Isabel nodded with understanding as she opened the tin of mek powder. Introducing scalding hot liquid to mollusk-like skin would not end well. She glanced over and laughed, seeing that Ghuh’loloan had opened a storage compartment on her cart and removed both scrib and stylus. ‘Are we getting started?’

Ghuh’loloan curled the tentacles around her mouth. ‘I had questions before I arrived, but after seeing these wonderful ships of yours with my own eyes – oh, I hardly know where to start! Everything. I want to know everything. Let’s begin with the ships. I saw so many things on my way here that I wish to understand better.’

‘You’ll have to tell me what you already know about them, so I don’t walk the same corridors twice.’

‘No. My understanding may be flawed, and if I assume that I already know something, you won’t know to correct my mistakes. Besides, it is such a rare opportunity to get information that is not filtered through a screen. Tell me of the ships as if I know nothing of them. Tell me as if I were a child.’

‘All right then.’ Isabel gathered her thoughts as the mek brewer rumbled. ‘The original architects based everything around three basic principles: longevity, stability, and well-being. They knew that for the Fleet to have any chance of survival, the ships had to be something that could withstand both distance and time, something that the spacers within could always rely on, and something that would foster both physical and mental health. Survival alone wasn’t enough. Couldn’t be enough. If there were disputes over food, resources, living space—’

‘That’d be the end of it.’

‘That’d be the end of it. These had to be places Humans would want to live in. In that long stretch between leaving Earth and GC contact, we were utterly alone. Those who lived and died during that time only knew planets from stories. This’ – she gestured at the walls – ‘was everything. It had to feel like a home, rather than a prison. Otherwise, we were doomed.’

‘Longevity, stability, well-being,’ Ghuh’loloan repeated, writing on her scrib in her strange boxy alphabet. ‘Please, go on.’

Isabel put her own scrib on the table between them and launched a sketch programme. Floating pixels followed her stylus as she drew in the air. ‘Architecturally, every homesteader is the same. At the centre, you have the main cylinder, which is essentially life support storage. It houses the water tanks, the air tanks, and the batteries.’

‘Now, the batteries,’ Ghuh’loloan said, still taking notes. ‘Those store kinetically harvested energy, yes?’

‘Originally, yes, mostly. Well . . . right, let me back up. When the Exodans first left Earth, they burned chemical fuels to get going, just to tide them over until enough kinetic energy had been generated through the floors. They also had hydro-generators.’

‘Water-powered?’

‘Yes, using waste water.’ The brewer dinged, and Isabel filled two mugs. ‘As it flows back to the processing facilities, it runs through a series of generators. That system’s still in use. It’s not our primary power source, but it’s a good supplement.’ She placed the mugs between them, and considered bringing out the tin of cookies stashed away in her desk. She decided against it. Harmagians had famously finicky stomachs, and she didn’t want to hospitalise her colleague over ginger bites.

Ghuh’loloan reached for the mug closest to her, eying the tiny wisps of steam. She gave the surface of the drink a few tentative raps with the tip of her tentacle – one, two, three. Apparently finding the temperature suitable, she wrapped a portion of her limb around the handle and brought the mug aloft. ‘See, this is why I wanted to start with the basics. How fascinating. Might we be able to visit the water generators?’

‘Absolutely,’ Isabel said. Not a place she would’ve been excited to visit on her own, but Ghuh’loloan’s enthusiasm was catching.

‘Wonderful. But I’m getting you off-track. Do I correctly glean that kinetic energy is no longer your primary power source?’

‘That’s right. Once the GC gave us this sun, we started collecting solar power.’

‘Yes, I saw the satellites as I flew in. Those were provided by . . . ?’

‘The Aeluons.’ Isabel’s tone was matter-of-fact, but she felt a slump in pride. Her colleague had assumed correctly that the Exodans couldn’t have built such tech on their own.

Lacking lips, Ghuh’loloan held the Human-style mug up, flattened her face back into her body so that it lay almost horizontally, and poured a little waterfall into her wide mouth. Her whole body shivered. ‘Ho! Oh ho!’

‘Too hot?’ Isabel asked with dread.

‘No— no, I’m just unaccustomed. What a feeling!’ She executed a longer pour. ‘Ho! That’s . . . stars, that’s thrilling. I may never take mek cold again.’ She shivered once more, then cradled her mug between two tentacles. ‘Oh dear, where was I?’

‘Satellites.’

‘Yes, and Aeluons. They provided you with artigrav, too, yes?’

‘That’s right.’

‘A generous people,’ Ghuh’loloan said. ‘I wish I could say the same of mine.’ She laughed. ‘I suppose it is in your best interest that we did not win their war against us, eh?’

Isabel chuckled, but took that as a sign to steer the conversation back to the topic at hand. The war invoked was very old, very ugly history. Clearly, Ghuh’loloan didn’t mind a bit of self-deprecation, but Isabel didn’t want to cross the line from cultural ribbing into insult. ‘Indeed. So, the main cylinder.’