‘It is a truly singular experience,’ Ghuh’loloan said, ‘living alongside your offspring and your offspring’s offspring.’
Isabel took a seat on a nearby bench. ‘An experience you wish you’d had?’ she asked.
The Harmagian let out a rolling laugh. ‘Oh, stars, no. This is madness. Wonderful, too, dear host, but I enjoy it for the novelty. I could not do this every day. I admire your species for its stamina in this regard. And your patience.’
‘Oh, we run out of patience plenty,’ Isabel said. She glanced aside. Tamsin was seated nearby, out of earshot, but within plain sight. Isabel had thought she’d been watching the mistbot shenanigans, but though they had ended, she remained, her hands busy with a broken vox, her eyes on the alien. Isabel caught her wife’s gaze, waved her over, and continued speaking to Ghuh’loloan. ‘You don’t miss them? Your children, I mean. When they’re growing up.’
‘It is not the same for us,’ Ghuh’loloan said. She bowed her eyestalks in acknowledgement as Tamsin joined Isabel on the bench. ‘It is not an experience we have, so there is nothing to miss. Children are kept in nursery pools, tutelage villages, and universities. I was never in the homes of either of my parents until I was an adult, and I never lived there. It would not have occurred to me to want that.’ She looked around the hex. ‘You would think a communal home would not feel so strange to me, as I live in an Aandrisk city. But their homes are not like yours. You are different, dear hosts. You are unique.’
Tamsin leaned forward. ‘But are we worth it?’ She spoke the words without hesitation, as if they’d been sitting on her tongue for tendays.
Isabel knew they had been, and she couldn’t believe they’d been let out. ‘Tamsin.’
Her wife was as unconcerned as could be. ‘It’s just a question.’
Ghuh’loloan looked puzzled. ‘Forgive me, but I do not understand.’
‘Do you think we’re worthy of the rest of the galaxy’s time?’ Tamsin said. ‘GC membership, donated tech, this star you gave us. Do you think we’re worth it?’
Isabel looked away in embarrassment. She wasn’t going to fight in front of a guest, but oh, it was happening later.
The Harmagian fanned her dactyli in thought. ‘I am here, am I not? But that is not what you are asking. You are not asking if the Reskit Institute finds you worthy of study. You are asking what I, Ghuh’loloan, think of you.’
‘Yes,’ Tamsin said.
‘That is a risky thing to ask, dear host, but I would not insult you with a dishonest answer.’ Ghuh’loloan’s eyes blinked and widened. ‘Very well. You are a species of slim means. You produce nothing beyond extra bodies to perform labour, and you have contributed nothing to the technological progress of the GC at large. You value being self-reliant, and you were, once, but now you eat our food and harvest our suns. If we kicked you out now, it would be difficult for you to sustain yourselves as you did before. And even with our help, the age of these vessels means you are constantly, irresponsibly courting a disaster like the one you’ve already weathered. These are the facts. Now, let us discuss the facts of my own species. We are the wealthiest species alive today. We want for nothing. Without us, there would be no tunnels, no ambi, no galactic map. But we achieved these things through subjugation. Violence. We destroyed entire worlds – entire species. It took a galactic war to stop us. We learned. We apologised. We changed. But we can’t give back the things we took. We’re still benefiting from them, and others are still suffering from actions centuries old. So, are we worthy? We, who give so much only because we took so much? Are you worthy, you who take without giving but have done no harm to your neighbours? Are the Aeluons worthy? Are the Quelin? Show me the species that has never wronged another. Show me who has always been perfect and fair.’ She flexed her body, her alien limbs curling strong. ‘Either we are all worthy of the Commons, dear Tamsin, or none of us are.’
Tamsin said nothing for a moment. ‘The first Harmagian I ever saw was on a news feed, talking about how Humans didn’t belong.’
‘The membership hearing.’
‘Yeah.’
Ghuh’loloan stretched the dactyli around her mouth. ‘The first Human I ever saw was at a spaceport, in the process of being arrested for selling unlicensed scrub fuel.’
Tamsin gave a short chuckle. ‘Great first impressions, huh?’
‘Indeed.’
Isabel looked between the two, still thrown by the turn the conversation had taken. Would Ghuh’loloan ever have said anything like this to her on one of their carefully chosen field trips, in one of their polite academic chats? Would her dear guest have been this candid if, for a moment, Isabel had stopped worrying about being a good host?
‘You can’t shake hands, right?’ Tamsin gestured vaguely. ‘I can’t touch your tentacle with my hand, right?’
Ghuh’loloan reached for one of the storage compartments on her cart. ‘If you give me a moment, I believe I have some sheaths with me . . .’
‘Some what?’
‘It’s like a glove,’ Isabel said.
‘Oh, no, don’t go to that trouble,’ Tamsin said. ‘How would . . . do you know what shaking hands means?’
‘Yes,’ Ghuh’loloan said. ‘In essence.’
‘Do you . . . have an equivalent of that? How would you communicate something like that to me?’
‘It would help if I knew the specifics of what you wish to communicate.’
Tamsin looked at Ghuh’loloan seriously. ‘Respect.’
The Harmagian rose up on her cart, holding her body like a wave frozen in time. Her tentacles shuddered, curling and unfolding in strange symmetry. ‘Respect,’ she said.
Tamsin took in the display, and gave a satisfied nod. ‘Right back at you.’
Tessa
Received message
Encryption: 0
Translation: 0
From: George Santoso (path: 6159-546-46)
To: Tessa Santoso (path: 6222-198-00)
Tess,
I know you’re running around like a headless hopper these days, but I’ve got a surprise for you. Go to our bench after dinner, or whenever you can manage. Leave the kids with the hex. It might take a while. And no, I won’t tell you what it is. I think you’ll like it, though.
George
Tessa would never disparage her husband for being cute, but stars, she didn’t have time for this today. Aya needed help with her schoolwork – she was struggling with reading, just like her father had – Ky needed a bath, Pop needed . . . stars, what didn’t he need. A swift kick in the butt was what he needed. Besides which, the laundry needed doing, the herb garden was wilting, and the cleanerbot had glitched out again. Whatever George was up to was probably very sweet, but did it have to be today?
She stepped off the transport pod and headed for the big plaza oxygen garden, not needing to follow the signs. She took a breath and tried to shift her mood. She was being ungrateful. Since that cargo guild meeting a tenday ago, she’d written George a half-dozen or so letters that amounted to nothing more than emotional ejection. He hadn’t had the time to respond to any of them, which she’d expected. He was busy, and had never been one for writing. She hadn’t really wanted a back-and-forth, to be perfectly honest. She’d wanted a recycling bin, a compost box, somewhere she could throw the junk cluttering her brain. But now he’d gone and arranged something to make her feel better – what, she had no idea. She considered the possibilities as she entered the garden and wound her way along the lush, familiar paths. A present dropped off by a friend, maybe. She hoped it was nothing performative. That wasn’t his style, but then, he wasn’t in the habit of sending her cryptic messages and making her trek through the district on a school night, either. She was being a jerk about the whole thing, she knew, but she hoped whatever it was was worth the bother. She hoped—