3: The Dream

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When I went to sleep, I had a bad dream.

I stayed up late to spend more time with Grandma, and when I get to bed too late I sometimes have nightmares. This time, I was standing in a viewing port, looking out at the stars, but it was like the rest of the ship was invisible; I could see the stars all around. I couldn’t see through the metal floor, but the transparent wall facing space was on all sides.

I didn’t know if the roof was transparent, too. When I tried to look up, I got hit with such a strong feeling of dread and foreboding that I had to stop. I didn’t want to see what was up there.

Grandma was with me. She wasn’t in her wheelchair; she was sitting on one of the benches. She wasn’t looking at the stars; she was looking at the plants, the ones that are supposed to remind us of the Earth our ancestors came from. I think that maybe they worked better a long time ago, when there were people who remembered the Earth, or even after that when there were people who remembered having the Earth described to them by people who remembered the Earth. But they don’t mean anything any more. They’re just there because that’s what you put in these rooms.

The wall behind Grandma was transparent, because all the walls were; she looked surrounded by stars. Everything was surrounded by stars. Behind her were other ships of the fleet, easier to see in my dream, even though in real life they’d be really hard to see even if the wall was transparent because there’s not very much light out there, you kind of have to be at the right angle to see the Dragonseye’s light hit things. The Vanguard was ship-right, like always, and out past it were other ships that are really hard to see in real life so I wasn’t sure if I was dreaming their shapes correctly. Ship-left was the bright and overwhelming power of Dragonseye, flaming like the thing it was named for, giving our solar panels the power that we all needed and marking our destination. It’s almost totally impossible to see any ships on that side unless they’re directly in front of the Dragonseye and also really close, but in the dream I could see them, looking just like the paintings and the videos.

Of course, right and left inside the ship aren’t the same as right and left outside of it. Ship-left is “forwards” from the outside; that’s the way we’re moving. To the star, or at least, to the asteroid belt around the star.

I don’t usually think much about Dragonseye, but in the dream, it was comforting. Bright like Dad’s smile, warm like Mum’s hug. Giving us the energy we needed, and promising us a future, holding safe its asteroid belt of precious metals and carbon and ice that the fleet would use to continue its journey.

“We’re almost there,” Grandma said.

“We’re still twenty years away, Gamma-ma.”

“Which is forever to you, I’m sure. But for the Courageous, twenty years away is tomorrow. Aren’t you excited, baby butterfly?”

I shrugged. When we reached the belt, things wouldn’t change all that much. The walls would all be upright, since the ship would be still. Well, not totally still, we’d be in orbit, but using the star’s gravity (a special force that really big things could use instead of inertial pull) instead of our engines would mean that the forces would equal out so all the floors would be re-levelled and the walls would all be upright. The Courageous, like most of the big ships in the fleet, was way too big to move around quickly or easily (“more station than ship,” my dad would remark sometimes with a smile, and then never explain what that meant), so we wouldn’t get too close to the asteroid belt just in case. That was a job for smaller ships, that could move around. We’d be in orbit for as long as we were needed to help set up the new colony, and as long as it took to fill up all of our supplies of everything and build whatever new things that the ship might need from all the new metal, and then we’d leave, the ship speeding up instead of slowing down and the floors having to be re-levelled again so the walls tilted a little bit the other way. That might happen in twenty more years, or it might happen when I’m as old as Grandma, or it might happen after my own children grow old and die, if I have any. It depends on what we find in the belt and on what decisions the Fleet Administration make and on what new technology we have by then.

But inside the ship, inside the Courageous, there won’t be that much difference. A lot of people will have to work out in space for a while. We’ll have a whole lot of new metal and water and things. The very small angle of the walls will change. Nothing big.

“Are you excited?” I asked my grandma. She closed her eyes.

“I’m tired, Taya. I’m ready to stop being a baby butterfly.”

I frowned. She usually called me that. Real life Grandma had never called herself that.

“I’m going to spin my cocoon soon, and sleep for a while, and come back beautiful and new. And then I can be there for you, to watch you grow up, to watch you become your own butterfly.”

I reached out to grab her hand, but I couldn’t see it any more. I couldn’t see her. She was transparent, like the walls.

Then I woke up.

The two siblings I shared a room with were still sound asleep, and didn’t wake up when I put on the soft sleeptime lights. Little Rose, only five years old and too young for her own jaunt yet, was curled up in a tight ball, fist in her mouth. Laisor was sprawled out on kes skinny bed, head and one arm and one shoulder hanging off it, mouth wide open as ke snored. At that angle, the bed was too skinny for kes legs to lay straight; one knee was bent up so kes foot could fit on the mattress and one leg was leaning against the wall. I wondered if I should shove kem onto the mattress properly again so ke could sleep comfortably and not risk falling onto the floor, then decided that it wasn’t my problem. Trying to move kem would only wake kem up, anyway.

I headed for the door as quietly as I could, almost tripped on one of Laisor’s shirts on the floor, and tossed it onto a part of ke’s bed that ke wasn’t using. Then I headed out into the main area of the residence.

The treegrave can only see some parts of the residence, for privacy. It can see the public guest area and the main lounge and the family gardens. It can’t see into the bedrooms or the bathrooms or most of the other places; there aren’t any cameras in those places. It has a really complicated job to do, looking after the whole entire ship, so I don’t think it actually watches any part of the house ever unless there’s some emergency or it needs to check systems for maintenance of something. If it has time to randomly watch people, it probably watches important people instead.

But there are ways to get its attention.

The call button is in the family garden, next to a little bench between a couple of the pretty shrubs that Auntie Moli likes to trim into fancy shapes. It’s red, and bright, and I know exactly what it does, which is not very much. All the call button does is tell the treegrave that someone at the bench wants its attention.

I sat down, and pushed it.

“Hello,” a speaker from above said in a calm, pleasant voice. “How can I help you?”

I looked up at the camera, so it can get a clear view of my face (the garden is always brightly lit), and said, “Can I ask you some questions?”

“Of course, Taya. You have just started your jaunt, correct? Is that what this is about?”

“No. This is about Gamma-ma.”

“I don’t understand.”

“My grandmother.”

“Oh. Do you want to talk about it?”

Obviously, yes, or I wouldn’t have pushed the button. I’m not stupid, I knew what it was doing. I never talked to the treegrave so it probably didn’t know very much about me, except the stuff in the ship’s records like me starting my jaunt, and who my grandma was. It was probably pretty sure that I was worried about her becoming part of the treegrave, but it probably doesn’t know for certain that she’d told me. So it wanted to be absolutely sure what I know before accidentally telling me a secret.

If somebody like Arai was doing that, I would get mad at her, but I was still tired and I didn’t want to fight with a computer. “She’s joining you at the end of the month. I don’t want her to go.”

“I’m sorry to hear that you’re sad, Taya. I’m sure she’s already told you that it’s okay, that you’re not losing her. That she’ll always be here for you, watching you grow up. But I know that’s not the same thing. It’s hard to lose people we love, and it’s also hard when people we love change so much that you’re frightened of losing who you remember them to be.”

I looked back up at the camera, surprised. I had expected the treegrave to take my grandma’s side and tell me how good this was. “Tell her not to go, then!”

“I can’t. It is her decision. And just because it might be painful for a little bit doesn’t make it the wrong one. All of me made this decision, Taya, hundreds of times over. And I won’t lie to you, I like being what I am. And I think your grandma will, too.”

Now it was making me mad. But I didn’t want to be mad. I scowled at the plants.

“Were you excited to go on your jaunt? I bet you’re really excited to see the other ships, and learn all of the jobs, and grow up. And I’m sure your parents are very happy for you and proud of you too, but I bet they’re a little bit sad, because you’re turning into a different person than the one they remember as well. They have to watch you turn into something that isn’t a child any more, the same as you have to watch your grandma turn into something that’s not an old lady any more. And that’s a little bit sad, but it’s also exciting, right?”

“Does it hurt?”

“Growing up?”

“No. Turning into the treegrave.”

The treegrave’s voice changed a bit. It became less pleasant and calm and more like a person. It sort of reminded me of dad when things weren’t going well in the biotanks. “It’s a little bit scary, I won’t lie. And confusing. It’s scary to become bigger than you are, because the small you isn’t all of you any more. It’s scary not to be tied down by your old body, because being tied down affected the things you did and the decisions you made, and those decisions are a big part of who you are.” Its voice changed again, sounding a little bit more like a nice woman this time. “But it’s worth it. It’s like going on a scary shuttle ride to a new and exciting spaceship. The shuttle might be a bit stressful, just a little tube protecting you from space, but the place you get to is really fun and exciting and when you get there, you’re glad.”

“I’ve never been to another spaceship.”

“Not yet! Something to look forward to later in your jaunt!”

“I need you to do me a favour.”

“How can I help, Taya?”

“I need you to promise me that you’ll look after my grandma. That you’ll watch out for her and keep her safe.”

The treegrave laughed. “Oh, that’s no favour. Of course we will. We’re all very excited for her to join us. I promise you that we’ll look after your grandma.”

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