The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

by Becky Chambers

  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.”

  “Have you been up to your room yet?” Kizzy asked. “I made the curtains, but if you don’t like the fabric, just say so and I’ll tear ‘em right down.”

  “I haven’t been there yet,” Rosemary said. “But I’ve been admiring the rest of your handiwork so far. Must not be easy adding onto an old model.”

  Kizzy’s face lit up like a globulb. “No, but see, that’s why it’s so fun! It’s like a puzzle, figuring out what kind of circuits the old ones will talk to, adding new bits to make things more homey, staying on top of all the old framework’s secrets so we don’t blow up.” She gave a contented sigh. “It’s the best job ever. Have you seen the Fishbowl yet?”

  “The what, sorry?”

  “The Fishbowl.” Kizzy beamed. “Just wait. It’s the bestest.”

  Corbin’s peering eyes snapped to the comp tech. “Jenks, you cannot be serious!”

  Jenks’ metal tin was full of redreed. He had stuffed a hefty pinch of it into a small, curved pipe, and was now lighting it with a welding tool. “What?” he said, his voice muffled through clenched teeth. He sucked air into the pipe, causing the shredded fibers to spark and smoke. The faint scent of burnt cinnamon and ash hit Rosemary’s nose. She thought of her father, who was always puffing the stuff as he worked. She pushed the unwanted reminder of family aside.

  Corbin placed a hand over his nose and mouth. “If you want to fill your lungs with toxins, fine, but do it in your quarters.”

  “Calm down,” said Jenks. “This is that tweaked strain the Laru cooked up. Bless their eight-valved hearts. All the mellow of fresh redreed, without any of the toxic stuff. One-hundred-percent good for you. Well, not bad for you, anyway. You should try some, it’d do wonders for your mood.” He exhaled a stream of smoke in Corbin’s direction.

  Corbin’s face tightened, but he seemed reluctant to press the issue further. Rosemary got the impression that for all his bluster about the rules, Corbin didn’t actually have any authority over the techs. “Does Ashby know about this mess?” Corbin said, gesturing at the floor.

  “Relax, grumpy,” Kizzy said. “It’ll all be fixed and put away by dinnertime.”

  “Dinner is in half an hour,” Corbin said.

  Kizzy’s hands went to the top of her head. She grimaced dramatically. “Oh, no! For serious? I thought dinner was at eighteen?”

  “It’s seventeen-half now.”

  “Balls!” Kizzy said, diving back into the wall. “We’ll talk later, Rosemary, I’ve got work to do. Jenks, get on my shoulders, buddy, post haste!”

  “Hup!” Jenks said, placing the pipe between his teeth and climbing up.

  Corbin continued down the corridor without another word.

  “It was nice meeting you,” Rosemary said, hurrying after Corbin.

  “Nice meeting you too!” called Kizzy. “Ah, shit, Jenks! You got ash in my mouth!” There was the sound of spitting, and a twin set of laughter.

  “It’s a wonder we’re not all dead,” Corbin said to no one. He said nothing else as they continued down the corridor. Rosemary had deduced that small talk was not his forte. As uncomfortable as the silence was, she felt it best not to break it.

  The corridor curved inward, connecting to the other side of the ship. At the apex of the curve was a door. “This is the control room,” Corbin said. “Navigation and tunneling controls. You won’t have much need for this room.”

  “Is it all right to see it anyway? Just to get my bearings?”

  Corbin hesitated. “Our pilot is probably working in there now. We shouldn’t disturb — ”

  The door opened, and a female Aandrisk stepped out. “I thought I heard a new voice!” she said. Her accent was husky around the edges, but it was the clearest Rosemary had ever heard from her species. Not that Rosemary had much experience with Aandrisks. As one of the Galactic Commons’ three founding species, they were a familiar sight throughout the galaxy. Or so Rosemary had been told. The Aandrisk standing before her was the first that she had ever spoken to directly. Her mind raced, scrambling to remember what she could of Aandrisk culture. Complicated family structures. Virtually no concept of personal space. Physically affectionate. Promiscuous. She mentally slapped herself for that. It was a stereotype, one that every Human knew whether they wanted to or not, and it smacked of ethnocentrism. They don’t pair up like we do, she chided herself. It’s not the same thing. Somewhere in her head, Professor Selim was frowning at her. “The very fact that we use the term ‘cold-blooded’ as a synonym for ‘heartless’ should tell you something about the innate bias we primates hold against reptiles,” she pictured him saying. “Do not judge other species by your own social norms.”

  Determined to do her professor proud, Rosemary braced herself for some of that Aandrisk cheek nuzzling she’d heard about, or perhaps another unexpected hug. However this person wanted to greet her, she was going to flow with it. She was part of a multispecies crew now, and she was going to be graceful about it, dammit.

  But to Rosemary’s disappointment, all the Aandrisk woman did was extend one of h
er clawed hands, initiating a handshake. “You must be Rosemary,” she said warmly. “I’m Sissix.”

  Rosemary wrapped her fingers around Sissix’s scaled palm as best she could. Their hands did not fit well together, but they made the best of it. Sissix was too alien for Rosemary to label her as beautiful, but…striking. Yes, that was a better word. She stood a head taller than Rosemary, and her body was lithe and lean. Moss green scales sheathed her body from the top of her head to the tip of her tail, fading into a paler shade over her belly. She had a smooth face, no nose or lips or ears to speak of, just holes for breathing and holes for hearing and a small slit of a mouth. A multicolored shock of feathers covered her head like a short, festive mane. Her chest was as flat as a Human man’s, but the contrast between her thin waist and her muscular, saurian thighs gave the illusion of feminine hips (though Rosemary knew that impression also stemmed from cultural bias; male Aandrisks were built exactly the same as females, only smaller). Her legs were slightly bowed, as if poised to spring, and her fingers and toes were capped with thick, blunt claws. Each claw was painted with lazy swirls of gold, and looked to be filed down. She wore a pair of loose, low-slung trousers, and a vest held together with one button. Rosemary recalled Professor Selim saying that Aandrisks only wore clothes to make other species feel more comfortable. Between the clothes, the accent, and the handshake, Rosemary got the impression that Sissix had been around Humans a long time.

  Sissix had not been the only thing to exit the control room. A waft of hot, dry air had followed her out the door. Rosemary could feel waves of heat emanating from the room beyond. Even at the doorway, it felt smothering.

  Corbin’s eyes narrowed. “You do know that interface panels start to warp if they get too hot.”

  Sissix flicked her yellow eyes toward the pale man. “Thank you, Corbin. I’ve only been living on ships for my entire adult life, so I have no idea how to safely manage internal temperature settings.”

  “I think this ship is hot enough as it is.”

  “If anyone else had been working in there with me, I would’ve cranked it down. Honestly, what is the problem?”

  “The problem, Sissix, is that — ”

  “Stop.” Sissix raised a palm. She looked back and forth between Corbin and Rosemary. “Why are you showing her around?”

  Corbin clenched his jaw. “Ashby asked me to. It’s no trouble.” His words were noncommittal, but Rosemary could hear the same insincerity that had masked his face when she stepped through the airlock. The cold fist reappeared in her stomach. Ten minutes on the ship, and already somebody didn’t like her. Fantastic.

  “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.

  Day 130, GC Standard 306

  TIP OFF

  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.”

  Day 130, GC Standard 306