The Voyage of the White Cloud Read online

  Is it just something to do with age, he wondered. Once he turned forty, it seemed like everything changed. It couldn’t have just happened overnight, could it? It must have been a slow evolution, so slow it wasn’t noticeable until you took a step back and realized that your whole life seemed to have changed.

  There was no obvious moment when his confidence returned, no eureka moment. But as Mark became more skilled at his work, the other engineers began to notice him. At first it was chatting over a problem, then the odd invitation to lunch. Soon there were regular outings to watch the ball games, dinner parties, evenings at the theatre. Friends. Occasional lovers. A life outside work.

  And at work, Mark became known for his particular vehicle designs, was even sought after by some of the senior people. When he was asked to speak at the annual Engineering Convention about his theory of suspensionless buoyancy, it didn’t even seem strange. But he didn’t really notice, still thought of himself as that doubt-ridden young man, until one day shortly after his fortieth birthday, he walked through the arboretum. He looked idly at the trees, ran his hands along the soft needles on one of the branches, and realized that he was happy. And had been happy for some time.

  He sat among the trees that day for over an hour, filling his lungs with their smell and his heart with years of ignored joy.

  When he got back to his quarters, he called his mother.

  “You would not believe the day I’ve had,” she began, before he’d even had a chance to say hello. “There’s some kind of corrosion in the starboard pump. It’s making the most awful racket. Those noise dampeners they give us don’t do squat and I’ve spent the day lying on my back with my arm up a pipe listening to the pump squeal and groan. I swear, this ship is going to fall apart as soon as it touches down on new Earth, if we’re lucky.”

  “That’s too bad,” Mark said, taking a breath and trying to figure out how to explain to his mother that he finally understood what success meant to him.

  “Too bad?” she said and made that disgusted snorting noise Mark hated. “It’s a disgrace. How can they expect us to keep on top of all the maintenance when nothing goes on the jobs list until it’s practically broken? This isn’t just some inconvenience; the water pumps are part of the core system. Without water there’s no food, no sanitation system. How long do you think they’d want to go without fresh food? There’s no forethought any more, Mark. I tell you, in my day we wouldn’t be waiting until the last minute to do routine maintenance like this. No way.”

  “Well,” Mark said, filled with a sudden desire to defend his generation, “there’s a lot of redundancy in the water system. I’ve seen the specs, we could lose ten of those pumps before there would be a loss to the total system.”

  “Oh, you think you know everything, don’t you?” she said. “Engineers. It must be nice sitting in your clean offices, with your calculators and your drawings, getting your meals delivered while the rest of us actually do the work.”

  “Mom, please,” he said, wishing he’d never told her about the office canteen service. This was not the first time she’d mentioned it, as if eating at your desk were the same as getting a free holiday. “Anyway,” he said, trying to stop the downward turn the conversation was taking, “I’ve got some good news.”

  “Well, I’m glad to hear it,” his mother said, “it’ll be nice to hear something positive for a change.”

  “I’ve been invited to give a public talk at the Academy,” Mark said.

  “How exciting, honey. What’s it about?”

  “Imagined planetary scenarios,” Mark said. “I’ll be talking about the different kinds of environments we could find on a habitable planet.”

  His mother made a face, then smiled. “Well, I’m sure that will be fun for you,” she said. “I can’t imagine there will be many people interested in that topic, though.”

  Mark shrugged. “It’s what they asked me to talk about,” he said.

  His mother didn’t look convinced. “I just think it’s a shame you never do one of these talks on something interesting.”

  “I think it’s interesting,” he said.

  “I know, honey,” she said. “I just wish for once you’d talk about something real, not this airy fairy imaginary world business.”

  A tightness grew in Mark’s chest that warned him he might say something he’d later regret. “Well, I’d better get going,” he said, forcing a smile. “It was good to talk to you.”

  “You too, honey,” she said. “We should really do this more often.”

  No, we should not, Mark thought as he ended the call. She hadn’t even bothered asking when his talk would be broadcast. Though, at least that way he wouldn’t have to be disappointed when her name wasn’t on the attendee list.

  “There’s no point in me signing in, honey,” she’d told him when he’d asked her why she hadn’t watched his last lecture. “It’s just not a subject that interests me.”

  “Has your mother gotten weird as you get older?” Mark asked Isabel Nieklewicz. They were in Isabel’s quarters, drinking a bottle of wine that cost two days’ credits, a beautiful Earth sunset view on the screenwall. Mark barely remembered the first time he’d sat on the settee in Isabel’s room, his heart pounding in his chest. They had met at the arboretum, where she worked as a horticulturist. He’d been walking along the path, staring up at the canopy of leaves, and had literally fallen over her. It hadn’t taken long until he had fallen for her as well.

  That first night in her quarters she had seemed so calm and in control, leading him to the settee and laying her hand on his knee. Later, she told him she was as nervous as he was, but Mark never believed it. It seemed to him that Isabel was never nervous. Confidence was one of the things he loved about her.

  “I guess,” she answered, her eyebrows contracting as she thought. “Everyone gets kind of funny as they get old, I think.”

  “Yeah,” Mark said. “I mean weird with you.”

  “Like how?”

  “Well, you know how some people never get along with their mothers?” he said, leaning back into the soft cushions and steadying his glass on the side table.

  “Sure,” Isabel answered.

  “Well, not me,” Mark said, “my mom and I always got along great. At least, that’s what I thought. When I remember being a kid, I remember her being supportive of everything I did, she was like my best friend. She always told me I could do anything, and I believed her. If it weren’t for her, I’m sure I never would have had the guts to go to the Academy—I never would have lasted the full five years, that’s for sure.”

  Isabel smiled. “You were lucky,” she said. “Lots of kids don’t have that kind of support.”

  “I know,” Mark said. “That’s why it’s so strange.”

  “What is?”

  “The way she is now,” Mark said, picking up his glass and taking a long drink of wine. He stared at the colours of the sunset, wondering if it were really true that the refraction of light on the particles in a planet’s atmosphere could make such beautiful patterns, or if the image were just some artist’s conception of what a sunset should be like.

  “It’s like she doesn’t want to know anything about me anymore,” he said, “unless it’s something that has to do with her. She doesn’t care about anything I do, except to complain that it’s not interesting to her. I call her to tell her something great and I can barely get a word in while she makes the same criticisms she’s been making for the past three years.” He looked down at his hands. “I am sure it wasn’t always like this,” he said. “Is she just not trying any more? Am I that much of a disappointment?”

  Isabel slid her arm over his shoulder. “You couldn’t possibly be a disappointment,” she said, squeezing him. He shrugged and she squeezed harder.

  “I think I know what you mean,” she said. “My mom isn’t like that, not exactly, but she was never a big booster to begin with. She was always pretty self-centred and that hasn’t changed. But her husban
d Ty has gotten a lot more selfish as he’s gotten older.”

  “Yeah?”

  Isabel nodded. “Ty was the one who did things with me and my brother when we were kids,” she said. “He was a lot like your mom, actually. But now he just wants to read his stories, watch the ball games and hassle us about grandchildren.”

  “Ugh,” Mark said, slipping out from under Isabel’s arm. He still got the cold sweats when the topic of children came up. He knew that Isabel didn’t have many years left before she ought to get pregnant. He also knew that he would rather be the baby’s father himself than see Isabel use a specimen from the bank. But it still made him feel slightly queasy.

  “I know,” Isabel said, grabbing the wineskin and filling their glasses. “I have this theory,” she said. “You know how they say that really old people are like little kids?”

  “Sure.”

  “Well, I think this is a part of it,” she said. “Children believe the entire universe is about them, and I think maybe old people are like that, too. They start forgetting that we’re individuals, they only see us as their legacies. We start to exist only as ways for them to live on once they’re gone.”

  “Oh, Isabel,” Mark said, “how horrible.“

  She shrugged. “It’s why we all have children,” she said, “so humanity can continue. There’s nothing surprising about it on a societal level, we shouldn’t be so shocked that it’s ultimately the same reason people individually have children. To avoid death.”

  Mark put down his wine glass. “That’s depressing, Is.”

  “It’s why I like trees,” she said, snuggling into the crook of his arm. “They don’t have these problems.”

  “Maybe that’s just because they can’t talk,” Mark said, but he smiled and pulled Isabel closer to him.

  It was an oak tree, Isabel told him. His favourite tree in the whole arboretum, though it make him feel guilty to admit that he had a favourite. He loved the roughness of its bark, the strength of its branches, the funny shape of the leaves. He wondered how many people before him had sat beneath its boughs, telling their secrets, their hopes and fears to its silent arms. What wonderful future might this tree behold, the end of this journey that had consumed Mark’s ancestors, had consumed him?

  He heard footsteps on the path and turned to look. In the dim light she almost looked as Mark remembered her from his childhood. Tall, solid and strong, her mechanic’s muscles hidden under the shapeless clothes she favoured. Her hair, bound up in its braid, her softest feature. He could almost imagine the conversation he could have with the mother of his past—free, open, easy.

  “Hi,” he said as she approached the bench, the reality of the white hair, wrinkled skin, and slight stoop shattering his fantasy.

  “Ooh,” she said as she sat. “I’m getting too old for this kind of thing.”

  “We don’t have to meet here,” Mark said. “I can always come to your quarters, or call…”

  She shook her head. “It’s good for me to get out. Doctor Witters says so every time I see her.” She snorted. “Though I can’t see why I bother; no one ever lived forever by going on a walk every few days.” She laughed but Mark thought it didn’t seem like she really found anything funny.

  “So, what’s new in the exciting world of Planetary Vehicles?” she asked.

  “It’s just work,” he said, “same as always.”

  She nodded. It was what he’d said every time she asked lately and she never questioned it. “The young guy they got to replace me is just unbelievable,” she said. “You’d think they don’t teach anything in the apprenticeship any more. I got a call from Rowan last week, said this new kid spent half an hour trying to just torque on this seized bolt. Nearly burst a blood vessel, Rowan said,” she laughed and Mark smiled. “Finally Rowan couldn’t stand it any more, walked over there and gave the wrench a good whack with a mallet. Bang! Bolt turned no problem after that. The kid was so tired out he didn’t even know to be embarrassed.” She shook her head. “Shameful, I tell you.”

  “You were are good mechanic,” Mark said.

  “I know it,” she answered, but Mark didn’t hear any ego in the statement. “Mechanical is good work,” she said, her voice taking on a wistful tone. “Engineering, too,” she added. “Making the ship go, getting us where we need to be, that’s what we’re here for. The rest is just the in-flight movie.” She laughed again, still without humour.

  “I guess,” Mark said.

  “Well,” his mother said, smoothing her hands on the legs of her coverall, “I’d better get back. Who knows how long it will take on the return trip, my legs aren’t what they used to be, no way.”

  “You want me to walk with you?” Mark asked without thinking.

  She looked at him, an eyebrow raised. He thought for a moment that she would take him up on his offer, that this exercise in lies of omission would be prolonged further, but she finally shook her head.

  “No,” she said. “You’ve got things to do and I’d just slow you down. And I don’t need a babysitter quite yet.” She turned to walk down the path. “Talk to you soon, son.”

  “Sure, Mom,” Mark answered and watched her go. Minutes had gone by when he heard a rustling from the other direction. He turned and saw Isabel walk toward him with a sad look on her face, the bulge of her belly noticeable only to those who knew.

  “Are you ever going to tell her?” she asked, her hand on her stomach.

  Mark shrugged. “What’s the point?” he said. “It’s not about her.” Isabel sat next to him and held his hand. “No one cares who fathers a child, anyway. She’ll probably never find out.”

  “I don’t want it to be that way for us,” Isabel said. “I want our child to know who their father is, like I did. I loved knowing that Ty was my father, was my brother’s father.”

  Mark looked at her, thinking about the many questions she was silently asking. He thought about the trees, how they drop their acorns and then leave the result to chance. Some grow into new trees, some are eaten, but the parent tree never knows. And those few new trees, born from their own accident of fate, they never have to know that the shadow cast over them comes from the tree which gave them life, to which they owe their very existence. They are free to grow or wither as they will, safe in the knowledge that if they grow tall and strong it is from their own efforts. And if they fail, it will be only their own disappointment.

  He wished he could become an oak and watch lovingly from a distance as his own child grew or withered, became strong or brittle, not as a reflection of him but as an individual in their own right. Maybe when he came to finally fall to the loamy floor, he could fall with grace, without thrusting all his fear of annihilation on to those who came after him. It seemed an almost impossible task, yet how could he not try?

  He looked at Isabel, the green of the leaves reflected in her eyes, eyes which asked the nearly impossible.

  “I’ll tell her,” he said.

  The Voyage of the White Cloud

  It was a long voyage

  It was a hard voyage

  But like the bird is drawn to the scent of trees

  So too did the people draw nearer to the island in the stars

  The land promised them by their ancestors

  So near that the eyes of the ship could see it

  The nose of the ship could smell it

  But the people were blind

  * * *

  As if it were a living creature

  The ship guided them

  * * *

  All aboard yearned to know the face of their new home

  The land which would embrace their grandchildren’s grandchildren

  And all who would come after

  But this was not for people to know

  Not for generations to come

  * * *

  The ship’s lifetime was long

  The journey nearly over

  But people live only for the blink of an eye

  * * *

&nbs
p; As if it were a loving creature

  The ship guided them

  Part 2

  Cruising Speed

  Chapter 8

  As It Is and Always Shall Be

  It was barely a speck when it first appeared on the screen. Gina squinted, as if that would magnify the image, but all she needed to do was be patient. The speck grew, infinitesimally at first, but soon it was a clear disk in the middle of the void of space. Gina felt something primal inside her as it grew larger, as if it were expanding to fill that emptiness out of a sentient desire to combat entropy.

  It didn’t take long before Gina could make out shapes and colours in the disk—a sphere, really, but there wasn’t even the illusion of depth yet. She watched as it grew larger, drew closer, the blues, greens, whites and browns making patterns that were familiar and foreign at the same time. Closer, she thought. We are getting closer every day.

  She paused the replay on her screen and stared at the planet. It was so beautiful, she thought. The most wonderful thing she had ever seen. She must have watched this image a thousand times and it never failed to make her breath catch in her throat. Only recently, though, had she taken to playing it in reverse.

  She chose the play forward selector and watched old Earth disappear as she’d seen it do so many times before. She preferred her new tactic of watching the image in reverse, imagining what it would be like to see a new planet heave into view. She would have given anything to be able to still be alive when the ship reached its destination. What was thirty decades? Nothing. Barely even the blink of time on a cosmic scale. But she would not live that long, her children’s children would not live that long. Still, it made her smile to know that someday people who walked the same corridors as she did would see a vision not unlike that which she had created for herself, but real. That this voyage would finally end and their destinies would manifest.