Do You Dream of Terra-Two?

‘The law says that we will allocate according to need. And then reallocate. No inheritance. No property.’

“ ‘To each, according to his needs”?’ Eliot said. ‘So we’re Marxists?’

Juno was beginning to get flustered. Jesse could tell by the way that she kept switching her weight from foot to foot, taking deep breaths.

‘Don’t you see, you guys,’ she implored, ‘don’t you realize what a gift we have here? All the way through human history our behaviour falls into predictable patterns. Civil war, tribal divides, deforestation. We have a chance. Think about all the times on Earth when you thought, What would I do, if I could do things differently? What if we could start again, learning from all those mistakes? The experiment of Earth has been tried and failed. Now is the time for Earth 2.0.’

‘Maybe,’ said Eliot.

‘Can I just say,’ said Poppy, ‘that I never do think that.’

‘I think that we’re not about to elect Juno the fascist dictator of our society,’ said Harry.

Jesse could see that his words had stung. ‘Hey,’ he said, ‘leave her alone.’

‘Oh, come on,’ said Harry. ‘You’re going to paint me as the bad guy this time too? We already have a Bill of Rights and British laws. You’re telling me we’re just going to abandon eight hundred years of progress for her nutjob idea?’

‘Yes!’ Jesse surprised even himself with his fervour. ‘This is progress. Moving forwards. I think that Juno’s a genius. She’s going to make history.’ Juno’s face softened, and she blushed.

‘Okay,’ said Harry, ‘you’re clearly saying that because you want to get into her pants.’

‘I knew it,’ said Poppy smugly.

A wave of shame and embarrassment came over Jesse and he saw the mortified look on Juno’s face too.

‘N-no…’ she began.

‘Well,’ said Harry, ‘I don’t think he’s much of a catch either. Must have been a real turn-off finding him in the airlock, wetting his pants.’

He’d had enough. Something inside Jesse, a taut wire of patience and self-control, snapped. He flew at Harry. He couldn’t even tell where he’d hit him, just that he felt the impacts in his wrists, heard the soft pounding of flesh. He got about three blows in before Harry turned on him with the full force of his weight and threw him onto the ground, so hard that Jesse saw stars. Then came a punch to the solar plexus that left Jesse retching violently in pain. Another to his stomach that made his throat close, turned his lungs into a vacuum. Jesse suddenly became aware that Harry could kill him. He could taste his own blood in his mouth, hear distant screams of horror.

Harry grabbed the lamp off the stand nearby and Poppy lunged in front of him, snatching his arm. Harry was panting. He froze as if he’d woken from a dream. He dropped the lamp, letting the bulb shatter on the floor. Jesse scrambled back, his head spinning, hands sliding through a pool of blood and saliva.

Chapter 35 JUNO

^26.12.12

WHEN JUNO WOKE UP on Boxing Day, her head was pounding. She rolled out of bed, pulled on her dressing gown and climbed up to the infirmary to see if she could find some aspirin. Her nerves were frayed from the night before, horrifying flashes of Harry’s face and Jesse’s cries of pain. Underneath it, the sour taste of guilt. It was her fault. The argument had erupted over her Damocles Document. And Jesse had been injured defending her.

Juno found Fae seated at her desk in the infirmary, poring over a pile of documents, her reading glasses glinting in the lamplight. She pulled them off and rubbed her eyes.

‘Good morning, Doctor,’ said Juno.

‘Good afternoon, Juno,’ Fae said, then she lifted up a chart. ‘You are just the person I wanted to talk to. Did you know that you seem to be losing weight?’ Even in her stern voice, the words gave Juno a thrill. ‘Are you eating all your rations?’

‘Of course,’ she lied.

Fae frowned. ‘I’m going to recalculate your calorie requirements. You have been doing a lot of exercise.’ That meant more food. Juno tried not to shudder. She normally drank at least a litre of water before the weigh-ins but she suspected that Fae was catching on – perhaps that was why she had scheduled this medical check so early in the morning.

Eating disorders had been a problem at Dalton. Despite the rigorous psychological testing and careful monitoring the students underwent, they were almost primed to develop them. Dalton was a perfect storm of stress and competition, intense exercise and emphasis on healthy eating. The young Type-A perfectionists who were likely to be selected for the programme lived in close quarters, girls and boys casting razor-sharp teenage eyes into each other’s flesh. They had monthly weigh-ins and meetings with the psychological teams that were supposed to identify those suffering, but Juno had learned years ago how to get around them, rehearsed answers, water before weigh-ins, socks filled with rice, weights sewn into the lining of her knickers.

‘Hey,’ she said, rubbing her forehead. ‘I have kind of a headache…’