The child exhaled from the depths of xyr lungs, as though this were just one more injustice from a universe that existed only to conspire against xyr. ‘You also said to be there for the 13:06.’ Xe gestured at Roveg, who now found himself in the role of evidence in a trial he hadn’t anticipated.

‘If you’d started earlier, you could have done both,’ the older Laru said. ‘Go on.’

The younger voiced no further argument, and marched past, radiating annoyance.

‘And trim your fur,’ Ouloo called after xyr. She arched her neck in exasperation, and swung her face toward Roveg. ‘I am so sorry about that. Puberty, you know?’ Ouloo leaned in confidentially. ‘Poor thing’s quite uncomfortable, what with xyr teeth coming in. But that doesn’t excuse …’ She craned her neck so that her head was facing fully over her haunches, watching Tupo plod off. ‘Well, all the rest of it.’ She tutted as her head came back around. ‘But just because xe’s forgotten xyr manners doesn’t mean I have.’ She beamed, bowing her neck low. ‘Welcome to the Five-Hop One-Stop. I’m Ouloo, and you must be Roveg.’ She hushed her voice discreetly. ‘No honorific?’

‘No,’ he said, a quiet twinge accompanying the answer. The old sting had faded, but was always there.

Ouloo bowed her head again. ‘We’re very happy to have you, Roveg,’ she said, and this, he appreciated. Quelin customarily were never addressed without an honorific; exiles, however, were allowed none. The fact that Ouloo both knew to enquire about it and to smoothly move on from the question showed courtesy and cultural savvy. Roveg forgave her a few of the exclamation points. Not all of them, but a few.

‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘I understand from your Linking page that you carry high-skim algae fuel.’

‘We sure do,’ she said smartly. ‘You’re here for a … four-hour layover, correct? Would you like to take care of fuelling up now, or later?’

‘Later, if that’s all right. I’ve been on my ship for tendays, and could use a walk around.’

‘Oh, I understand,’ the Laru said in a knowing tone. ‘I haven’t been on a long haul in standards, but my paws twitch whenever I remember it. Where is it you’re headed?’

‘Vemereng,’ Roveg said.

Ouloo apparently knew it. ‘Oof, that’s a long way,’ she said. ‘Remind me where home is for you?’

‘Chalice.’

‘Goodness, yes. Must be an important trip to take you that far. Business or pleasure?’

‘I have an appointment there,’ he said.

Ouloo waited expectantly, but he provided nothing further. ‘Well,’ she said, the barest hint of disappointment creeping into her otherwise chipper tone. ‘If it’s a walk you want, our garden will be just the ticket. Are you hungry? We haven’t got a restaurant, I’m afraid, but we’ve got a wonderful selection of nibbles.’

Roveg wasn’t hungry, but nothing piqued his interest like regional food. ‘I never say no to nibbles,’ he said.

Ouloo laughed – which wasn’t like a laugh at all to Roveg, but he knew what the huffing sound meant – and gestured with a paw for him to follow. ‘Come on, we’ll sort you out,’ she said. ‘Do you like jenjen cake? I got some fresh from my neighbour this morning.’ She padded along, making small talk in good cheer. But as Roveg followed, he couldn’t help but notice her throwing the occasional glance toward the fuel shed across the way. Something in there was on the Laru’s mind. Whatever it was, it wasn’t his concern. He was here for fuel, a stretch, and apparently, cake. Under the circumstances, he had no appetite for anything more complicated than that.

PEI

One of the first things Aeluon children learned after they mastered the complicated matters of walking and eating and using their colours with intention was that the world around them did not use the same language people did. People, of course, communicated via the swirling chromatophore patches covering both cheeks. Their plant-and-animal neighbours, however, did not. The purplish fur of lumae did not mean they were angry. Nectarwings, with their orange spots, were not sad. Shiver fish were not friends, no matter how kind their blue scales might look. Pei had a hazy memory of struggling with this concept, of feeling like the natural world was untrustworthy, that it was lying to her in some way. Colour was colour, and colour meant things, and if it was obvious to her that laughter was green and annoyance was yellow, surely other creatures must know this, too.

From the vantage point of her middle years, she could not pinpoint the moment in which that errant conception had faded, but once she crossed that threshold, she understood that every aspect of life had layers. There was the colour on the surface, and the meaning underneath. Yellow, when not seen swimming through a person’s face, was often nothing more than yellow, full stop. You had to pause in the face of reflex, ask yourself if the narrative you attached to the knee-jerk was accurate. Once she’d grasped this, she could never again see life as a static thing, something with one immutable definition. The universe was not an object. It was a beam of light, and the colours that it split into changed depending on whose eyes were doing the looking. Nothing could be taken at face value. Everything had hidden facets, hidden depths that could be interpreted a thousand ways – or misinterpreted in the same manner. Reflexes kept a person safe, but they could also make you stupid.