(courtesy Pan Macmillan Australia)
One of the most enduring motifs in space operas is the idea that a renegade, diverse bunch of people, all of good heart and relatively pure soul, which is rare in a rough-n-tumble, dog-eat-dog galaxy, can find each other, come together, forge a found family against the odds and make themselves a home with one another.
It speaks to the human (and alien) need to belong, to have connection beyond utilitarian need and to find some meaning among the stars that isn’t simply about satisfying some basic need; sure, these kinds of stories can be told through all sorts of genres but there’s some thing epically heartwarming about them in a sci-fi setting where the stakes are high, there’s little to no room for mistakes and the rewards can be life-changing on a blockbuster-level scale.
Case in point is Moss’d in Space by Rebecca Thorne, the first of what appears to be a series of novels, where some truly unique people come together and make a profound change in peoples’ lives.
While there are some emphatically big narrative punctuation points and fun twists, what really matters in this superbly written, cosy sci-fi novel is that the characters find each other, and overcoming suspicion, self-interest and some hefty abandonment issues, become indispensable parts of each others’ hitherto alone-against-the-galaxy lives.
Moss’d in Space is set in a galaxy where humanity lives on one gorgeously terraformed planet called Rhymarra, a rural idyll where everything is handmade, life is easy and the air is clean (pay attention; that last bit really matters) and a series of space stations that have frankly seen much better days.
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One of those functioning-but-barely places is Colony 13, where trained engineer Torian and her ailing older sister Celise live and which Torian especially dreams of escaping, hopefully to the extremely exclusionary Rhymarra where passing rigorous exams are your only ticket in, so she can give her sister, who suffers from a terminal disease caused by poor quality artificial air, can finally some relief and maybe even a cure.
It’s the mother of all impossible pipe dreams but it powers Torian through a series of jobs with the Fleet, one of a number of criminal enterprises which dominate human life in a galaxy a long way from Earth, where they are watched with concern and scorn, and perhaps a little curiosity, by an alien federation that decided, for a variety of reasons, to keep humanity in one tightly confined solar system, throw away the keys and walk away.
In almost every respect, life for humanity in their less-than-ideal home is not optimal, and while most people just accept it and do their best to get by, Torian can’t afford to be so glib because not caring, not trying to beat the odds, will cost her sister Celise her life and Torian can’t stand by and let that happen.
So, after lots of saving and hard graft, most recently working for Fleet captain Amelia, with whom Torian may have a brief but frustratingly disappointing affair, Torian saves up enough money to buy her first spaceship, an ancient but powerful construction which is full of, wait for it, life-giving and emotionally needy sentient moss, called, rather sensibly, Moss.
Moss is, in so many ways, the MVP of Moss’d in Space.
He’s snarky, unforgiving and desperately unhappy that he was abandoned for well in excess of a century by his creator Dutch, the last remaining member (in this galaxy anyway) member of a long-living, near-immortal race called the nylarians, who might be technologically advanced like his now-lost people, but who can’t remember, for the life of him, where he parked his spaceship.
One filled with sentient, score-keeping Moss who, despite becoming fast if snippy friends with a highly amused Torian, won’t forgive Dutch who, it turns out, is out there somewhere in the solar system on a happy collision course with Torian, Celise, Amelia and a host of others who will, rather remarkably and with an engaging mix of humour and thoughtfulness, end up becoming the most unlikely of families.
For those who might think that going all warm and cosy in a space opera might blunt the edges of a highly engaging and thrilling narrative, rest assured that though the emphasis is on the coming together of a group of disparate individuals into a closeknit group of people all working together for the common good, and finding wonderful connection as they do so, Moss’d in Space still enough edge-of-your-seat moments to keep you engaged.
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But honestly, the joy of Moss’d in Space is that it’s here for the warmth and joy of people getting much needed happy-ever-afters.
Or at least provisionally ones, with a promising haven in the offing and a will to turn it into something special, despite all the many disappointments Torian especially encounters on her way to having all her dreams come true, and then some.
No doubt there are true sci-fi believers out there who will dismiss the warm fuzziness of Moss’d in Space as not hard-edged enough but that’s missing the point; for all the brilliantly gripping darkly space operatic out there, and it is so very good and thrillingly invigorating for the soul, we need stories where community and family are celebrated since even in the future, you presume that still matters to the human, and of course, alien soul.
At the end of day what Moss’d in Space offers with thoughtfulness, empathy and an overflowing heart is the idea that no matter how much the world, or the galaxy might be against you, that if you are part of a inclusively loving and welcoming found family, no matter how different you all might be, that good things will result.
Will the road to happiness, or something approximating it be a walk in the park? Not really, and lovely though most families are they can’t face down all the vagaries, brokenness and sadness of life, but every step will be walked be unconditional love and support, with a few snarky asides and disagreements because, hey, that’s family, and that in the end, even in a coldly unforgiving future, will make all the difference.