anywhere

She is nothing but trouble, this new one. Crawling everywhere, tinkering and toying with the ship despite our threats and pleas. We continue to feed her, and without drugs she becomes more coherent, but no less strange.

“Boxrider spaceling” sneered Kon.
“Cratecatcher!” announced M, almost proudly. As a result of the massive shipping industry, stowaways are not unusual. Professionals emerge, learning all they can before their careers are inevitably cut short by one mistake, one airleak, one change of plans. Boxriders usually have so little left to lose that they leave it to luck. Fate: simply not having enough information to make a good decision.

The world we’ve created is crawling with a generation of spacelings, those born in the dark with no planets on which to set down roots. Stories of children birthed in transit were at first horrifying to the settled people of Earth, now it is a common occurrence. Mines turn out loads of ore and unwanted, dark-born children that end up flowing from station to station, orphanage to mine. They are raised surrounded by the metal walls of space stations and ships, some never knowing the feel of unrecycled air. Is there a difference between the spacelings and those who remember the sky?

I wonder how long she's been out here. I wonder if she's ever been anywhere else.