The Galaxy, and the Ground Within by Becky Chambers (read along books txt) 📗

it became clear that something wasn’t right. An individual in distress was an easy thing to identify, movable face or no. Speaker ran her fingertips over the dents they’d created in the hammock fabric. She thought for a moment, then got out of her seat and climbed into the bubbled window.

‘Hey!’ she yelled. She doubted he could hear her, given they were each behind a pane designed to keep the vacuum of space away. But it felt odd to wave her arms without yelling something, so yell she did. ‘Roveg! Hey!’

She waved furiously, feeling awkward, but at last, Roveg noticed her. Everything about his body language noted surprise – the shift of light in his glossy eyes, the way his antennae and frills perked up. He scuttled over on his dozens of legs to face her. She could see his mouth moving, but the words were lost.

‘I can’t—’ I can’t hear you, she started to say, before realising that phrase was particularly pointless when it held true for the listener as well. If she knew his ship’s comms path, she could’ve called him, but she’d neglected to ask for that when she’d checked in on everyone the day before. What a stupid, basic thing to forget. She raised a hand with deliberateness and pointed in the direction of the airlock. He mirrored the gesture with the legs attached to his thorax. Understanding was reached. She saw him exit his control room as she did the same.

Speaker clambered into her suit, let the cockpit hiss shut, and stepped out of the back hatch of her ship and into the airlock. The hatch clanked closed behind her, and there was another hiss as unseen machinery pumped out the filtered air that had drifted in from Speaker’s ship and replaced it with the differently filtered air Ouloo provided for her habitat dome. This was a normal procedure, for Speaker – seals within seals within seals. A constant reminder of the danger posed by an environment without barriers.

Roveg was waiting for her in the Five-Hop’s entry tunnel, flexing his upper legs. ‘Are you all right?’ he asked.

‘I was wondering the same about you,’ she said. ‘I saw you through the window, and it seemed you were upset. Unless I misread?’

Expressionless though he was, Roveg seemed taken aback by this, as though he hadn’t thought about the fact that windows worked both ways. ‘Oh,’ he said. There was a long pause, a touch beyond the boundary of comfort. ‘I assume you saw the alert?’

‘Yes,’ Speaker said.

Roveg paused once more. ‘I’ve had to recalculate my course again, given the increased delay,’ he said. ‘A bit of a complicated thing, as I’m sure you’re familiar with, but the new adjustments I’ve made will still allow me to arrive in time for my appointment. Arriving the night before isn’t ideal, but here we are.’ Roveg’s tone grew lighter the longer he went on. It reminded Speaker of the way she’d forced her hands to let go of the hammock minutes before.

‘That sounds stressful,’ Speaker said. ‘Is there anything I can do?’

‘Not unless you’ve got a wreckage drone tucked away in that shuttle of yours,’ he said. His tone was joking now, forcibly so.

‘I’m afraid not,’ she said. Strange as the sapient before her was, his anxiety was as palpable as the fact that he didn’t want it to show. Speaker understood everything about that state of being, and had no desire to pry (peeking in windows had been bad enough). His business was his business. She respected that. But proximity to someone else’s pain wasn’t something she could ignore, and if she was unable to provide tangible help, then the next best thing she had to offer was an echo. ‘I’ll be late for a rendezvous, too,’ she said. ‘It’s not the end of the world, but as you said, it complicates things.’

‘You mentioned your sister last night,’ Roveg said. ‘Have you been able to contact her?’

Now it was Speaker’s turn to feel exposed. Windows went both ways, of course, but he’d cut right to the heart of it. ‘No,’ she said. ‘I haven’t.’

‘Watcher, was it?’

‘Tracker.’

‘Ah, yes. My mistake. Are you worried about her?’

Speaker took a deep breath. ‘I am,’ she said. The understatement of the standard. She tried to keep her words measured, but rooted in her heart as they were, they attempted to race away. ‘She wasn’t well when I left. She’s – she’s probably fine, she just has, um – she’s always had—’ Speaker steadied herself, slowed down. ‘She has a lung condition, and she was having a difficult day when I left our ship. I’m sure she’s—’ She paused to take another breath, and as she heard the air slip smoothly through her open throat, she thought of how Tracker’s breath had sounded the day before: tight and stuttering, far from effortless. Speaker shoved the thought away. She was embarrassed by letting her fear get the better of her, and frustrated to be in the position of talking about herself when her intent in coming out here had been to help someone else. With effort, she found her poise, found her words. ‘I just want to make sure she’s all right.’

Roveg’s eyes shifted in their keratin sockets, scattering reflected sunlight. They reminded Speaker of the crystals Tracker grew. ‘You know, I can’t promise anything,’ Roveg said, ‘but I … hmm. Do you know what kind of comms receiver your ship has? Your ship in orbit, I mean, not your shuttle.’

‘Oh, uh, it’s a …’ She closed her eyes and tried to remember. This was her sister’s domain, not hers. ‘I’m not completely sure.’

‘Does it look like a dish, or does it stick out? Like a small tower?’

‘A tower, I think.’

‘Ah, good. Again, no promises, but I have an idea.’ The decorative frills around Roveg’s upper torso waved gently. Speaker had no basis for thinking this, but something about the gesture felt friendly. ‘Come,’ he said. ‘Let’s find Ouloo.’

PEI

Pei’s implant buzzed to the