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

“Right,” Sissix said. She squinted, as if trying to figure something out. “I’d be happy to take over as tour guide if you have other things to do.”

Corbin pressed his lips together. “I don’t mean to be rude, Rosemary, but I do have some salinity tests that should be started sooner rather than later.”

“Great!” said Sissix, putting her hand on Rosemary’s shoulder. “Have fun with your algae!”

“Um, it was nice meeting you,” Rosemary said as Sissix lead her away. Corbin was already disappearing down the corridor. The whole exchange had been bewildering, but Rosemary was glad of what appeared to be more friendly company. She did her best not to stare at the way Sissix’s bare feet flexed, the way her feathers bounced as she walked. Everything about the way she moved was fascinating.

“Rosemary, on behalf of the crew of the Wayfarer , I would like to apologize,” Sissix said. “Coming into a new home deserves a better welcome than anything Artis Corbin can give. I’m sure you know all about the escape pods by now, and nothing about who we are and what we do.”

Rosemary laughed despite herself. “How did you know?”

“Because I have to live with that man,” Sissix said. “As do you. But fortunately, you get to live with the rest of us, too, and I think we’re pretty likable.” She stopped beside a metal staircase that stretched both up through the ceiling and down through the floor. “Have you even seen your room yet?”

“No.”

Sissix rolled her eyes. “Come on,” she said, walking up the stairs, doing her best to keep her tail out of Rosemary’s face. “I always feel better in a new ship once I know where my place is.”

The Aandrisk woman was right. Rosemary’s place, it turned out, was a room tucked into the corner of the top-most deck. The only furniture was a boxy apparatus built right into the far wall, which housed drawers, a tiny closet, and a nook just big enough for a bunk. But the sparseness of the room had been softened by a few Human touches (or sapient touches, Rosemary supposed). The bunk was covered with a fuzzy blanket and a heap of colorful pillows, transforming what might have been a spartan shelf into a cozy little nest. The curtains that Kizzy had mentioned were made from a flower-patterned fabric—no, not flowers, jellyfish. The print was a bit too busy for Rosemary’s taste, but she was sure it would grow on her. On the adjoining wall, there was small hydroponic planter trailing tear-shaped leaves. Beside it was a mirror, upon which hung a printed note: “WELCOME HOME!” It was the smallest, simplest, humblest living space Rosemary had ever seen (dingy spaceport hotels not withstanding). And yet, all things considered, it was perfect. She couldn’t think of a better place to start over.

Ashby forced a smile as Yoshi rambled on over the sib. He had never liked the man much. There was nothing wrong with him, exactly, but stars, he could talk for days. Checking in with the Transport Board was an empty formality to begin with, a verbal confirmation that Ashby wouldn’t be punching through any space that didn’t belong to him. He of all people understood the need to measure twice and cut once, but Yoshi always managed to turn what should’ve been a simple matter of did you get the flight plan? all right then, safe journey into an hour-long conversation.

The pixels displaying Yoshi flickered slightly, the result of signal decay. He pushed back his long sleeves and stirred his mek—cold, Ashby noted, in the Harmagian style. He refrained from rolling his eyes at the well-crafted charade. The cold mek, the Aeluon-influenced tailoring, the practiced Central accent that still betrayed a Martian cadence if you knew what to listen for. The trappings of a bureaucrat trying to pretend he had the same clout as the powerful species around him. Ashby was not ashamed of his heritage—quite the opposite—but there was something irritating about seeing a Human get too big for his britches.

“But enough about me,” Yoshi said with a laugh. “How’s life aboard the Wayfarer ? All well with your crew?”

“Yeah, we’re all fine,” Ashby said. “And we’ve got one more, as of today.”

“Yes, yes, the new clerk! I was going to ask you about her. Is she settling in all right?”

“I haven’t actually met her yet. I heard her pod dock a short while ago.”

“Ah, then I won’t keep you long.” Ha . “You know, Ashby, bringing on a clerk puts a few points in your book as far as the Board’s concerned. You’ve always been dependable when it comes to tunneling, but this shows that you’re committed to upholding our administrative standards as well. Smart move on your part.”

“Just practical, really. I need the extra help.”

Yoshi leaned back in his chair, his face blurring as he moved back from the sib camera. “You’ve been doing level three work for a long time now. Have you ever considered taking things up a notch?”

Ashby raised his eyebrows. Yoshi was a faker, but he wasn’t incompetent. He knew the Wayfarer wasn’t equipped for high level jobs. “Sure, but we’re not kit out for it,” Ashby said. He couldn’t afford to be, either. His ship was geared for single-ship transport lanes—colony hops, mostly. There was a lot of money to be made in cargo convoy tunnels, but you needed some serious equipment to make a stable passage that big. Ashby didn’t know of any Human-owned ships doing that kind of work.

“True, but that doesn’t mean you should limit yourself, either,” Yoshi said. He glanced over his shoulder with sly importance. Again, Ashby stopped himself from rolling his eyes. As far as he could tell, Yoshi was alone in a closed room. “Just watch out for some interesting work coming down the line. In your usual bracket, but—ah, a little different.”

Ashby leaned forward a bit. It was hard to trust much coming from a Human who forced his Rs into a Harmagian burr, but even so, he wasn’t going to ignore advice given from someone sitting in a Parliament office. “What kind of work?”

“I’m not in a position to say what , exactly,” Yoshi said. “Let’s just say it’d be a nice change of pace from what you’re used to.” He looked Ashby in the eye. The pixels twitched. “The kind of thing that might give you a leg up.”

Ashby gave what he hoped was a congenial smile. “That’s a little vague.”

Yoshi smirked. “You follow the news?”

“Every day.”

“Make sure that you do over, say, oh, the next five days or so. Don’t worry about it now. Take care of your clerk, get through the punch tomorrow, and then… then you’ll see.” He took a smug, knowing sip from his chilled cup. “Trust me. You’ll know it when you see it.”

After tucking away her two pieces of luggage (which Sissix had approved of—“packing light saves fuel”), Rosemary followed her guide back down the stairs. Something caught her eye, something she hadn’t noticed on the way up. Each grated metal step was carefully covered with a thick strip of carpet.

“What’s this for?” Rosemary asked.

“Hmm? Oh, that’s for me. So my claws don’t catch in the grating.”

Rosemary cringed. “Ugh.”

“You have no idea. I snapped one clean off a few years back, before Kizzy put the runners down. Shrieked like a hatchling.” She stepped off onto the next deck, nodding toward doors. “Rec room’s over there. Exercise machines, gaming hub, comfy couches, all that stuff. The hub’s got a few good outdoor sims you can patch into. Everybody’s supposed to use it for at least a half-hour every day. In theory. It’s an easy thing to forget, but it is good for you. On a long haul, this ”—she tapped the top of Rosemary’s head—“needs to be the most important thing you take care of.”