The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet Read online

  “Maybe a little of both. Let’s have your pros.”

  “Leaving the ship. That’s a big one. I don’t feel like I’m missing out as I am now, but you all seem to have so much fun when you hop over to orbiters or down planetside.”

  “What else?”

  “Having dinner with the crew. Face-to-face conversations. Seeing the sky from the ground.” She paused. “Having the ability to be a real companion for you. You know, with all the trimmings.”

  Even sitting down, Jenks felt his knees go weak.

  Lovey sighed. “It’s a frivolous line of thinking, with things as they are. But even so, you haven’t answered my question.”

  “What question?”

  “What kind of body would you want me to have? Or perhaps a better question is, what do you find pretty?”

  “That’s…I’m not sure I can sum that up easily. It really depends on the person.”

  “Hmm. Okay, what did the women you’ve coupled with before look like?”

  Jenks let out a hearty laugh. “Are you making a database?”

  She paused. “Maybe.”

  Jenks gave a fond smirk. “Lovey, if you were able to have a body, it should look how you want it to look.” He relaxed back into the wall and trailed his fingers down a bundle of cables. “I’d find you pretty in any package.”

  “Stars, you’re so full of it,” Lovey laughed. “But that’s why I love you.”

  ●

  Feed source: The Thread - The Official News Source of the Exodan Fleet (Public/Klip)

  Item name/date: Evening News Summary - Galactic - 130/306

  Encryption: 0

  Translation path: 0

  Transcription: [vid:text]

  Node identifier: 7182-312-95, Ashby Santoso

  Hello, and welcome to our evening update. I’m Quinn Stephens. We begin tonight’s headline summary with news from the Fleet.

  Yesterday marked the fourth anniversary of the Oxomoco disaster. Memorial events were held throughout the fleet in commemoration the deaths of the 43,756 Exodans who lost their lives after a transport crash, compounded by fatigued bulkheads on the Oxomoco, lead to rapid decompression of several lodging decks. Yesterday, all major Fleet vessels turned off their lights for two minutes at fourteen-sixteen, the time of the accident. The disaster was also commemorated on Mars this year, with the unveiling of a memorial statue in the Samurakami Botanical Gardens. Martian President Kevin Liu was present at the ceremony, and dedicated the memorial to “the families aboard the Oxomoco, and to all our courageous brothers and sisters in the Fleet.” Fleet Admiral Ranya May thanked the Martian government for the gesture, stating, “Our two societies no longer turn a blind eye to the tragedies that befall the other. This is a testament to how far we have come in our efforts to close the gap between us.”

  In other Fleet news, the Marabunta scare aboard the Newet is finally over. The last remaining patient has been released from quarantine and granted a clean bill of health. The Fleet health office is confident that no traces of the virus remain aboard Fleet vessels. A statement released this morning reminds all Fleet denizens and boarders to schedule regular imubot upgrades with their health care providers, and to not take chances with unlicensed tech implant clinics. It is believed that the Marabunta virus was brought aboard the Newet by an individual who recently patronized a fringe colony implant clinic. In response to the outbreak, the health office is working to upgrade docking bay scanners throughout the fleet, in order to better detect individuals carrying hijacked bots.

  Next tenday is the thirty-first annual Bug Fry Festival aboard the Dou Mu. The transportation office anticipates high amounts of shuttle traffic and docking bay delays throughout the duration of the festival. All persons traveling between ships are advised to plan accordingly, even if you do not intend on attending the festival.

  In the news from the Solar Republic, former Phobos Fuel CEO Quentin Harris the third was officially indicted on charges of weapons smuggling, conspiracy, and crimes against sapient kind. Harris is alleged to have been instrumental in a smuggling ring that delivered illegal weapons, including gene-targeters, to several Toremi clans, who are currently engaged in a civil war. Harris was arrested earlier this standard after a data cache of evidence documenting his involvement with the smuggling ring was uploaded to several Linking feeds. Harris claims that the evidence has been falsified by business rivals, and has plead not guilty.

  In the news from the independent Human colonies, the construction of a new water reclamation plant on Seed was halted last tenday after the discovery of ancient Arkanic artifacts. A satellite scan has confirmed the presence of expansive Arkanic ruins throughout the Refuge Foothills region. Though the GC academic community is hailing the find for its historical significance, the discovery has caused problems for the Seed municipality, who have been suffering chronic water shortages. Alexandria University and the Hashkath Institute of Interstellar Migration have assembled a joint archaelogical survey team to study the site. The Seed municipal government has filed an official aid request to the Diaspora, in hopes of receiving funding to purchase portable water reclamators as a stopgap measure.

  In galactic news, the Hok Pres border war continues to intensify as Aeluon troops enter their third standard year of armed conflict with the Rosk Synergy. The deaths of twenty-six GC civilians on Kaelo were reported this morning, following a Rosk bombing run. Though the Aeluon government has released few details concerning their military efforts, reports from the area indicate that there has been an increase in Aeluon troop deployment throughout the Kaelo region.

  This concludes the evening update. Our morning update will be ready to access at tenth hour tomorrow. For more in-depth coverage on these stories and more, provided in both vid and text, connect to the Thread feed via scrib or neural patch. Thank you, and fly safely.

  Day 131, GC Standard 306

  BLIND PUNCH

  Breakfast was laid out on the kitchen counter when Rosemary returned to the Fishbowl in the morning. Two big bowls of fruit (stored in the stasie, by the look of the pale skin), a basket of unfamiliar pastries, and a large hotpot full of some sort of dark brown porridge. Dr. Chef stood behind the counter, chopping vegetables with two handfeet, drying cutlery with another pair. His cheeks puffed out as she approached.

  “Good morning!” he said. “How’d you sleep?”

  “Not bad,” she said, climbing onto a stool. “Woke up a little confused a few times.”

  Dr. Chef nodded. “It’s never easy sleeping in a new place. You’re lucky we had a Human-style bed already installed in that cabin. When I first joined the crew, I had to wait a few days before we got furniture I could fit myself into.” He gestured to the food on the counter. “Breakfast here is a help-yourself affair, as is lunch. Snacks are available throughout the day, so stop by whenever you’re peckish. Oh, and there’s always tea. You can get yourself a cup anytime you like.” He pointed toward two large decanters, perched on the far end of the counter. A rack of mugs rested alongside. There were two hand-drawn labels affixed to the decanters. “Happy Tea!” read one, above a drawing of a wide-eyed, grinning Human with frizzy hair standing on end. “Boring Tea,” read the other. The Human drawn there looked content, but indifferent. The handwriting was the same as the sign on the Fishbowl door. Kizzy’s.

  “Boring tea?” Rosemary asked.

  “No caffeine. Just a lovely, normal herbal tea,” said Dr. Chef. “I’ll never understand why you Humans like the jittery stuff so much. As a doctor, I hate starting off your mornings with stimulants, but as a cook, I understand how important breakfast habits are.” He wagged one of his pudgy fingers at her. “But no more than three cups a day, and definitely not on an empty stomach.”

  “Don’t worry,” Rosemary said, reaching for a mug. “I’m more of a boring tea person myself.” Dr. Chef looked pleased. She pointed at the rolls. “These smell wonderful. What are they?”

  The answer came from behind. “Smoky buns!” Kizzy cheered. S
he jumped onto a stool and grabbed one of the yellowish pastries. She began to eat with one hand and dished out some porridge with the other.

  “Smoky buns?”

  “Yet another thing from my home that doesn’t have an easily translatable name,” said Dr. Chef.

  “He makes ‘em every time we tunnel,” Kizzy said, loading up a plate with an additional bun and a pile of fruit.

  “They’re good, solid fuel for a hard day of work.” He squinted at Kizzy as she filled a mug with happy tea. “Unlike that.”

  “I know, I know, three cup limit, I promise,” she said. She turned to Rosemary, cupping her mug between her palms. “What’s the verdict on the curtains?”

  “They’re great,” Rosemary said. “They make things feel homey.” It was true. She’d almost forgotten that she was no longer living planetside until she’d drawn the curtains back that morning and found a stellar system floating majestically right outside. Even though she had traveled between planets before, the notion that she was now living out in the open still hadn’t sunk in.

  She bit down into a smoky bun. The bread was airy soft, the unidentified filling rich and savory, somewhat reminiscent of roasted mushrooms. Smoky, yes, but also lightly spiced, with just the right amount of salt. She looked up to Dr. Chef, who was watching her eagerly. “These are amazing.”

  Dr. Chef beamed. “The filling’s made from jeskoo. I think you Solans call it white tree fungus. Rather different than the ingredients I grew up with, but it’s a good approximation. And the buns are high in protein, too. I supplement the grain with mealworm flour.”

  “He won’t tell us his recipe,” Kizzy said. “Bastard’s going to take it to his grave.”

  “Grum don’t have graves.”

  “To the bottom of the ocean, then. That’s even worse than a grave. Graves you can at least dig up.” She shook a bun at him. “Some dumb fish is going to eat whatever part of your brain stores this recipe, and we’ll all be lost without it.”

  “Better eat them while you can, then,” Dr. Chef said. His cheeks gave a fluttering puff. Rosemary had deduced that the faster the puffs, the bigger the “smile.”

  “So,” Kizzy said, turning her attention to Rosemary. “This is your first time tagging along for a punch, right?”

  “Sorry, a what?” Rosemary said.

  Kizzy chuckled. “That answers my question. A punch is the act of making a tunnel.”

  “Oh, right.” Rosemary sipped her tea. Slightly sweet, nothing special. Okay, so it was a little boring, but comforting nonetheless. “I was actually wondering…” She paused, not wanting to sound stupid. “I know I’ll never have to help out with the tunneling stuff, but I’d like to have a better understanding of how it works.”

  Kizzy pressed her lips together with excitement. “You want me to give you a crash course?”

  “If it’s no trouble, that is.”

  “Oh, stars and buckets, of course it’s no trouble. I am flattered and you are adorable. Um, right, okay. Have you taken any courses in interspatial manipulation? Probably not, huh?”

  “Can’t say that I have.”

  “Space-time topology?”

  “Nope.”

  “Transdimensional theory?”

  Rosemary made an apologetic face.

  “Aww!” said Kizzy, clasping her hands over her heart. “You’re a physics virgin! Okay, okay, we’ll keep this simple.” She looked around the counter for props. “Okay, cool, here. The area above my bowl of porridge” — she gestured importantly — “is the fabric of space. The porridge itself is the sublayer — basically the space in between space. And this groob” — she picked up a small black fruit from her plate — “is the Wayfarer.”

  “Oh, I can’t wait to see this,” Dr. Chef said, resting his top arms on the opposite side of the counter.

  Kizzy cleared her throat and straightened up. “So, here’s us.” She swooped the berry over the bowl. “We’ve got two ends of space to connect, right? Here and here.” She pressed her finger down into the porridge, making indentations on opposite ends of the bowl. “So we travel to one end — whoosh — and all the people seeing us fly by are like, oh my stars, look at that totally amazing ship, what genius tech patched together such a thing, and I’m like, oh, that’s me, Kizzy Shao, you can all name your babies after me – whooosh — and then we get to our start point.” She hovered the berry above the disappearing dent in the porridge. “Once we’re in position, I turn on the interspatial bore. Did you see it when you flew in? Big ol’ monstro machine strapped to our belly? It’s a beast. Runs on ambi cells. Our entire ship couldn’t hold the amount of algae you’d need to power it. Oh, and fair warning, it’s noisy as hell, so don’t freak out while its doing its thing. We’re not blowing up or anything. So, yes. Bore warms up. Then we punch.” She slammed the berry down into the porridge. “And then it gets weird.”

  “Weird how?” Rosemary said.

  “Well, we’re just squishy little three-dimensional creatures. Our brains can’t process what goes on in the sublayer. Technically, the sublayer is outside of what we consider normal time. Understanding what’s going on in there is like…it’s like telling someone — a Human, I mean — to see in infrared. We just can’t do it. So, in the sublayer, you feel that something is wrong with the world, but you can’t put your finger on what it is. It’s very, very weird. Have you ever done daffy?”

  Rosemary blinked. Where she was from, people didn’t casually ask about illegal hallucinogens over breakfast. “Ah, no, I haven’t.”

  “Hmm. Well, it’s kind of like that. Your visual perception and sense of time gets all fucked up, but the difference is that you’re fully in control of your actions. When you’re studying for your tunneling license — that’s separate from basic tech studies, so believe me when I say I’m super glad I’ll never have to set foot in a school again — you have to practice stuff like fixing the engines or entering in commands after taking a dose of sophro, which is basically a dumbed-down, government-issued version of daffy. Worst homework ever, I assure you. But you get used to it.” She stuck her fingers into the porridge, getting a grip on the hidden berry. “Okay, so while we’re all tripping balls, the ship’s pushing through the sublayer, dropping buoys to force the tunnel open. The buoys are there for two reasons. One, they keep the tunnel from collapsing, and two, they generate this field made up of all the same strings and particles and stuff that normal space is made out of.”

  Rosemary nodded. “Artificial space.” Finally, a concept she somewhat understood. “But why do that?”

  “So that it’s an easy ride for anybody traveling though. That’s why you don’t notice a difference when you tunnel hop.”

  “And none of this messes up the space outside? I mean, here in our space?”

  “Nope, not if you do it right. That’s why we’re pros.”

  Rosemary nodded toward the porridge. “So how do we get out of the sublayer?”

  “Okay,” Kizzy said. She started pushing the groob through the porridge. “Once we get to our exit point, we bust back through.” She shoved a spoon under the groob, catapult style, and raised her fist.

  “Kizzy,” said Dr. Chef, his voice even. “If you launch porridge all over my nice clean countertop — ”

  “I won’t. I just realized this won’t work. My genius demonstration is flawed.” She frowned. “I can’t fold porridge.”

  “Here,” said Dr. Chef. He handed her two cloth napkins. “One for your hands, one for educational purposes.”

  “Ah!” said Kizzy, cleaning the porridge from her fingers. “Perfecto.” She held up the clean napkin, gripping two opposite corners. “Okay. You know the big grid-like spheres surrounding tunnel openings, with all the blinky warning lights and crackly lightning stuff coming off the joints? Those are containment cages. They keep space from ripping open any farther than we want it to. You have to have one cage on each end of the tunnel.” She gestured with the corners of the napkin. “So if we’ve got one cage at
this end, and another cage at this end, we’ve got to construct a tunnel that effectively makes it so that this” — she stretched the corners far apart from one another — “is the same thing as this” — she brought the corners together.

  Rosemary frowned. She had a rough idea of how tunnels worked, but she’d never been able to make the idea stick. “Okay, so, the cages are light-years apart. They’re not in the same place. But…they behave as if they were in the same space?”

  “Pretty much. It’s like a doorway connecting two rooms, only the rooms are on opposite sides of town.”

  “So, the only place the distance between those two points has been changed is…within the tunnel?”

  Kizzy grinned. “Physics is a bitch, right?”

  Rosemary stared at the napkin, struggling to make her three-dimensional brain work with these concepts. “How do you get the cages in place? Wouldn’t it take forever to travel from one end to the other?”

  “Gold star for the lady in the pretty yellow top!” Kizzy said. “You are totally correct. That’s why there are two different ways of building a tunnel. The easy way is what we call an anchored punch. These take place in systems that already have existing tunnels connecting them to other places. So, say you want to connect Stellar System A to Stellar System B. Both System A and System B already connect to System C. You drop a cage in System A. You hop through the existing tunnel from System A to System C. Then you hop from System C to System B. You drop the second cage, then you punch back to System A.”

  Rosemary nodded. “That makes sense. Sounds like a roundabout way to get there, though.”

  “Oh, definitely, and it’s rarely a two-hop trip like that. Especially if the tunnels connect to different planets within the system. Usually takes us a few tendays to get between jobs, sometimes more if we’ve got a lot of space to cover. That’s part of what Sissix does, charting the fastest ways to get between existing tunnels.”

  Rosemary took a second bun and cracked it open. A puff of steam rose from the fragrant pocket within. “What if the system you’re tunneling to isn’t connected to anywhere?”