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

bag. ‘Speaker and Tracker,’ he mused. ‘You speak. What does she track?’

‘Other Akaraks,’ Speaker said. ‘Or, more specifically, their ships.’

‘To what end?’

‘So we can help them.’

‘Yes, you made mention of that work last night. Acquiring supplies, I believe you said.’ He paused. ‘Forgive me, I still don’t understand.’

Speaker considered how best to answer. She had no qualms about sharing the shape of her life with others, but had so little opportunity to do so that she wasn’t sure which pieces to include and which to skip. This had gone beyond small talk, now, and Roveg’s interest seemed as sincere as her fascination with his feet. Given that she could contribute nothing to his work – which he was doing as a favour to her, after all – she saw no reason not to explain in full. ‘Once a standard, all – or, well, most – Akaraks gather for an event we call rakree. Literally, it means exchange. Or sharing, I guess. That’s a better fit. Anybody who wants to gather with other ships does so. We all go to the same coordinates and we link our ships together with these … oh, I don’t know the word. They’re essentially portable airlocks. A big, airtight tube that links two ships together.’

‘And you use these to link … all of them?’

‘Right. Imagine … imagine if there was one tenday a standard in which every house in a city opened its doors, and everybody was free to go in and out of wherever they wanted.’

Roveg’s frills rippled. ‘That sounds a bit hellish to me, to be honest. But I’m getting the impression you feel the opposite.’

‘It’s wonderful,’ Speaker said honestly. ‘It’s my favourite thing.’

‘And what’s the purpose?’ Roveg asked. ‘Trading, politics, partying, sex?’

‘Akaraks don’t have sex.’

Roveg’s tools froze in place. ‘What?’

‘We reproduce sexually, but we don’t have social sex. I’m fully aware of how that works in other species, but we … physically don’t have the capability for what you’re referring to, or the need. We can’t. We don’t.’

The Quelin absorbed this information. ‘I’m not sure whether that’s tragic or whether you’ve been spared a lot of bother. Anyway, sorry, continue.’

‘You got two of the activities right: trading, primarily, and partying, second. We don’t do politics, or at least not in the way you mean. We don’t have a government. Each ship makes its own decisions. But I’m getting sidetracked: you wanted to know about my job, not my culture.’

‘Well, now I’m interested in both.’

Speaker crinkled her eyes at him. ‘The point of rakree is to be open with others. You tell people what you need, and you give others whatever you can provide. Maybe you’ve got a big crop of food, and there’s surplus to share. Maybe you need a compressor coil, and there’s someone three ships over who’s got a spare. Maybe your ship needs a doctor, or a pilot, and you find someone with those skills who’s been looking for a new home. Or maybe it’s as simple as needing to sleep in a different place for a few nights, or talk with people you don’t live with all day every day. A change of pace. That’s the thing about rakree. Needs can be big or small, but they all matter.’

‘So it’s not a barter, then. It’s a truly open exchange.’

‘It can be a barter, but yes, you’ve got it. There’s no expectation of receiving something in return for what you give, and no guilt about taking what you need.’

Roveg’s hard-surfaced eyes rotated in their sockets with an almost mechanical quickness. ‘Is that why you came to my ship and quizzed me on my skills? Because that’s what you do among yourselves?’

‘I suppose,’ she said. ‘Did you find it unusual?’

‘Yes, I admit I did. Not in a bad way. It’s just not what I would’ve done.’

Speaker clicked her beak contemplatively. ‘It would’ve felt odd not to, especially in an emergency,’ she said.

‘Even though we’re different species?’

Speaker considered that. She had been apprehensive about approaching a group of sapient strangers one by one, but as she reflected on it now, she understood that her fear of their hostility had been lesser than that of facing danger alone. ‘I was operating on the hope that such things wouldn’t matter when the sky is falling apart.’

‘Such things shouldn’t matter at all, regardless of what the sky is doing.’ Roveg swapped one tool for another, and continued his work. ‘So, do I correctly surmise that under normal circumstances, you and your sister offer something to your people that fits a particular need?’

‘We do,’ she said. ‘We offer me.’

‘You?’ He leaned his shelled torso back, and thought. ‘You speak Klip. You understand other customs. You’re … you’re their Speaker.’

Speaker warmed with the quiet joy of being understood. ‘Exactly.’

‘You can get access to things others can’t. Go into shops where they might get turned away, or …’

‘Help them finish the formwork to get an official pilot’s licence. Get a bunch of seedlings from the nursery that didn’t understand what they wanted. Track down a medical specialist for something particular. Set up a standing order with a fuel depot. Buy groceries for someone who’s too nervous to go to a big market stop.’

‘Are these imaginary examples, or …?’

‘My last five jobs.’

‘Fascinating,’ he said. ‘That’s fascinating.’ He returned to the panel, twisting a wire here, loosening a clip there. ‘Right, let’s try that.’ He went once more to the interface panel and rebooted the system. ‘You still haven’t answered my question, though.’

‘Sorry, which?’

‘What does Tracker do?’

Again, Speaker gathered all the components this answer required, and tried to filter them down to the most necessary. ‘So: a ship is a family, and a ship is autonomous. We’re not an instinctively hierarchal species, like many of you are. We do best in groups, but each group is an entity unto itself. We don’t have any sort of larger government, or ship registry, or anything like that. We don’t log flight plans, we don’t submit travel routes. We just go where