The Voyage of the White Cloud

by M. Darusha Wehm

  “Maybe we can talk at watch change,” she said without looking at him, and turned away to walk down the hall.

  Oki held a loaf of bread and a hunk of cheese. She wondered if he would wait for her to leave as well, but he took a step toward her. “I don’t do well in groups,” he said, taking the food from her and keeping a good distance.

  “None of us do,” Oki said. “It’s not usually like this. New people make us... different.”

  He nodded and turned to the counter. He started opening drawers and cupboards, and Oki let him find his way around. He made a sandwich and then sat at the small table. “I’ll leave if you want,” Oki said.

  “It’s okay,” Matthew said. “I knew this wouldn’t be easy, and the sooner I get used to you all the better it will be.” He took a bite and Oki watched him chew. When he’d swallowed, he said, “You’re the engineer?”

  Oki nodded. “I was a mechanic in Society first—I worked in the engine room. I like machines, they are easy to understand. You just have to listen to them, you can hear where they are badly aligned or grinding. Not like people.”

  “When did you become Crew?”

  Oki shrugged. “When I refused to have a baby. I’d been sent to the medclinic. They were preparing to admit me, when this woman in a nice suit arrived and talked to the doctors. I’d never even heard of Crew until then. I’d never thought about who ran the ship, made sure the course was true, kept watch. I just made sure the pumps pumped and the gears turned. But when she explained Crew life to me, I knew it was what I wanted.”

  “To run the ship?” he asked.

  Oki shook her head. “To be left alone.” She saw a look of recognition in his face, picked up her tablet and walked out the door of the galley.

  “He’s not like I thought he would be,” Jenn said. Oki looked up from her tablet and waited for her to explain. “I mean, he looks so strange, but he’s just like us.” Oki said nothing and Jenn didn’t elaborate. Eventually she gave an almost imperceptible shrug and turned away. Oki picked up her tablet again and Jenn left the bridge.

  Oki didn’t go back to her story, though. Something about what Jenn said bothered her. She didn’t agree, but that wasn’t uncommon. But she had a feeling in her stomach that reminded her of eating too much bread. Something about what Jenn said made her feel... uncomfortable.

  She wondered what it would be like if someone said something like that about her. She knew she wasn’t just like anyone else, even here in Crew. But it didn’t bother her if people thought she was no different from them. What other people thought was usually not something that concerned her at all. No, it wasn’t the comparison that bothered her. So it must be the comment about Matthew looking strange. Oki certainly didn’t think he looked strange.

  His skin was darker than her own, but he was paler than the captain. He was taller than Oki, but Evie was taller still. He kept his hair long, but so did she. He was slim, but Jenn could easily have fit into his clothes. He was, Oki thought, very average. She wondered what Jenn saw in him that was strange, and then wondered why that word seemed to bother her so much.

  She checked the clock and saw that her watch was three-quarters done. The last few days, Matthew had taken to coming up to the bridge for the last hour of Oki’s watch. He’d use the time together to ask her technical questions about the readouts and the ship’s engine, but they didn’t talk much. Sometimes he’d just stare out the port while she read. She found herself looking forward to the end of her watch and his company.

  Right on time the door to the bridge slid open and Oki looked up to see Matthew come on deck. She nodded at him and he smiled, but neither spoke. He went over to his station and sat, poking at the screens. Oki put her tablet down and tried to remember how people began conversations about abstractions. None of the examples she could remember seemed appropriate.

  “Why are you here?” she asked, after abandoning the various other openings she considered.

  Matthew frowned. “Am I bothering you?”

  Oki shook her head. “No, why are you here, in Crew? Why did you leave Society?”

  “Oh,” he said, and turned his chair to face her. He looked at her for a moment. “When was the first time you knew you weren’t like other people?”

  She thought. “I was in school,” she said. “I liked school, more than the other children did. I didn’t understand why they weren’t more excited about learning things, but they didn’t really have anything to do with me. As long as they didn’t get in the way, I didn’t care. But even then I thought it was something wrong with them—maybe that I was more mature, smarter… It wasn’t until I overheard my teacher talking to my mother than I understood.” Oki paused, remembering. She didn’t like remembering this, but somehow she felt like it was important to tell it to Matthew. “My mother was crying, and I knew it was because of me. I think she thought that because I didn’t cry and laugh like the other children that I didn’t feel things, but I did. Seeing her cry because of me was hard. I…” She pursed her lips and thought about how she felt. “I think that was when I knew that there was something wrong with me.”

  Matthew nodded. “How old were you?”

  “Six.”

  “Of course, I always knew,” he said, “it was unavoidable. My first memory was trying to play with other kids in our sector and someone screaming for her mother to save her from the monster. All I’d done was ask to see her dolly.” He shrugged. “My mother did her best, after all she had chosen to have me even once she knew I was going to be a boy. She knew it wouldn’t be easy. But even when she put me in a playgroup with the other boys, it didn’t get any better.” He turned slightly to look out the port. He didn’t say anything for a moment and Oki wondered if he was finished talking to her. Her tablet chirped, notifying her that she was now off-watch, but she made no move to leave the bridge.

  “I don’t know why it surprised her so much that I didn’t fit in there, either,” Matthew said, finally. “I guess she must have assumed that all my problems were about being a boy, but as soon as I met another boy I knew that wasn’t it. It’s just me, I guess.” He turned to look at Oki. “Like you. We’re not… typical.”

  “No,” Oki said. “We’re not.”

  It only took a couple of weeks before Matthew stopped asking Oki about technical details. He was quick and understood mechanics easily. She was pleased and thought he would make a good captain one day. He still joined her on the bridge at the end of her shifts, but they rarely spoke. She read and he puttered about, doing whatever it was that the ship’s mate did. It was a fine routine until Evie began to join them.

  She had no reason to be on the bridge, Oki thought. She was the purser, in charge of provisioning for their food and quarters. Oki tried to remember the number of times she’d ever seen Evie on the bridge outside of a crew meeting, and couldn’t come up with any examples. Until Matthew Peelu had arrived. Now, she was finding excuses to be on deck almost every day. Every time she arrived when there was no reason for her to be there, Oki developed an itchy feeling all over her body. It wouldn’t go away until either she or Evie left the bridge.

  “So, are you getting acclimatized?” Evie asked Matthew, leaning against the bulkhead so that he couldn’t avoid looking at her.

  “Everything is fine,” he answered. “I am sure I will be ready to take over for Ana when the captain moves on.”

  “Oh, I’m not worried,” Evie said, leaning forward and putting her hand on his shoulder. Oki was trying and failing to ignore them, and caught Matthew’s eye. She thought he looked itchy, too. She saw Evie lean in toward Matthew and whisper something. His eyes grew large and he stared at Oki. She could see him pushing his back into his seat, and wondered if he even knew he was doing it.

  She coughed and put down her tablet with a clatter. Evie stepped back, and looked at her, her face scrunched into a frown. Oki looked back at her. “You don’t belong here.”

  Evie’s nostrils flared. “You laying claim to him, is that it?”


  Oki didn’t understand what she was talking about, but it didn’t matter. “If you don’t have work on the bridge, you shouldn’t be here,” she said.

  “You can’t watch him all the time,” Evie said, narrowing her eyes at Oki, then walked off the deck.

  “Thanks,” Matthew said when she was gone.

  “I don’t like it when she’s here,” Oki said, “she doesn’t belong.”

  Matthew nodded and turned back to his screen. Oki picked up her tablet and read until her watch was over.

  “Everything was fine until he got here,” Naomi said. Evie was sitting in a corner of the galley, red in the face, while Naomi talked to the captain. Loudly. Oki stood just outside the door to the galley, not wanting to enter while the three women were in there. She hoped they would finish their conversation and leave soon; it was the time she usually ate.

  “Naomi, Evie’s behaviour has been inappropriate and just plain disturbing,” the captain said, her voice lower but still easily heard from the hall. “For pity’s sake, Ev, you’re old enough to be his mother.”

  “But I’m not his mother,” Evie said, her voice shaking.

  “I can’t believe the Committee didn’t realize this would happen,” Naomi said. “We can’t be expected to just pretend he’s one of us.”

  “It’s not my fault,” Evie said. “It’s too much temptation.”

  “Well, either you get a hold of yourself,” the captain said, “or we’ll have to replace you.”

  “But he’s the problem,” Naomi said. “He should be the one who’s replaced.”

  “Naomi,” the captain said, sighing, “you do realize that he may be the only man in the crew today, but it won’t stay that way. We are all going to have to learn to live together.”

  “I said it was a bad idea to start having boy children,” Naomi said, “I knew it would cause problems.”

  “Maybe you were right,” the captain said, “but it’s done now and we just have to live with it. Now I don’t want to see either of you until tomorrow at the earliest. I’m tired of this whole affair.” Oki had to step back as Naomi and Evie left the galley. Evie wouldn’t meet Oki’s eyes.

  She walked into the galley, where the captain was sitting at the table, her head in her hands. Oki went to the food unit and began making herself a meal. “Sometimes I wonder if we’re all just wasting our time,” she said. Oki didn’t answer. “Do we really need to be filling the universe with more of our insecurities, our inability to recognize ourselves in each other? Are we really worth saving?”

  “Are you asking me?”

  “Sure,” the captain said, a rare smile on her face. “Why not?”

  Oki sat and thought. “I don’t think we have enough information to know the answer,” she said after a moment. “So we need to err on the side of survival. It is our nature, after all.”

  The captain nodded. “You’re right,” she said. “It is our nature, and that’s both the solution and the problem.”

  Chapter 16

  Captain's Log

  Log Addendum, January 24, 2573, Crew Committee

  This is the unabridged log of Captain Mathilde Hana. While the Committee has access to the log and does review its contents from time to time, it does not alter entries. Please be aware that the significant breaks between entries do not indicate removal of data. Captain Hana chose not to update the log with any regularity, and to discontinue her entries four decades before her captaincy ended. We regret the loss of her insights into that period.

  Captain’s Log—October 9, 2486

  This feels ridiculous. I’ve been told that I have to start keeping a record, for the next captain. I don’t know why, the automated ship’s log will tell her everything she needs to know. But I couldn’t think up a reason not to do it other than that I didn’t want to, so here I am. Talking to myself.

  So. New captain. I guess this is really for your benefit; maybe I should just address this to you, then. I’d feel a little less silly talking to someone specific, even if I don’t know you.

  You probably aren’t even born yet.

  I’m only thirty-one. I became Ship’s Mate when I was nineteen, expected to be the Mate for a long time. That’s how it usually goes. But Cheryl—Captain Sommer—she had that accident and I guess you could call it a battlefield promotion. Hopefully it won’t go that way for you and me.

  Funny, that. If nothing happens to me, when you hear this you’ll be older than I am now. Now this feels even more ridiculous.

  I can’t do this.

  End log.

  Captain’s Log, December 19, 2488

  Hello again. It’s been a while. Maybe you’re even alive by now.

  Whoever thought of something as maddening and annoying as Crew Committee should be locked away and doped. I mean, am I in command or am I not? Captain means in command. We’re all educated up here, they know that. Hell, that’s part of the requirements. Do they think we don’t know what it means to captain a ship? Do they really think we aren’t going to take this seriously?

  Anyway, I’ve been told that I have to continue this idiotic log or I’ll be replaced. As if this is the most important thing I could be doing. So I guess that’s lesson number one for you: captain means responsibility without authority. And lesson two is keep a log. Getting the remains of humanity to new Earth, well, I guess that’s just something that happens in between the log entries.

  Committees. If I really were in command I’d disband the lot.

  Captain’s Log, June 27, 2489

  You know how most days are spent just sitting around, drinking tea, looking at the screens and saying, “Yes. Everything is the same as it was yesterday and the day before and the year before and the decade before and so on…”? Some days aren’t like that.

  Space is mostly empty. We all know that. Look out the port and it’s terrifyingly clear that, statistically speaking, there is nothing out there. Personally, I find it comforting, but if the rest of the crew are anything to go by, most people really don’t like to think about it. However. Statistically speaking, in an infinite universe, nothing equates to something. And something hit us today.

  It wasn’t large, obviously, or we’d all be dead. And, Lani would have seen it on the longrange and we’d actually have had to steer this thing. But it was too small for that and by the time it showed up on the screens it was too late. Ping.

  I remember learning about velocity and the strength of the hull and all the design that went into the ship. I knew we should be fine, and we were, and getting hit by a piece of dust really shouldn’t be so terrifying. And yet. My hands are still shaking.

  The worst part was there was nothing to do. It was going to hit us or it wasn’t. It was going to be a problem or it wasn’t. All we could do was wait and then react. Horrible.

  After it was over, I sent one of the remote cameras out to inspect the damage. The report was clean, thankfully. No one has had to go out on my watch and I didn’t want this to be the time. Honestly, I don’t want it to happen at all. I may find the concept of the void comforting, but that doesn’t mean I want to go out there into the heart of the thing. Or, worse, send someone else.

  So. I suppose this is the kind of thing you have to look forward to. Not that it happens all the time—I hope this isn’t going to happen again. But someday something will happen, something you can’t do anything about, but you’ll feel responsible because it’s your job to be responsible.

  Piss.

  Captain’s Log, April 25, 2490

  I feel a bit bad about that last log entry. Makes it seem like I’m one of those moaners who hates their job but instead of doing something about it just complains all the time. So, let me tell you about today.

  They restocked our provisions overnight so there was a fresh supply of fruit tea. I made a cup and went up to the bridge. It was the tail end of mid-watch and June was there. She likes to keep to herself so I just went over to the port and… oh, wasn’t space beautiful this morning. Dark
and deep and rich like you could just throw yourself into it. There were distant stars poking around the edges and I think I stopped breathing from the sheer wonder of it all.

  And no one interrupted me.

  And no alarms sounded or decisions begged to be made, I just got to have the moment.

  We never talk about those moments. I think everyone is a bit embarrassed about it, really. We like to pretend we’re all hard cases, shipped off to Crew because we were too tough for the rest of the ship. But it was too beautiful to keep to myself.

  I can’t wait for you to have a day like that.

  Captain’s Log, September 12, 2490

  I had the strangest conversation with Karina. I wasn’t sure if something was wrong—we aren’t exactly close, but she seemed, I don’t know, distracted? I’m not sure how long something has felt odd, but a few days ago I noticed it strongly. She was at her post, reading over the Committee’s recommendations for new crew. I was reading over her shoulder; it’s a bad habit, but I’m too too set in my ways to stop it now. Besides everyone is used to it, I reckon. Anyway, she was reading one of the applications, and I caught a few lines and must have make some kind of noise or something.

  “What?” she asked turning to face me. She had a strange look in her eyes.

  “That poor woman,” I’d said. “Three sisters, can you imagine? No wonder she wants to get away from it all.”

  “I might have liked a sister,” she’d said, then just put down her handheld and walked away.

  At the time I hadn’t figured it was anything important. We can all be a little short with each other, it’s nothing. But then this morning it got even stranger. I’d just gotten up to the bridge, and found her staring out the port. This was strange enough—I can’t ever remember a time when Karina got in before me. Still, I said hi or something and she whipped around and ran over to me as if she were starving and I was lunch. She grabbed my arm. I had to stop myself from tearing myself away.