Just Out of Jupiter's Reach (The Far Reaches, #5)

by Nnedi Okorafor

My cat Five was asleep on my lap. I looked down and stroked her back. She was sleek and black like the vacuum of space all around us.

I’d been an overseer for a section of Nigeria’s most popular autonomous train, a construction worker, an elephant caretaker, a hotel welcomer, a food tester, and a glitch assistant to a repair super-bot.

Interesting how we tend to associate strength with something hard like diamond, tungsten, stone. Never with something that is flesh, something that yields.

Young Miris had whips near their backsides that helped them steer. They could also be used for clearing the area around them.

Always the threat of losing what we were owed. Typical capitalism.

I read many books, finally had the chance to master Yoruba and Twi, though I had only the ship’s AI, whom I’d named Mami Data, to speak with.

Two humans walking through Chi’s grasses, touching Chi’s tree that grew in the center, where I had spent so much time reading books or using my tablet, learning martial arts, gazing beyond the artificial sunshine into space.

“I’m a trans woman in space hugging my beautiful black sisters in a living ship! I don’t even care how weird this is,” Gracious announced.

That brought us to Dawud’s Miri. It was shaped like a sleek cube. How he had convinced his Miri to cube itself was beyond me. He claimed that he’d read books to his Miri about the stability and permanence of cubes and Plato’s ideas about cubes, and gradually, as his Miri adjusted and reflected on Dawud’s teachings, it took this shape.

His ship smelled like incense and the scented oil he liked to wear, which he called “Oud Malaki.”

“It’s always been my issue with periwinkle grass. And it’s all over West Africa. People are getting sick.”

I liked the periwinkle grass. It had its issues, but it made Nigeria clean again; it freed it of its dependency on oil, so I wasn’t complaining.

“What kind of name is Tornado, anyway?” I rolled my eyes. “Must you all keep asking that?” “I know a bunch of Nigerians in Trinidad; that’s not a typical Naija name.” “I’m out here just out of reach of Jupiter,” I said. “What makes you think I’m typical?”

We’d left behind everything we’d ever known on Earth after being there all our lives; we’d also be able to leave behind a few days of companionship with our people (for that’s what we were, a People) when the time came.

“They’re my people. Kinder than anyone,” he said into my shoulder. “Chandra didn’t deserve . . .” He wheezed and sobbed. I glanced angrily at Anthony. “What is wrong with you?” “I didn’t think he’d miss one,” he whispered. “Seriously?” I asked, frowning. Not for the first time, I wondered just how much the five years alone had eroded our social skills.

Dawud gave us an insane light show in his ship, and it included a dragon that looked like it was swooping down on us. Jamal nearly had a panic attack. “I hate dragons!” he’d shouted from under the table.

We found his dog Roti and my cat Five stargazing in my gaze box. I didn’t know cats and dogs could be friends, but those two were inseparable.

“Please just tell me,” he said. He motioned ahead, through the tough, clear flesh of my ship to the mysterious planet. “Or if you don’t want to tell me, tell Jupiter.” I groaned again and then sighed, resigned. “Fine. I guess it’s okay to tell a goddess. She won’t judge me by the usual standards, and she’s riddled with tornadoes and storms.”

Anthony was hanging on my words and maybe Jupiter was, too. Earth tales had to have been hard for her to come by.

I paused, sighing, again. Anthony pressed a warm palm to my thigh. “Continue, dear. Jupiter is listening. So am I.”

“In five years, Dubai won’t be shit compared to all that I will build on my ship,” Dawud said.