Author : T. Gene Davis

“Next up: the calendar,” droned the chairman over every speaker surface in the colonial ship.

Sam yawned. “Excuse me,” she said though a second yawn that pushed its way past the first unfinished yawn.

“Doesn’t get more exciting than this,” Rod commented feeling a yawn brought on by Sam’s yawn. He stood on the transparent observation deck looking down at his cell instead of the new world beneath them. He successfully stifled his yawn.

“What are you looking at? I thought they blocked vids during this thing.”

Rod looked up from his cell. “This? Not a vid. It’s an ancestor’s diary.”

Sam made a grunting sound of disinterest. Rod smiled. Somehow Sam even made grunts sound ladylike.

“Twenty-eight hour days. Four-hundred-two day years. Do we care?” Sam moaned. “Just vote, pleeeeease.” Sam leaned against the hull in mock exhaustion. “We are never getting off this ship.”

Rod looked up from the cell. “It isn’t as bad if you find something to distract yourself.”

Sam started fiddling with her cell.

The chairman called for a vote.

“Yes!” Sam perked up.

A dissenting voice called for a look at week length. He pointed out that six-day weeks fit the new calendar system better than the old seven day weeks.

“No!” Sam’s pain filled cry didn’t sound a bit ladylike this time. She turned on the hull that had supported her, slamming her head against it with a stifled, “Ow.”

Rod opened his mouth to speak, but said nothing. This vote was interesting. The forums lit up with cries of “God created the world in seven days,” countered by arguments of “we created this world not your God.” Many wanted shorter work days instead of traditional weekends. Still others suggested alternate week lengths.

Sam noticed his interest in the online arguments. “How can you care?”

“My ancestors tilled the soil of North America back in the 1600s. Now, we stand at the edge of a migration more vast than my ancestors’ migration from Europe – lightyears versus miles. I am reading one of their diaries, and … let me read this quote.

“‘I am on soil that is strange in a world that bears no resemblance to the cold stony home of my birth. Only one or two speak my native language. But today is the seventh day. We all rested from our labor, and our tradition makes this strange new world feel a little like home.’

“Nothing’s going to be the same here. I just think this one tradition can remind us and our posterity that we didn’t come from here. It can remind us gently of home.”

There was a click. “And send,” Sam said smirking.

“What?”

“Just posted you to the forums.”

“No. You didn’t.”

“Oh look. You’re getting hits.”

Rod gave Sam a sour look.

“And you’re trending.”

He felt his face flushing.

The chairman’s droning voice announced, “And the motion by Rod J. carries.”

Sam laughed. “You’re right. It is more fun if you distract yourself!”