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

“Scoff all you want, you’ll thank—” Dr. Chef set down his knife. Footsteps were approaching. More than four.

Ashby turned. Around the corner came Corbin, walking slowly, holding his arm at a steady angle. Bracing themselves against his arm was Ohan, walking on three legs as they held onto Corbin with the other. No, no, not they, Ashby reminded himself. He . This was no longer Ohan the Pair. This was Ohan the Solitary. After years of making sure he got the pronouns right, Ashby found it a hard habit to break.

He set his mug down and turned to face them. In some ways, not much had changed. Ohan rarely left his room, and the only person he spoke to at length was Dr. Chef, who needed him to answer questions about how he was feeling, or about the medication he’d been taking to aid his regrowing nerves. Otherwise, he sat by the window, as he’d always done. But there were changes. The wetness in his eyes had ebbed, and there was an alertness to him that Ashby had never seen before. His fur was growing out, the patterns cut through it fading away. Dr. Chef had told Ohan that he was strong enough now to shave, but the Sianat had made no efforts to do so. And he’d been spending time in the algae bay, here and there. That was new. Ashby didn’t know why Ohan would want to be around Corbin, after what had happened. Ashby himself had barely been able to be in the same room with him since. Maybe it was Ohan’s way of reminding Corbin of what he was responsible for. Honestly, who knew?

But here he was now, approaching the kitchen, touching Corbin. “Ashby,” Ohan said. “I need to speak with you.”

“Of course,” Ashby said. Across the counter, Dr. Chef was nearly silent.

Ohan let go of Corbin’s arm and stood on all fours. Ashby could see a tightness in Ohan’s face as he did so. Recovering though he was, standing still took effort.

“I should go to Arun now,” Ohan said. “I am Solitary, and that is where I should go. It is the way of things.” He looked down for a moment, deep in thought. The next words came with difficulty, as if he feared them. “But I do not want to.”

“Do you have to go?” Ashby said. “Will your people do anything to you if you don’t?”

Ohan blinked three times. “No. We are… expected to do things. And we do them. We do not question.” He looked confused. “I don’t know why. These things made sense, before. And they made sense to the Solitary you met. But not to me. Perhaps it is because they have never been around other species without the Whisperer. They never saw other ways to be.”

Ashby spoke with care. “Ohan, what do you want to do?”

“I want,” Ohan said, rolling his tongue as though he were tasting the words. “I want to stay.” His forelegs trembled, but he set his jaw. “Yes. Yes.” The trembling stopped. “And I want to have dinner. With my crew.”

A burst of coos and whistles erupted from Dr. Chef’s mouth, making them all jump. Ashby knew the sound. It was the Grum equivalent of crying. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Dr. Chef said, pressing his cheeks with his handfeet. “I just…” His Klip dissolved into a cooing drone. He rumbled and huffed, trying to get a hold of himself. “Ohan, as your doctor, I have to remind you that as your body has only had to digest nutrient paste for some time, adopting other foods will take some adjustment.” His cheeks puffed wide. “But as your—as your friend, there is no way I’d rather spend my afternoon than cooking a meal for you. With you, even, if you’d like.”

Ohan did something Ashby had never seen before. The edges of his mouth spread wide and flat, stretching out beyond the edges of his eyes, which crinkled shut. A smile. “Yes. I want that.”

Dr. Chef bustled into action, pulling Ohan’s never-before-used chair into the kitchen. He helped Ohan into his seat and wasted no time in beginning a crash course in vegetables.

Ashby glanced toward Corbin, who was observing the scene with a quiet expression. He nodded to himself, confirming something unspoken, and turned to leave.

“Corbin,” Ashby said. Corbin looked at him. Ashby sighed. He still wasn’t happy, but what was done was done. After all they’d been through—yes, if Ohan could move forward, so could he. He gestured toward the empty stool beside him. “I’m sure the algae can wait.”

Corbin paused. “Thanks,” he said. He took a seat. He looked out of place, like the new kid at school, unsure of how to proceed.

Ashby nodded toward the rack of mugs. “You want some tea?”

Corbin took a mug and filled it, as if glad for some direction. He picked up a slice of spice bread. “So. Ah.” He took a sip from his mug. “How is Pei?”

Ashby raised his eyebrows, startled by the personal inquiry. “She’s doing just fine.”

“I overheard that she’ll be coming here for a time.”

“That’s right.”

Corbin nodded. “That’s good.” He took a longer sip and focused his attention on his spice bread.

Ashby eyed the algaeist for a moment, and looked back to the kitchen. He saw Ohan take a tentative nibble from the end of a spineroot. The Sianat gasped with surprise. Dr. Chef clapped him on the back and laughed, his voices harmonizing with approval.

Ashby smiled. He drank his tea and watched his crew. It was enough.

Rosemary took the the domed helmet from Kizzy and placed it over her own head, sliding the locking edges at its base into the grooves on her suit. A hiss of dry air brushed against her face as the life support system started up. On the opposite side of the airlock, Sissix, similarly dressed, shook her head.

“I still can’t believe you’ve never done this before,” Sissix said. Her voice came through the tiny vox fixed within Rosemary’s helmet.

“I never got around to it.”

Sissix smirked. “There are a lot of things you’ve never got around to.”

“Yeah, well, I’m working on it.”

“Okay,” Kizzy said, connecting something to the back of the suit. “Lemme see your status panel.” Rosemary lifted her left arm, displaying three green lights. “All seals locked. Cool. Wait, those are all green, right?”

“Yeah.”

“Okay, good. Sorry, I’m a little high.” She looked back at Sissix, who was rolling her eyes. “What? It’s my day off .”

“I didn’t say anything,” Sissix said.

“You know, you’re welcome to come along,” Rosemary said.

“Thanks, but given the circumstances, I think I’d just fall asleep.” Kizzy paused, considering. “Why have I never taken a nap outside? Seriously, think how super mellow that would be.”

“Yeah,” said Sissix. “Right up until you sleep through the oxygen alarm.”

“Okay, yeah, maybe not.”

“Wait!” The sound of handfeet and grumbling echoed down the hallway, preceding Dr. Chef’s arrival. He hurried over to Rosemary and placed two yellow tablets in her hand. “You forgot.”

“Oh, stars, right,” Rosemary said, pulling her helmet back off. She popped the tablets in her mouth, crunched down, and made a face. “They taste like plex.”

Kizzy giggled. “How would you know what plex tastes like?”

Rosemary shrugged. “I was a kid once. Didn’t you ever lick plex?”

The giggle swelled into a laugh. “No! Ew! No!”

“Well, whatever they taste like,” Dr. Chef said, “they’ll help keep you from getting sick in your helmet, which is the important part. And if for some reason you should get sick, don’t panic, just remember to—”

“Don’t freak her out, Doc,” Kizzy said, patting his upper arm.

“She gets spacesick!”

“She’ll be fine.”

“All right, all right, I just want her to enjoy this.” Dr. Chef rumbled and chuffed as Rosemary put her helmet back on. “You know,” he said. “That suit looks good on you.”