She shook her head, calmer, even resigned. “Not if it makes his people lose hope in a better future. A future elsewhere. Hope’s what will get us through, he always says. And I understand that. I guess. It’s just that . . .”

A clatter at the top of the stairwell announced young Zane, back in training since losing himself and little Mikka in the storm. He waved, rattling an empty pail, and headed for us with the quick step of one quite happy to have been reassigned to the roof. “Got potatoes? The kitchen needs ’em!”

Fantasy or no, I wanted to hear more about Mars.

“Can we talk about your work sometime?” I murmured. “About whatever you’re allowed to say?”

“You don’t know what you’re asking.” Ellie Mae dropped her cultivator into the sagged-out pocket of her shirt, spilling damp soil down her front, then moved down the rows as if afraid to be seen talking to me. “Over here, Zany. Bring that big fork. I’ll dig you some.”

But she hadn’t said no.

NINETEEN

If we told each other things were finally getting back to normal, now that the den was sorted out and the gardens cleaned up, we couldn’t have got it wronger. Only the calm before the storm, and this time it wasn’t weather.

Two long days stooping and digging didn’t mean an early bedtime. Like most of the night pickers, my sleep schedule hadn’t caught up yet. Nighttime was our wake time and we all expected to be back there ASAP.

So there was raucous late-hour poker in the Mess, noisy sparring and gymnastics in Main, and percussive video games in the media loft. Wasn’t till well after midnight that a person could have a conversation up there, never mind think. I tried reading in my bunk but even the old book didn’t help me lie still.

By the early morning hours, I was back in the loft. The crowd had thinned to mostly the Wizzers, the CB obsessives, and me. I could settle at ‘my’ computer without a line behind me waiting for a turn. Right off, I called up those Mars files Peeto said were Ellie Mae’s for closer study. Disappointing. Aside from the spectacular photos, I found mostly official press releases and journal articles from thirty years ago, colorless and brief. Yes, there had been a series of manned expeditions to Mars. And yes, an Arcadia Base had been established and maintained for over a decade, and a lot of science had been done there. But then the stuff just petered out. Fewer reports, fewer articles, then none. No final this or that, no joyous welcome home to the explorers, no horrific report of a disaster at the base. Had I missed the crucial files? Had Ellie Mae misplaced them somewhere? Or hid them on purpose? Had they been . . . suppressed?