Serial Novel, Maybe? Chapter 1

So I’m thinking of writing a novel in serial form during this whole COVID thing. I’m a couple chapters in, and I’ve outlined it through the ending. I think it has legs. But I want your feedback. What do you think? Want more of this?

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[Working Title] Ellipsis Between Worlds

Chapter 1

It was strange; there, on his screen, he had more entertainment than he could watch in a thousand lifetimes. Comedies. Action movies. So-called "reality" programs. Documentaries. And that didn't include all the games he could play. Old fashioned two dimensional side scrollers, three dimensional first-person shooters, immersive virtual reality role playing games. Many of the movies and games were set in fictional settings, some completely fantastical but others rooted in the world of before, the one with soil and trees and waterfalls. He could have spent his time looking at those. Remembering. There were so many ways to fill the hours trapped in his apartment. Instead, he would just stare out the window.

He remembered movies he'd seen where characters, noble heroes in fancy uniforms, stared out their windows into space. The stars would zip by, sometimes stretching into long glowing lines, to show the audience the ship was moving at some incredible speed. Ridiculous. Out his window, the stars were glowing specks. They didn't move. There was no sun coming up to hide them for half the day. The ship's clocks counted through each twenty-four hour "day," then rolled over, and the stars never changed. He thought about getting a grease pencil and trying to mark all the stars’ positions to see if there was any change in the entire duration of the journey. He was no astronomer, but he didn’t think it would work. He knew they were moving at an average speed of 25 thousand miles an hour. He knew the trip would take almost four years. And he knew they would end up about 800 million miles from Earth. He suspected those stars, when 800 million miles from home, would be in almost exactly the same positions they had been in the Ohio night sky on the rare nights they’d been visible. And he also suspected he didn’t have the technical know-how to place the markings on the window precisely enough to make any change visible to the naked eye from some vantage point in his room. These were, at best, guesses based on his general knowledge, just musings from a guy who understood less about astronautics than most of the people on the ship. These speculations were all superseded by his absolute certainty that he’d never have the motivation to undertake the project. He didn’t stare at the stars because he cared about them. He stared at them because he had trouble caring about anything.

Also, it was impossible to strike a brave pose when the window was in the floor. Albert found it frankly shocking that none of the old movies got that part right. Sure, it would have made for bad camera angles, but at least some of the most realistic movies should have predicted that correctly. If the fake gravity had to be created by rotation, of course all the windows would be set in the floors. He assumed there were windows in the front and back of the ship that looked out towards their destination or the home they’d left behind. But he’d never bothered to check. There’d be nothing but a star-filled night sky in front. And behind? Nothing he wanted to think about. Most of his cabin had a normal, opaque floor. The porthole was circular, three feet in diameter, and set in the middle of the room. Some people covered theirs with a rug. Albert set his only chair at the edge and stared into space between his feet. Why would he want a window set in the wall so he could stand up and look backwards along the ship’s flightpath? That would be even more depressing. 

Albert didn’t wear a fancy uniform or rest his hand on the grip of a high-tech laser pistol while staring out his window. On a good day, he wore jeans and a t-shirt. On a bad day, he wore sweatpants and sometimes didn’t bother to put a shirt on. He had a uniform of sorts, a polo shirt he hated with the company’s stupid logo on the left breast and a scratchy, completely pointless collar. He figured someone had done some research and found that people were more productive when wearing uncomfortable clothing, so the company had spent millions on the stupid shirts. He did the math in his head. Billions? Yeah, they probably had spent billions on shirts. Not that it mattered at that point. The whole idea of money had been breaking down. He imagined some executive saying to a sweatshop worker in Malaysia or the Marshall Islands, “Hey, want to make us shirts? I’ll pay you a million dollars per shirt. Also, you’ll be dead in a year. Or you can come with us, and I’ll pay you a penny a shirt in a currency that will have no value in a year. But you’ll be alive. Your choice.” Albert almost laughed. But then he thought about the choices they all made - and the ones that were made for them, choices made by the powerful, choices made by previous generations, choices made by the people who said they loved them the most and turned out to be the biggest liars of all, and the humor soured into something bitter, then sank into his stomach where it was more acidic than bile. He reminded himself he needed to stop thinking of choices, or he’d contemplate himself into an ulcer.

He could see his own reflection between his shoes. His brown skin almost glowed against the darkness, and his black eyes were spaces in the vacuum where no stars lived. Albert was handsome, but he didn’t think so. That truth had been taken from him, too. He didn’t see an attractive man in his mid thirties with slightly curly, jet-black hair, fit if a bit on the thin side, a rakish amount of stubble growing along his square jawline. Albert saw a man past his prime who had weak shoulders, felt doughy around the middle, needed a haircut and a shave, and had black holes for eyes. 

His phone rang. When Albert had first learned they would be using cellphones on the ship, he’d been a bit disappointed. He’d expected something more futuristic, like a sexy woman’s voice that would talk to them from the wall and do all their communicating for them, or devices that would wrap around their ears and project holograms a foot away from their faces. But no. Just cell phones and ship-wide wifi. If it ain’t broke.

“Hey, how are you doing, man?” Luis asked. 

Albert was relieved to see his best friend’s hair was getting a little too long also. Luis’ hair was as black as Albert’s but straight. Normally he combed it back, but it looked like he’d been running his fingers through it a lot lately, and two locks fell down either side of his face. Albert could relate. “I’ve been staring out the window again,” he said.

“That bad, eh?”

“I guess.” Albert looked over Luis’ shoulder. “Are you taking a shit?”

Luis laughed. “No. Only private space in our cabin.”

Albert smiled for the first time that day. “Oh, we’re having a top secret conversation?”

Luis looked at the door to his right. “You know I love my family. But … No, no ‘but.’ I love my family. But seriously, man! The kids are driving me crazy. I love them. I do. But they are starting to get on each other’s nerves. And then they fight, and they get on my nerves. And then Julie gets irritated that I’m irritated and tells me I need to be more patient with them. And I know she’s right, but you know what will never make me stop being irritated? Telling me not to be irritated! So then I’m irritated with her, and that’s never good. I know you don’t think you’re lucky, but…”

Albert just shook his head quickly. A warning.

“Yeah, I know,” Luis said. “Sorry. So, any news on the job search?”

Albert bowed. Luis was sitting on a toilet in a room the size of a shower because it was a shower. The ship’s designers realized they could save a lot of space if the toilets were inside the showers, and the water that sprayed down from the ceiling would keep the toilets and small sinks in the little square rooms that much cleaner. By holding out his phone arm to it’s full length and sweeping the other to its widest, Albert could illustrate that he at least had more room than Luis. It was a spiteful gesture, but he was still stinging a little from Luis’ intimation that Albert was lucky to be in that cabin alone. “Just one more non-essential worker at your service,” he said. “How about you? Any nibbles?”

“Nah. I heard that they were trying to figure out some other things us non-essentials could do just to make work. You know, like manufacturing supplies for the med bays. Or delivering the medical personnel food or something. But basically, unless you have medical training, there’s no reason to let us out. Some people are taking classes to get jobs in the medical field just to get out of their cabins. Isn’t that crazy? I mean, the only reason there are jobs in the medical field is … well, you know.”

“Right.”

“So, non-essential,” Luis said. “But maybe if a job opens up in food delivery. That has to be a growth industry, right?”

They both chuckled cynically. 

Then Albert heard the knock on the bathroom door through the phone. Luis didn’t react much, but his lips pressed together just a tiny bit, a poker tell.

Albert smiled. “You should get that.”

Luis closed his eyes. “Five minutes. Five minutes of peace. That’s all I want, man. I love them. I love my family. I do. But five minutes.”

A muffled woman’s voice came through the door and the phone into Albert’s room. “Sorry, honey, but Carrie has to use the bathroom as a bathroom.”

“Daddy!” A little girl’s voice. “I have to go poop. And I can’t wait anymore, Daddy. I have to go right now.”

Luis looked hard at Albert. “She isn’t lying.”

Albert shrugged. “She’s very persuasive.”

“Fine, fine,” Luis said to the door, and then the light changed as he stepped out of the little room and into his cabin. 

“Sorry, honey,” Julia said. 

“It’s okay. You go ahead, Carrie.”

The top of a little girl’s head passed along the bottom of the screen, and then her hand flashed up into the middle of the picture as she said, “Hi, Albert!”

“Hey, Carrie. I hope everything comes out okay!”

“Gross. My poop is private!” the girl yelled. She sounded genuinely angry. 

“Sorry, Carrie,” Albert called.

Luis just shrugged into the camera.

“Don’t make her self conscious about her pooping, Albert,” Julia said from offscreen, but Albert could hear the smile in her voice. 

“Thanks a lot, Mom,” Carrie called through the door. 

“I got your back, honey. Here, Luis, gimme the phone.”

Luis rolled his eyes, but he was smiling, too. Albert was glad to see they were doing so well. He found he was more invested in the couple’s happiness than he was ready to contemplate. 

Julia’s face took over the screen. “Hey, Albert. How are you?” Julia had a round face and caring eyes, but Albert mostly noticed that her straight blond hair, pulled back into a ponytail, looked much neater than his or Luis’. Then he remembered she was still working, though remotely, and had to remain presentable. 

Now it was Luis’ turn to speak from off camera. “You could use your own phone. We could add you to the conversation.”

She looked out of the frame. “I’ll just steal it for a second.” Then back to Albert. “So, how are you getting by?”

“All things considered?”

“Right. Did you think about my advice? There are lots of counselors doing virtual therapy sessions. I can give you the names of dozens. Or you could find someone I don’t work with, run their name by me, and I could tell you if I know them, if you want to make sure it’s someone I don’t know.”

“No, that’s not the issue,” Albert said. “I’m sure they’re all very professional.”

“Right, but I know sometimes it’s weird if your counselor is a colleague of one of your friends. I just don’t want that to stop you. Because I really think it’s a good idea, Albert. You’ve been through a lot.”

“Everybody has been through a lot.”

Julia nodded vigorously. “Yes. Yes, we have. We all need to be talking to someone. And you’ve been through more than most. So just think about it, okay?”

“I promise.”

She looked skeptical. “Okay, please do, okay?” Then she handed the phone back to Luis. 

Luis smiled in his wife’s direction. “She’s right, man. Support the industry. Keep therapists employed. In a roundabout way, you’ll be keeping her out of my hair.” Then his face lit up. “Oh, did you hear about the petition?”

Albert shook his head.

Luis looked more animated than Albert hd seen him in weeks. “This is so stupid, but it cracks me up. Okay, so there’s this whole online outcry to rename either the ship or Enceladus ‘America 2.’”

“You’re kidding.”

“No. It has tens of thousands of signatures. And the Canadians have mostly laughed it off, but a lot of the Brits and Kiwis and Aussies are pretty pissed. There are even counter proposals to name it England 2 or Scotland 2. And those are dumb. But America 2 is by far the dumbest. I mean, how many of those people even know where the word ‘America’ comes from? At least England was named after one of the groups of people who lived there. And Scotland, too. But naming a moon after an Italian mapmaker because the people moving there aren’t even Italian? I just … I can’t with these people.”

“Lucky Europeans,” Albert said.

“Right?” Luis laughed.

The ships had all launched on the same day. There was no other way. They technically weren’t associated with any government, but they had to be placed in different parts of the world so the people could get to them, so they could have central hubs to send the supplies, so they could be built at all. Also, it was a lot more convenient if the people onboard spoke the same languages. It wasn’t required. Some folks had traveled a long way to be on ships with people more like them. Even though it would have been closer for the Australians and the New Zealanders to get on the ship being built in China (well, technically 250 miles above Beijing), most of them came to the one built in the U.S. (250 miles above Chicago). And though the ship in the US would have been closer for people from Mexico, most of them went to the one built in Argentina (250 miles above Buenos Aires). Albert had read that almost everyone in Israel had gone to the ship built in the U.S. or the one built in Europe rather than the one built in Nigeria, but Muslims from as far away as India and Pakistan went to the one built in Nigeria (250 miles above Lagos) rather than the one built in China. But despite these exceptions, the ships took on a rough sense of a geographic and cultural identity unrelated to their official names which matched their destinations. There were hundreds of languages spoken on the ship built in Nigeria, but everyone thought of it as “the African ship” rather than the ship headed to Jupiter’s moon, Io. The one headed to the southern pole of Mars was “the Asian ship.” The one headed to Jupiter’s Callisto was “the South American ship” (sometimes referred to as “the Spanish ship” even though the people from Spain weren’t on it). But the ship built in Germany and populated by people from all over Europe? It was headed to Jupiter’s Europa. That made it easy. Everyone agreed to call that one The Europa.

The people on the ship built in the U.S. couldn’t even agree on how to pronounce “Enceladus.” And Enceladus was one of Saturn’s moons, so they had the longest trip to be stuck together onboard The Enceladus arguing about different names. 

“Think the company will take the petition seriously?” Albert asked.

“Hell no. They shot the idea down and hinted that people making too much noise about it might even face consequences for threatening to cause disunity that will lower morale. It’s all nautical with the powers-that-be now. Not a corporation, a crew. All for one and one for all and make people walk the plank.”

“Think there really will be consequences? Like, what kind of consequences?”

“Who knows? I’m betting, if they’re like us, non-essentials hoping to find work, then having their names on that petition might drag their resumes into a different file. And maybe, if they have jobs, they might find themselves furloughed so some people like us can take their spots. But maybe that’s just wishful thinking. I do think you should take Julia’s advice about talking to a therapist, though. That could help your resume get to the top of a pile.”

“Really? You think they’re paying attention to that kind of thing?”

Luis shrugged. “I’m an economist flying off to live on a moon with no money. You’re a historian flying off to live on a moon with no history. And a lot of what we know about economics and history is already irrelevant. But think about this. The corporation had one job: Make money. And then that went away, and it is trying to reconstitute itself as a governing body with no military adversaries or international trade. It knows basically everything there is to know about every person on this ship, and it has one new focus: Survival on a distant world. And then a new disease shows up, and we’re in quarantine in a metal bubble flying through space. Now you know how plagues have been used by governments to prevent dissent in previous centuries. Is this the time you’d want to be pissing off the people in charge? Or, if you could help yourself out by spending some time talking to a shrink and also impress the brass by showing you’re going to be a good little employee, wouldn’t this be a good time to do that?”

Albert couldn’t deny the logic. After the call, he looked up the names of the therapists Julia had recommended, then picked one just to prove the association with Julia didn’t make him uncomfortable (though, now that she’d mentioned it, it was starting to). He scheduled an appointment.

And the next day, before he’d even had the appointment, he got the email about his new job. He opened it, read the position description, and flopped down in his chair, his head in his hands, infinite space between his feet. “Holy shit.”