"Queue up, come on now."
There was a mass shuffle as everybody tried to avoid being first in line. A smallish boy was pushed forward.
"Name?"
The boy mumbled something, and the official looked him up in the computer. Tacka-tacka-tacka.
"Next."
Another minor scuffle at the front of the line. When you're standing three abreast, who goes first? Sherry watched her shoelaces and shuffled forward a few inches as the line ahead of her moved.
The girl on her left was complaining under her breath, and the boy on her right was humming tunelessly. Or maybe it was a video game theme song; he was pale and wore glasses, and looked like the typical computer game nerd.
"Next." Shuffle, shuffle.
"Herd us around like cattle," the girl on Sherry's left muttered. "Go here, go there, move in with this family, get deported."
The crossed laces were evenly pulled up, but the bows were different sizes. She'd have to adjust them so they were the same length again, before one loop got so big it dragged on the floor. Sherry glanced sideways, caught the girl's eye, and pulled the side of her mouth back in a half-smile. She had learned long ago that complaining--or agreeing with somebody who complained--too loudly only got her into trouble.
"Next." The boy in front of Sherry stepped away, leaving her exposed. She looked up involuntarily.
The man at the desk showed his bald spot as he looked down to grab a slip of paper from the printer. He gestured the boy toward the door to the left while handing him the paper. "Next."
The girl who had been continuously complaining stepped up.
"Name."
"The prisoner formerly known as Jen."
"You're not a prisoner. Last name?"
"I have no choice about being here. If I'm not a prisoner, what am I?"
"A minor. Last name?"
"Smith."
"Right." The man handed her a slip of paper. "Next."
Geek-boy on Sherry's other side stepped up. Name, paper, gesture toward the door. Her turn.
"Name?"
"Sherry Tenna."
Tacka-tacka-tacka. A quiet whir as the little printer spat out a slip of paper with a number on it. He gestured toward the door, already forgetting that she had been there. Just like every other official, all her life.
The door rumbled open on its track, and Sherri stepped through into the cooler air behind it.
The prisoner formerly known as Jen was standing in front of one of two desks, arguing with the lady seated opposite her.
A security guard held out his hand, so she gave him her paper.
'Follow the green line," he said, and gave her paper back.
Sherry looked down. A rainbow of coloured lines were painted on the floor, starting at her feet. Red and orange went to the two desks she could see, the other four went down the hall.
Yellow turned off and disappeared under a door. A few steps farther down, green did the same. Blue and purple marched side by side down the hall and around the corner.
The sliding door behind her rumbled open again.
Sherry looked up from her shoelaces and knocked on the blank door.
"Come in."
The man behind the desk smiled broadly at her, immediately putting her on guard.
"Have a seat."
Sherry closed the door, handed him her slip of paper, and sat down to wait for the next big change they'd impose on her.
"So, ah, Sherry. My name is Tom." He read his screen for a few seconds. "Do you know why you're here?"
"I was sent here."
"Well, yes. But why were you sent here?"
Sherry shrugged. "The Kerrys decided they didn't want me anymore?"
"Ah, no." Tom's forehead wrinkled a bit more. "Would you like to read your file?"
"Which one?"
"All of them. School records, foster care records, police records--oh, you don't have a police record, that's excellent." Tom slid a folder across his desk. "Take a quick look through that." He turned back to his computer and started reading.
Sherry opened her folder and came face to face with herself at various ages, paperclipped to the inside cover. She skimmed, catching sight of names she recognised. First her parents and her caseworker, then the different families she'd stayed with.
Tom leaned back from his computer and watched her. She flipped even faster through her school records, barely reading the names of the schools.
Some of them, she had even made friends at.
Tim stretched his arms above his head, and his nametag caught the light. 'Tom Franklin' it said. 'Screening Officer'.
"Where am I going this time?" she asked, closing her folder.
"That's what we're here to figure out." Tom typed a few letters into his computer. "Now, we're sending people out to the colonies, and we need to figure out which one would be the best. That's my job. Your school record shows that you do well when you have the chance, and you don't have a police record--as I said, that's great, it means they won't look at you very hard. You'll finish your schooling on the colony, just another fourteen-year-old--"
"I'm fifteen."
"--fifteen-year-old immigrant, trying to make a life for herself. What do you know about the colonies?"
"What was taught in school. Where they are, when they were founded." Sherry shrugged. "What they produce, the name of the first governor."
"Well, you'll be learning a lot more about them. What do you think of going into space?"
"I'd rather not."
"You'd rather stay here?"
Sherry shrugged. "Do I have a choice?"
"Ok. You'll be hearing in a couple of days where to report for your training, and which colony you'll be going to. We've already lined up foster families, we just have to match them with you kids." Tom stood up, and offered Sherry his hand. "Good luck."
Sherry pushed her file back across the desk, and shook Tom's hand.
"Follow the purple line, but keep going down the hall once it stops. You'll leave the building near a school bus that'll take you back home."
Sherry nodded and opened the door. Another move.
Another year, another new home. Sherry stood in line again, this time carrying all her stuff in a couple of bags. The line was smaller and chattier this time, some of the kids seeming downright eager to get off-planet. Like it was some grand adventure or something.
The line shuffled forward again, each person having their bags weighed and their name checked.
Sherry dropped her bags on the scale when it was her turn, and handed her ID to the lady behind the counter. This processing was even more impersonal than usual, with a complete lack of chitchat.
Her bags were tagged and disappeared down the chute, and she was waved through yet another door, for yet another lineup.
Down a people-chute--she thought of the prisoner formerly known as Jen and almost said "Moo"--and into a shuttle. Her ticket named a window seat, and she sat down and closed the window cover.
"Want to trade?"
Sherry looked up. A girl wearing all black leaned against the seat ahead of her.
"If you aren't going to be looking out the window anyway... I've got a centre seat, and I've never been on a shuttle before. I really want to watch."
"Sure. Which seat is yours?"
The girl pointed two rows forward. "Right in the middle. I'm Kara by the way. Excited?"
"I guess."
Kara nodded. "I know what you mean." She lowered her voice. "Wacky stuff those aliens, eh? I don't know why the colonists put up with them."
"The aliens don't bother me. Thanks for the trade, Kara." Sherry let Kara into her seat and moved forward two rows. She slouched into the backrest and closed her eyes.
"What's your name?" Kara asked, moving forward to lean on the backrest.
"Sherry."
"Ever been on a shuttle before? I've never even been on a plane before this week, that was pretty exciting. I can't wait until we take off."
"Mmm."
"Say, you aren't, like, sick or anything are you?"
"No, I just don't like flying."
"Oh. Um, I'll talk to you later then?"
"Mmm."
Kara left and the seats around Sherry filled up, the cabin buzzing with conversation. She spotted geek-boy from the first screening lineup a few seats over, peering out the tiny window.
The intercom popped, then a voice came on.
"This is your captain speaking. We will be moving out the the launch pad in a few minutes. Please fasten your restraints and make sure you are sitting up straight in your seat. The co-pilot will ensure they are properly tightened before takeoff."
Sherry sat up and fished the straps from underneath her. She held them out and tried to figure out how it all fit together. Over the lap, over the shoulders, over the chest, and the headrest was adjustable and had a hollow in it that held her head still. She tightened up the straps and wiggled a bit, making sure she was straight.
A lady in uniform moved through the seats, tugging on straps and tightening a few, helping buckle a few people in. She tuggled on Sherry's straps, pulled the lap belt tighter, and moved on.
The shuttle lurched, and somebody behind her said "Here we go!"
Sherry closed her eyes as the chatter started up again.
The shuttle lurched again, and a background hum started, quickly drowning out all conversation.
The intercom popped again, crackling with the volume. "Prepare for takeoff in ten, nine, eight, sev--" the hum drowned the intercom out entirely, and Sherry continued the countdown in her head.
Six. Five. Four. Maybe if she kept her eyes closed the whole time. Three. Two. That wouldn't work for the two month trip to the colony. One. Zero.
Sherry closed her eyes, and a second later the shuttle shook and she was squished back into her seat. A few yells made it over the roar, and she was glad it was so noisy. Nobody could hear her if she screamed a little.
The pressure and the noise kept going, on and on and on... then it abruptly stopped, only a low hum remaining.
"Please remain in your seats, and do not unbuckle your restraints. We will dock with the transport shortly. In the case of an emergency or motion sickness, press the red button on the end of your right armrest and you will get immediate attention. Do not unbuckle your restraints until ordered to do so."
Sherry opened her eyes again. Everybody in a window seat and most of their neighbours were craning their necks to see out the windows. She kept her eyes fixed on the back of the seat ahead of her. Geek-boy was pointing out entire countries, and Kara behind her was grousing that she couldn't see anything during takeoff.
Sherry swallowed a few times. Please oh please let the transport have some sort of gravity. This was worse than an airplane.