The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

by Becky Chambers

  He pressed his back against her, pressed the soles of his feet, his shoulders, his palms, trying to soak in as much of her as he could. He twisted back and brought his lips to her. He kissed the smooth, warm metal and said, “I don’t see any reason to change the best thing I’ve ever had.”

  ●

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  Despite the differences between our species and cultures, there is an order that we all share. The development of a civilization is a scripted event. Minds join together to create new technologies, then better technologies, then better still. If a harmony cannot be found, that civilization crumbles. If ideas emerge that are incompatible with one another, that civilization crumbles. If a civilization cannot stand on its own against threats from the outside, that civilization crumbles.

  Scholars of sapient life note that all young civilizations go through similar stages of development before they are ready to leave their birth planets behind. Perhaps the most crucial stage is that of “intraspecies chaos.” This is the proving ground, the awkward adolescence when a species either learns to come together on a global scale, or dissolves into squabbling factions doomed to extinction, whether through war or ecological disasters too great to tackle divided. We have seen this story play out countless times. Every one of us seated here in Parliament can speak of the planetary wars and political struggles of our ancestors, yet we overcame them to reach for the stars. We all know the stories of the Kohash, the Danten Lu, and most recently, the Grum — ruined species who lacked the discipline to see beyond themselves to the next stage of evolution.

  Humans would have shared their fate. Humans left their planet not as one, but in fragments. When their planet began to die, the rich abandoned the impoverished for refuge on Mars. As the bodies piled up, those that remained on Earth formed the Exodus Fleet, headed not for their Martian brethren, but for open space. They had no destination, no strategy beyond escape. Were it not for one small Aeluon probe, the Fleet would almost certainly have died out, and I find it unlikely that the Martians ever would have achieved the modest level of prosperity they now enjoy without borrowing from GC technology.

  And what of them now? What has this experience taught them? Nothing. They continue to spread themselves thin. Fleet members have left to form independent colonies — not because it brings wealth or resources to the Fleet, but because they want to. The Martians and the Exodans may have bound their old wounds, but a division of spirit remains. And what of the fringe colonies, built by Humans who want nothing to do with the Diaspora or the GC? What of the hostile Gaiian cultists back on Earth, hunting herd animals on fragile land?

  My point, fellow representatives, is that Humans are a fractured, limping, adolescent species that has branched out into interstellar life not by merit, but by luck. They have not moved beyond intraspecies chaos. They have skipped the vital step the rest of us had to make on our own. By granting them membership into the Galactic Commons, we would be providing them not with a new life, but with a crutch. What meager resources they have to offer us are not worth the risk posed by allowing such an unstable element into our shared space. The GC has already spent too much on helping this minor species to escape the hardships they brought upon themselves. I ask you, what benefit is there in making Humans one of us? If not resources, or knowledge, or military strength…then what?

  Day 121, GC Standard 307

  HERESY

  “Hello, boss,” Kizzy said, walking into Ashby’s office. Her grubby sleeves were rolled up, and her gloves were tucked into a front pocket. She held a dusty piece of tech in her hands.

  “You only call me ‘boss’ when you need a thing,” Ashby said.

  “I need a thing.” Kizzy held out the part. “This is a thermal regulator. It’s what helps a stasie maintain temperature.”

  “I assume that since it’s not currently attached to the stasie, it’s broken.”

  Kizzy gave a sad nod. “The bell tolled for this poor lil’ guy.”

  “Do we have another on hand?”

  Kizzy shook her head apologetically. “It’s not the sort of thing I keep in stock. My brain’s usually busy with making sure we’ve got spares for life support and the engine. Sorry. I didn’t think of it.”

  Ashby waved her comment aside. “I’d be more worried if you prioritized the stasie over the engine. I don’t expect you to keep spares of every piece of tech we use.” He rubbed his chin. His beard needed a trim. “So what does this mean for the stasie?”

  “The stasis field can hold without this. It’s got a failsafe system to make sure your food doesn’t go bad while you’re buying a replacement. But without the regulator, it’s gonna go bleh after a while, no matter what.”

  “How long a while?”

  “Four days, maybe five. We won’t starve or anything if it goes, but I think we’d all do better with some fresh food between here and Hedra Ka.”

  Ashby nodded. Three tendays of bug flour patties and dry-packed rations did not sound appealing, and there was no guarantee that there’d be somewhere for them to resupply at Hedra Ka. What did the Toremi even eat? “Four days isn’t enough time to get a delivery drone out here.”

  “I know. We may be kinda screwed on this one. However.” She brushed her hand over the backs of her thighs, checking for machine gunk. When her hand came back clean, she sat down in the chair opposite Ashby. “Sissix says there’s a colony rock not far from here. Popped up on the scanner yesterday. Dunno what it is, it’s not on any of her maps. But it’s only half a day out. We could park the ship here, hop in the shuttle, and give ‘em a visit, lickety split.”

  “We’re on the bleeding edge of the GC. That’s a fringe colony for sure.” Knocking on the doors of unidentified fringe colonies was not something Ashby was eager to do.

  “Mmm-hmm. But they might have tech I can use.”

  “That’s an awfully big might. They might not have anything.”

  “Yeah, except that this planet is also a rogue planet. It’s got no star to keep it warm. That’s how Sissix noticed it in the first place, it’s got these satellites providing artificial sunlight. They’re powering it by sucking ambi right out of a nearby nebula.”

  Ashby raised his eyebrows. “That’s pretty serious tech.”

  “The tech itself isn’t that fancy, but what I want to know is how they calibrated their harvesters to work within a nebula. There’s a reason that ambi’s harvested around black holes. It’s concentrated there. GC techs haven’t found a way to harvest smaller pockets without going broke.” She scrunched her lips in thought. “In any case, if they can harvest ambi in a nebula, I’ll bet my boots they’ve got simpler tech on hand, too.” She gestured with the regulator.

  Ashby gave a quiet nod. “Any indication of who this colony belongs to?”

  “No. But not Human.”

  “Why not?”

  Kizzy gave him a wry look. “Fringe colony or not, if Humans had their hands on that kind of tech, there’s no way we wouldn’t have heard about it by now. They’d be so rich, it’d be gross.”

  Ashby drummed his fingers on the table.
“Any ships around? Any weapon arrays?”

  “No. No weapons. We checked. No ships, no orbiters, no docking ports. Other than the satellites, it’s a dead sky out there.”

  Ashby thought for a moment. “Okay. Let’s be smart about it, though. I don’t want to head that way until I know who’s there.” He gestured at the pixel screen to wake it up. “Hey, Lovey,” he said, “I need an open sib signal to go out to that rogue planet. Just let me know if somebody picks up.”

  “Will do,” Lovey said.

  Kizzy dragged her chair over next to Ashby’s and watched the screen intently. “Kizzy, nothing’s happening,” Ashby said. “They might not pick up for a while. They might not pick up at all.”

  “It’s exciting! It’s like going fishing or something, waiting for someone to bite.”

  Ashby looked askance at Kizzy. “When have you ever gone fishing?”

  “I do it in Battle Wizards all the time.” The sib indicator on the screen lit up. Kizzy leaned across the desk, pointing. “Look! See! A bite! They bit!”

  Ashby put his hand over Kizzy’s shoulder and pulled her back into her chair. “Let me do the talking, okay?” The last thing he needed was for Kizzy to rub some twitchy fringe colonist the wrong way.

  He gestured to pick up the call. An alien appeared on screen. Ashby’s jaw dropped. It was a Sianat. But not a Sianat like Ohan. This Sianat had let their fur grow out. No fractals or holy patterns had been shaved in. There was something more alert about the way they held theirself, not at all like Ohan’s perpetually relaxed slump. There was a slackness in the face, a thinness to the fur, and though Ashby knew he couldn’t make any presumptions about a species he knew little about, he couldn’t shake the obvious conclusion.

  This Sianat was old.

  “Hello,” Ashby said, shaking himself out of his surprise. “Do you speak Klip?”

  The Sianat spoke, the same bird-like coo that Ashby had heard Ohan make at times. As the Sianat opened their mouth, Ashby could see that their teeth were unfiled. It was like looking into a cave full of sharp stalagmites. The Sianat gestured something toward Ashby, still cooing as they looked around the room behind them. Unfamiliar with other Sianats as Ashby was, he could read this behavior well enough: Hang on. Let me find someone who can talk to you.

  “Ashby,” Kizzy whispered.

  “I know,” he whispered back.

  “I’m so glad I’m here for this,” she said, resting her chin against her fists.

  There was movement on screen. The first Sianat made room for another. This one’s body was about the same size, but differently shaped. There was a stockiness around the hips and shoulders, a sharp definition to the eyes and jaw. Their build varied enough from the first Sianat — and from Ohan as well — that Ashby concluded this Pair was of a different sex. As the two Sianats switched places, the first touched the second on the shoulder. They touched. Ashby thought of how Ohan slunk away from the crew when they passed in the hallway, how they barely tolerated Dr. Chef laying his handfeet on them during medical exams. Who were these people?

  “Good day,” the new Sianat said. Their accent was thick as fuel. Ashby noticed that this one did have filed teeth. “My name is Mas. Forgive my words, my Klip is old.”

  Ashby smiled, taking care to speak slowly. “My name is Ashby. I captain a tunneling ship. This is Kizzy, our mech tech.”

  Mas cocked their head. “Tunneling? Yes, yes, I know about tunneling.” They gave a yawping laugh. “I know much about tunneling.”

  I. Not us. Ashby stared. “Excuse me, Mas, I don’t mean to be rude, but…are you not a Pair?”

  “No,” said Mas. There was pride in their — in her voice, unmistakable, even through the accent. “No one is here. We are a colony of Solitary.”

  “Heretics,” Kizzy gasped.

  Ashby glared at her, but Mas did not seem to take offense. “Heretics, yes,” Mas said. “Do you have a Pair on your ship?”

  “Yes,” Ashby said. “Our Navigator.”

  “I was a Navigator once, for Harmagians,” said Mas. “Before here. Before I was here. Old words. Sorry.”

  “No need to apologize, I can understand you.” Ashby considered what Mas had said. He hoped he wasn’t offending Ohan just by talking to this person. “Our Navigator doesn’t know we’re talking to you. We didn’t even know who was down there when we sent out the sib.”

  “Oh! I thought — no, nothing.” Mas made a trilling sound. “What is your need?”

  Ashby nudged Kizzy. “I’m looking for some tech,” she said, holding up the broken regulator. “Nothing fancy, just something to fix our stasie.”

  “Ah, your food! You need to fix your food.” The Sianat seemed to find this funny.

  At the mention of food, Ashby thought of Ohan’s tubes of nutrient paste. “You probably don’t have stasie tech, do you?”

  “We eat,” Mas said. “We do not suck down paste like Pairs. Come to us, we’ll find tech. Might have to bang it around to make it work, but techs like to bang things, yes?”

  Kizzy laughed. “Yes, we do.”

  “Do you have a shuttle?”

  “Yes.”

  “Good. Our ships are old as words.” She gestured at the screen. A set of landing coordinates popped up. “And we must talk on your Pair. Are they Waning?”

  “They are,” Ashby said.

  “Not for long,” Mas said. “Come down, come down, we will talk. But do not tell your Pair you come. They will…not like it.”

  The screen went dark.

  ●

  Rosemary had seen such little variation in Ohan’s moods — much less seeing them burst into her office — that it took her a second to realize the Pair was furious. Their eyes were wide, their breath shallow. “Where did they go?” Ohan said, their voice shrill.

  Rosemary, who had been in the middle of clearing invoices, found herself tongue-tied. “Who?” she said stupidly, even though she knew who Ohan meant. Ashby had come to her two hours before, told her that he and Kizzy were flying out somewhere Ohan could not know about. Rosemary had found it odd that he’d asked for her discretion. When did Ohan ever talk to anyone? Yet here they were, standing at her desk, looking uncomfortably carnivorous. Rosemary had always thought Ohan looked cuddly, like a stuffed toy. Not now. Ohan’s shoulders were back, their neck curled, their eyes wild. Rosemary didn’t like Ohan like this.

  Ohan made an irritated sound. “We awoke to find the engine stopped. Then we found the shuttle gone. We know what region of space this is, and you will tell us now if Ashby has gone to see the Heretics.”

  Rosemary swallowed hard. Following Ashby’s instructions was one thing, but there was no use in lying now. “Yes,” she said.

  A growl rose from Ohan’s throat. “Why?” they cried, panicked.

  “Kizzy needed some tech,” Rosemary said, keeping her voice steady. She thought that maybe, if she could stay calm enough, she could bring Ohan back down. “Something for the stasie broke. They went to get a replacement part.”

  Puzzlement drove some of the fire out of Ohan’s eyes. “Tech?” they said. “They went to get tech?”

  “Yes.”

  Ohan threw their head back. “It does not matter! They will fill their heads full of lies!”

  “Who will?”

  “The Heretics!” A look of horror crossed their face. “Our crewmates. They’ll be contaminated when they return.”

  “They’ll get flashed on their way back in, just like always.”

  “Yes, but…” Ohan shook their head and paced. “I must speak to Lovelace, she will need to update her contaminant database.” Without warning, Ohan’s legs went limp. They crumpled down, grabbing the edge of Rosemary’s desk as they went, gasping for breath.

  “Ohan!” Rosemary dashed to their side. She instinctively reached out, but stopped as she remembered who she was dealing with. No physical contact without permission. “Can I help you up?”

  “No,” Ohan wheezed. “We’re fine.”

  The
vox switched on. “I’ll get Dr. Chef,” Lovey said.

  “Please, don’t,” Ohan said. They pulled theirself to their feet with shaking hands. “It is just the Wane. This is how it must be.” They drew in a shuddering gulp of air. “Call Ashby. Tell him — tell him to get his tech and leave. Tell him to not listen to the Heretics’ lies. They are poison. The Heretics — the Heretics will wish to end me.”

  Rosemary could hear Dr. Chef’s heavy footsteps hurrying down the hall. From the noise, it sounded as if he were running on six. “Ohan, no matter what those people say, no one on this ship is going to hurt you.”

  Ohan swung their big, dark eyes to Rosemary. “You might not mean to. But you could.”

  ●

  “I don’t like this place,” Kizzy said, her mouth full of fire shrimp. “It feels sad.”

  Ashby worked the navigation controls, adjusting their approach toward the rogue planet. It was frozen over, cased in a cracking lattice of ice. The warming light of the satellites was concentrated on one large, circular patch of bare rock, too perfectly shaped to be natural. From their vantage point up above, Ashby could see one cluster of opaque bubble-like buildings, built where the light was strongest. There were no other settlements, not that he could see. “I dunno,” he said. “They’ve got those sun satellites, and they’re clearly doing well enough to have a space elevator. Space elevators aren’t a high priority if you’re hungry or without shelter.”

  “Sure,” Kizzy said. “But they’re still all alone out here. No star or moon to keep ‘em company. They’ve got an empty sky.” She shaped the edges of the fire shrimp bag into a spout, tipped her head back, and poured the bag’s contents into her mouth.

  “You’re getting crumbs all over the place.”

  “Who’s responsible for cleaning out the shuttle?” She jabbed a thumb at her chest. “This girl.”