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

not watch that and not be afraid. But something had happened when the Curate held the sizzling metal to Roveg’s shell. There’d been pain, yes, and the panicked scent of his own body burning, but he’d looked at the joyful assembly, and he’d understood that he was just one in an immeasurable chain of people who had stood exactly where he was standing and born the same brand, that he was part of something noble and incredible and beautiful, that he could not only look at history but further it. The crowd around him roared their support as he screamed, and truly, in that moment, he had felt no hurt. For a moment, he transcended it. He was whole. He was loved.

He had tried, in his adult years, to re-contextualise that moment, to understand whatever it really must have been. Adrenaline was the obvious main ingredient, combined with other potent neurotransmitters and the irresistibility of eusocial belonging. A heady cocktail, that. He’d had many other transcendent moments since, things that made that ghastly ritual pale in comparison. He’d seen the artwork of dozens of different planets, pieces beautiful enough to make him feel like there was no one in existence but him and the artist, each breathing air into the other. He’d seen a rare, synchronous sunset born out of three different stars. He’d seen the glittering ice of Theth’s rings through the window of a plex-bottomed cruiser. He’d made friends that were family, and held infants with fur or claws or tails. He could swear in a dozen languages and sing along to songs he didn’t understand. He had eaten the finest foods the galaxy had to offer. He’d had sex that bordered on the spiritual. His life was a marvel, and he would trade it for nothing.

But he’d yet to find an experience that was anything like his First Brand.

This should not have mattered. The life Roveg had built for himself was a celebration of difference, of variety, an endless exultation of questioning and learning and questioning again. He knew there would never be a point in his life in which he knew everything there was to know, and while part of him despaired at the puzzle that would never be solved, the rest of him embraced this truth fully, for what satisfaction could there be in having nothing else to ask? There was only one absolute in the universe, Roveg was (relatively) sure of, and that was the fact that there were no absolutes. Life was fluid, gradient, ever shifting. People – a group comprised of every sapient species, organic or otherwise – were chaos, but chaos was good. Chaos was the only sensible conclusion. There was no law that was just in every situation, no blanket rule that could apply to everyone, no explanation that accounted for every component. This did not mean that laws and rules were not helpful, or that explanations should not be sought, but rather that there should be no fear in changing them as needed, for nothing in the universe ever held still.

Roveg took great solace in this. This was the core belief of all he did and said and made. He’d given up everything for it, and he would do so again. There was nothing that could make him do otherwise, even though he knew how much pain that choice had brought to others. How much pain he’d caused himself. It was worth it, in the end. It was worth seeing the universe as it was.

But there was a great irony in that. If the root of all things was chaos and change, and if there were no true answers, if no one was capable of figuring everything out, Roveg could take comfort in that knowledge. Comfort, however, was not the same as peace. So in that respect, the Curates had been right: away from the Tenets, peace was something he would never know.

The wall vox switched on. ‘Ouloo is at the hatch,’ Friend said. ‘She says she’d like to invite you to the garden.’

‘Thank you, Friend. Please tell her I’ll be outside in a moment.’ Roveg got to his feet, and went to join the aliens. He left his tea where it was. It had gone cold anyway.

PEI

As far as parties made for only five people went, this one had turned out pretty good.

The lawn made for a decent dance floor, and the hedges surrounding it were strewn with the ribbons and craft supplies Tupo had gathered from home (Pei had assured everyone, repeatedly, that she was fine – really, fine – with the colourful decor). Ouloo had prepared desserts enough for twice their number, and was laying them out on a table off to the side as the others danced. Pei, for her part, lay on her side in the grass, propped up on one arm as she enjoyed the spectacle.

Speaker, it turned out, had an enormous repository of music at her disposal, and seemed to know her shit in that regard. She emceed from within her cockpit, selecting songs from her scrib and jamming along in her seat. She slammed her head hard when the drums kicked up, and closed her eyes blissfully as the vocals overtook them.

‘Who is this?’ Roveg asked, his body in motion. He moved his legs in bizarre symmetry, each pair performing the same move but no two pairs moving in tandem. The result was hypnotic – difficult to watch yet impossible to look away from.

‘The Bathtub Strategy,’ Speaker replied.

‘I’ve heard the name, but – stars, they’re good. You’ll have to send me their Linking details.’

Speaker’s eyes suggested a smile. ‘If you like this, then I know exactly what we’re playing next.’ She gestured at her scrib with vigour, skimming through titles.

Tupo danced in the space between them, limbs and neck in a frenzy. What xe lacked in technique xe made up for with enthusiasm, and there was no question that the kid was having a blast. Xe caught Pei’s eye,