I tried to ignore the voice across the room. I groaned my protest and pulled the blankets over my head.

"It's time to get up, Fi." The voice repeated, a little more sternly.

"Nuh uh." I mumbled, my face half buried in my pillow. "More sleep."

"We have errands to run, sweetheart." My mother tried to coax me out of bed. I hated the mornings. They were the worst.

"Don't wanna." I protested. I closed my eyes even tighter, hoping I could fall back asleep. I was warm and comfortable. And I didn't want to be up before the sun for the third day in a row. Maybe she'd let me stay home today?

Unfortunately, that wasn't to be. "Fiona Elizabeth Kelvin." Mom's voice was sharp, but not raised.

And she'd used my full name. Craaaaaap.

"Now." she ordered.

I had secretly been hoping there would be a bribe offered before she resorted to my full name. No such luck. With a grumble, I peeled the blankets off my shoulders and sat up. Everyone knows not to mess with a mom when she uses her child's full name. I guess today's errands were important.

I dragged myself out of bed and shuffled towards the bathroom to complete my morning routine. I hopped nimbly from faded rug to faded rug. They'd been there as long as I could remember and never changed. The polished concrete floor was always freezing in the morning and my small feet got cold quickly.

Our place was small. It was a single room apartment with a small bathroom in the back. It was basically a concrete box. While the floors were polished, the walls were just smooth concrete. We didn't have any art or photographs on the walls. Mounting things was hard. There were only two electric lights - well, three if you counted the bathroom - in the whole place. There was one near the front door, and one in the back half.

Our humble home was arranged by corners, since that was the easiest to do. My small, metal-framed bed was along the right wall between the front door and the bathroom. My mom's bed was at the head of mine, closer to the door. It was neatly made, with the blankets tucked into the edges. A dresser we both shared was just outside the bathroom.

We had a modest living room area to the left, in the back corner across from the bathroom. There wasn't much there. There was a portable heater, currently off and stored against the wall. We had another worn rug and a humble brown couch. One of my mom's colorful knitted afghans was folded over the back. Her craft basket rested next to the couch. Behind it was a tall lamp. We had a little bookshelf and a coffee table too, made of bits of scrap metals welded together. We didn't have a room terminal, used for accessing the Network, talking to others, or watching videos. We couldn't afford the luxury.

My personal terminal, the used one my mom had saved for months to purchase for my last birthday, was sitting on the coffee table. It was a sheet of some kind of super strong clear plastic with a thicker case containing electronic components along one of the shorter sides. The shorter side was about six inches, and the longer side of the device was about nine. It was my most prized possession. Not that I had many possessions, being a girl of seven. But it let me learn things. And not just the things Mom thought I should know. Things I wanted to know. I miiiiight have run the battery out every day since I'd gotten it.

I could look up anything on the Network. I could learn all about history, science, and all kinds of jobs that I could have when I was older. I could even learn about the solar system, and all the cool outposts on distant moons. I watched videos that showed the pretty architecture of the settled planets. They showed all the technology they had too. Magnet trains that could cross entire continents in mere hours. Shuttles that could get people or products to the same place even faster. Personal vehicles that everyone seemed to have. A tube system for important messages. A doctor that could replace missing limbs with mechanical ones.

We didn't really have those things on Caltrox. The history text I had to read as part of my lessons said we used to have all those things. There were so many more that I couldn't imagine. But then there was something called a civil war, and everything got destroyed in the fighting. So now we're back to the basics! There's still some tech around, like my terminal. We don't have a way to make most things here, so big ships have to bring things down to us at the spaceport. We're trying to learn how to make things and rebuild. Mom says everyone has to do their part. That's where the terminals and the Network comes in.

I'd chattered excitedly to my mom for an entire week after I'd watched a video on hoverbike racing. She made it clear she would never buy me one. And she forbade me from ever riding one, if I somehow managed to convince someone to let me borrow their hoverbike. Not even for a trip around the block. She'd said. I added another thing to my list of cool things I'd buy when I got a job. It would be good for getting around our little town, or over to the spaceport. I'd be fine! I just might have to find another place to keep it so she wouldn't see it... I had time to figure all that out! And we might even have moved to a bigger place by then.

Our barely a kitchen was next to the door. It consisted of a few feet of black metal countertop, a trio of matching cabinets - one below and two above, a sink barely big enough to wash a plate, and two metallic coils to use for cooking. Mom was busy with a pan at one of them. We had a refrigerator too, but it didn't have much space in it. Plus it would stop running a few times a month. Mom hadn't been able to figure out why. She had to barter with Mr. Winston for repairs every time it broke. He told us we should "bite the bullet" and replace it. We really only used it for raw meat and leftovers at this point, and had to watch it carefully. There had been a few nights of awful tasting ration bars when it had stopped working the last time. Mom had just finished the week's shopping, and it all spoiled before we realized. To complete our cozy kitchen area, we had a wobbly table with a pair of mismatched chairs for eating meals.

The place was just big enough for me and my mom. There wasn't anyone else around anyway. It had been the two of us as long as I could remember. My father had been killed when I was really little, and I had no memories of him. Mom said he'd been a Guildsman, and had died in service to the explorer's guild Alluring Sky. She told me over and over that he'd been a good man. I wasn't sure what she meant by that. We received a small monthly stipend from the guild, but it wasn't nearly enough for us to live on. I was a growing girl and needed new clothes more often than my mom. I can't say I'd ever heard her say anything positive about his guild. Or any guild for that matter. All I'd heard was "false promises" and "exploitation," -whatever that was. She just told me to stay away from the guilds and Guildsmen since nothing good ever came of listening to them. More things I wasn't allowed to do. Mom had a list a mile long.

"Are you done yet?" Mom called. "If you don't hurry your breakfast will be cold! It's almost ready."

I'd shut myself in the bathroom for my morning routine. I splashed water on my face - cold as always, since we didn't have a good way to heat it - and then used my washcloth to wipe it away. "Almost!" I told her. I quickly brushed my teeth, slid my step stool under the sink, and re-entered the main room.

My drowsiness had gone away, aided in part by the icy water. I grabbed an outfit from the dresser. I wasn't the kind of person who put a whole lot of thought into what I'd wear each day. Mom cared a little more than I did but didn't need to debate between multiple outfits daily. As long as it was clean and in good repair, that was good enough for us. I put on the gray pants and the loose blue shirt before tossing my sleeping gown onto my bed. It landed just below my pillow.

A pointed clearing of Mom's throat from the kitchen had me walking over and folding the garment. I placed it on my pillow. As I walked back to the dresser to find some socks, I glanced at her out of the corner of my eye. She folded her arms, but didn't say a word.

Ugh. Dang it. I whined to myself as I spun around and walked the five steps back to my bed. I knew exactly what she was telling me to do. I never saw the point in making my bed, but Mom wanted me to do it today. One by one, I pulled the blankets up to the top of my bed. It wasn't as pretty as her bed, but Mom unfolded her arms and returned to her cooking. It was good enough.

I quickly pulled my socks on, followed by my heavy black boots. They were the only shoes I owned. I sat on the edge of the couch for balance. I tugged at the laces and then tied them like Mom had shown me. I finished by tucking the long parts of the laces into the top of the dusty boots. Then I realized I'd forgotten to tuck the cuffs of my pants in and had to do it all over again.

Mom set a plate down on the table for me and held out a fork. She looked a lot like me. Long brown hair, which she wore twisted into a single braid, and kind brown eyes. We had the same tan skin and oval faces. Mom had deep lines across her face, some from laughing and some from worrying. She was a little taller than average, but only by a couple inches. I hoped I'd be as tall as her when I grew up. She would be turning thirty within the next few weeks. I was still working on her present.

Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

I hopped up from the couch eagerly and took the utensil from her hand. I climbed up into the chair and turned around to sit properly. I was seven, but I was much smaller than other kids my age. Sometimes it was harder for me to use adult-sized things. I did like that I could swing my legs, though. I enjoyed the feeling.

I looked excitedly at my breakfast. Mom had made me some scrambled eggs and cut up a piece of fruit. The fruit had a thin reddish skin and a yellow interior. I'd seen it before, but I couldn't remember what it was called. There was a whole grove of them just outside the city walls. They were fuzzy on the outside and juicy on the inside. Except for the pit. I couldn't eat that part. It was too hard and bitter. Even if I couldn't think of the fruit's name, I remembered it tasted good! Naturally, that meant I devoured the sweet fruit first. Mom chuckled as the juice ran down my chin as I took too big of bites.

The eggs were fluffy and had flecks of pepper scattered throughout them. They also had a slight blue tint to them. It took me to a moment to figure out what they were. Krayba eggs! They were a rare treat for breakfast. I dug in excitedly.

Krayba were similar to chickens, but they were native to Caltrox. They had a long neck and feathers of different shades ranging from white to a deep blue. They usually had black beaks and feet. They ate almost anything that would fit in their mouths: seeds, table scraps, old vegetables too old for the merchants at the markets to sell. I'd seen one eat a few stray steel nuts that had fallen into its pen. (The farmer said she'd be okay. Her stomach was tough.) Nothing was safe around them if they thought it might be edible.

I'd even heard that they ate meat sometimes, and it made them crazy. Once they got the taste for meat, if it wasn't being provided to them then they'd start pecking the other birds in their flock. Sometimes they would peck all the birds, and sometimes they would just pick on one at a time. Eventually they would find a critical spot, or just peck too much, and the other bird would die. The meat-eating Krayba would feast and protect its kill. It would attack anyone who came too close, bird or human. If there were any chicks in the pen, the flesh-loving bird would hunt and kill them for fun. Sometimes they were eaten, other times they were played with and then just left there. Farmers had to get rid of them quick once they got a taste for flesh. A boy who lived down the street told me the eggs turned purple because of all the blood they ate. He said they were a "delicacy" off-planet. Something the rich people will pay a lot of money to eat. But I wasn't sure if any of this was true. The Kraybas were noisy and smelled bad. I hated spending time near them.

But I'd gladly eat their eggs when Mom scrambled them for me. I scraped the last few bits of egg onto my fork before I hopped down and took my plate to the sink.

Mom was cleaning up the pan and her own plate. "Go get your brush." She instructed. She took my plate.

"I can brush it myself." I told her. "I just forgot when I was in the bathroom." My hair was a nasty mess half the time, and I hated the time - and pain - it took to smooth it out.

Mom smiled to herself. "What, you don't want me to braid your hair?"

I thought for a second. I didn't know how to braid. And it was easier to keep my hair from getting tangled when it was in a braid or two. It hurt to brush when it got tangled, and it took too long. I had mostly straight brown hair down past my shoulders. If it was loose, it would twist and knot the second the wind started blowing. Even when it was in a ponytail the wind would snarl it together. My hair would also get in my brown eyes and make it harder to see if I didn't pull it back. It was hard to work on things if it kept falling in my face. This place was windy. "Yeah, sure!" I agreed, disappearing into the bathroom to grab my brush and some hair ties.

Mom and I talked as she split my hair and braided it together. She parted it in the middle. After that, she split the first side into three parts and began weaving them together.

"What errands are we running today?" I asked her.

"Well," Mom began. "I have a blanket to deliver to Mrs. Henry..."

"Oooh! Ms. Reba!" I shouted. She lived in a building two streets over and always had a treat or a story for me.

Mom gently popped me on the top of my head with the brush for interrupting.

"Sorry." I apologized in a sing-song voice.

Mom continued running through her list of errands. It was a long list. "And finally, I'm supposed to help out Vincent for a few hours in the tavern."

That perked me up. "Does that mean we get to eat dinner at the tavern?" Sometimes when Mom helped out Vincent, we got to eat for free. His wife was the best cook. And the plates were huuuuuge. They had meat, veggies, and bread. All the things Mom said I needed to eat regularly to stay healthy. Ms. Jenna would usually sneak me a piece of cake or a brownie when my mom wasn't looking. It was the only time I got sweets, unless you counted the occasional visit to Ms. Reba. Mom told me I should only eat sweets sparingly - not a lot. I thought this counted as sparingly.

"Mmm hmm." Mom confirmed. "But only if you behave while I'm busy with my shift."

"I will!" I promised.

This got a nice little laugh from my mom. "I want you to work on your lessons on your terminal and we can talk about what you learn."

"Aww, do I have to?" There were so many more interesting things I could read on the terminal. I didn't need to know whether a word was a noun, a verb, or an adjective in order to read it. Most of the animals the science part talked about weren't even on Caltrox anymore. I wanted to learn about jobs and making money. I wanted to work on the things that would get me the best paying job. Mom needed help around here so she could rest. I voiced my thoughts to her and she sighed.

"Oh my sweet little Fifi." Mom only used that nickname when she was amused with me. She finished the first braid and began working on the second. "You need to know those things in your lessons to get a job. It's called a basic education. You need to know math so you don't get cheated by a merchant. I'd be a poor mother if I turned you loose in the world without an idea of how the world works."

"I know that!" I agreed. "But I'm not going to be a writer, and I already know how to read, so why do I have to keep learning about words and sentence structure? I don't get why I need to know the parts of the story either. They are still there to read either way."

"Knowing a lot of words is a good thing. It means you don't always have to use the same words to say the same thing. When you sound smart, people assume you are smart. They won't try to trick you as much. Sometimes there are lessons in stories. These are things you can learn by reading the story instead of having a bad thing happen to you for real before you realize you shouldn't do something. Its good to know how to pick out the lesson in the story."

Mom was the smartest person I knew. So I guess she picked certain school modules for a reason. She'd always picked the best thing for me. Maybe I should listen? I gave in with a sigh. "Fine, but I still want to find a job I can do."

"You should worry about school first. You have the rest of your life to work." Mom was almost done with the second braid. "I make enough to get us through."

"But I want to earn money myself. I want to help you." I insisted.

"If you want pocket money, I can talk to a few people about chores they need done, and maybe you can help them with that. But that will be your money and you can buy whatever you want with it." She tapped me on the shoulder. "All done!"

"Thanks, Mom." I said, remembering my manners. I grabbed my terminal from the living room table and checked the power level. It was full. I carefully slid it into a canvas backpack along with my charging puck. I found my earpiece under the living room table and put that in my bag too. I flipped and buckled the top of my bag. If I hurried through the schoolwork while mom was chatting on her errands, I might be done with it before we made it to the tavern. Then I could read or watch whatever I wanted while she worked. Maybe I could ask some of the bar patrons if they knew of a good job for me.

I shouldered my backpack and waited quietly by the door.

"Aren't you forgetting something?" Mom asked. She was tugging her own boots on.

I had everything in my bag, and I'd tucked my pant legs into my boots. Oh! I set my backpack down and took my jacket down from its peg halfway down the wall. I slipped my arms into the plain brown jacket and shrugged my shoulders into it. I stuck my tongue out as I concentrated on matching the two halves of the zipper. It took a couple tries but I pulled the zipper almost all the way up and nodded.

"I'm ready!" I announced. I left my bag by my feet, waiting.

"Nope!" Mom said, a smirk in her voice. "You're still missing something.

I ran mentally through everything again before I gave up. "What am I missing?" I asked.

"The wind is bad today." She hinted.

Then it clicked. "Oh, I need my straps and goggles!" I turned around and rummaged through the small chest beneath the jackets. I fished out a small pair of wide goggles and several long pieces of frayed brown canvas.

"And your gloves. And your scarf." Mom reminded me.

I nodded along as I fished out another piece of fabric, and found my sand colored gloves. I set my items to the side and started pairing up my mom's set.

"Can you bring..." I already had the items in my hand and was walking towards her when she started to ask. "Oh, thank you."

I sat down on the floor by the door - really a threadbare red rug - and began to wrap my straps around my legs. I started with my ankles, covering the tops of the boots and working my way up to just below my knee. I secured the strap so it would stay in place, and tugged on both ends to make sure. Then I wrapped the other leg the same way. I put on my gloves and proceeded to repeat the process on both arms, hand to elbow. About six inches from one end of the arm straps was a slit just big enough for my thumb. I slipped it through and wrapped the extra around one way before wrapping the rest of the length in the other direction over the sleeve of my jacket. I double checked that it was tight enough, but not too tight, and secure. It was.

Mom was faster than me. She already had her scarf on and her goggles rested on her forehead. I slipped my own goggles on over my eyes. They were covered in dozens of tiny scratches, and made our apartment blur a little. Mom tsked and I remembered the scarf needed to go on first. She stepped over to help me. I was capable of doing it myself, but we had a busy day ahead. The scarf was a lighter piece of fabric with a hood and two longer ends that stretched out. Mom expertly put it in place. Some went over the hood to keep it from blowing away, and some went around my neck then over my nose and mouth. I slid the strap of the goggles over the back of my head and placed them on my forehead, mimicking my mother. She tugged the hood of my jacket over everything and cinched it down around my face.

"Alright, let's go." Mom said, satisfied that any sand kicked up by the wind wouldn't find its way to my skin.

I again shouldered my backpack. I reached for the lock panel by the door with a gloved hand. I had almost reached it when a hard pounding came from the other side of the door.

I jumped back and looked up at my mom. She looked just as confused as I was.