Fiction at Courage, my friend

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Distance, Chapter 1 Part 3

The gate was the smallest one I’d ever seen — ten seats, and all but one of them empty.  The gate for Jupiter sat a hundred, and that was with shuttles every thirty minutes. 

The sign above the entrance announced Eta Cass in big glowing letters, sandwiched between a small star map on the left, and a beautiful beach scene on the right.  In the scene, large trees swayed gracefully in a light breeze, and small waves of bright blue water lapped against the glaringly yellow-white sand of the shore.  The sun was shining, and thick, fluffy clouds moved slowly across the sky.  The brightness of the scene hurt my eyes.

Mom and Dad were at the ticket counter as I stepped through the entrance.

“Ah, here he is now,” I heard Dad say to the attendant behind the counter.  Mom was looking around the waiting area.  She looked like she was thinking that there’d been some mistake.  I guess we were bound to agree on something, at some point.

“Have you had your shots?” the attendant asked. 

Shots? 

“Ah, no, not yet,” Dad replied. 

He hadn’t mentioned anything to me about shots.  Mom didn’t seem concerned, though, so I’m guessing it wasn’t news to them.  Big surprise. 

“I was told we would get those en route,” he added.

“Yes, sir, that is the case.  I just need to mark it down.”

“Ah, excuse me,” Mom said, turning back to the attendant.  “Is this” — she gestured to the waiting area — “all there is?”

“I’m sorry, Ma’am?”

“Well,” she said, glancing at Dad, then back to the attendant, “we were given the impression that Eta Cass was a fairly popular vacation spot.”

The attendant snickered, but suppressed it so quickly under her plastic smile that I might have missed it, had I not been looking straight at her when it happened.

“No, Ma’am,” she replied, shaking her head.  “Very few people travel to Eta Cass for any reason.” Mom’s hand started tightening on Dad’s arm.  “Surely you know.  It’s the plague.  There is a one month quarantine for anyone returning from Eta Cass 2, and you have to take the shots for a full year after being there.”

“Ah, excuse us,” Mom said, smiling icily.  “Just a second.”  The smile vanished as she pulled Dad away from the counter.  Dad seemed a little dazed.  I felt something rather like hope bubble up within me, and I caught myself smiling.

“Did Neil say anything about this?” she asked, quietly, through her teeth.

“No,” he replied, shrugging defensively and backing away from her.  “The information package he sent mentions the indigenous parasite, of course, but nothing about any quarantine.  I don’t understand it — it even had ads for resorts and retirement villages . . . .”

“Well, this is just great!  What are we going to do now?”

“Do?” he said, seemingly confused again.  “We’re going to get on the transport, of course.”

Mom’s mouth dropped open.  “I am not going to live in some backwater hole!  This is not what I signed on for!”  Her voice was no longer quite hushed. 

His eyes blazed and he pulled her close.  When he spoke, his voice was so quiet that even I could barely hear it.  “Need I remind you that we don’t have any other options?  Your exit from Prime was a little less than diplomatic, as you’ll recall.”  Mom shrank back a little, and dropped her gaze to the floor.  “And besides,” he continued, his voice softening at her reaction, “we’re getting a doubling in pay to work on a planet with a significantly lower cost of living.  That will buy a lot” — he raised his eyebrows meaningfully — “of consolation.”

My hope fizzled and died.  They might argue a little longer, but once given a monetary reason to go, there was no chance Mom was going to take us back to Jupiter.  Nodding to the attendant as I passed the counter, I stepped around the glass partition and into the lounge.  There was nothing else to do.