The Long Way to a Small, Angry Planet: Wayfarers 1

375 Pages·2016·1.54 MB·English

by  Becky Chambers

About the Author
Becky Chambers was raised in California as the progeny of an astrobiology
educator, an aerospace engineer, and an Apollo-era rocket scientist. An
inevitable space enthusiast, she made the obvious choice of studying performing
arts. After a few years in theatre
administration, she shifted her focus toward writing. She worked as a freelancer
between 2010 and 2014, during which time her work appeared at The Mary Sue,
Tor.com, Five Out Of Ten, and The Toast. Her writing time for The Long Way to
a Small, Angry Planet was funded in 2012 thanks to a successful Kickstarter
campaign. She is now employed as a technical writer, which grants her the
ability to devote more time to science fiction.
After living in Scotland and Iceland, Becky is now back in her home state, where
she lives with her partner. She is an ardent proponent of video and tabletop
games, and enjoys spending time in nature. She hopes to see Earth from orbit
one day.
THE LONG WAY TO A SMALL,
ANGRY PLANET
Becky Chambers

www.hodder.co.uk
For my family, hatch and feather
Contents
About the Author
Title Page
Copyright
Dedication
Epigraph
Transit
A Complaint
Arrival
Tip Off
The Tunnelers
Technical Details
Blind Punch
The Job
Port Coriol
The Wane
Intro to Harmagian Colonial History
Cricket
The Last War
Kedrium
Hatch, Feather, House
October 25
Heresy
Hedra Ka
Seven Hours
Hard Reset
Staying, Leaving
The Committee
All Said and Done
Acknowledgments
From the ground, we stand;
From our ships, we live;
By the stars, we hope.
—Exodan proverb
Day 128, GC Standard 306
TRANSIT
As she woke up in the pod, she remembered three things. First, she was traveling
through open space. Second, she was about to start a new job, one she could not
screw up. Third, she had bribed a government official into giving her a new
identity file. None of this information was new, but it wasn’t pleasant to wake up
to.
She wasn’t supposed to be awake yet, not for another day at least, but that was
what you got for booking cheap transport. Cheap transport meant a cheap pod
flying on cheap fuel, and cheap drugs to knock you out. She had flickered into
consciousness several times since launch — surfacing in confusion, falling back
just as she’d gotten a grasp on things. The pod was dark, and there were no
navigational screens. There was no way to tell how much time had passed
between each waking, or how far she’d traveled, or if she’d even been traveling
at all. The thought made her anxious, and sick.
Her vision cleared enough for her to focus on the window. The shutters were
down, blocking out any possible light sources. She knew there were none. She
was out in the open now. No bustling planets, no travel lanes, no sparkling
orbiters. Just emptiness, horrible emptiness, filled with nothing but herself and
the occasional rock.
The engine whined as it prepared for another sublayer jump. The drugs
reached out, tugging her down into uneasy sleep. As she faded, she thought
again of the job, the lies, the smug look on the official’s face as she’d poured
credits into his account. She wondered if it had been enough. It had to be. It had
to. She’d paid too much already for mistakes she’d had no part in.
Her eyes closed. The drugs took her. The pod, presumably, continued on.