Lessons about the ship and its mission are given to every child, mad or not, at least once a year until their apprenticeship. It’s vital that every person on Godspeed knows and understands the significance of what we’re doing. We’re carrying the hopes of an old planet across the universe in order to create a whole new world.
The entryway to the Recorder Hall is huge, with a tall ceiling and tiny, narrow windows that are supposed to stream in light, but really just cast everything in shadows. Digital membrane screens stretch from floor to ceiling along the walls. We call them wall floppies, which is a stupid name, really, but they hang on the wall and they’re, well, floppy. Each one glows now with an
image—one shows a constellation, another a painting, another a sculpture.
We stand awkwardly in the center of the room, six teenagers surrounded by the history of both the old world and the ship. The nurse who escorted us slips out the door and closes it behind her, the sound a solid thud compared to the electronic doors of the Hospital that zip shut with a whisper.
“ So . . . ” Harley says, his voice ringing throughout the tall room despite his hushed tone. “This is boring. ”
Bartie, standing behind him, snorts with laughter. Victria rolls her eyes at them both, and Bartie silences immediately.
I turn away, my stomach twisting with envy. My eyes are drawn to clear hazel eyes—those of Luthor, the straggler of our group. He’d been watching me, staring at me, and he doesn’t bother trying to hide his interest.
I blush and turn away.
“Thank you for coming out here today,” a voice booms throughout the Recorder Hall. A man emerges from the other end of the entry way. He’s very tall, with long, unkempt hair that almost covers a spider web scar on the side of his neck.
“Like we had a choice,” Victria mumbles.
The man’s head whips around. “You do,” he says. “ You always have a choice. ” He opens his mouth as if to say something more, but swallows the words. Instead, he says, “I am Orion, the Recorder. ”
“ Why are you teaching us today?” Kayleigh asks. “ Why not Doc?”
“ Or one of the Shippers?” Bartie adds. “Are we not getting an apprenticeship?”
“Apprenticeships are for labor,” Orion says. “You are not going to be laborers. ”
“ Because we’re loons,” I can’t help but say.
“Are you?” Orion asks sincerely. He blinks at me, as if trying to determine if I really am loons or not.
“I take the mental meds every day,” I snap. I don’t like the way he’s looking at me. “That’s not a very good indication of whether or not you’re crazy,” Orion replies. I start to snap something back, but Kayleigh’s elbow jabs me in the ribs and I silence.
“The Recorder Hall is not just a record of knowledge and history,” Orion says, sweeping his arms toward the wall floppies hanging from the ceiling. He crosses the room to the floppy labeled HISTORY. We all trot obediently behind him. The screen lights up as he swipes his hand across it, and a map of a peninsula and islands illuminates the screen.
“This is Greece, a country in Sol-Earth,” Orion says.
My eyes slide to Kayleigh’s. There’s an intense sort of focus to her gaze, and no wonder. While the giant clay model of Sol-Earth hangs from ceiling of the entryway, its countries aren’t labeled. We are taught that the world was divided into nations, but not the names of these divisions.
The very fact that the old world was broken up into different countries proves why life aboard the ship is better. There’s no point in learning the history of Sol-Earth’s nations, except as a warning of bad civilizations we cannot let Godspeed emulate.
“The Greeks, they knew how to appreciate art,” Orion continues. “They believed in art for art’s sake, that a sculpture or a painting doesn’t have a higher purpose—it just is. ”
A sinking sadness fills my chest. The ones in the Hospital who were better at math and science have been apprenticed because they have something to contribute to the ship. But us—me and Kayleigh and Victria and Bartie and Harley and Luthor—we’re just artists. We have nothing to contribute.
“ Or, ” Orion says, talking to the map in a contemplative tone, “perhaps it is better to say that art is a higher purpose in and of itself. That’s what the Greeks understood—that’s something even Eldest understands. Art is important. There is value in art that can’t be tallied like the right or wrong answers on a test. Even here, even on this frexing ship, art is important. ”
Victria shifts uncomfortably beside me. No one speaks ill of Godspeed or its leaders, but Orion’s dancing around contempt in a way that makes us all nervous. Except for Kayleigh. She’s hanging on every word Orion says, her eyes glistening.
“Your assignment is to research the Greeks. They made heroes of their artists—some they even made into ‘gods. ’ Find a Greek that matches your artistic style. ”
I try to imagine it for a moment, a world that values people who sing. I’ve never been able to think of my singing as anything more than a worthless, throw-away skill.
Harley clears his throat. “I don’t understand. ”
“Your parents are weavers, right?” Orion asks.
Harley nods. His usual carefree attitude is immediately hidden behind an emotionless mask: He doesn’t like to talk about his parents. None of us do. Moving to the Hospital means leaving behind your parents. But if Harley’s parents were like mine, it’s not like they cared when he left.