I tried to be as much like an appliance as possible, clamping the wounds where they told me to, using my failing body temperature to try to keep her warm, and keeping my head down so I couldn’t see them staring at me.

It took me two seconds to realize she was talking to me. Fortunately, since it seemed like we were really doing this, I had actually been paying attention and didn’t need to play the conversation back.

I did that because it seemed sensible, not because I knew what I was doing. I am not a combat murderbot, I’m Security. I keep things from attacking the clients and try to gently discourage the clients from attacking each other. I was way out of my depth here, which was another reason I hadn’t wanted the humans to come here.

It was nice having a human smart enough to work with like this.

MedSystem’s feed informed me that Ratthi, Overse, and Arada’s heart rates had just accelerated. Mensah’s hadn’t, because she had already thought of all this. It was why she had sent Pin-Lee and Gurathin to shut off HubSystem. Nervously, Ratthi said, “What do we do when they come here?” I said, “Be somewhere else.”

It’s wrong to think of a construct as a half bot, half human. It makes it sound like the halves are discrete, like the bot half should want to obey orders and do its job and the human half should want to protect itself and get the hell out of here. As opposed to the reality, which was that I was one whole confused entity, with no idea what I wanted to do. What I should do. What I needed to do.

I didn’t want to do it. Now more than ever. They knew too much about me. But I needed them to trust me so I could keep them alive and keep doing my job. The good version of my job, not the half-assed version of my job that I’d been doing before things started trying to kill my clients. I still didn’t want to do it.

Because you need me. I don’t know where that came from. All right, it came from me, but she was my client, I was a SecUnit. There was no emotional contract between us. There was no rational reason for me to sound like a whiny human baby.

Mensah set up a watch schedule, including in time for me to go into standby and do a diagnostic and recharge cycle. I was planning to use the time to watch some Sanctuary Moon and recharge my ability to cope with humans at close quarters without losing my mind.

“Dr. Mensah is the current admin director on the steering committee. It’s an elected position, with a limited term. But one of the principles of our home is that our admins must also continue their regular work, whatever it is. Her regular work required this survey, so here she is, and here we are.”

I felt the brush of Mensah’s awareness in the feed. She must have woken when Gurathin spoke. He finally said, “You don’t blame humans for what you were forced to do? For what happened to you?”

I know I’m a horrifying murderbot, and they know it, and it makes both of us nervous, which makes me even more nervous. Also, if I’m not in the armor then it’s because I’m wounded and one of my organic parts may fall off and plop on the floor at any moment and no one wants to see that.

That got their attention. There was no reply. Not a surprise. The only people I’ve run into who actually want to get into conversations with SecUnits are my weird humans. I said, “I have an alternate solution to both our problems.”

The thing that surprised me is that nobody stared at us. Nobody gave us a second look. The uniform, the pants, the long-sleeved T-shirt and jacket, covered all my inorganic parts. If they noticed the dataport in the back of my neck they must have thought I was an augmented human. We were just three more people making our way down the ring. It hit me that I was just as anonymous in a crowd of humans who didn’t know each other as I was in my armor, in a group of other SecUnits.

“If people won’t be shooting at me what will I be doing?” Maybe I could be her bodyguard.

I didn’t know what I would do on a farm. Clean the house? That sounded way more boring than security. Maybe it would work out. This was what I was supposed to want. This was what everything had always told me I was supposed to want.

Supposed to want.

I don’t know what I want. I said that at some point, I think. But it isn’t that, it’s that I don’t want anyone to tell me what I want, or to make decisions for me.

Mensah had seen me when she signed the rental contract. But she had barely looked at me and I had barely looked at her because again, murderbot + actual human = awkwardness. Keeping the armor on all the time cuts down on unnecessary interaction.

“All right,” she said, and looked at me for what objectively I knew was 2.4 seconds and subjectively about twenty excruciating minutes.

Basically freehold generally meant shitshow so I hadn’t been expecting much from them. But they were surprisingly easy to work for.

Part of it is, they didn’t want me here. Not here in their hub, but here on the planet.

I had worked for some contracts that would have kept me standing here the entire day and night cycle, just on the off chance they wanted me to do something and didn’t want to bother using the feed to call me. Then she added, “You know, you can stay here in the crew area if you want. Would you like that?”

If the humans see me actually doing my job, it helps keep suspicions from forming about faulty governor modules.

Mensah’s expression said she was worried. She looked at me. “What do you think?”

But the constant sounds of people working and laughing and fighting all around him had become a comfort. The open was an empty place to be, and there were moments when even the most seasoned spacer might look to the star-flecked void outside with humility and awe.

Ashby sighed, swallowed his irritation and became the captain. He kept his face neutral, his ears open. Talking to Corbin always required a moment of preparation, and a good deal of detachment.

Dr. Chef shook his head, the skin on his cheeks shivering. “I don’t like implants that aren’t medically necessary. Besides, what’s the point of talking to different species if you don’t take the time to learn their words? Seems like cheating to simply think things and let the little box do the talking for you.”

Ashby scratched his beard and thought. What did he want it for? After he’d first left home, all those years ago, he’d sometimes wondered if he’d go back to the Fleet to raise kids, or if he’d settle down on a colony somewhere. But he was a spacer through and through, and he had the itch for drifting.

The Lovey that Jenks knew was uniquely molded by the Wayfarer. Her personality had been shaped by every experience she and the crew had together, every place they’d been, every conversation they’d shared. And honestly, Jenks thought, couldn’t the same be said for organic people? Weren’t they all born running the Basic Human Starter Platform, which was shaped and changed as they went along? In Jenks’s eyes, the only real difference in cognitive development between Humans and AIs was that of speed.

The Friends of Digital Sapients were one of those organizations that had their hearts in the right place but their heads firmly up their asses. On paper, Jenks believed a lot of the same things they did, namely that AIs were sapient individuals worthy of the same leagl rights that everyone else had. But the FDS went about it all wrong.

Rosemary frowned. She had a rough idea of how tunnels worked, but she’d never been able to make the idea stick.

Dr. Chef exhaled a disparaging rumble and fixed his beady eyes on Rosemary. “Some advice? If Kizzy ever says the words ‘you know what would be a great idea?,’ ignore whatever comes after.”

“I have never understood potatoes,” Sissix said. “The whole point of a potato is to cover it with salt so you don’t notice how bland it is. Why not just get a salt lick and skip the potato?”

A past birthday gift from Kizzy, who always ignored the fact that none of the non-Human crew members traditionally celebrated birthdays.

“Grum games are rather similar, thematically. I think our species are rather alike, in some ways. Humans would’ve died out, to, if the Aeluons chanced upon the Fleet. Luck’s what saved them. Luck, and discovering humility. That’s really all that makes Humans different from Grum. Well, aside from the obvious.” He chuckled, gesturing to his body.

“I did the same thing when my daughters were off at war. That’s why I don’t like that he’s doing it. I know how all that wondering can eat away at a person.”

Ashby had no idea what Corbin was getting at, but this was Corbin’s standard operating procedure. Complain first, explain later.

Kizzy nodded, stuffing a handful of puffs into her mouth. “Srvsts mmdn mmf–hrm.” She swallowed. “Survivalists abandon babies if they’re sick or different or whatever. Just like, oh, hey, this one’s kind of weird, better leave it behind so we can weed out the weak genes.” Kizzy clenched her fists, crushing the puffs within the bag. “Gah! It’s so stupid!” She looked down at the bag as if seeing it for the first time. “Aww.”

“Mala wouldn’t let them do it. Jenks says once she got the doctors to admit that him being small didn’t mean he wasn’t healthy, it wasn’t even a question for her. Didn’t have anything to do with the Gaiist stuff at that point. He says she was just sick of people telling her that there was something wrong with her kid.” She stopped and looked around. “And I’ve totally been walking the wrong way.”

Alongside such oddities, his small stature was nothing special. It was hard to feel weird in a place where everybody was weird.

“Your version of used is usually better than new,” Jenks said. He meant it. Pepper was a wizard when it came to bringing tech back from the dead.

“Because you’re a friend,” she said, the edge leaving her voice. “And because making connections is what I do. And if you’re serious about this, I’d rather you go through me than some back-alley hack. Though, truth be told, I’m also hoping that by the time I find someone, you’ll have decided I was right about it being a bad idea.”

When she considered the historical context, Rosemary thought their presence in the shop made for a rather odd tableau: a Harmagian (an aging son of a former empire), an Aandrisk (whose people had moderated the talks that granted independence to Harmagian colonies and ultimately founded the GC) and two Humans (a meager species that would’ve been ripe for the picking if they had been discovered during the days of Harmagian conquest). All standing together, amicably discussing the sale of soap. Time was a curious equalizer.

“Yeah, stuff that’s really important or hard to say. Like about love or hate or stuff you’re scared about. You know how when you have something big to tell someone, you stammer through it or sit in front of your mirror practicing what to say? Aandrisks don’t bother with that. They let the gestures take care of all the awkwards. They figure that big, deep feelings are universal enough to be defined with just a flick of the hand or whatever, even though the events that cause those feelings are unique.”

As Rosemary watched, the peculiarity of the act began to melt away.

She wished someone would give her that sort of attention on a whim. She wished she were confident enough to give it back.

“Being weird doesn’t mean that she doesn’t deserve companionship.”

Ashby’s hackles were up, but truthfully, this was an ideal way for a conversation with Corbin to go. Get him away from the crew, let him vent, wait for him to cross a line, then talk him down while he was feeling penitent.

Her body was strange, her ways were strange, and yet, Rosemary found herself in deep admiration.

But Aeluons, by some weird fluke of evolution, had a look that made most Humans drop their jaws, hold up their palms and say, “Okay, you are a superior species.”

Pei’s cheeks went a somber orange. “It is. I’m only on the edges of it, and from what I’ve seen… trust me, Ashby, this is a war that needs to be fought.” She exhaled in thought. “Do you think badly of me for– I don’t know, for accepting business from soldiers?”

“I know. But you’re a good woman. The things you have to do don’t change that. And your species– you know how to end a war. Truly end it. It doesn’t get in your blood. You do what needs doing and leave it at that.”

“You’re trying to evolve. I think the rest of the galaxy underestimates what that says about you.”

They drifted through the swirling silt, and to the ordinary observer, they would appear to be doing nothing but drawing dust trails with their comblike arms. But if Ohan looked with their mind, mapped it all out with the right numbers and notions, the space outside became a majestic, violent place.

The swirls of fur and clicks of tongue meant nothing to their crewmates, but they meant everything to Ohan.

Even so, Ohan was afraid. They could disconnect themself from the fear, but it lingered, like an unpleasant taste in the back of the throat. Fear. Such a throwback emotion, meant to spur primitive life-forms away from potential predators. Life’s universal constant. Every fear of rejection, of criticism, or failure, of loss– these were all caused by that same archaic survival reflex.

They believed Dr. Chef understood this social limitation. In a way, Dr. Chef could see into the hearts of others as well as Ohan themself could see the universe. Ohan often wondered if Dr. Chef knew what a gift that was.

Ohan preferred to take in the sight alone, especially now. A black hole was the perfect place to contemplate death. There was nothing in the universe that could last forever. Not stars. Not matter. Nothing.

But with the last of her savings running thin and her bridges burned behind her, ther was no margin for error. The price of a fresh start was having no one to fall back on.

When meeting an individual of another species for the first time, there is no sapient in the galaxy who does not immediately take inventory of xyr physiological differences. There are always the first things we see. How does xyr skin differ? Does xe have a tail? How does xe move? How does xe pick things up? What does xe eat? Does xe have abilities that I don’t? Or vice versa?

I believe this is why many of my peers still cling to theories of genetic material scattered by asteroids and supernovae. In many ways, the idea of a shared stock of genes drifting through the galaxy is far easier to accept than the daunting notion that none of us may ever have the intellectual capacity to understand how life truly works.

“I think that’s normal for anyone living with people other than their own. I’m sure they get tired of us, too.”

“And it’s not like they’ve done anything wrong. You know how much this crew means to me. But today… I don’t know. It feels like having a mess of younger hatchmates who won’t stop playing with your toys. They’re not breaking anything and you know they’re only trying to please you, but they’re so little and annoying, and you want them all to fall down a well. Temporarily.”

She would never, ever understand the idea that a child, especially an infant, was of more value than an adult who had already gained all the skills needed to benefit the community.

At first, Rosemary had assumed that it was some sort of tech lingo, but no, Jenks had quietly confirmed that this was Kizzy’s own special way of staying organized. Rosemary squinted at the screen. 5500 credits (ish)–WRSS. She made a flicking motion with her left hand, pulling up a file entitled ‘Kizzyspeak,’ her cheat sheet for acronyms that she had deciphered. ES (Engine Stuff). TB (Tools and Bits). CRCT (Circuits). But no, WRSS wasn’t there. She made a note to ask Kizzy about it.

“Just because you leave home doesn’t mean you stop caring about it. You wouldn’t get homesick otherwise. And your family knows you care. I keep an eye on our Linking traffic, you know. I see how many vid packs get sent to your family.”

I miss your hands. I miss sharing a bed. I miss sharing stories. I’ll never understand how you can be so patient with someone who can’t talk to you for tendays at a time. I’m not sure one of my own would’ve stayed with me through this. You Humans and your blind stubborness. Believe me, it’s–

No one else was hurt. The ambi, the food, none of that mattered. They were things, and things could be replaced. His crew couldn’t be. The relief he’d felt upon learning he was the only one who’d wound up in the med bay topped anything that the painkillers could give.

“I sure did,” Dr. Chef said. He handed Rosemary a clean cloth. “Once I’d medicated Ashby and got his bots going, I locked myself in my office and yelled for a good ten minutes.”

“No, but see, that’s why it’s so fun! It’s like a puzzle, figuring out what kind of circuits the old ones will talk to, adding new bits to make things more homey, staying on top of all the old framework’s secrets so we don’t blow up.”

This paper has far too little space for me to write everything I want to say, so know this: I love you, and I think of you always.

“And I don’t want to leave. But I won’t be on the Wayfarer forever anyway. Someday, when the time’s right, I’ll go do other things. If that time gets chosen for me, well… okay.”

Ashby started to wonder why the settlers had bothered rebuilding at all, but he already knew the answer. To some Humans, the promise of a patch of land was worth any effort. It was an oddly predictable sort of behavior. Humans had a long, storied history of forcing their way into places where they didn’t belong.

“It’s our hobby,” Bear said. “We only sell them to neighbors and trusted friends. We’re not in the business of equipping bad guys. But if you want to discourage bad guys, oh yeah, we can do that.”

“We have different philosophies, you and I, but I can understand where you’re coming from. Violence is always disconcerting, even if it’s only potential violence. But after the trouble you recently found yourself in– not to mention the place you’re headed to– it sounds as if you could do with some basic tools of self-defense. If that only constitutes shielding for you, that’s okay. But you need something.”

All misgivings that Ashby had about buying modder equipment vanished as Nib spoke to them about his tech. Nib already had the Wayfarer’s specs on hand, but he wanted to know more than just engine readouts and hull dimensions. He wanted details.

Ashby felt as though he were buying a tailored set of clothes. These modders were no mere techs. They were artists. And for all they were offering, they required only a day’s work and a sum of credits that Ashby suspected covered little more than the components themselves.

Ashby made a mental note to thank Kizzy for being friends with these people.

The thought of imposing on these strangers for a day or two– eating their food, sleeping on a grubby couch, listening to inside jokes– left Rosemary awkward. But the siblings’ congeniality did away with those feelings. Bear in particular made an effort to include her, and attempted to fill her in when the stories started going over her head (most of the stories fell into one of two groups: “the time we built this amazing thing” or “the time we smoked too much smash and did something stupid”). Once she had gotten past the memory of the oozing ketling carcass, she found the shreds of spicy, flame licked insect, wrapped in airy flat-bread and washed down with crisp kick, actually made for an enjoyable meal. By the time dinner was over, Rosemary found herself unexpectedly at ease.

“… Modding isn’t just about getting sewn up with cool tech, it’s about orchestrating a balance between the synthetic and the organic. If you don’t care about the well-being of the organic, then– ow!” He yelped as Kizzy pulled his hair.

“The very fact that we use the term cold-blooded as a synonym for heartless should tell you something about the innate bias we primates hold against reptiles,’ she pictured him saying. ‘Don’t judge other species by your own social norms.’ “

“Some people knit, some people play music, I dig through dusty old facts and make sure they’re accurate.”

“I like knowing things.”

“Because people are assholes,” said Bear, dutifully keeping his head down. “Ninety percent of all problems are caused by people being assholes.”

“It’s a really old practice, goes back to pre-Collapse computer networks. We’re talking old tech here. People would choose names for themselves that they only used within a network. Sometimes that name became so much a part of who they were that even their friends out in the real world started using it. For some folks, those names became their whole identity. Their true identity, even. Now, modders, modders don’t care about anything as much as individual freedom. They say that nobody can define you but you. So when Bear gave himself a new arm, he didn’t do it because he didn’t like the body he was born in, but because he felt that new arm fit him better. Tweaking your body, it’s all about trying to make your physical self fit with who you are inside.”

“You’re Rosemary Harper. You chose that name because the old one didn’t fit anymore. So you had to break a few laws to do it. Big fucking deal. Life isn’t fair, and laws usually aren’t, either. You did what you had to do. I get that.”

“But you’ve been kicking ass at your job, and you’re a good person. That’s going to matter more to him than anything else.”

He sat on a garden bench in the Fishbowl, his tea cooling as he worked through slow thoughts. Rosemary sat across from him, holding her own mug in her bony Human hands. She was silent as he thought out loud. He knew how strange they each were to the other– he for never thinking quietly, she for having no thinking sounds. He knew she understood his noise by now, though, and that knowledge made her silence feel companionable.

“Yes. But it was worse than that. I learned that the cutters had been our tech to start with. The Outsiders had just stolen the idea before we could complete it. They had only done to us what we had planned to do to them. That was the moment in which I no longer knew who the animals were. I no longer wanted to mend our soldiers so that they could go use cutters and…” He searched for serviceable words. “Sticky-fire and germ bombs. I wanted to heal them. Actually heal them. Sometimes I’d see a body added to the pile, someone I had just put back on her feet a few days earlier. It made me wonder what the point of it all was.” He stopped, and rumbled in thought for a long, long time.

She was the last of my children. There had been five of them, all beautiful grey-speckled girls. And they all became soldiers, as most of our girls did. They died on scorched battlefields far from home. None of my children ever mothered. None of them ever became male. My last child, I didn’t love her anymore or less than any of the others, but something about knowing that all my children were gone broke me.

“We cannot blame ourselves for the wars our parents start. Sometimes the very best thing we can do is walk away.”

“Rosemary, on behalf of the crew of the Wayfarer, I would like to apologize,” Sissix said. “Coming into a new home deserves a better welcome than anything Artis Corbin can give. I’m sure you know all about the escape pods by now, and nothing about who we are and what we do.”

“As you said, he had everything. That made him feel safe and powerful. Your father had probably gotten his way for so long that he thought he was untouchable, and that is a dangerous way for a person to feel. I don’t think anyone on this ship blames you for wanting to get as far away as you could from a person like that.”

“But it still compares. If you have a fractured bone, and I’ve broken every bone in my body, does that make your fracture go away? Does it hurt you any less, knowing that I am in more pain?”

“Aha. But he did. So then you begin wondering how you could’ve been so wrong about him. You start going back through your memories, looking for signs. You begin questioning everything you know, even the good things. You wonder how much of it was a lie. And worst of all, since he had a heavy hand in making you who you are, you begin wondering what you yourself are capable of.”

“All you can do, Rosemary– all any of us can do– is work to be something positive instead. That is a choice that every sapient must make every day of their life. The universe is what we make of it. It’s up to you to decide what part you will play. And what I see in you is a woman who has a clear idea of what she wants to be.”

“Lovey, I have the feeling that this little rendezvous is going to be awesome for everybody.”

“It’s still true.” Sissix grinned. “Look at them, though.” She nodded toward the Aeluons. “Look at the way they move. Even little things. Like that one, look at the way she picked up her cup. They don’t move. They dance.” She took another handful of puffs. “They make me feel like… oh, what are those big ugly reptiles you have back on Earth? The extinct ones?”

“Guns and… bad guys, yes. But this”– she nodded toward the mines–“is not the shit I deal with all the time. This is not something I can fix. And that’s what scares me. There are few things as unsettling as a lack of control in an unfamiliar situation.”

Pei said nothing for a moment. “Kizzy, I am scared of everything, all the time. I’m scared of my ship getting shot down when I have to land planetside. I’m scared of the armor in my vest cracking during a fight. I’m scared that the next time I have to pull out my gun, the other guy will be faster. I’m scared of making mistakes that could hurt my crew. I’m scared of leaky biosuits. I’m scared of vegetables that haven’t been washed properly. I’m scared of fish.”

“I see.” Ashby blinked again. “Why are we doing this?”

“Because some jackass dumped them all over the floor, and they have to be cleaned up. And if they have to be cleaned up, we might as well sort them while we’re at it.” Jenks sat down, leaning comfortably against a planter. He began to pick through the bolts. “See, my best friend in the whole galaxy is currently on another ship, holed up in a wall, disarming hackjob explosives. It’s dark in there, and her fingers are probably sore by now, after tugging at all those little wires, and I’m shitting myself over the possibility of something going wrong, because I seriously do not know what I would do without her. And I can’t help. I can’t do anything. Not one damn thing. I know she’s the best person for this, and I know she doesn’t need my help. But all the same, she’s facing some dangerous shit, and it is completely out of my hands. I want to do something , and it’s driving me fucking crazy that I can’t. I can’t even smoke because there are Aeluons around. So, fine. I’m going to sort bolts.” He swung his eyes up to Ashby. “And I think anybody who has similar feelings should join me.”

The trappings of a bureaucrat trying to pretend he had the same clout as the powerful species around him.

“…People change feather families whenever they need to, and people need different things at different times in their lives. It’s almost unheard of for an Aandrisk to stay with the same people their entire life…”

“…on a long haul, this” – she tapped the top of Rosemary’s head– “needs to be the most important thing you take care of.”

Which of us are people and which of us are meat?

Nobody understood what the Absolute Zeros believed so hard, they couldn’t even wedge it into their lyrics yet: The world had gotten gritty enough. The only thing left to do in all that dirt was to shine.

He’d only said what he meant, which was, when you thought about it, a minor superpower, because so few people ever did.

“I’m…I’m the coyote. I make the most magnificent contraptions, and I always think this time, this time everyone will see how good I really am, but they only ever burn me up and leave me starving to death.”

“For lo, does not Goguenar’s Third Unkillable Fact tell us: ‘Though any species on any dumb gobworld may develop sentience (the poor bastards), no government ever does?’ "

…Binned–a word which had come, over the millenia, to mean: carefully, lovingly recorded for posterity by the Elakhon and preserved against the ravages of time, war, and the children’s disrespect for history.

It’s a bird, it’s a plane, it’s the fragile illusion of invulnerability inherent in being just like everyone else. No–it’s Englishblokeman.

Life is beautiful and life is stupid.

The question has never even been: Do you understand object permanence, can you recognize yourself in the mirror, do you bury your dead, do you bond emotionally with your young?…

Elephants do all those things, and some humans definitely don’t. The only question is this: Do you have enough empathy and yearning and desperation to connect to others outside yourself and scream into the void in four-part harmony? Enough brainpower and fine motor control and aesthetic ideation to look at feathers and stones and stuff that comes out of a worm’s more unpleasant holes and see gowns, veils, platform heels? Enough sheer style and excess energy to do something that provides no direct, material benefit to your personal survival, that might even mark you out from the pack as shiny, glittery prey, to do it for no other than that it rocks?…Do you have enough goodness in your world to let the music play? Do you have a soul?

Only the uncool have the requisite alone time to advance their species.

You have already heard the First General Fact: Life is beautiful and life is stupid. It goes on to add: You can only ever fix one of these at a time, and wouldn’t it be nice if anyone could agree on which one is the bigger problem?

Neither Decibel nor Oort nor poor dead Mira ever imagined the power of the ordinary to gum up the works of the epic.

“Everyone’s always saying love is the element that binds the universe together, but that’s a load of bollocks; it’s convenience. All things, from evolution to municipal sanitation to marriage to the Big Bang to diplomacy to the distribution of shops in urban centers, trend toward the most convenient outcome for the greatest number of lazy bastards, because the inconvenient stuff ends up alone without any friends and a foot growing out of their head and who has the time?”

No one is ever really satisfied with what they’ve got, look at that skinny bastard Old Ruutu, he heated up his whole planet like a leftover takeaway, and he still wasn’t really that happy, if you ask me. People are mostly happiest when they think they’re just about to get the thing they most want. Before and after, they’re all monsters.

The key to a happy life, Capo devoutly believed, was never giving much of a damn what happened in any given day so long as you got in a nap, a kill, and a snuggle, and the snuggle was optional.

Because the opposite of fascism isn’t anarchy, it’s theater. When the world is fucked, you go to the theater, you go to the shine, and when the bad men come, all there is left to do is sing them down. You didn’t get it, I didn’t think you understood, you can’t sing a dirge to the reaper, he’s already heard them all. You gotta slaughter him with joy and a beat like the best of all possible shags,…

“Dying happens to everyone, even stars. Even the stuff between stars. But if you believe in yourself and achieve your goals, you can die so hard that no one will ever forget you, and that’s almost as good as not dying at all.”

Justice takes so long that by the time you get it, it’s gone off and smells like an old corpse. Forget about justice. Just knock back a big, stiff drink and move to a new town with fewer pronks living in it.

So they could feel a little more human by osmosis…Pain becomes playful, playful becomes pretty, pretty becomes pleasure, pleasure becomes profit, profit becomes safety, another day not working at Mr. Five Star, another day further from invisibility.

“We have always believed that one of the hallmarks of sentience is the ability to look down upon others.”

“Damn…I thought you were the other one. I hate carbons. You all look the same.”

But most people can only be so anxious and so terrified and so sleepless and so cowed and awed before the yawning abyss of the future for so long. Eventually, the body simply can’t sustain it. Eventually, some work has to get done. Eventually, adrenal glands need a bit of a break.

… everybody was terribly distracted by the seemingly unending, white-hot, existential, logistical, mostly mundane troubles of their own day-to-day lives.

“As far as quality housemates to be found on Planet Earth, it goes: dolphins, elephants, orangutans, octopi, then every single spider, then Joan of Arc, the Dalai Lama, Mr. Rogers, Freddie Mercury, my nan, all the scorpions, German measles, a dented recycling bin, and then maybe some of the rest of us. It’s grim.”

He hated this place. What was the point of a world without debilitating bitterness and despair? How could you even tell you were alive? How could you possibly write a decent pop song if you weren’t a sad sack of tissues or at least fundamentally angry at the world most of the time?

“I wish I were someone else. Someone you could rely on to turn it out no matter what. I’m afraid that whatever I had is lost by now. I haven’t had a song out in years. I haven’t had a good day in years. What if I get up there and just completely blow it? Or worse, what if I get up there and give the performance of my sorry life, the best show in the history of me, if the light of the world comes beaming out of me like a bloody Care Bear Stare for the ages, and it’s not good enough? If you lot somehow hear in my voice all the worst of us?”

Marry me, and we’ll make a little bubble universe where nothing has to change and the elections never happened and it’s just Arkable Us, neon against the night, ice cream against the world.

I promise never to skip school again, just come back. It’s lonely being the last of us. I wish I could fix it all. I wish I could have been better. That’s all. I just wish I was better.

“When the aliens come, there’ll be one queue to fight them and one queue to fuck them, and the second one’ll be longer by light years.”

…their favorite children and their ailing parents singing a duet about how much and how desperately they needed them.

It blossomed all over again into cosmic grief at the ultimate impossibility of communication between two living beings.

I can’t wait for your monarchs to decide to hide it, lose control of the narrative, deny the evidence, call me a weather balloon, confess and resign, and finally leak a half-redacted version of what I tried to say to a newspaper friendly to one faction or another.

You’re just shy of figuring out how to shuffle your horde of hormone-curdled control-obsessed malignant narcissists offworld.

I’ll put this in words you can understand: humans are hideous, pain-guzzling, pollution-spouting space monsters who might threaten our way of life.