This Long Vigil (A Short Story)

THIS LONG VIGIL

Rhett C
Bruno

“INHABITANT 1724 IS UNDERGOING the recycling process. The
birthing of replacement Inhabitant 3287 will initiate immediately afterwards,”
Dan announced. He was the ship-wide artificial intelligence in command of the
Interstellar Ark, 
Hermes
.

I groaned, got up out of my bed and rubbed my eyes.
“Understood, I’ll head there now,” I responded, though performing my usual
duties was the last thing on my mind.

As the human Monitor of the Interstellar Ark 
Hermes—
the
sixth to be chosen for that designation since the ship departed Earth—it was my
job to be awake and attentive so that I could help with the few tasks which Dan
couldn’t handle alone. Typically that consisted of presiding over birthings, or
fixing pieces of malfunctioning equipment, but it was always under his careful
guidance. I was the pair of mobile hands able to reach the few areas of
the 
Hermes
 he wasn’t able to.

Most days, however, I just spent my time waiting for my next
task and talking to Dan. He had no problem carrying out his many responsibilities
while simultaneously keeping me entertained. Everything I knew I had learned
from him: how to speak, how to think, what Earth was like—everything. Even my
name, Orion, was just the designation of a constellation of stars I’d taken a
liking to in my early days as I stared out of the tiny viewport in my room. I
never had human parents to give me one like I’ve heard is the customary
practice back on Earth, so that was what I chose. Though I suppose you could
say Dan was like my father.

I stepped out of my quarters and into the long, cambered
hall of the 
Hermes’
 Living Ring. It was a looping passage
wrapping entirely around the ship’s central Conservatory and it rotated
continuously in order to produce a sense of serviceable pseudo-gravity.

“What is always coming but never arrives?” Dan asked as I
began my trek.

I smirked. Dan had a soft spot for riddles. Whether or not
he told them to distract me or himself—if that was even possible—I’m not sure,
but often times I spent days trying to come up with an answer. I got a few
right from time to time, but they were always challenging.

“This is a simple one,” I replied.

“You have the answer already?” If he could sound surprised I
imagined he would’ve. I never figured them out that quickly.

“Not yet, but you won’t stump me this time.”

I repeated the riddle over and over in my head as I made my
way down the Living Ring. It was nice to get to think about something else
besides the people floating in the glassy tubes running down both sides of the
passage. They were 
Hermes’
 Life-Chambers, holding the exactly
nine hundred and ninety-nine inhabitants hibernating on the 
Hermes
.
All of them slept quietly in their artificial wombs, showing no more motion
than the occasional twitch of an eyelid due to an unpleasant dream. There were
never any more in stasis and never any less. According to Dan, the ship’s
makers had calculated for its Conservatory to be capable of producing only the
precise amount of nutrients necessary to support that population.

Only one chamber remained empty—the one I’d emerged from—and
it would remain so until I turned fifty-years-old and had to return to the long
sleep so that a new Monitor could take over and a new chamber would be vacated.
Presently, I was forty-nine, and my birthday wasn’t far away. My time walking
the halls of the ship was swiftly coming to an end, and seeing the docile faces
of the inhabitants only served to remind me of that fact each and every day.

“Every day,” I said out loud. “Is the answer, tomorrow?”

“Very good, Orion,” Dan responded almost instantly. “That
was your fastest time yet. Only four hundred ninety-seven seconds.”

“I must be getting smarter in my old age,” I chuckled.

Without even realizing, it’d taken me almost the entire walk
to come up with the solution. I stopped and looked left at Inhabitant 1724. My
smile vanished in an instant when I recognized who it was. An old man floated
upright in the liquid-filled Life-Chamber. A dozen different tubes and needles
were affixed to his sagging flesh, each of them performing some crucial task in
order to sustain his life. His time had run out.

“I thought I recognized the number,” I said. “Poor Fish
finally ending his sleep, huh?”

“Fish?” Dan questioned.

“Yeah, I ...” I considering explaining, but decided against
it. Dan called him by his numerical distinction. I knew him as Fish. It was a
name I’d given him because his wrinkled face looked remarkably similar to a
certain type of fish from Earth which Dan had once shown me.

“Nevermind,” I said. I didn’t want Dan to think I was being
foolish. He didn’t inquire further. “Are you sure his time is up?”

“Yes. He is seventy Earth-years old as of 1404 UTC today.”

I sighed. “Go ahead and initiate then.”

The point where Fish’s chamber met the ceiling fanned open,
and the greenish liquid inside began to drain through it. All of the tubes and
needles in his loose skin popped out. Then he was then sucked up through a dark
hole and into the innards of 
Hermes
.

“Evacuation complete,” Dan announced.

The glass face of the vacant chamber peeled open so that I
could do the routine checkup following an evacuation. I stepped in and began
analyzing all of the circuits and other apparatus within. Everything looked to
be in fine order, even after having remained relatively untouched for the
seventy years since Fish’s birth.

I opened my mouth to let Dan know it was clear, but all that
came out was air. Even after helping with more than one hundred of them, the
recycling of an Inhabitant always got to me. I swallowed the lump in my dry
throat and forced the words out. “All looks good.”

“Thank you, Orion. Please proceed to Inhabitant 2678’s
chamber. She has been prepped for birthing.”

I stepped out of Fish’s chamber and when it resealed behind
me I released a mouthful of air. “Bye, Fish,” I whispered.

<><><> 

It was a short stroll around the Living Ring in order to
reach the Life-Chamber of Inhabitant 2678. This time I couldn’t help but stare
at the bodies of various ages and sizes floating beside me along the route.
Every one of them was unique, down to the tiniest strands of hair on their
bodies. It was important to 
Hermes’
 builders to make sure that
the ages of those on board remained staggered. Apparently, variety was going to
be crucial for the development of a new society at 
Hermes’
 destination.
That was why the builders didn’t just send frozen embryos.

When I reached the pregnant inhabitant, I turned my back to
her chamber. It never seemed right to me to watch them give birth. The tubes
attached to her would lift her legs and spread them so that a spindly apparatus
descending from the ceiling could draw out her offspring. When I finally turned
around, that metallic arm was lifting a bloody infant up through the opened
ceiling. I made sure her readings were satisfactory while I waited for it to
disappear. Everything went perfectly, as usual. The red-stained fluid in the
chamber was flushed and replaced straightaway, clean as ever.

“A male,” Dan announced.

I nodded before traveling back to Fish’s vacated tube. By
the time I got there it was refilled and the unclothed newborn had already been
lowered in. The infant’s tiny arms flailed and the face on his oversized head
was scrunched as if he was in pain. He cried silently behind a mask of bubbles
until a respirator tube entered his mouth. Then he quickly fell into an
unconscious state, allowing the chamber’s many needles and tubes to painlessly
fasten themselves to his flesh. I checked the chambers readings twice to be
sure. Again, everything was fine.

“Inhabitant 3287 has successfully been planted. Thank you,
Orion,” Dan said.

“You’re quite welcome, Dan. Always happy to help,” I
replied.

With my task completed I began to make my way back to my
quarters. After a few steps I noticed out of the corner of my eye that I was
standing beside the only empty Life-Chamber on the 
Hermes
. My eyes
froze on it. My heart sank. I decided to go the other way.

“I notice that your pulse is quickening. Are you alright?”
Dan asked.

“Fine,” I lied. “Just been thinking a lot.”

“Still considering which inhabitant will be your successor
again?” he asked.

“Not exactly,” I grumbled.

“In twenty-three hours you will be fifty-years-old. As you
know, I was programmed by my maker to ensure that there is always an
able-bodied human on watch—”

“I know that!” I snapped, somewhat unintentionally. Last
time he told me it was thirty-seven hours. There was less than one day until my
eyes would never open again. It was going by too fast. “Sorry. I just ... I
don’t want to mess this up,” I said.

“You can’t. There are two hundred and eleven members of this
crew who are of the required age and size to be awakened.”

“Yet only one to choose. I wish it was easier.”

As soon as I said that I found myself staring at the
Life-Chamber positioned directly adjacent to my quarters. The woman inside was
around the same age I was when the previous Monitor chose to wake me; however,
there was something different about her. Something which drew me that I didn’t
really understand and that Dan could never manage to explain.

“Perhaps Inhabitant 2781 is the one?” Dan said suddenly,
startling me. “You’ve spent approximately fifteen hours of the last week
studying her Life-Chamber.”

“Maybe,” I said softly.

I knew he was right. I’d decided on her almost a year prior.
As much as I may have wanted to let Dan know, however, I couldn’t tell him the
reason why I was taking so long; that I wanted to be there when she took her
first wobbly steps even though I knew I couldn’t. I wanted to grasp her smooth
hands and welcome her to the realm of the living; to feel the pulse of her
veins beneath her skin—real human contact. Sometimes I’d watch as her chest
gently heaved from the air she unconsciously breathed in through her
respirator, and that was often enough to get my heart racing. All my wakened
life I enjoyed taking the time to name inhabitants like Fish. I’d make up
stories about what their ancestors might’ve been like or what they would’ve
done if they’d never left Earth. I could never think of any tale fitting for
her. I couldn’t even think of a worthy name.

“Who am I to get to choose who wakes up and who doesn’t?” I
asked. I placed my fingers against the glass. It was warm to the touch.

“You are the sixth Monitor of the Interstellar Ark, 
Hermes. 
Constructed
on Luna Station in 2334 C.E. by Pervenio Corporation.”

“Imparted with the task of ensuring the completion of our
exploratory journey,” I finished for him. I took a long stride back from the
chamber and sighed. “Did the other Monitors take this long to decide?” I asked.

“They were under the same restrictions that you are.
Consequently, their decisions all arrived by the required time.”

“Was it hard for them too then?”

“I could sometimes detect elevated levels of anxiety in them
as the date of their return to stasis drew closer, though I am sorry that I
cannot be one hundred percent positive as to what the origin of that anxiety
was in each particular case.”

“You didn’t talk to them about it?”

“We conversed about a great many subjects. However, they
never shared their feelings on this topic with me as explicitly as you have. I
found that all five of your predecessors remained very reclusive throughout the
final year of their service.”

“Were you like a father to them as well?” I questioned, a
hint of jealousy creeping into my tone.

“They never articulated it, so it is possible that they did
not feel that way,” Dan admitted. “My maker left me with many recordings about
your species’ history, but the data does not account for how each individual
human develops unique, social tendencies. It has been remarkable to analyze
firsthand.”

I lowered my gaze from the woman and began shuffling away.
“You’re all I have, Dan,” I replied solemnly.

He didn’t respond right away, which usually meant that he
noticed from my tone that I was dismayed. He could be peculiar that way. A few
times when I was younger his logical responses only served to frustrate me
more. It seemed he’d learned from those instances.

While he was quiet I turned out of the Living Ring and into
my private quarters. It was a small nook tucked onto the outside of the
circular structure, where the 
Hermes’
pseudo-gravity was the
strongest. In it there was little more than a bed and a closet filled with a
dozen identical boiler suits, but it was the tiny viewport sunken into the far
wall which always drew my interest.

I sat on my bed stared through it. The glass was dense and
tinted with shielding agents in order to protect me from radiation. It made the
countless stars that shone through it appear like blurry, white specs, but it
was the best view of the world beyond that the 
Hermes
 had to
offer. I was grateful to its builders for at least providing me with something
to show me that the interior of the ship wasn’t my entire universe, though I’d
longed to step outside for my entire life.

“It is around time for your feeding, Orion,” Dan said,
finally. A circular seal in the counter adjacent to my bed peeled open to
reveal a hollow tube. A bowl filled with lumpy, brown-colored soup rose through
it, spoon already resting on the rim. The sight of it made me grimace.

“I’m not hungry,” I replied.

“I must insist that you do not refuse another meal. As the
active Monitor, your continued health is imperative.”

“Not for long,” I grumbled. I reached over, grabbed the bowl
and twirled the spoon around in the goop. There wasn’t any name for it besides
food, but it’s what I ate every single day. According to Dan it bore all of the
nutrients necessary for keeping me healthy. I lifted a spoonful, but instead of
bringing it to my mouth I tilted the spoon and allowed it to tumble over the
edge.