Embroidery

The emptiness of space lurks behind the observation window, threatens to creep into Mel's heart and soul. She pulls her companion back and turns away, aware of the devastating effect prolonged exposure to the vastness of the universe may have.
On lower deck, behind med, lies the corner of the ship called the bin, the place where severe cases of space sickness end. Mel has no intention to join, but young Betty is heading in this dangerous direction, with her continuous reading and endless questions about space, the ship's functions, and their destination.
Mel reactivates the blinds and picks up her stitching, willing Betty to join her. Nothing like calming embroidery to while away an uneventful off-shift afternoon. But the teenager hates stitching. Instead, she picks up her pad to read. Well, better than stargazing, Mel reckons.
Her gaze wanders fondly over the works of the ancestors decorating the room. It's her burning wish to produce a piece deserving a place in this display, one day. An artwork to be remembered for eternity. Mel sighs. Her goal lies far away in the mists of the future.

Human migratory ship Barnacle Goose, like her sister ships HMS Arctic Tern and HMS Manx Shearwater, left Earth on the bold quest to colonise a new planet. That was twelve generations ago. Twelve generations of dedicated embroiderers left hardly a wall in the living quarters unadorned. There are panels showing legendary Earth landscapes, galleries filled with portraits of famous humans and gracile animals, fantastic flowers and beautiful butterflies.
Mel dreams of creating a tall ship sailing into the setting sun. It's a demanding task, for a woman who never has seen nor will see an ocean. Neither does the concept of sailing make sense to her. But she likes the colour combination of an old picture stored in the digital library. One more time she recalls it on her personal screen, drinks in orange, blue and violet hues before she chooses another thread to stitch a wispy cloud. Betty and her unhealthy interest in science and engineering have slipped her mind.

Illumination

Derek leans back in his chair and contemplates the words glowing on his screen. Sometimes, he doubts his choice to follow the path of the believer.

The words of the prophet are written on the subway wall.

What does this message mean? With a heavy sigh, he stands up to retrieve another glass of liquid courage, his consolation when duty as the spiritual leader becomes overwhelming.
After half a glass of his favourite relaxation cure, he returns to the screen. From time to time, messages pop up in his personal channel. At first, he thought them a hoax. But soon he learned the cryptic texts conveyed important information. It started with a quote he traced back to an ancient religious book called Exodus.

Behold, about this time tomorrow, I will send a very heavy hail, such as has not been seen in Egypt from the day it was founded until now. Now therefore send, bring your livestock and whatever you have in the field to safety. Every man and beast that is found in the field and is not brought home, when the hail comes down on them, will die.

Young Derek, then a command trainee, talked to the captain about the disturbing message. Captain Marc shrugged it off. But the next day an asteroid shower battered HMS Barnacle Goose. They lost two maintenance workers on outside repair shift. And Derek won the dubious title of theological ship's counsellor.

His duty covers to monitor odd messages and to support people in need of spiritual guidance. Derek enjoys both of his jobs equally, most of the time. With a sigh, he shuts down his screen. Time to prepare for his rendezvous with young Betty. The girl is trouble, far too nosy and always asking for reasons and explanations he's unable to give. Derek is convinced Betty will end up in the bin, someday. If only she could be more like Shona, always so pleasant and content, asking for advice instead of doubting his credibility.

Choices

Tiny tubes glitter behind the glass door of the cooler. Shona's excitement is suddenly tainted by fear. Maybe she should stick with embroidery, like her friend Mel? But her test results were brilliant, the medical assistant insisted. They will allow her to carry many children, not just the mandatory one for able-bodied women aboard. Her unique combination of body structure and genetic signature match the most exquisite selection of male sperms. Each of her future offspring is guaranteed the best possible inheritance to start from. Shona might even carry a high ranking officer's child, or the captain's!
From this point of view, it seems a small price that as a professional mother she'll never get to know which children are hers. Only a few embryos hosted in her womb will be the fruit of her own ovaries. But she will feel them grow and care for them while they are tiny.

Medical researchers realised early that a natural birth and childhood years in the care of a mother figure keep the ship's population sane, the individuals content. The Caring Mothers' Program reaches back into the first generations when it replaced the lab reproduction planned for the voyage.
Shona remembers the precious days spent with her assigned mother fondly. With a small smile, she follows the assistant on her tour through the nursery. Preschool children sit around the chair of a friendly, wrinkled nanny, listening with big eyes to her story. This could be her, in seventy years, Shona thinks.
Back in the office, the med assistant offers her a seat.

"And, what do you think? Are you ready to join us?"

One last time Shona contemplates Mel's arguments for working shifts in maintenance and spending free time engulfed in embroidery. Her friend insisted machines were easier to cope with than children. Then her thoughts drift to father Derek. The honourable scholar suggested faith would show her the right path. Mel might be just jealous. Isn't maternity all a woman's heart can desire?
Shona picks up the antiquated pen to scrawl her formal signature under the application form for Caring Mothers with a happy smile.

Full house

Captain Marc pushes his cards together into a neat block and stuffs them into the front pocket of his uniform jacket. Won't do to allow anyone a glimpse at his hand.
This taken care of, he picks his way barefooted to the central command station, well aware he could have sent someone else to do the hourly routine check. He was tempted, but with two new recruits on deck, Marc won't miss out on a chance to prove his competence and complete dedication to duty.
He runs some unnecessary checks without bothering to wait for results. Everything is fine as always. This ship is set to run its course without major human manipulation. However, he understands and agrees on the need to sustain the passengers' illusion of their lives being guided by a competent crew and trustworthy captain.
His number one watches him, her trademark smile faint on cherry-red lips. Binja is too clever to fall for his tricks. But she won't spoil his little show either. Even if her cards were against her and she sits in her chair clad only in a pair of lacy thongs and a bra fitting her lipstick, so far into their game.
The engineer didn't fare much better, but his hairy chest can't compete with Binja's assets. Today, their youngest member, Elenor, pulled the lucky straw. She lounges in her seat snugly, crisp outfit still complete. Well, other opportunities will arise, each round of the game redistributes the luck. Meanwhile, their junior helmsman shows promising features. The young man's athletic body rises not only Binja's spirits but the captain's too. And more than his spirits.
Convinced the ship's routine runs as boringly accurate as usual, he gets hold of his cards and swaggers back to his chair, confident his jacket and boxers cover his state of arousal.
He avoids Binja's eyes, aware he can't fool her. But the captain is sure she's as eager as himself for the next round of poker.

Lower deck

Tom scratches his three-day stubble and picks up the cup with lukewarm coffee. Endless rows of numbers on his screen confirm his pet theory. However, he isn't happy. As usual, Dinah reads his mind.

"Still worried about the gravitational anomaly? You can predict it to a T."

"Yes, but that's no help. We need to counterbalance the effects. And you know whatever we do, it will have a major impact on Barnacle Goose's artificial gravity field."
Dinah snatches his coffee and dumps it to refill the cup with steaming black liquid from the coffeemaker.

"So what? The passengers get a bumpy ride. They survived worse."

Tom's answer is cut short by Felipe's entry. Their undisputed commander sets a giant mug under the coffeemaker.

"We will have to extract the Betty kid, soon. She has her nose buried in the wrong books and asks too many questions."

Dinah shrugs. "She's only thirteen."

"So what? Tom here was twelve when I moved him out. And I'm sure he doesn't blame me."

"Yeah, but if we pull her now, she'll never get the choice to join the mothers or pick up embroidery."

"No, she won't. But it will prevent her to commit suicide before anyone cares."

This shuts Dinah up for good. Tom knows that but for Felipe's intervention, she would have gone for a spacewalk herself, at fifteen. The commander nods and picks up the abandoned thread.

"Betty is into engineering, of all the unhealthy possibilities on this ship. We all agree we're short-handed and living on caffeine. Some young blood won't hurt. Here, this reading list reflects her pastime of the last ten days."

Tom stares at a compilation of every technical work accessible to passengers. Something clicks into place.

"Dinah, what's up on the bridge?"

The surveyor checks a screen, slightly shaking her black curls.

"Strip poker again. Wonder if they ever tire of it."

"I bet they won't. Fine, it keeps them too occupied to meddle. Send the Derek guy another prophetic vision, please. Something to cover the thruster activity. I must engage them to compensate the anomaly, later."

Dinah smiles and glances at Betty's impressive reading list.

"Sure, something about an earthquake might fit, explain the vibrations. I'll search an adequate quote in the scriptures. But the Betty gal won't believe a word, she's far beyond Derek's mumbo-jumbo."

"Exactly. She'll make a fuss. Chances are, they deliver her to the bin straight away. They always do. Better prepare to play the good doctor again, Felipe."