"Well, that was quick, and clever," Captain Lannister said with a nod towards the view screen. Princess Sarasvat, the President and an elderly Native woman stood side by side on the White House lawn, all smiling.
"The Shoshone thing, sir?" Cheyenne asked as she settled on to the couch in his office. She had been lying to her mother about bringing the kids on the station. If it was one iota safer on the station than on this ship, if they had one iota more stability, she wanted her kids. She was not going to let her mom guilt or bully her into leaving them in a ramshackle house on Earth with a woman who spent half her life hyped up on anxiety meds. Not when she could give her kids the future; a Consortium education. They could grow up to be space pilots, healers capable of rebuilding incredible damage, hydroponics engineers capable of feeding millions. Loyalty to her country ran deep through Cheyenne, but her loyalty to her children knew no bounds.
"Yeah, the Shoshone thing," Captain Lannister said.
"But that was this morning."
"One day is enough sometimes, Walker."
He'd said a mouthful. "So, what was the solution, sir?"
"If the Shoshone don't think they are being treated fairly, they can be a cultural collective, inside the Consortium."
"Inside the Consortium?"
"The government was already thinking of a suitable native name for the station anyway, to show them honor. So now it's official. It will be dubbed Shoshone station and a portion will be set aside for any Native Americans wanting to escape Earth. Those that choose to stay, stay under the same reservation system as always," Captain Lannister explained. "But I don't suppose that's why you wanted to talk to me?"
"No, sir," Cheyenne said. "But it was about the station. I am not sure who I need to talk to about this, but I figured you'd be the right person to start with. You know I have to stay longer, finish treatment. I was hoping that could be on the station, closer to home. And there's going to be other civilians there, markets and school and stuff and..."
"Let me guess, Walker, your kids?"
"Yes, sir."
He nodded. "I will let command know that. We will put in a request to talk to the State Department on your behalf. We can go from there."
"Thank you, sir."
Cheyenne received a communication later that day from a Consortium diplomat, a squid girl named Zeta. She had a human face, with a bluish cast to her skin, and a dozen or more long slender protrusions hanging from her chin. Cheyenne had been told that "squids" were a mixed race, part human and part C'thon. The protrusions that grew from various parts of their bodies and gave them there name were genetic anomalies resulting from blending incompatible DNA, not real tentacles. Her Earth counterpart was Jack, the man who had escorted her kids to the press conference weeks ago.
Zeta was very optimistic about the possibility of bringing the kids onto the station. "My parents moved a lot," she said. "I was riding elevators and taking orbital hoppers by myself before my second sept." The Consortium divided the early years into three seven-year deks. Zero through seven you were a baby, Seven through fourteen was childhood and fourteen through twenty one was adolescent/young adulthood. "Your kids will catch on quick."
They spoke for some time and Zeta assured her they were working on protocols for getting earth kids integrated into their educational system. Cheyenne herself already had a place aboard the station as long as she needed medical attention and finding her work or helping her get started in a new life would present no difficulty.
The State Department called only a few minutes after she'd broken contact with Zeta. Her contact there was Jack. They had met briefly and holographically when he brought her mom and the kids to the press conference weeks ago.
Jack was more reserved. The State Department had yet to hammer out visa and passport requirements for the Consortium. Once they went up, he wasn't sure how they would handle coming down for visits. Nor could he quite say what it would mean for their citizenship if they stayed any length of time.
Cheyenne didn't care. The more she had thought about it, the more certain she was of her decision. She was taking the kids and turning Consortium. Mom would just have to deal. Maybe someday she'd understand what Cheyenne was giving the kids, a better life. If she couldn't see that, that was her choice.
And actually getting the kids seemed straightforward enough. "As long as you have custody and no one's trying to contest that in court, I don't see why they wouldn't approve the request," Jack had said.
#####
"My fucking god," Runningbear said, looking out the porthole window in the lounge. "I am going batshit crazy."
"We all are," Whitman muttered. "Just sit down and shut up."
Runningbear looked over at Fox. "Don't say anything," he warned. "You at least get the run of the ships."
"Perks of being security," Fox said. "But that wasn't what I was going to say."
All around the room men raised eyebrows and looked at him.
"Hold it together, all of you," Fox said. "Won't be long now."
"What makes you say that?" Whitman challenged.
"Cuz they want to know how long it's going to take for my arm to recover," he gestured at his metal arm. "To be totally covered in flesh again." The black patching extended down from the stump nearly to his elbow as the soft tissue regrew. He found it ironic, Kismet had earned the nickname mummy because he had so much of his skin covered in bandages the first few days. Cheyenne's whole face and neck had been covered. Day by day those patches shrank. Fox's grew.
"So?"
"The healers and command, they've been talking about where they are going to house us on that new station, while we finish recovering."
"I still don't get it."
"They are talking about what happens after the mission," Fox clarified. "That can only mean one thing."
"They are preparing to debrief us," someone said in an awed voice. "We're going home!"
Fox's slate started buzzing. "I've got to take this," he said, stepping out into the corridor.
Fox pulled his slate out and pulled up the menu. It was Skype buzzing. He frowned. He'd talk to his dad just yesterday and that wasn't his father's number. He hit accept.
The first thing he saw was a wrinkled chin with two stray hairs. He heard his fifteen year old niece, Emma talking. "No, grandma hold it back further. Here."
The camera backed up and he was seeing his eighty seven year old grandma and his fifteen year old niece, Emma. They were sitting on the threadbare couch in grandma's small house and using Emma's phone to Skype him. At the edge of the screen he could see Emma's two year old, bashing her head with a teddy bear.
"Hi, Jimmy," Grandma said, her eyes bright.
"Hi, Grandma," he replied, checking around the hall to see if anyone had overheard his grandmother call him "Jimmy."
"Did you see the news today?" she asked.
"Yeah," he replied hesitantly. "What news?"
"About the Shoshone tribe. Going into space," she said.
"Well, they aren't all going, I don't think. But yeah, they are going to name that new station, Shoshone. And some are going."
"Someone came here," Emma said. "From the Shoshone tribe."
"Really?"
Grandma nodded. "Said the time for old tribal divisions is past. Their good fortune is our good fortune. Any native wanting to join them will be welcomed."
"That's nice of them," Fox replied.
His grandma giggled. "So we joined."
"What?" he spluttered.
"I'm going up to the stars," Grandma said with some pride.
Fox just stared at the slate. "Wow," he said. "You serious?"
"Sure, me and Emma, and Ray and little Tanner here, too." She brushed the toddler's hair with her free hand. "We are all going. Be good for the kids."