Connie stared at the blackboard, only half paying attention to the teacher. PeeDee had been so late coming in that she'd worried he and Ronaldo were already up at the windmill, smuggling Amethyst to an undisclosed location. As it turned out, PeeDee had walked in just before the start of class, guiltily avoiding eye contact as he took his seat.
"In humankind's earliest days," said Mrs Lezner, "we wandered through the wilderness, hunting and scavenging for enough food to survive, all the while in danger from terrible beasts. It was a precarious existence. There was little shelter, for we always had to keep on the move until we found enough to eat."
There was nothing else for it but to try and get to Amethyst first. And then, if she could find the nerve, she would try and extract the organic regulator from her own body in order to heal the rogue gem. This whole time she'd considered it her last, most desperate option, but time had shown that there simply were no other choices. (At least, none that were morally sustainable. She'd been plagued in the night by intrusive thoughts of forcing Ronaldo to volunteer for the task.)
"We don't know precisely when humans started to cultivate plants themselves instead of only picking what grew naturally, but it brought a revolution in standards of living. Suddenly, we were able to build ourselves permanent shelter. Gathering enough food was no longer a full-time job, which brought opportunities for comfort and leisure. The nomadic ways of our distant ancestors were swiftly abandoned. It was the single most positive step in the development of our species."
She must only do it, Connie had come to understand, if it could be done safely. Even if her short years on earth were as nothing compared to the lifespan of an Amethyst, that was all the more time for some terrible accident to weigh on Amethyst's conscience. Furthermore, she would need to be lucid and well in order to figure out how the gemtech device could actually be used.
"Almost every innovation since those days has brought with it its own downsides. Tools made from metal mined out of the ground made our work easier, but that same metal was forged into weapons. Woodlands were cut down to clear space and build houses, and the landscape was forever harmed. We still enjoy the benefits of progress, but our history bears the scars."
The thing to do, the stark practicality of it, was to make a small incision and sort of... feel around. That was the worst bit, and yet it couldn't be that inherently dangerous, because at this point she would still be under the regulator's protection. Right? The problem only arose at the point of removing it. Then, she would need to know how to care for the wound. Which was a problem, because there hadn't been any doctors for over two hundred years. This was the sticking point, and if she couldn't formulate a convincing plan then the whole scheme would become unworkable.
Wouldn't it? Which was the worse outcome? What did it mean for a gem to be 'harvested'?
Mrs Lezner stepped to her desk and rifled absently through her papers. "Later, the development of trade meant some people didn't need to farm at all. They started to lose their sense of communion with the earth. In a way, humanity's decline was inevitable due to the opportunities brought by the agricultural system. It was in our nature to keep wanting more, digging deeper, building higher. This was the age of cities. It seemed at the time like an age of prosperity, but really it was the beginning of the end."
As always, Pink Diamond's portrait gazed down from its place on the wall, kindly and unassuming.
Mrs Lezner stepped back in front of the blackboard, sifting through a few sheets of paper she had retrieved. "A few weeks ago, I set a writing assignment to look at life as it was without the gems, and I've enjoyed reading through the work from those of you who took the trouble to complete it." At this, she eyed a few of the students with an almost regal solemnity. Then she handed a piece of paper to the girl who always sat in the front row. "Let's hear from a few of them. Here, I'm sure everyone would like to hear your story."
Connie's classmate began her reading after a pause which was either dramatic or nervous. "It was a hard life in the city of Paris Twelve. The Weston family lived in a very small house, and every day they had to give half of their food to help feed the king and his army. Their sons and daughters didn't have time for school because they had to work too. One day, on their way home from the farm, they were attacked by robbers, who took almost all of their food and coins. 'What on earth can we do?' Mr Weston cried. 'We don't have enough left for the king.' Mrs Weston thought long and hard, and said: 'Maybe the king will let us join his army, and our debt will be forgiven.'"
Connie didn't consider herself an expert, but there were aspects of this story which didn't quite tally with her understanding of history. Fortunately, its duration was necessarily limited by the size of the piece of paper it had been written on. In the end, the evil king was killed when Paris Twelve was invaded and taken over by a rival king, but life for the citizens continued in exactly the same way as before. It was, to be fair, an impressively cynical twist.
"Well done," said Mrs Lezner. "Very imaginative. Connie, why don't you come up and read your work? Connie wrote a short piece imagining the future."
Connie was momentarily dumbstruck, having spent the morning so far completely absorbed in her own thoughts. She had almost forgotten the story, which she had hastily written one afternoon before the harvest festival. It was back when she had yet to meet Amethyst, but still had a lot of things on her mind that seemed more important than writing assignments. It had seemed insincere even when she had written it.
Still, she could hardly say no. She stood up and awkwardly made her way to the front, accepting the paper from a smiling Mrs Lezner. She cleared her throat, and read without affect.
"I live in a place called Emerald Town with my parents and my brother and sister.
"They say that years ago, this used to be a desert. They say we learned how to make things grow again from a race of people called gems. Nobody knows for sure who they were, or where they are now, but we remember their lessons every day.
"I have friends in a nearby town called Barley Town. It takes a few hours to ride there in a mechanical vehicle. From their town it's possible to visit a forest with all sorts of creatures, but you have to be careful or you could get lost. Off in the distance is a huge tower where gems used to live. We leave it alone in case they ever want to come back.
"Every town is run by an administrator. The administrator isn't allowed to have any more food or belongings than anyone else. My ambition is to become an administrator, and help keep our society peaceful and fair.
"There is so much more new land in the distance that we could build on, but we are trying our best to use only what we need. It's difficult to overcome our own nature, but I hope that by using what we learned from the gems, we can stay on the right path."
That was all she had written. She handed the paper back to Mrs Lezner, feeling like a hypocrite.
"Very imaginitive, Connie," the teacher nodded, smiling. "It makes you want to hear more."
Connie kept her head down as she returned to her seat, not wanting to see the other children's faces and know what they had thought. She imagined them judging her as sycophantic or naive. But the worse possibility, she acknowledged, was that some of them could be taken in by it, and really believe humanity could ever get the planet back. She hadn't wanted to see an expression of hope.
The only one she risked a glance at was PeeDee, who met her eyes briefly with a haunted look. If he had any thoughts about her creative writing, they were eclipsed by more pressing troubles.
When they broke for lunch, Connie tried to speak to PeeDee in the hubbub. He was quick to make his excuses. "I have to head to the manufactory and help Ronaldo tidy up. You understand."
Connie persisted. "Is Ronaldo still insisting on..?"
PeeDee cut her off. "Look... Mom put Ronaldo in charge. That counts for a lot, even if..." He looked around shiftily. "I can't talk about it here," he concluded, and darted out.
Connie headed outside herself and walked out to the shore until she had a view of the hill at the end of the peninsula. Atop its crest, she could see the sails of the windmill turning. That was a relief. Amethyst would be undisturbed for the time being. Presumably the Frymans really were getting their kitchen back in order. Connie stared out at the tempestuous ocean, resignation damping her anxiety. She had a sense that things were going to play out as they would, regardless of her involvement. Certainly there seemed no point engaging Ronaldo in debate again. Perhaps if she could have a proper talk with PeeDee, but the opportunities were turning up scarce.
She turned on her heel and headed back for the education centre. If she wanted the chance to make a difference, her window of opportunity was narrowing.
Mrs Lezner was halfway through lunch at her desk. "Gosh! You must have been hungry," she said, getting up to open the library upon request. She returned to her meal, leaving Connie to browse unsupervised as usual.
There was only one thing Connie wanted to know. Dragging out the science reference book, she set it down on the table and wondered once again where the other volume was — perhaps in another settlement on the other side of the world? Maybe it had been destroyed. Still, there was no point lamenting its loss — instead she must use lateral thinking. If looking under H for Healing wasn't an option, she could still look under W for Wound.
A minute later, Connie was staring at the close text in horrified fascination. Within a few short paragraphs, she had become acutely aware that she'd had no idea just how debilitating injuries were in the days before the organic regulator. Of course, you read about people dying through violence, but she'd never had its details spelled out in such stark terms.
A bloody Scab is form'd in the Cavity of the Wound ... the Wound begins to redden, heat, ache and swell ... a Fever and Thirstiness succeed ... on the third or fourth day, there is found a white, viscid Pus ...
Connie winced involuntarily. It was beyond her imagination. How could she have been so reckless as to consider risking anything like this?
Among the areas where wounds were generally considered mortal were the heart, lungs, liver, spleen, kidneys... in short, all the vital organs between which the regulator was likely concealed. This, then, was how the Diamond Authority could keep their technology out of human hands even as people walked around with it inside them. Even if you could manage to get at it without damaging an organ, nerve or muscle, you'd be incapacitated for days.
Days! It was an absurd amount of time, when you were so used to the regulator's effects. Connie had never sustained a cut that had bothered her for more than a few minutes.
Each time, she'd taken it for granted.
The Idea didn't come from any particular direction, it simply appeared in her mind as if it had always been there. She stared off at nothing as associated thoughts bloomed in her consciousness.
There are limits to even Pink Diamond's power. The organic regulator is a conduit for her power. The power to heal humanity.
Sure, it seemed manageable now, but how many humans had there been when the gems first took over? Thousands, hundreds of thousands. More still. Just how much power would it have taken? Could every last one of them be protected all of the time, or would a more elegant solution have been required? If Connie's theory was right, then that would mean...
It would mean she had a busy night ahead of her. Unfortunately she would have to finish out the school day before it was possible to put anything into action. Still, that didn't mean she couldn't be productive right now. She slammed the book shut, and marched over to the typesetting machine.
The afternoon lesson really dragged. Mrs Lezner spent the time outlining the uses and ideal growing conditions for various plants and vegetables, before digressing onto a description of various reputedly useful crops which were not available in the settlement because the seeds had never been imported. On any other day it would actually have been quite interesting, but Connie was anxious to get out and test her hypothesis.
"Some of these figs would only grow in the presence of a special type of bee that didn't produce honey. But we've heard of such trees still existing somewhere, so who knows? One day if you move settlements you could get to try one."
Connie carefully leaned towards PeeDee. "I'll give back the key," she announced in a barely audible whisper.
PeeDee looked surprised, then offered a muted smile of encouragement, as if to show there were no hard feelings. Connie returned the sentiment with a hands-only shrug, to convey the sense that neither of them could help being caught up in this situation and it wasn't worth them falling out for good. (That was her intention, anyway. She wasn't sure how many of the nuances of the gesture would find their mark.)
The main thing was that he and Ronaldo should think she'd given up.
"Poets through history have expressed a love of nature through their art, and we celebrate it in our music to this day. We've discussed how it's the appreciation of art that marks us out as a higher life form. Can anyone tell me what are the purposes of art?"
This kind of abrupt subject change was usually a sign that Mrs Lezner had exhausted her lesson plan and the day was nearing an end. On the other hand, the fact that she was now asking open-ended questions of the fatigued students was a less encouraging sign. Mrs Lezner could become stubborn when she didn't get the response she was hoping for.
"Come on," she insisted. "Think of the people who wrote the books you read, the songs that we sing, painted the paintings on your wall. Why did they do it? What is the purpose of creating something?"
A hand hesitantly went up at the front of the class. "To... entertain us?"
"True enough," said Mrs Lezner, "but in a way that's circular reasoning. These are, by definition, forms of entertainment. The question is, what is it about art that entertains us?" Mercifully, she did not let the silence expand too far before making the question rhetorical. "In some cases, it is simply the artist's demonstration of their own skill. We hear a musician play, and we appreciate the hours of work they have put in. We read a book and marvel at the imagination of the author. But on the other hand, we should pay attention to the message of the book, because this is the other purpose of art — to express the artist's opinion, to advance their point of view."
Connie couldn't help looking at the portrait on the wall once again. Its message: Pink Diamond is our saviour.
"Connie? Do you have any thoughts on the topic?"
Caught off guard, Connie looked back to the front of the class. It was unclear whether Mrs Lezner had noticed her disengagement or genuinely wanted to know her opinion.
"Um... well... I suppose I think the purpose of art is..."
Mrs Lezner stared expectantly.
"...to achieve immortality."
Mrs Lezner nodded contemplatively. "Interesting. You mean, to create something that can live on after you die?"
"Not just any something," Connie continued. "Something of yourself. Like you said, a book can contain your thoughts and opinions. It's a part of your mind that can stay on and communicate with people in the future. We need something like that, because we don't have that continuous link with history like gems do."
Her teacher nodded contemplatively. "So you see it as a way of communing with other generations. That's an interesting point. The love of art is our main point of commonality with the gems, but... hmm." She frowned slightly. "That would mean we weren't truly engaging with it in the same way as them. Is that what you think?" She appeared troubled by the idea.
Connie shrugged awkwardly. "Maybe."
"I'd have to... well, I'd have to think about that." Mrs Lezner blinked a few times, seeming to have lost all momentum. "I think that's as opportune a moment as any to end the lesson. Have a good evening and I'll see you all tomorrow."
Connie turned her attention from Mrs Lezner as the other students began to gather their things, and was faced with the sight of PeeDee staring at her as if she had just performed an impossible magic trick. Abruptly, he turned away and joined the melange of students making their way to the exit.
Connie herself lingered in the atrium, listening at the door to her mom's classroom and trying to judge, by the muffled sounds from within, how close they were to the end of the lesson. It sounded as if the lecture was still in full flow, so she ran out for a few minutes to check on the windmill. It was still in use, but who knew for how long? Anxious, she returned to her vigil and waited.
After a few minutes, Mrs Lezner emerged from the other classroom on her way out. "Good night, Connie," she said on her way past, accustomed to seeing the girl waiting for her mother.
Shortly, Mrs Maheshwaran's voice rose and became momentarily more distinct — something about 'very disappointing progress today'? Finally, things drew to a conclusion and the door opened, the older kids filing out. Most of them paid Connie no regard, but Kiki made eye contact on her way past and gave a brief grimacing smile. Connie wasn't entirely sure what it meant. Perhaps a moment of solidarity with another individual dwelling in the shadow of a particularly forthright parent? Connie would still choose her mom over Mr Pita, though.
She stepped into the doorway before the door could fully close, rapping quietly on the door as she entered the classroom. "Good afternoon, Mom. I need to finish some work in the library. Is it fine if I use your key?"
Priyanka looked up from her desk. "Good afternoon, Connie." She absently reached for the key, her gaze already drawn back to her lesson notes. "Will you be long? I don't want you to be late for dinner again."
"Not terribly long, I don't think. It depends on how quickly I can find the right book." She needed to manage her mom's expectations without being too specific. "I'll certainly be out before dark."
"Oh..." — Mrs Maheshwaran handed over the key — "I may be finished before you, then. Be a good girl and lock up the building if I've already left."
Connie nodded formally. "I will. Thanks, mom."
She made her way to the library and quietly shut herself in. Unfolding the rumpled letter from her pocket, she carefully fed it back into the typesetting machine, determined to conclude her missive. It was unfortunate that she'd not had more time to get her thoughts in order, but it was looking as if she wouldn't have another opportunity beyond today. It was fortunate, and to her mom's credit, that however stern she might be she never restricted Connie's access to the library. It was the result of a sincere belief in the value of education, although Connie wondered how unshakeable her mom's beliefs would be if she knew precisely what Connie had learned since moving to settlement B1C7.
She focused on not making any mistakes as she lined up the wheels of the device. As it was, the text might not be perfect due to her having learned how to use the machine as she went along. Alongside this difficulty, she never felt entirely sure when it was or wasn't appropriate to capitalise nouns. Still, it was important not to introduce stupid mistakes as she concluded her thoughts.
She briefly moved over to the bookshelves when she heard movement in the adjacent room, but her mother did not enter the library. There was the sound of a door shutting, and Connie assumed she was now alone in the building.
She needed to get moving, but there was still the matter of signing her letter. She'd known from the start she wouldn't put her real name to it, but what would be an appropriate substitute? Maybe a stylish nom de plume? Not some clever anagram which could lead back to her, and negate the purpose of taking the time to draft it in such an anonymous medium. Perhaps there was some evocative historical or literary character she could name herself after, impudently shielded by inverted commas. But this, too, could tie it to influences unique to her life.
In the end, she decided to describe herself in bland and factual terms. A few minutes later the work was complete, and she carefully retrieved the paper that had already seen better days. She examined the completed work, its lettering blotchy at points but legible throughout.
It scarcely matters, she told herself in a moment of sudden negativity. The chances are that nobody will ever read it.
Hurrying out, she locked first the door to the library and then the building itself as she went outside. The sun was still over the horizon but the evening was growing cool. As casually as possible, she made her way over to the boardwalk.
There were still people out and about, especially here where food was being served. Connie would have liked nothing more than to make her way straight to the windmill, but she dared not risk making the journey while she could still be spotted, perhaps even by somebody who would report back to Ronaldo.
Instead she continued to her destination at the Frymans' kitchen door, where she was mildly vexed to find Buck Dewey already leaning on the opening, showing no signs that he was planning on leaving soon. In one hand he held a small bag of salted potato sticks — clearly the kitchen was back up and running.
"It's important to show this kind of support at times like these," he said, still facing the manufactory interior with a wry half-smile. "I heard the place was in quite a mess."
"We had some friends help clean up," came PeeDee's voice from within.
"That's nice of them," Buck nodded slowly. "Of course, it's one thing to help out behind closed doors, and another thing to come out in public and support the kitchen by accepting your food."
"You're a generous soul, Buck." There wasn't a trace of inflection in PeeDee's voice.
"Well, I know people look to me as the son of the civic leader. Rightly or wrongly, my patronage means a lot."
"Thanks for patronising us, Buck."
Buck grinned. "I don't see why people should stay away. Nothing was found. And that business from a few months back is all in the past. I was sorry to hear how that all turned out, by the way."
PeeDee was losing patience. "Looks like I have another customer," he said pointedly. By this point Connie had approached close enough to see his face, partially obscured by the half-door which was still slightly too high for him.
Buck turned to face Connie with no trace of surprise. He'd probably had her in his peripheral vision from the start. "Connie Maheshwaran, in the flesh. I'm sure you'd know better than most that the Frymans have done nothing we should be worried about."
For a moment she thought he knew something about their failed alliance. Then, her mind caught up. "My dad never talks to me about work stuff," she recited.
"Sure," he said, narrowing his eyes. "Neither does mine." His smile had taken on a strained, vaguely unpleasant quality.
Connie couldn't resist needling him. "I'm sure all of our parents are very professional," she said mildly.
Buck stopped slouching on the door and stood over Connie, looking down appraisingly. "Now, when are you coming to join us in the senior grade? I hear you're an accomplished scholar."
Connie glanced anxiously at the doorway, to no avail. "I've not been in a hurry," she told Buck. "It's hard enough getting used to living in a new settlement, so I look upon it as taking a break."
Buck nodded seriously. "Maybe that's wise," he said. "But at some point, you've got to get on and live life. Can't stay young forever."
"Youth is a primitive, human concept," Connie argued. "Maybe I don't accept that age confers wisdom."
Buck was smiling again. "You could be right. But it doesn't matter what value you place on these years. Soon they'll be gone, and you'll have to make the most of what time you've got left. We all will," he added, stuffing a handful of potato sticks into his mouth. "See you soon," he addressed Connie and PeeDee in between bites. Then, he turned on his heel and ambled off down the boardwalk.
Connie waited until he was beyond earshot. "I thought he'd never leave," she sighed, stepping up to the door. PeeDee was currently manning the kitchen alone. "Where's Ronaldo and your dad?"
"Dad went out to pick up some wood for repairs. Ronaldo's still trying to tidy up in the basement." He looked back through the kitchen, raising his voice. "I'm hoping he comes back up before it gets busy!"
"You're expecting business as usual? Buck seemed to be implying..."
"Eh, Buck's harmless," PeeDee interrupted. "He just likes the sound of his own voice. Nobody's bothered that we got hit by the gems — they must have hit half the settlement by now."
"Oh, that's good," Connie said. "I mean... well, you know what I mean."
PeeDee carefully regarded her. "Did you come here for food?" he prompted.
Connie reached into her pocket for her mom's key. Maintaining eye contact with PeeDee, she took his hand and placed the key in his palm. PeeDee dropped it in a pocket of his apron, recoiling slightly at the intensity of her manner. It had worked, though, in that he hadn't examined the key closely.
"Will you tell Ronaldo?" she asked. "Tell him I'm out, and I won't get in your way. You know I won't talk to anyone, because I'd get in just as much trouble myself."
PeeDee nodded, his brow furrowed with concern. "Here," he said before she could leave. He dipped a perforated ladle into a shallow pan, retrieving some chunks of fried vegetable. "Take some wedges. Just to say no hard feelings. And because... well, just because." He bagged the still-hot potato wedges and sprinkled some herbs on the top.
"Thanks." Connie accepted the bag, its aroma making her very aware she had skipped lunch. She took the long way home, enjoying the snacks as the evening breeze brought them to a bearable temperature. She observed Mr Smiley leaving the bakery with a fresh loaf, and others en route to the boardwalk for dinner. The windmill had stopped turning, but this was no guarantee it was deserted. There was no choice but to wait until the streets were empty of prying eyes. She was by this point walking in the shadow of the hills inland, and hurried to finish her wedges so she could get home on time.
The idea was that, believing her to no longer have access to the windmill, the Frymans would postpone their plans until another day. (With any luck, it would not occur to them to compare keys.) What she hadn't fully thought through was how she would get away with no longer having her mom's key to the education centre. Necessity being the mother of invention, she had considered it better to simply give it away and hope for the best.
Both of her parents were already home, at work in the kitchen. Her dad was preparing some vegetables for the evening meal, while her mom washed the modest crop of carrots they had recently brought in from the allotment. Connie offered a perfunctory greeting, then ran upstairs to her room to offload her coat. On her way back down, she stepped carefully down the stairs, attempting to refamiliarise herself with the creakiest boards.
The ingredients prepared, her dad was by now doing some washing up. Connie tried to linger unobtrusively, but soon found herself roped in to helping with menial kitchen tasks — drying a chopping board, laying out cutlery and so forth. In a way, she welcomed the diversion.
Her mom came in to inspect her progress in laying the table. "When you've done that, could you fill some water glasses?"
Connie nodded earnestly. "Certainly."
Midway through turning to leave, Mrs Maheshwaran checked herself and leaned back into the room. "Before I forget, do you have my key?"
"Oh, it was in my jacket pocket," Connie responded, failing to suppress a ball of tension in her core. "It'll be in my room now."
Her mom appeared to take this in stride. "I see."
Uncertainly, and without knowing why, Connie pushed her luck. "Do you... need it now..?"
A moment passed. Then, Priyanka shook her head. "As long as you haven't lost it," she said. "There are some knives that need drying when you've done the water."
The kitchen was oddly quiet as her parents worked on dinner. Connie wondered whether they both knew about the upcoming audit. Would her dad have shared this information? Quite possibly, but there was no way to tell. If it was behind the lack of conversation, then it was either because he didn't want to give anything away, or because they both didn't. Could it be that all three of them were bound to silence by this Damoclean threat?
The centrepiece of the meal was a chicken leg, the unfortunate fowl having breathed its last and been subsequently divided up between several families. To accompany it, they each had a cob of maize and some root vegetables which had been mashed up and folded in with spices. It smelled good, and Connie concluded that her appetite had not been spoiled by PeeDee's gift.
With the food dished out they settled at the dining table. For a while, there was only the clink of cutlery against plates. After a few minutes, Connie's dad broke the silence.
"It's official," he announced. "We're applying for a subsidy this winter."
"Hmm." Priyanka rested her fork on the table. "How much are they asking for?"
"I believe it's thirty fruits per household."
Connie looked from one parent to the other. "That's not too bad, is it? It doesn't sound like that much of a shortfall, for the whole winter."
"Well," her dad equivocated, "that's the figure Mr Dewey's putting forward. The next step will be that they'll come and inspect our stores to see if it's realistic."
Connie nodded in understanding. The synthetic fruit were dense in nutritional content, and a person could comfortably live out a day on just two or three of them. A seemingly modest subsidy could still reflect a significant failure in local production. It was conceivable that Mr Dewey might err on the side of prudence in his interpretation of the figures, but people needed to eat.
Her mom sighed abruptly. "It's been disappointing to find they're having trouble here too."
"What will happen..." — Connie made sure to phrase it as a hypothetical — "if all of the settlements run out of farmable land?"
"That shouldn't happen," her mom intoned. "And regardless, the Diamond Authority would provide for us."
"That'd be it, though, wouldn't it? We'd be a kept species, relying on them forever."
"There are worse fates," Priyanka murmured, cutting off a piece of chicken.
Connie remembered what Lars had said the first time she met him. "I heard someone say once that things should be done that way anyway. Since we already rely on them to survive."
Doug paused from agitating at a piece of food caught in his teeth. "I think it's healthier to live the way that we do and have that feeling of independence."
"But it is just a feeling, isn't it?" Connie persisted. "In the end, we have to do whatever they say."
"We don't have to," Mrs Maheshwaran pointed out. "But it would hardly be sensible to stir up trouble. Don't forget that the gems gain nothing from looking after us. Why would we want to make it more difficult for them?"
"I don't know," Connie muttered. "It's just been difficult, adjusting to the move. It's made me think about stuff."
"That's only natural," her father sympathetically assured her. "Sometimes things come out of the blue and it can be hard to deal with. It's best to just... put it behind you, and carry on as best you can."
"That's right," Priyanka agreed. "It's a natural part of growing up. Overcoming those doubts is just a part of life."
It had never really occurred to Connie before that her parents knew there was something unfair about Diamond Authority rule. They just pushed past it and carried on because everyone was reliant on the gems for subsistence. Did they even realise that they knew? Maybe everyone came to this understanding sooner or later, and lived out the rest of their lives in a conspiracy of silence, because it was better not to admit it to themselves or each other.
She felt a little bad for having pushed the subject. In their own way, her parents were trying to protect her, and it couldn't make them feel good to witness the slow death of her naivety.
"This is a nice meal," she said. It was true — the chicken had not died in vain.
"It is," her mom agreed.
"See," Doug grinned, "we can get by just fine for ourselves most of the time."
"I wouldn't trade being organic for anything," Connie smiled. "You get to eat delicious food."
"I'll drink to that." They clinked their glasses together, and for a few minutes the Diamond Authority was banished from the room.