The Bridge: A Science Fiction Survival Story

Chapter 2: Stories

At age four, I started schooling.

Out of the thousand inhabitants of the ship, one hundred and fifty attended schooling, going to one of the three locations near the center of the ship. There was Hippoc, the school for doctors and chefs due to the similarities in their trades, the mixing and application of plant herbs, of which approximately twenty students attended, their parents typically from those positions. Next was Empri, where students were taught to read, their futures as the historians, leaders, and judges of the ship and admissions set for ten total seats. And for the rest of us, a hundred and thirty in all, there was Vertae, the school for gardeners, porters, and the occasional guard.

I still remember the year before my first day, when my father held my hand, and whispered bedtime stories to me.

"Once," He would say, as I resisted sleep with wide open eyes, "Once, it is said that the ship was so large that you could walk for days without touching a wall. That the potatoes you see me farming used to grow as tall as me, perhaps even taller, and had stems as thick as my arm. Instead of the glow lights above, there was only one glow light, and somehow it split into the many that we have today. And in the floor of the ship, there were rushes of water, hallways so to speak, that entire men could float down."

"Float down water?" I asked, at three, even back then my brows crossed in confusion, "They must have been very rich, to have that much water."

"Indeed, they must have been. But these are only stories, Horatius, stories that my father told me, and his father told him."

"'But where from?" I asked, "Where did the stories come from?"

"The historians, of course," My father answered, "They have all sorts of stories, some so ridiculous it makes me think that they are crazy, not full of common sense like ourselves."

"The historians," I had repeated, the cogs in my young mind spinning, "I want more stories, papa. I want to be a historian."

A frown creased my father's face, and he sighed, "Well, Horatius, I don't know-"

"But I do!" I protested, and regret crossed his face.

"Look, Horatius," he said, "We gardeners, we keep the ship alive. Without us, there would be no food. There would be no one to carry water. Everyone would starve and thirst. But without the historians, well, we would lose stories. And we could do without that, Horatius. Food provides, stories do not."

Then he tucked me into bed, using the patched blanket he had mended from his own youth and still bore his scent, and departed.

"A historian," I had whispered before falling asleep, disregarding his last words, "A historian."

One year later, my father dropped me off at general assembly, where the twenty five children of my year awaited their school assignments, each with a pack of vegetables for lunch and shy expressions. We had seen each other throughout the ship before, and Mitch, my best friend, was there next to me, but today was different. Never before had I been with that many people my age at the same time.

"Welcome," Said an adult at the center of the auditorium. High above him was a single large glow light, surrounded by eight other lights that had appeared to have gone out, or perhaps were never installed, but were rather painted over with various colors. I remember being impressed with one that was swirls of green, white, and blue, and had situated myself underneath it.

"Today, you will receive assignments to your schools," Continued the adult, "One of you to go to Empri, two of you to Hippoc, and twenty two to Vertae. While these placements are permanent, I encourage you to work hard, as your final assignments will be conducted at the end of your schooling. It is not unheard of for a farmer to seek to become a chef, or a doctor a chief, but it comes only with hard work."

I remember nodding, and waiting, my arms crossed over my chest. I was ready to learn stories, and I was ready to learn letters. I knew I could do both.

"Elliott and Hanna," Said the adult, "both of you will be attending Hippoc, so please exit through the door on your left, where you will be escorted to the school's chambers. As for Empri," He said, scanning the crowd, his eyes landing on me as I burst into a smile, "Ah, yes, for Empri, Segni, if you'll come with me."

I froze as another boy pushed past me, heading to the front of the crowd, his hair recently cut and his white smile reflecting the glow of the light above. I knew him from passing in the hall, when my father had pulled me to the side to allow the chief to pass with Segni following.

"But-" I said, though the adult cut me off.

"But the rest of you will be attending Vertae," He finished, "Remember, Vertae is strength of the ship. Without Vertae, none of us could survive."

My father repeated those words when I came home with tears on my cheeks. And he repeated the same thing he had for the past year, assuring me of its truth.

"Without food, we starve." He said, "But stories, stories are not sustenance. We can manage without them."

And for two years, I nearly believed him. Until age six, when Vertae started training us in gardening the fields, and two stories of my own began.