Terra Incognita

by Connie Willis

  Mr. Fuyijama ignored her. “I’ve messaged your parents,” he said. “They should be here any minute.”

  “Help,” I messaged Kimkim, who I still couldn’t see anywhere, and tried again with Mr. Fuyijama. “My appointment is a mistake. They mixed up the names or something.”

  “Don’t let Coriander upset you,” he said. “She was a fine candidate, but so are you, so are all of Winfrey High’s students. We have one of the most outstanding schools in the country, and—”

  It was hopeless. I tuned him out and looked around for the admiral. I couldn’t see him anywhere. “Where did the admiral go?”

  “He had to leave,” Mr. Fuyijama said. “He has several more appointments to announce this afternoon.”

  “But I have to talk to him—” Oh, thank goodness, here was Kimkim. “Where have you been?” I said, pulling her off to the side of the stage. “You have to help me. Nobody will listen when I tell them there’s been a mixup.”

  “Mixup?” she said.

  “Yes, of course it’s a mixup. I can’t have been chosen. I didn’t even apply to the Academy.”

  “You didn’t?” she said happily, and flung her arms around me. “Oh, I’m so glad! I thought you’d applied without telling me, your best friend, and I was so hurt—”

  “Why would I apply? I’ve told you a hundred times I don’t want to go into space. I want to go to UCLA.”

  She looked sheepish. “I know, but I thought you were just saying that because you were afraid you couldn’t get in. But how could there be a mixup?”

  “I don’t know. Maybe there’s somebody else with the same name.”

  “Two Theodora Baumgartens? Unlikely.”

  “Well, maybe there’s a Theodore Baumgarten. Or a Theodora Bauman. Come on, maybe we can catch the admiral before he leaves,” I said, and we headed backstage.

  “Wait, Theodora!” Mr. Fuyijama said before we’d gone two steps. “Your mother’s here.”

  “I’ll go see if I can catch him,” Kimkim said, and darted off as Mr. Fuyijama and my mom closed in on me. “I’m so proud of you!” she said. “I knew we made the right decision in sending you to school. You didn’t want to come, remember? And now look at you, a cadet!” She and Mr. Fuyijama beamed at each other. “I still can’t believe it!”

  “Where’s Dad?” I said. He knew I didn’t want to be a cadet. He’d see this was all a ghastly mistake.

  “Cheyenne,” Mom said. “As soon as I heard, I left a message for him to come to the school. Why didn’t you tell us you’d applied?”

  “Because—”

  Mr. Fuyijama patted me on the shoulder. “Shouldn’t you be getting home, young lady, and getting ready to go?”

  For your information, I am not going anywhere, I thought.

  “What am I saying?” Mr. Fuyijama went on, smiling coyly. “You’ve probably had your kit all packed and ready to go for months.”

  “Mr. Fuyijama’s right,” my mom said. “We need to get you home. You only have a few hours.”

  “A few—?”

  “I’ll call your father,” Mom said, steering me toward the door and away from Kimkim. “He can meet us there.”

  “Mom, what do you mean, a few hours?” I said, but she was talking to Dad.

  “Bob? Where are you? Oh, dear. Well, turn around and go back home. We’re on our way.”

  Kimkim appeared, shaking her head. “The admiral’d already left.”

  “What does my mom mean, I only have a few hours?” I asked her.

  “Didn’t you listen to anything the recruiter said when she was here? Cadets go straight to the Academy after they’re appointed,” Kimkim said, grabbing the letter the admiral had given me and opening it. “It says they’ll pick you up in exactly—oh, gosh, two hours and forty minutes.”

  “Let me talk to Dad,” I said to Mom, who was still on the phone. Dad knew I didn’t want to go into space. We’d talked about it after the recruiter came. “Hand me the phone.”

  Mom shook her head. “I’m talking to Grandma. You can talk to your dad when we get home. Yes, isn’t it marvelous?” she said, presumably to Grandma, and then, presumably to me, “Get in the car. Yes, of course she’ll want you to come over and say good-bye. Come on, we need to go. Good-bye, Kimkim.”

  “Kimkim’s coming with me,” I said, grabbing her arm and pushing her into the car. “She’s going to help me pack.”

  Mom nodded absently, still talking to Grandma. She switched on the car and pulled away from the school. “Would you call Bob’s parents for me? And Theodora’s piano teacher? I’m sure she’ll want to see her before she leaves.”

  “You’ve got to find out the admiral’s phone number for me,” I messaged Kimkim so Mom couldn’t hear what we were saying, “so I can call him and explain—”

  “I’ll try,” she messaged back. “Academy numbers are all classified.”

  “Do you think I should phone Aunt Jen and Aunt Lucy?” my mom called back to me.

  “No,” I said, and Kimkim put in helpfully, “She doesn’t have much time, and she’s got to pack, Mrs. Baumgarten.”

  “I suppose you’re right. You should have done that beforehand, like Coriander Abrams. Her mother said she packed her kit the same day she filled out her application. Oh, look,” she said, pulling into the driveway, “Aunt Jen and Lucy are already here.”

  They were, along with Grandma, Grandpa, Grandma and Grandpa Baumgarten, and about a hundred neighbors, all holding up a big laserspark banner twinkling Congratulations, Cadet Baumgarten!

  The online news crews were all there, too, holding mikes, and it took me half an hour to get into the house and another fifteen minutes to escape to my room, where Kimkim was working away at my computer. “Here,” she said, handing me a printout.

  “What is it?” I said eagerly. “The admiral’s phone number?”

  “No, it’s the list of what you’re allowed to take. Fifteen-pound weight limit. No pets, no plants, no weapons.”

  “Because they know at this point I’d like to shoot them. I don’t need lists,” I said, throwing it in the wastebasket and going over to stand beside her. “I need the admiral’s phone number.”

  “I can’t get to it,” Kimkim said. “I’ve been trying to hack into the Academy officer roster for the last half hour. It’s got firewalls, moats, ramparts, the works. I’m not surprised. With fifty thousand candidates, they’d be inundated with students trying to find out the officers’ numbers so they could call them and beg them to be let in, but it means I can’t get in either.”

  “Of course you can,” I said. “The database you can’t hack hasn’t been invented. What about calling the airport? Mr. Fuyijama said the admiral had to go announce more appointments.”

  “I already did. IASA refused to authorize an in-flight emergency call, and the plane’s onboard number is just as protected as the admiral’s.”

  My mom poked her head in the door. “Theodora? You need to come cut your cake.”

  “I’m still packing,” I said, grabbing my duffel bag off my closet shelf and throwing some underwear into it.

  “It’ll only take a minute,” she said firmly. “The governor’s here.”

  Oh, frick. “Have you heard from Dad?”

  “No, but he should be here any minute. Come on. Everyone’s waiting.”

  “I’ll be right there,” I said, and called up Dad, but there was no answer. “I’ll only be a minute,” I said to Kimkim. “There has to be some kind of emergency number where we can talk to somebody. Keep trying!” and went out to the dining room.

  Everyone in town was there, gathered around a sheet cake with a spaceship and silver stars spelling out “Blast off!” Mom handed me a huge piece, and I gulped it down, nodding while two dozen people I’d never seen before told me how lucky I was, and finally escaped on the pretext of ta
king Kimkim some cake. She waved it away, intent on her hacking, so I ate it.

  “It’s no use,” she said. “I can’t get in anywhere. IASA, the Academy cadet roster, everything’s blocked.”

  “But there has to be a number where the cadets can call them if they’ve got questions.”

  “There is,” she said, her eyes on the screen. “It’s automated. Press ‘1’ for a list of forbidden kit items. Press ‘2’ for the Academy course schedule. Sixteen menu choices, but none for ‘If you wish to speak to an operator’ or ‘I think there’s been a mistake.’ You don’t remember the name of that recruiter, do you?”

  “No. Did you check the name thing?”

  “Yes. There’s no Theodore Baumgarten, or Ted, or Dora. Or Bauman or Bauer or Bommgren. The closest thing I found was a Theopholus Bami, and he lives in New Delhi. And is four years old.”

  “Oh. I know—look up the Academy rules. Those can’t be encrypted, they’re public record, and there’s got to be something in there about turning down an appointment.”

  My mom poked her head in again. “Your dad’s just pulled in,” she said.

  Dad. Thank goodness. I waded through the crowd in the dining room again, which now seemed to contain everyone in the state of Colorado, all eating cake, and outside. “Dad, I have to talk to you. I didn’t apply to the Academy—”

  “You didn’t?”

  “No. I—”

  “That’s wonderful! You did just what I always told you to do—follow your own path, be independent, don’t do what everybody else is doing, and look what it got you! An Academy appointment!”

  “No, Dad, you don’t understand. I don’t want this appointment. I don’t want to go to the Academy!”

  “That’s what you said your first day of school, remember? And do you remember what I told you?”

  “The stink bomb story?”

  He laughed. “No, I told you to try it for a week and then see how you felt. You’re just having cold feet. When does she leave?” he asked Mom, who’d come up carrying two pieces of cake.

  She handed us each one. “In twenty minutes.”

  “Twenty minutes?!” I said, looking at my digital. According to it, I still had over an hour.

  “IASA called. They said they knew how eager cadets always are to go, so they’re sending the escort over early.”

  “I have to pack,” I said, and shot back into my room. “You have to do something. Now,” I told Kimkim.

  “I’m trying,” she said. “I looked up the Academy appointment regulations, but there’s nothing in them about turning an appointment down, and I still can’t get through to anybody. I’m afraid you’re going to have to go to the Academy to get this straightened out. It’s the only way you’re going to be able to talk to someone in person.”

  “I am not going to the Academy,” I said, tossing clothes and shoes into the duffel bag she’d gotten out. “I’ll hide till the escort leaves. What about your basement?”

  “That won’t work,” she said, coming over and taking out the clothes I was putting in. “They’ll think you’ve been kidnapped or something. Remember that cadet in Barcelona whose girlfriend tied him up so she could take his place? They’ll think Coriander killed you and send out an APB. Look,” she said, picking up the list and handing it to me, “you go with them and talk to whoever’s in charge of admissions. I’ll keep working from this end, and as soon as I’ve got something, I’ll message you. Do your mom and dad have a lawyer?”

  Mom knocked. “Theodora, your escort’s here,” she said.

  “Give me two minutes,” I shouted, frantically trying to find “3 pr. tube socks, white.”

  “Here’s your toothbrush and toothpaste,” Kimkim said, “and your phone.”

  “Come on, Cadet Baumgarten,” my dad said, opening the door. “You don’t want to keep the Academy waiting.”

  “Dad, what’s our lawyer’s name?”

  “Oh, for the admission papers and things, you mean? We’ll take care of all that. You just go on and have a good time.” He scooped up the half-packed duffel bag and led me out through the patting, handshaking crowd to the waiting hover. “It’s a good thing you didn’t do what I did in high school,” he said, handing me into the hover. “If you’d set off a stink bomb, they’d never have let you in.”

  If only I’d known, I thought. The pilot leaned across me, shut the door, and took off. I took out my phone. “Help,” I messaged Kimkim.

  * * *

  —

  I decided there was no point in trying to explain things to the pilot, especially after he said, “Boy, are you lucky! I’d sell my soul to get into the Academy!” I would just have to explain things again to the person in charge once I got there, and besides, in spite of what Kimkim had said, I was seriously considering making a run for it when he let me out at the gates, but he landed me inside the high, razor-wire-tipped walls and walked me into the main building past two heavily armed sentries and handed me over to a man in an IASA uniform.

  “I want to talk to the person in charge of admissions,” I said to him.

  “Name?”

  “Theodora Baumgarten,” I said, hoping against hope it wasn’t on his list, but he found it immediately, handed me an ID badge, and weighed my bag.

  “You’re two pounds over,” he said, opening it and taking out my phone. “You can get rid of this. It won’t work in the Academy.”

  Oh, frick, I hadn’t considered that possibility. I’d have to message Kimkim and tell her—

  “I have a sentimental attachment to it,” I said. “You can take my curling iron instead.”

  The door behind us opened and two girls came in.

  “Oh, look at this! I can’t believe we’re here!” one of them said, clutching her chest just like Coriander, and the other one kept repeating, “Ohmigod, ohmigod, ohmigod!” till I thought she was going to hyperventilate.

  “You’re still overweight,” the IASA guy said. “You sure you don’t want to give up your phone?”

  “I’m sure,” I said, pulling out my iPod and some DVDs.

  He shrugged. “Suit yourself,” he said, handed me back the bag, and turned to the Hyperventilator. “Name?”

  “Excuse me,” I said, moving back in front of her. “I asked to see the person in charge of admissions.”

  “You’ll have to talk to your sector officer,” he said, looking at the list. “H-level. Second elevator on the right.”

  I took it down to H, messaging Kimkim the news about the phone on the way down. “Working on it,” she answered immediately, so at least the phone worked in this part of the Academy. They must just jam the student areas, which meant till Kimkim found a way around it, I’d have to sneak off to an area where it did work.

  If I was here that long. Which I might be, since the fourth-year cadet waiting for me on H-level looked at me totally blankly when I told him I wanted to see the admissions person.

  “Never mind,” I said. “Take me to the head of the Academy.”

  “You mean the Commander?”

  “Yes,” I said firmly.

  “This way,” he said, and led me down a long cement corridor, up an even longer ramp, and into another elevator. He pushed “3,” and we went up for a very long way. It opened on an accordion-pleated tunnel, like a jetway, ending in a narrow, curved corridor lined with doors.

  He stopped in front of one of them, opened it, and stepped aside so I could enter. “Is this the Commander’s office?” I asked.

  “No. Wait here,” he said, and walked away, and before I could start after him, the Hyperventilator had swooped down on me.

  “Isn’t this exciting?” she squealed. “Come on!” She grabbed my arm and dragged me into the room, which was clearly not the Commander’s office. It was a room the size of a closet with curved walls and two bunks. “I can’t believe
we’re in the same cabin!”

  Cabin—?

  She’d plopped down on the lower bunk. “Come on, get strapped in! We launch in five minutes! Aren’t we lucky?” she said, busily fastening straps. “All the other classes had to spend their first semester earthside before they got to go up.”

  The elevators, the jetway, the curving corridor—“We’re in a spaceship?” I said, calculating whether I could make it down that jetway to the elevator in two minutes.

  “I know, I can’t believe it’s happening either!”

  An alarm began to sound. “All cadets to their acceleration couches.”

  I dived for the remaining bunk.

  “You do the chest straps first,” the Hyperventilator said. “Just think, in a few hours we’ll be on the Ra!”

  “The Ra?” I said, struggling with the straps. They were so in love with the Academy, they’d named it after a god?

  “That’s what cadets call the Academy space station, the Robert A. Heinlein. The RAH, get it? And now we’re cadets! Can you believe this is actually happening?”

  “No.”

  “Me neither!” she said. “Don’t you think you’d better put your emesis bag on?”

  * * *

  —

  I threw up all the way to the RAH.

  “Gosh, I didn’t think it was possible to throw up at four g’s,” the Hyperventilator said. “Maybe you’ll feel better when we go into freefall.”

  I didn’t. I went through my vomit bag and hers and threw up on the bunk, the walls, the Hyperventilator, and, once we were weightless, on the air in front of me, where it formed disgusting-looking yellowish-brown globules that floated around the cabin for the rest of the trip.

  “What on earth did you eat?” the Hyperventilator asked.

  “Cake,” I said miserably, and vomited again.

  “It can’t last much longer,” she said, ducking a large globule floating toward her. “You can’t have anything left.”

  Also not true.

  “You’ll be okay once we get to the RAH,” she said.

  “Rah, rah, rah,” I said weakly, and proved her wrong by throwing up all over the cadet sent to unstrap us, the connecting deck, and the airlock.