He speaks our language.
We couldn’t interfere with his communications.
SILENCE.
A single keel, larger than the rest, appeared between our starships. It looked first at Dutch and Zen, then at Torian. It spoke: “We were ordered to protect Vaesa from intruders. You have occupied this space long enough. If you are a nylarian, why are you still here?”
“He was traveling,” Torian said. “He lost track of time.”
“They left without me,” Dutch replied, and for the first time, I registered deep sorrow in his tone.
[He was also abandoned.]
All chatter had ceased. The keel replied, “If you are nylarian, respond to us in your native tongue.”
“Gladly,” Dutch said, switching to nylarian speech so fast my translator almost missed it. “How were you genetically modified to exist in space? You must have volunteered for the transition. Are you a new subspecies of keel? Can you go back into the oceans, or are you permanently out here?”
Torian’s gaze appeared vacant, and she whispered to me, “Can you understand him?”
“Yes,” I replied. [Of course I could.]
The keel was silent for a moment. Then it said, “If you are a true nylarian, One of the Chosen, we apologize profusely. We will escort your ships to Vaesa, O Great One. We will assist you however we can.”
That was spoken in the deciphered language, which I translated with ease. Torian sank into her chair, and clear fluid reappeared in her eyes.
Dutch, meanwhile, sounded hesitant. “I’m hardly a Great One. Please, tell me you’re not about to worship me.”
“We worship all nylarians, O Great One.”
“It’s a common problem,” Dutch muttered. “Don’tlaughat me, Zen.”
“Apologies, O Great One,” Zen replied.
The keel said no more. It swam out of view, and a moment later, Auto-Navigation pinged me.
Auto-Navigation: They’re pushing me. I don’t like it. It’s uncomfy!
Moss: It is temporary. But yes. Touch is… uncomfy. Usually.
I adjusted my scenarios one more time, to incorporate the keel in my future friendships.
It was a pleasant result.
CHAPTER 27
When Opula and Bartlet stepped off theCharlatanwith Amelia limp between them, Torian couldn’t stifle her gasp. “Fuck, is she okay? Amelia! Ames, can you hear me?”
She wasn’t expecting Amelia ingoodcondition, but this was terrifying. Amelia was normally a force, capturing attention with attitude alone. Now, she was barely able to stand, slung between her crewmembers. Her face was pale, her lips tinged blue, and it seemed like a struggle for her to keep her eyes open.
Torian wanted to wrap her in a blanket and rub her arms until her smile came back.
(… The way totally normal, not-romantic partners did.)
“She’ll recover,” Bartlet grunted.
Opula narrowed her eyes at Torian, waving a hand to dismiss Bartlet. They didn’t argue, stepping back to give space. Opula all but shoved Amelia into Torian’s waiting arms, and her words were quiet and threatening: “Next time, leave her to her work.” With a dark look, she stomped back up to the starship, utterly unimpressed with Vaesa, the aliens, or Amelia’s condition.
Torian had always known Opula was cold, but she’d never seen that side of her before. Her skin prickled, and she bit her lip, hooking Amelia’s arm over her shoulders instead. One hand held Amelia’s wrist, and another snaked around Amelia’s waist, propping her up.
