First Flyght – Chapter 2

My feet fly through the streets, dodging men left and right. A few catcall me.

“What’s the rush, beautiful?”

“Look at the legs on that one!”

I ignore them all. Usually, I stare them down until I win that contest, but I don’t have the time today. Many keep their eyes down, knowing any wrong move will put them at a disadvantage come hiring time. I’m likely to be their boss, and no one wants to be without a job.

I pass boutiques, coffee shops, private businesses, and restaurants. The strong smells of grilled beef and onions make my stomach lurch. Usually, I’d love to have Brazilian barbecue, but my appetite flew out the window with my money.

Aiming for the train station, I slow down my feet and hope, no pray, that my train pass works. I think I had a balance on it, right? I access my wristlet and check. I have enough for two more round trips.

My blinking messages catch my eye as I’m hustling to the train platform. With my communications on Do Not Disturb today, I got none of these, and several are marked high priority from Mom. I look down the platform into the distance and don’t see the train yet, so I open the latest vidmessage.

“Vivian, where are you? You should’ve been done with your interview by now.” Mom’s face is stern before it melts to worried. “I’m afraid… I’m afraid we’ve made a huge mistake.” She looks over her shoulder, and I hear a door slam in the background. “I don’t want to say anymore in case our messages are overheard. Come home soon.”

Her face disappears, and a time-stamp replaces it — received ninety minutes ago.

I ring her back, but she doesn’t answer. “I’m on my way home now,” I say, leaving a message. Where is she?

If only I had jumped on the previous train home instead of going to buy those damned shoes.

Beautiful shoes.

But damned now.

When the train pulls up, my stomach is officially in a triple knot. I board and head for the first-class seats, taking one by the window. A man in a business suit sits next to me, eyes my ratty school backpack, my anxious fingers tapping away at the window ledge, and gets up to sit somewhere else. Good choice. I’m a mess. I wouldn’t want to sit next to me either.

Thank goodness the trip home is only thirty-five minutes and three stations. I watch the city dissolve away to green fields, harvest hovercrafts, and seasonal workers bent over plucking tea from hearty bushes. Tea plantations morph into rice fields and greenhouses which morph into smaller hamlets that support the agriculture business out here. My hometown, Sagae, has more to offer than these places, but still, we’re far from the city. The advertisements for new home appliances, 90-day free drone drop shipping, and Athens Industries latest Dionysus wine dispensing system make no impression on me. I can only stare into space.

When we reach Sagae, the bullet train glides into the station, and I’m the first person at the door. My electric bicycle is in the underground parking structure, so I run to get to the access station first. My bike whirs out of the ground when I pair up my wristlet, and I jump on and go.

A million thoughts fly through my head as my bicycle wheels me home at top speed. What’s happened to my money? What was this big mistake Mom made? We made?

It could be anything.

My heart sinks as I pass through our farmland, past the greenhouses and employee buildings, and I arrive at the homestead. Typically, the front lawns and landing pads are unoccupied. We only get a few off-world shipments per year and visits from family even less frequently. Today, every available space is occupied. I have never, in all my twenty-six years, ever seen my house so busy. I shield my eyes from the setting sun and count the ships between the pad and yard. Six.

At the front door, two men in white overalls and white gloves are directing my parents’ armoire, an antique from Earth, out the door. It floats between them on a hover-dolly. Two of the house cats trot along behind them, and my dog, Frogger, barks from the door.

“Hey!” I yell, running up to them. They stop the device and blink at me. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” I repeat myself in Portuguese and Japanese, just in case they’re uneducated.

One man bows to me. “We’re only following orders, ma’am.” He jerks his chin at the house. I guess that means the person giving orders is inside.

“You’re letting the animals out.” One of the house cats, Chili, sprints across the lawn, chasing after a chicken. At least, my cat, Pepper, isn’t out here. She’s probably lying about inside, sleeping. That’s really all she does.

“Go get him before he terrorizes the entire coop!” I yell at the man, and he sighs before running off.

“Mom!” I call out, skirting past more men. I halt and turn back to them. “Don’t take that anywhere,” I demand, pointing at a side table. I use my most stern voice, the one I hold on to only for disobedient employees and cows that don’t want to come into the barn. They both wait.

“Mom! What’s going on?” I jolt through the house, noting the men in each room, packing up our belongings. Mom’s three hounds sniff at everything, and the parrot, Mr. Talkative, squawks at me as I pass. My heart beats faster with each room I enter.

“In here!” Dad’s voice emanates from the kitchen. I squeal to a halt and backtrack. I had been heading for my parents’ room.

“What the hell is going on?” I breathe out and wince at a stitch in my side from running and hyperventilating at the same time.

Damn, I am out of shape. School took everything out of me.

Mom is sitting in a chair at the kitchen island, staring out into space, one of her angora rabbits on her lap. Her usually bright and cheery disposition is nonexistent, and her skin is pale and waxy. She doesn’t even look at me.

Dad glances sideways at Mom and approaches me with caution, his hands out to grasp my upper arms. Even my dad, always robust and healthy, his skin tanned by the sun and long hours out on our property, looks ashen.

“Vivian, I’m so glad you’re home.” Instead of enfolding me in a hug, Dad holds me at arm’s length and looks me in the eyes.

“What’s going on?” I’m light-headed, and I just want to lie down.

“We have a… situation.”

“We have more than a situation, Dad. There are dozens of people in our home, clearing out our belongings!”

Mom blinks and turns to me. “It’s Tomu. He turned on us.”

My head buzzes, and my consciousness recedes like my soul is trying to lift out of my body with a wave and a “Well, it was nice knowing you.”

“What? How?”

“He’s sold everything and double mortgaged the land.” Mom’s voice is so soft, I’m tempted to tell her to repeat it.

Dad is holding me up, even though I want to faint. I break out of his grasp and reach for the nearest chair at the dining room table.

Not saying anything, in fact, barely breathing, I think back on how this could’ve happened. A little over a year ago, Tomu begged us to be more involved in the family legacy. Despite never showing any bit of inclination for farming or managing the farm at all, he was sure he could help us out. He didn’t want to return to a job in a bank. He hated it there and just wanted something he could do to make money and get by. It was risky. He had spent years blowing all his savings at gambling and high-stakes business ventures, both of which he kept a secret from my parents. I only knew because I eavesdropped on his conversations whenever I could.

Then it seemed as if things were working out well for him. He was calm and easy to deal with for months after he took over the books for the farm. Mom and Dad were so proud; my big brother was showing promise. About four or five months ago, Mom mentioned she was handing over more responsibility to him so she could rest. She was dead tired and wanted a break. Tomu smiled and hugged her and promised to help as much as possible. I told Mom not to be too hasty, but she assured me it was only a few small tasks. Nothing important.

Dammit. I should’ve known.

“Mom, did you give him power of attorney? Did you let him sign the checks?” It’s an old phrase. There are no checks, and no one signs anything anymore. But old sayings die hard.

Tears brim in Mom’s eyes, a sure sign I’m right. She halts her hand petting the rabbit’s fur coat. I glance up, unable to even look at her.

My temper flares, scalding hot, and I jump to my feet. “How could you? I told you not to trust him that far!”

“Hey. Vivian.” Dad’s voice is steel, warning me not to push.

But no, he doesn’t call the shots around here.

“You,” I say, pointing to him and making my voice just as hard. “Sit down.”

Chastened, he sits at the table.

“You should’ve advised her not to do this. This is not your family’s land,” I point out to him. “This is Kawabata land and has been for generations. Mom’s side of the family has owned it since planetfall.”

“Not anymore,” Mom says, letting her head fall.

“Bullshit.” I let my salty tongue fly. “We’re not going to let some soft and weakened man take this land from us.” I look to Dad, and he nods, knowing I’m talking about Tomu.

Tomu does not get to throw away our legacy.

“Who’s the person in charge?” I don’t know where I’m finding the strength to push through this, but I’ve always been good in an emergency. Later, I’ll eat my way through the refrigerator to make up for it.

I round the corner and go to the sink to wash my hands. I feel like I have ten coats of dirt on me, and I’m in no shape to talk to anyone. But duty calls. Mom’s too out of it to do anything, and Dad’s not a landholder.

I am.

“She’s in the office.” Dad jerks his chin in the direction of the home office. “Name’s Tatiana Álvares.”

“Then I’ll go have a word with Ms. Álvares.” I dry off my hands and throw the towel onto the counter.

I’m going to sort this out. Right now.