‘Oh,’ Pei said, her inner eyelids blinking. ‘I saw some lights on the horizon, but I thought it was just … power trying to come back on. Or something.’
Ouloo stuck out the tip of her tongue in the negative. ‘That was on purpose. I don’t know who started it. I saw someone’s lights flash, and then I saw someone else do the same in reply, so I turned my lights off and on four times, and then we just … did that for a while.’
‘Was it some kind of code? Four for okay, three for help, that kind of thing?’
‘No, not at all. Though that kind of thing would be smart to have, in hindsight. No, we weren’t saying anything. Or at least I wasn’t. We were just letting each other know we were there, I think. That’s what I got out of it, anyway.’ She bobbed her neck approvingly. ‘Made me feel a little better.’
Sympathetic though she was to Ouloo feeling isolated, the conversation had arrived at a point of opportunity for Pei to ask what she most wanted to. She saw no reason not to pounce on it. ‘Are there any Aeluons living nearby?’ she asked easily.
‘Oh, yes.’ Ouloo turned and pointed. Pei followed the line of her paw out past the dome and through the desert. ‘Tobet works at the Halfway Hotel. And there’s Sila over at the art walk – you can’t see the dome from here, but it’s a hop and skip away. Let’s see … I know of several Aeluons on the TA orbiter. One’s called Sen, she’s usually the one who renews my business licence. And, of course, there are lots of places here that mainly cater to you folks. There’s a city field on the other side of the planet. We do get a lot of you passing through.’
Pei mulled that over. She was hardly the only Aeluon stuck on Gora, but walking into a city field and chatting up random people with her predicament was the last solution she wanted. ‘Any of them in particular you know well?’ she asked. She worked to keep the tone of her talkbox light.
‘Tobet and I are quite friendly. She sent over that jenjen cake I had out when you all first got here—’
Pei tuned out everything that came after the female pronoun, because no matter how good her jenjen cake was, Tobet would be of no help to her. ‘I see,’ she said once Ouloo had finished. She paused, trying not to tip her hand too much. ‘What about men? Or shon?’
Ouloo thought about this. ‘Well, there’s Kopi at the tea garden. I don’t know—’ She paused, stumbling on something. ‘Shon don’t use neutrals, right? I don’t know what Kopi is right now, so I don’t know what to call – not xyr, but—’
Pei came to the rescue. ‘Shon only use neutrals when in the middle of a shift. Whichever gender Kopi was the last time you saw Kopi is the polite thing to use.’
‘Ah, thank you. I’ll remember that. In any case, I don’t know Kopi well at all, beyond running into him on the orbiter and at parties and whatnot, but he’s quite nice. A little buttoned up, but—’ She paused and rocked her neck. ‘Why do you ask?’
Pei shrugged and continued to paint. ‘Just curious. I—’
Whatever feint she was about to attempt died the second she felt a warm, fuzzy paw gently push up the edge of her jacket sleeve so as to reveal the bare skin underneath.
Ouloo held Pei’s arm, staring at the scales. ‘Oh, stars,’ she said in a hush. She stared a moment longer, then looked up at Pei with shining eyes. ‘Congratulations.’
ROVEG
He was so happy Speaker had joined him. He hadn’t been sure how she’d feel about his invitation – not because he could think of anything in it that would be poorly received, but because Speaker was still a stranger to him. Did meals and socialising mix well, for her? Was she the sort to go to the home of someone she barely knew for breakfast?
Apparently, she was.
As she walked through the airlock, she seemed markedly different than she had two days before, when she’d come in, scrib in hand, confidently asking him what it was he could do in a pinch. Today, there was no scrib, only the bundles of food he’d prepared for her, carefully tucked around both sides of her cockpit seat in an endearing way. She looked … not nervous, no. Shy. That was it. Speaker looked a touch shy, and even with his limited knowledge of her, that was not a trait he’d expected.
‘I’m delighted you’re here,’ he said, bowing his torso. ‘I was thinking we could eat in the projection room, if that’s all right by you?’
‘Oh,’ Speaker said. ‘Um, yes, that sounds fine.’
She followed him down the hallway, the clank of her mech suit providing a funny harmony to the familiar patter of his own legs. He had been ready for small talk, as she’d been pleasant company in the days before, but she was quiet now. Glancing back, he could see her studiously taking in the hallway, the architecture, the artwork on the walls. What did she make of it, he wondered. He thought of her weary shuttle parked next to his, and of what he’d known of her species before he met her, and of what he’d learned of them since. At this, he became self-conscious. Embarrassed, almost. He wondered if this was insulting to her in some way, if it came across like he was some wealthy bastard with more than he deserved. He knew he was a wealthy bastard, and he certainly didn’t deserve it any more than anybody else. These were facts, but he hoped she didn’t dislike him over it. He shuffled his abdominal plates, and told himself that however she felt was simply how she felt. He could do nothing about that, but what he could control was the embarrassment, which was antithetical to the point. He’d been taught that if one person had more than another, feeling guilty about it was the least productive reaction. The only proper way to approach such inequities was to figure out how best to wield them, so as to bring others up to where you stood. (This lesson was one of the better-known components of the Central Tenets; not everything in there was nonsense, and not all of it were things he’d felt the need to root out. Most, but not all.)
‘Well, here we are,’ he said, leading her into the projection room. The background he’d chosen for the occasion was a giant terraced fountain, with languid waves of water cascading slowly down its mossy sides. He’d wanted something that would serve as accompaniment, not distraction. His table in the middle was already set, laden with plates containing larger portions of the treats he’d packed for her. The meal was far more lacking in protein than he was accustomed to, and he was sure a bellyful of nothing but plants was going to call for a follow-up snack once she’d gone, but enjoying a meal with someone was as much about sharing an experience as it was about sharing space. ‘I’m very much looking forward to trying these things. They’re all ingredients I had aboard, of course, but I did some reading, and I prepared them in a way I hope will suit. I wasn’t wrong about them being safe for you, correct?’
‘They seem to be,’ Speaker said. ‘I’m not familiar with most of them, so I ran it all through a scanner before I came over. No offence, I hope.’
‘Oh, not at all. A wise precaution. I once made the mistake of not doing that before tucking in at this little Harmagian eatery once, and I couldn’t feel the inside of my mouth for a tenday.’ He looked her up and down. ‘I’d invite you to sit, but … I suppose you’re already sitting.’
Speaker laughed from her cockpit chair. ‘I can sit the suit down so I’m not towering over you.’
He chuckled in agreement, and lowered his abdomen to the floor, folding his legs in neatly. Speaker pulled her controls, setting the suit down with an industrial thud.
‘Vehlech hra hych bet,’ he said magnanimously, then translated: ‘May it be to your liking.’
She cocked her head with interest. ‘Tellerain is such a beautiful language.’
‘Do you think so?’ he said. He reached for a plate of quick-pickled marshpears. ‘Sounds and beauty are such relative things. I know Aandrisks don’t like the sound of us much, but then, I think Reskitkish sounds like someone trying to choke to death as quickly as possible, so to each their own.’
‘I love the layers in Tellerain,’ Speaker said. ‘It’s like a song.’
He made an appreciative sound, then a much louder one as he bit into the marshpear.
‘Oh! Mmm! Oh, I think this turned out quite well, what do you say? And please know, I won’t be bothered at all if you don’t like any of it. I’m sure we have very different palates.’
Speaker looked at what he was eating, then searched the bundles around her seat to find the matching stuff. She pulled out a marshpear with an intrigued look, studied it for a moment, then took an investigative nibble with her beak. ‘Stars, that’s tart,’ she said.
‘Too tart?’
‘No, no. I think I’ll eventually like it; I just had no idea what to expect.’
‘I think I’ll eventually like it,’ he repeated with approval. ‘Spoken like a true adventurous eater.’
She took a more confident bite. ‘I wouldn’t call myself that,’ she said. ‘I don’t eat much alien food.’ She swallowed. ‘Hardly ever, honestly. I hadn’t really thought about it, until you sent me this.’
‘It would make sense, if you can’t go out to eat,’ he said. He began to tuck in with gusto, grasping delicious things with each of his thoracic feet. ‘If you’re getting groceries for a long haul, you want to make sure it’s something you know you like.’ He poured himself a cup of mek with the one leg that wasn’t holding a piece of food. ‘Who is the better cook, you or Tracker?’
‘Me,’ Speaker said with conviction. ‘She always overcooks anything leafy. And she likes things burned.’
He laughed. ‘I sense a long-standing argument.’
‘Very long,’ she said.
He continued down that road with delicate steps. ‘Are you feeling better in that regard than you were yesterday?’
Speaker finished the marshpear she had in hand, then began eating another one. ‘No,’ she said frankly. ‘I’m not.’
‘I rather suspected as much. That’s why I thought you might appreciate a distraction.’
She did nothing but eat for a moment. ‘That’s kind of you,’ she said. She studied him, crunching the fruit she held with both hands. ‘Would I be right in guessing you also needed distracting?’
‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Yes, you would.’
The frankness continued. ‘You’re not looking forward to going home, are you?’
Roveg looked up at her. ‘Ouloo mentioned where I was headed, I take it?’
Speaker chuckled. ‘She did.’
‘Well, it’s not home. Home is on Chalice, for me. But I am headed to Quelin space, yes.’ He took a strip of sugared snapfruit. ‘It’s been a long time.’
‘How long?’
‘Fifteen standards.’
She considered this. That was nearly a lifetime for her, he realised. It rather felt like one to him, too. ‘What’s taking you back there now?’ she asked.
Roveg almost told her. Part of him wanted to purge the anxiety he’d shoved inside for days on end, but he was so afraid of the possibility of things going wrong that he dared not speak his fear aloud. That would make it too real. So instead, he relayed only the logistics, the piece that was nothing more than a means. ‘I’m barred from living in Quelin space, but it’s been long enough since I was thrown out that I’m now eligible for a … hmm, I don’t know what to call it in Klip. A visitor’s permit, essentially. Extremely temporary, and my permissable activities will be equally limited. I’ll have a law-enforcement escort with me wherever I go, to make sure I don’t do or say anything disruptive. I’m sure whoever xe is will be delightful company.’
The way Speaker looked at him suggested she was well aware that this was a half-answer. But to her credit and his relief, she did not go digging for missing details. ‘So that’s your appointment,’ she said. ‘To get your permit.’
‘Yes. There’s a tedious interview process and other assorted nonsense. It’s very strict.’ He paused. ‘Tardiness would not factor favourably, for me.’
‘Ah,’ she said with understanding. She clicked her beak together, looking at the table. ‘Hence the distraction.’
‘Indeed.’
Speaker turned the suit so she could get a better look at the projection walls. ‘Is this one of yours?’ she asked, watching the digitally rendered water tumble down.
Roveg curled his legs proudly. ‘It is indeed,’ he said. ‘And I’m not too modest to say that it’s a favourite. Though, of course, this is just the visual playback, not the whole experience.’
‘I’ve always thought sims sounded a bit overwhelming. I don’t know how I feel about plugging something into my brain.’
‘Nothing’s plugged in, it’s all wireless,’ Roveg said. ‘The patch you wear doesn’t hurt, and it’s not invasive. But you’re right, the actual sensory experience can take some getting used to. Work like mine is a nice entry point. You can get accustomed to the concept of feeling and seeing something that isn’t there without being asked to do anything.’
Speaker took that in. She nodded at the wall. ‘This isn’t a real place, right? You didn’t model this after somewhere that exists?’
‘No, this one’s made up. Sometimes I do real-world environments, but it depends on the mood I’m in.’
‘Can you show me one?’
‘Certainly,’ he said. He was always pleased when someone took an interest in his work. ‘Friend, can you display Reskit, unpopulated version?’
Friend obliged. The fountain vanished, and the Aandrisk capital was summoned in its place. Roveg and Speaker now sat in Reskit’s famous Old Marketplace, surrounded by ancient doorless buildings adorned with flags and banners of every colour waving merrily in the bone-dry breeze.
‘Wow,’ Speaker said. ‘Wow, it looks just like it.’
‘You’ve been?’
‘Yeah, Reskit’s a fairly regular stop for us. The market there is … well, friendly.’ She did not elaborate on what friendly meant, but Roveg could guess. ‘It looks funny, without the people.’
‘You can add people in if you wish, but being able to admire the scenery without all the hustle and bustle is nice, too.’
‘I suppose it is,’ she said. She observed quietly, deep in thought. ‘Do you have any of Vemereng?’
The question hit Roveg beneath the shell, but he did not let this show. ‘No,’ he said. ‘I’ve never made a sim based anywhere on my planet. Not since, I mean.’
Speaker’s pensiveness became heavier. ‘Can you tell me what that’s like?’
‘You mean Vemereng? Well, it rather depends on which continent we’re talking about, just like anywhere. I was born in the eastern islands, which are cool but temperate—’
The Akarak cut him off. ‘No, no,’ she said. ‘I want to know what it’s like to have a planet. You’ve visited many, and so have I. Tell me what you feel when you say that one is yours.’
Roveg stared out at the projection, the spiracles along his back rising and falling with each breath. ‘My planet,’ he said, but not to her. He spoke the words to himself, experimentally, studying them from an angle he had never thought to consider. He looked at the Old Marketplace, and it was a marvel, truly, but not his, not at all his. ‘You know how it feels when you hop between worlds? How you begin surrounded, in a place like this—’ he gestured at the screen with his legs ‘—and it’s everywhere, it’s everything. It appears flat and endless. But then you push away with as much engine thrust as you can muster, and it all zooms out at once, and quickly begins to curve. And once you’re above, you see it’s just a sphere like all the others, a giant ball that becomes a marble that becomes a speck. And then you approach another marble, which becomes another ball, and when you land on that, it becomes that flat endlessness once more. There’s no centre to it. There’s no up or down, there’s only close and far. You know this feeling?’
‘I do,’ Speaker said.
‘Well … to have your own planet means that despite knowing the universe is edgeless, that everything is relative to everything else, you feel there’s one place that’s the true centre of it. I don’t mean the true centre in an astronomical way, or a topographical way. I mean the true centre. It’s the anchor, the … the weight that holds
the weaving together. It’s not the true centre for everyone, but it is for you. And that knowledge reframes all that zooming in and out. You’re not drifting. You’re attached, somewhere. It may be far, but you can always feel it. And it reminds you, when you go back, that it’s yours. We travellers, we move through so many artificial environments – so many combinations of air pressure, humidity, temperature, gravity – that we forget how achingly good it feels to step into the natural environment your body spent millions of years evolving for. Everything in you settles instantly, as if you are water and the world is the cup. When you look to the horizon, even though you’ve been above it, even though you know better, you can fully believe in the flatness, the endlessness. You wrap yourself in that illusion, and you will never feel safer.’
The Akarak looked him in the eye. ‘Even if you can’t go back?’
Another cut below the shell, but perversely, he welcomed it. Nothing about the question felt like a challenge, merely a desire to get to the crux of things. It made him feel quite vulnerable, but paradoxically at ease. ‘Even if you can’t go back,’ he said. He angled his body toward her. If she could be blunt, so could he. ‘Does it hurt you, not having a place to call your own?’
Speaker shifted her weight within the suit’s cockpit, breathing air she could not share with him. ‘Yes,’ she said slowly. ‘But also …’ She sighed. ‘I don’t know if I can explain this.’
‘I’d be happy to hear you try.’
The Galaxy, and the Ground Within Page 17