The Voyage of the White Cloud

by M. Darusha Wehm

  The memory came with a wave of sadness. Elly wasn’t sure how much of the feeling was for the lost relationship and how much for what she was now starting to recognize as pity for Taha’s viewpoints. She picked up her tablet again and refocussed on the Faust set. There just had to be a way to make the system easier.

  “Sorry I’m late.”

  Taha’s voice was muffled by the cabinet in which Elly was crammed, but she recognized it easily. Wu was supposed to be on this job with her; what was Taha doing here? She carefully backed out of the cabinet, conscious of the fact that her rear end would be prominently displayed until she could extricate herself from the small space.

  “Where’s Wu?”

  “Morning sickness.”

  “I didn’t know she was pregnant.” Elly could practically hear Taha shrug. Babies, family, other people’s lives—they were trivia that Taha found tedious. Elly popped out of the cabinet and stood, stretching out her back. “I’m just about done with the interior finishing. Want to start on the countertops?”

  “Why don’t I finish up in there?” Taha said. “You look like you’ve been cramped up in a tiny space for too long.”

  Damn. Faults notwithstanding, Taha could be a sweetheart. “Sure. I’m going to grab tea then I’ll be back.” She tried not to hurry to the door of the half-finished quarters. She forced herself to stop and turned back. “Thanks.”

  Taha nodded, then started gingerly climbing into the cabinet.

  There was no one in the canteen but Elly took her time with the tea. She wished she could move on, treat Taha like any other colleague. There was never any indication of ill will between them, and Taha had never pressured her into rekindling their romance. Elly knew it was all her, all her own conflicted feelings. She had been the one to end it and it had been the right decision. But she couldn’t help that she still cared for Taha; some part of her still longed for them to be together.

  She couldn’t stay in the canteen forever, so walked back to the quarters they were working on. The muffled sounds of construction emanated from the cabinet, and she picked up her tablet to consult the plans for the counters. She picked up her tools, so perfectly moulded to her hands, and began to work. As usual for her, it didn’t take long before that sense of flow took over and the counters seemed to assemble themselves under her hands. It was only the absence of sound from the cabinet that brought her out of focus to realize that Taha was standing behind her.

  “Shift’s over.”

  “Yeah, I guess,” Elly said, wiping her forehead with a dusty hand. “Ought to be done in here tomorrow.”

  Taha nodded. “Wu will probably be back. I’m just filling in for people right now.”

  “Oh yeah,” Elly said looking at Taha. “That’s too bad. It was nice working together.”

  Taha’s gaze held her for a long time and Elly wondered what her former partner was feeling. She’d never really known. Taha was a puzzle in so many ways—that was a big part of what she’d been drawn towards. Did Taha miss her, too? Was Elly the only one who knew that they were no good for each other, but secretly missed the tension?

  “See you around,” Taha said with a small smile, then turned and walked out of the room. Elly let a laugh escape. She would never know, would she?

  “Shh,” Sandy said as Elly walked into her quarters. “He’s out like a light.”

  “I’m not surprised,” Elly said. “I remember my first time in the weightless room. I think I pulled every muscle in my body.” She walked into the galley and fished around in the tea drawer. Something calming. She needed to get a decent sleep tonight. Maybe she should go bouncing around with André. She looked up and was surprised to see Sandy still there.

  “Everything okay?” she asked.

  “Sure. Just, uh, I dunno…” Sandy avoided her eyes and Elly hoped that her neighbour wasn’t going to quit the babysitting job. She didn’t want to make anyone do anything they weren’t enjoying, but Sandy was a great babysitter.

  “It’s okay,” she said. “You can talk to me.”

  Sandy glanced over at Elly then looked away again. “I just—how do you do it? You seem so keen on everything. Your work, André, the theatre stuff. It’s like even if you could do anything, even if you weren’t trapped here, you’d still choose the life you have.”

  “My life isn’t perfect, Sandy.” She thought about Taha, about what it was like to love someone so utterly wrong for you, yet so strongly that you couldn’t even think of looking elsewhere. “Not by a long shot.” The teen’s face took on that look that Elly remembered from her own youth—that an adult was being patronizing. “But you’re not wrong, I am happy. I do like my job; I love André and the theatre work. Maybe I’m just lucky that I have an aptitude for things that are useful. Or maybe there are more opportunities than it seems. I know a lot of people spend their lives wishing for things to be different in a way they never can be. But there are so many things that make life meaningful here, it seems to me it’s only a matter of finding what works for you.”

  She took a sip of tea and looked around her quarters. André’s toys were scattered over the space, mixed among her tablets and schematics. “I know that doesn’t sound very helpful, but it’s true. Work and family are like doors. They can lock you in, or they can open up and let you out.”

  Chapter 13

  Heroes of the White Cloud

  “Good morning class. All right, all right, settle down, now. Juli, stop that! Okay, now can I get you all to turn on your desks and jump to the history bookmark? Everyone there? Good.

  “So yesterday we talked about the selection process for the ship’s company, and now we’re going to focus on one part of that group in particular. Can anyone tell me who the most important people were in the beginning of the voyage? Yes, Kristina?”

  “Was it the nutritionists?”

  “No, though that’s a good guess.”

  “But everyone needs to eat.”

  “That’s true, Sam, but they brought pre-made food with them for the first part of the trip. The nutritionists, botanists, farmers and chefs would become important soon, but not immediately. And, Sam, next time don’t forget to ring in before you speak, okay? Good.

  “No, try to think about who would be absolutely crucial right from the start. People who would be doing things that the entire mission would depend on.

  “…

  “Anyone?

  “…

  “Yes, Becky, you look like you might have an idea.”

  “Um… what about the bridge crew?”

  “Exactly! The people who fly the ship, who navigate the stars! In those first few days of the voyage, they were the only people standing between success and failure for the First Heroes of the White Cloud. So let’s hear a little bit about them today, shall we?”

  “How was school today, sweetie?” Carolyn gave her daughter a hug then turned toward the small galley. She picked up the container with their dinner that she’d gotten from the canteen and gathered bowls and forks. She placed everything on the small table and watched as her daughter methodically unpacked her schoolbag. It was a ritual that Carolyn knew was probably a sign of something a bit strange in Becky’s brain, but that she found strangely comforting to watch. She wondered if perhaps it was a trait she shared with her daughter, albeit in a less significant way. Regardless, she had convinced herself that unless it began to interfere with her life, her daughter could keep her daily routines without interference.

  “School was good,” Becky said once her few things were arranged the way she liked. She looked at her mother, eyes wide. “We’re learning about the bridge crew.”

  “Oh,” Carolyn said. “That’s exciting. You remember your Auntie Celia went to Crew a couple of years ago?”

  Becky nodded solemnly. “We don’t see Auntie Celia any more.”

  “No,” Carolyn said, “that’s just how it is when you become Crew.” She felt the old familiar sense of loss come over her and tried to ignore it. “Maybe you’ll
learn about what Celia is doing on the bridge.”

  Becky shook her head. “It’s history class.”

  Carolyn portioned out the food, taking care to separate the colours in Becky’s bowl. “So, who are you learning about?”

  “The first crew,” Becky said, spearing a bit of broccoli. “It’s part of the unit on the First Heroes.”

  “Ah,” Carolyn said. She had a fluttering feeling in her stomach that she hoped the rich sauce in the stew would quell. She had never liked that term for the initial company of the ship. It had overtones of worship that she found very uncomfortable. But she didn’t think she could articulate her objection well enough to talk to Becky’s teacher about it. Words were not her speciality—pipes and fittings were. And she couldn’t argue that the people who first left old Earth for a destination they would never see were heroes. The veneration just seemed somehow unseemly.

  “Today we learned about Nadia Saïd,” Becky said, putting her fork down. “She was from an island on old Earth called Australia. Many of the First Heroes were from islands in the Specific Ocean, because of the water getting bigger? We haven’t learned about that part yet. Anyway, Nadia Saïd was a farmer in Australia, but she didn’t want to stay on old Earth any more. She worked really hard in the training program, learned all kinds of different things and was chosen for the bridge crew! Some of the stories from back then say she could lift people off the ground with one arm!”

  Carolyn forced a smile and let Becky recite what she had learned. No matter what she may think about the way the school was teaching history, she couldn’t complain about the sense of importance the work was given. She would have preferred them to describe people and their deeds with more accuracy and less embellishment, but the students were only children after all. They liked stories with heroes and magicians, and if it made them appreciate where they came from, well, maybe it didn’t hurt to give the lowest ranking member of the initial bridge crew superhuman strength. Surely the kids would grow up and eventually realize that it was just a story.

  Becky finally finished recounting her day and Carolyn took the opportunity to talk about what she had done. She couldn’t imagine that her seven-year old daughter understood much about what she said, but when she was talking that meant that Becky would eat. Her daughter’s reliance on routines was frustrating to people who weren’t familiar with her, but it made Carolyn’s life easier. When Carolyn wanted Becky to do something in particular, she just had to enact the right ritual. When she saw other mothers fighting to get their kids to behave, Carolyn was grateful for her daughter’s quirks.

  “All right, children, today I’m going to tell you about the great navigator Yolanda. Do any of you know the story of Yolanda and the spider?”

  “Yolanda saw a spider on her way to the ship and used the spider’s power to find the web of stars.”

  “Yes, Juli, that’s one of the versions of the spider story. I’m going to tell you a slightly different one.

  “It was the day of leaving, the day all of the First Heroes had trained long and hard to see. They left the training facilities on old Earth and walked the long trail to the hatch of the ship. There were people on either side to see them off—family, friends. They knew they would never see the heroes again, but even though that made them sad, they were proud of the great journey these people would be making. The most wondrous journey of all time.

  “The crew were the last people in the line to board the ship. They walked slowly toward the hatch, stopping to talk to people along the way, leaving little gifts for people to remember them by. Yolanda was walking toward a friend when she stopped, as if by an invisible force. People around her asked each other what it was, then watched as Yolanda bent down to the ground. She held out her hand and let a small spider climb onto her palm.

  “She said to the people, ‘I am leaving this place. I will never return. My children will never know the touch of an atmosphere, the heat of a sun. But it is for the people of the future that I go, that we all leave you here. We are not abandoning Earth. We are taking the Earth’s children to the stars, to give us all a better chance for the future. And I will take this, one of Earth’s tiniest creatures, with us as a reminder of the wonder of this place.’ Then she boarded the ship, spider and all.”

  “Is Yolanda’s spider still here?”

  “That’s a good question, Rachel. Most spiders live only for a few years, and even the ones who live longest only live about twenty years. So it’s impossible that any spiders from Earth that came aboard the ship would still be alive today. But that initial spider lives on in its offspring, and the idea that Yolanda’s spider represents—the memory of our old home on Earth—that idea is very much still here, don’t you think? Yes, Becky?”

  “You said this was a story.”

  “I did.”

  “So, did it really happen? Did Yolanda really bring a spider on this ship?”

  “No one knows, really. Some people think the stories about the First Heroes are true historical facts, but other people think they are metaphors. That means that they are made up stories that describe the truth, without being factually true themselves. But it’s not as important whether the events in the stories really happened exactly the way the stories say they did. The important thing is that we learn the message these stories are trying to teach us. So, what do you think the messages are in the story of Yolanda’s spider?”

  “I think it’s great that they teach the next generation about us like we’re superheroes.” Zell had her feet up on the waste processing tank and sipped from her mug of tea. She made a face. “Though you know who real superheroes would be? Whoever manages to make something hot to drink that doesn’t taste like dirt. Ugh.” She put the mug down and pushed it away.

  “You really think so?” Carolyn asked.

  “Yeah,” Zell said. “This stuff is disgusting.”

  “Not the tea. The way they tell these stories like they’re maybe almost true. Becky told me that her teacher wouldn’t outright say that they’re made up. I mean, these are children. They’ll believe anything an adult says.”

  “What’s the harm in a little magic?” Zell said. “They grow up soon enough, and reality will get them then. For now, why not let them think people can do anything?”

  “I don’t know,” Carolyn said. “Because it isn’t true? And because the truth is better than supernatural abilities for a few. I want Becky to grow up knowing that she is as capable as any of the people that came before her, that we got where we are by working hard, by working together. That it isn’t magic, it’s human intelligence.”

  Zell shrugged her broad shoulders. “I’m sure she’ll get that.”

  “Yeah, because I’ll tell her,” Carolyn said. “But not every mother will. What about those kids?”

  “I don’t know,” Zell said.

  “Well, I know,” Carolyn said. “I’ve sent an official request to the Council to have a ruling on the way they are teaching history. I’m hoping we can get rid of all this hero-worship nonsense.”

  “Gee, Carolyn,” Zell said, “why not get rid of all worship while you’re at it.”

  “Indeed. Why not?” Carolyn said and her friend and colleague rolled her eyes.

  “Well, now that you’ve solved the religion problem, we better get back to this tank. You got the router ready?”

  “Yeah.” Carolyn frowned. Disagreeing with Zell made her tense, but she didn’t have anyone else to talk to. Outside work, she spent all her time with Becky. She fitted the tool to the maintenance duct and got to work.

  When Carolyn got to her quarters, they were empty. Becky would be home any minute, though—she was a punctual child. Carolyn sat in her usual chair, thinking. She was still there when the door slid open and Becky came in.

  “Hi, mom,” she said, hoisting her bag up on to the table. She sat in her chair and began to unpack.

  “Hi, sweetie,” Carolyn said, not getting up. She let Becky lay out her school supplies. When the little girl w
as done, she stayed at the table, staring across to the seat Carolyn usually occupied at this time. She made no sign to move.

  “Sweetie,” Carolyn said, “can you come over here? I’d like to talk with you.”

  “But it’s suppertime.” Becky said, unmoving.

  “I know it is, but I’d like to talk.”

  “Food first, then we talk,” Becky said, her voice beginning to quaver a little. Carolyn sighed and got up. She wanted to get this over with, before she forgot the careful phrasings she’d planned. But she knew her daughter. Food first, then we talk. There could be no other way of doing things without a struggle. And Carolyn wanted Becky to listen to what she had to say, not spend all her energy on trying to make a chaotic situation more orderly.

  “Okay,” she said, heating up some food in the small bulkhead-mounted unit.

  “We learned about multiplication today.” Becky said the long word slowly, each syllable carefully enunciated, but correctly. “It’s like stacking things in a grid. To make four across and three down you need twelve things.”

  “Very good,” Carolyn said, as the oven bleeped. She opened the hatch and savoury steam escaped. Her stomach rumbled. Becky was probably right about eating first, after all.

  She dished out the food and Becky told her more about the math lesson. Of course, Carolyn wanted to think her daughter was bright and talented, but it really did seem as though Becky had a head for numbers. She wasn’t really surprised—math was Celia’s strength, too, and Becky’s fondness for symmetry and order always reminded Carolyn of geometry.

  Becky’s account of her day petered out and Carolyn took her own turn. “Have you learned about the old human custom of religion yet?” she asked and Becky, mouth full of food, shook her head. “It’s something that used to be important to many people on old Earth. They told stories about the creation of the land and the sky, stories about important people, stories about why things happened in the natural world. The stories made people feel like they understood a world which was confusing and often frightening. They helped people find meaning in their lives.”