A Closed and Common Orbit (Wayfarers, #2)

by Becky Chambers

‘Oh, no, this isn’t trouble. It’s gonna be work, yeah, but it’s not trouble. The galaxy is trouble. You’re not.’

There was organisation at work, but clutter, too. The mark of a logical mind that sometimes strayed.

‘Let’s narrow it down. Are we going for an anchor or a compass? A memory to ground you, or a spark to guide you forward?’

Maybe a compass could be an anchor, too.

There were dozens of stars. Dozens of dozens, way too many to count, just like her questions. There were big stars and little stars and some that were kind of red or blue. There wasn’t any part of sky that didn’t have stars, but most of them were in one big big big strip that was fluffy and soft and so so bright.

I remember the Janes, the Lucys, the Sarahs, the Jennys, the Claires. The Marys. The Beths.’ She wiped her face on her forearm, eyes stinging. ‘And I’ll remember you, too.’

Pepper had to admit, that was pretty solid academic nonsense.

It was innocent, but then, so was a snake, asleep in its burrow. You might have an excellent reason for needing to get the snake out of there, but the snake wouldn’t know that. The snake would know only terror and confusion, and it would react as anyone would: drive the threat away, then look for a safer home.