The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet (Wayfarers, #1)

by Becky Chambers

From the ground, we stand; From our ships, we live; By the stars, we hope. —EXODAN PROVERB

Harmagians had money. Aeluons had firepower. Aandrisks had diplomacy. Humans had arguments.

The only reason Humans stopped killing each other to the extent that you used to, I think, is because your planet died before you could finish the job.

Such a quintessentially Human thing, to express sorrow through apology.

People can do terrible things when they feel safe and powerful. Your father had probably gotten his way for so long that he thought he was untouchable, and that is a dangerous way for a person to feel.

The truth is, Rosemary, that you are capable of anything. Good or bad. You always have been, and you always will be. Given the right push, you, too, could do horrible things. That darkness exists within all of us.

“All you can do, Rosemary—all any of us can do—is work to be something positive instead. That is a choice that every sapient must make every day of their life. The universe is what we make of it. It’s up to you to decide what part you will play.

My point, fellow representatives, is that Humans are a fractured, limping, adolescent species that has branched out into interstellar life not by merit, but by luck. They have not moved beyond intraspecies chaos. They have skipped the vital step the rest of us had to make on our own.