The Neptune Project Read Online Free PDF Page A

Casey clears his throat. That’s all he has to do today to get thirty of us to quiet down and quickly find our seats.
    â€œWe are honored that Deputy Minister Torpel of the Department of Population Allocation for our southern sector is here today. He has come to personally deliver a special announcement that affects us all.”
    The classroom falls silent as the deputy minister enters our room and strides to the front. There, he turns to survey us. I tremble when I realize how cold and dead his eyes look. In the back of my mind, I try to figure out where I’ve seen eyes that cold before.
    â€œThe Department of Agriculture,” the deputy minister says in a curt, crisp tone, “has determined that the crop yields here in Santero have been below average for five years now.”
    Someone dares to snicker at that. We all know that in this case, “below average” is “nonexistent” in government-speak. The deputy’s expression tightens. “I’m surprised you young people find that amusing. I can assure you that your government does not.” He stares at each of us so intently I sink lower in my chair.
    â€œThe Department of Border Defense is likewise concerned about the rampant smuggling that continues to flourish in this region,” he continues at last, “despite the Marine Guard’s dedicated efforts to eradicate it. Citizens of the Western Collective are to share their resources, not hoard them or use them to buy luxuries, especially during times of hardship. Smugglers cater to the selfish, privileged few, and we are determined to stop them once and for all.”
    Everyone in my classroom knows that members of the government are the privileged few most apt to buy goods from the smugglers, but no one dares to point out that fact to Deputy Minister Torpel.
    â€œWe believe the fisher folk of Goleta continue to aid and abet these smugglers. Therefore, the Ministers of Agriculture, Population Allocation, and Border Defense have decided it’s time to move the people of Santero and Goleta to various communities farther inland, where their efforts will help boost food production for our entire nation.”
    I struggle to understand his government-speak, and then his meaning slams into me like a killer wave. Minister Torpel is here to make the fishermen abandon their boats and move inland. That means my mother and I are going to have to move away from the sea, and from our dolphins.

I DIG MY FINGERNAILS hard into my thighs, trying to hold back the cry of protest building in my throat. My classmates aren’t so careful. Angry murmurs rise all around me.
    The murmurs cease as the deputy minister raises his hand and coldly surveys us once again. Suddenly I realize where I’ve seen eyes like his before. The big sharks, like makos and great whites, have cold, dead eyes just like the minister’s.
    â€œWe are giving your parents two days to pack and prepare to leave. I suggest that you young people do everything you can to help them.” He goes on to talk in a more friendly tone about what wonderful places we may get to live, but his shark eyes are anything but friendly.
    Several girls start crying noisily the moment he leaves our classroom. Mr. Casey dismisses us in a choked voice. He wishes us good luck as we file by him, but he tugs at my sleeve to halt me.
    â€œNere, I hope you keep up with your reading,” he says urgently.
    â€œI’ll try,” I mumble. As much as I’ve loved his books, reading about tormented people hundreds of years ago just doesn’t seem that important to me right now. There’s plenty of torment in my present.
    Walking out of our school, I can’t slow the torrent of questions rushing through my head: how can I possibly leave Mariah, Sokya, Densil, and Tisi? How can I live away from the sea? My lungs are always so much worse in the dry air inland. What if lung meds are as scarce there as they are here? This