feelings for them in a way thatâin the words of her monthly school reportsâcompletely disregarded historical contextualization, and disregarded the distinctions between her modes of thinking and theirs.
âWere the Tribes very frightened when the Storm came?â Natasha remembered asking in their Garden schoolroom, her knees tucked under her chin and her girlsâ uniform of pink shirt and white coveralls baggy around her waist.
âMost people did not have time to be afraid,â Teacher Penelope answered. âJust like with the sweeps today, the Storm came too fast for anyone to realize what was happening. They saw the black clouds approaching, and that was it. There were survivors, of course, the ancestors of the people who make up the Tribes today. But even they could not have comprehended the enormity of what was happening. The survivors must have been in hiding already, most likely up in the mountains somewhere. Under no circumstances could they have perceived the full impact of the Storm on the world. But remember, everyone,â Teacher Penelope told them firmly, âsurvivors of the Storm were a very, very rare exception. For the vast majority of people, the Storm was an instantaneous end to a lifetime of suffering. Really, to a whole history of suffering.â
Teacher Penelope paused and looked down from her chair at the little Epsilons sprawled before her in the grass.
âThere are some things, children, that even adults cannot imagine. I am a Beta and I cannot imagine it. In the dark times, when the Alphas were your age, before the Storm, there were fifty-nine billion living, breathing human beings inhabiting this tiny Earth.â
âHow did they fit in the Dining Halls?â Caroline Churchill whispered.
âThere were no Dining Halls. There was not even food or clean water for many, many people. In order to have those things, you needed money. And some people had no money at all.â
âWhatâs money?â Preston King asked.
âPieces of paper with faces drawn on them,â Teacher Penelope said. âIf you collected enough of them, you could own for yourselfâfor your own self and nobody elseâanything in the world.â
The children had laughed at this idea, but Natasha had not laughed. She was still imagining the black clouds covering the Earth during the Storm and the thought of it had made her cry right there in the middle of the lesson. Teacher Penelope had scolded her and sent her away from the group, and Natasha had sat alone on a bench under the largest oak tree until she could calm down.
Surely Teacher Penelopeâs report of that day had found its way to the Alphas, and other incidents too: how Natasha used to have nightmares long after the other children had learned to banish strange visions from their unconscious mind, and how she used to draw pictures not of the beautiful, future Day of Expansion like most children did, but rather of wild animals and long-fanged monsters that positioned themselves just outside the settlement doors.
But even those were nothing compared with Natashaâs worst transgressionâthe only thing she had ever done to seriously anger her elders. It had happened just weeks before the Epsilonsâ tenth birthday. The clock on the maincomputer read a few minutes past the twenty-third hour, and Natasha was being dragged by the elbow toward the Department of Health, on account of a bloody nose. Teacher Robyn was angry; she thought Natasha was guilty of âdirty picking,â which Natasha should know better than to do at her age. Natasha, meanwhile, was holding a handkerchief to her face and doing her best not to fall. Teacher Robyn had not waited long enough for Natasha to find her rubber leisure shoes, and Natashaâs socks kept slipping on the Domeâs marble floor. Natasha would never have seen what she saw (or
thought
she saw) if not for two things. First, due to the presence of
Constance Fenimore Woolson