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Those who underestimate my mother do so at their peril.
    I’ve never dared. My father’s genes may have dominated my appearance, but my intelligence is an inheritance from both parents
    “Hello,” I say, glancing about. I notice my father is seated near my grandparents, across the table from my mom. My eyes come to rest on the young man seated next to Captain Patel. The boy is a slighter, paler facsimile of the older man, with the same dark hair and the same liquid brown eyes fringed with impossibly thick black lashes.
    “Ann.” My mother motions for me to sit across from the young man. “Everyone, this is our daughter, Anna-Maria. Though she prefers you call her Ann.”
    My grandmother coughs to cover some comment in Spanish. I tap my grandfather’s shoulder as I sit between him and my father. We share a conspiratorial glance over my grandmother’s not-so-subtle reaction.
    “So,” says Captain Patel, “I assume you were two of the first people on Eco, Paloma and … ?”
    “Zolin.” My grandfather’s lips tighten. He’s clearly irritated the captain has already forgotten his name. “Paloma and Zolin Solano. Our son, Jason, is your host. Along with Tara, of course.”
    “And such gracious hosts too.” Patel lifts his glass. I note it’s filled with the wine Grandfather distills from grapes grown on Grandmother’s hydroponic vines. Also something reserved for special occasions.
    My mother seats herself beside Captain Patel, and I allow my gaze to wander about the room, wondering how our home appears to our visitors. Probably much like the quarters on their ship. Our small living space, with its riveted metal walls and tiny windows, closely resembles the interior of a spacecraft.
    “Ann,” my mother holds her glass between her thumb and forefinger like the stem of a rose, “this is Captain Connor Patel and his nephew, Dacian Keeling.”
    “Dace,” says the young man. His full lower lip rolls into a pout.
    I smile at him. It seems he also struggles with name difficulties. “Dace—that’s cool. Never known anybody with that name before. Captain Patel,” I nod my head. I’ve already heard his name bantered about the colony gossip mill, but it’s probably best not to acknowledge it.
    “Dacian’s a scientist,” the captain says. “I brought him along on this trip primarily for his own good. He’s conducted research and exploration on each of the planets we’ve visited.”
    “A modern-day Darwin?” My father leans forward to pass a platter of roasted vegetables to our guests. “Sorry, there’s no meat. Not very practical here, you understand.”
    Patel’s short black hair gleams with blue highlights under our solar lamps. “Quite all right. I’ve been a vegetarian all my life.”
    “My uncle grew up in India,” says Dace, spooning a heaping pile of vegetables onto his plate. “With my mom, who still lives there. I was born there too,” he adds, between bites.
    So Dace passes the one-hundred-percenter test. I’ll have to tell Emie.
    “Does that mean Dacian’s mother is your sister?” Mom taps Patel’s arm with her slender fingers. “There’s some goat cheese there, to your right, if you eat dairy.”
    “Yes, sister. Our parents have passed, so it’s just Nadia and me and Dacian.”
    “What about your dad?” My father asks, directing his words at Dace. “What does he do?”
    The boy stabs a carrot with his fork. “Disappears.”
    “You have cattle?” Patel asks, reaching for the plate of cheese.
    “Goats,” says my grandmother. “Brought the cloned genetic material with us and grew our own. Cows are too difficult.” She shrugs. “Too large, too particular about what they eat.”
    “You still clone copies?” Dace’s eyes brighten with interest.
    “No, we let nature take its course now. Easier.” My grandmother spoons roasted sweet potatoes, carrots, and endive onto her plate. “But we preserve some of the original genetic material, of course. One never knows what