The Earth Girl and Queen Eliza

By C. C. Alma

My name is Adeena Frias. Don’t laugh. Back in 2143, when I was 19, it was a fairly common name for young women. This story is my take on the big events of that year; it was the year that we Humans, as well as the Rooninans, were changed forever. Looking back on it all, I have a lot of emotions about what happened to the gentle Roonians. I also find myself thinking about the Yadans, their message to Humanity, the gravity of that message, and the enormity of it all. I turn it over in my mind, a lot—mostly I wonder if we Humans have really learned anything after the tumultuous events of that time. It was a fun time, too. I met my friends, and I learned to love a lot of people. Dave, I will love you forever!

• Language: English
• Publisher: BookBaby
• Release date: Nov 5, 2012
• ISBN: 9781624882722

Book preview

Twenty

Part I

The Human Refugees

CHAPTER ONE

People have been asking me to tell my story, and I agree that my memories should be a part of the new nation’s permanent records. I hope that the future generations of our new planet will be interested in what I’ve experienced. So far my life has been a fascinating ride. I lie in bed many nights, sleepless, and marvel at the events that brought me here. I used to daydream about being a famous author, as many people do. I just didn’t think I would become one in quite this way!

My name is Adeena Frias. At age sixty, I am the last surviving human who was any part of ordinary daily life on Planet Earth, although my grandparents were the last real generation of land-dwellers. My existence on Earth was in name only, like a game-player’s relationship with his electronic friends on the big surround-screen. I had never even felt a natural breeze on my face when I lived on Earth. If only my grandparents, instead of me, were around to tell their stories about life on our mother planet. But I am all that is left.

How do I begin to tell about the history that I’ve seen? This is a story about the events I experienced when I was nineteen; but I have to start with a brief description of my childhood on Earth.

I was born in 2124, in the enclosed town of Pickerton Point, Georgia, in the United States of America. Pickerton Point was a typical American Southern town for its time. The town ceiling and wall kept about 10,000 people safe and comfortable from the hazardous elements on Earth. The air was always still and warm; I played on my front courtyard all year round. On weekends my friends and I would walk all around town. We ran our little fingers along the town wall, and paused at the giant smudgy windows to stare out at the scarred remains of the planet. "There are snakes out there," my friend Elizabeth would whisper in horror. We had never even seen a real snake, only pictures in textbooks; but the thought was still upsetting. Then we would walk to the public plaza, where we would wander among the bright lights and ride up and down the myriad walkways and escalators, staring at the crowds below us. The grown-up heads underneath me seemed to form a pattern on the ground. I used to think that if I could just read this pattern, I could begin to understand the mysterious ways of adulthood.

We Pickertons were a homogenous group: European-American, Christian, middle-class. We had one high school, one recreation center, and one park. Outside of the noisy public plaza, the neighborhoods were silent and peaceful; an occasional child’s laugh could be heard echoing through the air, or a transport vehicle in the distance. Otherwise, life inside that town was as sweet and slow as honey.

The kids on our new planet sometimes tease me for my old-fashioned Southern Lady manners. But older people are aware of this -- your childhood hometown affects who you are for the rest of your life. I’ve traveled far; but Pickerton--America--Earth will always be inside me, influencing how I see and respond to everything.

My early childhood memories are happy and ordinary. My father died while I was a toddler; I have no real memories of him. My mother raised me by herself. She had no siblings or living parents. I also don’t remember her having any friends.

She was short, plump, homely, and quiet. She was probably adored by no one except me. She was so shy that I was the only person who knew her well. She was a wonderful mother. She listened to every detail of my life; she giggled at all my corny riddles and jokes; she even encouraged me to dance and run through the house as much as I wanted. But once we left our happy home, she became nervous and tongue-tied, unable to converse, unable to connect.

Fortunately, I didn’t inherit my mother’s personality. I was a thin little girl with straight brown hair and a nose that was just a little too big. I thought I was average looking; I smiled and talked incessantly in order to get the other kids to notice me. It worked. I had lots of buddies at school. We walked through the playgrounds in a long chain, hands linked, with me usually in the middle. Elizabeth and I sometimes talked about becoming teachers someday, so that we could keep this going forever.

The year I reached tenth grade the local politicians decided that Pickerton Point High School was overcrowded. The kids in my neighborhood were assigned to Emporia High School in Emporia, Georgia, probably because we lived closest to the subway line that could transport us directly into their town walls. Mom was happy about this. Emporia was an upper-class town with a high school known for producing prominent citizens; the school was once even featured in a national magazine.

I thought I would like the new school. I didn’t. The kids in Emporia wore expensive clothes and talked constantly about college and career. Many had already traveled to exotic places; to me they seemed as sophisticated as some adults. They stood around the school plaza in tight conversational circles, backs turned to me. I tried being friendly, but most kids ignored my attempts. I felt as if their friendliness and charm were deliberately withheld from me -- the pathetic Pickerton girl -- and directed only at those they felt worthy of receiving it.

I started having problems following the material in math and computer science classes. I studied hard and tried to concentrate in class, but I was confused all the time and shy about asking questions.

Don’t be afraid to ask questions, Adeena, Mom had said one night. You have as much a right to an education as they do.

I thought that was amusing advice from someone who had probably never spoken in class when she was a student. Mom desperately wanted me to have confidence, and while I had already developed more poise than she had ever known, I knew that she was right.

I started asking questions in class. My grades improved marginally. I found that by listening intently and asking a lot of questions, I could follow the material and keep up with the other students.

It’s funny how a childhood incident that seems small can influence a person’s life in a big way. Looking back on high school, one particular day stands out in my mind.

Yes -- you had a question, Adeena? Mrs. Dochesky said to me in class one morning. Computer Science was confusing, but I liked Mrs. Dochesky. She looked middle aged -- plump body, short gray hair -- but she wore red glasses and colorful, modern clothes.

I didn’t quite understand that one, Mrs. Dochesky.

The classroom was cold that day. We wore sweaters and folded our arms on our chests to keep warm. I sat in the front row; but I was always glancing back at my Pickerton girlfriends, Elizabeth and Beryl, who sat in the rear corner.

What exactly didn’t you understand?

I don’t get how data stored in a file named ‘A’ could then be stored in a file named ‘B’. I thought that data only moved into files with the same name.

Data can be stored into any file and moved into any file. Mrs. Dochesky drew a diagram on the blackboard. A to B to C -- or C to B to A.

But how is that possible? I don’t see...

I heard giggling behind me.

Quiet, class. Mrs. Dochesky said. This is a basic concept for the next few chapters. If we don’t get this, we can’t move forward.

You mean if Adeena doesn’t get this, we can’t move forward, a guy’s voice said.

A sudden roar of laughter burst forth and seemed go on for minutes. The cold classroom became warm, with all the kids laughing -- laughing at me and my slowness, my struggle, my embarrassing attempts to keep up. A surge of heat rose to my face. I glanced at Beryl and Elizabeth. Beryl was studying her fingernails; Elizabeth was looking at me with tears in her eyes.

Quiet, class! Mrs. Dochesky shouted. Adeena, see me after class, and I will help you individually.

I sat up straighter in my chair and held my head up defiantly. I didn’t want these vicious kids to see me upset. I wouldn’t give them the satisfaction. Laugh if you want to -- my mom said that I had a right to an education.

A few hours later, I was in the gym locker room. Most of the other kids had changed and left. I had been too tired to move quickly, too apathetic to care about being late for the next class. Two girls were nearby, separated from my vision by a divider of metal lockers.

Can you believe Mrs. Dochesky’s class? said one voice. Todd Heyman is such a jerk for saying that about that girl with the question. What’s her name?

Adeena. She’s in my chemistry class, too. Todd is a jerk; but she’s such an idiot, Minnie, I swear. She’s always asking the stupidest questions.

Minnie laughed. I heard! Is she the girl that held up chemistry class for twenty minutes last week, with that question about effervescence?

God, yes! Believe me, she’s typical Pickerton white trash -- no, she’s worse. She doesn’t belong in the advanced classes! She’s an idiot!

I left the locker room quietly. I knew what they were saying wasn’t true. I made straight A’s in grade school and junior high; it was only here, in Emporia, where I seemed to always feel lost and confused.

Looking back on my childhood, I can see how that day affected me for a very long time. I passed Computer Science and Chemistry with D’s. In my senior year of school, I signed up for the Office Administration Curriculum; I also got an after-school office job in downtown Pickerton Point. I enjoyed working, but at age seventeen I wasn’t willing to admit that secretarial work was my life profession. I felt ambitious, but I didn’t know what I wanted. I felt that I was a smart person. Everybody at Emporia High seemed to think I was an idiot, but I wasn’t yet convinced.

After school I often went out to the perimeter windows to study the sky. I loved the Earth’s sky because it displayed so many different moods -- mixtures of sweet sensuousness and black fury, softness and strength, comfort and fear -- that altered continually with each passing second.

In the distance I could see the tall curving rooftop of Emporia. Its black profile cut neatly into the sky, blocking half my view. I had grown to hate Emporia. I knew that it was not the glamorous town that it pretended to be. It was a place that was as small and provincial as Pickerton Point, only with a culture full of silly human divisions and acceptable snobbery.

Afterwards, I would head for home and lie in my bed. Wild cloud patterns would swirl through my mind’s eye, like a catchy song that you just can’t shake from your brain. One silent mantra ran through my mind, over and over -- I am not an idiot.

There had to be a city out there that would let me find out who I was -- what my potential was, my talent -- a big, busy city, full of all kinds of strangers who didn’t know me and didn’t judge me.

I decided I would move to a more cosmopolitan environment, so I applied to colleges based on where they were located. New York University and Miami University sent reject letters; Boston’s student rosters were filled; Georgetown didn’t respond at all.

When my after-school job offered full-time employment, I accepted, even though I knew I would be settling into a dull routine. I didn’t know what else to do.

My first year out of high school was a restless, unhappy time for me. Beryl was away at college; Elizabeth was engaged and often too busy to see me. I didn’t have many friends; but I had my first boyfriend that year, a twenty-five year-old accountant named Donald Welton. He had curly brown hair, large brown eyes, and a sensitive, sweet personality. For the first few weeks that we dated I thought I was in love, but the feeling didn’t last.

I wanted passion and excitement; Don wanted to complain and commiserate about all of life’s problems. I was young and a good listener, and I gave his cynical opinions a lot of attention, but I quickly grew dissatisfied with him. He was living a life that didn’t seem much better than my mother’s quiet, lonely life. He seemed like a tired, pessimistic person, weighed down by responsibilities that he didn’t want to have, living a life that he didn’t want to live.

We had sex four times -- it was great each time. Perhaps that’s why I couldn’t break up with him. Donald eventually told me that he couldn’t deal with my inability to be practical and to live in reality. I was relieved and happy, but I wished I’d had the guts to break it off first.

One afternoon in May, 2142, my boss announced the opening of a new branch office on Satellite One. That same afternoon I volunteered to transfer. I was excited; but my mother only offered polite, hesitant encouragement. Are you sure you want this? Mom asked every other day. Luckily she wasn’t the type of mother to push her opinions very hard. I still didn’t know what I wanted, but I knew that I wanted out of Pickerton Point for a while. I wanted to see the universe.

Satellite One was the first of a series of planned human communities to orbit the moon. Satellite Two wasn’t built yet; but Satellite One was now operational, self-sufficient, and populated -- and projections for Satellite Two were being laid out.

Satellite One was the breakthrough technology of my era. I had never been there; but like everyone else on Earth, I had spent years following the Satellite One story. I knew how the place was conceived, designed, built, and then filled with a variety of residents. I grew up reading all of the articles and watching all of the television reports about this exciting new place.

I began to picture my life there -- a collection of urbane, multi-cultural friends, parties every weekend, a cool, bohemian boyfriend -- with giddy excitement.

I can look back on those days now and see how dreamy I was, and how irrational. I had a stereotyped, romantic image in my mind of Satellite One; I did no research; I only knew that I wanted to get out of Pickerton Point. Yet how can I really regret it? I am alive and well and counting my blessings.

* * *

On my last night on Earth, Elizabeth, Mom and I sat on the front stoop of my tiny house, watching as Pickerton’s internal sunset faded towards night. Every evening, the lights on our street dimmed to this same shade of blue. In better towns, a sunset could be a riot of colors splashed across the entire town ceiling; but our days always ended in this same cheap, dull way. The street was lined with box houses that varied only in color and accessories. Some houses were painted in pastels, others in a traditional brown or white.

Mom had gained weight recently and had been talking and moving even slower than usual; that day she looked especially tired. She wore her favorite housedress, a shapeless pullover covered with faded pictures of gardening tools. Elizabeth sat between Mom and me, wearing a blue dress with matching pumps and old-fashioned tan hose.

In