Rosemary Harper is a newly certified clerk, fresh from college, signing aboard the good ship Wayfarer for her first gig. It’s going to be a long one, too: galactic politics have just opened up the possibility of a lucrative job near the Core, which has previously been a no-man’s land given the constant war raging there between clans of an incredibly vicious species. Rosemary is smart and open to learning about the universe beyond Mars — but she has secrets, and the more she gets to know her new crewmates and develops genuine relationships with them, the more shame she feels for lying to them. They have their secrets, too, though, and we learn them as we witness the crew spending most of a year dealing with crisis after crisis and leaning on one another — or fighting with one another — for support. This is a character-dominated SF story that’s more about learning and loving and less about huge crises: as such, it may not be everyone’s cup of tea, but I’ve enjoyed Chambers’ approach so far.

Assuming the reader is on board with a ‘cozy’ science fiction story, there is a lot to like about Long Way, particularly the worldbuilding and characterization. We find ourselves in a universe in which humanity has largely abandoned Earth after destroying its ecosystems and environment through war. Those who left early were rich, and settled Mars: others left out of sheer desperation, in a great Exodus Fleet that would have possibly died out had it not be found by other sapient species who — as luck would have it — were member of a Galactic Community, something like the Federation of 1960s Star Trek. There are several races in the Galatic Community, and they’re all very different, not only physically but culturally, and through our newbie Rosemary we get to learn about them just as she does. This GC has its own history, and humans are marginal players in it at best: while the setup of a mixed-species crew may sound like Star Trek, the optimism and belief in humanity are replaced by cynicism and censoriousness of the same. Granted, humanity did destroy a planet here, so it may be warranted, but I disliked it just the same.

As with Chamber’s later works, the Monk and Robot novels, Long Way is dominated by its characters. The crew of the Wayfayer are vivid personalities, most of whom are carrying secrets that we learn as the story develops. The novel is truly about these characters’ stories than the SF-plot happenings, which pepper and push the novel but don’t dominate it. Although we begin with Rosemary, this is more of an ensemble story, with some genuinely unforgettable characters, about half of whom are non-human. My favorites were the two engineers, Kizzy and Jenks Kizzy reminded me of Kaylee on Firefly, but if Kaylee were doing cocaine, and Jenks is obsessed with AI, weapons, and tech in general. (Not that Wayfayer has weapons: Captain Ashby came from Exodus fleet stock, and most Exodans renounced force in favor of hang-wringing about humanity’s past.) I also liked the use of AI as a character: “Lovey” is integrated with the ship, the way River Tam pretended to be in the Firefly episode “Objects in Space”. The relationships between these characters — the bonds they share — are the heart and soul of Long Way, and through their interactions, we learn more about the world Chambers built, with occasional crises like arrests and pirate raids. Although there’s an “oof, we humans are awful” tinge that’s pretty consistent, this is not a down-and-depairing novel even though tragic things happen: instead, it’s cozy, sweet to the point that it might strike some as saccharine. During one of the pirate raids Rosemary uses her language skills to communicate with the raiders, and while she can’t keep the ship’s stores from being looted, she does mitigate the worst depredations. Add to that the “This crew is family” feeling that permeates and it’s awful heartstring-pulling.

I think conventional SF fans will find much to appreciate here, as Chambers’ alien species are fairly thought out, and their differences allow Chambers to explore topics like family structure, sexuality, machine sentience, and so on, but it’s definitely more about relationship than huge political drama like Dune or Foundation, or ideas like The Disposessed. Possibly best experienced by more casual SF fans, including those who are just kinda curious. There were some annoyances for me, like implausible interspecies relationships (all of these species are very different from one another, it’s not like Star Trek aliens who are “human with pointy ears and a bad haircut” or “human with spots“.), but I liked this very much and have already checked out the second book.

Achievement Unlocked! Science Fiction Book Bingo: A Ship & A Crew

Highlights:

“So we travel to one end—whoosh—and all the people seeing us fly by are like, oh my stars, look at that totally amazing ship, what genius tech patched together such a thing, and I’m like, oh, that’s me, Kizzy Shao, you can all name your babies after me—whooosh—and then we get to our start point.”

“Trust me.” This coming from the tech in a grubby jumpsuit with to-do lists written on her sleeve.

“Some advice? If Kizzy ever says the words ‘you know what would be a great idea?,’ ignore whatever comes after.”
“Don’t listen to him,” Kizzy said. “All my ideas are great.”

“Do you know Aandrisk hand speak?” Rosemary asked. Kizzy glanced up from the lock of hair she was braiding.
“Not really. Sis taught me a couple of ’em. Just basic stuff. ‘Hello.’ ‘Thanks.’ ‘I enjoy your company but I don’t want to have sex.’”

“Your species does have a knack for emotional suppression. And as your doctor, I would like to say that diving straight into paperwork after negotiating at gunpoint wasn’t a very healthy decision.”

“There is a scatter burst burn on your hull.”
“You always say the most romantic things.”

Sissix cupped her palm, flipped it and spread her claws, even though she knew Rosemary would not understand the gesture. Tresha. It was the thankful, humble, vulnerable feeling that came after someone saw a truth in you, something they had discovered just by watching, something that you did not admit often to yourself.