Alita watched her granddaughter Macy giggling with her friend Zia and braiding a colorful cord; one red, one blue, three purple, and one gold strand. The colors that Macy’s mother, Teryn, had given her. The same colors that Alita had given Teryn, and had been given to Alita when she was about the same age.
The cord that Zia braided was two strands red, one white, two tan and one black. It looked muted and dull compared to the one Macy created, but the colors were what her mother had given her, no doubt.
After helping the girls cut their cords with the hot-knife Alita worried at the single braid around her own wrist, now long faded. Half red-blue-purple-gold like the cord Macy had just made, and half brown-green-blue-yellow, the colors for Niera’s line. Where she once had dozens of braids, Alita now had only the one. If Niera were to pass…. She chuckled quietly to herself. Friends or no, Niera was twenty years her junior. Did she friend me out of pity? No, that’s not right. I had seven braids back then, before everyone….
“What are you thinking about, gran?” Macy’s voice was tinged with the laughter that she’d been sharing with her friend. “Your face looks like you ate a sourberry.”
“Nothing important, sweetheart.” Alita smiled. “Are you two ready to tie on your first braids?”
“Yes, miss Alita.” Zia bowed slightly as she answered.
“Just Alita is fine, little one.” Alita stood, the twinge in her hip reminding her of the accident. “Macy, Zia, this is your first friending. As such, it’s important that you understand what it means.”
“Yes, gran.” Macy squirmed, anxious to get on with it.
“What are friends?” Alita asked.
“They’re the family you choose.” Zia’s response was automatic, a common phrase heard throughout the Colony.
“That’s right, Zia. Macy, what do friends do?” Alita asked.
“They look out for each other.” Macy’s answer was crisp, rehearsed.
“Very well. Zia, how do friends look out for each other?”
Zia puffed up her chest. “They share, miss Alita.”
“True.” Alita looked at the girls holding their cords, huge grins beaming. “What sort of things do friends share?”
The girls started answering, Zia throwing out one word and Macy following with another. “Toys.” “Clothes.” “Books.” “Food.” “Chores.” “Birthdays?”
“No, Macy, your birthdays are still your own.”
“But I’d share mine with Zia!”
Alita laughed. “I’m sure you would. But the most important things friends share are the happy times, and the sad times.”
Their grins dropped a notch, as the girls nodded. “Yes, gran,” Macy said. “If Zia’s sad I’ll be sad with her.” “And if Macy’s sad I’ll do the same,” Zia said. They looked at each other and began to giggle.
“Ok, girls. How long is friendship?”
“Forever” they answered in unison.
“Forever, unless…?” Alita asked.
“Unless we get annulled,” Macy answered, eyes downcast. Her smile returned after a second. “But we won’t, will we, Zia?”
“No!” Zia’s answer was emphatic.
“Very well, tie your bracelets on. Be sure to leave lots of room for growing.”
“Will you help us, gran?”
“Of course, sweetie.”
Alita knew the pain of annulment. She and Jen had friended at the age of 13, when they shared a biology class. They remained friends through school, vocational training, and working together for three years in the greenhouse. Then came the first elections they were eligible to vote in. Jen voted for her mother’s friend, Nica, while Alita voted for Shell. Nica was a polite woman, but not the brightest, and certainly not cut out to lead. Her poor decisions piled on to each other resulting in longer working hours, less food and a far harder environment to endure. Through it all Jen first made excuses and apologies, then began outright attacking anyone, including Alita, that complained or disagreed with anything Nica did. They annulled their friendship over it, less than a week before the accident made it moot.
“Are you okay, miss Alita?” Zia asked.
“Yes, dear, I’m fine. Sorry. Just have a lot on my mind today.” Alita smiled and knelt in front of the girls to help them tie their bracelets.
After clearing up the girls took off down the corridor, hand in hand, their giggles fading as they got farther away. Alita lay down on the bed to rest when the door chime sounded. “Come in, Niera.”
“How did you know it was me?” Niera asked as she stepped in.
“My daughter doesn’t call around this early in the day, and,” she raised her wrist and grabbed the single braid around it.
“Fair enough. I’ve come to find out if you’ll be okay with the new ration plan?”
“Oh. I haven’t read it yet.” Alita shrugged. “I’m not so young or active as you, so I can get by on fewer calories if needs be.”
“Actually the food rations aren’t changing.” Niera sat on the edge of the bed and took Alita’s hand. “Medication rations are being reduced, while the medicinal garden recovers from the fungus rot, and we look for the next cloud for raw materials for the synthetics.”
“How much?” Alita tried to avoid taking her pain meds, but there were days that weren’t bearable without them.
“A reduction of two-thirds for plant-based, for the next two cycles, and three-quarters for synthetics for the foreseeable future.” Niera sighed. “It’s been decades, but my mother’s ghost is still haunting us.”
“Your mother didn’t have anything to do with it. The fungi keep evolving, and there’s not much to be done for it.” Alita sat up. “Your mother wasn’t a bad person.”
“No,” Niera said. “Just a horrible leader.”
Alita waved a dismissive hand. “None of that nonsense. She did the best she could.”
“Removing the caps on raw material usage without a cloud lined up to resupply was not the best she could.” Niera sighed a mix of exasperation and resignation. “She told me on her death-bed why she did it.”
“The cloud that was scouted that didn’t pan out.”
Niera shook her head. “No. That’s a lie her advisors told after the fact. She did it because she wanted to be remembered. She thought she could make everyone happy and they’d love her for it.”
“I didn’t agree with her policies. Hell, I didn’t even vote for her. But I still loved her. I hope she knew that.”
“Even after the accident?”
“I don’t blame her for that.” Alita took Niera’s hand in her own and patted it. “It’s always a risk.”
“Sorry for being maudlin.” Niera smiled. “I wanted to ask if you need any pain med rations. I’m not taking any for the foreseeable future and I know how your hip gets.” She looked at the single band on the older woman’s wrist. “And I know you don’t have anyone else to ask.”
“Thank you, dear. If I do need some I’ll let you know.” Alita followed Niera’s gaze to her wrist. “Do you know where the friending started?”
“No, actually, I don’t.”
“My great-grandmother’s generation had bands like these, but it was just a thing young girls did. Back then there were boys too.” Alita thought back to her grandmother’s stories. “When my grandmother’s generation figured out that the boys weren’t growing into viable men to keep the stores going, they stopped birthing them. Of course, being able to create viable gametes from two ova was the key to that, and to preserving the remaining sperm stores.”
“I’ve heard the stories about the males, but what does that have to do with friending?”
“I’m getting there, young lady.”
Niera laughed. “Compared to you, maybe.”
“Well, the bands made of the poly-fiber we use now started then. But only one band denoting your secondary egg donor group.” Alita raised a hand to stop Niera interrupting with another question. “That’s not how it’s used now, but that’s how it was used then.”
Alita closed her eyes, remembering the stories her grandmother told. “Things started to decline almost immediately. There were too many births, and not enough room in the Colony for them; not to mention food. That’s when splitting bands and sharing them with friends was first used as a symbol of sharing. It said ‘What I have, you have.’ Those without friends… well we know how that worked out.”
“Why weren’t they maintaining birth quotas?” Niera looked at Alita as if she had just told her that a purple unicorn was standing behind her.
“The reduced virility of the males kept the birth rates in check.” Alita chuckled. “Grandmother said it certainly wasn’t for lack of trying. But going from a slight chance of pregnancy with a male that may as well be declared sterile to pregnancies with an 85-percent certainty changes things.”
“Wow.” Niera’s gaze was fixed on a spot on the floor.
“Yes, wow. That was the first time ‘friending’ was put to the test. With food rationed to half, those nursing mothers with lots of friends did okay. A dozen people all giving up a tiny bit of their rations made a difference. Those with only one or two friends… their babies didn’t starve at their breast, but they didn’t exactly thrive. Those without…” Alita shook her head, remembering her grandmother’s tears as she told the story. “Babies starved at their mother’s breast, if she was lucky. If not, her body consumed itself to feed her infant. In those cases both died.”
“How did that turn into…,’ Niera stopped herself.
“That came in the third month of the crisis. Those who had been starving were in no condition to work. Those who couldn’t, or wouldn’t work were given the option of no rations, or step out the door. Most chose the door.”
“At least we won’t have the same problem again. The population is capped and stable, so why do we still…?” Niera let the question trail off.
“How do you think we would’ve handled things after the greenhouse accident?” Alita rubbed her hip, the sharp pain reminding her yet again. “A tiny bit of ice, hidden in a cloud, at those speeds….” She remembered the booming sound followed by the sudden loss of pressure. “It came through the roof, hit the apple tree Jen had been harvesting, turning it and everything around it into high-energy shrapnel, a piece of which shattered my hip. If it weren’t for my friends sharing their rations while I recovered I wouldn’t have survived.”
“Did you know that Teryn dedicated a new apple tree in greenhouse 2 to Jen?” Niera scooted closer to Alita.
“Yes, she told me. I’m just sad we never reconciled.” She put an arm around the younger woman. “Don’t ever talk politics with your friends. It just leads to heartache.”
Niera leaned her head against Alita’s shoulder. “Anyway, if you need any med rations just call me.” She let out a long sigh. “When are the next classes starting? I’d imagine your granddaughter and her new friend will be in your class this cycle?”
“Yes, yes. I’m adding adding some history to the lessons, We can’t forget why we do things the way we do.” Alita kissed Niera’s head. “It means the girls will have to work half again as hard, but they’re more than capable.”
Alita felt an unasked question, a hesitation on Niera’s part. She decided to answer without making it obvious that’s what she was doing. “I’m thinking that I can teach for another five cycles, maybe six. By then we should have another biology and history teacher ready to take over.”
Niera’s eyes pooled with tears. “I’ll miss you when you go.”
Alita hugged her close. “I know, dear. But I can’t be here forever. I’ll have to go out the door and leave room for someone else. That’s the one resource you can’t replace, even on a generation ship the size of the Colony.”