A Closed and Common Orbit (Wayfarers, #2)

by Becky Chambers

None of them were meant to share a world together – meant to share this world – yet here they were.

The lack of natural light meant there was only so far she could see, and that meant there was less to process.

Same sidra... Same

Pepper studied her. ‘I’m sure you can. But do you want to do that?’ Sidra processed that, too, and came up empty. ‘I can’t answer that, because I don’t know.’ When she was given a task, she performed the task. When a request was made, she filled the request as best she could. That . . . that was her job. That was her point. If things hadn’t gone the way they’d gone on the Wayfarer, if she’d stayed in the core she’d first been installed in, would anyone have said to her: Hello, Lovelace! Welcome! It’s time for you to start monitoring the ship – but only if you want to?

The thing is, a lot of laws are stupid, too, and they don’t always keep people out of danger. What can I say? I’m a woman of principle.’

What was the difference between strung-together neurons and a simple bundle of if/then code, if the outward actions were the same?

‘At the core, you’ve got to get university certification for parenting, just as you do for, say, being a doctor or an engineer. No offence to you or your species, but going into the business of creating life without any sort of formal prep is . . .’ He laughed. ‘It’s baffling.

tresha. Someone seeing a truth in you without being told.

It was a good thing, Sidra thought, to know your craft so well that an extra pair of eyes made little difference.

And if you can fix things, you can build new things out of them.

Her words were coming out loud, fast, barely processed. She could’ve stopped herself. She could’ve brought her voice back down, slowed her pace. She didn’t want to. She wanted to be loud. She wanted to yell. She knew it was unproductive, but right now, it felt good.

Why was she acting this way? Why couldn’t she just get used to the way things were? What was wrong with her?

‘Home is here. Home’s where I am, and where you can rest.’

She stayed on the screen by the bed all day, and she taught Jane about something called music, which was a weird bunch of sounds that had no point but made things feel a little better.

Why had she left? At the time, it had seemed like the best course, the cleanest option. She had come into existence where another mind should have been. She wasn’t what the Wayfarer crew was expecting, or hoping for. Her presence upset them, and that meant she had to go. That was why she’d left – not because she’d wanted to, not because she’d truly understood what it would mean, but because the crew was upset, and she was the reason for it. She’d left for the sake of people she’d never met. She’d left for the sake of a stranger crying in a cargo bay. She’d left because it was in her design to be accommodating, to put others first, to make everyone else comfortable, no matter what.

‘The Enhanced call us m-misfits. People who don’t suit their intended purpose. So, maybe, ah, maybe you’re a misfit, too. Doesn’t mean you’re not deserving. Doesn’t mean you shouldn’t be here.

Jane didn’t understand why Owl being not like her would make her feelings not important,

It’s not comfortable, realising that you’ve been wrong about something, but I suppose it’s a good thing to do from time to time.

‘I . . . get that. But you are more . . . than what they programmed you . . . to be.’

You were good and brave and you tried.

Just because someone goes away doesn’t mean you stop loving them.’

She would die someday – no getting around that. But nobody would find her bones in the scrapyard. She wasn’t going to leave them there.

And no matter what the sims said about the power of a single solitary hero, there were some things just too big to change alone.

Had he been more comfortable with her when she’d been easy to control? When she’d been truthful by default? She hoped not.

You can leave any time you want, the Enhanced were saying, but look outside. Look out your windows. Where is there to go? We’ll keep you fed, at least. We’ll give you a bed. It was a mean way to keep someone from running, tied up with an extra layer of we really don’t care, go ahead, starve out there, you’re totally replaceable.

Everything was too much. Too much. The planet was beautiful. The planet was horrible. The planet was full of people, and they were beautiful and horrible, too. They’d made a mess of everything, and she was leaving now, and she was never coming back.

The law forgot to make space for people like me.

‘Life is terrifying. None of us have a rule book. None of us know what we’re doing here. So, the easiest way to stare reality in the face and not utterly lose your shit is to believe that you have control over it.

‘All the things made better for some people. Nobody has ever figured out how to make things better for everybody.’

I’m different now. And different is good, but it cuts both ways.’

‘All of you do this. Every organic sapient I’ve ever talked to, every book I’ve read, every piece of art I’ve studied. You are all desperate for purpose, even though you don’t have one.

I haven’t found a purpose like that yet – nothing so overarching and big. But I don’t think purposes have to be immutable. I don’t have to have the same one always. For now, my purpose file reads “to help Owl”. That’s why I’m here. That’s what I’m for. I can do the thing Pepper couldn’t, and I’m happy with that, because she’s done so much for me. If that is my only purpose, if I don’t write in another after this, I’m okay. I’m okay with that. I think it’s a good purpose to have.’