Becky Chambers - Record of a Spaceborn Few

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This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the authors imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

RECORD OF A SPACEBORN FEW . Copyright 2018 by Becky Chambers. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.

Cover design by Richard L. Aquan

Cover illustration Christopher Doll

Originally published in Great Britain in 2018 by Hodder & Stoughton, a Hachette UK company.

FIRST US EDITION

Digital Edition JULY 2018 ISBN: 978-0-06-269923-7

Version 06252018

Print ISBN: 978-0-06-269922-0

For Anne, who showed me I could.

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This book had the unusual experience of starting with one editor and ending with a different one. This is the sort of thing that would make a writer panic (and there may have been a bit of that), but my luck on both sides of this equation has been amazing. Thanks forever to Anne Perry, who pulled me out of the weeds and gave me a place to lay down roots, and to Oliver Johnson, who helped me find the rhythm of the whole thing. Thanks, too, to Sam Bradbury, Jason Bartholomew, Fleur Clarke, Becca Mundy, and the entire team at Hodder.

On the science side, the Exodan caretaking tradition was inspired by real-world efforts to establish human composting as a funerary practice. Big thanks to Katrina Spade of the Urban Death Project and Recompose for taking the time to chat with me and answer my questions. Additional thanks to Mom and Dad for letting me bug them about gravity.

As always, Id be nowhere without my posse: my family, my friends, and Berglaug the incredible. Much love to all of you.

With the exception of the prologue, the timeline in this book begins during the final events of The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet.

The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet

A Closed and Common Orbit

Received message

Encryption: 0

Translation: 0

From: Ashby Santoso (path: 7182-312-95)

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

Hey Tess,

I dont know if youve seen the feeds, but if you have, Im okay. If you havent, some bad stuff went down at Hedra Ka, but again: Im okay. The ships suffered a lot of damage, but were stable and out of immediate danger. Ive got my hands full with repairs and my crew, so Ill get on the sib when I can. Ill send a note to Dad, too.

More soon, promise. Hug the kids for me.

Ashby

* * *

In the grand tradition of siblings everywhere, Tessa wanted to kill her brother.

Not permanently kill him. Just a casual spacing to get her point across, followed by a quick resurrection and a hot cup of tea. That, shed say, as he sat shivering on the floor, clutching his mug like he used to when he was little. Thats what you put us through every time you go off the map. We all stop breathing until you get back.

Tessa tossed her scrib across her desk and rubbed her eyes with her fingertips. Shit, she breathed, furious and relieved. Shed seen the feeds. Of course, they hadnt said which civilian ship the Toremi had fired on, but Tessa had known where Ashby had been headed for the past standard, what hed been hired to do. You stupid... She exhaled, her eyes stinging. Hes okay. She inhaled, her voice steadying. Hes okay.

Shed gone to the cargo bay immediately after the news feed had wrapped up, despite her shift not starting for another two hours, despite her father telling her to stay home until they knew whether to relax or plan a funeral. Tessa had no stomach for how Pop had decided to deal with it: holding vigil in front of the pixel projector, watching every feed over and over until something new uploaded, smoking and muttering and tossing out anxious theories. She saw no point in sitting around waiting for news, especially when you had no idea when it would arrive. Shed addressed the fist squeezing her heart in her own way. Shed dragged Aya out of bed, given Ky a cake bite to keep him from fussing at the change in schedule, given Aya a cake bite so she wouldnt cry unfairness, and told Pop to get on the vox if anything changed.

Youd know if you stayed home, hed grumbled, shoving fat pinches of redreed into his pipe. But she hadnt budged, and he hadnt pushed, for once. Shed patted his shoulder, and sent the kids across the way to the Parks who, as Tessa had figured, had been asleep, but thats what hexmates were for.

Aya had pestered her for an explanation every step toward the door. Why are we up so early? Why cant I stay here? Do I have to go to school? Why was Grandpa mad at you? Is Dad okay?

Your dads fine, Tessa had said. That was the only question shed answered directly. Every other query got a because I said so or an Ill tell you later. There was no way to say your Uncle Ashbys ship may have been blown up by aliens and this is my way of coping to a nine-year-old, and no way a nine-year-old would respond to that sentiment in a way that wouldnt freak out the two-year-old as well. Let the kids have a quiet morning. The grown-ups could worry enough for everyone.

Tessa stretched back against her desk chair, cracking the tight points between ribs and spine. She turned her head toward the wall vox. 224-246, she said. The vox chirped in acknowledgement of a home address. Pop, is your scrib on?

No, her father shouted back. Hed never grasped the concept that even though the vox was on the other side of the room, he didnt have to yell like he did with the old models. Why?

Tessa rolled her eyes. Why, asked the man whod been looping feeds all morning. Ashby wrote to us. Hes okay.

The vox relayed a long sigh, followed by a softly spoken shit. He started shouting again. Hows his ship?

He said stable. He didnt have time to write much, just that hes okay.

Is he still on board? Stable can change fast.

Im sure Ashby knows whether or not his ships safe.

These Toremi weapons theyre talking about on the feeds, those things can really

Pop, stop watching the feeds. Okay? They dont know whats going on either, theyre just filling time.

Im just saying

Pop. Tessa pinched the bridge of her nose. I have to get back to work. Go to the gardens or something, yeah? Go to Jojos, get some lunch.

When are you coming home?

I dont know. Depends on how the day goes.

Okay. He paused. I love you.

Pop wasnt withholding or anything, but he didnt throw those three words around lightly. Tessa softened. I love you, too.

The vox switched off, and she took another opportunity to clear her lungs. She stared out the workroom window, out into the cargo bay. Rows of towering shelves stretched on and on, full to the brim with wires and junk, attended by the herd of heavy-duty liftbots following assignments Tessa had punched into her terminal. There were stacks of metal, too, the pieces too big for the shelves, the pieces nobodyd had time to cut down. This was her domain, her project. It was her job to track comings and goings, to make sure everything got logged and weighed and described, to keep track of stuff the merchants and foundries werent ready for yet, to wrangle the unintelligent machines who shuffled goods from where they had been to where they were needed. A complicated job, but not a taxing one, and one where you could count on most days going exactly the way youd thought theyd go when you woke up. Compared to the constant familial chaos of home, she valued that.