When I was little, I never did well in school. I hated my teacher, and I thought the classes were stupid. I just couldn’t work in controlled environments – I thrived most when I was left to my own devices.
Before she died, my mom would always tell me that however much I hated my teacher, I needed to do what she said, because she was the boss and I wasn’t. She said that I should respect authority, because they had been put in charge for a reason, even if I personally didn’t like them.
I think that’s the case with the UPR. We might not like them – we might hate everything about them – but they have all the power. I don’t want to feel like I’m living in someone else’s world, where there’s an external force telling me what to do. But they have all the information, and I need to know what has happened to my friends. I’ll do anything they ask if it might help persuade them to send us the details about what happened in the war.
We have to choose what we object to very carefully. As long as it doesn’t harm us, I think it’s best that we agree to their demands. If you can’t help the UPR for yourself, then please do it for me. They could cut off all our contact with Earth if they wanted to, and I couldn’t handle that. Not when we’re already so alone.
Besides, even if I don’t trust them at all, I have to admit that they’ve made some suggestions about my ship’s life-support efficiency that have actually been really helpful. I know they’re asking you to make some changes to your ship too, which have probably been even more useful, as your ship is so much older. Grudgingly, I must say they know what they’re talking about.
I’m sorry. I wish there was something I could do to protect you from this – from them. I feel so powerless. I’m sure you do too.
At least they can’t stop us from talking to each other.
J x
From: The Infinity Sent: 17/06/2067
To: The Eternity Predicted date of receipt: 18/08/2067
J,
I wish I’d waited to see what you said before replying to the UPR.
My dad always taught me the opposite of your mother. He told me to do whatever I thought was right – like he did, when he and my mother ignored NASA’s advice after she got pregnant.
They were supposed to terminate the pregnancy, change shifts with another set of caretakers and go into torpor sleep. If they had, I would never have been born. Dad stood by their decision to keep me, even after what happened with the astronauts. He used to say that someone outside of a situation is never able to truly judge the best actions to take.
I’ve always believed that. But I didn’t consider you. I didn’t think about all the people you know on Earth, about everything you could stand to lose if the UPR cut us off. I’m not the only one who is affected by my actions any more. I should have thought about the impact this would have on you, instead of just getting angry.
I won’t send them any more defensive emails. I’ll play nice. I can’t promise that I’ll do everything the UPR ask, because I still don’t trust them. But from now on, if their requests are logical, I’ll at least consider it – for you.
I’ll send them the information they want. It’s a good idea to analyse the background levels of radiation. I admit that is a useful suggestion at least.
R x
There was never supposed to be just one person on The Infinity. There was supposed to be a whole population. An entire generation of astronauts trained and prepared for this mission. They were put into a deep-sleep state called “torpor” which was developed for long-duration missions. The astronauts would have remained in the biological hibernation until the ship arrived at the new planet, where they would have woken up without having aged a single day in over forty years.
My parents were the first pair of caretakers. They had volunteered to stay awake on the initial leg of the journey to run the ship and safeguard the sleeping passengers, growing old in the process. They had been trained to live alone on The Infinity and make sure everything remained operational.
If everything had gone to plan, after five years they would have woken up another pair of astronauts and left the ship in their care while they went into torpor sleep. But I was born. To say that NASA weren’t pleased is an understatement. My birth meant that my parents had to stay awake instead of swapping places with another pair of astronauts. It messed up the whole plan.
Eventually, NASA accepted it and came up with a new mission timeline. My parents were told to remain as caretakers until I was eighteen, when I would be old enough to enter torpor sleep myself. Then the three of us would have gone into stasis and only woken up again when we arrived on Earth II.
Once that was decided, I became the pride of The Infinity: the first child born in space, the start of the new generation, the emblem of all that the mission would achieve.
In the end, all I am is a symbol of its failure.
I’m keeping track of the number of days until The Eternity reaches me, written in whiteboard marker on the plexiglass wall between the kitchen and lounge area.
Two hundred and fifty-three: the number of days I’ll have to survive on my own. The number of nights I’ll have to worry about running this ship alone. Every hour feels endless and pointless now that I’m just waiting for J.
I decide music will help distract me. I make the computer’s controls into an electric keyboard and start practising my piano chords. I play all of the loudest songs I know, turning the volume up and filling the ship with the sound of music until I don’t feel so small and quiet and helpless.
I only stop when my fingers start to ache from playing. Then I turn on some pop music instead, singing along as loudly as I can. I jump down into the lounge area, dancing on the sofa and trying to recapture the carefree happiness I felt when I first started talking to The Eternity and everything seemed so hopeful for once.
I make myself dance until I can’t ignore the fact that it isn’t working, that I just feel worse than ever. I collapse onto the floor, trying to catch my breath. Staring through the porthole, I watch the spiralling stars until I make myself dizzy. I let my vision blur until the constant glow of a distant nebula turns a soft red, then blue, then yellow, then the darkest, deepest green.
DAYS UNTIL THE ETERNITY ARRIVES:
249
From: UPR Sent: 04/10/2065
To: The Infinity Received: 21/06/2067
Subject: For Attention of The Infinity
Attachment: Linux-Infinity-OS.zip [17 TB]
Commander Silvers,
Judging from evaluations of old NASA data of The Infinity, you must change several elements of lifestyle in order to improve energy efficiency and system lifetime extension in all cases.