Starlight Rebellion

A man-made protoplanet, loose in the galaxy. The first so-called starship was so massive it had to be assembled off-world, and clearly was too big to just lump in with those other things called spaceships. Because the biggest namesake was already taken, so it was inevitable the thing would be named after something smaller. Although, now that I think about it, the hubris of humanity is bigger, so maybe that was appropriate. It does makes me wonder what's going to happen the next time something new comes along. Humans. Giving things a title that might just be slightly more impressive than it ought to be. Apparently, no one wants to say "nuclear electric propulsion ships" every single time they're referring to this string of crazy experiments. Personally, I don't see anything wrong with "NEP ships" as a shorthand, but somehow that term hasn't made it out of the scientific community. It's telling that somewhere along the way, someone won an argument about not using the old term "world ship." Here isn't the destination, after all. This first starship is so massive it has its own biome inside. The whole thing is nearly a floating planet in its own right. Nearly. 
 
If it's a planet, it's a planet with a mission. Float across the inky black to the nearest star system and deposit the first bit of humanity into another solar system, right onto a lovely habitable planet in one of the stars of the Alpha Centauri system. A bit of humanity that will have never known anything but the`` depths of space. Must be nice to be part of that generation. Mine is stuck here, in the stars.
 
The joint venture between a few of the first private space companies and a couple government space agencies built this massive ship, because they were too impatient to wait for technology to render the idea obsolete. Cryosleep. Breaking the light barrier. Propulsion technology that could lesson the trip to one lifetime. Something. Back on Earth, they effing had broken the light barrier. But the prevailing idea is the current lightspeed technology is incapable of being scaled up to something the size of a spaceship. The second they developed nuclear propulsion technology capable of making the trip, they built this hulking starliner instead of waiting for the tech that wouldn't require them to build multi-generational living quarters. I guess the then recent breakthroughs in the anti-aging industry made them think it would be relatively cost effective. Fewer generations living in space.
 
I would have been quite happy with anything that would have rendered my autonomy my own. Instead here I am. Stripped of a choice before I was even born. Because as big as this intricate hunk of metal is, it's incredibly limiting. At least everyone's got a guaranteed job, right? At least everyone's guaranteed a certain standard of living, right? And over the course of this multi-generational trip, systems have developed. A culture, if you will. Or some bastard look alike. 

Good with people? That will get you a job in Command. Good with mechanics? Engineering it is. The lazy or trouble prone ones are put where they, for one reason or another, can't do too much damage. Not to sound like that is a significant issue. The education system did a good job of hammering home the idea that we're special. The first pioneers to a new solar system. Carrying humanity further than ever before. Onward into the deep unknown. 
 
Except that it's pretty known. There's nothing. It's space. That's pretty much the effing definition. Nothing. Welcome to the vacuum.
 
I'm not even part of the first generation raised in space. Not the first. Won't be the last. Those are the ones I'm jealous of. I "get" to live and die in transit so they can inhabit some new planet. Maybe I won't have a kid. Just to spite this whole asinine endeavor and its multi-generational starship system. Adhering to the one child policy is only forced through social pressure. If that's your thing. 

Clearly it's not mine. Or I wouldn't be sitting in the Comms bay with a cup of coffee and a Communique of Independence. 
 
Good with words? That will get you a drawer of half-edited manuscripts and a docket as a communications officer. Youngest comms officer? That will get you recruited by the rebellion. Most likely to join. And someone has to tell Ground Control that there's been a revolution.
 
I probably would have ended up part of it anyway. I agreed with Josiah Jones long before he actually started anything. I've known him since high school. Which is a ship joke. I've known everyone since forever. It's like all the small town stereotypes from Earth Lit but on steroids. I have known JJ's ideas since high school, as he was starting to piece together what he thought. Though back in tenth grade physics I wouldn't have pegged him as being the future leader of a revolution. It's kind of a pointless revolution. Which sounds about right for JJ.
 
The education system is kind of stupid. It's funny the ingrained ideas that carried over from Mother Earth. Twelve years of mandatory schooling, heavy emphasis on the math and science skills necessary to running a starship. Twelve years of being told that we're all incredibly significant. Carrying the spirit of humanity further than ever before. And then your choice of online degrees, or not, from any of a number of universities back "home." Only old timers and people who haven't thought about it call Earth "home." I have no allegiance to a planet I've never set foot on and I never will. I'm going to die on this vacuumed sealed tin can. It's a pretty nice tin can but still. I would have liked a choice in the matter. 
 
I know sound a little like a whiny teenager. (I'm not. I graduated from Oxford. I'm a whiny Literature Studies major.) But do you know I've never seen sunlight? Not in the form of a sunrise, a sunset, or the midday rays streaming through the living room window. And further, do you know how many books include sunlight? Too many. I tried to even it out a little, but again with the drawer full of half-edited manuscripts. Metaphorical computer folder drawer. I don't think we have any real paper. There are some actual books floating around but I've never seen a blank piece of paper in my life. We have trees, in the Observation Area (more colloquially known as "the park"), but they're for oxygen/air quality. The park is the closest I've ever been to understanding the physical descriptions in a lot of books. Someone (oh the joys of joint private-government funded starships--I've heard the horror stories of when it was all penny-pinching governments in charge of design) got the bright idea to make the walls around the park look like "old-world" European buildings. They're pretty. And disconcerting when compared with the rest of the ship. Which was designed by penny-pinching government types.

You would think someone would be interest in books written in space. It's a whole new perspective. Or it was, a hundred years ago. And some publisher back on Earth might be interested. I just haven't found them with my limited personal bandwidth. EarthNet access out here is limited. Can't have everyone on board just accessing whatever parts of ; they want. Too much bandwidth taken up by cat videos. (That's an Earth thing, right?) And the publishers I have managed to talk to are still only interested in non-fiction books that chronicle life onboard the first spaceship in excruciating detail. Or old-fashioned space operas. Neither of which were precisely what I had in mind.

If you grew up on Earth, you're perfectly capable of writing books set in space. But if you grew up on a starship, clearly that is the only setting you're capable of understanding.

The door behind me beeped as the keypad registered a known user and the gears started turning. I spun the chair around to face the door as it slide open and a dark haired guy my age ducked into the room. JJ. Known user only in the sense that I had given him my access code.

"Hey Blaze," he said.
 
"'Sup, future leader."
 
"Current leader," he corrected me, "Have you sent that yet?"
 
"Proof reading it," I said, turning back to the computer screen.
 
"It's proof read," he said, leaning with one hand on the back of my chair, "send it already."
 
He's anxious to started "phase II." "The Earth Pushback." Personally, I don't think they'll care. Except for Karen. Why would they care about not running a self-sufficient starship anymore? Just one more problem off their plate. JJ thinks it's a pride thing. He also significantly more concerned about the private companies and their investors than he is about the governments' reactions. Either way, in a few more centuries there are going to be humans on the planet in Proxima Centauri's habitable zone. Hopefully by that point someone has come up with a better name than Proxima B.
 
"Do you want a damn typo in your Declaration of Independence?"
 
"Oh that piece of history you remember."
 
"I remember the things that matter to me. Someone didn't want to be part of something anymore."
 
"I rescind my previous comment."
 
He seemed as amped up about this as he probably was the day he announced the rebellion to Command. Which was to say, he wasn't. JJ is the perfect stereotype of cool, calm, and collected.

No typos. Just like the last ten read-throughs.
 
I picked up my coffee mug, taking a sip as I hit the send button. And the redundant confirmation button. Oh goody, there was a third one that I hadn't seen before. Yes, send the document marked Official Communique through the proper channels to the Flight Commander. I didn't know who else to send JJ's Communique of Independence to. It's not like there's a protocol for this thing. Or I would know it. I don't think it matters. Once one person sees, it'll get around. After someone, I hope Karen, inevitably ask me if it's a joke.
 
"Done."

"Thanks."

"Oh, hey, JJ," I spun in my chair towards the brooding Future Leader who was currently hunched down, hand on chin, looking at something on another monitor.
 
"Yeah?"
 
"We should send this to the press on Earth."
 
"You don't think Ground Control will?"
 
"Dunno. Prefer not to give them the choice."
 
"Yeah, go ahead."
 
Great. Good. Now. How the hell was I going to do that? The only comms system I knew how to operate was straight to Ground Control. But theoretically, the Communications Department had unthrottled access to ENet.
 
Yelling echoed down the hall, covering the sound of running boots.
 
"I thought you said you had Enforcement all locked up?"

"It's complicated," JJ said, with a hand wave, still typing on the computer.
 
"What are you doing?"
 
"Checking security cam footage."
 
That was accessible through Comms? I shifted in my chair and stared at the printed hunk of plastic on his hip. He must have felt me staring, he looked down at the weapon on his hip and then back at me.
 
"It's kind of required for a rebellion, you know."
 
"Yeah, yeah," I said, turning back towards the computer, "I'm just not convinced any of you know how to use it given your limited access to qualified training materials."
 
"Well we're winning."
 
"That's what you're saying."

JJ rolled his eyes and plunked a black brick of metal and plastic down on the desk in front of me.
 
"What the hell is that?"
 
"A radio," he said, dryly.
 
"From where?" I asked, "Wait, no, from when?"
 
"It's one of the old ones Enforcement doesn't use anymore."
 
"Clearly."
 
"It also has channels they don't use anymore."
 
Benefits of being on a spaceship. It's hard to truly throw something away. JJ was moving towards the doors.
 
"Keep it on, don't let anyone else in," he said, punching in the security code to open the door to the hallway.
 
"How many of them are still loose?"
 
He paused.
 
"Read a history book. Revolutions are complicated."

He was gone and the door beeped and whirred as it re-engaged the lock. I turned back to the computer and the blank wallmonitor at the far side of the room, suddenly very uncomfortable with sitting with my back to the door. I pushed back my chair and kicked at the desk. It slid a little. Not bolted to the floor. Maybe I could rearrange the furniture. Or I could read a history book. Right. In the middle of all this, that's what I was going to do.
 
It probably was exactly what JJ had done, in the plural. He was always great at pulling the broad, overarching ideas out of historical examples. I picked up my coffee and checked to see that the antique JJ had left me with was on. Green light. Green lights are good. I picked it up. Geez, it was heavy. I plunked it back down on the desk and leaned back.
 
Leaning back in the chair to the point it nearly tipped over, I stared at the blank wall in front of me. Technically I could put anything from one of the monitors up there, but when sending the Communique of Independence, I wanted it on my private screen. The silence was pushed down on my chest. This room was, normally, constantly buzzing. Monitors filled and information flying across the giant screen, over a background of a live sensor feed. Most of my co-workers seemed to like being able to "see" outside while working. I'm not even sure that's an exterior hull. Either way, it's not a viewing port and the feed is electronic. The sensor could be glitching or looping a feed. It always felt incredible fake to me.
 
"Computer, outside feed on main screen."
 
Nothing. Black with faint stars. Silence.
 
A clank and distant shouting echoed down the halls from somewhere. I sat back up in my chair. The Communique should just be reaching Ground Control. At least breaking the light barrier had gotten us something. It was 0730 at Goddard Deep Space Flight Command Center. The flight commander should just be getting in, and waiting for briefings from all space flights. Carl would be packing up to leave after the early morning shift. He has two young kids at home, but he prefers working nights/early mornings. "Sleep is for the weak, and this way I get to spend more time with my kids." Jason and the rest of the day crew, Karen included, would be settling into their desks.

An alert notified me I had a communication incoming from Ground. It was through the normal channels we usually used to talk to Ground--not the extra-special, extra-encrypted official channel I had used earlier. I couldn't imagine that the flight commander hadn't read my little communique by now.

Is this a fucking joke?
 
Definitely not Karen. And definitely a response to the extra-special, extra-encrypted communication.
 
Nope. We're free now, bitches.
 
I erased it before sending. I do actually know how to do my job. Which really comes down to translating life into formal-sounding, diplomatic terms. And vise versa.
 
The Communique of Independence is an accurate summary of the recent events here onboard Starship Orion.
 
More silence.
 
Another window popped up on my screen. I had a new ENet email from Jason.
 
There's a message on a comms channel I didn't know existed. So I take it things finally boiled over up there.
 
Maybe that initial response had been Karen. Most of Ground Control had at least some idea of what had been happening recently. It was surprising I'd startled someone into swearing on a monitored channel.
 
You could say that.
 
More running down the hallway. And a sound that was a...violent pop. My heart jammed into my throat and suddenly my clothes were sweaty. I turned around in my chair to look at the doors. Comms was considered one of the highly classified areas, so the doors were re-enforced and supposedly difficult to hack. The whole reason JJ had needed to recruit someone inside the department to begin with.
 
You're going to have to tell them why. Heads up, the director is on his way down here.

Thanks, Jason. Appreciate it.

Nearly the size of a planet. Almost the size of a planet. The kind of almost that only counts in horseshoes and hand grenades. I only kind of know what the phrase means, but it has a nice cadence to it and my grandpa says it enough it's stuck in my brain. "Close enough doesn't cut it, kiddo." 
 
Grandpa has set foot on Earth. He chose to leave. He's also going to kill me when he finds out that I'm the one that sent the Communique of Independence back to Earth. He's probably going to care more than whoever got it on the other end. Unless of course it was Karen. Karen is new and cares way too much about everything. Especially protocol. I don't know what her deal is, because she won't talk about anything expect "official business." Whatever that's supposed to mean. Yes sir, your sensors are getting readings compatible with ours. We're the second speck of dust on the monitor and straight on 'til the Alpha Centauri system. 
 
4.24 light years. It doesn't sound like a long trip. Maybe that's what Grandpa thought when he got onboard. I don't know, because he won't talk about it. Never talks about life on Earth or why he left. Chances are he was running from someone or something. One way ticket to another planet? Yes, please. The kinds of people who say yes to that are pioneers. And running.
 
There's a few families with "nice" backgrounds. Adventurous types that set out with a whole fleet of aunts and uncles. Not that it's going to matter. By the time we get there, everyone's going to be related. Another point in the "never have a kid" column. Ground can do all the genetics control they want. Command can back them up. I still know Nora Frank's kid is not Ronan Frank's. Someday Command is going to find out about that. And the social pressure system will be messed up, because technically now someone else had two kids on the starship instead of the one intended. They never made that a law. Something about a country on Earth tried it and it eventually didn't end so well. I don't know. If it wasn't part of a novel I actually liked, chances are I didn't learn it. What were they going to do if I failed History? Not give me a mandatory job? All these genetics and settling a whole new planet are part of the reason why they've already started another starship on the journey. 
 
Oh yeah. That's why I joined the rebellion. There's more of these. More of me. They should get a choice too. If not in whether they're part of a generations-long plan to conquer the universe at least in how they do the conquering. That's the point of it all. We get to rule and run ourselves. For better or catastrophic system failure. 

An alert chime I've never heard before let me know a message was coming through on the extra-special, extra- encrypted official communication channel.

This is Director Yanders. Who am I speaking to?
 
Oh shit. My fingers hovered over the keyboard. It's one thing to anonymously send a document declaring revolution. And a whole different thing to cop to it to the person in charge of Goddard. The director's quick response time was yet another example of how all processing speed was diverted to official communications channels. I really should have been focusing on what I was going to say. Although. Here was my chance, to leave my name on some copy of some historical record. "The Communique of Independence, sent back from the Starship Orion by Communication Officer-"
 
The President would like an explanation of the latest communication.
 
Bitch. I'm still thinking, don't double comms me. Also, what exactly was that threat?
 
This is Communication Officer Charliko.
 
The door beeped and the gears started grinding to open it. I stood up and moved out of direct line of sight, scanning the room for a weapon. The best thing I could see was Indra's steel water bottle. Which was, of course, on the other side of the room.
 
"How's it going in here?"
 
Things couldn't be too bad, if JJ had time to keep popping back in here.
 
"Fine. How are things going out there?"
 
"Fine. Got any response yet?"

I settled back into my chair.
 
"Yeah. Some higher up is, well, a little pissed off."
 
"Good."
 
JJ leaned over my shoulder again, looking at the most recent messages on my screen. And the private emails between me and Jason.
 
"Who's Lieutenant Elihu?"
 
"A friend of mine at Ground Control."
 
JJ shifted so he could look me in the eye, and just raised his eyebrow.
 
"Oh come on." I shifted in my seat, moving further away from him. "Not every single one of them is the enemy. And besides, free info."
 
"Just watch what you tell him. That channel's gotta be monitored."
 
"Yeah, yeah. Whatever. More important thing." I pointed to the messages in the official channel.
 
Silence. JJ straighten up and stayed quiet. Maybe he hadn't written the Communique himself. I started typing.

This freedom is not for ourselves, but for the future generations that will be the first in human history to set foot in a different star system. This is the inevitable colonist revolution. Just a little early. The inevitable consequence of stuffing humans into a pressurized tin can with not much else to do but think.
 
I dramatically took my hands off the keyboard and raised an eyebrow at JJ, who was leaning on the desk next to me.
 
"Send it."
 
"Viva la revolution."
 
"Do you know what that means?"
 
"Nope."