Record of a Spaceborn Few (Wayfarers, #3)

by Becky Chambers

In the grand tradition of siblings everywhere, Tessa wanted to kill her brother. Not permanently kill him. Just a casual spacing to get her point across, followed by a quick resurrection and a hot cup of tea. That, she’d say, as he sat shivering on the floor, clutching his mug like he used to when he was little. That’s what you put us through every time you go off the map. We all stop breathing until you get back.

‘Stars, you are the worst person to sympathise with about change being scary,’

‘We’re not mad, Kip,’ Dad said. ‘I’m mad,’ Mom said.

Human infants are famously frail, and the amount of time they remain dependent on adults for needs as basic as eating or locomotion makes me wonder how the species didn’t give up on the whole prospect millennia ago.

‘Bug-fucking spacer,’ Viola said in her weird, flowy Ensk. ‘Cow-licking Solan,’ Kip shot back. ‘That’s for Martians, you idiot. There aren’t any cows in the Outers.’ ‘I dunno, I’m looking at one right now.’