Clementine lay on her bed, absentmindedly tracing the curves of the body beside her. A cool breeze kissed her skin as she dragged her fingernail across her companion's taut center, causing them both to shiver.

The bedroom door opened. Clementine rolled lazily over.

"Did you leave your good manners back on Earth?" she asked. "Or is knocking not a thing when you're just floating in space?"

"We were always just floating in space," her dad said, his smile forming two deep wrinkles on each side of his mouth. Would she have those when she was his age? She'd inherited pretty much everything else of his -- stringy body, ginger-red hair, so many freckles that her pale face looked tanned from a distance. She looked so different than her mom and Tierney, that people often assumed she and Tierney were only step-sisters.

With a pointed glance at her bedfellow, he said, "I wanted to make sure you and Daisy didn't sleep in on your big day. Plus," he added as he began to close the door, "your eggs are ready."

"You're a cruel man," she called after him. Crawling out of bed, she dug through her dresser and closet, searching for the perfect outfit. She wanted to look professional, but laid back; mature, but casual. Finally she settled on a tank top with a thin long sleeve over it, along with capri leggings.

"Don't look at me like that," she said to the figure still reclining on her bed. "You won't be the only one. There have to be others. It's not like you're the last one in the universe."

Her words floated around them both. Brushing her hair into low pigtails, Clementine watched her companion in the mirror. Then, after a mere half-spray of Chanel -- one had to be frugal when supply was limited -- she turned, with her arms on her hips, to face the bed.

"Quit freaking out, Daisy. Even if it is only you and me, that doesn't mean there won't ever be others. There have to be people who thought ahead like we did. We'll find them eventually."

She put a comforting hand on Daisy's shoulder. "Let's just see what today brings, okay?"

Plucking Daisy's G-string to finally draw out a response, she lifted the cello off the bed, and placed it tenderly in its case.

There were no eggs, of course. Even though the Relicans were providing everyone with meals, her dad had used up one of his three allotted suitcases to bring a whole bunch of food, along with his favorite cookware and knives. But after more than a month, all the fresh ingredients were long gone. And seeing as how they were on a moon-sized evacuation spaceship -- not so affectionately known as "the cart" -- with fake dirt, a fake sun, and no animals, there was no chance of getting more.

Clementine had thought ahead in more ways than one, however, and was spared eating one of the Relicans' green mashed potato-like meals for breakfast. When her family had moved into their house on the cart, everyone got a kitchen cabinet and a refrigerator shelf all to themselves to fill with whatever food they brought. Opening her cabinet now, Clementine smiled at the stacks of Nature's Path toaster pastries staring back at her. She'd bought as many as she could find and nearly filled one of her suitcases with them. People at the conveyance site had looked at her like she was crazy, showing up with two suitcases, a cello, and wearing as many layers of her clothes as she could get to fit.

"Today feels like a good day for sprinkles, I think," someone nearby said.

"I think you might be right," said Clementine. She pulled down a box of Razzi Raspberry and turned around to grin at Mr. Crayden, their across-the-street neighbor from back in Chicago, who was sitting at the table between the kitchen and the living room. Tierney had said that the Relicans' original plan was four people to a house -- one person per room. But apparently the prudish aliens had never heard of a culture in which married couples share a bed. They'd actually never heard of marriage at all, although supposedly some other species they'd encountered were monogamous. So with Tierney already on Lota and Clementine's parents sharing a room, that left two rooms open in their house: one for Mr. Crayden, and one for his son, Zack.

Clementine leaned down to give Mr. Crayden a quick hug, then sat across the table from him and began eating her breakfast, watching the news on the big sightscreen on the wall. There was only one channel so far, and all of the networks were forced to share it. Every day was a new anchor. Today it was a woman with dark hair and lips so glossy they looked like glass.

"Vice President Grant has begun his tour of America's sectors today." Silent footage of the Vice President appeared, standing outside a house that was identical to the one Clementine was sitting in, and waving to a large crowd.

"Traveling by tunnel," the anchor continued, "he will be following a different route than the President, spending more time in each sector, and visiting multiple locations, with the stated goal of better understanding what Americans' needs are."

"President Freeland already did that, ass," Clementine said, glaring at the VP as she took another bite. "Doesn't he have something better to do?"

Mr. Crayden was also frowning at the screen, but he didn't say anything, so Clementine kept the rest of her comments to herself as the woman went on.

"...expected to be a month-long trip, spending at least two days in each of the 20 sectors. In other news..."

Clementine's dad came rushing out of his bedroom with a satchel slung across his chest. He walked straight over and kissed the top of her head. "Good luck today, Tiny," he said.

"You too -- hey!" she protested, as he snatched up one of her toaster pastries from the table. "You're heartlessly forcing me one day closer to eating green mush for breakfast!"

"Good thing you love me more than Pop Tarts!" he said, heading towards the door.

"They're not Pop Tarts, they're organic," corrected Clementine, taking a bite. "Monsanto can go fuck themselves."

"Language!" her dad called over his shoulder, though Mr. Crayden, sitting back down after turning the TV off, simply nodded and said, "You got that right."

Pausing in the doorway, her dad turned and looked at Mr. Crayden, a shadow of worry passing over his face. "Mona and I will be home around 4:30. You're okay with walking Tiny to rehearsal and back?"

Mr. Crayden extended his arm towards him, like a traffic cop directing someone to stop -- although Clementine had never seen a cop wearing a hemp shirt with bell sleeves before. "Go take care of other people's babies, Wayne, and I'll take care of yours. Don't you worry." He cast a conspiratorial smile at Clementine and added, "I'll get her home with all nine of her fingers and toes intact."

Unamused, Wayne didn't move.

"I'll be fine, Dad. Don't let the kids down by being late on your first day back."

While a few schools were open within a week of leaving Earth, a lot of parents had been reluctant to even let their children out of their sight, never mind the fact that the schools were all located underground, accessible only by a system of transports that used Relican technology. Now that everyone was settled in -- and bored -- more children had started attending school. Her dad taught fourth grade science, and only now were there enough kids to merit his return. Clementine's mom taught middle school English, and she'd started the week before.

When he still didn't move from the doorway, Clementine laughed and waved at him. "Bye Dad. Don't let the brats tucker you out -- I owe you a trouncing at rummy tonight."

Finally his expression relaxed, and those wrinkles by his mouth reappeared. "Okay, honey. But be careful. Have fun. And tell any brass players who show up to go back where they came from." He put his hands over his ears and feigned agony as he went backwards out the door. "Tell them you don't need them in your band."

"It's an orchestra," Clementine yelled, although the door was already swinging shut, "not a band!"

"That's so beautiful," said Mr. Crayden, his eyes misty. "What a beautiful thing to watch: a healthy, loving father/daughter relationship. It's a gift. I know you don't think so now, but when you've seen as many full moons as me, you'll realize what a gift it is."

"Where is Zack?" she asked, putting the box of toaster pastries back in the cabinet.

"My son tells me nothing anymore," he said, shaking his head sadly. He thinks he's all grown up and smarter than his old man after one year of college. He only comes home for food and sleep -- if you can call these little boxes homes."

With a wistful smile, he began braiding his long gray hair over his shoulder. "It's been so nice living with you folks. I know I'm not really family, but it almost feels like that sometimes. When I'm watching you all play cards, or hearing you create that hauntingly beautiful music, it makes me all weepy, but in a nice way."

His voice was light and musical itself, but with a gruffness that hinted at a lifetime of smoking. He'd told her more than once that he'd smoked cigarettes for most of his life, but ever since Clementine had known him, the only thing she'd ever seen him smoke was pot. As a child, she went over his house almost daily to play with Zack. As soon as Mr. Crayden came home from work, he'd kiss his wife, give both kids giant hugs that lifted their feet off the floor, and then go straight to the back yard and light a joint. It was for this reason that Clementine's parents had always been leery of him, only consenting to her visits if Zack's sensible mother was home, but Clementine had always loved him like the cooky, hippie uncle-type he was.

"I'll be ready in a bit," she said, heading to the bathroom.

"Take your time, angel. I'm not going anywhere."

After brushing her teeth and getting her music together, Clementine again checked herself in the mirror.

Maybe pigtails aren't a good idea if I want them to take me seriously, she thought. I get mistaken for a fifteen-year-old often enough as it is.

Pulling out her ponytails, she redid her hair in a braid, but then pulled that out because it reminded her too much of Tierney. With a groan of frustration, she decided to simply leave it down, slipping a couple elastics onto her wrists for the rehearsal.

She picked up Daisy and started to head out, but a final glance at her reflection made her pause. Although she didn't usually wear makeup, she really wanted to make a good first impression, so she curled her eyelashes and applied her only lipstick -- a pale pink shade that her best friend Stephanie had demanded she bring on the cart. Although makeup rarely made her feel any more confident, it did at least help her look closer to her age.

Mr. Crayden made a sound of excitement, and Clementine was about to call out to him when she heard another man's more subdued voice. Wishing she had brought her poster of Trevor Noah to kiss for good luck, she picked up Daisy's case and carried it out of her room. Mr. Crayden was still at the dinner table, but he was now joined by a man in a red plaid flannel shirt with the sleeves rolled up. The faint scent of pot that always lingered around Mr. Crayden was now the strongest smell in the house. Her parents would not be pleased.

"Clementine angel," said Mr. Crayden, grinning wider than she'd seen him do since they'd been on the cart, "this is Fabio, my good friend from back in Chicago. I've been looking for him for the past couple weeks, and here he went and found me!"

"Hey," she said in a quick greeting. Then, shifting her gaze back to her housemate, she said, "I'm ready when you are."

At that moment, the bedroom door next to hers opened, and Zack walked out, wearing his typical all black attire. He looked surprisingly clean and alert for someone she hadn't seen in days.

"My boy!" said Mr. Crayden, standing and gripping his son's shoulder. Zack tensed visibly at his touch. "I peeked in there but didn't see you in the dark. You've got your window covered up with all those blankets, it's black as midnight in there. Fabio, you remember my son, Zack?"

Fabio nodded with a polite smile, while Zack stared blankly at the table, not making eye contact with his dad's guest.

"Are you ready to go, Mr. Crayden?" Clementine prompted.

"Time already?" His dismay was evident as he looked back at Fabio. "I've got a lot of catching up to do with my friend here."

"I'll go by myself, then," she said, heading towards the door.

"No, no, you can't go by yourself. I promised your father, and he'll tar and feather me if I let him down." Patting Zack's back, he said, "My boy'll take you."

Zack still said nothing, his gaze remaining fixed on the table. Clementine's parents liked Zack even less than they liked Mr. Crayden. He was too aloof, too unsmiling. Her dad would not be happy if he found out Zack had walked her.

"Excellent," she said with a grin. "Is that okay with you Zack?"

He glanced her way, his eyes settling not on her, but her cello case, and shrugged.

"I'll take that as a, 'Yes, I can't wait.'" She opened the door. "See you later Mr. Crayden. Nice meeting you, Fabio."

Zack followed her through the door, and as they started down the wide grassy path that served as the main thoroughfare for their neighborhood, she said, "I guess you're wondering where we're going."

He shrugged in reply.

"So you're cool with us going to the tunnels and seeing how many sexual favors I can get in exchange for my cello?"

Zack still didn't react, simply staring at the ground in front of his feet.

"I thought I might be able to at least get a raised eyebrow with that one," she mumbled.

They spent the rest of the hour-long walk to the tunnels in silence. Clementine hadn't spent this much time with him since they were kids. They'd been in the same grade, attending the same schools from kindergarten through high school, but after his mom died in seventh grade, he'd changed, becoming pessimistic, judgmental, and moody. Clementine had tried to keep up the friendship, knowing that he needed it, but after a couple years of listening to him ridicule her other friends, she'd finally called it quits.

A year of college seemed to have agreed with him, though. Mr. Crayden said he'd gotten into lacrosse, which explained the added weight and muscle. He'd been so scrawny as a child, that Clementine would have been surprised if he could pick up her cello. Now he looked like he could pick her up with minimal effort. And without the black lipstick and heavy eyeliner that he'd been relentlessly teased about in high school, he might not look half-bad if he would only smile once in a while.

As they neared the entrance, they joined the light foot traffic that was heading in the same direction. While all the houses on the cart were above ground, everything else -- hospitals, schools, playgrounds -- were beneath the surface. Clementine had only been down there once before, with Steph and a few of her friends from college. When they'd first arrived, they were one of the many groups that took the maps they'd been given and explored what would be their home for the next six months. But already the Relican technology had lost its luster, and there had been reports of muggings and black market dealings in the shadows of the tunnels. And even though there was enough housing for every person above ground, some of the chronically homeless had chosen to live in the tunnels instead.

The entrance to the tunnels was on the edge of an open grassy space. Meant to serve as a town square, there was an identical area in every sector, providing a place for kids to get outside or people to play sports. At this hour it was mostly empty, other than a group of about twenty people doing yoga.

Clementine and Zack fell in line with the commuters coming and going on the wide metal ramp that descended into the tunnels station. Although immersed in alien technology, the people in the now thick crowd could have been in any subway station back home for all the attention they paid their surroundings. With their heads down and earbuds in, everyone shuffled slowly ahead. Of course cell phones didn't work as phones anymore, what with there not being any satellites, but they were still handy pocket computers, with music and games and whatever else could be downloaded before leaving Earth.

Although Clementine had half-expected Zack to bail as soon as they were out of sight of the house, he stayed close by her side as they neared the bottom of the ramp. A massive digital screen took up the entire ceiling, illuminating the large circular space with a blue sky and yellow sun identical to -- and nearly as bright as -- the one above ground. The tangy scent of metal that was integral to all Relican architecture became stronger the deeper they went, mixing unpleasantly with the faint body odor from all the people, and even the distinct, sour stench of urine.

"Charming," she said, nodding at the wall beside them. Burn on Earth, an insult that became popular shortly after the Relicans arrived, was spray-painted in fiery red. Why someone would waste what was probably one of the last cans of spray paint on such a message, Clementine wasn't sure. Zack remained predictably unimpressed by the graffiti, although he was visibly affected by the smell, holding his hand against his nose.

Everyone queued up outside one of twelve metal doors that lined the wall. While they looked like elevators, behind those doors was a vast network of tunnels that, rumor had it, could go to any other place on the entire cart, although how that rumor had been started was anyone's guess, since each transport only offered access to a select group of locations that served the surrounding sectors.

Upon reaching their door, Clementine pressed her finger against the black panel beside it. The panel felt like the material diving suits were made of, but when a list of destinations appeared, the white words were as clear as if they were on a computer screen: Hospital, Sector Eight Elementary School, Sector Eight Middle School, Sector Eight High School, Sector Eight Playground, Sector Eight Auditorium, Sector Nine Elementary School...

Clementine selected Sector Nine Auditorium, and the list disappeared, replaced by the words, Programming Transport. A few moments later the doors opened, and she and Zack boarded.

The transports were tall but boxy, constructed out of a bluish metal that Clementine was certain wasn't found on Earth. Padded benches stuck out of the walls, but they could be repositioned higher or lower by unhooking them and moving them up to any of the other notches that ran along the wall. There were also extra seats stacked in a corner, in case a large group was traveling together. There weren't any windows, but the ceiling had a fake skylight, again featuring digital imagery of a blue, sunny sky. It looked so realistic, that when Clementine had been down there before, Steph had climbed onto her boyfriend's shoulders to put her hand on the screen, jerking it back and squealing with delight when digital tree branches slid by.

The technology was impressive, but all of the pretending made Clementine uneasy. She couldn't wait until they arrived at Lota. To breathe real air again, to feel real warm sunlight again...

"Can I hop on?" someone called out.

Without waiting for an answer, a man jumped into the transport right before the doors closed. Clementine sat down, but the man remained standing by the doors, running a hand over his shoulder-length, slicked back brown hair. Zack stood also, leaning against the opposite wall.

"Where you folks headin'?" the man asked in a southern accent, grinning as he stuffed his hands into his squeaky leather jacket.

Though there was no tug of movement or vibration in her seat, the screen above showed puffy clouds passing by, indicating that the pod had begun its journey.

"Does it matter?" Zack asked.

The fact that Zack actually spoke to someone -- a stranger, at that -- made Clementine start. His usually passive and emotionless face was set in a dark glower as he sized up the newcomer. Though the man's smile didn't falter, his eyes locked on to Zack's, the two engaging in a silent conversation apparently only males were fluent in.

Am I missing something?

She was about to laugh and say something about too much testosterone, when the man's grin morphed into a sneer, and an icy dread settled over her.

"Nah, you're right. It don't matter." He pulled his hands from his jacket, drawing out a knife that glinted under the bright light of the transport. Pointing at her cello, he said, "You're giving that to me."

"What? No!" Clementine put a protective hand on the case.

Now even the sneer was gone, replaced by cold malice. "You're giving that to me," he repeated.

"Why?" she demanded, keeping her voice sharp despite her pounding heart. "So you can sell it? You think money's going to help you on Lota? The Relicans are helping us get everything we need. Money will be useless."

He gave her a mean once over. "Only someone who's always had money could say something stupid like that," he said, and reached for the case.

"No! Daisy!" she cried, throwing herself in front of her instrument. A flash of metal came at her, bringing with it the thought that she was about to die. She would die without ever seeing their new home world. Without feeling real wind and rain on her face. Without seeing Tierney again.

The sounds of a scuffle made her aware that her eyes were closed. Popping them open, she saw Zack, reaching for the knife. A hard punch landed squarely on the man's face with a nasty crack, and he cried out in pain, dropping the knife to the floor with a thud. As he stumbled back with his hands on his nose, Zack grabbed him and punched him in the temple, then slammed him against the metal wall of the pod. The man crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Clementine stared at the man's body for several moments before meeting Zack's worried gaze.

"I was totally about to do that," she said.

A corner of his lips twitched, and he arched a skeptical eyebrow at her.

"What? You didn't notice my guns?" She tensed her arms to showcase her perhaps-not-particularly-impressive-but-definitely-not-inconsequential musculature. "Carting Daisy around isn't for the weak-limbed. Those lazies with rolling cello cases wouldn't last a mile."

He looked down at the wooden cello case, with its chipping lavender paint and myriad daisy stickers.

"Daisy?" he asked, looking back at her. It was the first word he'd said to her in years. The trace of humor in his eyes shocked her more than what had just happened.

"Lacrosse?" she asked in reply, nodding towards the man he'd disarmed and knocked out in seconds.

Zack only shrugged.