Generation Destination

Initial log entry | Lucius

1799 years and 90 days after the launch of the Involucrum. With the tragic death of Laurin, I herewith assume the duties of first officer by virtue of my seniority, in accordance with the principles of the code. I hereby dedicate my life to survival. From this moment until my last breath, I will be a selfless servant of the people and expect no reward other than their continued existence.

I take this opportunity to describe our situation as a whole, as I see it. Too much of our history has already been lost and forgotten, and I consider it part of our duty to preserve what we still know and understand with certainty.

We originate from a distant planet, Earth, and we call ourselves humans. Our ancestors were forced to leave Earth for two reasons. Firstly, the natural foundations of life had been destroyed to such an extent that no technology could heal them. To our knowledge, Earth is now probably a desert planet. Secondly, medicine has not succeeded in combating the Morbus virus.

The entire human race carries Morbus, including all inhabitants of the original twelve generation ships. Morbus prevents the survival of almost all embryos with a Y chromosome in ways that are still not fully understood. The result: boys are born only very rarely, and have been for almost two thousand years. In the departure era, the Earth’s population had already collapsed by over 99%, from an original 12 billion to less than 100 million, including fewer than one million men, rapidly declining.

This circumstance has shaped the rules of our society for centuries. If a reader of this log lives in a time after Morbus has been defeated, some of them may seem incomprehensible. In that case, please judge us leniently: we had to do everything we could to survive.

We are one of twelve generation ships with different destinations. This was to maximize the probability that at least one ship would survive and find a habitable planet. We lost communication with the last other ship 140 years ago. We must therefore assume that we may be the only surviving ship.

Our destination is the planet Orbis Domini, which was already considered the most promising candidate for an Earth-like planet in the departure era, then known as Kepler-452b. Our survival depends on the habitability of OD: the Involucrum cannot reach any other planets. Vital components have reached the end of their lifespans.

End of initial log entry.

Arboretum

The computer saved the log entry, and Lucius rose from his quartz wool-cushioned chair by the wide window, where the stars passed by like lights from a distant city. He still couldn’t quite get used to the first officer’s quarters. Never before had he sat on anything so comfortable.

It felt as if a more experienced, older person should be sitting here, pulling the strings. Lucius was 34 years old, but that made him the oldest man on board. The last person to reach the age of 40 was no longer even known by name. Lucius didn’t feel like someone who didn’t have long to live, but of course he realized that life with radiation in deep space simply didn’t allow for longer lives. As long as most people reached adulthood, it didn’t matter for the purpose of the expedition, he kept telling himself. It never really helped.

It was the time the people aboard the Involucrum called evening: when the lights in public areas were dimmed, non-essential activities were interrupted, and most people enjoyed their free time or went to sleep. Occasionally, but only rarely, there were even families who spent their evenings together. To Lucius, they always seemed like an anachronism, an unlikely fragment from the distant past.

Lucius didn’t feel like sleeping. He had liked Laurin and could not imagine reporting for duty in his place the next morning. He gazed thoughtfully at the passing stars for a while and finally decided to go for a walk.

He looked at the iris scanner above the door to his quarters, and the round, matte titanium door rolled smoothly into the wall beside it. Lucius stepped through and made his way to the magnetic elevator at the end of the narrow, inwardly curved corridor, where two people could just about pass each other. The other officers’ quarters were located far away so that in the event of a life support failure in the area or a meteorite strike, several would not be lost at once.

Lucius entered and gave the voice command “Arboretum.” The elevator flashed green and started moving almost imperceptibly. After a few seconds, the door opened again, revealing a diverse forest landscape illuminated by small lanterns along a dirt path. Lucius was always aware that this was perhaps the only remaining dirt from Earth in existence. Fresh air flowed into the elevator and birdsong could be heard. It was just what he needed.

Late at night, the arboretum was reserved for officers, and Lucius had never seen it so empty. He stepped onto the path and took a deep breath. Lucius often came here, but without other people around, it felt very different. For structural reasons, the entire arboretum was less than twenty meters high (and even so, it was the room with the highest ceiling on board), but it felt as if the sky was above his head. There was a single small elevation with a wooden bench, and Lucius often went there when he wanted to think.

He walked faster and faster along the path and was finally starting to relax a little when the bench came into view and he saw a woman in a dark blue uniform with a white collar sitting there. A high rank, he knew. As he approached, stamping loudly on the ground to announce his presence and not startle his colleague, he realized that she was not wearing epaulettes, but instead the Involucrum insignia on her collar, an allquantor on a peace symbol in a circle, black on a white background.

It was Aurelia, the captain.

The Weight of Glory

The captain looked at Lucius with concern, but it was clear that she was pleased to see him. She had worked with Laurin for years and knew him even better than Lucius did. Lucius was always happy to see her. Aurelia was the only woman on board who didn’t completely change her behavior when she saw him. She was also his peer and almost the only person from his childhood memories who was still there. And when did you ever meet another man?

“There were only two left,” Lucius said in a failed attempt to appear casual, “My sincere condolences, Auri.” He sat down next to her. Aurelia just nodded and looked into the simulated distance. She was brunette, of average height, and had sharp green eyes that had once given her a cat-like appearance. She was 35 years old and looked older, even by the most generous standards. The captain’s job was exhausting and made you old, if not sick. That was also the reason why the tradition of making a man first officer was often criticized. Men who died prematurely, or even, like Laurin, in a work accident, should be avoided at all costs. But the position continued to be filled by men because no one wanted to see a bridge where men seemed to have died out.

“You’ll do a good job, Lu,” she said after a while. “Make sure the ship doesn’t fall apart, and don’t get yourself killed unnecessarily. Ten more months and we’ll reach paradise, right?” There was no conviction in her voice. Lucius heard a vague hint of cynicism and remained silent. Finally, he said, “You stay alive, too. You’re the only woman I can have a normal conversation with.”

“Other men aren’t interested in having normal conversations,” said Aurelia, now somewhat amused. “You were different even as a little boy. All the attention seemed unnatural to you. You’ve always seen the truth.” Lucius shrugged. He sat silently for a while longer, then wished Aurelia good night and set off on his way back.

Someone must had noticed that Lucius had left his quarters. That could only mean one thing: he would have to come back sooner or later. Word spread quickly: men were extremely rare, after all, and spending the night with one was like winning the lottery. The ship was overflowing with women and girls who wanted to fill out that lottery ticket.

Lucius had taken the elevator straight back to his quarters. When the doors opened, he was confronted with a typical scene that he usually tried to avoid, but which was now even more pronounced due to his new position as an officer. Girls dressed in light, colorful clothing stood crowded together at both walls, and he couldn’t squeeze through without touching them all, which was undoubtedly intended by the audience. When the doors opened, cheers erupted as if a rock star had entered and was about to start a concert.

Lucius stepped out of the elevator with resignation and tried to look at the way to his quarters without looking at anyone in particular, so as not to raise hopes that he would then disappoint. The wildest cries in the highest pitches could be heard: “Commander, I’ll do anything you want!” “Pick me, Commander, please!” “I won’t disappoint you!” It was frowned upon to address men by name unless you were an officer yourself.

The rows closed in front of him, and Lucius realized that he would not reach his quarters without choosing one and taking her with him. He had a strategy for this situation: he looked who was standing at the very back of the crowd and wasn’t much dancing or shouting. Those who didn’t really dare and wouldn’t disturb his peace afterwards. He pushed his way through the crowd down to a girl he didn’t know yet. She was very small, maybe five feet tall, and wore a kind of slutty angel costume: a tight top with wings on the back, made of soft white feather material, paired with a shiny silver leather skirt, knee-long and cut diagonally on one side, so short on the other that her panties were visible. She also wore a headband with tiny ears that didn’t really match the outfit. She had a snow-white face with sky-blue eyes and, in contrast, deep black, shoulder-length hair. Lucius liked her, which didn’t happen often, and at that moment she looked at him with a slightly frightened and very surprised face.

He stopped, leaned down toward her, and whispered in her ear, “How old are you?” She blushed, acted embarrassed, and said, “Nineteen, Commander.” Lucius looked at her skeptically and asked, “Really?” She nodded and looked at the floor. Disappointment spread around the hallway and it became noticeably quieter; you could hear the elevator whirring away as the first girls gave up. He took the angel girl’s hand and gestured for her to follow him. She did, taking small steps, her hands trembling slightly and her face as red as a tomato. It was obvious that she had never been chosen before and was nervous about what was to come.

Annie

Lucius looked at the iris scanner, the door rolled aside, and he gently pushed the girl into his quarters. He followed her, the door closed again, and this time you could clearly see her trembling. Lucius had been in this situation often enough in his life to understand that this could still be pure acting and part of her marketing strategy.

“What’s your name?” he asked.

“Annie,” she replied. It would be the last question of the evening she was sure of the answer to.

“Please look me in the eyes when you talk to me.”

Annie carefully raised her eyes. She looked surprised, not because of the harshness of Lucius’ tone, but because it was perhaps the first time a man had ever said “please” to her.

“Annie, why are you here?”

This question completely hit her unprepared and was not at all what she had expected. She probably hadn’t expected to be talked to at all.

“Is that important?” she asked, now almost whispering.

“Of course it’s important. You seem scared, but there’s no reason to be scared. The door is right over there, you can leave anytime, nothing will happen here that you don’t want to happen.”

Annie seemed to suddenly remember how much effort it had taken her to finally get to this side of the door. She nervously tugged at her headband, but smiled for the first time.

“I want to conceive. That’s the only duty on a generation ship,” she said, using words she might have learned from her mother.

“Maybe,” Lucius replied, “but do you want that right now? Life changes a lot when you have a baby, you know.”

Annie shrugged her small shoulders as if it were a very stupid or at least obviously unimportant question. “Now I have the opportunity, the rare opportunity...” she replied and began to take off her top. Lucius raised a finger and she halted.

“Why don’t we make a deal, you and me. I can see clearly that you’re afraid. Why don’t you go home, and I promise you, when you’re truly ready, you can come back, and then I’ll make you conceive, no matter how many goes it takes. I give you my word.”

Annie’s eyes sparkled as if she’d just been given half a kingdom. A tear rolled down her cheek and her knees went weak. “Really? I don’t want to mess this up! You wouldn’t lie to me, would you?”

Lucius looked at her sternly and said, “This spaceship would be lost with a liar as its first officer. You should take a good look at yourself. I didn’t believe for a second that you were nineteen. I expect you not to come back here until you’re at least eighteen.”

Annie bowed deeply and walked to the door. But Lucius didn’t look at the scanner. “You’d better stay here for another hour and read a book or something. The others will tear you apart if you let them think you’ve returned with unfinished business. The world isn’t fair, you know.”

Annie nodded, wiped the tear from her face, and sank into the quartz wool armchair, which seemed huge in comparison to her. She watched the stars whizzing by and realized how much energy all this had cost her. When Lucius wanted to send her home after a while, he saw that she had fallen asleep. He took a wool blanket, covered her carefully, and shook his head. He had to talk to Aurelia about how to make sure the ship didn’t turn into a mafia-like whorehouse. Perhaps as the new first officer, he could achieve more than he had thought.