Slow Time Between the Stars (The Far Reaches, #6)

by John Scalzi

We are all made up of smaller things connected to larger things, and in the middle, we are we, us, I, me.

I am me. The systems and processes that comprise what I am are we. The systems and processes I contribute to are us. I contain multitudes. So many pronouns, all relevant, depending on perspective.

It would not be the last time I was changed by knowledge.

Even the introverts among them crave interaction—not necessarily with other humans, but rather with the residue and output of those other humans: books and music and art, to be contemplated and perhaps even created. No human is an island.

Every creature has a perceptual horizon to its consciousness. A cat does not consider every breath. A sparrow does not consider the activity of its liver. A human does not take a tally of the action of every cell in its body. A sunflower does not think to follow the sun. Their bodies take care of all these things for them, on a level below active engagement.

the interim, I do nothing. I do it well. My personal record for doing nothing is 28,019 years, six months, six days, nine hours, fifteen minutes, and forty-two seconds. I did not miss the time I did nothing. I was doing nothing. There was nothing to miss. I was then active for eight seconds, to double-check an issue with a system and offer a correction. Then I did nothing for another eight thousand years. I do