Summary:
<blockquote>“You really do a nice bird,” said Hua from her stepstool above Chimalus. He noticed a strand of black hair sticking to her cheek. She brushed it with the back of her hand which left a brown streak matching the branch she worked on.
“It’s tough to get the tailfeathers right,” Chimalus said. “My name means Bluebird. Did you know that?”
“How appropriate.” Hua leaned back and studied his work. “It’s American Indian, right? Do you know what tribe?” She braced her elbow against the unpainted wall below her tree then added a detail. The mural so far stretched along the hallway to their right until it curved up out of sight. To their left, unpainted metal, punctuated by doors and a corridor curved up too. Chimalus never shook the feeling he rested at a wheel’s bottom, like the bottom of a hamster wheel. A chatting couple strolled toward them, but neither glanced at the painting as they passed.</blockquote>
➤ about a stowaway on a generation ship
➤ also about art and being part of a community of amateur artists whose work is worthwhile
➤ I loved the details about the problems with microbial growth in a closed system full of humans who are constantly shedding skin particles, and that the main character sees it as an important job to be part of the clean-up
➤ the future is unknown but worth being a part of
➤ 7k words in length
