O THEM they are simply enjoying a party, not searching for a new planet to colonize. They act as if they’re not flying through space, escaping from a dying solar system. Some of them resemble me—tall, skinny, from the planet Ceresius, the agricultural center. Their eyes glow red with smudges of amber. They hunch over their plates, stoop to hear the conversation gurgling beneath them—this ship was not built for our height.

One woman’s eyes sparkle as she struggles to dance with a stocky, curly-haired man. Others hail from Aicalas, the water planet—their skin mimics the waves and undulations of water. Blue streaks accent their high cheekbones and angular foreheads, but each person’s pattern is unique. Some remind me of ripples in a pond, others look like scratches from a wild animal. Their eyes are completely black, tiny droplets in their faces.

The outliers are those from Cacas, the rugged, mineral-yielding land, with their stocky bodies and thick, curly hair on their scalp and limbs. Underneath their skin looks dry and scaly, as if cracking apart, and their grey eyes are clouded over. A smile rarely splits their face. They congregate in small groups. Out of everyone they appear to be the most serious.

Then there are those considered “hybrids”—some have the blue skin of the Aicalasenes and the height of my people, while others have the curls of the Cacanese with the black eyes of the Aicalasenes. But they are rare and typically adapt one style or another, hoping to blend in with the purity of their chosen kind.

The room I’m working in is hot and stuffy. Every breath feels like a gamble on whether or not I will survive. But of course I do—despite my wishes, I always manage to survive, to bear another day.

Machines whirr, blocking out the heavy panting and quiet conversations. I keep my head down, avoiding any and all talk with my work companions. The ones who speak are fools…or courageous. 

When I see the Assistants’ eyes drift towards the hushed voices, I debate if I should be in awe or fear of them. 

Talk is not completely prohibited in Operating Room R, but is discouraged and heavily supervised. Despite being hundreds of light years away from our home solar system in a giant space cruise, the high class still fear discontent among our ranks.

I look around the room. Tired faces surround me, bodies hunched over the long tables. All of us are from different planets, different backgrounds, different customs—now we’re like bits and pieces of the same machine. The other day we re-upholstered old robes into new clothes. Last week we prepared tapestries to use as decoration for an evening party. Now we’re sewing intricate robes in order to mimic a traditional market. When the high class is done, they’ll discard it, and we’ll reuse it, continuing the cycle.

“Why do they let us see them if we can’t watch?” I mutter to myself. 

My workstation companion, Kai, grunts in agreement, startling me. I must have spoken louder than I realized. I stare at my young companion out of the corner of my eye, admiring his grace and fluid movements even while working. His arms are much paler than mine, long and lithe, with traces of blue twisting up and down his skin like tendrils of smoke. His completely black eyes intimidated me at first, but now I find them warm because they remind me of a cloudy night sky.

“Do you think they know we’re back here?” I ask him.

“No. Stop thinking about it, Proserpine.”

I swallow my response. I’m too tired to think anyways.

A gentle bell sounds through the viewing window. The music slows, slows, stops; the dancers untangle their limbs from one another. They remind me of the puppets my father used to entertain me with in the evenings when I was a child.

A cool voice speaks over the intercom in our room, although the message is clearly for the high class.

“Attention guests of the New Rapture...please retire to your rooms for the night. We thank you for your generous attention this evening. Tomorrow will be another day to enjoy.”

Patrons, in their elegant monochromatic robes, slowly exit the room, retiring from the festivities for the remainder of the waking hours. 

Our viewing window fades to black.

Work does not stop in the production room for another few hours. My eyes squint to see the tiny stitching in the bright light. At last a bell chimes overhead three times, signaling the end of the workday. The machines stutter and eventually stop after giving one final exhausted sigh. Chairs scrape against the floor as people stand, stretching out their limbs.

“Space Companions, please make your way to the Mess Hall for supper. Please make your way to the Mess Hall for supper.” A monotone, digital voice calls in our head. We obediently wind our way up the stairs and out the door like ants.

Before work on the New Rapture, I had never stepped foot on a spaceship. My entire life centered on Ceresius, tending the fields and providing food for the planets in our solar system. Most of my days were spent outside in the light of the Two Suns, working with the soil. My region provided the husskk, a nutritious grain that was a staple for the Solar Union. I had never strayed from my region as I was always too poor to travel, a luxury only affordable for the high class. 

And then the sickness came.

I remember the fear that gripped us as we heard the news on the transmitter. It was after supper, and my family and neighbors crowded around the small box, listening to the calm voice echoing into our home. My husband was sitting beside the radio, his dark face solemn and impassive. The sickness came to our planet, spreading to our region. No sign of a cure.

My neighbor let out a wail in fear. We had believed we were untouchable—thought our planet would be safe, for not many wealthy foreigners visited. There were few cities, few natural beauties other than rich soil and long, endless plains—few high class families to visit, let alone marry.

My husband stared straight ahead, red eyes blazing in the light like pricks of blood. I quietly slipped outside, sandals sinking into the cool soil, and looked for Cassandra.

***

T ALWAYS startles me how quiet the mess hall is compared to my workstation. Conversation rumbles throughout the room like distant thunder. Everyone speaks in the standard language since the ban on local languages.

I stare down at the bump of food on my plate. The ration looks smaller today, a mockery of a meal.

A young group sits behind me, and I hear Kai talking to them. Two are from the same planet as me, although their accents signal they are not from my region, and the other two are from the Aicalas like Kai. Their voices betray their enthusiasm—even a long day at work cannot fatigue the youth.

“How can they expect us to survive off this?” One grumbles. I recognized her voice. She has dark eyes and blue-tinged skin that reminds me of flowers.

“They don’t care, Sophie. As long as we work everyday, what is it to them if we are a little hungry?” Kai responds.

“But how can we work if we have nothing to eat!” She slams her fist on the table. I stop chewing. 

Kai hushes her, and their voices lower.

“Don’t bring attention to yourself. We should be grateful to even be alive.” She snorts in response. “Besides, they are paying us after all.”

“Barely! They deduct almost everything for our board and food, if you can even call this food.” 

“Well, what do you want to happen? It’s not like we can do anything.” A hoarse voice speaks slowly.

“That’s what they want you to think,” she snaps.

“What are we going to do—take over the ship? Are you mad?” Another woman hisses. I recognize her accent from the southern region of my planet.

 “Not necessarily.”

They fall silent, and I realize I have not moved since they started speaking. Their youthful anger rattles me, igniting old memories.

The first night I heard those words was from Cassandra.

Of course, I’ve spoken similar words, especially when I was younger. Back home, we were not as heavily monitored as on this ship. We had our own villages, our own communities, as long as we paid our dues to the landowners.

Yet there were days when the work felt particularly grueling, and the routine suffocating.

Cassandra and I were lying on the floor beside the fire, our bodies sleepily entwined. The harvest was poor that season, and the food was scarce. I had told my mate I would be visiting Cassandra, my lover, and he gave me some of our beer ration to share with her and her mate. It was cold outside, and our bodies huddled together for warmth, and I felt myself drifting off to sleep.

“Do you ever wonder what they do in the evening?” Cassandra said, her eyes as red as the flames. I looked at her curiously.

“Who?” I asked.

“Them. The high class. Our landlord and his family.” Her voice was bitter. I shrugged, too sleepy to dream high dreams. Cassandra sat up, and I slipped from her arms.

“Why do you think we live like this?” she asked angrily.

“It’s their land,” I said, bewildered. “It’s how it’s always been.”

“Why can’t we own it? Did you know before I was born, my father asked to buy his plot, and they denied it? They said he didn’t have the correct title to purchase the land! How does my father, a farmer his entire life in this region, not have the proper title to purchase his own plot of land!” She shook her head. “They don’t even know how to work. Yet they are the only ones who can own it because they came from the proper class.”

“It’s unfair, but what other options do we have? We can’t survive without them.”

“What if they are lying? What if everything we know is wrong?”

I was silent. She pressed on, her words spilling out of her mouth as if intoxicated. “Think about it—what would they do if we weren’t here? How would they survive? They can hardly make their beds, let alone farm and cook their food, do the actual work to live day in and day out. Proserpine,” she grasped my hand. “I think you’re wrong. I think they can’t survive without us.”

***

F ANYTHING else was discussed among my coworkers, I heard nothing over the next few days.

I walk into the production room and find the Controller standing in front of the screen with his hands behind his back. He watches the screen intently.

As we settle into our workstations, the screen continues to play the high class. Today, it displays the Lounge—some sipping on beverages, or playing games. One Ceresiusian is lying on an elevated mat, blissfully sleeping.

Kai tenses beside me. I want to reach out and grab his hand, soften his anger.

The Controller turns and faces us. He is a short and chubby man—his features and general attitude remind me of a slug. His parents come from two different planets, a “hybrid.” Light blue marks craft a web on his round, heavy face. While most Aicalasenes look elegant with their blue markings, he looks as if he was scarred from an illness. He keeps his blonde hair cropped short, but his hollow, yellow eyes betray his Cacanese ancestry.

“Good day, my companions,” he says in his oily voice. “Today’s meeting will be short. We have much work to do and not quite enough time, it seems.”

His yellow eyes survey us like a searchlight.

“I want to discuss rationings. I’m aware there has been discontent about the recent cut. As we discussed eight days ago, before the first cut, this is something not easy for our Union Leaders to decide. It’s been a long trip. You all have exhausted yourselves day in, day out, to provide our travelers with an exciting and relaxing journey. To make our Planetary Union possible. I don’t feel as if I have thanked each and one of you properly in our two years of working together.”

He pauses.

“As we approach our new home, we often find ourselves having to make sacrifices for a greater cause, the ultimate goal, which for us is survival of the PU. Your sacrifices have not gone unnoticed by me, by your companions, or by the union leaders. We want to reward you and grant you an additional sum of 100 company credits. The money will be deposited into your accounts when we land.”

A tall, skinny man from my planet raises his hand eagerly. “Are we near, Controller? Will we be arriving soon?”

Controller shakes his head. “That, I do not know. I am sure we will be arriving sooner rather than later, but there has been no news of life planets yet.”

Another hand. “So, why can’t we get the sum now?”

“Because,” his yellow eyes focus on the speaker, “It is not what the PU stated. Besides, you can’t use your funds now, so what difference does it make? You’ll get them in due time. Until then—” His voice swells. “We will, unfortunately, have to cut rations one more time. You’ll hardly notice the change, but I wanted to forewarn you before you attend your second meal.”

A hand shoots up to my right. An older woman with dark skin and electric blue markings speaks. “Don’t we have enough for the ship?” 

Angry tittering breaks out, and Controller’s scowl deepens. “Of course we do. It’s just a precautionary measure. Measurements have been taken, and you all have been receiving more than your adequate nutritional daily recommendation, so another small cutback will do no harm. You’ll hardly notice it, I’m sure. I’ve hardly noticed my second cut.”

I exchange glances with Kai, perplexed.

“So, you’re cutting rations as well?” Kai calls out.

“Yes. We all are—controllers, assistants, flight crew. Do you think it’s something done only on the lower ranks?”

A lean man with red eyes to my left speaks. “Are the guests cutting their rations as well?”

Controller quirks a brow at the man. His jowl shakes as he chuckles. “How they handle the high class is none of your concern, other than to provide a safe and joyful journey for them. If it were not for them, none of us would be here, on this flight, alive. We would all be dead, or dying on our home planets. They, too, made sacrifices long before we did, and we must repay them for that. Now. Get to work.”

The drone of the machines humming to life surpasses all other noise. I stare up at the sleeping woman through the viewing screen and watch her smile in her sleep, as if delighted by her dream.

***

OW DO you count time when you are working in space? My first few weeks on the ship, I counted the early bells, the signal for the employees to rise out of bed and prepare for the day. After fifty-six chimes and longer shifts, I started to lose count—or interest.

Several early bells later, I’m sitting in the Mess Hall, playing with an even smaller ration of food. Weariness cloaks the room like a cloud. I hardly touch my plate and quickly escape to my dorm.

I hear voices whispering before I push open the door.

“Yes, but how can we convince them? They aren’t just going to stop if we ask.”

“It doesn’t have to get violent. We’ll tell them our terms and see if we can come to an agreement.”

“But if they refuse—?”

Their conversation halts when I walk in the room. Kai and Sophie sit cross-legged on her bunk, knees touching. We stare at each other.

“Hello, Proserpine,” Kai smiles.

“What are you doing?” I ask and sit on a bunk across from them. The two glance at each other.

“We’re talking,” Kai says, a defiant expression on his face. I am silent for a moment, chewing on my words.

“Talking can be dangerous.”

“Silence can also be dangerous!” Kai blurts out angrily. “Silence is what kept us beneath them for as long as we can remember!”

“They treat us like machines, not living species!” Sophie snarls, and her hands curl into fists.

“Silence keeps you alive and gives you food on your plate,” I add before they can speak any more. “Talking will get you, and those you love, killed.”

“Those I love are dead! I was the only one to survive the sickness. I came to this, thinking it was maybe somehow better. Well, I was wrong. It turns out it’s worse than my life at home.” Sophie glares at me. “So, tell me, then, what do I have to lose if I push back?”

“A chance for survival.”

“Proserpine, how long have we been in space with no sign of life? They don’t know if there is any habitable planet out there. Controller keeps saying we are close—but why are they cutting our rations?” Kai shakes his head. “Can’t you see they’re lying?”

I don’t respond. Of course I have seen through the Controller’s flowery words. The constant parties for the high class, the dwindling food portions, the promise of bonuses upon arrival—all those distractions cannot blind me from the failure of this voyage.

“Exactly,” Sophie mutters. “Don’t fucking talk to me about a chance for survival. You see it, too. I have nothing else to lose at this point.”

I glance sharply at her. “You’re not the only one who feels like she lost everything. You’re not the only one who wanted to push back,” I stand up and leave the room.

Memories of Cassandra pour through my mind. I try to push them away, but they overpower me. She was fearless. Even when she was finally with child.

To my mate’s surprise, I would visit her in the mornings before a day in the fields. He asked if it bothered me since I was barren, but I didn’t care. I only wanted to tend to her. Sometimes Cassandra was able to join us outside for work. Sometimes she would be too exhausted and sick to leave bed. I gave her medicines to chew on, a warm cloth for her back, and rubbed her sore feet.

But she still spoke dangerous words.

Anyone who visited would hear Cassandra paint a world where money was more evenly distributed, where we could own our own land, where we could be treated equally.

At first it was humorous, or sinfully delightful, to imagine this world.

Our High Lord and his men arrived one evening. I heard them pounding on Cassandra’s door, shuffling in her home, and her mate’s fearful protests. No words were spoken from Cassandra or the guards. My mate held me as we hid behind our door, terrified to peek outside.

She hadn’t given birth yet.

I close my eyes. Sophie is not the only one who lost everything.

***

LIE awake most of the night. My fingers feel the thin blanket, the coarse fabric that serves more as decoration than warmth. My stomach growls. Dangerous thoughts pulsate in my mind.

When I close my eyes, I see myself on this ship, relaxing with the high class. I eat until I am full, my body overwhelmed with all the flavor. I dance to the music alongside everyone. As the party continues, I wander out to a quiet room and sit on a bench to relax. I wear a robe I bought with my own funds. I look forward to my new home, a place where I can support myself. I don’t live in fear, and I have a voice.

The early bell chimes. My eyes open.

Anxious, I clamber out of bed, kicking away the stiff sheets. My thoughts disappear as I hurry down the ship’s corridor, looking for Kai.

He wasn’t in the Mess Hall, nor was Sophie. After breakfast, I hurry to the production room to wait. The doors swing shut. Alarmed, I look around and spot Ajax, another boy from Kai’s home planet who I have seen him talking to before. I grab his arm. He looks at me in surprise.

“Have you seen Kai?” I ask. Ajax nods, taken aback by my anxiety.

“Yes…he was on his way here last I saw him.”

“Where’s he now? He’s never not shown.”

Ajax shrugs. “Maybe he’s late, in the lavatory? The new rations aren’t agreeing with everyone.”

It will be okay. He’s fine.

We begin work and ten hours later we file out of the room, and speak more freely. The tall, slender man from my planet slides next to me.

“They took the kids,” he murmurs in my ear. I stare straight ahead.

“Do we know why?”

“You know why—they talk too much.” I want to ask him more questions, but he slowly shakes his head, a warning. Dread gurgles in my gut.

The ship heard them. The ship hears everything.

The Assistants round us up, single file and lead us down the hall, the lights nauseatingly cheerful and bright. We twist and turn down several flights of stairs, like wires leading to a machine. Finally, we stop in a large room with purple floors. The ceilings are high, the air chilly. I look around, belatedly realizing just how large the ship was. The room is dimly lit except for giant windows lining the back wall, showcasing the tiny pricks of stars surrounding us.

It was the first time I had seen stars since I had left Ceresius. Some around me gasp when they see through the large windows the expanse of space.

After my eyes adjust, I notice a glass wall in the middle of the room, separating all of us from the windows. Bewildered mumbles among the crowd.

“Silence!” one of the Assistants barks. A light switches on behind the glass wall, muffling any conversation remaining.

Controller stands before us, his back nearly touching the glass screen. A smile curls on his veiny features like a scar. His yellow eyes roam the stations, silently noting which ones were empty.

“Thank you for joining me, crew. I’ve been looking forward to bringing you to this room. Now, I have noticed the past few days that there are a handful of you missing. As I’ve told you since the day you arrived on this ship, joining us in the monumental voyage to the Outer Systems, you must be available to work for your stay.

“I’ve been hearing some news lately of troubling conversations. Of mistreatment aboard this ship, about ‘inequity’ between the classes. If there is anything that disgusts me, it’s ungraciousness—the refusal to acknowledge your luck and privilege working for such a voyage, for the survival of our kind.”

A door opens on one side, and a ragtag group stumbles in, their eyes squinting from the light beaming relentlessly on them. I gasp when I see Kai and Sophie with them, their expressions fearful.

Controller turns back towards us, his eyes cold, mouth taut.

“Spreading lies is a slippery slope to mutiny. Mutiny leads to disorder. Disorder leads to extinction. We are on the mission to propel our species forward, and anyone who argues against us cannot be permitted to work on this ship.”

He raises up his arm, and there is a deep, guttural sound, like a creature moaning. The floor rumbles beneath us, vibrating against our worn shoes. The back wall behind the glass screen shifts, and I think at first it is melting. A woman behind me screams.

“It’s opening!” she cries out. My fists clench together.

The windows slowly disappear, replaced by a sheet of space. The prisoners open their mouths as if to wail as their bodies lift off the ground. Some attempt to fling themselves towards the glass wall to no avail, their limbs mimicking swimming. Sophie bobs higher than the rest like pollen drifting in the wind, and Kai tries to grab her hand as she drifts farther and farther away.

My voice is lost in the nightmare around me. Controller watches our reaction impassively, as if our protests are mildly entertaining.

He lowers his arm.

Their faces will forever haunt me—tears, howling mouths, red cheeks—it swallows them whole, sucking them into its gluttonous gut.

I don’t even notice the windows sealing back up—it isn’t until the Assistants bang their staff against the wall, hollering for order, that the crowd finally softens. Controller claps his hands twice, his jowls shivering.

“Are there any questions?”