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

“Hello. My name is Lovelace. It’s nice to meet you.”

Ashby sat at his desk, staring out the window, trying to get it into his head that it wasn’t his fault. He’d thought the words over and over, but they refused to stick. What did stick were all the things he could’ve done instead. He could’ve asked more questions. He could’ve called one of the carriers the minute that Toremi ship showed up. He could’ve turned down the job.

Quiet footsteps came down the hallway. There was a knock at the door. “Come in,” he said.

Rosemary entered. Her eyes were still shadowed, and rimmed with red. “I’m sorry to bother you,” she said, her voice tired.

He sat up. “Jenks?”

She shook her head. “They’re still trying.”

“Dammit.” Ashby sighed. After the reset, Jenks had jumped in the nearest escape pod. Sissix and Kizzy were chasing him down in the shuttle, trying to bring him home. They’d been gone a long time. He tried not to speculate on what that meant. “What’s up, then?” he said.

“I just got off a sib call.” She looked down at the notes on her scrib. “One of the representatives on that committee you mentioned. Tasa Lema Nimar, she’s the rep from Sohep Frie.”

Ashby raised his eyebrows. “You talked to her?”

“No, just her clerk.”

“Why didn’t you transfer it here?”

“It came in through the control room.” She cleared her throat. “I don’t know how to transfer sib calls manually.”

Ashby shut his eyes and nodded. An hour ago, he’d come up from the AI core, decided to write to Pei about it, and got halfway through asking Lovey how close they were to the nearest comm relay. So many little things he’d taken for granted. “What did they want?”

“They want you on Hagarem in a tenday.”

“For questions?”

“Yeah.”

“Is it mandatory?”

“No.”

He stood and walked to the window. “You sent in our report, right?”

“Yes, they got it.”

Ashby stroked his beard. He needed to shave. He needed to sleep . He’d tried that a little while before. It hadn’t worked out. “I don’t see what else I could tell them.” He looked around his office. A light panel was out. The air filter clicked oddly. “We need to be resting in dock for a while, not hopping to Parliament space.”

“We can dock at Hagarem.”

“There’s too much to do. I need to be here, with my ship.”

“Your ship will be fine without you for a day or so. The worst of it’s patched up already, and it’s not like you’re the one who’ll be fixing circuits.”

“You think I should go.”

“Why shouldn’t you?”

“What would it accomplish? I can’t tell them anything that isn’t in our report. I didn’t see anything. I didn’t do anything. How many GC ships are in pieces out there right now? How many people are dead? What the hell am I supposed to say about that? And if they want some victim to parade around, well, that’s not me, either.” He exhaled, shaking his head. “I’m just a spacer, I’m not Parliament material.”

“Stars, Ashby, that’s such Exodan bullshit.”

He turned toward her, slowly, stunned. “Excuse me?”

Rosemary swallowed, but pressed on. “I’m sorry, but I don’t care what you are to them. You’re my captain. You’re our captain. Someone needs to speak for us. What, we’re supposed to patch up and carry on like nothing happened? Lovey’s dead , Ashby, and it’s pure luck that the rest of us aren’t. You said it yourself, we shouldn’t have been there. So I don’t care if what you say is of use to them or not, but I need to know you said something .” She brushed her fingertips across her eyes, irritably flicking away tears. “To hell with Parliament, and their treaties, and their ambi, and all of it. The rest of us matter, too.” She took a quick breath, trying to brace herself. “I’m sorry, I’m just so angry.”

He nodded. “It’s all right.”

“I’m so fucking angry,” she said, placing her face in her hand.

“I know. You’ve every reason to be.” He watched her, for a moment. He thought again of all the things he could’ve done. He thought of what he could do now. He walked to her. “Hey.” He craned his head down, trying to catch her gaze. She looked up, eyes puffy and exhausted. “You’re going to sleep,” he said. “Right now. For as long as you can. When you’re up, and fed, come see me. I’ll need your help.”

“With what?”

“My clothes, for a start.” He put his hands in his pockets. “I’ve never been to the capital before.”

The hallway lights were dim as Corbin approached Ohan’s quarters. Artificial night. A peculiar thing when traveling through a sky that knew nothing but darkness. In one hand, he carried a small box. With the other, he opened the door.

The room was black. Corbin could hear Ohan breathing in his bed—deep, slow gasps that wouldn’t have sounded healthy for any species. He lay still.

Corbin closed the door behind him and walked to the side of the bed. The Sianat’s chest rose and fell. His face was slack, his mouth open. Corbin watched him breathe for a minute or so. He considered his options. He held the box down by his side. “Wake up, Ohan,” he said. Ohan’s eyes snapped open, confused. “Do you know what’s happening aboard this ship right now? Do you care? I know you’re dying and all, but even on your best days, you’ve never been terribly present . Not that I’m one to talk. But on the off-chance that you do care, you should know that the ship’s AI has just crashed. It’s wiped clean. Now, to me—and possibly to you, who knows—this is an inconvenience. To Jenks, this is the worst day of his life. Do you know that he loved the AI? Actually loved, as in, ‘in love.’ Ridiculous, I know. I don’t pretend to understand. Frankly, I find the whole notion absurd. But you know what I realized? It doesn’t matter what I think. Jenks thinks something different, and his pain is very real right now. Me knowing how stupid this whole thing is doesn’t make him hurt any less.”

“We—” Ohan started to say.

Corbin ignored him. “Right now, Sissix and Kizzy are towing Jenks’ escape pod back to the ship. Kizzy’s afraid that he’s going to hurt himself, but Sissix wouldn’t let her fly alone, because she’s afraid that Kizzy’s too upset to pilot the shuttle safely. This is a bad day for a lot of people.” He flicked open the box and removed its contents, quietly and out of sight. “I could ask you what you think of all this, but it wouldn’t really be you talking, would it? It’d be that thing hijacking your brain. I don’t know if you can process the things I’m saying to you—and I mean you , Ohan, not your disease. But just in case you remember this, here’s what I want you to know. I don’t understand what Jenks is feeling. I don’t understand Kizzy, I don’t understand Ashby, and I sure as hell don’t understand Sissix. But I do know that they’re all hurting. And contrary to popular belief, that is something I care about. So you’ll have to forgive me, Ohan, but this crew isn’t going to lose anyone else. Not today.”

He raised the object he had taken from the box—a syringe, filled with green fluid. He wrapped his fingers awkwardly around the grip meant for a Sianat hand, and jabbed the needle into the soft flesh of Ohan’s upper arm. He pushed.

First, there was a howl—a hellish, keening scream that made Corbin jump. Then came the convulsions, which sent Ohan clattering to the floor. The door opened. People were shouting. Dr. Chef and Rosemary carried Ohan’s thrashing body out into the hall. Ashby stood in the room, holding the empty syringe in his hand. He was angry, properly angry, angry like Corbin had never seen. Ashby bellowed questions, but never gave Corbin the time to answer. Not that it mattered. The words coming out of Ashby’s mouth were unimportant. Ashby’s anger was unimportant. None of it posed a problem for Corbin, not in the long run. Sissix was his legally appointed guardian. Wherever she went, he went. Ashby couldn’t fire him, not for another standard, not without firing Sissix, too. He wasn’t going anywhere.