Rosemary was silent for a long time. “The cutters were horrible,” she said. “But on some level, I can understand why your people used them. They were at war, they all hated each other. My father is not a soldier. He’s never been in a war. He doesn’t hate the Toremi. I don’t know if he’s ever even met one. We had everything on Mars. Everything. He allowed those weapons to be designed and sold—he encouraged it—and for what? More money? How many people are dead because of what he did? How many people’s children?”
Dr. Chef sat back on four. “As you said, he had everything. That made him feel safe and powerful. People can do terrible things when they 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.”
“Ashby wasn’t exactly pleased.”
“Only about the deception. Not about who you are.” He glanced back toward the empty kitchen, the empty hallway. “And between you and me, he understands. He’s not going to hold it against you. But he’s also your boss, and sometimes he has to speak in a way that reminds us of that.” He hummed, shifting thoughts. “In a way, I think you must be feeling much the same way as I did the day that I found out where the cutters came from. You found something dark within your own house, and you are wondering how much of it has rubbed off on you.”
Rosemary started to nod, then shook her head. “That’s not the same. What happened to you, to your species, it’s… it doesn’t even compare.”
“Why? Because it’s worse?”
She nodded.
“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?”
“No, but that’s not—”
“Yes, it is. Feelings are relative. And at the root, they’re all the same, even if they grow from different experiences and exist on different scales.” He examined her face. She looked skeptical. “Sissix would understand this. You Humans really do cripple yourselves with your belief that you all think in unique ways.” He leaned forward. “Your father—the person who raised you, who taught you how the world works—did something unspeakably horrible. And not only did he take part in it, he justified it to himself. When you first learned of what your father had done, did you believe it?”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“I didn’t think he was capable of it.”
“Why not? He obviously was.”
“He didn’t seem like he was. The father I knew never could’ve done such a thing.”
“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.”
Rosemary stared at him. “Yes.”
Dr. Chef bobbed his head up and down. “And this is where our species are very much alike. The truth is, Rosemary, that you are capable of anything. Good or bad. You always have been, and you always will be. Given the right push, you, too, could do horrible things. That darkness exists within all of us. You think every soldier who picked up a cutter gun was a bad person? No. She was just doing what the soldier next to her was doing, who was doing what the soldier next to her was doing, and so on and so on. And I bet most of them—not all, but most—who made it through the war spent a long time after trying to understand what they’d done. Wondering how they ever could have done it in the first place. Wondering when killing became so comfortable.”
Rosemary’s freckled cheeks had gone a little pale. He could see her throat move as she swallowed.
“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.”
Rosemary gave a short laugh. “Most days I wake up and have no idea what the hell I’m doing.”
He puffed his cheeks. “I don’t mean the practical details. Nobody ever figures those out. I mean the important thing. The thing I had to do, too.” He made a clucking sound. He knew she would not understand it, but it came naturally. The sort of sound a mother made over a child learning to stand. “You’re trying to be someone good.”
Day 335, GC Standard 306
KEDRIUM
Kizzy was up too late, as usual. That had been standard procedure ever since she was a kid. When she was small, Papa would tuck her in with a story and a kiss and a hug from Tumby, her stuffed frog. Moments after the lights went out, her toes would start wiggling, and her butt would follow suit, and before long, the idea of holding still and sleeping seemed super unfair. At regular intervals, Papa would come into her room, lift her away from her building blocks, and tuck her back in, his patient voice growing ever wearier. Finally, Ba would get home from the evening shift at the water station, and he’d say, “Kizzy, sweetheart, please go to sleep. The blocks will be there in the morning, I promise.” That was true, but he missed the point. While the actual physical blocks would stay where she left them, her brain always was full of new configurations that she hadn’t tried yet. If she didn’t get them out before she fell asleep, they’d be totally forgotten by morning, when she’d be distracted by the promise of pancakes.