The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

by Becky Chambers

  Nib brought out a fresh pot of mek to his houseguests and siblings, all of whom were situated around the pixel projector. Bear sat on the floor with his back against a couch. Kizzy sat behind him, putting tiny braids in his thick mane of hair. Jenks lounged nearby, smoking redreed and looking content. Ember sat at the workbench, frowning as she fussed with a circuit panel.

  “You know,” the girl said as her brother entered the room. “There’s a way for this project to go way faster.”

  “Really,” said Nib, his voice flat. He looked to Rosemary, raising the pot and his eyebrows in tandem. “Mek?”

  “Yes, please,” Rosemary said. A soothing cup of mek on a full stomach sounded perfect. It was almost enough to make her forget about the muffled droning coming through the outer walls.

  “Seriously,” said Ember. “These junction pins are so hard to see. If I had — ”

  Bear glanced up. “If it starts with ‘O’ and ends with ‘cular implant,’ the answer is no.”

  “Stop moving, Teddy,” Kizzy said. “You’re gonna end up with messy braids.”

  Ember sighed with the long-suffering weariness of a teenager. “Hypocrites.”

  “When you’ve stopped growing and your brain chemistry has evened out, you can get all the implants you want,” said Nib. His tone was parental. It seemed to irritate Ember all the more.

  “Hate to be the bad guy, but your brother’s right,” Jenks said. “Put implants in too early and you’ll wind up a mess. I knew a dude who got a headjack when he was fifteen. As he grew, his spine stretched, and the interface got all fucked up. Had to go back and get it done all over again. The hackjob idiot working on him didn’t know what he was doing, and the poor kid wound up with an infection in his spinal cord. Almost killed him. Had to get all four limbs replaced just so he could move again.”

  “Who the fuck puts a headjack in a kid that age?” Bear said.

  “Stop moving,” Kizzy said.

  Bear grumbled. “Ember, seriously, if you ever meet a modder who will implant teenagers, run like hell. Modding isn’t just about getting sewn up with cool tech, it’s about orchestrating a balance between the synthetic and the organic. If you don’t care about the well-being of the organic, then — ow!” He yelped as Kizzy pulled his hair.

  “Stop. Moving.”

  “I know,” Ember said to Bear. “Spare me the platitudes.”

  “You are too young for a word like ‘platitudes,’” Jenks said. Ember stuck her tongue out at him. He returned the gesture.

  “Besides, sweetie,” Kizzy said. “You’ve got such pretty eyes. Why get a full implant when you could just wear a hud?”

  “He’s got a full implant,” Ember said, pointing at Nib.

  “He also had an ‘incident,’” Jenks said. He pantomimed firing a gun at his own face, and made an explosion gesture over his eye. Redreed smoke burst from his nose as he laughed.

  “I’m so glad you’re staying over,” Nib said.

  Jenks raised his mug in a jaunty salute.

  Nib glanced at the clock on the wall. “News should be uploaded by now. Anyone mind if I put it on?” he said.

  There was a general shaking of heads. “Nib is something of a junkie when it comes to current events,” Bear said to Rosemary. “Or past events. Or just events in general, really.”

  “He’s a reference file archivist,” Kizzy said.

  “No kidding?” said Rosemary. “Volunteer?”

  Nib nodded. “Some people knit, some people play music, I dig through dusty old facts and make sure they’re accurate.” He flopped back into a chair as the pixels in the central projector flickered to life. “I like knowing things.”

  Rosemary was impressed. Archivists were passionate people, some of whom dedicated their whole lives to the pursuit of unbiased truth. Given the wealth of information that needed sorting through, professional archivists relied heavily upon volunteers to help keep public files current. Rosemary had always imagined them like guardians from some fantasy vid, defending the galaxy from inaccuracies and questionable data.

  “What are you working on, if I may ask?” Rosemary said.

  “I belong to one of the interspecies history teams. It’s fascinating work, but it can be a real pain in the ass. You would not believe the amount of bogus, speciest submissions we have to deal with.”

  “Examples,” Kizzy said.

  Nib sighed and scratched his beard. “The best one I’ve seen in a while claimed that the Exodus Fleet could never have sustained that many people for so long, ergo the Human race did not originate on Earth at all.”

  Jenks raised his head. “So where are we from, then?”

  Nib grinned. “We’re a genetweaked species the Harmagians cooked up.”

  Jenks hooted with laughter. “Oh, my mom would have a coronary if she read that.”

  “That’s so dumb,” said Ember. “What about all the Earthen ruins and stuff? All those old cities?”

  “I know, I know,” Nib said with a shrug. “But we still have to go through the process of objectively disproving the claim. That’s our job.”

  “Why would people go to all the trouble of trying to prove something like that?” Kizzy asked.

  “Because they’re idiots,” said Bear. “And speaking of, the news has started.”

  Nib gestured to the pixels, bringing the volume up. A pixelated Quinn Stephens spoke from his desk, as always. Rosemary had never followed Exodan news feeds before coming aboard the Wayfarer, but she’d picked up the habit from Ashby. It was a comfort knowing that no matter what system you were in, Quinn was there to bring you the news. The pixels flickered with signal decay. They were a long way from the Fleet.

  The newsman’s voice came through. “– news from Mars, the trial that has been dubbed the scandal of the century finally came to a close today with the sentencing of former Phobos Fuel CEO Quentin Harris the Third.”

  Rosemary’s warm, comfortable feeling disappeared with a thud. Oh, no. She dug her fingers into the folds of her pants, trying to keep her face as emotionless as the newsman.

  “Harris was found guilty of all charges, including extortion, fraud, smuggling, and crimes against sapient kind.”

  Breathe. Don’t think about it. Think about the bugs outside. Think about anything.

  “Damn right he was found guilty,” said Jenks. “What an asshole.”

  “Who?” asked Bear, raising his chin.

  “Head down,” mumbled Kizzy, holding several hair ties between her teeth.

  “The Phobos guy,” said Nib. “The one who sold weapons to the Toremi.”

  “Oh, right,” Bear said. “That asshole.”

  “I don’t know who we’re talking about,” Ember said.

  “Ever heard of Phobos Fuel? Big ambi distributor?”

  Second biggest, in Human space, Rosemary thought.

  “I guess,” said Ember.

  Bear pointed at the pixels. “Well, the dude who owned the company apparently had an illegal weapons business on the side. That’s where his real creds came from.”

  “You’ve got illegal weapons.”

  Nib crossed his arms. “Ember, there is an enormous difference between making weapons for fun and selling gene targeters to both sides of a interstellar blood feud.”

  Ember raised her eyebrows. “Gene targeters? That’s…wow. That’s fucked up.”

  “Yep,” Bear said. “And now he and his buddies are going to jail forever.”

  Jenks shook his head. “Why can’t people just stick with bullets and energy bursts and be happy about it?”

  “Because people are assholes,” said Bear, dutifully keeping his head down. “Ninety percent of all problems are caused by people being assholes.”

  “What causes the other ten percent?” asked Kizzy.

  “Natural disasters,” said Nib.

  The projector showed a cuffed and humiliated Quentin Harris the Third as he was marched from the courthouse to a police skimmer. His face was unreadable, his suit immacu
lately stitched. Angry protesters pressed against the energy barriers that surrounded the courthouse. Cheap printed signs danced over their heads. “THERE IS BLOOD ON YOUR HANDS,” read one. Another held a pixel insert of a bloodied Toremi carrying a mangled corpse. Below the insert was the Phobos slogan: “KEEPING THE GALAXY MOVING.” Other signs were more simple. “WARMONGER.” “TRAITOR.” “MURDERER.” The barriers holding them back bulged like overfilled pockets.

  The reporter continued his calm tale of biological warfare and greed. Rosemary focused all her energy toward her eyes. Do not cry. Don’t cry. You can’t.

  “Rosemary, you okay?” Jenks asked.

  Rosemary wasn’t sure how she replied, something about being fine and just needing some air. She excused herself, walked steadily down the hall, and exited the homestead.

  Outside, the ketlings continued their chaotic dance. The sun was setting behind them, transforming the scene into a macabre shadow puppet show. Rosemary was unfazed. The ketlings did not feel real. The homestead, the siblings, the moon beneath her feet, none of it felt real. All she could think of was that pixelated face on the projector, the face she had traveled across the galaxy to get away from. She tried to breathe slow, tried to fight back the raw, smothering feeling blossoming within her chest. She sat down in the dirt and stared at her hands. She grit her teeth. Everything she’d worked so hard to bottle away when she left Mars was bubbling up, and she wasn’t sure she could push it back down this time. She had to, though. She had to.

  “Rosemary?”

  Rosemary jumped. It was Jenks, standing beside her. She hadn’t heard the door, or his footsteps. She barely heard the ketlings droning overhead.

  “What’s wrong?” His hands were in his pockets, his eyebrows knitted together.

  As she looked him in the eye, something within her broke. She knew it might cost her the goodwill of the crew and her place on the Wayfarer, but she couldn’t do it anymore. She couldn’t keep up the lie any longer.

  Rosemary looked away, out past the ketlings, across the rocky crags, all the way to the unfamiliar sun. Its light seared into her eyes, and remained there, heavy and orange, even as she closed them. “Jenks, I haven’t…I haven’t been…stars, you’re all going to hate me for this.” They would. And Ashby would fire her, and Sissix would never talk to her again.

  “Doubtful,” Jenks said. “We like you a lot.” He sat down next to her and hit the bowl of his pipe against his boot. The tightly packed ash came loose and tumbled to the ground.

  “But you don’t, you don’t know…I can’t do this.” She leaned her forehead into her palm. “I know I’m going to get kicked off the ship, but — ”

  Jenks stopped fussing with his pipe. “Okay, now you have to tell me,” he said, his voice stern but calm. “Take all the time you need, but you’re telling me.”

  She took a breath. “That guy on the news,” she said. “Quentin Harris?”

  “Yeah?”

  “He’s my father.”

  Jenks said nothing. He exhaled. “Holy shit. Oh, Rosemary, I’m…wow. I’m so sorry.” He paused again. “Shit, I had no idea.”

  “That was the point. Nobody was supposed to know. I shouldn’t even be here, I’m not — I lied, Jenks, I lied and cheated and covered things up, but I just can’t do this anymore, I can’t — ”

  “Whoa, hey, slow down. One thing at a time.” He sat quiet, thinking. “Rosemary, I have to ask this, and you have to tell me the truth, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  His jaw was firm, his eyes wary. “Were you involved in…in what he did? I mean, even just a little bit, doctoring forms or lying to the police or something — ”

  “No.” It was the truth. “I didn’t know anything about it. I didn’t know anything until the detectives appeared at my apartment and spent the morning asking me questions. They knew I had nothing to do with it, and they told me I was under no obligation to be involved with the trial. I didn’t even have to stay on Mars.”

  He searched her face, and nodded. “So…okay.” He laughed. “Stars, that’s a relief. I thought I was going to hate you there for a minute.” He patted her leg. “Alright, you’re innocent. So…” He looked baffled. “Rosemary, sorry, but what the fuck is the problem here?”

  She was shocked still. “What?”

  “I mean, okay, I get that you’re going through a lot right now, and by a lot, I mean some serious emotional shit that’s going to take us dozens of bottles of kick to work through, but why lie about it? If you’re not involved, then why would you think we’d care?”

  Rosemary was unprepared for this. Months and months of worrying and dreading, and he didn’t care? “You don’t understand. Back on Mars, it didn’t matter that I hadn’t done anything. Everyone knew who I was. All the news feeds, it was nothing but our family history, even vacation pics and things like that. All focused on my father, of course, but there’s little me, smiling and waving at his side. I don’t even know how they got that stuff. And it was all paired up with medical experts talking about what targeters do to you, and all those news people yelling about corruption. You know the feeds, they never stop once they get their claws in. My friends stopped talking to me. People would yell things at me out in public — ‘hey, your dad’s a murderer,’ as if I didn’t know what he’d done. I’d been applying for jobs at the time, and nobody called me back. Nobody wanted my family’s name associated with their business.”

  “But your name’s Harper,” Jenks said.

  She pressed her lips together. “What would you do if you wanted to get away? I mean really get away, so that nobody knew who you’d been before?”

  Jenks thought. He gave a slow nod. “Oh. Oh, I think I get it.” He reached out his hand. “Let’s see it.”

  “See what?”

  “Your patch.”

  Rosemary hesitantly lay her right wrist in his palm. She pushed up her wristwrap, exposing the patch beneath. Jenks leaned in, studying it closely.

  “This is fucking amazing work,” he said at last. “The only way you can tell it’s new is by how it healed. If I didn’t know better, I’d say this was a genuine replacement for a fried patch.”

  “That’s because it is a genuine replacement,” Rosemary said. She swallowed. Her tongue felt thick.

  Jenks was puzzled. “How did you get — ” His face lit up. “Phobos Fuel. Right. You’ve got money. Serious money.”

  “I had money. Before — ”

  “Before you paid someone off. Paid someone to give you a new ID file. Shit, Rosemary, you must’ve paid them a fortune not to talk.”

  “Everything I had,” she said. “Except for transport and hotels, that sort of thing.” She laughed without smiling. “My family may not have taught me much about the galaxy, but buying favors? We’ve got that down.”

  “But you’re really a clerk, right? Like, you know your way around formwork, you obviously went to school. That’s all true, right?”

  She nodded. “The official who helped me, he changed all my records, made sure my new file was linked to everywhere I’d ever been. So my diploma, my certification, my letters of recommendation, they’re all mine. The only way anybody would find out that the associated ID file had been altered was if, say, one of my crewmates went to Mars and asked one of my friends about me. I figured finding work out in the open limited the chances of running into anybody from back home. So I put my name on the queue for long-haul work, and here I am.”

  Jenks rubbed his beard. “So, then, what’s wrong? If you did the course work, and you have the skills, you deserve to have this job. Why would we throw you off the ship?”

  “Because I lied, Jenks. I lied to Ashby when I told him who I was. I’ve been lying to all of you every time you’ve asked me about my life back on Mars. I came into your home and told you lie after lie about who I am.”

  “Rosemary.” Jenks put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m not going to insult you by pretending like I get what you’re dealing with. If someone in my family
did something like this…stars, I don’t know what I’d do. I can’t offer advice here, but if you ever need a shoulder to cry on, mine’s good and ready. As for who you are — and your name really is Rosemary, right? — okay.” He nodded back toward the homestead. “Do you know why Human modders give themselves weird names?”

  She shook her head.

  “It’s a really old practice, goes back to pre-Collapse computer networks. We’re talking old tech here. People would choose names for themselves that they only used within a network. Sometimes that name became so much a part of who they were that even their friends out in the real world started using it. For some folks, those names became their whole identity. Their true identity, even. Now, modders, modders don’t care about anything as much as individual freedom. They say that nobody can define you but you. So when Bear gave himself a new arm, he didn’t do it because he didn’t like the body he was born in, but because he felt that new arm fit him better. Tweaking your body, it’s all about trying to make your physical self fit with who you are inside. Not that you have to tweak to get that feeling. Like me, I like to decorate myself, but my body already fits with who I am. But some modders, they’ll keep changing themselves their entire lives. And it doesn’t always work out. Sometimes they seriously mess themselves up. But that’s the risk you take in trying to be more than the little box you’re born into. Change is always dangerous.” He tapped her arm. “You’re Rosemary Harper. You chose that name because the old one didn’t fit anymore. So you had to break a few laws to do it. Big fucking deal. Life isn’t fair, and laws usually aren’t, either. You did what you had to do. I get that.”