Going Interstellar (collection)

“Ah!” He raised his finger sagely, like someone making an important point.

He brought us back to the query screen and asked again how many generations we’d been in the ship. Then he asked for the date of departure from Earth, and the time of arrival at their destination. And, probably in an effort to calculate the generations himself , genealogical tables.

Each question brought up the same screen telling us we were forbidden from accessing that information.

“See?” he said.

“I see,” I said. But truth be told, I was far from impressed. “Since when is it news that they classify as secret everything they can in this ship? My father says that if they could make sex top secret, they would.”

“They probably have,” Ennio said. “And are shocked when each new generation figures it out.”

“Generations,” Ciar said. “That’s the thing. How many generations? How long have we been sailing in the big, big ship with the wise old owl? And what is the wise old owl?” He typed that query too, with fast, nervous fingers. It too informed us we had no need to know. “And why won’t it let us look at genealogy?”

“That should be obvious.” Ennio sounded tired. “You know very well that in the long time the ship— ”

“However long,” Ciar said, meaningly.

“However long,” Ennio shrugged. “There have been any number of people executed for destructive behavior or crimes against the community or …or others.”

We nodded. Executions weren’t that common, but they happened once every ten years or so. It couldn’t be helped. We’d learned in school, early on, that in this confined space, discipline had to be far tighter than it was on Earth, because Earth could isolate its anti-social elements. But we had to live and work together, and we had to make sure there were no disruptive elements in the well-oiled social machinery.

“So,” Ennio said. “The genealogical tables are hidden, so feuds can’t be carried on from generation to generation. As they might very well be, in a group as limited as we are.”

Ciar frowned as though this had never occurred to him. “Maybe,” he said. His voice sounded less self-assured than it had at first. “Maybe I’ll give you that this is a possible reason, but it still strikes me as odd. All these references to generations, and then we can’t find out how many generations have been in the ship.”

“I’m sure the captain and the administrators know, never you worry,” I said. But I was worried. Something at the back of my mind refused to quiet down. I knew my grandparents’ grandparents had been in the ship. That made it at least six generations. Were they the first ones?

“Is this all you wished to show us?” Ennio said. “I think you’re inflating it wildly. It’s like when you decided that they were serving us dead bodies.”

Ciar stuck his lip out. “I was only ten. You have to admit it seemed logical. Humans are made of meat, they serve us meat …”

“From vats. And this seems logical to you too, but only because you have that kind of mind. You know what, Ciar, if you’d been born on Earth you’d probably be one of those people who make up stories to amuse others. That’s the sort of mind you have. You make it all sound very interesting, but come on, you know it’s not true.”

Ciar sat, frowning at the terminal, then at us, then at the terminal again.

“Come back to the dance with us,” I said. “You can probably find girls to dance with. I’ll even take a turn with you.”

He hesitated visibly, then shrugged. “Nah. There’s a few more things I want to look up.”

So Ennio and I went back, and despite the suspicious looks of our fellow dancers, managed to convey the impression we’d just been for a nice, long, peaceful walk.

That night, when I got home, mom was awake, waiting for me, while doing her best to look as if she were balancing ration coupon accounts.

After the normal pleasantries, as I was heading for bed, I turned around and asked her, “Mom, I know my grandfather’s grandfather was in the ship. I remember your dad talking about his grandad. Was his grandad the first generation aboard the ship?”

Mom looked surprised. “Why? No, couldn’t be, because I remember my grandmother talking about her grandmother being a little girl in the ship. Why?”

“Just curious,” I said. I removed the shoes which had started to pinch and continued down the narrow hallway to my room. That made seven generations, didn’t it? What had the rhyme said? When ten generations have passed….

* * *

During the night several systems broke down. I probably would have heard first thing in the morning, if I’d seen mom. Only I didn’t. She’d already left for her job in the planning center when I woke up, consumed my morning calories without too much attention to their form, which seemed to be cardboard with syrup, though the container said pancakes. Then I headed into the maintenance center, where I got my sheet of work for the day.