The Children of Tin Hinan
by jinnis
1 - Anne
And all I ask is a tall ship, and a star to steer her by — John Masefield
~ ~ ~
A cold draught whispers through the hallway and sends a shiver down Anne's spine. She glances at her scanner, surprised it confirms the temperature at a stable 21 degrees. As a maintenance officer, she takes fluctuation in the ship's climate as personal offences. And draughts are not supposed to exist in the sterile environment of the brand-new Star Traveller.
Soft footfalls approach, and Anne looks up from her display, a frown etched on her face. She studies the dark figure walking towards her, flowing indigo robes and a complicated headscarf hiding everything except the eyes. The shiver is back. Anne straightens, hand cramped around the scanner as if the device might protect her from an attack.
That's a ridiculous reaction, and she is aware of it. Although she hasn't had the chance to meet all the Traveller's 1250 passengers, Anne knows they were handpicked and run through suitability checks, mandatory even for the core crew. She was close to withdrawing her application more than once during the endless tests and interviews. Only the dream to travel between the stars kept her going.
In front of her, the tall stranger slows his steps. A tiny movement of the head, perhaps a greeting, but she might have imagined it. The gaze of piercing blue eyes travels from her face to the scanner. Anne tries to relax her grip on the device and stutters a greeting, not at all her usual, confident self. The steps falter, the eyes find hers, and for the third time, she shivers.
The man — it must be a man, right? — nods, a solemn gesture, and walks down the aisle, his strides long and agile like a cat's.
Anne stares after him, not sure if she witnessed an apparition. Belatedly, she remembers the recognition chip and points the scanner at the intimidating stranger's back, but he disappears around a corner before she gets a reading.
2 - Atrî
There is a desert I long to be walking, a wide emptiness: Peace beyond any understanding of it — Rumi
~ ~ ~
Atrî sits cross-legged on the bare floor and meditates. His eyes are closed and he concentrates on his other senses, taking in the whisper of hot wind in the dunes, the rustle of the rough tent-fabric. Mehari whine in the distance, the voices of playing children disrupt the silence of the camp. He feels at ease, home, and embraces the minty smell of freshly-brewed tea.
A loudspeaker cackles and Atrî opens his eyes to the now and here. There is no sand, no wind, no sun burning the backs of his hands. There are no children, no mehari, and no-one brews the traditional tea. Instead, he is surrounded by the sterile whiteness of his cabin, a man-made desert of a brutal starkness.
Still caught up in his daydream, he listens to the announcement. It's another reminder to attend the daily briefings. The ship only left earth orbit half a moon ago. Everything is still new and exciting for most of the passengers, rules have to be learned, routine established.
But Atrî isn't excited. He has found enough time to analyse what he got himself into and explore the darkness lurking at the edge of his mind. Never again will he see the moon rise over the bare tops of the Ahaggar. He'll never walk the endless sands of the Sahara again. And he will forever miss the company of his people.
The last words of his brother still ring in his ears, a bitter farewell from the last person behind.
"You're betraying your heritage, Atrî. This is our land, this is where the children of Tin Hinan are meant to live and die. During all the centuries of our history, we never left our ways. If it is time to die now, then we should die a proud death with the stars above and the sand below us."
His brother was right. He should have stayed, huddled together with the last of his people trying to survive in an environment turned from friend to enemy.
But Atrî craved hope, life, a way to carry on towards a bright future. He was lured by the promises of a new world, a future between the stars. Didn't his name mean star? Perhaps it was his destiny to carry the heritage of his people into the depth of space.
The recruiters were kind, understanding even. They explained how important it was to bring along different ethnicities, different sets of knowledge to this endeavour. Atrî listened, enraptured by the pictures of the faraway planet meant to be the home of his future offspring, by the possibility of founding a family of his own.
When he finally surfaced from the numbness the death of his people and the loss of their dreams and future had left him in, it was too late. The ship had taken off, and he with it. Earth, the Ahaggar and the endless desert sky were only memories, buried in his fractured heart, to be lost with the inevitable deterioration of his mind.
Slowly, he stands up, gathers his takaykay, ensures his shesh covers his face and follows the call to the meeting area. While he walks the long aisle, his thoughts drift back to the people and the honour he left behind.
He arrives late to the gathering. The speaker, a high officer of the ship, already assigns the tasks for the rescue drill. Atrî silently joins the group to his left. Brown eyes meet his. He remembers the woman with the fiery red hair. He met her on his long, walks during the sleepless night hours in the corridors. A purple badge tells him she belongs to the crew.
The smile on her face seems genuine, and she reaches out a hand.
"Hey. I think we met. I'm Anne."
Atrî is tempted to turn away, sink back into his state of lonesome misery. But like a flood, the last words of his mother surface in his mind. He remembers the faltering comfort of the grip of her hand when he knelt at her deathbed, half a year ago.
"Atrî, don't despair, my son. You were born under the light of a wandering star. Remember that you are meant to travel far and carry the legacy of our people to a new destiny. Don't forget the story of Tin Hinan, the great mother. She came from a faraway place to make this land ours. It may well rest on your shoulders to guide the first steps of another mother of the people on their search for a new home."
The spark in this woman's eyes calls him back to the present. She reminds him of the strong leaders of his people in their desperate war for survival, doomed in a world altered by a changing climate. Her smile is genuine, intriguing, laced with wonder.
Perhaps not all is lost. Atrî reaches for her hand.
"Anne," he says.
3 - Lunja
I'm like a tree. My leaves might change colour, but my roots are the same — Rose Namajunas
~ ~ ~
Lunja picks up her great great-grandmother's diary and lets a thumb run over the worn leather binding. This small book is her dearest possession, a gateway into a world of wonder beyond the strictly regulated schedule of the ship. Whenever she finds the time, she steals away from her job in the nursery to walk the gardens. They are supposed to double as a recreational area, but she seldom meets someone here.
The Traveller offers all kinds of entertainment for its passengers. From sports to games and an extensive library. But Lunja prefers the garden, the company of silent, growing things. She stows the diary in the pocket of her coverall and walks towards the centre of the room. Beneath the central light source, she stops and settles on a smooth stone slab next to a huge succulent.
"Hey Pedro," she greets the plant. "How is your puppy today?"
Her colleagues would laugh at her for naming and talking to a cactus. But Lunja doesn't care. She loves plants, especially these hardy, self-sufficient desert dwellers. She lightly touches Pedro's firm skin, careful not to prick her finger on a spine, and opens the diary again.
In the back of the little book, ancestor Anne collected her favourite quotes. Lunja never tires of reading them. Perhaps, one day, she'll add one of her own, as her mother and grandmother did.
For now, she is content to read them. One especially intrigues her. It talks about trees and leaves changing colours. Lunja never saw a tree, there are none on the Traveller. Not the kind on the pictures in ancestor Anne's book. Rooted solidly in place, covered by fragile blossoms in spring, full of rich, green leaves in summer, a firework of colours in autumn, and dark bare branches in winter.
Why didn't the ancestors bring this marvels of earth's nature? Couldn't they survive on the ship? Lunja wonders if grandmother Anne knew the reason. She was a wise woman and a great leader, after all. With a sigh, she closes the book and stands up. There is still work to do.
Before she leaves the gardens, she takes in the plants with a longing glance. Like her, they will never see real sunlight. But one day, their descendants will, when the Traveller reaches her destiny, the planet to become their new home. She wonders how it will look. Will it have trees of its own?
Lunja is tempted to curse her ancestors for depriving her of the chance to see a real sunrise, the beauty of an ocean, the leaves of a tree change colour. Yet there is nothing she can do. All too soon she will have to follow in her mother's footsteps as the keeper of the forgotten knowledge, the bridge from a lost past to a distant future.
Lunja sighs. She will adapt, change colour like the forgotten trees. And she will trust her roots.
4 - Siman
It is good to have an end to journey towards; but it is the journey that matters, in the end — Ernest Hemingway
~ ~ ~
The planet is everything Siman can think of. Since the day it appeared first on the long-range scanners, she followed the approach every minute she could spare, hoping against hope that she might be able to see the promised land with her own eyes.
She spent her long life waiting for this moment, preparing herself and her protégés for the inevitable end of the voyage. It was demanding work, trying to convince a generation born to the monotony of the ship the adventure of their lives was waiting ahead.
Siman closes her thin, gnarled fingers around the book that gave her hope and helped her focus all this time. Old and brittle, it accompanied her ancestors through twenty-five ship-bound generations, collected the thoughts and wisdom of them all. Siman knows each word by heart. The time has come to pass them on for safekeeping. There aren't many blank pages left, and she knows her time is running short.
With the traditional bell, she calls her grandniece. Her chosen successor is barely in her twenties, perhaps too young to carry the burden. But there is none more likely. The door opens with a soft hiss.
"Grandmother? You called me."
"Sit down, Illy, sit down."
The girl moves with the confident grace of youth and settles on the ancient mat, cross-legged in the traditional way. This one was always her favourite candidate for the succession, accepting the traditions with a serene attitude. Now is the time to teach her more than formal behaviour. Siman's fingers caress the book.
"This is the heirloom of our ancestor, Anne, and all the other mothers of the people. It contains the words that guided their steps through generations. As a source of wisdom, it is passed on from mother to daughter and daughter's daughter. From today, it is your turn to treasure the writings of the elders. The Traveller is bound to reach her final destination within weeks. Our people will need guidance in this new world."
Illy shakes her head, eyes wide in denial.
"Grandmother, it must be you. You are the one with all the knowledge."
Siman smiles. Illy's emotions are strong, but she will learn to control them, use them to the advantage of the people. It seems fitting for this age to bring forth a strong-willed leader.
"I won't be there, darling. True, I hoped to witness the great moment. But my task was to guide you here. And while your task will be different, you will carry my knowledge and hopes onto this new world. A new world, a new mother to the people, a new generation to grow up. Guide wisely, my child, or this colony might fail."
The young woman balls her fists, her temper barely reigned in.
"Why me? I'm not a leader. Everyone talks about the richness and beauty of the new world. They call it the garden of Eden, a new Earth, unspoilt, perfect. This world won't need the ancient wisdom, as much as I treasure it."
Siman smiles, the sadness of knowledge clouding her eyes. There was a time she listened to the stories of the promised paradise in wide-eyed wonder. But the builders sought desert people for this mission with purpose. Yes, the ship carries the seed of all the necessary crops, but it's mostly hardy dry-land plants that grow in the Traveller's nursery and gardens.
She takes off her worn necklace and closes her hand around the cool metal pendant for the last time. This is the key of Tin Hinan, and it carries ancestor Anne's codes. It will allow Illy access to the reports of the unmanned probe. The new world can sustain a human colony. But the climate is hot, dry, and unforgiving. She holds out the ancient jewellery.
"Here. Prepare to learn the truth about Eden, my daughter."
5 - Ziri
A journey of a thousand miles begins with a single step — Lao Tzu
~ ~ ~
Ziri follows his older sister to the lander. Illy changed a lot since the mother died a few weeks ago. Gone are her easy laughter and light-hearted teasing. Now, she wears the dark robes of the people's mother, the silver necklace with the moon pendant. She looks adult, wise, and distant.
Like the other selected, he settles in the cushioned seat and closes the harness. The rough fabric of unfamiliar clothes glides over the backs of his hands as he removes the shesh and replaces it with the breathing mask. He avoids the assessing glances of the others, painfully normal in their standard issue coveralls, and finds Illy's eyes.
There it is, the spark he has been missing for days now. It lights up her grey eyes and eases his fears and misgivings about the costume. She is the mother now, burdened by the knowledge of centuries. If she chose him for this mission, he will be there for her. Ziri closes his eyes while the drug slows down his metabolism. The lander drops and enters the atmosphere, but he is already fast asleep.
It takes a while until he finds his orientation. Illy stands in front of him, holding out a hand. With numb and clumsy fingers, he opens the harness and removes the mask. His hands remember the movements as he rewinds his shesh, glad for the approval he reads in his former sister's eyes.
The hatch seems to take forever to open, long enough to contemplate that this is the longed-for and dreaded moment. They reached the end of a journey of centuries.
Hot wind gusts through the widening crack of the door and carries unfamiliar smells that make his peers sneeze. Ziri is tempted to remove the cloth covering his nose, but Illy's glance stops his hand. She draws a corner of her headscarf over her face and steps forward, towards the now open hatch.
Ziri takes a deep breath and follows his sister — no, the mother — to the opening. The deep blue sky, the endless expanses of sand, and the patch of greenery on the far horizon seem overwhelming. But he has a task, a responsibility. The mother chose him as her protector. He is the one to lead the way onto the new planet. A great honour and greater responsibility. He walks down the ramp.
The ground shifts under Ziri's probing foot. Only the sound of the wind and the rustle of sand accompany his steps.
A new journey begins.