The Message

    I was reading one of Einstein’s old papers on my holo when Rio showed up at my bunk pod.

    “Why aren’t you packing?” Rio asked. “You know you have to finish before the Celebration tonight.” 

    Rio is the golden child of the Vida. Everyone loves him. He’s first in our class, he’s on the ship’s council, and he’s even good at sports. If he weren’t my best friend, I would hate him.

    “I don’t have much to pack. All my books are on here.”  I waved the holo at him.    

    “Look, I know you’d rather stay in your room and read about time travel. But the Landing Day Celebration isn’t just some fancy dinner. It’s important. Everyone has to go,” he said. “Don’t you read the morning bulletins? You read everything else.”  

    “You sound like my parents.”

    His face turned serious. “You know they just want what’s best for you, Astra,” he said.

    You mean they just want what’s best for the ship, I thought.

    My parents were a big deal on the Vida. My mom managed the ship’s food supply. My dad was in charge of the hab pod. People put their survival in my parents’ hands. 

    Then there was me. I knew my parents loved me. But I think we all wondered whether I’d snuck onto the ship from another planet. I could never remember my chores or where I was supposed to be. One time I even burned dinner because I was reading and forgot about it. We have a limited amount of food on the Vida. Wasting it is one of the worst things you can do. 

    The only time I felt like myself was when I was in the ag pod with Oma. The ag pod was where we kept the plants that would become our food crops on Rubin 23V. Oma had designed the ag pod and the plants—a hardy grain called teff.   

    The best part of the ag pod was the flower garden. Oma had used real soil from Earth. I used to love running my fingers through the dirt, thinking about a planet I’d never see. I’d spend hours in the ag pod, talking with Oma about Einstein and time travel. 

    “I brought you this,” Rio said. I snapped out of my daze as he tossed a small object at me. “I found it on the floor of my pod. You must have dropped it.” 

    I picked it up. It was the size of my palm. The surface was cracked. I could tell from the thumbscreen that it was some kind of holo drive. 

    “This isn’t mine,” I said.

    “Your name is on it,” Rio said.

    I turned the drive over. ASTRA was carved into it in jagged letters.

    “But it’s not mine—” I stopped. I could tell Rio didn’t believe me.

    “Wait, start over,” Rio said. I had found him on the rec deck, warming up to play soccer. “This mystery lady said what?” 

    Rio had on the old jersey he always wore to play. It had belonged to his great-grandfather.

    “I think the message is damaged, but just watch,” I said.

    He was silent as the message played. The silver threads in the woman’s blue scarf caught the light.  

    “Astra,” he said when it finished. “This woman is telling you to destroy our food supply! That’s crazy!” 

    “What if she’s right? The plant sciences team could design a new kind of teff within a few months,” I argued. “We’d just have to get by on protein bars for a while.”

    Rio threw up his hands. “Look, I know you’re smarter than everyone on this ship—”

    “You do?” I said, shocked. “I am?” 

    “But you have no idea who this person is or where this message came from,” he said. “It could be from our enemies. It could be a joke.” 

    “It could be true,” I said.

    “I can’t believe we’re even having this conversation.”

    “Rio, she knows me. She knows I called my grandmother Oma.”

    “Astra, promise me you will forget this whole thing.”

    Rio was right. Destroying the ag pod was crazy. What if I damaged the ship? What if the plant sciences team couldn’t make more teff and we all starved? Plus, the teff was Oma’s creation. Destroying it would be like destroying the last piece of her I had.

    “Not everyone is going to understand you,” Oma had said to me once. “What matters is that you understand yourself.”

    I didn’t know why, but I was sure the woman in the message was telling the truth. 

    I wished with everything I had that I could travel through time and ask Oma for advice.

    The ag pod was exactly as I remembered it, except that Oma wasn’t there. Long containers held rows of Oma’s teff. Along one wall was her Earth garden. The marigolds were blooming. I turned away from them, tears filling my eyes.

    Oma had taught me all about ag pod security. There was an emergency system that would kill everything in the ag pod—including me, if I wasn’t careful. I found a safety suit in the locker and pulled it on.

    “I’m so sorry,” I whispered to Oma’s flowers. With my hands shaking, I opened the safety system keypad. I keyed in the codes Oma told me never, ever to use unless I had to. 

    Right away, a loud alarm went off. A wave of fire crashed through the room. The safety suit protected my body, but it couldn’t stop my fear. I buried my head in my arms. I didn’t want to watch as everything Oma had worked so hard for was destroyed.

    The next 15 seconds lasted 15 years. And then it was over. The vacuum fans came on and sucked out the fire. All that was left was a few burnt pieces of Oma’s plants.

    Behind me the doors flew open. Rio, my parents, and at least 20 other Vida council members stared at me. People were screaming.

    And then I fainted.

    That night—our last on the Vida—my mom gave me a present. 

    “I planned to give this to you on Landing Day, but I want you to have it now,” she said.

    I peeled away the wrapping—and gasped. Midnight-blue fabric spilled across my hands. Einstein’s equations were stitched into the fabric in silver thread. It was amazing.

    “Where did you get this?” I asked.

    “I made it,” my mom said, her eyes shining. “I know how much you love Einstein.”

    Now I understood who the woman in the message was.

    I wrapped the scarf around my neck and thought of Oma. I imagined what she’d say to me if only I could tell her what I’d done. 

    And then I realized: Maybe someday I could.