Record of a Spaceborn Few

by Becky Chambers

  ‘M,’ Sunny said, ‘that’s really—’

  ‘It’s no trouble!’ M Tsai said, already on her way. ‘It won’t take long!’

  Sunny gave an apologetic sigh as soon as M Tsai’s door shut. ‘I’m sure this isn’t why you came by.’

  ‘Not quite,’ Eyas said.

  He folded his arms on the table. ‘Start at the beginning.’

  ‘I’m still thinking about Sawyer.’ She’d reserved a whole night with Sunny after the funeral, instead of the usual half. Neither of them had commented on it, or needed to. She’d taken care of someone else. He’d done the same for her.

  Sunny folded his mouth sympathetically. ‘That had to be pretty . . . I dunno. Traumatic.’

  ‘Not his body. It was . . . unpleasant, yes. But I don’t mean that. I mean Sawyer. I mean the man I spoke with for five minutes.’ She frowned. ‘I wasn’t very patient, and I wasn’t very kind. But he was so grateful for what flimsy advice I gave him. He looked so happy. He wrote me a letter. I think I may have been more patient and kind to him than most, and that’s . . . that’s why he’s dead. He got taken advantage of. He didn’t know how things worked. But he wanted to. I know I only had that one short conversation, but . . . I think his heart was in the right place.’ Eyas sipped her iced tea and paused. ‘This is delicious.’

  Sunny nodded. ‘M Tsai is a legend in the kitchen. Used to work in imports, so she’s got all kinds of spices and stuff. I’m honestly stoked she’s making biscuits.’ He sipped his own drink. ‘But again, not why you’re here.’ He looked at her with kind eyes. ‘It makes sense that you’re still upset about it.’

  Eyas shook her head. He was getting the wrong idea. ‘I’m not here because I’m upset. If I needed a counsellor, I’d go see a counsellor.’

  ‘Talking to friends is okay, too, y’know.’

  ‘I didn’t mean – I know. And I appreciate it. But I don’t want to sit around and be sad. I want to do something about it.’

  ‘Okay.’ He leaned back thoughtfully. ‘What’d you have in mind?’

  ‘You know the emigrant resource centres, right? With their workshops and such. How to speak proper Klip, how to live alongside aliens. Everything you need to know before you move planetside. That’s what our ancestors were trying to prepare us for, right? That’s why the Fleet exists. Except that’s not the point of the Fleet anymore, not entirely. I’m not here to shepherd people along to new planets. I care for the ones who made their lives here. And you – you’re the same, only in present tense. We both want to make life good for the people who choose to stay. So . . . why don’t we have the opposite?’

  ‘The opposite of what?’

  ‘Classes. Workshops. Resources for grounders who want to live in the Fleet. We have nothing for them right now. We have homes standing empty, and jobs unfilled, and we’re . . . what? Hoping that the next generation will want to stick around more than the last? Look, if it was a matter of everybody wanting to leave here, fine. But that’s not the case. People aren’t just staying in the Fleet. They’re coming back. We have such disdain for outsiders who come and act like this is a museum, but what about the Sawyers? What about the people who don’t have a place out there, who think that our way of life has some appeal? We look at them and we say, oh, stupid city kids, stupid Martians, they don’t know how things are. They don’t understand how life works out here. So, let’s teach them. Let’s teach them, instead of brushing them off and laughing behind their backs. Let’s bring them in.’

  Sunny took that in. ‘Huh,’ he said. He took a long sip of his tea, looked over his shoulder to verify that his nephew had indeed left the shears alone, then set his drink back down. ‘Huh. That is . . . not a terrible idea.’ He paused. ‘That’s a great idea, actually.’

  ‘Thank you.’

  ‘You could totally get council support for it, too. They’d be all over it, especially given your . . .’ He gestured. ‘What you do.’

  ‘My thinking exactly.’ Some of the Exodan resources for Exodan problems types might be harder to sway, but – come on. Who could argue with a caretaker who wanted some resource allotments in the name of preserving tradition?

  He nodded. ‘And you want to teach?’

  ‘Not full-time, and not alone. Think about the resource centres. Most of those people put in an hour here, a day there. All sorts of different professions helping out. It has to be that way, if the centres want to give people a proper toolkit. So, we’d need to do the same. Get people with jobs you don’t find elsewhere in the galaxy to explain what it is we do and why.’

  ‘“We”.’

  ‘Yes. I want you to do it with me, if you’re interested.’

  ‘Wow, okay. Um . . . hmm. I’m not sure I’d be much of a teacher.’

  ‘Why not?’

  ‘I was an awful student. I’ve told you. The laziest.’

  ‘Academic prowess and base intelligence are two separate things.’

  ‘See? I could never make a sentence like that on the fly.’

  ‘So? That’s ideal, actually. That was a boring sentence, and the last thing we want to be is boring. You’re charismatic. You know how to talk to people. You’d be great at this.’

  ‘You’re serious.’

  ‘Completely.’

  ‘Okay.’ He crossed an arm over his stomach and scratched his chin with the other. ‘Well . . . can I think about it a bit?’

  ‘Of course. Take some time, see how it sits.’

  ‘In the meantime, can I give you something to think about?’

  ‘Always.’

  Sunny stared up at the ceiling for a moment, as if the words he was looking for were up there. ‘Obviously, I don’t have plans on going anywhere soon, and I know we live on different ships, but whenever my time comes – how would you feel about . . . y’know. Taking care of me.’

  Eyas set down her glass. ‘Yes, absolutely. You can put in a request for a specific caretaker at your deck’s Centre. We’re all part of the same guild, so they’d contact me.’

  He laughed. ‘So you don’t need to think about that one.’

  She paused. ‘Sorry, I treated that like a practical question, didn’t I?’

  ‘Yep.’

  She laughed as well. ‘Sorry.’ Stars, here he’d asked her something profound and she’d responded like a formwork header.

  He folded his hands on the table. ‘Treat it like an emotional question.’

  She looked down at her drink. ‘I’d be honoured,’ she said. ‘That means a lot to me, that you want that.’

  Sunny smiled. ‘And it would mean a lot to me to know that the person who will take care of me is a whole person. Not just a symbol.’ He stopped, and his smile grew. ‘You’ll be happy to know we can stop being corny now, because I have some great news.’

  ‘What’s that?’

  He gave a dramatic sniff and pointed at the air. ‘Biscuits.’

  Isabel

  Of all the places Isabel might’ve guessed Ghuh’loloan would want to make a repeat visit to, her hex was at the bottom of the list. The First Generation murals, perhaps, or a musical performance, or the plaza oxygen garden. But no, this distinguished academic from an equally distinguished species wanted to spend one of her final days in the Fleet in hex 224-613’s common area. She was in their far more humble garden now, surrounded by shrieking kids. Shrieking, laughing, soaking-wet kids.

  ‘Again! Do it again!’ one of the relatively older kids cried in Klip. The others echoed him in tiny accents: ‘Again! Again!’

  ‘Again?’ Ghuh’loloan said, her tentacles dancing with amusement. ‘Are you quite sure?’

  ‘Yes!’

  ‘As you wish.’ She gestured to her cart, and the kids flailed with knowing anticipation as a panel opened. Out flew Ghuh’loloan’s mistbot, a floating globe filled with cool water, designed to refresh Harmagian skin whenever the need arose. Nothing about Ghuh’loloan’s face approximated Human expression, but nonetheless, Isabel could discern the unbridled glee her collea
gue felt as she directed the bot to deploy itself, for the fifth time now, over the kids’ heads. They screamed and giggled, running aimlessly in the steady drizzle.

  ‘Again! Again!’

  ‘I’m afraid that will have to do, dear children,’ Ghuh’loloan said, ‘or I will have none left.’

  Isabel stepped in, venturing into the splash zone. ‘That’s enough now,’ she said in Ensk. ‘Let’s give Ghuh’loloan a break, hmm?’

  There was some mild protesting, but the kids were too wound up now to hang around doing nothing. They dispersed in bits and pieces, running off to play with toys or raid the kitchen or shake their soggy hair at their parents.

  ‘It is a truly singular experience,’ Ghuh’loloan said, ‘living alongside your offspring and your offspring’s offspring.’

  Isabel took a seat on a nearby bench. ‘An experience you wish you’d had?’ she asked.

  The Harmagian let out a rolling laugh. ‘Oh, stars, no. This is madness. Wonderful, too, dear host, but I enjoy it for the novelty. I could not do this every day. I admire your species for its stamina in this regard. And your patience.’

  ‘Oh, we run out of patience plenty,’ Isabel said. She glanced aside. Tamsin was seated nearby, out of earshot, but within plain sight. Isabel had thought she’d been watching the mistbot shenanigans, but though they had ended, she remained, her hands busy with a broken vox, her eyes on the alien. Isabel caught her wife’s gaze, waved her over, and continued speaking to Ghuh’loloan. ‘You don’t miss them? Your children, I mean. When they’re growing up.’

  ‘It is not the same for us,’ Ghuh’loloan said. She bowed her eyestalks in acknowledgement as Tamsin joined Isabel on the bench. ‘It is not an experience we have, so there is nothing to miss. Children are kept in nursery pools, tutelage villages, and universities. I was never in the homes of either of my parents until I was an adult, and I never lived there. It would not have occurred to me to want that.’ She looked around the hex. ‘You would think a communal home would not feel so strange to me, as I live in an Aandrisk city. But their homes are not like yours. You are different, dear hosts. You are unique.’

  Tamsin leaned forward. ‘But are we worth it?’ She spoke the words without hesitation, as if they’d been sitting on her tongue for tendays.

  Isabel knew they had been, and she couldn’t believe they’d been let out. ‘Tamsin.’

  Her wife was as unconcerned as could be. ‘It’s just a question.’

  Ghuh’loloan looked puzzled. ‘Forgive me, but I do not understand.’

  ‘Do you think we’re worthy of the rest of the galaxy’s time?’ Tamsin said. ‘GC membership, donated tech, this star you gave us. Do you think we’re worth it?’

  Isabel looked away in embarrassment. She wasn’t going to fight in front of a guest, but oh, it was happening later.

  The Harmagian fanned her dactyli in thought. ‘I am here, am I not? But that is not what you are asking. You are not asking if the Reskit Institute finds you worthy of study. You are asking what I, Ghuh’loloan, think of you.’

  ‘Yes,’ Tamsin said.

  ‘That is a risky thing to ask, dear host, but I would not insult you with a dishonest answer.’ Ghuh’loloan’s eyes blinked and widened. ‘Very well. You are a species of slim means. You produce nothing beyond extra bodies to perform labour, and you have contributed nothing to the technological progress of the GC at large. You value being self-reliant, and you were, once, but now you eat our food and harvest our suns. If we kicked you out now, it would be difficult for you to sustain yourselves as you did before. And even with our help, the age of these vessels means you are constantly, irresponsibly courting a disaster like the one you’ve already weathered. These are the facts. Now, let us discuss the facts of my own species. We are the wealthiest species alive today. We want for nothing. Without us, there would be no tunnels, no ambi, no galactic map. But we achieved these things through subjugation. Violence. We destroyed entire worlds – entire species. It took a galactic war to stop us. We learned. We apologised. We changed. But we can’t give back the things we took. We’re still benefiting from them, and others are still suffering from actions centuries old. So, are we worthy? We, who give so much only because we took so much? Are you worthy, you who take without giving but have done no harm to your neighbours? Are the Aeluons worthy? Are the Quelin? Show me the species that has never wronged another. Show me who has always been perfect and fair.’ She flexed her body, her alien limbs curling strong. ‘Either we are all worthy of the Commons, dear Tamsin, or none of us are.’

  Tamsin said nothing for a moment. ‘The first Harmagian I ever saw was on a news feed, talking about how Humans didn’t belong.’

  ‘The membership hearing.’

  ‘Yeah.’

  Ghuh’loloan stretched the dactyli around her mouth. ‘The first Human I ever saw was at a spaceport, in the process of being arrested for selling unlicensed scrub fuel.’

  Tamsin gave a short chuckle. ‘Great first impressions, huh?’

  ‘Indeed.’

  Isabel looked between the two, still thrown by the turn the conversation had taken. Would Ghuh’loloan ever have said anything like this to her on one of their carefully chosen field trips, in one of their polite academic chats? Would her dear guest have been this candid if, for a moment, Isabel had stopped worrying about being a good host?

  ‘You can’t shake hands, right?’ Tamsin gestured vaguely. ‘I can’t touch your tentacle with my hand, right?’

  Ghuh’loloan reached for one of the storage compartments on her cart. ‘If you give me a moment, I believe I have some sheaths with me . . .’

  ‘Some what?’

  ‘It’s like a glove,’ Isabel said.

  ‘Oh, no, don’t go to that trouble,’ Tamsin said. ‘How would . . . do you know what shaking hands means?’

  ‘Yes,’ Ghuh’loloan said. ‘In essence.’

  ‘Do you . . . have an equivalent of that? How would you communicate something like that to me?’

  ‘It would help if I knew the specifics of what you wish to communicate.’

  Tamsin looked at Ghuh’loloan seriously. ‘Respect.’

  The Harmagian rose up on her cart, holding her body like a wave frozen in time. Her tentacles shuddered, curling and unfolding in strange symmetry. ‘Respect,’ she said.

  Tamsin took in the display, and gave a satisfied nod. ‘Right back at you.’

  Tessa

  Received message

  Encryption: 0

  Translation: 0

  From: George Santoso (path: 6159-546-46)

  To: Tessa Santoso (path: 6222-198-00)

  Tess,

  I know you’re running around like a headless hopper these days, but I’ve got a surprise for you. Go to our bench after dinner, or whenever you can manage. Leave the kids with the hex. It might take a while. And no, I won’t tell you what it is. I think you’ll like it, though.

  George

  * * *

  Tessa would never disparage her husband for being cute, but stars, she didn’t have time for this today. Aya needed help with her schoolwork – she was struggling with reading, just like her father had – Ky needed a bath, Pop needed . . . stars, what didn’t he need. A swift kick in the butt was what he needed. Besides which, the laundry needed doing, the herb garden was wilting, and the cleanerbot had glitched out again. Whatever George was up to was probably very sweet, but did it have to be today?

  She stepped off the transport pod and headed for the big plaza oxygen garden, not needing to follow the signs. She took a breath and tried to shift her mood. She was being ungrateful. Since that cargo guild meeting a tenday ago, she’d written George a half-dozen or so letters that amounted to nothing more than emotional ejection. He hadn’t had the time to respond to any of them, which she’d expected. He was busy, and had never been one for writing. She hadn’t really wanted a back-and-forth, to be perfectly honest. She’d wanted a recycling bin, a compost box, somewhere she could throw the junk clutter
ing her brain. But now he’d gone and arranged something to make her feel better – what, she had no idea. She considered the possibilities as she entered the garden and wound her way along the lush, familiar paths. A present dropped off by a friend, maybe. She hoped it was nothing performative. That wasn’t his style, but then, he wasn’t in the habit of sending her cryptic messages and making her trek through the district on a school night, either. She was being a jerk about the whole thing, she knew, but she hoped whatever it was was worth the bother. She hoped—

  Tessa froze, mid-stride. There, on a bench, with his back toward her, was George. George. Her husband, George.

  His head turned slightly at the sound of her, just a touch, no eye contact needed. ‘There’s room for two,’ he said.

  She walked up and faced him. ‘What—’ Her mouth could form no other words, and her brain was stuck on one thought and one thought alone. George. George was here. ‘What—’

  George looked around. ‘Well, this is a canteen,’ he said, lifting the container resting beside him. He patted the space to his left. ‘And this is a bench.’

  Tessa rolled her eyes. ‘What are you doing here?’ He wasn’t supposed to be back for another three tendays, at least.

  George took the lid off the canteen. A ribbon of steam unfolded as if it were alive. He filled the lid with tea and gestured for Tessa to sit. ‘I got your letters.’

  Tessa sighed and sat. ‘Stars, George. I’m fine.’

  ‘You didn’t sound fine.’

  ‘All right, fine, I’m not fine, but I’ve been not fine before without you – you running back home. You could’ve got on the sib.’

  He handed her the cup. ‘This seemed like it should be a faceto-face conversation.’ He reached into his pocket, produced a flat packet of throw-cloth, and unwrapped two big spice cookies.