The testing had been the easy part, Delphine realizes belatedly. All these tests. All those months of waiting. But when the call comes, she picks up. She's at home, and it's late. She gets up out of bed, leaving her e-reader on the bedside table. Her apartment is fairly small, and it doesn't take long to get to the communications panel.
"Bonsoir?" Delphine tries in French first. It is possible that she is wrong about who is calling. About what this is. Perhaps this is merely a family emergency. Or something closer to home. There's always something going on. Maybe it is even a work call. Or the Registre Européen des Conditions de Vie . Was she due for another assessment? Has it been six months? Was a re-evaluation needed? Had she been overusing resources? Anything was possible. Last year they reassessed her file four times. Modifying her rations each time.
"Delphine Cormier?" The woman on the other line has a harsh accent. No French, Delphine thinks. But that doesn't matter. It doesn't have to matter.
"Yes?"
"I am pleased to inform you that your candidacy has been accepted."
"Oh." Delphine finds there's surprise, and then numbness. Anxiety may slip in later, she thinks. It often does. But she still passed. Her score was still high enough to make the cut. Whatever weight they gave her various scores and competencies, it had been enough.
"For… which one?"
"Given your age, the first one. You have three months to settle your affairs. You will then report to your designated launch location. Training and orientation will take a period of three weeks. Please begin setting your affairs in order immediately. We will correspond with you again shortly. The contract has been sent to you virtually and must be signed and returned within 48 hours or you forfeit your place."
"I understand." Delphine answers. She will sign. Of course she will sign. There's…. Little reason not to. She signs the agreement virtually via a tablet. And receives a confirmation within five minutes. She briefly reviews the terms beforehand but decides it doesn't really matter. There is nothing unexpected.
The crate arrives within three weeks. Her instructions are clear, to fill it - and then call so it can be properly sealed and shipped off ahead of her departure. What to put in it is a question that Delphine has to figure out. It isn't huge, about a meter cubed. And it will be all the personal effects she is permitted to have. Everything else will be provided to her. She goes about it logically, choosing sentimental items, a few gifts she is given - to be opened on arrival. And tries not to worry about it too much. They are only things after all. She doesn't feel much of anything, but attempts to fill her crate with useful or sentimental items. Little pieces of home she'll want in the future.
Her parents arrange a small farewell party for her last few days before departure, once they secure the proper permissions to exceed their typical rations. And she must make the rounds, hugging relatives she is unlikely to ever see again. They congratulate her, wish her well. And a few friends attend as well. She tries to feel something, but whatever numbness set in when she received her contract hasn't quite gone away. Her life is promised elsewhere. And by the time she is standing in the light in her new home, everyone she loves will be long gone.
She wasn't expecting to see Roland; an ex-boyfriend come to wish her well. She hadn't seen him since medical school. But even looking at Roland's face doesn't make her feel anything. Not love. Not regret. Not desire. Not grief. And she wants to feel something. Desperately.
"Delphine." He smiles at her, and she finds him as handsome as she remembers. But she doesn't react to it. But it is giving her a break from her family, their excitement and grief for her. They talk and catch up, and she drinks wine. Overwhelmed by what she is doing to do. Her mind spins and she loses track. Of what to say. Of who to say it to. She floats through the evening and is feted appropriately. Roland stays close to her, and she wonders what he's been up to the last three years. Why has he come to wish her off. He's applied as well. Delphine knows. But was rejected already. He will not qualify, Delphine understands. Unlike her, it wasn't an issue of not making the cut this time, it was a ban on future reapplication.
Some recessive metabolic disease. Delphine remembers. There is a list of conditions that the colonists cannot carry, though they acknowledge most humans carry something. And further restrictions on how many colonists can carry what conditions they allow. While here, Roland will have the option of IVF techniques and genetic testing for embryos - that will not be readily available to him there. They want reproduction to be as inexpensive and straightforward as possible in an establishing colony. Some more minor conditions are permitted, as long as only one or two colonists per ship carry them. And of course, they would not be permitted to procreate together.
She's not sure how they end up back at her place. She lets Roland undress her, lets him kiss her hoping to feel something. Anything. It's been too long, Delphine thinks. It's been well over two years since she's bothered having sex. It is a struggle to make love with him now. And yet, she lets Roland convince her that it is exactly what she needs. Her body yields even if her heart doesn't, and that is enough she supposes. She doesn't love him anymore, Delphine thinks. If she ever did. But being held, being in someone's arms feels good. She clings to his shoulders, his longish dark hair falling into her face. He moves over her and she cries out every time he moves. And he stays for a few hours afterwards. Trying to connect with her. Delphine lets him kiss and stroke her, but declines a repeat performance. She isn't present enough, mind or body, to enjoy it.
She knows she's being distant. Being cagey with him. But Roland doesn't seem to notice. He is lost in his own feelings, drowning in them so much he fails to notice hers. She wonders how much is jealousy, and how much is genuine. It doesn't matter, Delphine decides. Roland was never t]he most upfront of boyfriends. He was a beau-parleur, a good looking one and little more.
"Toi me manquera." Roland tells her, giving her one last kiss before he goes. And she thinks. That is the last time she will make love for decades. What a thought that is. That she simply won't for that long.
They take no precautions, but she takes emergency contraception early the next morning. She won't be permitted to board if she's pregnant. And she certainly doesn't qualify for a child permit. She doesn't tell Roland. She assumes his motives for having her last night were mixed. The only result is she feels ill on the transport, she wears her regular clothes. Carrying only her identification and communication device. The first launch has her feeling fear. She's given a small electronic brochure. She finds she still feels ill as she sits through her information sessions on one of the space stations. And basic training.
"Welcome." A tall woman with oddly coloured eyes greets the small group of them. "Orientation will take place here, and once we board you will receive a short orientation. Your device will receive a time-slot, sent automatically from the system. When your time-slot arrives, you will proceed to the cryostasis laboratory on board the ship.
Delphine sits quietly through the presentation until the question period. Most questions asked were covered in the materials. And it doesn't really matter. She suspects her time on board the vessel will be insignificant. It is just brief periods of time awake. Most of the journey will be in suspended animation. She may be able to contribute scientifically, or medically while awake. And the rest, will be just waiting until she's put back under.
"No need to worry." She announces. "Stasis has come a long way since the primitive torpor used on the first Martian colonists. You will be perfectly safe."
"What about muscular degeneration?" The one man in the group asks. Delphine glances at him, his name badge suggests he's some kind of civil engineer. She observes him for a few minutes, and decides that he seems to be a bit of an idiot.
"Two hundred years has allowed us to perfect these techniques, however, your trip is 90 years away at our best speeds. Every cycle you will spend a couple months awake - for medical testing and maintenance of your cryo tube to ensure that you will be in peak shape when you arrive."
"Why is the ship called the Swan Queen?" A young voice asks. And Delphine turns to find one of the few families. What seems to be a mother, father and a child about the age of 5 years. She smiles at the child, who smiles back with a small wave. But she knows, the few young families will be kept separate from the majority - the childless young adults. She wonders who this family is that they've gotten themselves and their daughter onto the ship.
"Ah, good question. Kepler-452 is in the Cygnus constellation. So we have named the first two with that destination Swan Queen and Swan Princess."
The names are ludicrous, Delphine thinks. But it hardly matters. They name them like cruise ships, but they are anything but.
"And they'll be launched 5 years apart?"
"Yes, Swan Queen is complete. Swan Princess - where more young families will be brought in, will launch 5 years behind. It is under construction now, and we are beginning to form a crew and collect colonists for her. And should arrive 5 years after the first ship. The subsequent two ships are in the planning and building phase and should follow 15-20 years after the first two ships to provide an influx of genetic diversity and new colonists to help expand the initial settlement into 2-4 cities.
"We are going to name the colony Leda." The presenter smiles proudly. "Harken back to our roots here on earth."
Delphine follows the motions, she tours the ship and is shown to the temporary barracks. Her name - Delphine M. Cormier - is on a locker in a room full of six bunk beds. Inside, there are clothes for her. Drab blues and grays. Soft pants and sweaters, thermal undergarments. All provided for her use. They're practical, Delphine supposes. Clothes people can work or rest in. She lays down in the bunk and wonders what the few months in space will be like. She supposes it will be mostly check-ups and cognitive tests, contributing what she can to research en route and then back into suspended animation. The showers are shared, separate spaces with stalls and washrooms and a large sink. It is...utilitarian, but it is not as if they will spend significant time alert. The voyage will be a blur, Delphine assures herself. Then she will begin whatever life waits for her on the other side.
Words from the presentation resound in her head, and she gets a notification. A map appears on her device, and she follows the indications to the cryostasis chamber.
"No. There are no signs of intelligent alien life, there does appear to be some animal species."
"Well… your brief months awake will allow us to keep better tabs on your health."
"The crew works on a rotational basis, a third of them are awake at a time. And they will be older when they arrive on Leda. But will be able to help with the colonization efforts, if not population."
"Delphine Cormier?" A balding doctor and three technicians greet her. The room is open, and bright. "Please swallow this." He holds out a bottle of a purple coloured viscous liquid.
"What is this?" Delphine considers the bottle.
"We want to use it to coat your insides." The doctor responds without really answering. "It will protect your digestive system, slow everything down."
"So I swallow this?" Delphine drinks the bottle, finding that the liquid is flavoured to resemble children's cough medicine. It's offensive, but only mildly and she manages to choke it down. She can imagine this being difficult to make people go through more than once.
"Yes, the texture needs work." The doctor hums at her. "I had a young woman tell me it was the same consistency as semen mixed with jello. She was not pleased."
Delphine merely hums, she isn't going to comment on that. She doesn't want to talk about sex with this older man. She doesn't really want to talk at all. It wouldn't change anything.
"So the process involves three stages. The torpor phase, where we slow your metabolism using a mix of drugs and induced hypothermia, and then we slowly lower you into your cryogenic chamber, and then we attach the nutrients pack. You will be unaware of any of this happening as you will already be in torpor. Then you are sealed in. We are quite successful at preventing aging. You will be in full suspended animation."
"And when I wake up?" Delphine might as well ask. She knows the brochure covers that as well. Brief awake periods on board the ship. The informericials made it look like camaraderie, and work tucked happily into bunks reading, enjoying the wide variety of rations and some fresh produce from the hydroponics bay.
"Like taking a really good nap." Dr. Leekie continues. "I am one of the ship doctors. And I will be monitoring everyone's vitals sporadically throughout the trip. Once you go in, ten to fifteen years go by, we wake you up, you go through the reanimation process, you do some physio activities, you're up and around for a bit. Then we reverse the process. It allows the engineers to maintain the tubes, and lets us feed you. Ensure you remain in good health so you arrive at your destination young and ready to go."
"So?" Delphine looks around.
"Come back in four hours. Do not eat anything. Your timer will go off, and then we'll begin the torpor phase. You won't feel a thing."
Delphine nods her agreement. "So why do they really wake us up?"
"You want to know?" Leekie observes her carefully. "The failure rate in suspended animation over 30 years is 18%. 18% just don't wake up anymore. And we want a full complement of colonists. We wake you up periodically, ensuring that all your cryo periods are 10-15 years in length? And the failure rate goes down to 2%. Give or take."
"So… you're saying, a few colonists will die?" Delphine wonders exactly what her risks of not surviving the journey are. She supposes it must be low. Maybe that is another reason for keeping males and females separate in flight - not letting anyone attach to a potential partner that will not be alive at their final destination.
"We expect between 2-3 deaths minimum, yes. And young adults are the most resilient, thankfully." Leekie comments. "But the first ship with improved procedures that went… they went to the Gliese 3293 system, last datastream said that they lost only five colonists in nearly 50 years. And we are following improved procedures. They woke their colonists once every 20 years. You must remember that other early colonists were left frozen for the entire journey and most of them still survived. We have been colonizing successfully this way for over a hundred years. It works. It's effective. And far more attainable than a generational ship."
"And of course, the Swan Queen is a better ship. And suspended animation has improved." Delphine points out. Even the ship launched three years ago was a better ship than that. She'd learned about that colony effort in class. In fact, she'd learned just enough to make her curious. To encourage young people to apply was probably half of the point the educational systems did case studies on the colonies and the ships. A way out of the overpopulated mess that was Earth.
"Oh yes, state of the art." Leekie comments, nodding at one of the techs. "Now…Dr. Cormier. Go take a quick tour. Go imagine your future on an alien world. And report back here in four hours."
She does as she's told, and finds that whatever cocktail of drugs they give her at the beginning of the torpor stage works as advised. She lays down against the bio-bed, listening to the beeping of the monitors and contraptions and then remembers nothing else.