Becky Chambers: The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

“Welcome to the Wayfarer ,” the man said, extending his hand. “Artis Corbin. Algaeist.”

“Nice to meet you, Mr. Corbin. I’m Rosemary Harper.” Rosemary shook his hand. His grip was limp, his skin clammy. She was glad to let go.

“Just Corbin is fine.” He cleared his throat. “Do you… ah…” He nodded toward the opposite wall. There was a door painted with the Human symbol for bathroom.

Rosemary ran for it.

She came back out a few minutes later in a more positive mood. Her heart was still fluttering, her head still clearing, the lingering tingle of the flash still making her teeth hurt. But at least one of her physical complaints could be checked off the list.

“Deepods are the worst way to travel,” Corbin said. “They run on scrub fuel, you know. Bunch of accidents waiting to happen. They really should be better regulated.” Rosemary tried to think up a response, but before she could, Corbin said: “This way.” She followed him down the corridor.

The Wayfarer wasn’t any fancier inside than it was outside, but the mismatched corridors had a humble charm. Small windows broke up the walls at regular intervals. The wall panels themselves were held together with bolts and screws of varying shapes. Like the exterior, the walls were different colors—coppery brown to one side, dull brass to the other, the occasional sheet of soft gray thrown in for good measure.

“Interesting design,” said Rosemary.

Corbin scoffed. “If by ‘interesting,’ you mean it looks like my grandmother’s quilt, then yes. The Wayfarer’s an old ship. Most tunneling ships are. Incentives are provided to captains who upgrade old vessels instead of purchasing new ones. Ashby took full advantage of that. The original ship is about thirty-five standards old. Built to last, but not built with the comfort of the crew in mind. Ashby added bigger quarters, more storage space, water showers, those kind of things. All salvaged, of course. Don’t have the money to kit it all out from scratch.”

Rosemary was relieved at the mention of improved living conditions. She had been bracing herself for the possibility of tiny bunks and sanidust showers. “I assume that Lovey was a later addition as well?”

“Yes. Ashby purchased her, but she’s Jenks’ pet.” Corbin continued on without explanation. He nodded at the wall. “There are voxes in every room and in major junctions. No matter where you are, Lovey can hear your requests and transmit messages on your behalf. They broadcast to the whole ship, so be selective about what you say. Voxes are a tool, not a toy. Fire extinguishers are available throughout the ship as well. Kizzy can send you a map of their locations. Exosuit lockers are in the docking hatch, the crew deck, and the cargo bay. Escape pods are available on all decks. We also have a shuttle that is accessible through the cargo bay. If you see those emergency panels on the wall light up, head for a suit, a pod, or the shuttle, whichever is closest.” The corridor split in two up ahead. He pointed to the left. “Med bay is that way. It’s nothing state-of-the-art, but it’s enough to keep someone alive until we get to port.”

“I see,” said Rosemary. She tried not to read too much into the fact that the only things Corbin had mentioned were related to emergencies or injuries.

Loud, jovial voices came from a junction up ahead. There was a clang as something fell to the floor. This was followed by a brief argument, then laughter. Corbin’s eyes narrowed as if warding off a headache. “I believe you’re about to meet our techs,” he said.

They rounded the corner to find a bird’s nest of wires and cables strewn about the floor. There was no order or sense to any of it, not that Rosemary could see. Algae tubes poured like innards from an open wall panel. Working within the wall itself were two people, a man and a woman, both Human—or were they? There was no question about the woman, who was somewhere on the cusp between her twenties and thirties. Her black hair was tied back in a lopsided bun, held together with a frayed, faded ribbon. She wore an orange jumpsuit smudged with grease and gunk, patched on the elbows with bright fabric and big stitches. There were hasty notes handwritten on her sleeves, things like “CHECK 32-B—OLD WIRES?” and “DON’T FORGET AIR FILTERS YOU DUMMY” and “EAT.” Perched upon her flat nose was a set of curious optical lenses. Rather than just one lens per eye, there were no fewer than half a dozen attachments welded onto hinged supports. Some bulged and magnified, others flickered with tiny digital panels. They appeared to be handmade. As for the woman herself, her dark olive skin looked as if it had spent a lot of time bathing in natural sunlight, but her indistinct features were undeniably Exodan. Rosemary thought it likely that she had grown up on an extrasolar colony—“out of the sun,” as they would say back on Mars.

The man, on the other hand, was not so easily categorized, though he looked Human in most respects. His blended facial features, his body shape, his limbs and digits, they were all familiar. His copper coloring was even quite similar to Rosemary’s, though several shades darker. But while his head was an average size, the rest of him was small, as small as a child. He was stocky, too, as if his limbs had filled out while refusing to lengthen. He was small enough to fit atop the woman’s shoulders, which was exactly where he was standing. As if his physique were not noteworthy enough, he had gone to great lengths to decorate himself. The sides of his head were shaved, and a tuft of curls popped up atop his scalp. His ears were adorned with constellations of piercings, his arms sleeved in colorful tattoos. Rosemary did her best not to stare. She concluded that he was indeed Human, but he had to be a genetweak. It was the only explanation she could think of. But then again, why would anyone go to that much trouble to make himself small?

The woman looked up from her work. “Oh, hooray!” she said. “Jenks, get off me, we have to be sociable.”

The small man, who had been operating some noisy tool within the wall, turned his head and lifted up his safety goggles. “Ah ha,” he said, climbing down. “The newbie approaches.”

Before Rosemary could have any say in the matter, the woman stood up, removed her gloves, and wrapped Rosemary in an enormous hug. “Welcome home.” She pulled back, wearing an infectious grin. “I’m Kizzy Shao. Mech tech.”

“Rosemary Harper.” She tried not to appear too startled. “And thank you.”

Kizzy’s grin grew wider. “Ooh, I love your accent. You Martians always sound so smooth .”

“I’m the comp tech,” the man said, cleaning the gunk from his hands with a rag. “Jenks.”

“Is that your given name or your family name?” Rosemary asked.

Jenks shrugged. “Whichever.” He reached out to shake her hand. Even with his small hands, he had a better grip than Corbin. “Nice to meet you.”

“Nice to meet you, too, Mr. Jenks.”

“ Mister Jenks! I like that.” He turned his head. “Hey, Lovey. Patch me through to everybody, please.” A nearby vox switched on. “Attention all hands,” Jenks said in a pompous voice. “As per our clerk’s example, I will now only respond to my full title of ‘Mr. Jenks.’ That is all.”

Corbin leaned toward Rosemary and lowered his voice. “That’s not what the voxes are for.”

“So,” said Kizzy. “Was your trip okay?”

“I’ve had better,” said Rosemary. “Though I’m here in one piece, so I guess I can’t complain.”

“Complain all you want,” Jenks said. He pulled a worn metal tin from his pocket. “Deepods are a shit way to get around. And I know they’re the only way to get you here fast, but those things are dangerous as hell. Stims make you shaky?” Rosemary nodded. “Ugh, yeah, trust me, you’ll feel better after you get some food in you.”