Chapter Eleven
The morning after the ball, when Vivian and Luz stepped out of the dormitory for a walk, they stopped immediately upon seeing Shiloh and Felicia on the front lawn.
“Keep your feet under your shoulders, like this.” Shiloh adjusted Felicia’s hips. “You need a strong stance first. Your punch’s power will come from your legs and knees.”
“What are you doing?” Vivian asked.
“Shi’s teaching me a few moves.” Felicia tucked one hand against her chin and made a fist.
“No, no, keep your thumb outside your fist.” Shiloh moved Felicia’s fingers.
Vivian and Luz exchanged a glance. “Could you show us too?” Luz asked.
“Sure, babes. Stand right here.”
Vivian felt a little silly learning the right way to punch in an emerald silk dress, but it was fun to see what her body could do.
Sometime between the nutritious liquid diet of the nine-month voyage and two weeks of solid food on Mars, her ribs had disappeared from view under her skin.
Her arms were still thin, but she no longer felt like she was about to break in two.
Now, standing on the lawn learning how to stabilize her legs to give her punch power, she wondered if her body was capable of building muscle.
She wanted to be strong. From the number of women who’d come out to join them, diligently following Shiloh’s confident instructions, her friends seemed to want the same thing.
“Look, the mail’s here,” one woman said after they’d been practicing for a while. The now-common sight of the spindly artificial mail carriers trundled into view.
“Four at once?” Another remarked. “That might be a new record.”
“Can we do this again another time, Shi?” Camille asked. “I want you to teach me how to flip someone holding me from behind, like in the movies.”
“We’ll work up to that,” Shiloh promised with a grin.
The women adjusted their hair and skirts as they walked back inside the house, energetically discussing punching techniques. In the dining room, mail and packages were piled on the table in a large heap.
Delilah picked up a silver box with her name on top and opened it. “Oooh. Look at this!” The box contained a row of charcoal pencils and a spiral sketchbook. “I told Caspian when we walked through the gallery that I wanted to learn to draw. He’s so thoughtful.”
Vivian thought of Ivey’s words in her bedroom. Should she try persuading Delilah to choose Caspian? But her sister was already sifting through her other letters and gifts, exclaiming over each one. Ivey was right—Delilah wasn’t taking Caspian’s interest seriously.
She’s only eighteen. Why shouldn’t she be enjoying all the attention? At least for a little while longer.
“Vivian, this one’s for you.” Camille thrust a brown paper package in her hands.
On the top, Miss Vivian Bowen was written in an elegant hand.
Several of the women gathered curiously around Vivian as she opened it to find a sleek gray reader.
An enclosed handwritten note fluttered to the ground.
Vivian bent to retrieve the small square of heavy cream paper.
Expect more. —X
“A reader?” Delilah exclaimed. “Someone must be getting to know you well, Viv.”
Vivian frowned at the gift. Why would Xavier send her a reader? She swiped it open to find a book preloaded: An Introduction to Martian Law by Dr. Ayesha Wilson, with foreword by Counselor Xavier Dorsey.
The arrogance of the man, to assume she would want to read his writing!
Luz leaned over her shoulder. “Do you think you’ll be able to understand that?” she asked gently.
Did Xavier give her the gift in mockery after she’d evaded his questions on books the night before? Did he seek to draw attention to her poor education in order to remind her that she was unworthy of entering into Martian society?
She would prove him wrong.
Vivian lifted her chin in stubborn determination and opened the book of law to the first chapter, skipping the introduction. “I will learn.”
The text was difficult. It assumed a basic knowledge of Martian history that Vivian didn’t possess.
The complex vocabulary and syntax were beyond the measly education she’d pieced together from the limited Sumter public readers and donated paper textbooks.
As she read, she needed to pause every few sentences to use the reader to look up a word or concept on the nexus.
But the book was a revelation.
In the small courtyard adjacent to the dormitory, Vivian learned about the first permanent Martian settlers, before the creation of the Intelligence.
They’d been scientists and explorers, comfortable with considerable risk and hardship for themselves.
At the same time, they were self-aware enough to understand what was needed to develop a sustainable, multigenerational system on an inhospitable planet.
They decided early in the settlement’s history to establish the Martian entitlement to a basic standard of living, with meticulous optimal requirements for water, air, temperature, and food.
They called these requirements the Martian Fundamental Rights.
Vivian traced the detailed chart the first Martians had published on nutrition standards and swallowed a lump in her throat.
Calorie minimums based on sex, height, origin planet, and occupation.
An optimal mix of proteins, fats, and carbohydrates.
Appropriate levels of vitamins and minerals.
Vivian knew firsthand the unpleasant consequences of not consuming adequate protein. And she’d seen the hollow-eyed children at the camp during lean months. It’s why Vivian had joined forces with Evie and other women in the camp to pool their resources to collect a stockpile of nonperishables.
Until Max Rinaldi had intervened.
Vivian traced the surface of the reader as she learned about the concept of Martian Collective Sovereignty.
All Martians had fundamental rights over their own bodies and the right and expectation to contribute to the collective well-being of the community.
Martians contributed to the self-reliance of Mars, independent from Earth, and had a responsibility to aid with producing adequate nutrition on-planet.
She’d never known anything like it.
No one had ever given her a chance to produce anything herself.
She and her family had been entirely reliant on the meager handouts of an increasingly broken government.
She thought of her father, who would have welcomed the opportunity to return to a factory and earn a living instead of being trapped in the camp without any chance to find work.
Her heart squeezed as she pictured her parents’ uncertain future.
Despite reaching out every day, she and Delilah had heard nothing further from them since Miranda’s message.
A shadow covered her reader, and she looked up in surprise to see Wim hovering above her. “Vivian, excellent, I was hoping to have a word with you.”
“Is all the food in our kitchen produced in this dome?” Vivian asked him.
Wim blinked. “I believe so.”
“Could I see it?”
“You wish to see the greenhouse farms?”
“And the cultured meat labs. And the water treatment plants.” Vivian wanted, powerfully and suddenly, to visualize Martian Collective Sovereignty in action. She didn’t know, she realized, if tomatoes grew on trees or bushes. Or the ingredients in a loaf of bread.
“I’m sure your partner would be happy to arrange a tour.” Wim sat beside her on the courtyard bench. “Which brings me to the reason I’m here.”
Vivian put down her reader and fixed a polite, attentive smile onto her face. Whatever it was, she wished he’d be quick about it so she could return to her book.
“Yesterday, at the dance, the Intelligence informed me it had singled you out as the companion of my future life,” Wim declared. “But before I run away with my feelings, perhaps I should state my reasons for marrying.”
All thoughts of collective sovereignty fled Vivian’s mind. She suppressed a hysterical laugh. Wim? Run away with his feelings? Her laughter faded into dread when she realized he was deadly serious.
Wim continued, “My reasons for marrying are, first, I think it is right as a servant of the Intelligence to set the example of its great vision for Mars’s future.
” He put a ringed hand on his chest. “Secondly, I am convinced it will add very greatly to my happiness. And thirdly, which perhaps I ought to have mentioned earlier, that it is the advice and recommendation of the very noble lady whom I have the honor of calling patroness.” He stared dreamily into the distance as Vivian beat back the panic in her chest. “Secretary Yarrow has declared I must be among the first to wed. As the servant of the Intelligence, it is my duty.” He turned his attention back to her.
“And now nothing remains for me but to assure you of my affection.”
Vivian held out one hand, as if to try to stop his words. “No. Thank you, but this is my choice, isn’t it? My answer is no.”
“Decline!” Wim scoffed. “I have heard that it is usual with Earther women to reject the man they secretly mean to accept. And that sometimes the refusal is repeated a second or even a third time. I will, therefore, not be discouraged.”
For a moment, Vivian was so angry by this idea that she was unable to speak. “You can’t really believe such nonsense,” she finally sputtered. “I mean it. No. You couldn’t make me happy, and I’d bet I’m the last woman on this planet who would make you happy.”
Wait …
She hadn’t meant to bring happiness into the decision-making. Her parents were in danger. She couldn’t afford to care about her own happiness.
“The Intelligence believes we could make each other happy.”
Vivian couldn’t help herself from bursting out, “Then the Intelligence is wrong!” She grabbed her reader and rose to depart.
Wim sprang to his feet, towering over her.
“The Intelligence is incapable of making a mistake. When I speak to you next on this subject I expect a more favorable answer. I will refrain from accusing you of cruelty because I know it to be the established custom of your culture to reject a man on the first application.”
Was he listening to her at all? She couldn’t accept this man. She couldn’t. “You aren’t making sense,” she said weakly.
Could he force her to accept? Was the commitment to allow the women to choose their own partners merely lip service?
“You must give me leave to flatter myself, my dear, that your rejection is merely words. I’m not of the highest echelons of Martian society, true, but I’m Secretary Yarrow’s most trusted advisor and have a direct line to the Intelligence. It doesn’t appear to me that my offer is unworthy.”
Vivian trembled in frustration and an uneasy fear. “Thank you again, but I can’t accept. Good day, Wim.” She hurried away without another word.