25 Ricky and I are standing in a demo house in Wealth Sector . The floor-to-ceiling windows are flush against the wall of the dome. An E.C. has prepared drinks and laid out crudit és and little sandwiches. The couple sitting on the couch before us is young and refined, the wife sporting a still small but obvious pregnancy bump that juts out just slightly from her white oxford shirt. Her butterscotch skin reminds me of Shalla, but I ignore that and focus on the work before us. We have been meeting with potential buyers for days, moving from one pair to the next. None can believe they are here, much less considering leaving home for this, an undeveloped planet of swirling sand and endless space. They can’t picture what living here could mean, what they have is fear transforming into possibility and then back into fear again. Fear of the unknown in Mars, and fear of the known in Earth, and all there is that will be left behind. Still, there is possibility, something different, something better and something hopeful for their unborn child. “You sort of have us by the balls, here, right,” the husband says. “We can say this isn’t right for us, that we still believe in home, and we can leave. But, you know that’s crazy talk, that there’s nothing to truly go back to, not for long anyway. It’s this or what, nothing?” He takes his wife’s hands in his and she begins to tear up. “Look, we’re not interested in your balls,” Ricky says, “well, maybe Norrin is…” They both laugh. “We are interested in changing lives though, and showing you what’s possible,” Ricky continues. “This is the O R P H A N S 84 future and yes that can be scary, but you’re pioneers and you will be building something great, something that lasts and something for your kids and theirs.” They nod. “If it helps though,” I say, “you can have my balls as well. Not only am I married, but I already have a kid, and so I really don’t need them anymore.” We all laugh. And then we sign the papers. ...