The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

by Becky Chambers

  “That’s not the point.” Ashby looked back at her. “Remember that time you had to clean fire shrimp out of an air filter?”

  Kizzy’s face fell in grave remembrance. She solemnly rolled the bag shut. “Until later, my delicious friends.”

  The vox crackled on. An AI began speaking in Ciretou, the soft, haunting language of the Sianats. “Sorry,” Ashby said. “We don’t understand.”

  The AI paused, and switched to Klip. “Greetings, travelers. Please bring your shuttle to docking port 4. Once you have docked, proceed to the elevator entryway. If you are unable to walk on your own, or if you require medical attention, please let me know at this time. If you are unable to speak, please activate your shuttle’s emergency — ”

  “We’re all fine here, thank you,” Ashby said.

  “Please dock safely,” the AI said. “Your journey has come to an end.” The vox switched off.

  Kizzy pulled her feet off of the dash and stared at the vox. “That was weird. Why wouldn’t we be able to — ” She nodded. “Right. Some of the Pairs who wind up here must be pretty sick.”

  “I think you were right, Kiz,” Ashby said, as he eased the shuttle into the docking hatch.

  “About what?”

  “This is a sad place.”

  Once the shuttle came to a full stop, they put on their exosuits and stepped into the airlock. After a short scan, they were allowed through. They walked down an empty corridor, and into one of the elevator cars.

  “I can’t get over this,” Kizzy said, her voice tinny through the exosuit vox.

  “What? How close it is?” The length of the elevator cables were the shortest Ashby had ever seen, by a long shot. He doubted it would take them more than an hour to reach the surface.

  “Yeah. It’s just…I mean, holy shit, how did they do this? This thing shouldn’t work at all. I’m not even talking about tech, I’m talking about gravity.” She pressed her nose against the window. “I want to take this thing apart and see what’s in it.”

  “Please wait until we’ve reached the surface, at least,” he said, settling back onto one of the benches. He fidgeted, trying to get comfortable. The curve of the hard cushions was not designed for Human spines.

  With a jarring rush, the elevator shot downward. An hour passed, uneventfully. As the elevator got closer to the surface, a violent swirl of snow hit the window. The sight made him shiver, despite the warmth of his exosuit.

  “Damn,” Kizzy said. “Good thing we didn’t bring Sissix.”

  “She would’ve had a suit, too.”

  “Yeah, but I think she finds the very idea of snow offensive,” she said. “Look at this place.” Ashby saw it. All around them, great swaths of ancient ice sat sharp and uninviting. The air was so thick with snow that it almost obscured the settlement below. There were no roads, and if there were doors, Ashby could not see them. The elevator was descending straight into the settlement itself — a cluster of armored shells, set into black rock. He had a feeling that the sun satellites were less about providing visible light than they were about keeping the settlement thawed out.

  “Why here?” Kizzy said. “Why live here?”

  Heretics. Exile. “I don’t think they have a choice.” The light changed as the elevator entered the settlement, transitioning into something more inviting. Through the window, Ashby could see a round corridor, made of smooth, silvery metal. It felt very clean. A light inside his helmet indicated that the air surrounding them was breathable, but they left their suits on all the same. A fringe planet meant there was no handy GC data on local diseases. No telling what kind of bugs these folks might pass on to them, or vice versa.

  The elevator doors opened. Kizzy and Ashby stepped out. Mas was there, waiting. Ashby noticed right away how much her body differed from Ohan’s, and not just in terms of sexual dimorphism. Despite the hollows of age, there was no doubt that this was a healthy individual. Ohan looked waifish by comparison.

  “Welcome to Arun,” Mas said, bobbing her head. “You must forgive, I do not know Human greetings.”

  “We shake hands,” Ashby said.

  “Show me,” Mas said. Ashby took Kizzy’s hand in demonstration. Mas laughed. “Here,” she said, extending her long fingers. Ashby wrapped his hand around them and shook. Mas laughed again. “These are short hands, soft hands,” she said, pressing Ashby’s palm through the thin exosuit glove.

  “Didn’t you meet any Humans while you were a Navigator?” Kizzy asked.

  “You were still wandering when I was with Harmagians,” Mas said. “No Human worlds beyond your Fleet. I became Solitary before you became GC.”

  Ashby did some quick math. If Mas was Navigating before Humans had joined the GC, then…

  Kizzy beat him to it. “How old are you?”

  Mas thought. “One hundred and thirty three standards,” she said. “Sorry, had to think. Our time measures are different.”

  Kizzy’s nose was nearly pressing against her faceplate, she was so intent. “I had no idea you could live that long.”

  Mas laughed again. “Not just this long,” she said. “Even longer!” She began to walk down the hall. They followed.

  “What can you tell us about this place?” Ashby said.

  “This is Arun,” Mas said. “Your Pair has not said of it, hmm?”

  “No.”

  “No, no. Pairs do not say this place. It is for heretics.” There was a smirk in her voice, almost mocking. “But all Sianat know it. If we escape before infection, or if we want to break, we try to find it. Not all do. Some get lost. Some are Waning and cannot fly the long way. But we take all who come. None are turned away.”

  “I see,” Ashby said. They came into a huge open area, filled with curved benches and hydroponic planters holding strange, curling trees and puffy flowers (Ashby could only imagine how excited Dr. Chef would have been). A warm yellow sky was projected above. Compared to the frozen wastes outside, it was a paradise. There were Sianats everywhere, of all ages and sizes, walking, thinking, speaking to one another. Touching. “Sorry,” he said, dragging his eyes away from the plaza and back to Mas. “What did you mean by ‘break’? You come here if you want to break?”

  “Break the pair,” Mas said. “Destroy the virus.”

  Ashby and Kizzy looked at each other. “There’s a cure?” Ashby asked.

  “Of course,” Mas said. “All diseases have cures. You just have to find it.”

  “But,” Kizzy said, her brow furrowed. “Sorry, I don’t really get how this whole thing works, but if…if you’re a Pair, would you even think about being cured? Doesn’t the Whisperer make you want to stay together?”

  “You ask good questions. Like a good heretic.” Mas gestured towards a bench. They sat beside her as best they could. “The Whisperer makes the host resist breaking. But some Sianat can resist the Whisperer. Like me.”

  “You’re…immune?” Ashby said.

  “No, no,” Mas said. “I had the disease. Had to, to Navigate. But I resist. The Whisperer had my low mind, not my high mind.” Her face folded in thought. “Do you know low mind?”

  Ashby thought he had heard Ohan use the term once or twice, but as with most things, Ohan had not explained further. “No.”

  “Low mind is easy things. Animal things. Things like walking, counting, not putting your hand on hot things. High mind is things like who my friends are. What I believe. Who I am.” Mas tapped her head for emphasis.

  “I think I understand,” Ashby said. “So, the virus…the virus affected the way you understand space and numbers, but it didn’t affect the way you think about yourself?”

  “I resist,” Mas said again. She paused. “Resistant?”

  “You are resistant,” Ashby said. “Yes.”

  “Yes, yes. Very dangerous to be resistant. I learned to pretend. To mimic the words of the Pairs. To stare out windows.” She made a gruff sound. “So boring.”

  Kizzy laughed. “I’ve always thought it looks boring,” she said.<
br />
  “It is! But if you are resistant, you must stare. You must not let others know that you pretend. The ones who rule know,” she said, leaning close. “They know resistant Hosts exist. But it would ruin everything for many to know. Sianat believe that the Whisperer chose us. Makes us special. Makes us better than you.” She poked Ashby’s chest. “But if we are resistant, one of two things is true. Either Sianats are not special, only diseased, and can evolve to resist. Or, second thing, stupid thing, but easier conclusion for many — resistants are unholy. We reject the sacred. Heretics. You understand?”

  “Yes,” Ashby said. He knew now why Ohan had always balked at the mere mention of the Solitary. This was the sort of thing that could bring a whole culture down.

  “I always wanted to break,” Mas said. “The Whisperer made me see the in-between, but it was killing my body. My high mind, it wanted to live. My captain, she was good. Good friend. I trusted her, told her that I am resistant. As I Waned, she found a map.”

  “To here?” Kizzy said.

  “Yes, yes. Nearly dead when I arrived.” She lifted her front hands and made her muscles twitch. Ashby’s stomach sank. It was a perfect imitation of the tremors Ohan had developed. “I lay in hospital for” — she counted to herself — “two tendays after the cure. Painful, painful.” She smiled and showed off her forelegs. “But I got strong.”

  “So, after the virus is cured, the Wane goes away?” Kizzy asked. Ashby shot her a quick glance. No, Kizzy.

  “Yes. But the changes to the low mind do not. The…words, words…the…the folds in the brain remain. I could still Navigate if I wanted. But I am Solitary. I must stay here.”

  “Why?” Ashby asked.

  The Sianat cocked her head. “I am Solitary,” she said. “We are heretics, not revolutionaries. This is our way.”

  “Wait,” Kizzy said. “You can still Navigate? Curing the virus doesn’t take that away?”

  “Correct.”

  “The ambi,” she said. “That’s how you figured out how to harvest ambi from the nebula, and build a pintsize space elevator. Because you’ve still got your super brains.”

  Mas laughed. “Pairs are not inventors. They are too unfocused, too short-lived. Good for Navigating and discussing theories, but bad at building. Building takes many, many mistakes. Pairs do not like mistakes. They like staring out windows. But Solitary like mistakes. Mistakes mean progress. We make good things. Great things.”

  “Wow,” Kizzy said. Her eyes went far away, the way they did when she was thinking about a broken circuit or the inside of the engine. “So, this cure. Is it, like, dangerous?”

  “Kizzy,” Ashby warned. They were not going down this path. No matter how much he wanted to, they were not.

  “But Ashby, Ohan could — ”

  “No. We’re not — ”

  Mas made a sound deep in her chest. “Ohan is your Pair.”

  “Yes,” Ashby sighed.

  “Poet-like name,” Mas said. “Poetic.” She studied them both. “I am resistant. I do not know how the disease feels to a mind that does not resist. But I have friends, broken Pairs, who were not resistant. Sometimes even good Pairs fear death enough to come to Arun.” She leaned in close, too close. “Broken Pairs are different, after. They are not the child they were before infection. They are not the Pair, either. They are new.” She looked hard at Ashby with her large eyes. “They are free. Believe me, it is better.”

  ●

  “No,” Ohan said. There was no anger in their voice, but they had recoiled, pulling as far away from the table as the chair would allow. They sat stiffly, fighting hard to hide their twitching legs. Ashby and Dr. Chef sat on the other side of the lab table. A small, sealed box lay between them. An object was visible through the transparent lid — a syringe, filled with green fluid. The grip was designed for a Sianat hand.

  Ashby took care to keep his voice low. The door to the med bay was shut, but he wouldn’t put eavesdropping past any of his crew. He knew that Kizzy, at least, was busy. He could hear her banging away in the kitchen. He had a feeling that a few of the bangs had nothing to do with repairing the stasie, and everything to do with her letting him know that she was upset.

  “Nobody’s forcing you, Ohan,” Ashby said. “I just want you to consider the option.”

  “I’ve examined it thoroughly,” Dr. Chef said. “It’s safe. I can guarantee that.”

  Ohan shrunk away even more. “Safe,” they whispered. “Safe. This is murder, and you call it safe.”

  Ashby ran his hand through his hair. As much as he felt that the virus itself was the murderer here, he knew this was a point he could not argue. “The person I spoke to said she had friends who had been cured. They can still navigate, Ohan, and they live long, healthy lives.”

  “They take the Whisperer’s gifts, then kill it,” Ohan said. “You should not have spoken to them, Ashby. You should have taken their tech and left with your ears blocked. You should have left your food to rot before setting foot in that place.”

  “I was doing what I thought was best for my crew,” Ashby said. “Just as I’m trying to do now.”

  Ohan succumbed to a coughing fit. Ashby sat back and watched, knowing there was nothing he could do, not even lay a comforting hand on his crewmate’s back. His eyes met Dr. Chef’s. The doctor looked miserable. Here was a patient that he could easily treat, but the patient wouldn’t allow it. Ashby knew Dr. Chef wouldn’t push it, but he also was sure that this was going to gnaw away at his friend for a long time.

  “Ohan,” Dr. Chef said, once Ohan could breathe again. “As someone who left his world behind, I understand how frightening this idea is for you. It was scary for me, too. But we’re your friends, Ohan. You could live a long time, here with us. We’d take care of you.”

  Ohan was unconvinced. “Your friendship means much to us. As does your concern, though misguided. We know this must be difficult for you to understand. You kill microbes all the time, in your kitchens, on your cargo, without a second thought. But consider the bacteria living in your skins, your mouths, your guts, creatures you could not survive without. You, too, are a synthesis between organisms large and small. Ashby, would you destroy your mitochondria simply because they are not Human in origin? Because they do not belong?”

  “We can’t live without mitochondria,” Ashby said. “But you could live without the Whisperer.”

  Ohan shut his eyes tight. “No,” they said. “We could not. We would be someone else.”

  ●

  Some time later, Ashby sat alone in his quarters, unlacing his boots. He was halfway through the left when the door spun open without warning. Sissix stood in the doorway, feathers on end. “Are you out of your fucking mind?”

  Ashby sighed and went back to his laces. “Come in and shut the door.”

  Sissix stood before him, hands on her hips. “Kizzy tells me there is a cure. A cure for what’s killing Ohan. One that would leave him able to navigate, and that would extend his life by a good century or so. She tells me you just came back from a planet full of happy, healthy people who all can attest to that. And apparently, that cure is in our med bay right now, and you’re just going to let it gather dust while Ohan lies shaking himself to death in a pool of his own sick.”

  Ashby swung his eyes up to her. “You keep saying ‘his.’”

  “Yes, because it finally occurred to me that Ohan is an individual, a sick man who needs our help.”

  “Sissix, this is not my call. What do you want me to do? Tie them down and force it on them?”

  “If that’s what it takes.”

  “You’re being ridiculous. I’m their employer, not their…their arbiter.”

  “You’re his friend, and you’re letting him die.”

  “I gave them the option, Sissix! They know it’s there! What the hell else am I supposed to do?” He threw the boot aside. “Sissix, this is not a matter of someone refusing medical treatment. This is their entire culture we’re talking about. This is
their religion.”

  “This is so fucking Human of you. Lie back and let the galaxy do whatever it wants, because you’re too guilty about how badly you fucked up your own species to ever take initiative.”

  Ashby got to his feet. “What is it you people say? Isk seth iks kith? Let each follow xyr own path?”

  Sissix’s eyes flashed. “That’s different.”

  “How so?”

  “That means don’t interfere with others if there’s no harm being done. There is harm being done here, Ashby. Ohan is dying.”

  “If I told you to go back to Hashkath and bring your kids here to live with you, would you?”

  “What are you even talking about?”

  “If I told you that treating your children like strangers offends every bone in my milk-fed mammalian body, and that as your Human captain, I expect you to follow my moral code — ”

  “That’s different, Ashby, you know that’s — ”

  He lowered his voice. “Or if I wanted to be really old fashioned, I could tell you that it’s inappropriate for two of my crew to be coupling. Some Human captains still fire people for that, you know. They say it’s a bad idea on a long haul.”

  Sissix froze. “How do…” She shook her head. “That’s none of your business.”

  Ashby gave an incredulous laugh. “It’s none of my business? I’m your feather brother, Sissix. Since when is it not my business to know such things? Since when does an Aandrisk keep something like that to herself? Unless, of course, you’re making personal concessions for Human customs — ”

  “Shut up, Ashby.” She walked to the window, put her hands on the sill, and fell quiet. “I don’t even know Ohan. And I don’t just mean because he doesn’t talk to any of us. I mean that when he opens his mouth, I don’t know if he’s the one saying that he doesn’t want to be cured, or if the virus is making him do it. I don’t know if it’s him speaking, or the thing infecting his brain.”

  “To Ohan, it’s both. And that’s probably closer to the truth. It’s not like the virus is sentient. It just…changes him. Them.”

  Sissix gave him a look. “See. You do it, too.” The anger was bleeding out of her voice. Her feathers were beginning to lay flat. She sat on his bed. “I’m not okay with this, Ashby. I don’t care if I know him well or not. I’m not okay with losing family.”