The Galaxy, and the Ground Within Read online

  She pressed her palm down, even though she knew she wouldn’t be able to feel it. The shell wouldn’t harden until the egg was fertilised. It was just a soft ball of protein and instructions at this stage, which was a bizarre thing to picture within herself. She thought instead of her creche’s incubation pool, full of greenish-white speckled-shelled marvels about the size of an adult’s fist. The light in there was kept low, but sometimes one of her fathers would lift one out of the water with heartbreaking gentleness and hold it up to the window so you could see the extraordinary being inside shift and pulse. She and her siblings had been encouraged to look at that, to hang out in the pool room whenever they pleased (so long as they didn’t touch). Her fathers wanted no secrecy in the matter, especially not for the girls and shon who would produce eggs of their own one day.

  Four tendays. Pei had four tendays to get this egg fathered. After that point, the window would close, the egg would break down and be reabsorbed, and … that would be that. Opportunity lost. For most would-be mothers, there was only the one chance. This was Pei’s, apparently. She closed her eyes and pushed out what felt like every breath she’d ever taken.

  Why now?

  Pei thought about her mother, Seri. She’d never met her, but she carried her genes and her name, and knew her story well. Unlike her creche siblings, Pei had no biological relation to any of her fathers at the Tem creche; she’d been raised by them, not made by them. Seri, the story went, had been a soldier on deployment when she’d started to shimmer. Typically, soldiers entering shimmer were shipped out of combat immediately, but Seri was the commander, and the situation was one of those where she just couldn’t. So, she’d engaged in what translated as wild fathering. One of Seri’s comrades, a shon named Tova, had been the obvious pick for the task, given their close friendship, but Tova had been female at the time. Undeterred, Tova took herself to the medic, popped a hormonal cocktail, went through the shift as fast as medically possible, and had a few respectful, practical rounds of sex with his friend. The egg that had been pre-emptively named light blue glass blue misty green – in the Aeluon naming language, Gapei – was then laid in a portable emergency incubator and ferried back to uncontested space, where it was placed in the happy collective hands of the Tem creche fathers.

  Pei had been told the story many times, both from her fathers (who constantly reminded her that having a shon parent gave her good luck), and from Tova herself, who had personally come to the creche one summer day to deliver the news that Seri had been killed in combat. Pei hadn’t been old enough then to understand what that news actually meant, but not having a living mother was of no concern to her. Some children at the creche got visits from their mothers – both regular and sporadic – but just as many did not. This didn’t matter either way to an Aeluon child. A mother was a nice thing to have, but then, so was a best friend, or a close sibling, or a father you were particularly attached to. Nobody had the same mix of people in their lives. There were no requirements when it came to what constituted a family.

  And yet … Pei, as a child, had sometimes thought about the fact that none of the fathers at the creche had made her.

  It was the smallest of bothers, even then, and anyway, it shouldn’t have mattered. All three of her fathers were hers in equal measure, and that would’ve been true even if she’d shared a set of chromosomes with one of them. Any child raised by a father was his child, and all the children understood this. But sometimes, as a girl, Pei had taken note of the similarities that were expressly not spoken of – the way her brother Kam laughed like Father Le, the fact that Dux and Tre had the exact same eyes, the way her siblings Hib and Malen looked practically identical despite being four years apart. Pei looked like no one at the creche, and though this did not make her feel any less loved, it did, on occasion, make her feel slightly unanchored. She wanted to feel that through-line, unremarked upon as it was. Once she’d learned about shimmer and how it all worked, she’d made the firm decision that whenever her time came she’d go to a creche and have her egg fathered properly. It was better, sometimes, to have an unremarkable story.

  But now, here she was, stuck on a nothing planet in the middle of nowhere, with no idea how far away the nearest creche was, facing down the strong possibility that she was going to have to— a realisation hit her, and she covered her face with her hand. Fucking hell, she was travelling alone. Her ship wasn’t nearby. If this had happened two tendays ago, she would’ve asked her pilot Oxlen to help her take care of it, and he would’ve said yes, and they’d have a good laugh at each other afterward, because that’s what friends did. But Oxlen wasn’t here, or any of the rest of her crew. If there weren’t any creches nearby, she’d have to find … someone.

  Just … someone.

  The idea made uncomfortable yellow seep slowly across her cheeks, but if that’s how it was, that’s how it was. Gora was a crowded planet, and she’d seen plenty of Aeluon ships in orbit. Maybe Ouloo would know someone. Pei relaxed a touch at this idea. All right, it didn’t have to be a complete stranger, just a stranger that the relative stranger she was docked with now could vouch for as being decent.

  She wrapped her forearms across her face.

  She didn’t want to talk to Ouloo about this. Oxlen wasn’t there, but if he had been, she wouldn’t have wanted to talk to him either. She didn’t want her friends or her fathers or the mother she’d never met.

  In that moment, the only person she wanted to talk to was Ashby.

  Day 238, GC Standard 307

  THESE DISRUPTIONS WERE UNANTICIPATED

  Node identifier: 4443-115-69, Roveg

  Feed source: Galactic Commons Reference Files – Local Access/Offline Version (Public/Klip)

  Node path: 239-23-235-7

  Node access password: Tup0IsGr3at

  Archival search: Akarak history and culture

  Top results:

  Akari (planet)

  The Harmagian Colonial Era

  Harmagian colonisation of Akari

  The Hashkath Accords

  Galactic Commons Membership Hearings (Akarak, GC standard 261) Ihreet

  Akarak anatomy

  Modern Akarak diaspora and recorded subcultures

  Selected file: Galactic Commons Parliamentary Session, public record 3223-3488-5, recorded 55/261 (highlighted text – Akarak representative)

  Encryption: 0

  Translation path: 0

  Transcription: [vid:text]

  Effective immediately, the Akarak Gathering is formally closing our negotiation channels with the GC Parliament, and withdrawing our pending application for GC membership. If this news comes as a surprise, allow us to remind you of our history with your government.

  Following the signing of the Hashkath Accords, the Sapient Sovereignty Act went into effect, in which all homeworlds colonized by Harmagian invaders were returned to their original inhabitants. Akari, of course, had no relevant natural resources nor sustainable ecosystems left at this point, making it impossible for us to survive there. We requested a supply line from the GC, in which the resources necessary to rebuild and continue life on Akari would be delivered to us as needed. This request was refused on the basis that the Colonial Wars had put severe strain on existing resource stockpiles, and there was no surplus to be spared. Your needs were greater than ours, in effect. Instead, we were granted refugee status in what you had designated as your space. Eventually, our repeated demands for citizenship were heard, and we were promised a new system to settle in.

  We have waited nearly two centuries for this.

  Our environmental needs were too challenging, you told us at first. We have searched and searched, but have not yet found a suitable world.

  Then build us a world, we said. Terraform a planet for us, as you have done for yourselves.

  We have a new law, you said. The Biodiversity Preservation Agreement. It is now illegal to terraform planets that have so much as a microbe on them, as we don’t want to disrupt future evolutionary p
athways.

  Surely, we said, our extant species is more important than a hypothetical biosphere that may or may not arise a billion years from now.

  It is the law, you said.

  There must be a solution, we said. Our children are hungry. The Harmagian ships we scavenged are old and breaking. You give us rations and tech, but we need a world. We need a home. We need to be able to provide for ourselves. Give us habitat domes. Orbiters. Something.

  Those kinds of concessions require you to have an organisational structure that we can interface with, and we don’t understand yours, you said. You have no formal government.

  Fine, we said. We’ll make a government for you. We’ll make an organisation you will recognise.

  We’re still confused, you said. We were negotiating with your representatives, and then we had to file motions and wait for processes and debate with each other, because that is the only way to do things, in Parliament. We’ve come back with options, but we don’t know who to talk to now.

  That’s because you took five standards to do so, and the representatives you were working with grew old and died. Someone new had to take their place.

  We can’t negotiate like this, you said. Every time we talk to you, we have to start over. How are we supposed to negotiate without consistency?

  Indeed. Let us discuss consistency.

  The only consistency we have had from you is the word no. The only matter in which the GC has proven itself constant is in explaining to us why the things we ask for are impossible. And yet, elsewhere, you have proved yourselves extremely capable of creating possibilities. We have all seen the news about the Human species being granted full GC membership. The Human species, which destroyed its own world and which no one in the GC knew existed seventy-five standards ago. You will grant them full rights. You will give them a star to park their ships around. You will allow them to build colonies. When we expressed our outrage about this, we were told that the circumstances were so very different with them. Humans breathe the same air you do. Their ways were easier for you to understand. They don’t die in the middle of political talks.

  How convenient for you, to at last work with a species whose bodies are compatible with your bureaucracy.

  Our time in this galaxy is, as you have constantly reminded us, limited. We will no longer waste it on waiting for you to do what is right.

  SPEAKER

  The sound of an incoming message took Speaker from dead asleep to wide awake in the span of a digital chime. She grabbed her scrib from where it had lain beside her as she slept. She read the text, and hope immediately shifted into confusion.

  A mail drone has arrived.

  Do you accept this delivery?

  Speaker squinted at the screen. That had to be a mistake, a misfire of some random satellite dying above. She dismissed the alert, set the scrib down, rolled over, and shut her eyes.

  A few seconds passed before the scrib chimed again.

  A mail drone has arrived.

  Do you accept this delivery?

  Speaker clicked her beak with annoyance. There was no way this could be a legitimate signal. Even if that were possible with the comms network in pieces, she hadn’t ordered anything. Who would be sending her cargo here?

  ‘Display sender details,’ she said to the scrib. She anticipated nonsense in reply.

  4443-115-69, the screen read. Sender: Roveg.

  Speaker remained confused, but intrigue crept in.

  ‘Accept delivery,’ she said, and got out of her hammock.

  The boxy drone that came through the airlock was unlike any she’d seen before. It was small, for a start – smaller than Speaker herself, and a far cry from the huge delivery crates she and Tracker usually had to clamber up. The drones she was accustomed to always flew themselves in and landed on the floor, but this one, in contrast, walked. The drone had what looked like a flight module on the back, but the locomotion it currently utilised was that of ten mechanical legs bent out from the sides of the box, marching along in steady obedience. The style of movement was undeniably Quelin, an impression Speaker likely would’ve had even if the sender of this cute little thing had been unknown. And it was cute, in an eerie way. As soon as it was clear of the hatch, it folded its legs up and threw its lid open, as if to say, Hello! I’ve arrived!

  Speaker crawled over to the drone, peered inside, and was filled with wonder. The box contained food, none of which she recognised but all of which looked beautiful. There were yellow things and blue things and white things and leafy things – all fruits and vegetables, seemingly – cut into crescents and spirals, some raw, some cooked, some dusted with sugar or spice or salt. Each culinary mystery was packaged in a neat bundle of translucent wrapping and tied with thin, shiny ribbon. She had no idea what any of it was, no idea how to eat it, and no idea why this was being given to her. This reaction had apparently been anticipated, because resting atop the enticing contents was a small box that wasn’t food. It had no lid, no visible seams, only a small button and a hand-printed message that read Press this.

  She pressed it.

  The box popped open, and as Speaker jumped back, a burst of confetti-like pixels shot out, danced around, then dove back inside. The device extended an arm upward, and from this, a written message in a rectangular frame projected into the air above it.

  Good morning, Speaker! I was hoping you might join me aboard my shuttle for breakfast. As I know you’re unable to leave your suit, I thought perhaps you could pack these into your cockpit and join me in that fashion. I tried to make everything small enough to fit into your compartment (and hope I estimated correctly). I also took the liberty of researching what your species can safely eat, so I’m fairly confident all of these will be suitable for you (though, as I’m sure you know your needs best, the ingredients are printed on the ribbons on each package, just in case).

  If this idea doesn’t suit, or you simply don’t feel like coming by, please enjoy these tidbits in your own time and your own space. I will not take offence.

  Your temporary neighbour,

  Roveg

  Speaker sat in stunned silence. She picked up one of the bundles and held it in both hands. Beneath the wrapping, there were long, artful curlicues of something purple and earthy, flecked with green seeds and cut with a steady hand. Or steady toes, rather. Whatever Quelin appendages were called.

  She placed the bundle back in the box with care, and went to ready her suit.

  PEI

  Ouloo was not difficult to find. Pei spotted her with a paint tube in her forepaw, touching up the fuel shed where it had been worn by the clumsy comings and goings of algae barrels.

  ‘Can I help?’ Pei said as she approached.

  Ouloo craned her neck around. ‘Captain Tem! Are you feeling better?’

  Pei freckled yellow and red, a touch embarrassed over her exit the night before. Making a fuss was not her style. ‘Yes, I’m fine, thanks. Some good sleep put me right. It was just time lag, I think.’

  This was entirely untrue, because Pei had barely slept at all, and wasn’t time lagged in the slightest, but the excuse seemed to work for Ouloo. ‘Oh, you wouldn’t be the first. I had a Human here two tendays ago who was so out of sync he slept right through his turn in the tunnel queue.’ She raised herself on her back legs so she could paint a high-up spot. The effort made her pant ever so slightly.

  ‘Can I help?’ Pei asked again.

  ‘Oh, no, no, no,’ Ouloo said. ‘I’ve got it, and I wouldn’t dream of putting guests to work.’

  ‘What if I like painting?’ Pei asked. ‘What if painting’s the thing I want to do most right now? You said if there was anything I wanted, I should tell you.’

  Ouloo threw her a sceptical look. ‘That’s cheating.’

  Pei laughed and picked up another spray tube from the nearby cart of paint supplies. ‘I can only take so many baths, Ouloo. And I could do with something other than sitting around.’

  ‘Well …’ The Laru huffe
d. ‘Fine, if you really want to.’

  Pei didn’t feel one way or the other about painting, but it was something to do, and honestly, she welcomed the opportunity to help. She felt sorry for Ouloo, trying so hard to be a good host in the midst of all this. ‘Any news beyond the emergency updates?’ she asked. She searched the wall for the nearest scuff.

  ‘No, nothing,’ Ouloo sighed. ‘I wish they’d let us leave the dome. I’ve been wondering how my neighbours are doing. I mean, I’m sure we’re all in the same boat, but it’s uncomfortable not being able to check in.’

  ‘Your friends didn’t send a note back?’

  ‘No. Which is good, honestly, because their lights have been on, and them not sending anything means they’re busy but not in a bad way. Or the worst way, I suppose. I wish I could say that’s made me stop worrying.’

  Pei began to spray paint as needed – a simple task, but quietly pleasant. ‘Do you know all your neighbours well?’ she asked.

  ‘Oh, we have a wonderfully supportive community. It’s interesting – everybody’s in their own bubble, and everything is designed for self-reliance. The only things we share between ourselves are, well, comms and power.’ She gave a small laugh at these, the things they no longer had. ‘It’s all very to-each-their-own here, but we help each other out. Someone might look after someone else’s comms while they’re away, or loan each other some spare tech if needed. Tupo goes over to the gambling house across the way every couple of tendays to practise xyr Hanto.’

  ‘Good for xyr,’ Pei said. Hanto was a smart thing for the kid to have in xyr pocket, no matter where xe wanted to go. (Not that Laru had pockets, but still.)

  Ouloo gave her a flat look. ‘Xe’s dreadful at it,’ she laughed, ‘but then, so am I, and at least xe’s trying. Xe could be trying harder, but …’ She trailed off, and in doing so, said all that was needed about her losing battle against preadolescence. ‘Anyway. The point is, it’s a great bunch of people on Gora. Or in this corner of it, at least. It’s made me twitchy the past few days, not knowing how everyone else is doing. Nice to know I can take care of almost everything on my own—’ she gave a nod in the direction of the solar generator and the life support system ‘—but that isn’t how I like it. Did you see people flashing their lights last night?’