"Nothing," she says, staring down at the blue planet. The sun is a distant ball of light, its glare and power absorbed by the solar glass.
"Then get back to your desk," orders Mrs Monroe, offering the empty seat.
Annie turns away and slumps in her chair. "Yes, Doctor Monroe."
"How many times do I have to tell you, I'm not a Doctor."
"About the only person who isn't," mumbles Annie. It's not fair, she thinks, looking back to the blue planet. The solar glass stretches across the entire wall; the entire side of this pod constantly facing the sun. Looking back at Mrs Monroe, who continues her history lesson, she stares into the vastness beyond The solar tubes arc for miles, connected in grids, like highways, with family pods linked like roads.
"... and there came a point where all the petty fighting and squabbling became too much; the danger of death over oil or territories too likely. So we developed our technology, and on Eden day, we fled, leaving all the war behind."
"It's not right," says Annie. "What we did. They needed us. They need us. If everything you've said is true."
"They do. And one day, when the time is right, we will share with them what we have learned, and it will be Eden for everyone."
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