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

“Yeah?” Rosemary said, looking down at the tough red fabric.

“Yeah,” Kizzy said. “It fits you real good.”

Sissix touched Rosemary’s shoulder. “You ready?”

Rosemary stared at the airlock door, nervous, eager. “I think so.”

Sissix nodded. “Tycho, we’re ready to go.”

The vox on the wall switched on. “Okay. I’ll be keeping an eye on you both. I’ll signal if you get too far out.”

“Thanks.” She led Rosemary into the airlock and smiled back at the others. “See you guys later.”

“Have fun!” Kizzy said, waving.

“Be back for dinner,” Dr. Chef said.

The inner door slid shut. Rosemary looked at Sissix. Her heart was hammering. “Well, here we go.”

Sissix took her by the hand as the airlock began to depressurize. The hatch slid back. They walked forward, their boots sticking to the artigrav floor. They stood with their toes at the edge. The open hatch waited.

“Oh,” said Rosemary, staring ahead.

“A little different without windows and bulkheads, huh?” Sissix grinned. “Here, do this.” She extended her hand out past the hull.

Rosemary did the same. As her hand passed beyond the edge of the artigrav field, she could feel its weight change— disappear . She’d been in zero-G playrooms as a kid, but this was different. This was the real thing, the universe’s default state. She laughed.

“Ready?” Sissix said. “One. Two. Three.”

They stepped out, and fell up. Or down. Or sideways. It didn’t matter. Those words meant nothing anymore. There were no boundaries, no playroom walls. Her body was freed of the burden she hadn’t known she was carrying—solid bones, dense muscle, an unwieldy head. They were out in the open, for real this time, as spacers should be. And all around them, black, black, black, full of jeweled stars and colored clouds. It was a sight she knew well, a sight she lived alongside, but in that moment, she was seeing it for the first time. Everything had changed.

“Oh, stars,” Rosemary said, and suddenly understood the expression better than she ever had.

“Come on,” Sissix said. The thrusters on her boots fired. They flew further out.

Rosemary looked back to the Wayfarer . Through the windows, she could see the familiar rooms and corridors, but it was all so different from out here, like watching a vid, or looking into a dollhouse. The ship looked so small, so fragile.

“Rosemary.”

She turned her head.

Sissix raised their clasped hands and smiled. “Let go.”

She let Sissix’s curved fingers slip from her grasp. They drifted apart, still holding the other in their eyes. Rosemary turned away from her ship, away from her companion, turned out to face the void. There was a nebula there, an explosion of dust and light, the fiery corpse of an ancient giant. Within the gaseous folds slept clusters of unborn stars, shining softly. She took inventory of her body. She felt her breath, her blood, the ties binding it all together. Every piece, down to the last atom, had been made out here, flung through the open in a moment of violence, until they had swirled round and round, churning and coalescing, becoming heavy, weighing each other down. But not anymore. The pieces were floating free now. They had returned home.

She was exactly where she was supposed to be.

In early 2012, I had a problem. Two-thirds of the way through the first draft of this book, the freelance work I relied on to support myself dried up. I was faced with a two-month lull between paying gigs, and it was starting to look like finishing my book and keeping a roof over my head were mutually exclusive. I had two options: set the book aside and use the time to search for work, or find a way to keep the book (and myself) going. I went with option B, and turned to Kickstarter. I told myself that if the campaign wasn’t successful, it was time for me to focus my efforts elsewhere. Fifty-three people (mostly strangers) convinced me to stick with it. The Long Way exists thanks to their generosity and their encouragement. I am more grateful for that than I can put into words.

Since then, this book has continued to be something of a community effort. I owe much to my posse of beta readers, who donated their brainpower toward helping me unravel the messy bits. Without their insights, their honesty, and most of all, their time, I would never have gotten this far.

My friend Mike Grinti deserves special thanks not only for his invaluable critique of my second draft and for being my anxiety sponge, but for connecting me with Joe Monti, who believed in my book, and from whom I have learned so much.

Though she probably doesn’t think that she had a hand in this, I extend a sincere bundle of thanks to Susana Polo, my editor at The Mary Sue. She not only gave me the time I needed to finish the final edit of my manuscript, but her giving me a place at TMS back in 2011 started the domino chain that led to this book. Plus, she’s the only other person in the world who likes Myst IV .

A book’s no good without a cover, and for that, I have to thank Christopher Doll, who was an absolute pleasure to work with. Seeing the Wayfarer come to life was a real joy, and I was very lucky to find someone who put so much care into making that happen.

On the personal side of things, I am indebted to my friends and family for… well, everything. Somehow, even though I fell off the face of the planet while working on this, they stuck by me. Extra hugs to Chimp and Greg, for being my steadfast sanity check, to Cian, for being a good listener, and to Matt, for being my first buddy.

Bear with the seeming non-sequitur: In 2010, I found myself in Sedona with my friend Jessica McKay, who bought me a fancy dinner and more than a few drinks. It may have been the margaritas talking, but she waved aside my concern about her picking up the bill by saying that I had to thank her in print whenever I got a book out. Jess, please take note: Thank you for the tacos, the tequila, and the fine company. We are now square.

I can’t sign off on a science fiction book without giving credit to my Mom and Dad, who filled my head with spaceships, and who have always, always been there for me. My Mom gets additional thanks for being my science consultant, and for giving me courage when I needed it most.

Finally, all my love and gratitude to my partner, Berglaug, who held my hand, sketched my ship, brought me meals, proofread my manuscript (twice!), and put up with all the late nights and Post-it notes. She believed in this book more than I did some days, and her ferocious support kept me grounded and hopeful. If you enjoyed the read, she’s the one you should thank.