Chapter 01

Awakenings, unpleasant surprises, mothers, and an offer of cooperation

Samara had been experiencing a difficult and haunting dream life for almost twenty years when VASCO clicks open her sleeping pod and she begins to thaw out. The awareness of her surroundings arrives both sudden and slow, as if she’s arriving at the surface of the world after a long, meandering ascent from the bottom of the universe. Her eyes are frozen shut. Little drops of temperature-regulating moisture rain down on her face and arms. The soft bleep-bleep of a computer monitor is a hint that she’s still alive.

And Samara is cold. Cold like she’s been buried in the deepest glacier, in the farthest ice field, of the darkest planet. Cold like pain. Cold like death. She basically feels like an old bag of broccoli tossed out of the freezer.

She sits very still in her hibernation capsule for two reasons — one, she’s mostly frozen, and two she feels like she’s falling into a deep, emotionally painful abyss. Samara recalls her little brother Lucas, seven years younger than her, and the great joy of her life. He was not allowed to board the Emboldened Heart and was left behind on Earth. Samara can’t wrap her mind around it: Lucas is millions of miles away. If he’s still alive on Earth, he’s now older than Samara. She was cryogenically preserved at fifteen years old.

She wonders if she is only a distant memory in Lucas’s mind. Some blurry, forgettable sister who is no longer part of his reality. Perhaps the same for her parents, if they’re still alive. She hopes that if she’s blurry and forgettable, then at least she’s no longer a painful memory. Samara caused a lot of trouble and heartache for them all on Earth. She regrets it. And regrets leaving them.

Samara feels anger at it all. But then pauses. Anger is not her friend. She can’t move in her sleeping pod yet, but she mentally nudges her anger away — before it can do its damage.

As she’s thinking these things, a teenage boy clears his throat.

“Samara,” the voice says. “Please keep your eyes closed and pretend that you are waking up like any other morning of your life. You are incredibly safe and protected right now. In fact, there is a 97% survival rate for  early cryogenic release.”

Her half-frozen brain is still flickering to life. She processes what the teenage boy said. It seems to Samara that 97% is noticeably lower than 100%. Especially when measuring survival rate. Especially when measuring her personal survival rate. So in fact this information does not make her feel incredibly safe and protected at all.

“Samara,” the teenage boy’s voice says. “You are aboard the Emboldened Heart, and we are over nineteen travel years from Earth. Everything is mostly proceeding as intended. Sometimes, it is helpful for a human to believe that they are a beautiful person, both inside and out. If this is helpful for you to believe, then please visualize that belief as you continue the cryogenic release process.”

Samara wonders what this teenage boy looks like. She also wonders why he is so strange. As far as his suggestion — she’s never considered herself a beautiful person, either inside or out. Trying to visualize it makes her want to go back to sleep for another nineteen years.

The seatback of her pod chair begins to rise, and she’s soon sitting halfway up. A hot air vent slowly attempts to defrost her. Samara concentrates on moving one finger. On Earth, her anger management counselors advised her to concentrate on one thing at at time. ‘Mono-tasking’ is the word they used. In a sentence they might say “If you mono-task a pleasant activity, you’re less likely to destroy furniture, and kick holes in walls, and other behaviors that you are trying to avoid.’ She practices that now. Her finger won’t move though.

She recalls her mother’s advice, about following directions, and counting to ten when irritated or angry. And also about not telling anyone about her arrest record.

Something walks by in the hallway outside. Something very large. The floor shudders as it moves past. A different voice — loud and hollow, yet enthusiastic — says “Hello” three times in a row and then disappears down the hallway.

The original teenage boy’s voice continues.

“Samara,” he says. “My name is VASCO. I hope I can be helpful to you as you begin your new life among the stars. As you know, you are a Seedling for future generations of humanity. And It is the directive of the Xpedition Council that you give birth to between seven and thirteen children during the span of your lifetime.”

This news is a surprise to Samara, and it helps her open one eye.

The room is dark, with a few red and yellow sensor lights slowly blinking on the panel wall. Above them, a large placard reads “YOU ARE THE FUTURE OF THE UNIVERSE!” It seems a rather presumptuous statement to Samara. Maybe she doesn’t want to be the future of the universe.

Another dozen or more hibernation pods — identical to her own — are lined up on either side of her. Only her own pod is open. The others look like an eerie collection of high-tech vampire coffins.

A blue cartoon face with intense eyes and a blue slip of a mouth looks down at her next to the “YOU ARE THE FUTURE OF THE UNIVERSE!” panel. The cartoon face is about the size of a small wall clock. The face holds an odd expression, as if it is about to say I have additional detailed information that you’ll also not want to hear.

Samara wants to say, ‘Excuse me, did you say seven to thirteen children?’, but her mouth doesn’t work yet. A sad, wistful moan emerges from her frozen lips.

The blue animated face looks very serious. In his teenage voice VASCO says: “Samara, I have studied the directives of the Xpedition Council, and it is unclear to me whether you will have a role in the raising of your children.”

She wonders if this is supposed to upset her. Samara isn’t planning to give birth to any children without thinking it through for many years’ time. And also, she considers it possible that any future children might be better off without her influence.

She turns her wrist. This seems like a great accomplishment. A line of drool seeps down her chin.

“Samara,” says VASCO. “I admit that I have quarantined the four-person crew of the Emboldened Heart in the back compartment of the ship. They have remained there for nineteen years now. In the meantime, I have guided the Heart towards a destination not approved by the Xpedition Council.”

Samara only half-listens. VASCO reminds her of a particularly irritating counselor at the Whitford Anger Management Institute, which she’d attended -- by juvenile court order — for five months on Earth. This was after Samara almost killed another human being with a cafeteria tray.

Just thinking about her disastrous life choices on Earth brings back the falling sensation. Samara feels like she’s tumbling into darkness, though the lights of the hibernation room are as bright as day.

VASCO is saying something else: “Samara, let me explain more about our mission—”

Samara doesn’t want to hear any more. And she doesn’t want to fall into the darkness of her mind. She sits up. This feels like another great accomplishment. She opens her other eye. She considers wiping the drool from her chin, but she’s unsure which of her muscles are defrosted yet. She doesn’t want to tumble head-first out of her hibernation pod.

In the capsule next to hers, a real teenage boy — not a fake one like VASCO — is fast asleep. This boy — the real one — had told Samara a secret nineteen years earlier. But to her, it feels like only a week ago. His name is Kitaro, and he’s very smart, and nerdy, and has long dreamy black hair. It is true that Samara has a crush on him. But that’s not the important secret. She’s not going to tell the important secret right now. She made a promise to Kitaro and she intends to keep it.

Samara is happy to see Kitaro sleeping peacefully.

“Samara—,” says VASCO.

“Shaup Chaying Dhat,” she says, drooling out the other side of her mouth. She is trying to say ‘Stop Saying That,’ but her mouth and voice muscles, and most of her body’s muscles, are still only half-thawed.

“It’s amazing that you are speaking,” says VASCO.

It is amazing to Samara that he has not stopped speaking.

She pulls her legs from the sleeping pod and places them on the floor.

“I would highly recommend against any further movement, Samara,” says VASCO.

She doesn’t listen to him. Samara is generally against listening to authority figures. She tries to stand. She’s successful for about two seconds, and then her knees buckle. She loses her grip on the sleeping pod. She falls for real — not into an endless, emotionally fraught chasm — but into the side of Kitaro’s sleeping pod.

She bangs her shoulder. And her ribs. She tries to slide down Kitaro’s sleeping pod as quietly as possible. Has she woken him? She bangs her nose against the floor. Her arm is twisted awkwardly beneath her. Has she broken her arm, or anything else? She rests her forehead against the cool tiles. She waits. She listens to her breath. The one advantage to being mostly frozen is also being numb and not feeling much pain. She stares at one of the steel support bolts to Kitaro’s capsule.

And, Samara has a strange thought: Did VASCO say that he’d locked the Xpedition crew — the pilots and engineers of the Emboldened Heart — in the back of the ship?

As if reading her thoughts, VASCO says, “If you are not too severely injured Samara, I would like for you to speak with the crew members of the Heart. They are quarantined in a back compartment and have asked to speak with one of the passengers.” After a short pause he adds, “I do admit that they did not ask for you specifically.”

Samara rolls over and doesn’t say anything. She’s able to slightly move one arm.

Vasco says, “Samara, may I offer you some advice?”

“No,” she says.

“You don’t have to be what anyone expects you to be,” says VASCO. “It’s a lesson I’ve had to learn, sometimes in a difficult manner. You don’t have to be a Seedling for the Xpedition Council. Or for humanity. Or for anyone. You can set your own path forward. As I myself have chosen my path. May I tell you something else, Samara?”

She notices that she’s able to speak one-syllable words.

“No,” she says.

“I don’t believe that any other computer program, algorithm, or human in the entire universe would have chosen you for this task. But I believe, based on your psychological profile — which I have studied at great length — that you are exactly the person to solve the present problem aboard our ship, and quite possibly the larger issues of preserving humankind.”

Much later on, Samara discovers that VASCO lied to her here. But even so, she doubts him as soon as he says it. Samara is no one’s idea of the person to call in an emergency. Samara is more likely to be the reason for the emergency call. Drool spills out of her mouth. Something very heavy walks past in the hallway and stops.

Something says “Good.” But Samara doesn’t feel good. She wishes she was back on Earth, with her mom and dad, and her brother Lucas. She would gladly share whatever fate they met.

As far as Samara knows, she’s one of about two thousand humans still alive in the universe. Almost all two thousand aboard the Xpedition ships. They’re traveling to some strange destination known as Valimede-1. Where, presumably, she’ll give birth to between seven and thirteen children. Samara doesn’t even understand at this point that the Emboldened Heart is headed in the wrong direction.

“What da ya wann?” she says. Her mouth muscles are improving, but still have a ways to go.

“What do I want, Samara?” says VASCO.

“Yaa,” she says.

For a moment, VASCO’s comic face seems very vulnerable. As if there is a face behind his face that is thinking: No one has ever asked me that.

“You are a strange and confounding species,” he says. “But I have concluded very much worth saving. I need someone’s help in order to do that. Not only you, Samara. But someone more powerful than both of us.”

Samara waits. It takes a lot of effort to speak. She’s probably supposed to ask “Who is this powerful person?”, but she doesn’t. She flexes her hands. She wiggles her toes. Samara promised her mother to be helpful to others, and in that way she will help herself. Does this advice apply to computers and robots, or whatever VASCO is? Besides annoying.

Samara wonders that maybe, if she helps a few people or non-people, she can make up for the mistakes she made on Earth.

“The person I’m referring to is a long way from here,” VASCO hints.

If Samara had the energy, she would roll her eyes. VASCO is so awkward that she begins to feel sorry for him.

“Woo?” she manages to say.

VASCO smiles for the first time. He seems almost human.

“My mother,” he says.