Space Colony One

It’s always a great feeling to start a new series, and this week I finally managed to do just that! I haven’t given the series a name yet, so for the moment, because the story is set in humanity’s first deep space colony, I’m calling it Space Colony One. 

Last week’s snippet was from the prequel to this story, so you may recognise one or two characters, especially if you’ve read the entire story in The Expanding Universe 2. The story begins with a different character than the protagonist of Night of Flames, however. This character is one of the Woken–the colonists who were cryonically preserved for the duration of the Nova Fortuna’s voyage to the new world.

Chapter One

Cariad’s shift was over, but she wanted to check on the final batch of fetuses before she left for the Naming Ceremony. She had time to catch the last shuttle planetside if she didn’t take too long.

Planetside.

Cariad smiled to herself. She was picking up the vernacular of the Gens. Their language wasn’t very different from her own despite the one hundred and eighty-four Earth years that separated them, but they had coined unfamiliar neologisms. Still, the words accurately signified aspects of the new way of living. Why shouldn’t she use them? In time, a blending of her kind and theirs was inevitable.

She thumbed in the code at the Gestation Room door and exhaled into the bio-identifier. A metallic whirr and clunk signaled the opening of the lock. Cariad eased the heavy door open and stepped through into the dim red light of the room.

Fifty thick-walled, transparent gestation bags hung in rows from the ceiling. Some of the bags were motionless, others gently swayed or jiggled as the human infants inside squirmed or kicked, their tiny limbs testing the constraints of the artificial wombs.

As she walked the aisles, Cariad checked the bag monitors. She could have checked the growing babies’ vitals on her personal interface, but she liked to get a visual anyway. She liked to see the little faces, distorted by the pressure of the bag and the fluid that surrounded them. The babies would grimace and smile and yawn and suck their thumbs and sometimes even open their unfocused eyes. It was a pleasure to watch their personalities and habits developing even before they were decanted.

Her comm chirped, and she lifted her lapel button to check the message. Ethan was calling. She opened the channel.

“Hi,” she said. “You’re still here too? I thought you would have left by now.”

“Yeah. I was packing the last of my stuff. Do you want to meet at the shuttle bay?”

“Sure. I’ll be there in around twenty minutes.”

“I’ll meet you at the entrance,” said Ethan. “Don’t be late. I’m not waiting for you.”

Cariad chuckled as she closed the connection. Ethan would wait for her even if it meant he might miss the shuttle and the ceremony. Not that there was anything special going on between them. They weren’t any more than good friends, but he would wait. That was the kind of person he was.

Taking a final look at the last generation of colonists that would ever be decanted aboard the Nova Fortuna, Cariad left the Gestation Room, passed through the Fertilization Lab, and made her way to the nearest transit bay. Her footsteps echoed faintly in the empty corridors. All but a skeleton crew would remain aboard for the duration of the Naming Ceremony, and many Gens, like Ethan, wouldn’t return to the ship unless for a special reason.

Cariad herself, as one of the Woken, could come and go as she pleased, and as the shuttle schedule allowed. For the time being, she was needed aboard ship. She would assist in the final decanting and wrapping things up in the reproductive facilities—shutting everything down properly was essential in case the colonists ever needed to start up the processes again.

What she would do afterward, she hadn’t yet decided, but she would have plenty of time to think about it during the Naming Ceremony, when she was planetside.

The transit car drew up and Cariad boarded the predictably vacant carriage. Without any further passengers to stop the car, she was whisked twelve klicks around the outer circumference of the Nova Fortuna in less than ten minutes and arrived at the shuttle bay before Ethan.

A few more last-minute passengers also appeared while she awaited him, passing her at the entrance. By the time she finally spotted the figure of her friend approaching, she was beginning to wonder if she would be the one who would have to face missing the Naming Ceremony due to his delay.

Ethan jogged closer, a large bag over his shoulder.

“Sorry,” he panted when he was within speaking distance. “Took longer than I thought.”

“That’s okay, but we’d better run. The shuttle’s leaving in one minute.”

They sped through the entrance and across the wide shuttle bay to the station at the very end, where a single shuttle stood, its ramp down. An attendant appeared as they approached and took Ethan’s case to stow it in the hold. The passenger cabin was nearly full but they managed to find two seats together, and they caught their breath as the pilot made the final checks and sealed the hatch.

“I can’t believe I almost missed the Naming Ceremony,” said Ethan when his breathing had returned to normal and the shuttle was maneuvering from the bay. “What would I have told my grandkids when I’m old and gray? I’d have to make something up. ‘Oh yes, grandpa had a front row seat and saw everything. The Leader forgot his words three times!’ No, that’s no good. I’d have to think up something more interesting than that.”

“Whatever you made up,” Cariad replied, “it would likely be more interesting than the actual ceremony. I know it’s a momentous occasion and all, but I’m not looking forward to it. The new Leader’s capacity for monotonous droning has to be some kind of record.”

“Didn’t you know that’s an essential requirement?” Ethan asked. “The candidates take a test after nomination. If they can’t drone monotonously for at least four hours straight, they’re not allowed to stand for election.”

Read last week’s snippet from the prequel, Night of Flames.