

  There was a disbelieving silence. Even the other Seventeens, who knew I’d been going for rides in dig site survey planes for years, still weren’t convinced it could be safe to be so high up in the air.

  “What will your flying lesson schedule be like, Jarra?” asked Crozier.

  “I should be flying every morning, but probably not in the afternoons.”

  Crozier nodded. “Since Jarra is standing down as our team 1 tag leader, I’m promoting Milo from being team 2 tag leader to being team 1 tag leader.”

  “Totally zan!” cried Milo.

  I looked at his jubilant face and felt a stab of guilt. I’d never stopped to think about it before, but the fact I’d started going to dig sites at 11, and had become a tag leader at 13, had blocked Milo from having any chance at becoming team 1 tag leader. He’d gone on his first dig site trip at the standard age of 14. By the time he became a tag leader at 16, I already had the team 1 tag leader position.

  Milo had never said a word of complaint about that, so I’d selfishly assumed he was happy in second place, but now it was clear how much he’d wanted this.

  Well, Milo would have his chance in the spotlight now. The other Seventeens started congratulating him, and I hastily joined in. It felt strange to be doing this. I remembered when the previous history club team 1 tag leader left school to start their Pre-history Foundation course at University Earth, and I was promoted into their spot. I’d always known that someone else would replace me in turn. I’d just expected it to happen after I’d left school, not when I was still here with the club.

  Radley’s congratulatory pat on Milo’s back somehow ended up with the two of them kissing each other. The hall room sensor instantly started screaming at full volume about unacceptable levels of inter-person intimacy. Milo and Radley swiftly backed away from each other, but everyone still had to cower with their hands pressed protectively over their ears for the next three minutes until the room sensor eventually shut up.

  “I somehow failed to notice whatever inappropriate behaviour started the room sensor complaining,” said Crozier, “so I can’t file an official report this time, but please don’t do it again when I’m around.”

  Radley groaned. “I’m counting the days until next Year Day, when we’ll be legally adult and free of those room sensors.”

  “I’m counting the seconds,” said Milo.

  Everyone laughed. I did my best to join in with their laughter, but I had an odd, lost feeling. Being team 1 tag leader for the history club, at the centre of all the most important excavation work it did, had been more than just a title and a job. It was part of my identity.

  Crozier waited for us to quieten down before speaking again. “I’m promoting Isla from being our team 3 tag leader to being team 2 tag leader.”

  There was another round of congratulations among the Sixteens.

  “Anyone who wishes to be considered for the vacant team 3 tag leader position should now raise a hand,” said Crozier.

  I saw Wren raise her hand, and cringed at the inevitable burst of laughter sweeping round the hall. I’d made exactly the same mistake myself six years ago, so I knew how humiliated the girl would be feeling right now, and that only her anger was keeping her arm stubbornly up in the air.

  Crozier frowned. “I expect everyone in the history club to be wholehearte
dly supportive of others, especially new arrivals.”

  Everyone stopped laughing except Landon. Crozier looked pointedly in his direction, and Landon made a last, ugly snorting sound of amusement, before going quiet. Wren still sat there with her arm raised.

  “Wren, the tag leader role is very demanding,” said Crozier. “Extensive knowledge of excavation work is needed to do it well, so I won’t consider anyone for the position until they’ve been coming on history club trips for at least two years.”

  Wren finally lowered her hand. She was probably promising herself that she’d be a tag leader in two years’ time, and show everyone how wrong they’d been to laugh at her. I’d promised myself the same thing when I was 11, and I’d worked with grim determination to make that promise into reality.

  I had the peculiar thought that if it hadn’t been for the laughter and the pointed fingers six years ago, I might not have become a tag leader until I was 15 or 16. Perhaps I’d never have become a tag leader at all.

  I shook away that memory of the past. There were only three people with their hands raised now. Crozier made a note of their names on his lookup.

  “Tomorrow morning, I’ll hold the trials for the team 3 tag leader position. Depending on the results of that, there may be a few last-minute adjustments to other team assignments for the summer.”

  He paused. “We’ll move on to issuing everyone with impact suits now. I’ve already given Wren her suit. Can one of the older girls please show her how to put it on, and talk her through the basic settings for the suit comms?”

  I’d taught plenty of new history club members to wear impact suits over the years, but I wasn’t volunteering this time. I felt I’d done more than my share of helping Wren on this trip, and planned to stay well away from the girl in future.

  Chapter Five