Voyagers

Nobody can hear a scream in the vacuum of space, or so they say. No one who’s been has ever come back to verify. I suppose I’ll find out soon. Tomorrow, I launch with a small crew of other ‘chosen ones.’ We’re the voyagers. The exalted ones. The heroes of our generation. But we know what we really are: the expendable. The lowest aptitude tests. No especially valuable skills. We were the ones to cull, in an otherwise exceptional herd. Of course, no one says that openly. There are parades and speeches and feasts, proclaiming the honour and glory of our mission: finding us all a viable new home.

Not to say it’s not a valuable goal. Our shit-fest of a planet is nothing but miles and miles of purple-blue sand stretching out as far as the eyes can see. No water. No nutrients in the soil. No sign of any bacteria or plant life, let alone creatures that might be large enough to hunt and eat. All our water comes from tanks, that we’ve cycled through for generations. All food is harvested in our synthesised algae farms.

As far as hostesses go, our planet is more than stingy. To her credit, she does have breathable air and more scrap metal than we could poke a stick at – the last vestiges of a civilisation long dead and buried.

For now, we live in a careful balance. Everyone is fed and safe and surviving, but the virus that swept through the farms over a decade ago still casts a heavy shadow. The riots. The dead piled high. I was just a child when it happened, but I can still remember the fear that settled like a stone in my chest. We barely survived it and lost many good people along the way. The crops are fine for now, but no one knows how long that is going to last. Another virus and we could all be wiped out.

The people needed hope – and the voyagers were there to give it to them. It’s as simple as that. But with no word from any of the launched ships, I doubt we were even good at doing that. Twenty-three ships we’d launched and as far as we know, no survivors. At the very least, none that had deigned to report back to base. Maybe they’re still out there. Maybe they found a better planet and chose to keep it to themselves. Maybe they’re sipping martinis and eating real food and bitching about the rest of us. Maybe we’ll find them. Maybe.

I see my sister approaching and force on a smile. She was already the crier in the family, add the heavy pregnancy, and a breakdown was guaranteed whenever my impending voyage was mentioned. But, with the ship silhouetted against the horizon – it was getting damn hard to sweep the topic under the rug.

“Hey,” I said, trying to make myself sound cheerful. She gave me that knowing smile that said she knew I was pretending, but that she appreciated the effort, nonetheless.

“Hi.” She responded as she arched her lower back, stretching against the weight of her swollen stomach.

“You shouldn’t have climbed all the way up here,” I said, unable to help the sisterly concern that entered my voice. She was only a few weeks out. Babies here are rare and precious. Very few survived. Sure, algae is a superfood, but even it doesn’t have all the nutrients a growing baby needs. Those that lived usually suffered from malnutrition. But there were very few that lived.

I wanted the baby to be safe for sure. But couldn’t help the ulterior motive; if the baby lived, she’d be allowed to stay and take care of it. She wouldn’t become a voyager. She might live to a ripe old age. What’s more, those few women that had healthy children were awarded a kind of unofficial status in the colony. They were the real heroes; the ones that ensured our people and culture would survive in the long run. Perhaps a less dramatic show of heroism than launching off in a spacecraft; but an essential one, nonetheless.

“You sound just like Jack, you know,” Amy said, pulling me out of my reverie. “That boy. He’d have me on permanent bed rest if he didn’t know I’d cuss him silly if he tried to make me. Won’t let me do a single thing for myself. Sure, it’s sweet and all, it was even fun at first, like having my own manservant, but now? Sometimes a girl’s gotta do some things for herself.”

I smiled as I listened to her rant. “He just worries is all,” I said with a grin.

“I know. It’s so damn irritating because I can’t even be mad at him for it.”

I let out a chuckle at that, noting the small look of silent victory in her eyes. I grinned; I was lucky to have her. And wherever I was going, I would miss her.

“No, you look all gloomy again. No gloom allowed. It’s your last night here…” her voice started to crack, and she stroked her stomach unconsciously. Any leftover cheer was quickly dropped, as the cold reality of the situation hit us. I was leaving tomorrow, and I wouldn’t get to meet her baby. My nephew or niece. Without imaging technology, there was no way to find out in advance, so I’d never know. Her eyes started to brim with tears.

“Ames,” I said.

“No, no,” she batted me away. “I swore to myself before I came up here that I wouldn’t cry, and my god-forsaken tear ducts better obey.”

I grinned. “You even boss your tears around.”

“You betcha.” She said, with a half grin.

“Ames,” I said quietly.

“Yeah.”

“You’re gonna make a great Mum.”

Despite herself, a few tears dripped down her cheeks. Even still, by the way, her face lit up, I knew then it was the right thing to say. She rubbed her tummy lovingly. “You hear that little one. You’re Mummy’s gonna be great, I’m gonna boss you around so much.”

I laughed. “God help them.”

“Hey,” she said, in mock defence.

I grinned and cleared my throat. On a more sombre note, I added, “And you’re going to be just fine without me.”

She froze at that. And I smiled; for the first time ever Ames didn’t know what to say.

“I love you,” I said, unable to help the tears that fell freely down my cheeks. I had to say what I wanted to now or I knew I'd never be able to say it. And I'd regret it for however long I had left if I didn't. “I love you and I’m going to miss you and I know you’ll miss me. But I want you to be happy anyways and…”

She pulled me into a fierce hug, and I wept uncontrollably on her shoulder. I thought she’d be the one unable to control her emotions. After all, I was usually the one that kept it all together. I was that one that did the comforting, not the one that got comforted. But I guess today our roles were reversed and that was okay with me.

“I’m scared,” I whispered, so softly I thought she might not have heard it, that the wind might have carried it away.

But a moment later, she responded with utter seriousness, “you’re going to come back.” I was taken aback for a moment; the sheer ferocity in her voice had caught me off guard.

“You’re going to come back, and you’re going to meet this baby. And I don’t care what’s out there or how long it takes. You’re going to find a freaking planet and it’s going to be the home for this little kicker. You hear me?”

I didn’t respond.

“Jess.” She grumbled.

“I hear you,” I said. “If I can come back I will.”

“No ifs.” She snapped.

“Okay,” I whispered, staring at the ship looming on the horizon line, and feeling the fear and helplessness churn in my stomach. But I told her what she wanted to hear anyways, “No ifs," I promised.