Root to Sapling, Sapling to Stem

As the decennial review of our ship’s governing charters approaches, Childrearing Law 2749 (“Child-2749”) is up for debate. A vocal group of “pro-family” activists are determined to upend the systematic, individual-based process we’ve relied upon for generations in favor of what they claim is a more “natural” approach. This would allow, for the first time in a hundred years, genetic donors to raise their biological offspring in-home after it reaches viability in the ship’s Womb Center. It may even allow potential mothers to undergo procedures to become pregnant and give birth, experiences which modern science has deemed unnecessarily risky.

As a woman of “childbearing age,” as old Earthers would’ve called it, I decided to visit the one person onboard who’d know what it’d be like to have this law overturned.

***

I met Willa Shuman at her favorite coffee shop: a kitschy place on B-deck with caffeine and dairy licenses. If you saw this vibrant ninety-two-year-old at the gym, you’d never guess that she's the last remaining Fortitude citizen to be raised by parents—in her case, a couple named Trevor and Tina.

“What was it like?” I’d spent weeks reading about society before Child-2749 and was fascinated to speak with someone who’d not only seen it but lived it. A childhood outside the Deck-J nursery? With hundreds of kids running around, unregulated and uncontained?

She sat facing the window, watching as each person strolled past, though I got the distinct impression that she was not really seeing them; her mind was light-years away. “It was all I knew,” she said finally. “We used to get together with the other parent-raised families on H-deck, and the adults would talk work or politics or whatever, and that’s how we learned how to be adults.”

“By observation?” It sounded highly inefficient.

“Sure. Just being around them while we played.”

“What kind of VR games did you have? Were they kinesthetic?” Nowadays, all ship-raised children require an hour a day of physical activity, but back then there were very few VR options.

“No,” Willa said patiently. “Real games: hide-and-seek, tag, red rover.”

Her admission struck me speechless. The dangers of these activities are well-documented: children becoming lost or even injured in the process of running and hiding and coming into forceful contact with one another. Not to mention the psychological trauma.

Willa must have read my mind, because she added, “Oh, I got hurt plenty. Then I’d climb onto Mom’s lap, and her hug would make me feel better.”

I’d read that parent-raised families of that era often encouraged oxytocin-releasing activities: hugging, cuddling, hand-holding. The hormone, released during pregnancy, childbirth, and breastfeeding, entrenched the bond between parents and children. Yet these close-contact encounters also led to germ-passing and heightened emotional trauma at family members’ ultimate passing.

Obviously sensing my discomfort at such references, Willa gestured to the door. “Let’s go for a walk.”

Her step was quick and light, and it wasn’t long before we reached the atrium, where the forest of giant aspen reach from Deck-D all the way up to Deck-A. It’s one of my favorite places on the ship: a quiet, serene place, perfect for contemplation. When I imagine old Earth, it’s a little like this.

“When Child-2749 was passed, I was heartbroken,” Willa said. “I’d wanted so badly to pass on more than just my genetic code. I worked here, in the atrium, at that time, and in a way, these trees became like children to me. Someone to care for. To guide.”

I tried to find something to say. “There’s so many of them.”

“And yet they’re one.”

“One? But there’s so many branches and leaves and trunks and—”

“Stems,” she said. “Each of those trunks grows from the same root system. It’s a single organism, entirely interconnected. They can be transplanted, if you dig up a sucker from the mother tree and make sure to bring with it enough of the root. You know what happens then?”

“What?”

“It starts the cycle all over again. Root to sapling, sapling to stem. As old stems die off, the new ones grow alongside them, eventually replacing them and passing their place in the world from one generation to the next. They pass on their genetic material, but there’s more to it than that. A single stem has the benefit of the whole root system, which makes it particularly hardy, and as the seasons change, their leaves change colors as one. Beautiful, isn’t it?”

I was beginning to suspect why she’d brought me here.

“But there’s plenty of other plants that thrive on their own,” I argued. “Our greenhouses churn out thousands each week for consumption. The process is efficient. No errors, no mishaps, no unpleasant surprises.”

When she spoke again, I realized I could not win her over. “These trees may not grow as efficiently or with the uniformity of our carrots or cabbage, but this?” She gestured to the chaotic flurry of leaves and overlapping of trunk-like stems. “This is part of what makes them aspens.” She pauses. “Would you like me to teach you about them?”

“I would.”

***

Willa Shuman passed away on Monday, leaving no one left onboard the Fortitude who knows for sure what it’s like to hold a mother’s hand or hear a father’s words of encouragement or weep at a grandparent’s funeral or play red rover (a game that, even after many long talks with Willa, I still find terrifying).

I’m not sure how I’ll vote yet. When I hear the arguments made in favor of Child-2749, they make sense. They sound logical. Yet I can’t shake the impression made by Willa and her trees. I wonder if that’s what she meant when she’d said she wanted to pass on more than her genetic code.

Maybe it’s these things that, despite her passing, still make me feel like we’re connected.

Orion’s Belt is pleased to present this thoughtful tale of connection and community, written by the inestimable Wendy Nikel, a brilliant writer and the editor-in-chief of Flash Fiction Online. We hope and trust you enjoyed reading it.

Wendy Nikel is a speculative fiction author with a degree in elementary education, a fondness for road trips, and a terrible habit of forgetting where she's left her cup of tea. Her short fiction has been published by Analog, Beneath Ceaseless Skies, Nature, and elsewhere. Her time travel novella series, beginning with The Continuum, is available from World Weaver Press. For more info, visit wendynikel.com