Vacumn Flowers

“When are you going to be programmed a citizen?”

Stilicho demanded.

“You’ve already asked me that question three times.

Why don’t you just give it a rest?”

“You haven’t given me a satisfactory answer yet.”

Stilicho waved a hand irritably. “Evasions, fluff, wordsthat don’t say anything! If you take programming as soon as we reach Deimos, you can be put to work tomorrow. A

flight of ice asteroids is coming in, and the seeding crews could always use another hand.” He put a holographic projection of an ice asteroid—a dirty thing, with more carbon than water to it—in the center of the hopper. A

mining camp clung to the surface, and interior lines glowed, showing shafts, drifts, and galleries. “The small triangles represent spore packets. No bigger than your thumb, but there are hundreds of them scattered through the ice. The stars represent bacterial charges packed in fragmentation chambers.”

Rebel stared out the hopper’s visor strip at the twisting columns of dust. People’s Mars’ mining crafts were too sophisticated for her to follow, and their biotechniques were antiquated, dating back to the begi

Vergillia, seeing her staring at the dust columns, mistook evasiveness for interest. “You are witnessing a very elegant use of resources,” she said. “The waste dust is shot out into one of two areosynchrous orbits, where it forms mirror clouds which reflect additional sunlight down to the surface. Total insolation is thus increased by nearly ten percent.”

All this while, Stilicho kept talking. “The ice asteroids approach from the leading edge of Mars and hit the surface with the force of fusion bombs—”

“Since the orbit is not permanent, there is slow but inevitable loss of dust, which must then be replenished—”

“Not only does the impact fragment the upper regolith, but the buried bacteria and spores are distributed through the shattered permafrost by explosive—”

They were like two machines that could not be turned off. Their overlapping babblings ebbed and crested toform surges of pure abrasive noise that were all but unbearable. And through it all, that irritating quality of Vergillia’s voice ran, like fingernails dragged across slate.

“Shut up!” Rebel shouted. “God damn it, I don’t want your programming! I’m not going to become a citizen! I despise all of you! Is that straightforward enough, or do you want me to be more explicit?”

There was an uncomfortable silence. “Well,” Vergillia said at last. “Perhaps you need more time to consider.”

Right then, something swam into focus in Rebel’s memory, and she was finally able to place Vergillia’s voice.

She understood why that tone of bland assurance, with just that accent delivered in just that flat cadence, set her teeth on edge.

The woman sounded just like Eucrasia’s mother.

The tu

“You will note the perfect roundness of the tu

Stilicho said. “All our spaces are multipurpose. What is a dormitory today may be grain storage tomorrow. A

corridor may become a conduit for water or industrial chemicals or even bacterial seed stock, depending on need. Nothing is dedicated solely to human comfort.”

Eucrasia’s mother had told stories of people drowning in a sudden flood of creosote or of molasses, when thecitizen-comptroller operating the gates had pulled the wrong switch. Rebel glanced over her shoulder. It was a long way to the nearest exit. “It doesn’t sound like a very appealing way to live.”

“You must understand that when Mars has been terraformed, we will all move to the surface, and Deimos will be abandoned. It would make no sense to waste effort on temporary quarters.”

Ahead a group of noncitizens—all heavily wetpainted—were installing a failsafe gate. As Vergillia and Stilicho strode forward, the work gang scattered to get out of their way. Eucrasia’s mother had also told stories of what happened to those who got in the way of programmed citizens. “When will Mars be ready, then?”

“Two hundred and eighty years.”

They came to a train station. Without her guides, Rebel would not have known. To her it was just the unmarked junction of two tu

Rebel hooked feet and hands through the appropriate rings. The car filled to capacity.

A bell chimed, and the doors closed. The train leaped forward in a horrid burst of acceleration, and the lights went off. In the pitch darkness, with bodies pressing on her from all sides, Rebel felt Eucrasia’s claustrophobia rise up. “What’s wrong?” she cried. “What happened to the lights?”

“Lights are not necessary here,” Stilicho said. “The People never waste resources u

The train flew into the black and lightless rock.

Rebel was still feeling weak and a little helpless when they arrived at the day’s designated dormitory niches.

Some quarter of them were in use. People came and went constantly. “Diamond blue seventeen,” Stilicho said.

“Remember that.”

“Your leader’s niche is beside it. Diamond blue eighteen,” Vergillia added.

“Oh, good,” Rebel said. The niches were small, with a sleeping space scooped from one rock wall. The crates nearly filled one niche completely, much to her guides’

amusement. “How do I close the door?”

“Door?” asked Vergillia.

Stilicho said, “Do not worry about your possessions.

With a few exceptions such as yourself, all noncitizens allowed into Deimos are rigidly programmed. There is no theft here.”

“I meant for privacy.”

“Privacy?”

Shaking her head wearily, Rebel said, “Listen, it’s been fun. Thanks for your help. Now why don’t you two just leave me alone for a while?” She sat down in the sleeping space. The rock smelled faintly of olive oil and machine lubricant. “Go away.”

“Perhaps,” Stilicho said in a concerned voice, “you don’t understand how badly new citizens are needed for the great task—”

“My mother was a citizen,” Rebel said angrily. “Did you know that?”

They looked at her.

“Yeah, she was born right here on Deimos. She was brought up in one of your creche collectives. Took citizenship at age ten. Did everything she was supposed to do, and got reprogrammed once a year. She was just like you, you know that?”

“I don’t—”

But Rebel talked through the reply, driven by a near-hysteria born of exhaustion. “Here’s the interesting part. She was on an ice asteroid seeding crew, just like you want me for, okay? She was on the green team, so she was in on it from the begi