Diversions of all types would be needed to relieve the tedium of a lifetime spent in space.  And as on earth, young men would probably seek the company of young women, old men would play chess, and little boys . . . 

–Isaac Asimov

           The vent cover looked perfectly ordinary, but one of the boys had sawed off the screws and glued magnets to the other side.  

           “It’s like this,” he said, pulling hard. With much effort, the cover came off and he fell against the opposite wall.  The two others laughed.

           “It has to be hard,” Jack said.  “That way it seems like it’s still screwed in.”  The tallest and strongest of the three, Jack was used to getting his way.   This adventure—if it could be called that–had been his idea.

           “But you de-grimed it,” Ahmed said.  “It’s the cleanest panel in the hallway.”

           “I don’t think ‘de-grimed’ is even a word.  But it’s a dead giveaway, if anyone looks at it,” Tervack said.  His name was Frank Tervack, but ever since starting school, he’d been “Tervack,” even to his teachers.  Only his parents called him Frank.

           “And what makes you think anyone’s going to look in this hallway, out of the hundreds to choose from?  Don’t be an idiot.” 

           Tervack said nothing. 

           Ahmed now changed his tune.  “If we’re going in, let’s go,” he said.  He kept looking around.

           All three of them were 12 years old.  All three had known each other for their entire lives, which of course seemed like a long time to them.  Their plan was to get into the darkways, a part of the ship that they had never seen.  The darkways were off-limits to everyone, but somehow especially so to children.  To the adult mind, no child had ever had a good reason to wander the darkways.

           As the boys vacillated, their home lumbered onward toward its destination, an uninhabited planet that circled Teegarden’s Star—about 12 light-years from Earth.

           A hollowed-out asteroid with a spaceship inside, The Lonely Crowd housed some 4000 souls, all of whom had been born on board—as the last Earthling, Ida K. Sackerbaum, had died only a few months before at the ripe old age of 104. “Too bad she didn’t make it to Journey’s End” had become an instant cliche, always followed by “she was just so close.”  And in fact, the Crowd was scheduled to reach Teegarden in 33 days, which was fortunate, because the ship itself was dying; nonessential equipment had long ago been cannibalized and whatever still worked looked like it didn’t.  

           To prepare for landing, the young adults and the middle-aged had gone into high gear, but the old people (“our senior shipmates”) were bewildered by the prospect of Journey’s End because they would not live more than a few years on the surface of their new home.  As for the children and teenagers, many mistakenly believed—despite what they had been told—

that the ship would literally land on Teegarden 4, when the plan was for everyone to be ferried down, along with all necessary equipment.  The ship itself, stripped and abandoned, would be left in orbit, visible at night for the next few lifetimes. 

           Stories of the darkways had been passed on from kid to kid over the past century; they were a place of forbidden treasures, of criminals in hiding, and of the skeletons of the ones who had gotten lost.

             In reality, the darkways were a collection of utility tunnels on the outer edges of the ship—where steel and synthetics met stone. They went on for mile after mile, a maze of dimly lit corridors with the litter and debris of those who had chosen to explore them—or so people said.  It had been decades since the barely functioning cleanup teams had done more than clear enough away to secure safe passage for emergency work.  And while people had indeed died in the darkways, there were no skeletons, since the cleanup teams, like the humans who had programmed them, felt a strong urge to get corpses out of the way and out of sight.

           The boys climbed through the vent, pulling the cover behind them.  After crawling through an air duct, they came to another opening, this one near the ceiling of a full-sized hallway.  

           They dropped to the floor and looked around.  The passage was dimly lit.  The only objects in evidence were some empty paint cans, covered with dust.  Everything was covered with dust.

           “These paint cans are great,” Jack said, “because they can tell us where we are. We’ll stick one at the first intersection we get to.”  

           “Yeah, really great,” Tervack said.  “You’re the first person who ever said that paint cans are great.”  

           “Don’t be an idiot,” Jack said.

           Tervack grabbed Jack by the neck, shoving him against the wall.  “Call me an idiot again, and I’ll kill you.  And I will.” 

           They had not yet reached one of the great thresholds of life; they were close to the Age of Non-Violence but not quite there.  In any case, Jack would have probably won a fight to the death, but in the interest of holding the expedition together, he took the point: “All right, I’m sorry.”

           Down the first corridor, a round “Drink Coca-Cola” sign straddled the hallway.  It had clearly been there for a long time.

           “Walk around it,” Ahmed said.  “We don’t want our footprints on it.”

           “As if our footprints aren’t everywhere already.”  

           “What about fingerprints?  Ever hear of fingerprints?”  Ahmed’s voice shook, as it usually did when he felt tense.

           “Fingerprints are a Lost Tech.  No one’s done them for years, not since Halfway, my mom said.”

           Rubbing a wall with a dirty rag, Tervack uncovered a message that went from ceiling to floor:

ON STRIKE!                        

Interplanet   federation   of   Labor

Local 1,   Tom  Eddison,   President

           “I’ve heard about strikes,” Tervack said, “kind of like a protest.”

            “At least we know what they used the paint for.”

           Entirely linear, their journey continued for another 20 minutes, yielding a cardboard box containing the jumbled remains of what had once been a child’s tea set.  Jack pretended to drink from one of the few unbroken cups.

           Ahmed suggested that they start back, as it was getting dark.

           Ahmed wanted to call any future expeditions “trips to the prepshop”—prepshops being rooms where, on Captain Fellowstone’s orders, designated volunteers stacked and packed supplies and equipment destined for planetfall on Teegarden 4.  

           “That way, we won’t stir up any suspicions—and besides, there are so many prepshops, it’s not even funny; we could be at any of them,” Ahmed said.  Tervack rolled his eyes.  But both Jack and Tervack knew that Ahmed was right.  If they were caught, they might well face “a week behind glass,” being exhibited in soundproof glass cells on the ship’s busiest street.

           Their first trip forced the boys to create a mental list of what to bring next time: flashlights, bleepers (“much better than paint cans”), and something to drink, as the darkways were for reasons unclear hotter than the rest of the ship.  

           Tervack argued that the builders—the consensus term for anyone who had worked on the ship before Generation A arrived–should have made the darkways colder, given that it takes energy to heat anything.

           Ahmed said that Tervack had too many theories “about how things should and shouldn’t be.”

           They tried again.  Planning for a longer trip, they told their parents they’d be back late because they wanted to help each other with homework. 

           This time, things did not go as well on Gandhi Deck.  One of the Guardians of Stability—as the uniformed police officers were called—walked in front of the doctored air vent as he gave a hearty “Hello, boys!” They kept walking.

           A few minutes later, they returned to their entry point, crawled in, and headed down the passage.  Leaving bleepers at every second intersection, they moved larger bits of junk to create crude directional arrows.  Jack found some terra-cotta pots and a cardboard box labeled “Snail Bait.”  No one knew what they were. 

           Tervack discovered a pile of books: “Look!  Books on paper!  The Klan Unmasked! And 101 Sexual Positions! I’m going to take this one home—”

           “No, you aren’t.  Talk about dead giveaways,” Jack admonished him, “if we take anything out, they’ll know we were here. Use your brain.”

           Descending a gently sloped ramp—there were no stairs–they came to “the Edge,” which they had heard about but never seen. This was the outermost deck; beneath their feet the solid gray rock of the asteroid.  Below, 50 or so feet of stone protected them from the vacuum of space.  Intellectually, they knew that the ship and its shell spun on its axis to provide gravity, but as there were no windows—or at least none they’d ever seen—their subjective sense was that the ship didn’t even have a wobble.

           “And here we are,” Jack announced.  “The Edge.”

           They went silent for a moment, for the Edge was a legendary place.

           Jack stooped down to touch the filthy residue of some anti-skid tape that a long-dead facilities planner had placed on the smooth stone as a safety measure.  

           “I wonder how many rats have walked across this,” he said, looking at what had stuck to his hand.

           “If there was an air leak,” Tervack announced, “this is where we’d find it, right under our feet.”

           “Let’s not talk about that.”

           “Listen for that hissing sound—”

           “Shut up! Both of you!  Just because we’re far away from everything doesn’t mean we can’t get caught.”

           The truth was that they weren’t far away from anything.  As the crow flies (a phrase that had long ago fallen into disuse), they were only about a mile from their homes.

           The next day was a school day. In the back of the classroom, the boys whispered about their latest adventure.  

           “We have a lot more to learn about that prepshop,” Jack said, putting too much emphasis on their codename.  “And we can’t ask anyone because they’ll get suspicious.

           “I know.  Rita Gonzalez can ask.  No one will suspect her.”  Jack beamed triumphantly, but when he saw the puzzled facial expressions, he said, “She owes me a favor, and she won’t ask why.”

           The muted conversation in the back of the room caught Teacher Trant’s attention; whatever her deficiencies, she knew when children were not connecting with the lesson at hand. 

           “How is your World War I presentation coming, boys?”

           “Great!  You caught us talking about trench warfare!”

           “When you’re finished, start on your next learning module, Journey’s End & You.   

           “And I’m sorry to say that Captain Fellowstone’s office still hasn’t decided when the last day of school will be, but when I find out, you’ll be the first to know.”  She chuckled.

           The boys had very little respect for Trant, a middle-aged woman who, like many teachers on board, had virtually no interest in what she had to teach.   Jobs were not supposed to be hereditary, but in practice many were.  As Tervack liked to say, “Trant’s mother was a teacher, too, which explains a lot.”  And, although virtually every Crowder had a bad haircut (because professional haircutting, too, was a Lost Tech), Trant compounded the issue by rarely washing her hair—prompting some to call her “Ancient Grease.”

           What the boys failed to see was that she was a well-meaning person trapped in a career that did not suit her.

           After lunch, Rita did ask Jack’s question: “Teacher Trant, I wanted to ask you something a little off-topic.”

           “Of course, Rita.”  Trant beamed at one of her model students.

           “Why do we even have the darkways?  Why don’t we just use them as regular parts of the ship?”

           “Well, Rita,” she said, putting on one of her more thoughtful faces, “the builders put the darkways there because we need storage space for the things we aren’t using right now.”

           Tervack couldn’t help himself.  While Jack and Ahmed scowled, he asked, “Um, could my parents put my grandfather’s old Lego set there?  I don’t need it anymore. And we need the room.  Is there someone they could talk to about that?”

           “No, there isn’t.  They’re more for official things, like”—she paused— “spacesuits and medical supplies.”

           For the first time in a long career, she held 30 children spellbound.  They wanted more, but either she didn’t want to say more or, more likely, she had nothing else to say.

           “Why all this sudden interest in the darkways?”  

           She glared at Tervack, having forgotten that Rita was the one who had broached the subject.

           Tervack had been delighted with Trant’s pseudo-explanation.  “The darkways are filled with junky stuff, nothing ‘official’ that I can see.  And ‘spacesuits and medical supplies’ would be kept under lock and key, right? She’s just ridiculous.” 

           They agreed that Trant’s answer had raised troubling new questions and that she had wanted to change the subject as quickly as possible.  But Ahmed thought their expeditions should end anyway: “The Guardian saw us.  And Trant’s suspicious. We should quit while we’re ahead.”

           Jack’s voice dropped to a whisper: “Only one more trip, Ahmed.”  

           They turned down a different corridor on the third expedition, trying to get to the Edge via a new route.  This time, they saw a few doors—which led to empty rooms. 

           Stopping to rest, drinking water from their bottles, they felt that they had finally sated their curiosity.  Now they knew what the darkways were like.

           A few minutes later, rounding a corner, they found what looked like a tidily arranged bedroom-storeroom, filled with unmarked boxes. The entire room was dust-free.

           “This looks new.  We should get out.”

           “You should never have come in the first place.”

           Stunned, they turned around to see a man—a genuinely old man.

           “Are you Mr. Raskin?”  Ahmed almost shouted.

           “Yes, and you boys are in my private space.”

           David Raskin was famous.  For years, he had overseen the transmissions from the mother planet, reporting and interpreting them on his radio program, broadcast to everyone who had a radio, This Week on Earth.  The ship had been at least eight light-years from Earth for his entire career, so any messages were definitionally old news.  And in recent years, his listener numbers had plummeted with the death of the dirt-born generation.  Still, he had kept his show alive until recently.  Now he was officially retired.

           “Let me close the door, and I’ll talk.”

           As Raskin motioned them to, they sat on the bed.

           “Why are you here?”

           “I don’t think you’re in a position to make demands.”

           “Actually, we are,” Tervack said.  “If we get caught, it’s a week behind glass.  If you get caught, I don’t know what they’ll do.  Something much worse.”

           “I suppose that’s true.  But you have no reason to report me.  You’d have to say you were here and you’d be punished for it.”

           “What I want to know is why you’re here,” a now emboldened Ahmed said. 

           “All right.  We make a deal.  You agree not to report me and I’ll tell you a little.”

           The boys nodded, grunting a tentative assent.

           “I don’t live here.  I live in my quarters on Indigenous Peoples Deck.  But I plan to stay here someday, someday soon.  That’s what these boxes are about.  Food and supplies.  I’ll hide out while everyone’s leaving.  Then I’ll have the run of the ship”

           “I get it,” Tervack said.  “You’ll just stay here for the rest of your life.”

           “What’s left of it, yes.  I’m 86 years old.”

           “You can get food from ponics.  But what if Life Support fails?  What if there’s an air leak?  What if something overheats?  You’re dead.”

           “That’s a chance I’m willing to take. This is my home.  You can understand that.”  

           Ahmed pointed out the time; they needed to get back.  He and Jack stood up.

           Tervack stopped them. “One more thing: why do the darkways exist?” 

           “I thought that was coming.   

           “When I was a little boy, younger than you, I saw a fugitive copy of the ship’s schematics.  Certain parts were marked ‘Darkways’ and ‘Forbidden,’ and inside those areas were tiny squares labeled ‘Earth Artifacts’ and ‘Graffiti Goes Here.’”

           “So?”  

           “That means the darkways didn’t ‘evolve.’  They aren’t spare space where people left their junk—at least not for the most part.  The darkways were planned.  Everything was brought from Earth to create the right ‘abandoned look.’”  He raised his fingers to make air quotes.

           “The darkways aren’t the ‘ship’s attic.’ They’re somebody’s idea of what a spaceship’s ‘attic’ should look like.”

           Ahmed broke in: “An attic?  Isn’t that when you can’t stop taking drugs?”

           “No, that’s an addict.  An attic is a space below the roofline of a house; it’s where you put things you don’t need but you can’t bear to part with.”

           “Okay, okay, okay,” Tervack said, “the darkways are a movie set without the movie.  But why do that?  What’s the point?”

           “I’m 99% sure the darkways were put here for mental relief.  They’re for anyone with a desperate desire to get away.  Even for a few hours.   And, yes, they have to be taboo, because if everyone could come here whenever they wanted, the darkways wouldn’t be the darkways.”

           “But someone had to decide what to put here.  Why pick a Coca-Cola sign?”

           “Who knows?  I’d guess the builders threw in strange stuff to keep people entertained.  They kept you entertained, didn’t they?” 

           Raskin stood up.  “Now, if you boys will leave—”

           At that moment, with his eyes fixed on the opposite wall, his mouth fell open, and he tipped forward.

           He fell, his face slamming against the steel frame of the bed before hitting the floor.  His head bounced.

           Almost simultaneously, the boys descended on him.

           Jack tried to rouse him.  Tervack moved the head around and then lifted an arm and dropped it.

           “He’s dead,” Tervack announced.

           “No, he’s not.”

           “I’m telling you, he’s dead,” Tervack repeated.  “Look at his skin; it’s white.  And did you see what happened when I picked up his arm?  Limp as a bungee cord.”

           Appalled, Jack and Ahmed glared at their friend, who didn’t notice.

           “And he pissed in his pants.  Isn’t that what happens when you die?”

           “I know,” Ahmed said, “mouth to mouth.” As the others watched, Ahmed gave the process his inexpert effort.  He continued, off and on, for several minutes.

           “It’s no use, Ahmed.  Tervack’s right.  He’s dead.”

           Ahmed felt for a pulse.  Then he shook his head, mouthing a silent “no.”

           After a moment, Jack asked the obvious question: “What do we do now?” 

           Ahmed suggested that they “tell the first Guardian we see.”

           Jack had an almost violent reaction.  “No!  They might blame us.  They might even say we killed him!”

           Their eyes kept returning to the body.  This was the first dead human being they had ever seen, so the fear and revulsion were mixed with a certain fascination.

           Trying to recover his composure, Jack turned to Tervack.  “What do you think, Frank?”

           “What good would it do to tell anyone?  We go back and we keep quiet.” 

           “Then we just leave?  And pretend like nothing happened?”

           Jack and Tervack exchanged glances.  They nodded. 

           Jack broke the silence.  “Make it official.  A vote.  Who says we should stay quiet and who says we should report it?  Raise your hand if you want to keep quiet.”

           Tervack’s hand went up. 

           “Me, too.” Jack added.

           Slowly and half-heartedly, Ahmed’s followed.

           As best they could, the boys re-positioned Raskin as he was when he fell.

           “The door was open when we came in.”

           “Yeah, but we still want to close it.  That way, he’ll stay hidden longer.”

           “What about the lights?”

           “Why would he be walking around in the dark?  We leave them on.”

           Without speaking, the boys closed the door and made their way back to their exit point.

           “I guess this is it,” Jack said.  “Nothing happened. If they ever find out we were here, we never met Raskin.  We turned back after that last time we rested.”

           As they approached the airduct to return to Gandhi Deck, they failed to glance back at the paint cans, the work stoppage wall art, and the Coca-Cola sign.   

           After Ahmed climbed in, Jack turned to Tervack: “Is this better?”  

           “Is what better?”

           “Is it better to know that the darkways are kind of fake?”

           “No,” Tervack said, “it was better to think that the darkways were really real.”

           From inside the airduct, Ahmed’s muffled voice called out: “Come on; don’t we have a planet to land on?”

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