A Closed and Common Orbit

Book 2 of the Wayfarer series

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This is a masterpiece. It’s two stories in one that meet at the end of the book in a way that is unpredictable and satisfying. I couldn’t put this down.

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The algae had a sharp, strange taste, nothing like the meals she drank during the day. The taste was real bad, but she hadn’t tasted much else, nothing except maybe a bit of soap in the showers, a bit of blood when she got punished. She sucked the algae from her nails in the dark, heart beating hard, toes squeezing tight. It was a good thing, that bad taste. No one else knew what she was doing. No one else could feel what she felt.

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The novel centers on an individual who is a minor character in Book 1. In this, we learn her backstory while also following along in her present with a decision that was made at the end of Book 1.

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Both dogs lay on the ground, fur smoking. Jane ran and ran and ran, satchel full of heavy canteens crashing into her leg. The dogs didn’t follow her. It wasn’t until she stopped running that she understood they were dead. She hadn’t meant to do that. She had made something to hurt dogs, but it worked too good, she guessed, because she had hurt them dead. That made her feel something in a very big way, something good and bad all at once.

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In alternating chapters, we’re told a story of an AI that nurtures a little girl and a story of a woman who nurtures an AI. The intertwining stories are told so well, with sensitivity and attention to detail, that they grab ahold of the imagination and give it a good shake.

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‘Life is terrifying. None of us have a rule book. None of us know what we’re doing here. So, the easiest way to stare reality in the face and not utterly lose your shit is to believe that you have control over it. If you believe you have control, then you believe that you’re at the top. And if you’re at the top, then people who aren’t like you … well, they’ve got to be somewhere lower, right? Every species does this. Does it again and again and again. Doesn’t matter if they do it to themselves, or another species, or someone they created.’

She jutted her chin toward Tak. ‘You studied history. You know this. Everybody’s history is one long slog of all the horrible shit we’ve done to each other.’

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While I was reading this, I’d open the book if I had two spare minutes while waiting for the tea to boil. If I awoke in the middle of the night, I’d take the opportunity to get another hour of reading in. I couldn't get enough of it.

This is a tragic and remarkable story of enduring friendship across species, and how love binds a home - whether or not the individuals within it are organic.

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