Read The Margarets for Free Online Page B

learn to walk in gravity.
    “Oh, sweetheart, you don’t want to talk about that. Let’s not spoil the day. Left foot now, step, step, step…”
    “How much water is a ration?” I asked the technician who was measuring my bone density.
    “Honeybun, I just don’t think about it,” he said with a winning smile. “Measuring it doesn’t help anything.”
    Twitter, twitter, I thought. Caw, caw cwaup. Moan, moan, scream.
    The therapy was almost over when Father announced that a proctor would be making a family visit. I had almost lost my trip to Mars over the word proctor ! I had had my mouth washed out over that word, a dirty word, one no nice child ever uttered. I felt myself flushing red with hostility and embarrassment. I shivered all over and stared at my toes.
    “For goodness’ sake, Louise,” said Father. “That won’t do.”
    “Of course not, Harry,” Mother replied, her own cheeks red with chagrin. “It isn’t a bad word, Margaret. It’s just one we’ve avoidedusing until now. You’ll have to say it to yourself. We’ll have to use it in conversation. Otherwise, the proctor will wonder why his title makes us blush.”
    I considered rebellion. What had all that Filth-away business been about if proctor was not a dirty word? And now I was to use it in conversation? I, who had always been prevented from using any real words whatever? I felt moved to throw another tantrum (it had been over three years since the last one, after all), but I suppressed the inclination. Since I had no idea what this new freedom would entail, perhaps it would be wisest to know its limits before taking a stand.
    Instead of a tantrum, I took part in conversations that were scheduled during family dinner so we could discuss the function of proctors and the circumstances which had brought us all back to Earth.
    “Do you know what ISTO is, Margaret?” Father asked.
    “ISTO is the Interstellar Trade Organization.” That was the right answer, but I wanted more. “We have a provisional membership, but I don’t know what it means. Provided what?”
    It took Father a minute to switch from his usual frown to his recently invented fatherly look. “We have a membership provided the ISTO doesn’t declare all Earthians a barbarian people.”
    “I don’t know what that means,” I persisted, even though this wasn’t strictly part of the subject.
    Father gritted his teeth. “ISTO recognizes four types of creatures: civilized, semicivilized, barbarians, and animals. Civilized people know about, care about, and protect their environments. Semicivilized people know and care, but can’t do anything…”
    “Why not?”
    Mother said, “Because something prevents their acting in their own self-interest. Public apathy. Commercial interference. Religious opposition. Governmental corruption. The Gentherans say humans have a lot of that.”
    Father frowned at her and went on. “Barbarians know but don’t care about their worlds, and animals don’t even know. Animals or barbarians aren’t treated like civilized people.”
    “But what does all that mean? What have we done about it?”
    Mother’s voice was dead and level. “Margaret, you know we hadlakes and rivers once. We had forests once. We had animals on land and fish in the oceans. By the time the Gentherans came, all the freshwater on Earth was confined in pipes, the ice caps were gone, the rivers were gone along with hydroelectric power. All our food came from ocean algae because we had no water to irrigate plants. Our desalinization plants ran constantly, mostly on tidal and wind power. We had nuclear plants, but the Gentherans made us shut them down because the Intergalactic Court doesn’t allow nuclear power on occupied planets. We already knew we were in trouble, and we told the Gentherans our problem was a lack of water…”
    Father interrupted, “The Gentherans very politely told us we were mistaken, the problem wasn’t water, the problem was us. The biome was