(Work in progress)

There will be a place that is safe. We give to you and to your children who were the best of us all; we give to you this task. You must find this place, and you must live. You must live for those who were left behind. You must live for those who couldn’t. You must survive.

-Engraved above the entrance
to the bridge of the New Hope,
circa 3000 AD


Red lights screamed along the walls of a residential complex, jolting its occupants to sudden, disoriented wakefulness. The alarms had been ringing with increasing frequency over the last few months, and most people went back to sleep with only a few grumbles, living aboard an enormous intergalactic spaceship people learned to tune things out All that is except Jian Fahun-Pershan. But then Jian knew more about the alarms than the average citizen on board the New Hope. Though saying he knew more was deceptive, the truth was no one knew why the alarms were ringing, and the fact that they were ringing more often didn’t bode well with any of the colony council members. The truth had been kept from the population at large because there was no sense in creating panic; they had been told it was a minor misfunction with the PA system. Everything had been running smoothly for so long that no one expected any surprises. Most had forgotten that they had a purpose for being on the ship, had forgotten that they had been chosen for very specific reasons. Jian couldn’t blame them though. So much had happened. And more importantly, so much hadn’t.

Knowing he wouldn’t be able to get back to sleep Jian dressed and left his room for the Bridge. Even at the late hour the hallways weren’t empty. He returned nods and greetings, moving quickly so that no one would suck him into a conversation. Rarely social at the best of times, Jian preferred to make as few casual conversations as possible. And now, with his mind troubled, he was practically unapproachable. Banna often told him that he was living life as a thunder cloud must have, he thought with an inner smile as he watched a group of fifteen year old ensigns scatter at his approach. He liked being unapproachable. It kept a lot of idiots out of his way.

The elevator doors pinged open at the Bridge and as always Jian paused to admire the magnificence of the scene before him. The bridge doors were close to twenty feet high, and covered with carvings of all manner of elaborate creatures, many of whom Jian recognised from his lessons in Earth history, but many more that those lessons had not included. Humans shared some of the scenes with the animals, but there were no carvings of ships or anything else even vaguely related to technology or machines. For what must have been the millionth time he wondered why his ancestors, who had built the colony fleet and the all the marvellous technology that the fleet survived on, had not wanted to honour that technology on the immense carvings that decorated the bridge doors. His eyes left the doors and flicked briefly over the words engraved above the doors. Thanks to the computers and the educational programs that had been left behind, Jian and everyone else in the fleet could still read English, though the engraving was so vague no one knew what it meant. Oh roughly they could guess, but there were no details in those words, no explanation, no clue as to what that enigmatic message could mean.
“Why did you send us?” he thought at the engraving, and where is this place you promised?”

As usual there was no response. After a brief moment of foolish hope, Jian walked onto the bridge. Opia Lai-Hariff, the second in command stood at the main console, her dark chocolaty skin reflecting the charts and readings that she was examining closely. She was dressed in her starship uniform; the pale gold jacket and black trousers neatly pressed and turned out. Jian grinned in amusement; Opia took decorum very seriously and wouldn’t think of relaxing even during the late cycle shift, just in case the Fahun dropped in for a surprise check.

“Opia, what’s going on?” Jian asked wearily as he sank into the chair.
“I don’t know Fahun,” she responded, just as wearily, “the alarms just started of without any decipherable reason.”
“The other Colonies?
“Yes Fahun, they too have reported alarms, at exactly the same time as ours went off.”
“Fantastic. Our ancestors left us a warning, for something, but didn’t bother to tell us what for. Fantastic.” Jian scowled at the main clear, which was showing the black emptiness that it usually did. “Get me Fahun Bannon, I’m sure she’s awake.” He glared at Opia as he said it, awaiting the smirk that usually followed when he mentioned Banna, but Opia was too professional to as much as blink.

The blue light on the arm of the Chair blinked and Bannon’s low, clear voice filled the room, “Kisadh Fahun Jian, what’s kept you up so late in a cycle?”

“The red blaring messengers our ancestors left us, without a blaring message Fahun Bannon,” Jian added conversationally, “And you? Not bad dreams I hope?”

Fahun Bannon laughed, drawing an unwilling smile from Jian. She had that kind of laugh, un-ignorable. “But seriously Banna, we have to know why” Jian leaned closer to the arm panel, “I think we need to call pontiff.”

There was a moment of silence; Jian could almost see Bannon exchange looks with Lai-Corisa, rolling a lock of her dark hair between her fingers as she often did when she was thinking. He missed her when she was on the Eden, which was almost always. They barely saw each other, but that hadn’t lessened the bond between them at all. Jian was always profoundly aware that she was almost with him. It was usually a comforting thought.

“You’re right Jian. Call pontiff.”

The connection ended and Jian was sure that she knew something she hadn’t said out loud.

“Lai-Opia, inform the other ships. It is pontiff. An hour.”

Jian left the bridge and the made his way back to his rooms. His Fahun uniform was stiff and smelled like the cleaning disinfectants used in the ship laundry. It had been a long time since he had worn it. Infact he had only worn it twice since he had become Fahun of the New Hope. The first time on the day of his induction, the next on the day that Kihan Raishul had died. And now, the third, on the day of the first pontiff in four hundred year-cycles.