The Voyage of the White Cloud

by M. Darusha Wehm

  As she walked up the hill now, it seemed like not much more than a slight rise in the dirt. She knew it didn’t matter which Earth she thought of, the images in her mind had no bearing on any reality. They were an amalgam of stories passed down and distorted from generations on the ship, combined with images from stories she’d seen. And, of course, it would never matter how accurate her fantasies were. She would never see a planet with her own eyes, never step on terra firma in any star system. She was in between, homeless.

  She got to the top of the hill and found her prize. A waft of breeze that came up from the grassy side of the hill. It was warm and humid, the arboretum’s atmosphere adjusted to best suit the plants. She could smell the trees on the air, feel the wind on her face. She closed her eyes and images of a fabricated Earth filled her mind. She imagined the heat of a day star on her face, the tang of an ocean in the air. She imagined a life for herself that might have been, had she been born in another time, another place. She stood there, revelling in her fantasy, for minutes or hours.

  Finally, she opened her eyes again. There was no change in the light, no external indication of how much time she had been there. She could check her tablet, but she didn’t care. There was nothing she needed to do, nowhere she needed to be. She was, entirely, unnecessary.

  She began to walk down the hill, and looked over the arboretum as she did. She could see the neat rows of trees, some bearing fruit, the shrubs and bushes with their berries and fragrant herbs. She saw people, too, some working with their hands in the soil, others walking the paths like she was, enjoying the plants and the scented air. It was life, in all its mediocrity and routine. Like the trees, which rooted wherever their seeds landed at the whim of the wind, so too were people at the mercy of their circumstance.

  Tak filled her nostrils with the scent of the trees, and held the memory of a life she would never experience in her mind as she went back to her quarters to find something she could care about in this world.

  Chapter 19

  Ghosts in the Machine

  “I cannot believe this actually worked.” Linae stepped back from the console screen and shook her head. “This is… I don’t know.”

  “I have never seen you literally speechless before,” Sunni said, her arm around Linae’s waist. “I’m so proud of you.”

  Linae took a deep breath, but the air caught in her throat. She had never been much of a weeper, but Sunni would have sworn the other woman was holding back tears. She and Sunni and the others had been working on this for so long, but Sunni knew that Linae had never allowed herself to truly believe it was possible. And yet, here it was—a functional simulation of a complete personality. It was utterly amazing.

  “Hello,” the face on the screen had an expression of curiosity and mild confusion. “Linae, Sunni, you look… strange. Am I— am I where I think I am?”

  “Yes,” Sunni said, looking into the camera mounted clumsily atop the screen unit. “We did it, Hélène. You’re a copy of the real—I mean, the first Hélène’s personality. How do you feel?”

  The image on the screen appeared to freeze for a moment, then she smiled. “I feel fine. Normal, I guess. I can’t feel my body, which is suppose makes perfect sense since I don’t have one. But I didn’t notice that until I started to really think about it. It’s not like the absence is obvious—I don’t feel sick or injured. Just… disembodied. It’s oddly not odd, if you know what I mean.”

  Sunni laughed. “I do know what you mean. Is it,” she looked at Linae, who seemed to have completely lost her ability to speak, “is it comfortable?” Her voice lowered and she squeezed Linae. “Is it horrible?”

  “No,” Hélène said and smiled. “I remember —“ She broke off and appeared to look down. “Well, it feels like a memory, anyway. Look, I’m just going to talk as if my memories are really mine, it’s just too confusing to try and get the language right.”

  “Of course,” Sunni said.

  “I remember us talking about whether this was immoral, if we were making a kind of prison. And there was no way to know without asking someone who was,” she looked from side to side and it appeared eerily as if she were seeing the edges of the screen. “Who was in here. So I volunteered. And now, here I am.”

  “And…”

  “And it’s fine,” she smiled again. “I know intellectually that I am not real, that when the device is powered down that I am, more or less, dead. But I also know that when Hélène’s body dies, I will still be here. It’s comforting, in a strange way.”

  “What is?”

  “To exist out of time.”

  Sunni felt something break in Linae, some force she had been using to maintain her composure. She heard a sob and Linae broke down, the tears falling freely.

  “Hey now,” Hélène said, “it’s okay, that’s what I’m saying. Come on, Lin, I’m fine in here, really. We did it, we really did. We’ve changed everything.”

  Linae buried her head into Sunni’s shoulder and wept. Sunni caught Hélène’s eye and the image on the screen shared the real Hélène’s look of concern mixed with amusement. “Oh, Lin,” Hélène said, “you should really get some sleep.

  Sunni took Linae back to their quarters, fed her and put her to bed. Hélène was right—Linae had been lead on this project and as they’d gotten closer to testing it, she had been spending all her time working on the final touches.

  “I’m not tired,” she’d protested once they gotten back to their room and Sunni had insisted she get some rest. “There’s still so much to do. We have to document the trial, and there’s a list of test questions we need to ask the Hélène construct, and…”

  “And it will all still be there tomorrow,” Sunni said. “For now, I’m not letting you out of here, so you might as well sleep. You won’t be able to do anything else.” Linae had begun to protest but Sunni put on her serious face and before she knew it, Linae had fallen asleep. Sunni kissed her lightly on the forehead and closed the door on her way back to the main room of their quarters.

  Linae had always been intense about work. About everything, really, Sunni thought. One of the things she liked about being with Linae was that she got to be the laid-back one for a change. She had been a serious child by the standards of her family. Hers had been unusual in that there were three children and her sisters and parents were very much free spirits. Art, fun, food—they were the driving forces in their wild quarters. Sunni’s studious and inquisitive nature wasn’t stifled, but it was often gently mocked. Only once she’d become part of the bridge crew and met Linae had Sunni realized that she wasn’t the most serious person on the ship.

  Sunni stretched out on the couch and let it all sink in. It worked. It really worked. All those years of modelling, of listening to people tell them it was impossible. It was a little hard to believe.

  She wondered what they would do now. She, Linae and Hélène had been working on this project in their spare time for years. There was a lot of down time on the bridge and everyone had their hobbies. Hélène, their welder and engineer, had joined them more recently but put in no less time or energy in the project.

  In her less charitable moments, Sunni sometimes wondered if one of the reasons she and Linae had become a couple was neither of them had time for anyone else. Certainly, all the time they spent together had a lot to do with it. But she could no longer imagine her life without Linae. Ultimately, she thought, it didn’t matter what brought people together, whether it was an unstoppable attraction against all odds or dull utility. She was grateful for Linae however they’d managed to get together.

  She began to realize that she was starting to fall asleep on the couch. She pulled herself upright and took her own advice. She slipped into bed next to Linae and fell asleep wondering what it would really feel like to live as a mind in a box.

  “This will certainly be remembered as one of the first great achievements for our society aboard the White Cloud,” Hine Manti said, standing atop the small stage that had been er
ected in the engineering hall, “and it is remarkable that it will be the very tool used to convey our legacy to future generations. We are lucky to be able to bear witness to this moment, this unique time in human history.”

  Sunni nudged Linae. “She sure does like to talk,” she whispered. Linae elbowed her and from her other side, Hélène snorted.

  “Shhh,” Linae said, and shifted from one foot to another. Sunni had never seen her so nervous. Linae had a tendency to keep her emotions and concerns to herself, to take on too much on her own. It was annoying at work and maddening at home. Maybe things would change now.

  Hélène shot Sunni a look of mock exasperation as the head of the Academy droned on. The entire faculty and most of the students were in the audience, as well as many prominent members of the community. It was the largest assembly of people Sunni had ever seen on the ship, and she wondered if there had ever been this many people in one place on board before. It was exactly the kind of question that future generations would be able to answer by asking someone who was there. The thought that she had helped make that possible was intoxicating.

  “So, in conclusion,” Hine said, and Sunni was certain she could hear a collective sigh from the audience, “I’d like to thank the team who have worked tirelessly on this project for years. I give you Hélène Maarten, Sunni DeWitt and Linae Cook.”

  Applause filled the hall as the three walked up to the stage. Sunni felt her stomach lurch when she turned to see the crowd of people looking at them, at her. She squeezed Linae’s hand.

  “Thank you, Hine,” Linae said, turning to the Dean. “We are all very proud and excited by the success of this project. Humanity has been trying to conquer death since the beginning of time. We have not done that, but we have given our descendants a connection with their past that until now has been at best an imperfect understanding of history. Now, our great-grandchildren will be able to truly interact with their ancestors, the emissaries of the past. We are humbled to have played a part in this development.”

  Linae turned to the construct station on display behind them. This proper prototype was a vastly improved version of the initial drive, screen and camera system that they had used for testing. She flipped a switch and the inlaid screen brightened. It felt like a hour passed to Sunni before the image of Hélène’s construct filled the screen.

  “What a wonderful turn out,” she said and the audience went mad. Some gasped, others cheered and Sunni saw someone have to catch one elderly woman before she fell to the ground. “I am so pleased that you have all come to see me, and I am very happy to know that I and others like me will be able to visit with your descendants for centuries to come.”

  Spontaneous applause broke out, and the construct waited patiently for it to die out. “However,” she went on, “there is one very important aspect to this project which has been ignored until now. I have discussed this with the three people with you now who have helped make this a reality, and we agreed that it was important to tell the whole story. You see, my corporeal doppelgänger and her teammates did not invent this process. They worked long and hard, yes, to make it work, but the genius behind this device lived three generations ago. Her name was Ella Mikkels, and she was not as lucky as we have been to have such a supportive scientific community.”

  There were murmurs of confusion among the crowd. Linea reached over and took Sunni’s hand again. Hélène—the human Hélène—reached over and put her arm around Sunni. The three of them stood there as a unit, as the construct explained the terrible history of the invention.

  “Ella did not manage to create a prototype of her invention, she never saw this process in reality. She could only imagine this moment, but she knew that it was possible. As you can see, she was right. However, the rest of her society did not share her vision. Ella was discredited, her work hidden for years. She, herself, was ultimately stripped of her duties and diagnosed as delusional. She was contained in a medical facility for the rest of her life.

  “When Linae Cook came across Ella’s work in an old file, she immediately believed that it was possible. She, along with Sunni and myself—that is, Hélène—devoted their lives to realizing Ella’s dream. But it was Ella’s dream, Ella’s work that has made this a reality. And that is why we are asking that the record show that this is Ella Mikkels’ creation.”

  “It’s not their decision to make,” Linea said, leaning over the table.

  “I realize that,” Hine said, a placating look on her face. “The council just wants you to reconsider. For a breakthrough like this to be, well, disavowed is—“

  “No one is disavowing anything,” Sunni said, her voice rising. “We are proud of our work. Do you think this was a decision we came to lightly? Do you really think we devoted our lives to create something revolutionary, and don’t want to take the credit? Of course we’d like to be remembered for creating the Ghosts. But we didn’t. It’s Ella Mikkels’ design, her creation. It should be her name in the records.”

  “If it hadn’t been for the fear and cowardice of her peers,” Hélène said, “she would have been the one to make the first machine.”

  Hine sighed. “Fine. I can make it work with the council. But they won’t like it and frankly, I don’t either.” She looked at the three of them, her eyes boring into each of them individually. “You do see the irony, don’t you? The very people who have made it possible to bring history to life, to truly keep the record accurate, are forcing me to falsify the historical record.”

  No one said anything for a moment. Then Linae spoke. “Sometimes the facts don’t tell the whole truth.”

  Most days Sunni wondered if the compromise had been worth it. “I don’t understand why we had to give up anything at all,” she said, not for the first time.

  “The council wants to forget all about Ella Mikkels,” Linae said, “what was done to her. It’s an embarrassment…”

  “It’s worse than that,” Sunni said.

  “Yes,” Linae said, “it is. And that’s exactly why they did not want us to give her the credit. It’s awkward for them, very awkward.”

  “But to agree to go along with this ridiculous contest…” Sunni spit out the last word as if it were rotten. “It goes against everything we were trying to achieve with the Ghosts.”

  “And that’s the consequence of our choice,” Linae said. “When we gave up claim to the machines, we gave up our right to have any say about how they are used.”

  “But it’s wrong,” Sunni said. “The machines should be for the wisest, most knowledgable, most important of us. At least, some of them should be kept for people with knowledge we want to keep.”

  “I think so, you think so, Hélène thinks so,” Linae took Sunni’s hand, and she felt her heartbeat slow at Linae’s touch. “But the council thinks that it’s more fair to allow anyone to become a Ghost. And— I can see their point.”

  Sunni pulled her hand away and felt the heat rising in her chest again. “You see their point? Did we work so hard to make this technology so they could be filled with ordinary people who don’t even understand the gift they’ve been given? There can only be so many Ghosts—they should be important people, useful people.”

  Linae smiled and waited for Sunni to stop pacing. “Everyone is important,” she said, quietly.

  “Sure,” Sunni said, “but not everyone is timeless.” She turned and walked out of their quarters.

  “Have you seen this?” Sunni barged into Hélène’s quarters, brandishing her tablet in the air. “I don’t know whether to laugh or cry.”

  “The contest?”

  “Yes, the contest.” Sunni’s face was a mask of disgust. “I never really believed they would do it. I always thought that someone would realize that this is an opportunity that we can’t afford to waste. There are teachers in the Academy, artists… hell, even Hine would be a better choice than some random person chosen by lottery.” She slumped on to the couch and let her head fall into her hands. “I wonder why we even bothered.”


  Hélène’s face became cloudy. “I don’t understand why they see it as a prize to be won,” she said. “It’s a duty, a burden. The price of being a part of history.” Sunni thought she could see Hélène shiver. “It’s almost ironic—Ella Mikkels being imprisoned for her creation which is, in many ways, a kind of prison itself.”

  “And that’s another thing,” Sunni said, “I can’t believe they are altering the records to take out all the references to what happened to her. It’s not just that she’ll be credited with the invention—they’re making it look like she actually built the prototype herself.”

  “Things have gotten away from us,” Hélène said. “I wonder if we should have stuck to the bridge.”

  Sunni shook her head. “We were trying to do the right thing. I never thought that it would end up like this.”

  “We should do something.”

  “Like what?” Sunni asked. “Try to overthrow the council? No one is going to listen to a bunch of gearheads. Even the people who know what we’ve accomplished aren’t going to support us against the whole council. Especially since we’re the ones who asked for the record to be changed.”

  “There has to be something we can do.” Hélène said. “Something to tell the future what really happened.”

  Sunni frowned, then smiled. “Of course there is,” she said. “And we’ve already done it.”

  “So, you really think no one is going to notice an extra person in here?” The image of the Hélène construct looked remarkably like Hélène did when she was having a hard time accepting someone’s ridiculous ideas.