The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

by Becky Chambers

  “Jenks always waits until the end of the speech,” Kizzy said with a fond smile. “Just to be polite.”

  Rosemary looked back to the jittery AI. “That’s not a sentient model, is it?”

  “I don’t think so,” said Ashby. “But try telling Jenks that. He always gives AIs the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Which is absurd,” Corbin said. His voice was muffled by the breathing mask.

  “So is that thing on your head,” muttered Sissix.

  Ashby jumped in, addressing the group before Corbin could fire back. “Okay, folks. You know how this works.” He saw Jenks give the AI a courteous nod before walking over to join them. “Same drill as always, but this time, we’ve got GC expense chips to buy stuff with. Necessary purchases only. Everything else goes on your wristpatch. The GC’s not going to like it if they get a bill for four-course meals and body massages.”

  “Well, there goes my afternoon,” Jenks said.

  “Rosemary, everybody’s got their chips, right?”

  “Right,” Rosemary said. “And everyone should have a list of approved expenses on their scribs, just for reference.”

  “Good. Once you’ve knocked everything off your list, you’re free to do whatever you fancy until morning. Let’s try to be on our way by tenth hour.” His scrib pinged, indicating he had a new message. “Sorry, just a sec.” He pulled his scrib out from his satchel and gestured at the screen. The message appeared.

  Received message

  Encryption: 3

  Translation: 0

  From: Unknown sender (encrypted)

  Ashby’s heart skipped.

  I couldn’t help but notice a hideous tunneling rig that just docked in orbit. I’m back from the border, but heading back out soon. In three hours, I’ll officially be on two days of shore leave. I’ve already made it clear that I’m taking some alone time. Are you free to share it with me?

  No signature, but Ashby didn’t need one. The message was from Pei. She was here. And most importantly, she was okay. She was alive.

  Even though he could feel tendays of tension leaking away, Ashby managed to remain nonchalant. He placed his scrib back in his satchel and rubbed his hand over his chin. Shit. He hadn’t shaved. Ah, well. Pei was a cargo runner. Even though her species lacked hair, she of all people could understand a lapse in personal grooming.

  Sissix was eying him as he turned back to the group. He raised his eyebrows at her, then put his captain face on. “Well, what are you all waiting for? Go buy stuff.”

  ●

  Rosemary hurried after her crewmates, anxious to not get lost. The shuttle dock had been crowded enough, but now that they were weaving their way through the market gates, the likelihood of her getting swept away in a sea of traders had increased. Getting lost wasn’t what scared her, exactly. It was more the prospect of getting mugged. Or harassed. Or stabbed. She’d seen a few people that definitely looked stabby. And weren’t wristpatch thieves a thing in places like this? Hadn’t she heard a story about someone who had visited Port Coriol, wandered their way into the wrong shop, and woken up in an alley with their patch arm amputated? Okay, maybe that was a little far fetched, but given that she’d just walked past an Aeluon whose entire face was a mosaic of implants, she wasn’t ready to rule out the possibility of arm-stealing patch thieves just yet. She was grateful to be with Sissix, whose presence was reassuring, and Kizzy, who was probably loud enough — both in volume and clothing — to deter stealthier criminals. They both looked like people who knew what they were doing. She hoped some of that might rub off on her.

  “You sure you don’t want to go to the tech caves, Kiz?” Sissix asked.

  “Nah,” said Kizzy. “Jenks has my list. I’ll pop in later to say some hellos and ogle the gizmos. But I’m all space-twitchy. I need open sky and fresh air.” She threw her arms wide and inhaled dramatically. “Ahhhhhh.”

  “Mmm. Yeah. Fresh air,” Sissix said, huffing through her breathing mask.

  “You know the feeling, right, Rosemary?” Kizzy bounced over to her. “You grew up planetside.”

  “It’s nice having real gravity,” Rosemary said.

  “Aww, have you been spacesick?”

  “Just a little around the edges. But it’s no trouble, I’m getting used to it.”

  “We’ll look around for balance bracelets. I’m sure somebody’s selling them.”

  Sissix scoffed with amusement. “Those things are such a scam.”

  “Are not,” Kizzy said. “My grandma, she wears ‘em every time she goes up and she says they work like awesome.”

  “Your grandma also thinks she can talk to her imubots.”

  “Okay, yeah, but she never gets spacesi — oh, shit.” Kizzy looked down at her boots. “Don’t make eye contact. Don’t make eye contact.”

  Rosemary averted her eyes once she saw the source of Kizzy’s panic: a simple, friendly table, covered with sealed terrariums and clay (clay!) bowls filled with info chips. Such tables were a common sight in the public squares of Florence, and the outfits of the table’s keepers were instantly recognizable. They wore heavy biosuits, like ancient Lunar explorers, sealed and padded to a degree that made Corbin’s helmet look almost sensible. Rosemary had heard that their used suits were placed into sealed containers and shot into space. Standard decontamination processes weren’t enough for them. There could be no risk of corrupting their immune systems — or worse, the natural flow of Human evolution.

  Gaiists. They certainly were their own brand of crazy.

  “Shit,” Kizzy said. “I made eye contact.”

  “Nice job, Kiz,” Sissix said.

  “I didn’t mean to!”

  A Gaiist man beelined for them, cupping a round terrarium in his gloved hands. “Hello, sisters,” he said. A small vox below the suit’s faceplate transmitted his voice. His Klip was good but heavily accented, full of imprecise consonants that hinted at a lack of regular use. “Would you like to see one of the small wonders of your mother planet?” He held the terrarium out to Kizzy and Rosemary, ignoring Sissix altogether.

  Rosemary mumbled a “no, thanks.” Kizzy babbled about being “late for a thing.”

  “I’d like to see it,” Sissix said.

  The Gaiist man’s face went stony within his helmet. With a strained smile, he held up the terrarium. Behind the plex, a complicated yellow flower sprung up from a cradle of moss. “This is an orchid,” he said, the foreign word jutting oddly into the surrounding Klip. “A delicate plant that once grew in Earthen swamps and rainforests. Like much of Earth’s diverse flora, these beautiful flowers went extinct in the wild during the Collapse.” His eyes kept darting between Kizzy and Rosemary, anxious to see them take interest. “Thanks to the efforts of our hardworking folks back home, orchids have successfully taken root in a few restored rainforests.”

  “It’s beautiful,” Sissix said. She sounded like she meant it. She pointed at the flower and turned her head to her companions. “Your genitals look kind of like this, right?”

  Kizzy burst out laughing. Rosemary felt her cheeks flush.

  “Hey, I have a question,” Sissix said, addressing the now-stammering Gaiist. She reached out to touch the terrarium. Within his suit, the Gaiist recoiled at the sight of alien claws hovering over Earthen moss. “The scientists in the Samsara Project, do they work with orr-kids, too?”

  The Gaiist frowned. “They may,” he said thinly. “But one cannot have much success with dirt if one lives with his feet in the sky.” A hint of piousness crept into his friendly tone.

  Rosemary almost felt sorry for the Gaiist. Sissix was baiting him, trying to make him drop the nature lesson pretense and come out swinging with the tenets of Gaian Purism. On the surface, the Gaiist goal of healing their species’ barely habitable homeworld was a noble one. But this was the same goal shared by the scientists of the Samsara Project, who lived in the silvery orbital ring that encircled Earth — a ring built not by Humans, but by philanthropic Aeluons and Aandrisks.
And though restoration efforts on the ring were headed by Humans, many scientists working alongside them were from other worlds. Die-hard Gaiists — especially the kind who braved shuttle docks in search of lost souls — hated that.

  The Gaiist turned to Rosemary and Kizzy, the edge leaving his voice, a bit of desperation creeping in. “If you should have some time to yourselves during your stay here” — in other words, away from the alien — “please come see us again. We have many more Earthen wonders to share, and even more in the habitat tanks aboard our ship.” He switched the terrarium into his left hand and reached into his satchel. “Here,” he said, handing them each an info chip. “Take these as a gift. They contain videos of some of the magical places that await you on our homeworld. Just stick them in your scrib and enjoy.” He smiled, as if the mere mention of Earth brought him peace. “Do come see us again, sisters. You are always welcome among us.”

  The Gaiist man retreated to his table, leaving the three crewmates to make a hasty departure.

  “And that,” said Kizzy, tossing the chip into the first trash box she saw, “is why you never make eye contact. Way to go, self.”

  “You know, there are crazy speciest Aandrisks, too,” Sissix said. “But they don’t go bugging other people about it.”

  “What do your crazy speciests do?” Kizzy asked.

  Sissix shrugged. “Live on gated farms and have private orgies.”

  “How is that any different than what the rest of you do?”

  “We don’t have gates and anybody can come to our orgies. Except the Laru. They’re allergic to us.”

  “Stars,” Kizzy said, leading the way into the marketplace proper. She pulled a bag of algae puffs from her satchel and began crunching away. “I can’t believe Mala used to go for that stuff.”

  “I can’t believe she used to be a Survivalist,” said Sissix. “She seems so grounded. No pun intended.”

  “Sorry, who?” asked Rosemary.

  “Mala. Jenks’ mom,” said Kizzy. “She’s in the Samsara Project. Works with mammals. You should ask Jenks to show you some pictures of her little fuzzballs. Oh my stars, the wombats — ”

  Rosemary paused. She must’ve heard something wrong. “Wait, she was a Survivalist?” That couldn’t be right, not if this woman lived on the ring. Survivalists were as extreme as Gaiists could go. They weren’t just xenophobic, but technophobic to boot. They believed that technology was what doomed their planet from the beginning, and the only way to achieve redemption was to live like the animals they were. Survivalists were strict hunter-gatherers and genetic purists, abstaining not just from routine gene therapies, but from vaccinations, too. Weakness, they believed, had to be bred out. They seemed to ignore the fact that the only reason Earth had land capable of supporting them at all was because the Solar Republic had given them a large territory of restored grassland, filled with edible plants and herds of prey all brought back to life by scientists using frozen DNA and gestation chambers. Rosemary didn’t know Jenks well at all yet, but how could that level-headed, laid-back comp tech come from a Survivalist mother?

  “Yeah, she fell into it during her teens,” said Kizzy. “Ran away from home, hitched a ride to Earth, joined a clan, ate honest-to-god wild meat, the whole thing. Can you imagine?” She fell into a theatrical stalking crouch. “You’re like, all sneaking through the grass” — she skipped from side to side — “dodging snakes or rats or whatever, and you’ve just got this big pointy stick, and you have to run up to this fucking buffle — ”

  “Buffle?” said Sissix.

  “It’s like a big cow or something. And then you stab it and stab it and stab it, and it’s all throwing you around like oh, shit — ” Kizzy flailed in nonspecific pantomime, unaware or uncaring of the other marketgoers eying her cautiously. A few stray algae puffs flew from the bag. “And there’s hooves in your face and blood everywhere, everywhere, and then it’s dead, and then you have to take it apart with your hands. And eat it.” She raised her hands to her mouth, making messy chewing sounds.

  “Ugh, the end, please,” Sissix said, grimacing.

  “Did Jenks grow up down on Earth? In a clan?” Rosemary asked.

  “No, but he was born into one. That’s why he’s small,” said Sissix. “No prenatal therapy.”

  “Oh,” Rosemary said. “I thought he was a genetweak, but I wasn’t sure how to ask.”

  “Yeah, no, it is a genetic thing, but he was born with it,” Kizzy said. “And by the way, I’m sure you scored some points with him by not pointing it out right off the bat. He doesn’t mind questions, but he does get tired of it.”

  Sissix continued. “See, Mala didn’t get any routine screenings after she got pregnant. She — ”

  “She almost died during childbirth,” Kizzy said. “Seriously almost died. Can you believe that? Who dies in childbirth? Fucking archaic. And Jenks’d totally be dead too if Mala hadn’t decided to be awesome. Her buying into the crazy Survivalist stuff stopped the moment there was talk of killing her kid.”

  Rosemary’s mouth dropped. “They were going to kill Jenks?”

  Kizzy nodded, stuffing a handful of puffs into her mouth. “Srvsts mmdn mmf — hrm.” She swallowed. “Survivalists abandon babies if they’re sick or different or whatever. Just like, oh, hey, this one’s kind of weird, better leave it behind so we can weed out the weak genes.” Kizzy clenched her fists, crushing the puffs within the bag. “Gah! It’s so stupid!” She looked down at the bag as if seeing it for the first time. “Aww.”

  “So what happened?” Rosemary asked.

  “I made crumbs.”

  “No, I mean to Mala.”

  “She ran away again,” Sissix said. “She got away from the clan, found a group of scientists working planetside. See, they — ”

  “No, you’re missing the badass part,” Kizzy said. “She had to walk, okay, like a crazy long way, just hoping she’d find someone past the Survivalist border. No skiffs, no skimmers, no shuttles. Just walking. Bare-bloody-foot. With, like, lions everywhere. Lions.”

  “Not everywhere,” Sissix said.

  “Listen, when you’re talking about lions, it doesn’t matter if they’re literally everywhere,” Kizzy said. “Knowing that there are a few lions that might be around is bad enough.”

  “Well, anyway, the scientists on the Ring gave Mala and Jenks safe haven, and she got around to the fact that they weren’t so bad. She took a shine to biology, and that’s where she’s been ever since.”

  “No university or anything,” Kizzy said. “Just started shoveling shit in the breeding pens and learned the ropes from there. She’s still a Gaiist, though, just in a mellow way. A lot of the Human scientists on the Ring are, actually. They believe in all the souls-tied-to-the-planet stuff, and they don’t like being far from Earth, but they scrap all the speciest whatever for the fuckery that it is. And apparently she was only mildly freaked out when teenage Jenks decided to go see the rest of the galaxy. She’s totally fine with it now. A lot of Gaiists are cool people. Unlike those assholes.” She jerked her head back toward the missionaries.

  “Could Jenks not get gene therapy when they went to the ring?” Rosemary asked. “I mean, even the Gaiist scientists must be okay with standard medicine.”

  “Yeah, they are. They’ve got imubots like the rest of us, and they vaccinate, thank goodness. Gene therapy’s kind of iffy. They’re usually cool with tweaking for quality-of-life reasons, but not cosmetic ones.”

  “Then, why — ”

  “Why didn’t Jenks get tweaked? Like I said, only for quality-of-life. Just look at that happy bastard. His life would be total quality at any size.”

  “But they couldn’t know that when he was a baby.”

  “Mala wouldn’t let them do it. Jenks says once she got the doctors to admit that him being small didn’t mean he wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t even a question for her. Didn’t have anything to do with the Gaiist stuff at that point. He says she was just sick of people telling her that there
was something wrong with her kid.” She stopped and looked around. “And I’ve totally been walking the wrong way.”

  “What’s first on our list?” asked Sissix.

  Kizzy pulled out her scrib. “Plex cleaner,” she said. “Followed by scrub bot dispensers.”

  “Can we get unscented ones this time?” Sissix begged. “Ashby always gets the lemon ones, and I hate coming into the bathroom after cleaning day and smelling citrus.”

  “You’ve got something against being lemony fresh?”

  “You know iski?”

  “No.”

  “Yes, you do. Little green fruit, grows in clusters of three?”

  “Oh, yeah.”

  “Smells like lemons, right?”

  “Kind of.”

  “Yeah, we anoint our dead in iski juice.”

  Kizzy laughed. “Oh, no, eww. Okay, unscented scrub bots it is.” She took another look at her list, and tapped it emphatically, like a politician making a speech. “Listen, we are going to be a rock-solid shopping team today. We’re sticking to the list, and that’s it. I always spend way too much here on shit I don’t need.” Something over Rosemary’s shoulder caught her attention. “Like those.” Without another word, Kizzy ran off toward a stall full of juggling supplies.

  Sissix sighed. “And so it begins,” she said, watching Kizzy dig through a box of shimmering batons. “If you thought today was about getting supplies, you’re wrong. Today is about Kizzy wrangling.”

  As they walked after the mech tech, Sissix put her arm around Rosemary’s shoulder. The easy familiarity made Rosemary blink, but she also felt a spark of pride. Even if she got mugged before the day was out, at least she was in good company.

  ●

  Jenks walked down the ramp to the underground tech district — or, as it was better known, the caves. At the entrance, an Aandrisk man with a stun gun sat on a stool near a multilingual sign. The text read:

  THE FOLLOWING ITEMS CAN CAUSE HARM TO TECH, BOTS, AIs, MODDED SAPIENTS, AND SAPIENTS USING PERSONAL LIFE SUPPORT SYSTEMS. DO NOT BRING ANY OF THESE ITEMS INTO THE CAVES. IF ONE OR MORE OF THESE ITEMS IS IMPLANTED ONTO OR WITHIN YOUR BODY, DEACTIVATE IT BEFORE ENTERING.