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the people of Taris still watch each stratum as we grew older, and would they still expect us to marry one of our own soon after we turned eighteen? Outside, in Aotearoa, would we live as we had done on Taris, as one community working together for the good of all? If we didn’t, then our lives would be very different. Which one did I want – difference or familiarity?
    Both. I wanted both.
    I heard Mother stirring. She sat up, pushing her hair back from her face. In the gloom, she smiled at me. ‘So, my daughter, we survive.’ She looked up at the image of Taris stripped of all trace of our lives there. ‘We can’t ever go back.’
    ‘We will make another home,’ Dad said, reaching out to touch her hand.
    ‘Yes,’ she said. ‘And I am thankful we’ve survived to be able to do so.’
    Fergus came in, and his good spirits were obvious. ‘Good news, everyone, we’re out of danger. Anyone fancy a shower?’ He laughed as we yelled, ‘Yes!’
    ‘You’ll find clean clothes in the bathrooms. Not the last word in high fashion, I’m afraid.’
    ‘Can I have a dress?’ called out five-year-old Beta.
    ‘We didn’t bring dresses, honey. But you can be more colourful than you are now.’ She clapped her hands and he smiled at her. ‘There’ll be a hot meal in the dining room in an hour,’ he said. ‘You’re probably about ready for a decent feed.’
    It seemed we all felt well again, and cheerful, although every so often someone would glance at poor battered Taris and grow sombre for a moment.
    I took Hera and scurried off to the showers. The towels were so soft I wanted to drape mine around me and wear it as a tunic, but the clothes that had been provided for us were soft too. Hera giggled as I threaded her legs into the trousers and her arms into the sleeves. ‘Pretty,’ she said, tugging out the top to admire the row of ducklings stitched on it.
    I chose my set of clothes from the shelf marked with my height, sorting through the piles and rejecting geometric patterns, cartoon characters and stripes. Ah! I pulled out a pale blue set decorated with verses of poetry written in a whole spectrum of colour. The undergarments were flimsy compared with the linen shorts we were accustomed to. I pulled on a pair and wondered what to call them – not trousers, there must be a proper name. We’d had bras on Taris, but they too were fashioned from linen and nothing like the stretchy, shaped garment I pulled over my head now.
    I grinned at Hera. ‘What do you think?’
    She turned up her nose. ‘Ducks.’ She patted her tummy. ‘Ducks pretty.’
    I slipped the top on. It was odd having clothing that fitted close to my body. I tucked it in and knotted the tie on the trousers. ‘Come on, Hera, let’s show Mother and Dad how gorgeous we look.’
    She took my hand and we navigated the big room back to our parents. They hadn’t showered yet and they stared at us in astonishment as we approached. ‘My goodness,’ Mother said at last. She shook her head. ‘All this is going to take some getting used to. You look so different.’
    ‘I pretty,’ Hera said, patting her ducks.
    Mother swooped her up in a hug. ‘You’re beautiful, darling.’
    Hera nodded. ‘You soon be pretty too.’
    ‘I’m going to see Vima,’ I told Mother. ‘I’ll see you at breakfast.’
    ‘Me too!’ Hera shouted.
    I squatted down beside her. ‘No, Hera. Not this time. Not yet.’ I waited, wondering how she would react to a spot of discipline as prescribed by Willem.
    She eyed me, took a breath and wailed. ‘Want to go too! Want to see Vima.’
    I stood up. ‘No. You can’t. Not yet. It’s no good shouting, Hera. I’m not taking you.’
    Her wails followed me as I walked off, as did the questions in my parents’ eyes. I knew they wouldn’t be reassured to hear that Willem had said she had a special sort of mind.
    My plan was to find Inva and ask him to take me to visit Vima. It was slow going, walking the length of the big room,