Author's Notes: One thing that's started to bother me as I get older and more practical-minded is that lack of development of how the colonies actually work. I mean, that's hardcore sci fi, right there! Why has no one been incorporating that into their fics? Screw the mechas, man!

I put my little brain to use and inferred a lot from the existng GW resources and what I know about our current space exploration and future plans. I hope my sparse explanations are enough to both create the world in your mind, and not confuse you. ;;

...and apologies for a very brief chapter. It seemed like a good idea at the time!

-Lady Lye

Chapter Fourteen

Saturday didn't dawn so much as fade in, a gray dulled by fog that would become tomorrow's rain. I was the only one who appeared to be bothered by this.

"They can control everything but they still have rain?" I demanded at breakfast, waiting uselessly while Wufei prepared a heavy oat porridge on the stove for us both.

He seemed unusually serene this morning, though. "If there were no rain, how would the plants be refreshed? How would the crops know the changing of the seasons?"

My mouth opened and closed, "Th—there are crops here? Out here?"

Wufei nodded, giving the porridge another stir. "The colony is big, Mei. This is the Third Quadrant, mostly city. But the First is mostly farmland. It would be too expensive to import everything."

I tried not to gape; it seemed like such an obvious thing, now. "What do they grow?"

"A little of everything," he said carelessly, setting a spoonful aside to cool and taste. "Grains do quite well now that they've found the right combination of synthesized sunlight. Vegetables, though they're not as happy. Tubers, some fruit. L4 is trying to grow some exotics, like oranges."

I looked up at him, alarmed. "You can't get oranges here?!"

"They're very expensive. Fresh ones even more so."

That was certainly a disappointment. I leaned against the kitchen counter, wondering what I would eat if not sticky wedges of tropical fruits. You could pick them off the neighbors' trees in some parts of China. I would miss that.

Not that I planned to stay in space long enough to really miss it.

I turned back to the stove and found Wufei nodded, the spoon leaving his lips. "I expect you'll drown it in sugar, but it's ready."

Wufei was surprised to find himself conversing so easily in the old language. He had grown up completely bilingual, of course—Chinese was a part of the Chang legacy, but to survive every child needed to learn the common tongue, a mutant of English that had, over the years, absorbed anything and everything it found useful. The war had forced him to use it constantly, and by the time he signed on with the Preventors he was better than fluent. He knew he could still speak Chinese, of course, he and Sally would conduct their most secretive business meetings in it, but the ease with which he spoke to Wumei now was a pleasant surprise.

It took some prodding to get her to set the table while he instructed her, but a sea change seemed to have set in. The sullen, contentious teenager was no longer fighting him at every step. She had apologized last night, and he had to admit, the rest of their evening had come close to… well, neither enjoyable nor relaxing, but certainly not painful.

Not that she was ready to give up fighting entirely. "Why is your office so full of books?" she asked, nearly demanding, as though he had done something unsuitable.

Wufei snorted and filled both their bowls with the hot oats. "It's customary to keep your tools in your workspace. I believe that's international."

She scowled. "Yes, but why so many?"She couldn't work out what it was about the room that bothered her so, but she had found mysteries enough and she needed to put at least one of them aside.

"Put these on the table," he said, handing her the bowls. She held them in the air, waiting for a reply. When he didn't, she huffed and did as she was asked. "I like to read. I like to learn."

"Those looked almost like textbooks. Who likes to read textbooks?"

"Not textbooks, most of them." Wufei sought the right word, dredging the translation up from his past. "Texts, yes. Research. Books written by experts in their fields."

She looked at him skeptically. "These aren't textbooks, how?"

"They're not meant for teaching. They're meant for other scholars to read. It's a way of sharing your theories."

"Oh." Wumei took her seat, letting him finish up in the kitchen and allowing him to sit before asking another question. "How is a biography a theory?"

He puzzled through her pronunciation before responding. "It's pronounced BI-og-raphy, not bio-graphy. Those can have theories, too. Some message they're trying to prove." Calmly, he added honey to his oats, with just a touch of milk. She watched him, her mind on other things, before tasting her own bowl. She grimaced and quickly began doctoring her own mix. "It's about interpretation."

"Ah." Wumei stirred her bowl, watching the glutinous mush loosen and become more liquid as she added honey and milk in great spoonfuls. Wufei was about to warn her of this, when she threw out a question he had not been expecting. "How old were you during the Eve Wars?"

He put down his spoon, no longer interested, and stared at her. "How old was I?"

She nodded, unperturbed. "I know they were a long while ago—but not that long ago."

Wufei put aside thoughts of breakfast and errands turned all his attention on her. "They were both a very long time ago, and also a mere moment ago."

She gave him an odd look. "That's what I said."

"I was fifteen when the wars began."

"And when they ended?"

"Going on seventeen."

Now it was her turn to look at him strangely. "There's no way you're my father."

That, too, was disgruntling! Wufei was losing patience now. "What are you talking about?"

"Genji Ma said my father was a great man," 'Mei said insistently. "She said he was highly trained and wise and that he died defending our family home. Not some scrawny teenager." She ignored the memory of the photo she had looked at last night; scrawny was not the word that came to mind for that boy. She also chose to ignore the color and—anger?—growing on his pale face. "They don't let boys in the army. Boys aren't that brave or smart. I should know, I go to school with them!"

Wufei was furious. Utterly furious. It was the same damn argument all over again—the same derision he had faced every say since his descent to Earth for the very first time, since he tried to interact with adults as an adult.

But he would not be disrespected in his own home by a girlchild who no doubt that she, at fifteen, was a perfect grown up!

His flattened palm banged against the table, making their cutlery jump, and Wumei with it. She was startled into looking at him, and then couldn't look away.

She had crossed some kind of line, that was obvious. If only she knew where.

"There were boys in that war. There are always boys in war. They sneak in, or they're conscripted, but they are always there. They fight, and sometimes they die, and sometimes they win," the intensity in his eyes was frightening; he pinned her to her seat, consuming her focus. "Do not underestimate young men, Wumei. They will always surprise you. Most young men your age are better equipped to handle a war right now than you may ever be. And should it come to that—the gods forbid—your life will be dependent on them." Her eyes were large as a terrified deer's. He tossed his napkin on the table and stood. He was no longer hungry. "We'll go get you a futon when you're done eating. I'm going to take a shower."

The tension did not leave the small space when he did, and the girl remained motionless for several long minutes, listening to the water run at the far end of the apartment.

Hells below, what had she said?