by Murray, Lee
In the meantime, she signs into the Conclave inter-ship network and changes her chat status to Invisible. The headache story will be more believable if people think she went back to sleep for a few hours. She’s been playing Star Shooter for about twenty minutes when it ba-doinks. A message appears at the lower right corner of her screen:
User ₪Ȣɕ₰ ѱ₪ᵹԄ¤ would like to add you as a friend. Would you like to accept?
Peach shrugs. Must be from a different Earthship. In any case, she’s got nothing better to do…
*
Three day cycles later, Peach taps her foot as the teacher drones on about how lucky the class is to be part of the first generation that will ever set foot on the destination planet. How it’s important they know how to adapt to any kind of surroundings they might find there, and that they are responsible for the survival of this community. She’s in the elite classes because her mother is part of the prestigious control crew in charge of flight pattern and final destination. When the ship lands in twenty Earth years, Peach is expected to act as a leader for its population—never mind what she’s really interested in. Because it certainly isn’t ‘Innovative Use of Available Materials’ or ‘Decision Making in Difficult Situations’. Couldn’t the golden generation be the one after hers? Being in charge sounds like an awful lot of work.
Mr Hill’s drivel is cut short as a call is patched over the class link. His forehead crinkles as he grunts his acknowledgement into the receiver.
“Classes are done for the cycle. Someone will be here shortly to escort you back to your quarters. None of you are to leave your rooms until further notice.”
Excited chattering breaks out across the class.
“Another riot? They’ve never been so close before.”
“I’ve got a friend in Deck Six. He says Maintenance requirements have gone up twice as much in the last ten years.”
Peach knows that last comment can’t be true. The ship was built to be more sustainable than that. She’s sure it’s all just rumours. She’d asked her mother about it maybe fifteen day cycles ago when things had just started—when Peach’s friend Pearl had told her Maintenance were marching to Head Office for something. Her mother had brushed it off. “I’m sure it’s not a big deal. They’ll sort it out,” she’d said.
The corridor is noisier than the ship’s ventilation system in a meteor shower. Repair workers shake their spanners at the regulators as Peach and her friends are pushed away from the school halls. As she’s ushered down the hallway, Peach wonders what exactly Maintenance is so upset about.
*
Nashi pinches the bridge of her nose and exhales slowly. The Navigation crew aren’t in charge of quelling the social uprising of the Maintenance people, but it does seriously impair their efficiency. If the public knew how grave things were, they might back off and let her do her job. She checks the ship’s positioning information for the third time this morning. She still can’t see any solutions. The ship is eons off course.
The Conclave Pacifica has been flying nearly 260 years now. When they left Earth, they’d been heading for the New Planet—a tiny, far away pinpoint of hope with what appeared to be water resources and an atmosphere similar to Earth’s. Hundreds of ships had embarked, each ship representing a different geographical area, yet all heading for the same destination. It had started out as a bit of a race, a way to pass the centuries, although little by little, the ships edged away from each other and they have next to no contact with the other ships now. Communication still occurs occasionally, but the likelihood of finding another community nearby is remote. Each one is more or less isolated. Some they haven’t heard from in decades. They may have broken down or run out of fuel, or been damaged by space objects.
Nashi leans over to nudge the woman beside her.
“Fern, could you check these numbers for me?”
Fern looks at the tablet, her eyes quickly perusing the figures.
“Yeah, I’ve got the same readings,” she replies. “God, what a mess!”
Nashi leans back and breathes in sharply. “How could we get it so wrong?”
The initial Earthbase-New Zealand calculations of distance should mean their ship would arrive at the New Planet in the next twenty years or so. Nashi had always hoped that she would get to see it, even if she were an old woman by the time they made it. Growing up on the ship, she had wondered what it would be like to stand on living ground with a constant gravity. To sleep outside without a roof above her. She’s always hoped that she would see Peach grow up to become a leader of the community in their new home. But if these numbers are right and not just an incorrect reading on her part, she might never set foot on solid ground. Nashi frowns. Something must have gone wrong a while back, because they should have been able to see the new solar system by now. The original plans had involved entering the system within the next few years. Of course, there had been slight co-ordinate adjustments due to asteroid hail or unexpected space entities, but even so, evidence of the system should be present.
“What pushed us so far off track? Space wind?”
Nashi checks her interference report sheet. “I can’t see anything in the records that would be a problem.”
“What are we going to do, then?”
“Keep going until we find a planet with enough gravity for orbit so we can adjust our direction. Maybe start searching for an equivalent of the New Planet if we’re truly off track.”
“What? And change our destination?”
“Yes.”
“Not go to the New Planet at all?”
“Maybe not.”
“Can we do that?”
“We might have to.”
“Should we tell Head Office?”
Nashi rubs her finger along the edge of the tablet, where the numbers stare at her accusingly. “Not yet. Maybe our equations are wrong and we’re just missing a factor. Our best bet is to relocate our original course to the New Planet, since it’s the best option for supporting our community—we already know it has resources similar to Earth. Otherwise, our only option would be to increase the scans of nearby planets and hope that something turns up that fits the bill. Either way, it’s going to take time…”
The numbers blur. They’ll be lucky if they find a planet in this direction with the necessary gravity in ten years and even luckier to get the right coordinates to get back to the last planet and find their mistake.
On top of that, there have been more riots recently, and she knows it’s because of the lack of material available for the rising number of repairs. Maintenance workers are calling for reassurance from the captain, but Nashi knows there aren’t any solutions: there just isn’t enough metal on board.
She checks the ship’s positioning information for the fourth time, a frown fixed on her face.
“At this rate, even our children won’t see the New Planet,” Fern says softly.
Nashi clamps her lips shut and starts her calculations again. She doesn’t want to think about the possibility that the ship might not make it to their destination at all. Sucking in a breath of filtered oxygen, she wonders what fresh air would taste like.
*
He crouches with his switch panel around him, the fingers of his control-arms hovering over the dials. His inner eyelids shelter the edge of his oversized eyes to protect them from the low light of his visual board. It was an interesting challenge to sneak into the interface of the little ship nearby, but not too difficult once he understood the layout of their network. The spaceship is likely too small for the Raknoid mainframe to notice—nowhere near big enough to be considered a threat to his pod’s Space-line home. But it has a through-space interlink connection, which is more advanced than any other species that had passed by in his lifetime. As a species, they appear more communication-oriented than technological because the amount of web connection free to any visitor is as vast as it is nonsensical. It doesn’t take him long to find image representation of the species, although he can barely believe they are the same c
reatures as one another. Then he finds their message system.
*
Flint looks around the circle, passing an eye over each of his workmates.
“You know why we’re here,” he says. “Head Office sends out more repair jobs every cycle and we haven’t got enough resources to fix everything.”
“So what are we gonna do about it?” a young man calls, and the others gather around him.
“We keep rioting until we get some damn answers!” Girdon thumps his fist on the table.
A tight-lipped woman shakes her head. “I don’t want to take part in riots anymore. I’ve got kids, I can’t afford to go to Isolation.”
“Yeah, but they can’t put us all in Isolation, they’ll have no one to do the work!” Girdon reasons.
“If they were going to arrest us, wouldn’t they have done it by now?”
A man to the left points an accusing finger at Flint. “If you’d bloody listened to me, you’d have known about this ages ago. They should have put me in charge. I saw this coming from a mile off. If you’d just paid more attention to the information—”
As he stands, the woman alongside pulls him down by his shoulder. “Well, you’re not in charge, and we don’t have time to talk about what you would have done better!”
“We should go on strike until they tell us what’s going on!” Shim cries. He’s only just out of school.
“What, and let the ship fall apart? Think about it, kid. We have just as much to lose as everyone else.”
“So, we agree to keep up the rebellion?” Girdon says again.
Flint shakes his head. “What’s the point? I don’t think they’re going to tell us.”
“Well, why the hell not? What are the Head Office suits hiding from us?”
*
Tap-tap-tap. Tap-tap.
Peachtree: Why do our parents get to decide what we do?
Peach sighs heavily. She stretches out her legs and clicks her toes as she waits for a reply. It’s been about thirty day cycles since she skipped school and met Araxi online for the first time. They’ve talked most cycles since then—although sometimes the connection can be dodgy—and while she thought he was odd at first, he’s quickly become her closest friend. The last day cycle they had talked about impressionism—an art movement from Earth. Peach had dug up some information about it from the web memory banks. Araxi always seems really interested in art. He says his colony doesn’t learn about it much either. Turns out he’s kind of a technology genius, and he was a huge help with her innovation homework. Peach just likes talking to someone different. Someone who hasn’t grown up in the same hunk of space metal as her. Sometimes it’s just nice to talk to someone with a different perspective.
Ba-doink.
Arax-i: I’ve been told they have more experience so they have a better understanding of what the colony needs. Apparently.
Peachtree: Yeah well that’s crap. Responsibility sucks.
Arax-i: Are you unhappy with your parents?
Peach considers Araxi’s question. Is she unhappy with them? No, that’s not exactly it. More like frustrated? It’s not as if she doesn’t love her parents, it’s just…
Peachtree: It’s just not fair, you know? My mum wanted to be a navigator, so she is one. Why is it different for me just because we’re meant to land on the New Planet in my lifetime? There’s no question of me following my own path. No, I HAVE to learn about plants and resourcefulness and stuff because our community needs it.
Peach’s frustration fizzles in her stomach. Doesn’t it matter what she wants? She crosses her arms. She’s not interested in being a leader, it always sounded so hard. And why does it have to be her? She isn’t a top student in any of her classes, anyway. There are probably heaps of teenagers on board who would be better suited for leadership. Except apparently they’re not “elite” enough, so they get taught things like food preparation and building—basic skills, according to Head Office. Peach has always thought people should get to choose what they want to do in life, and she used to think her parents agreed. Just because a kid is really good as planting trees doesn’t mean they should do that for a living if they would rather be painting them. What’s the point of anything if it’s not making you happy?
Peach shakes away that train of thought as her computer alerts her to Araxi’s reply.
Arax-i: Your community is not like mine. My parent sent me away to do as I liked.
Peachtree: Lucky!
Arax-i: There are responsibilities a child is appointed, of course. The young generation of our colony live apart from the adults and is in charge of invention. Recognition in our society depends on an ability to show technological creativity. To develop that, we mostly work alone. Isolation has been proven to be the most effective way of working.
Araxi’s ship seems so different from Conclave Pacifica. Peach wonders if all the Earthships are that different. She thinks about the tech engineers protesting in the corridors and wonders what problems the other ships might be facing. Maybe there’s a ship from Egypt which has developed the technology to fly ten times as fast, but a disease has wiped out all their vegetables and now they only eat pulverised insects. That would make a good story.
Peachtree: What if you don’t invent anything? Does that make you like… a failure or something? Isn’t that a bit harsh?
Arax-i: No, we simply stay in isolation. As I said, we can do as we like, but only high potential children get called back. Digital communication is always open in any case.
Peachtree: So you don’t have parents breathing down your neck? Because, believe me, that’s the worst thing.
Arax-i: My parent calls me sometimes. He has a lot of children.
But the connection blinks off before Araxi can say anything else. Actually, the entire Conclave network has stopped, so it must be a problem at her end. Maybe someone cut the interlink wires in protest. It’s the third time in as many day cycles. Peach sighs. With all the unrest in Maintenance, it probably won’t get fixed for a while. She pushes her chair back. It’ll be dinner soon anyway.
*
Peach sits at the dinner table, poking her little brother with her foot.
“Hey!”
Nashi throws a tired look at her husband. She’s working nearly double her normal hours, and she really could do without the bickering right now. Luckily, her husband understands her expression.
“So what did you kids get up to this cycle, then?” Totora says.
“Not much, school was boring,” Sedge complains. “All we did was learn about plumbing. They gave us these little plastic tubes and made us put them together exactly like they said to.” He pulls a few of the tubes out of his pockets and lays them on the table.
“That sounds fun, making things.”
Sedge shrugs. “I could make cooler stuff.”
“I talked to my friend Araxi earlier,” says Peach.
“Where’s he from, then?” Nashi asks.
She shrugs. “I don’t know.”
“Someone on a different floor of the ship?”
“I don’t think so, they do everything differently where he is.”
Nashi looks up quickly. “Another ship?”
Busy with her hydroponic lentils, Peach nods. “Yeah.”
Nashi’s heart skips. Another ship near enough for communication? Perhaps they aren’t as far off course as she suspected. “Did your friend say which ship he was from?”
Peach scrunches up her face as she speaks, the freckles bunching on her nose. “Yeah, but I don’t remember. It was some little place I’d never heard of. I got the impression he’s a bit lonely. In their community, all the kids study in a kind of Isolation.”
“Perhaps their leaders are trying to quarantine an illness?” Totara says, eating a mouthful of sprouts. “A ship-wide epidemic is unlikely, but it would be a serious issue. There’s some pretty heavy quarantine equipment in the Medical Office of our ship.”
“No, I don’t think that was the case. He would have
said. I think he mentioned something about technological creativity, like they work better when they’re separated or something.”
Sedge squints at his sister as he fits his plastic pipes together in a chain. “Who does work when they don’t have to? I would just play games all cycle.”
“Games aren’t as fun when you’re alone, though, Sedge. Star Shooter is way cooler in two-player mode, because then you can shoot each other.”
“Last time I played Star Shooter I blasted my mate York’s favourite ship back a whole galaxy!”
Totara raises one eyebrow. “Hold on, if you shoot your friend out to a different galaxy, then you are on your own, aren’t you?”
“Nah,” Sedge says as he wraps the pipe twice around his head. “It doesn’t matter though ‘cause you’re the winner, so who cares if you’re alone?” He sticks one end of the pipe into his mouth, and tilts his head to put the other end into his chickpea juice. Nashi considers telling him off about making a mess, but he sucks up all the brown liquid without a single drop landing on the table.
*
Peachtree: Okay, introductions. I’m 16, and my name’s Peach. It’s a sucky name that used to be some kind of fruit back on Earth. I don’t know why my parents picked it ‘cause they’ve never tasted peaches either. Like, a lot of my friends are named after things that don’t exist anymore. Anyway, I’m on the Conclave Pacific ship that left from New Zealand—part of the 13th generation since its take-off. Your turn.
Arax-i: Araxi
Peachtree: What? Is that your name?
Arax-i: It is.
Peachtree: Cool, you speak English!
Arax-i: Yes. Actually, no. My parent created a language translator software. So I can communicate with you.
Peachtree: Oh yeah? I’ve never heard of that. What ship are you from then?
Arax-i: Raknoid.
The connection crackles. Peach has never heard of any ship called Raknoid. Probably one of those little islands that no one cared about. Let’s face it, there were hundreds of ships ready to leave Earth at the same time as Conclave Pacifica. Everyone wanted off that used up planet…
