The Wrong Stars (Axiom, #1)

by Tim Pratt

Janice didn’t have a particle of romance in her soul, which was a good quality in the person who was supposed to tell you where you were going and where you’d been.

If you got hung up on a little thing like the terror of the unknown, you might as well head down a cozy gravity well and become whatever people were down there.

Have I told you lately that I’m a genius?” “I’m not sure. I don’t usually listen when you talk.”

I mean, there is something weird happening with the propulsion system, so I guess it’s possible a bunch of frozen scientists from five centuries ago cracked faster-than-light travel because they were bored on their trip, but like the ancients said: if you hear hoofbeats, think horses, not zebras.” “Both are equally improbable in Trans-Neptunian space,” Callie pointed out. “I’ll alert the aphorism police and demand a more appropriate cliché right away.”

The earliest halfway successful attempts at AI were pure machine intelligences, but the problem was, they didn’t have much interest in talking to humans – no more than humans have in talking to random chains of hydrocarbons, say. People used to worry about artificial minds trying to enslave humanity, when in reality, such minds pay less attention to humans than humans do to slime mold. Those AI had a tendency to cease communication entirely, absorbed in incomprehensible abstractions. The usual shorthand explanation is, they’re off somewhere in virtual space, writing poetry in binary – which I suppose would at least be fairly easy to rhyme.”

“I guess the idea of a planet full of monocultural humanoids with bumpy foreheads who all follow a thinly disguised version of the Bushido code is ridiculous,”

“I want to break it open.” “But.” “But it could be full of explosions, so I won’t. Also, I don’t know how.

She felt either apathy or hostility toward almost everyone, and she was happy that way.

Who’s the intimidating one now?” “Ha. You’ve got, what, a quarter of a meter on me? You could throw me over your shoulder like a bag of feathers.” Callie shrugged. “Some of that height is just the boots. You are kind of pocket-sized, though. They grew people real small back in the Paleolithic.” “Don’t be rude. I’m at least Neolithic.” “Definitely a valuable antique.

“I’m way ahead of you. Whatever weird metal brain-spiders attached themselves to your friends’ heads? If there’s a way to get them out, I’ll find it.” He paused. “But if the implants do anything interesting I might mod one up to use myself. Never turn your back on innovation, wherever it may be found, that’s what I always say.” “I have literally never heard you say that,” Callie said. “It’s not even a saying. It’s barely a sentence.”

“OK, we’re secure.” “What does that mean?” “It means nobody can hear what we say in here, not even the ship’s computer. The comms are blocked, the doors are locked down and can’t be overridden from outside, and there’s even a white noise generator if someone tries to listen through the door.” “When did you put those measures in place? And why?” “Ages ago, and because I watch really unconventional pornography in here sometimes while I’m working.” “Ashok. Eww.” “You asked.

He sighed. “I could really use a congregation though.” “Maybe I should join your faith.” “You’re too uptight. The naked cuddle communion would be a hard limit for you, I think.” “Ha. I am a little selective about my naked cuddle partners.” “That’s why I have so much more fun than you do, Callie.”

“This isn’t exactly the right time to start pitching woo at someone.” “You’re alive, and maybe not for much longer. I don’t personally get the appeal of touching other people or having them touch you or being all squishy-faced at each other, but whatever. I had a friend who liked eating those peppers that are so hot they make your tongue melt and your eyes water. That didn’t make sense to me, either, but it made her happy, so I went to her Ganymede Ghost Pepper parties and cheered her on. Rah, rah. Go get her. Et cetera.” “You are the worst at girl talk, Janice.”

“She’s terrible at giving inspirational speeches,” Ashok said. “One time, before we broke into this compound on an asteroid to capture an escaped murderer, Callie goes, ‘OK, nobody embarrass me by dying’. She’s just really bad at it.”

“Be ready to pick me up in forty-five minutes.” “I wish I could be there to keep you safe.” “I keep myself safe. Don’t worry, I’m not going to die.” Thirty-seven minutes later, Callie thought, I am going to die.