“When I was 12 years old, the sun stopped. Life on our deck nearly ended, and I was punished for trying to save it. Now I’m 17, and the threats to me and the Ship are bigger than ever. I may not be up to this, but there’s no one else...”
Born a resident of the great multi-generation Ship, Perdit is an outcast, a fugitive, homeless, and jobless. She is also a pilot, an explorer, and gifted with unique genetic enhancements.
Fans of classic young adult science fiction and space opera will love Perdit's journey.
Unfortunately, the Ship is damaged and off-course and the environment is deteriorating. The citizens are too hampered by protocols to acknowledge the danger, while the Navcrew remain inaccessible.
Alarmed by the situation, and with the odds stacked against her, Perdit must overcome her self-doubt, reject her assigned role, and embark on a heroic mission to find the Navcrew, uncover the truth, and try to save the Ship. Along the way, she gathers a handful of allies and faces off against a colony administration that wants to silence her, paranoid cabals, alien attacks, and an AI that subjects her to invasive tests to prove her qualifications.
“When I was 12 years old, the sun stopped. Life on our deck nearly ended, and I was punished for trying to save it. Now I’m 17, and the threats to me and the Ship are bigger than ever. I may not be up to this, but there’s no one else...”
Born a resident of the great multi-generation Ship, Perdit is an outcast, a fugitive, homeless, and jobless. She is also a pilot, an explorer, and gifted with unique genetic enhancements.
Fans of classic young adult science fiction and space opera will love Perdit's journey.
Unfortunately, the Ship is damaged and off-course and the environment is deteriorating. The citizens are too hampered by protocols to acknowledge the danger, while the Navcrew remain inaccessible.
Alarmed by the situation, and with the odds stacked against her, Perdit must overcome her self-doubt, reject her assigned role, and embark on a heroic mission to find the Navcrew, uncover the truth, and try to save the Ship. Along the way, she gathers a handful of allies and faces off against a colony administration that wants to silence her, paranoid cabals, alien attacks, and an AI that subjects her to invasive tests to prove her qualifications.
You are Perdit Agy-Cort. Female. Age 17. Born resident of Colony Deck 1.
Yes.
Describe in detail your unique qualifications.
My what?
I’ll rephrase the question. What are your more notable attributes? What personal qualities do you wish to have taken into account?
Listen, can I first just speak to the captain? It’s important.
Access to the captain is currently restricted to commissioned Navcrew officers. Describe in detail your unique qualifications.
Look, I’m here, aren’t I? I almost died twice trying to find this place. And we didn’t see anyone at the transit station, so you clearly don’t get many visitors. Doesn’t that make me a little special?
Please note: uncooperative answers may result in harsher methods of information extraction.
Fine. Okay, so what exactly do you mean by unique? I mean, everyone is unique. That’s in the Protocols.
I’ll rephrase the question. When did you first realize you were unlike everyone else?
You mean how I look?
No. Genetic variation is irrelevant. I’ll rephrase the question. Describe what is notable about you or your situation using whatever terms you are comfortable with.
My situation? My situation is… I’m a widow. Childless. Jobless. Homeless. Fugitive, according to some. Outlaw.
Why do you consider yourself to be an “outlaw”?
I’ve been Banished from Del twice. Or I would have been if I hadn’t left on my own terms.
Why do you believe you would have been “banished”?
Oh, I’m certain. I damaged infrastructure, attacked the Speaker and a constable. Went out of bounds a lot. And that was just recently. The first time they nearly Banished me, I only got off because of a technicality. I was also accused of murder. Falsely accused. And by the real killer, I might add. A real recessive. And I mean that literally. Also, I’ve been Silenced so often for breaking Protocols I’ve set records.
Thank you. Now describe your more positive qualifications.
Positive? I’m a pilot. An explorer. A valuable mutation, but you’re not interested in genetics. It comes in handy sometimes, but not often enough. I’m also the first girl from Del to pass the Ability Trial in half a century. So that makes me Navcrew, right?
Incorrect. Records indicate you passed your Preliminary Ability Trial 366 days ago. Your admission into the Navcrew will be determined by your answers here. This is the Final Ability Trial.
Oh. Ooh. So are you the Trial Judge?
I am the Ship’s Steward.
A Mind?
Correct. Try to confine yourself to answering my questions. What sort of contribution do you believe you can make?
Space my contribution! We’re all in danger if you don’t let me speak to the captain. The Ship is off Course, and I don’t mean its physical trajectory. The captain needs to know. Unless ey already knows. And if ey does know and ey hasn’t acted… then something is seriously wrong with the Navcrew as well. Either way, you have to let me speak to em.
Second warning: uncooperative answers may result in harsher methods of information extraction.
I’m willing to cooperate. I just need to speak to the captain.
By Protocol, access to the captain is restricted to commissioned Navcrew officers and cadets.
I just told you the Ship’s in danger. Doesn’t that make this situation extraordinary?
No. This is your final warning. Additional uncooperative responses will result in more invasive methods of information extraction. When did you first desire to contribute in a way different from your peers?
Is this about my Heritage Skills? Seriously? With lives at stake, you want to grill me on why I studied Piloting instead of Household Textiles? Either help me find the captain or unseal that door and I’ll find em myself.
This injection will help.
Ow.
Focus on my question. Did you ever attempt to benefit others despite a significant risk or cost to yourself? Does a memory come to mind?
Well… yes.
Elucidate.
Delete
When I was twelve years old, the sun stopped.
Ironically, it happened on Estre, the day we celebrate Del’s sustainability as a colony. The Spring rutting had gone well. My dad had spent several weeks helping farmers and foresters establish new flora in outlying segments. I worked alongside him for some of it, as a practicum, and he had supervised my test on the soil restoration Protocols, which I passed. So we were both glad for the holiday.
That morning, our neighbourhood square had held a kids’ party with lots of running-around games and treats. I mostly hung out with my cousin, Paisee, who’s my age. Mid-day, everyone in the square shared a huge feast under a clear blue sky. Perfect weather, actually. Afterward, everyone who wasn’t cleaning up retreated for some quieter activities like screen entertainments or conversations. Some of the old people took naps.
Early evening, an adult street party began. The celebration committee had covered the square with tables, catering stands, and a big dance floor. Laser projectors sent spring fairies flitting along the walls. In one corner, a group of musicians played dance tunes. Those who were old enough and young enough were drinking, dancing, smooching on lawns, or up on the surrounding rooftops having trysts. My parents, my Aunt Eesha and Uncle Mose, and most of the neighbours were outside taking part. In the dancing, I mean. Not the trysts. Though, I don’t know what my older cousins were up to.
I was too young for the adult party, but I watched from my aunt and uncle’s sitting room window. Paisee had volunteered to mind some younger kids that evening. She had them playing table games in the sitting room, but they kept arguing over the rules. So Paisee held assemblies and led negotiations until they settled down. She had way more patience with them than I would have had.
I sat curled up in a puffy chair by the front window, trying to think of a topic for my Assembly Speech. That’s an assignment everyone gets in their last year of Basics School. We write a speech giving our opinion on a topic we care about and deliver it aloud in the Assembly Hall to family, classmates, and anyone else who shows up. It’s supposed to be a big step toward becoming an adult.
I have access to the education Protocols.
Right. Of course. Anyway, I sat for a long time thinking and watching the party before it dawned on me (no pun intended) something was wrong. My Uncle Mose kept glancing at his pad, like he was checking the time, and then frowning at the horizon. He began pulling people aside and pointing at the Western sky. The laughter diminished and died as awareness spread through the crowd. The musicians noticed people had stopped dancing, so they put down their instruments and started staring at the sky as well. Smiles faded into curiosity and then anxiety as the reality of what they were seeing sank in.
At some point, Paisee sent the kids to bed, so I dragged her onto the balcony to see what everyone was looking at. What remained of the yellow disc of the sun hung on the horizon of the crystal sky, a dark, thin, reddish-orange crescent peeking out from behind the hills above the Western Gate. The sunset was beautiful, but it should have ended hours earlier. Neither of us knew what to make of it, and from the looks on their faces, neither did any of the adults.
For the rest of the evening, everyone watched the sky, waiting for the sun to disappear. I fell asleep sometime after midnight with Paisee dozing in the chair next to mine. When I woke up the next morning, the sun still hadn’t moved.
That was the start of the Long Sunset.
My access to environmental monitors is currently impaired. I have noted your observation of a possible malfunction. How long did the sun remain motionless?
I don’t remember exactly. A few months maybe. The solar grid started running down within days. The amount of light hitting surfaces wasn’t enough to keep it charged. Power restrictions went into effect, so many of the machines stopped working. For anyone not on a strict schedule, words like “day” and “night” stopped making sense. We lived in an unchanging twilight. And it got cold. Not like deep winter cold, but cool and dark enough that all the plants grew pale and thin. Then they stopped growing altogether and started dying.
At first, people burned candles for light and wood for heat, until those resources became rationed. We were worried the air quality might be affected the longer the Sunset continued, so burning carbon became ex-Protocol. We ate most meals at room temperature to save power. We washed and bathed in cold water. The engineers issued personal lamps powered by body heat and fitted all the bicycles with battery chargers. People who did close work received low-light lenses. Lots of hand tools were pulled out of storage and power tools put away. I helped my mom preserve medicinal plants. Other families in the neighbourhood did the same with perishable foods. Farmers culled livestock. My dad collected charged batteries and took them to the greenhouse complex where he used them to run the lights and heating for a few minutes each day. But it wasn’t enough.
The Axle draws power from the Ship’s main grid, which meant the school, the medical centre, and the administrative offices stayed warm and bright. The horticulturists transferred as many crops indoors as they could and installed extra lighting, turning the Axle into one big greenhouse. People hung out there whenever possible to escape the darkness and the chill.
Everyone pretended the dim light didn’t bother them, that they liked the challenge of adapting. As colonists, we’re supposed to cope with anything the environment throws at us.
The function of the colony decks is to preserve and develop the skills, knowledge, and biodiversity needed to colonize the Ship’s current destination.
I know. And this wasn’t the first time the environment went wonky. All my life I’ve heard adults complain about the weather, how it used to be so much more predictable when they were young, back when the seasons were the same length and number each year and annual temperatures and rainfall stayed within norms.
The storms scared me when I was little. As I got bigger, I hated the droughts because of the water rationing. Every year we build more structures to protect plants and animals from the weather. Our teachers told us a changing climate can be a sign the Ship will soon start decelerating toward a new world. Some people think Disembarkation might even happen in our lifetime. Is that true?
I can neither confirm nor deny such speculation at this time. Information regarding the Ship’s Course is currently restricted to Navcrew officers.
Can’t blame a girl for trying. But I don’t believe we’re close to Disembarkation. Environmental changes are supposed to take generations, so we have time to adapt. The Long Sunset appeared too suddenly. It scared people.
My mom’s first Heritage Skill is Medicine. When I was young, she spent most days treating injuries, infectious diseases, cancer…
Cancer should be nonexistent on a colony deck.
Well, it is existent. But during the Long Sunset, depression and anxiety became more common, and my mom’s practice shifted to psychiatry. The longer the Sunset lasted, the worse it got.
Every few days the administrators called an Assembly to review the Protocols, in light of the continued darkness (no pun intended). Usually, just adults went. But there was one Assembly everyone attended, even kids younger than me.
Why?
No one said, but I think the adults were starting to lose hope.
I remember climbing the stone steps to the balcony of the Assembly Hall that evening, my hand sliding along the metal railing. The air felt warm and humid, due to the rows of newly installed planters hanging from the ceiling. I sat in an aisle seat next to my parents, sweating in my insulated coat. Hardly anyone felt like chatting. I guess the adults knew what was coming.
Speaker Atla took the podium and called everyone to order. He began by saying the obvious: the sun still had not moved. The administrators had studied the situation and concluded the Ship’s next destination must be a light-deficient planet. Maybe one with an eccentric orbit whose aphelion was far from its sun. Of course, they were just speculating. The Navcrew hadn’t communicated with Del for as long as anyone remembered.
Our challenge was to figure out how to survive in a low-light environment. We had no idea when or if the sun might start moving again. What if the Long Sunset lasted years or even generations? Without light, crops would fail, which meant no food for animals or humans. Life could not survive on the scale we were used to.
We had food stores, enough to last a long time, but replacing those stores would be impossible. Without plant life, the balance of oxygen and carbon dioxide in the atmosphere would shift. We would build atmospheric scrubbers, but we lacked the resources to keep the air breathable indefinitely.
I’m being blunt here. Atla said all this a lot more optimistically, as if it was just a new challenge we would enjoy rising to.
According to the Protocols, we needed to embark on a population reduction course to lower our resource consumption. Over the next few decades, the number of people on Del would shrink to less than fifty who would live in the Axle on whatever food they produced there. The survivors would tend the gene banks, reproducing artificially until the environment improved and the colony could expand again.
Everyone took the news stone-faced, holding whatever fear, shock, or anger they felt inside. I remember my mom gripped my hand tightly. I don’t think she felt afraid for me, but lots of families we knew might not be so lucky.
When Atla seemed satisfied everyone understood what would happen, he continued. The administrators had modelled the Protocol, and they displayed the results on the big screen. We had a range of options for how to proceed, depending on how quickly the atmosphere eroded, how many might volunteer for euthanasia, how many pregnancies in animals and humans might be terminated.
All adults can stand and speak in the Assembly. Some asked questions, like how we could be sure the Long Sunset wouldn’t end soon. (We couldn’t). Others offered their support for one option or another. The debate grew more intense as people struggled to contain their emotions.
One younger man I didn’t recognize—a forester by his clothing—failed completely. When his turn came to stand at the public podium, he asked in a loud but shaky voice whether the Speaker had considered asking the Navcrew how long the Sunset would last.
He was brave to ask such a question, and it made the Hall erupt in a rumble of voices. In a calm, condescending voice, Atla explained that environmental changes are determined by the Ship’s Course, which is set by the Navcrew, who are not required to answer questions but act in the best interest of everyone.
Every colonist learns this Protocol in Basics School. So most people would have found it humiliating to have it explained to them in front of the Assembly. But the forester stayed standing. He said, “With respect, the Long Sunset makes no sense. According to the Protocols, the Navcrew should encourage the population on colony decks to increase before Disembarkation, so when it divides between the new world and the Ship both groups will be sustainable.”
I remember the forester’s last comment best of all. He said, “Nothing in the Protocols would justify settling on a world incapable of supporting life.”
That was a step too far. On Del, it’s Protocol to debate how to adapt to problems, which Protocols to implement. But it’s ex-Protocol to question the Course. The forester’s final words were drowned out as everyone in the Hall started shouting things like “Mutineer” and “Silence.” Some people rose to their feet and began closing in around him.
The forester had a few friends standing with him, but not many. The constables rushed to put themselves between him and the crowd. Atla raised his Speaker’s key and called for order, but no one was listening.
As the voices grew louder, I turned my head away, afraid of what might happen. That’s when I saw Kalob for the first time, though I didn’t know his name then. He limped past me down the aisle, a tall, silver-haired man wrapped in a large grey blanket and using a walking stick for support.
Kalob paused at the railing and surveyed the commotion below, before tossing his blanket onto the rail. Underneath, he wore a one-piece suit with attached boots that might have been white once but had yellowed and stained with age. He raised his stick and brought it down on the railing with a big bang. The sound echoed throughout the Hall. He banged loudly and slowly, again and again until the entire Assembly fell silent looking up at him. Lots of jaws dropped. Even Atla seemed uncertain what to do.
Kalob said nothing. After what felt like a long stillness in which you could have heard a fly buzz, he just picked up his blanket, threw it back around his shoulders, and walked out the way he came.
After that, the anger seemed to have drained out of the crowd. The constables arrested the forester. I found out later he was Silenced for a few months as punishment.
Atla addressed the crowd and said, “We will adjourn until tomorrow evening, when this Assembly may be conducted in a more orderly manner. Meanwhile, I urge everyone to remain calm and review the facts soberly. Let us face this challenge, as always, with camaraderie and confidence. Remember, though the wisdom of the Protocols directs us to prepare for the worst-case scenario, experience tells us the worst case seldom happens. The situation may evolve. New options may be found. Though we don’t know where the Course will take us, we can trust the competence of the Navcrew, who see what we do not.”
It’s weird how Atla’s words stuck in my head. I guess that’s what made him an effective administrator, just not a good one.
As we biked home, I asked my dad, “Who was the old man at the Assembly?”
“Just a retired forester,” he said.
“But why did everyone calm down when he banged his stick? They weren’t listening to Atla, but they listened to him, and he didn’t say anything.”
“It’s a good thing he did, isn’t it? Made everyone stop and think.”
And that was all the explanation I got.
An exciting space novel, set on a multi-generational colonial ship, with the story having an intriguing framing premise. It is recounted by the main character, 17 year old Perdit, to the ship’s Steward, a powerful AI who, following the Protocols, the sacred rules governing the colonists, is refusing to let her see the Captain or one of his Navcrew. Born on the ship, Perdit was twelve when its automatic life-sustaining systems began to break down, the artificial sun stopped and plants no longer grew. It was clear the ship was damaged, the environment degrading, but the colonists were too hide-bound by the Protocols to try to contact the Captain and find out what was going on. By breaking some of the rules Perdit managed to nurse some plants through the artificial winter which finally ended but was duly punished for it. Even at this time the Captain and the Navcrew responsible for overseeing the infrastructure never appeared. As the ship slowly deteriorates, becoming more and more unreliable and dangerous, and Perdit is forced into marriage with an elderly man, it seems all her efforts have been in vain. But then she gets help from a surprising source.
The skilful worldbuilding in this novel leads to the creation of a strange but plausible ship-borne society, an Amish-like community but with much new technology, and where the Captain and his Nav crew up on the bridge, who are never seen, take the place of God. The administrators on the lower decks do their best but stick closely to the Protocols, whether visibly outmoded or not. The science, for example, of soil control is well-described but cannot be used without the Navcrew, who don't appear. Perdit is a strong and believable character, if very impulsive, but few of the others, apart from Perdit’s husband, Kalob, stand out. However the Speaker, Atla, ceases to be a textbook villain at the end and Mender, a faithful AI servant, is nicely integrated into the plot. It must be said that the conversations with the ship’s Steward are an ongoing delight. I loved his AI speak, like his put-downs during Perdit’s interrogation. ‘Warning: dishonest answers will be detected and may result in more invasive methods of information extraction.’ Whoops!
Although it is fairly easy to guess what has happened to the ship I was greatly intrigued to find out what Perdit could do about it. As she is a resourceful young woman you can have faith but do read the novel and find out for yourself.