But here he was now, approaching the kitchen, touching Corbin. “Ashby,” Ohan said. “I need to speak with you.”
“Of course,” Ashby said. Across the counter, Dr. Chef was nearly silent.
Ohan let go of Corbin’s arm and stood on all fours. Ashby could see a tightness in Ohan’s face as he did so. Recovering though he was, standing still took effort.
“I should go to Arun now,” Ohan said. “I am Solitary, and that is where I should go. It is the way of things.” He looked down for a moment, deep in thought. The next words came with difficulty, as if he feared them. “But I do not want to.”
“Do you have to go?” Ashby said. “Will your people do anything to you if you don’t?”
Ohan blinked three times. “No. We are…expected to do things. And we do them. We do not question.” He looked confused. “I don’t know why. These things made sense, before. And they made sense to the Solitary you met. But not to me. Perhaps it is because they have never been around other species without the Whisperer. They never saw other ways to be.”
Ashby spoke with care. “Ohan, what do you want to do?”
“I want,” Ohan said, rolling his tongue as though he were tasting the words. “I want to stay.” His forelegs trembled, but he set his jaw. “Yes. Yes.” The trembling stopped. “And I want to have dinner. With my crew.”
A burst of coos and whistles erupted from Dr. Chef’s mouth, making them all jump. Ashby knew the sound. It was the Grum equivalent of crying. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Dr. Chef said, pressing his cheeks with his handfeet. “I just…” His Klip dissolved into a cooing drone. He rumbled and huffed, trying to get a hold of himself. “Ohan, as your doctor, I have to remind you that as your body has only had to digest nutrient paste for some time, adopting other foods will take some adjustment.” His cheeks puffed wide. “But as your — as your friend, there is no way I’d rather spend my afternoon than cooking a meal for you. With you, even, if you’d like.”
Ohan did something Ashby had never seen before. The edges of his mouth spread wide and flat, stretching out beyond the edges of his eyes, which crinkled shut. A smile. “Yes. I want that.”
Dr. Chef bustled into action, pulling Ohan’s never-before-used chair into the kitchen. He helped Ohan into his seat and wasted no time in beginning a crash course in vegetables.
Ashby glanced toward Corbin, who was observing the scene with a quiet expression. He nodded to himself, confirming something unspoken, and turned to leave.
“Corbin,” Ashby said. Corbin looked at him. Ashby sighed. He still wasn’t happy, but what was done was done. After all they’d been through — yes, if Ohan could move forward, so could he. He gestured toward the empty stool beside him. “I’m sure the algae can wait.”
Corbin paused. “Thanks,” he said. He took a seat. He looked out of place, like the new kid at school, unsure of how to proceed.
Ashby nodded toward the rack of mugs. “You want some tea?”
Corbin took a mug and filled it, as if glad for some direction. He picked up a slice of spice bread. “So. Ah.” He took a sip from his mug. “How is Pei?”
Ashby raised his eyebrows, startled by the personal inquiry. “She’s doing just fine.”
“I overheard that she’ll be coming here for a time.”
“That’s right.”
Corbin nodded. “That’s good.” He took a longer sip and focused his attention on his spice bread.
Ashby eyed the algaeist for a moment, and looked back to the kitchen. He saw Ohan take a tentative nibble from the end of a spineroot. The Sianat gasped with surprise. Dr. Chef clapped him on the back and laughed, his voices harmonizing with approval.
Ashby smiled. He drank his tea and watched his crew. It was enough.
●
Rosemary took the the domed helmet from Kizzy and placed it over her own head, sliding the locking edges at its base into the grooves on her suit. A hiss of dry air brushed against her face as the life support system started up. On the opposite side of the airlock, Sissix, similarly dressed, shook her head.
“I still can’t believe you’ve never done this before,” Sissix said. Her voice came through the tiny vox fixed within Rosemary’s helmet.
“I never got around to it.”
Sissix smirked. “There are a lot of things you’ve never got around to.”
“Yeah, well, I’m working on it.”
“Okay,” Kizzy said, connecting something to the back of the suit. “Lemme see your status panel.” Rosemary lifted her left arm, displaying three green lights. “All seals locked. Cool. Wait, those are all green, right?”
“Yeah.”
“Okay, good. Sorry, I’m a little high.” She looked back at Sissix, who was rolling her eyes. “What? It’s my day off.”
“I didn’t say anything,” Sissix said.
“You know, you’re welcome to come along,” Rosemary said.
“Thanks, but given the circumstances, I think I’d just fall asleep.” Kizzy paused, considering. “Why have I never taken a nap outside? Seriously, think how super mellow that would be.”
“Yeah,” said Sissix. “Right up until you sleep through the oxygen alarm.”
“Okay, yeah, maybe not.”
“Wait!” The sound of handfeet and grumbling echoed down the hallway, preceding Dr. Chef’s arrival. He hurried over to Rosemary and placed two yellow tablets in her hand. “You forgot.”
“Oh, stars, right,” Rosemary said, pulling her helmet back off. She popped the tablets in her mouth, crunched down, and made a face. “They taste like plex.”
Kizzy giggled. “How would you know what plex tastes like?”
Rosemary shrugged. “I was a kid once. Didn’t you ever lick plex?”
The giggle swelled into a laugh. “No! Ew! No!”
“Well, whatever they taste like,” Dr. Chef said, “they’ll help keep you from getting sick in your helmet, which is the important part. And if for some reason you should get sick, don’t panic, just remember to — ”
“Don’t freak her out, Doc,” Kizzy said, patting his upper arm.
“She gets spacesick!”
“She’ll be fine.”
“All right, all right, I just want her to enjoy this.” Dr. Chef rumbled and chuffed as Rosemary put her helmet back on. “You know,” he said. “That suit looks good on you.”
“Yeah?” Rosemary said, looking down at the tough red fabric.
“Yeah,” Kizzy said. “It fits you real good.”
Sissix touched Rosemary’s shoulder. “You ready?”
Rosemary stared at the airlock door, nervous, eager. “I think so.”
Sissix nodded. “Tycho, we’re ready to go.”
The vox on the wall switched on. “Okay. I’ll be keeping an eye on you both. I’ll signal if you get too far out.”
“Thanks.” She led Rosemary into the airlock and smiled back at the others. “See you guys later.”
“Have fun!” Kizzy said, waving.
“Be back for dinner,” Dr. Chef said.
The inner door slid shut. Rosemary looked at Sissix. Her heart was hammering. “Well, here we go.”
Sissix took her by the hand as the airlock began to depressurize. The hatch slid back. They walked forward, their boots sticking to the artigrav floor. They stood with their toes at the edge. The open hatch waited.
“Oh,” said Rosemary, staring ahead.
“A little different without windows and bulkheads, huh?” Sissix grinned. “Here, do this.” She extended her hand out past the hull.
Rosemary did the same. As her hand passed beyond the edge of the artigrav field, she could feel its weight change — disappear. She’d been in zero-G playrooms as a kid, but this was different. This was the real thing, the universe’s default state. She laughed.
“Ready?” Sissix said. “One. Two. Three.”
They stepped out, and fell up. Or down. Or sideways. It didn’t matter. Those words meant nothing anymore. There were no boundaries, no playroom wa
lls. Her body was freed of the burden she hadn’t known she was carrying — solid bones, dense muscle, an unwieldy head. They were out in the open, for real this time, as spacers should be. And all around them, black, black, black, full of jeweled stars and colored clouds. It was a sight she knew well, a sight she lived alongside, but in that moment, she was seeing it for the first time. Everything had changed.
“Oh, stars,” Rosemary said, and suddenly understood the expression better than she ever had.
“Come on,” Sissix said. The thrusters on her boots fired. They flew further out.
Rosemary looked back to the Wayfarer. Through the windows, she could see the familiar rooms and corridors, but it was all so different from out here, like watching a vid, or looking into a dollhouse. The ship looked so small, so fragile.
“Rosemary.”
She turned her head.
Sissix raised their clasped hands and smiled. “Let go.”
She let Sissix’s curved fingers slip from her grasp. They drifted apart, still holding the other in their eyes. Rosemary turned away from her ship, away from her companion, turned out to face the void. There was a nebula there, an explosion of dust and light, the fiery corpse of an ancient giant. Within the gaseous folds slept clusters of unborn stars, shining softly. She took inventory of her body. She felt her breath, her blood, the ties binding it all together. Every piece, down to the last atom, had been made out here, flung through the open in a moment of violence, until they had swirled round and round, churning and coalescing, becoming heavy, weighing each other down. But not anymore. The pieces were floating free now. They had returned home.
She was exactly where she was supposed to be.
July 2, 2014
Acknowledgments
In early 2012, I had a problem. Two-thirds of the way through the first draft of this book, the freelance work I relied on to support myself dried up. I was faced with a two-month lull between paying gigs, and it was starting to look like finishing my book and keeping a roof over my head were mutually exclusive. I had two options: set the book aside and use the time to search for work, or find a way to keep the book (and myself) going. I went with option B, and turned to Kickstarter. I told myself that if the campaign wasn’t successful, it was time for me to focus my efforts elsewhere. Fifty-three people (mostly strangers) convinced me to stick with it. The Long Way exists thanks to their generosity and their encouragement. I am more grateful for that than I can put into words.
Since then, this book has continued to be something of a community effort. I owe much to my posse of beta readers, who donated their brainpower toward helping me unravel the messy bits. Without their insights, their honesty, and most of all, their time, I would never have gotten this far.
My friend Mike Grinti deserves special thanks not only for his invaluable critique of my second draft and for being my anxiety sponge, but for connecting me with Joe Monti, who believed in my book, and from whom I have learned so much.
Though she probably doesn’t think that she had a hand in this, I extend a sincere bundle of thanks to Susana Polo, my editor at The Mary Sue. She not only gave me the time I needed to finish the final edit of my manuscript, but her giving me a place at TMS back in 2011 started the domino chain that led to this book. Plus, she’s the only other person in the world who likes Myst IV.
A book’s no good without a cover, and for that, I have to thank Christopher Doll, who was an absolute pleasure to work with. Seeing the Wayfarer come to life was a real joy, and I was very lucky to find someone who put so much care into making that happen.
On the personal side of things, I am indebted to my friends and family for...well, everything. Somehow, even though I fell off the face of the planet while working on this, they stuck by me. Extra hugs to Chimp and Greg, for being my steadfast sanity check, to Cian, for being a good listener, and to Matt, for being my first buddy.
Bear with the seeming non-sequitur: In 2010, I found myself in Sedona with my friend Jessica McKay, who bought me a fancy dinner and more than a few drinks. It may have been the margaritas talking, but she waved aside my concern about her picking up the bill by saying that I had to thank her in print whenever I got a book out. Jess, please take note: Thank you for the tacos, the tequila, and the fine company. We are now square.
I can’t sign off on a science fiction book without giving credit to my Mom and Dad, who filled my head with spaceships, and who have always, always been there for me. My Mom gets additional thanks for being my science consultant, and for giving me courage when I needed it most.
Finally, all my love and gratitude to my partner, Berglaug, who held my hand, sketched my ship, brought me meals, proofread my manuscript (twice!), and put up with all the late nights and Post-it notes. She believed in this book more than I did some days, and her ferocious support kept me grounded and hopeful. If you enjoyed the read, she’s the one you should thank.
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
Becky Chambers is a writer and editor. Her work has appeared at The Mary Sue, Tor.com, and elsewhere around the internet. The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet is her first novel. Born and bred in California, Becky lives with her partner in Reykjavik, Iceland.
www.otherscribbles.com
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