‘So you use it as a mobility device,’ Pei said. ‘Like a Harmagian cart.’

Speaker loathed that comparison, but she let it go in the same way as the knots in her shoulders. ‘In part. But I couldn’t crawl around here even if I wanted to.’

‘Because?’

‘Because I can’t breathe your air. I can’t leave my suit if I’m off my ship.’

There was no joy in being the object under the microscope in a social gathering. Roveg had been cast in that role a thousand times – the only Quelin at the party, answering the same questions again and again and again, summoning the patience to let people gawk at his shell, finding himself thrust into the undesired role of political analyst for every ludicrous decision his former government made in Parliament. He didn’t want to leave this young woman – was she young? He suddenly realised he had no idea – in that unenviable position, and was already trying to engineer a conversational way of getting her out of it … but dammit, he was curious, too. Fine. A few questions, then he’d devise a rescue. ‘You’re allergic to something commonplace, you mean?’

‘No,’ Speaker said. ‘We don’t breathe oxygen. It’s toxic to us, in the quantities you need. We mostly need methane, which, of course, is toxic to you.’

This statement took Roveg completely aback. ‘But I thought … forgive me, it’s been a long time since I took a biology class, and it was never my best subject, but I thought all sapient species breathe oxygen. I thought that was one of the Five Pillars.’

‘What are the Five Pillars?’ Speaker asked.

Tupo burst into energetic song. ‘Water for drinking, oxygen for breathing—’

‘Tupo—’ Ouloo said pleadingly.

The child continued singing the bouncing tune, despite xyr mother rubbing her face with her paw. ‘Sunlight to make life go! Protein for building, carbon for bonding, that’s how all sapients grow!’

‘It’s the basic ingredients all sapient species need,’ Pei explained.

‘I thought everybody knows that,’ Tupo said. ‘Don’t you know the song?’

Speaker was quiet. ‘I don’t,’ she said at last. ‘Because it doesn’t apply to me.’

Now it was everyone else’s turn to hush.

Roveg bent his thoracic legs decisively. The time for a rescue had come. ‘Well, if you can’t enjoy the food, perhaps we can share in some other entertainment,’ he said. He looked around the group. ‘Does everyone here enjoy vids? I have a portable projector on my ship, and I’d be happy to bring it out.’

‘Oh!’ Ouloo brightened, looking relieved. ‘Yes! What a good idea.’

Speaker seemed surprised by the conversational detour, but took it in stride. ‘I … yes,’ she said. ‘Why not.’

Roveg turned to the Aeluon. ‘Captain Tem, are you in?’

‘Sure,’ she said easily. She flashed a wry, laughing green. ‘It’s not like I’ve got any other place to be.’

Part 4

ATTEMPTED REPAIRS

DAY 237,

GC STANDARD 307

PEI

Sleep was not something Pei generally had much of a problem with. She’d always been the sort who could sleep anywhere, at any time, whether it resulted in short snippets or total oblivion. As she’d gotten older, her body had become less eager to lean against crates or to let her head tip back as she snoozed upright in a chair, but so long as she had a bed – or at least, a horizontal platform – she could count on remaining asleep once her consciousness switched off. This was not always the case for her crewmates, some of whom had a tough time keeping their minds quiet for the duration of a night after a difficult day, but whatever unpleasant memories Pei carried with her, sleeplessness was not the way in which they manifested. Once she was asleep, she was asleep.

Lately, though, her rhythm had changed. Naps were still easy as ever, but when it came to coasting through the night, she found herself waking in the middle just as she awoke now, wide-eyed and bright-brained. She sighed with frustration, staring at the smooth bulkhead above. It wasn’t the same view as that of the ceiling in her quarters aboard the Mav Bre, but an unfamiliar bed wasn’t the problem. She’d slept in the shuttle many a time, usually with multiple crew members for company. No, she’d been having this specific problem for tendays, and minor annoyance though it was, it was still … well, annoying.

She knew why she was awake. This was her body’s way of communicating that there was a problem left unsolved, and some stupid part of her thought it best to wake at random intervals until the matter was closed. This had happened to her before when there were open questions about flight paths, landing strategies, contracts that became complicated. It didn’t matter that there was no new information to process; her mind simply wanted to review the facts, over and over. It was a maddening habit, and especially so since the subject these days wasn’t her job, but Ashby – the person with whom she’d created a space in which she didn’t have to think about her problems.

She was in no mood to go over the whole thing again, and steadfastly refused to at this hour, but even so, she exhaled, and tossed the blankets aside. The bed moved with her, moulding itself into a chair-like shape as she sat up, then rounding into neutral standby as she left it behind. She gestured at the light panel, and a twilight glow accompanied her as she walked down the hallway to the kitchen. The kettle was half-full of water; she gestured at this as well, and the heating element began its work. She pressed her palm against the pantry wall and it melted gently in response, yawning itself into an opening through which she could peruse the contents stored within. She retrieved a box of instant mek powder, then opened another compartment in search of a mug and a mixing stick. Tools and single dry ingredient retrieved, she tapped the powder into the mug – she knew the exact amount needed, by muscle memory – and waited for the water to boil.