The Galaxy, and the Ground Within (Wayfarers #4)(19)

‘Well, that’s actually what I came to find out,’ Speaker said. She looked up, but on her way to meet his gaze, her eye was caught by the projection mat covering the ceiling above. The active rendering displayed the sort of sky you’d see on a typical spring day in the equatorial regions of Sohep Frie – seafoam green with lazy wisps of cloud. Speaker pulled a lever, tilting the suit’s torso back so she could view it from a better angle. ‘That’s … beautiful,’ she said.

‘Thank you,’ Roveg said. He glanced up with her, admiring the everyday sight with pride. ‘I’m rather pleased with it.’ She cocked her head at him, and he explained: ‘I’m a sim designer. I made this.’

‘Oh, nice,’ she said, still looking at the ceiling. ‘Do all Quelin ships have projections like these? I’ve never been in one of your vessels before.’

‘No, no. This is just one of my own fancies. What’s the fun in only making things for other people to enjoy?’

The Akarak watched the digital clouds drift and sway. ‘Must eat up a lot of power,’ she said.

‘It does,’ Roveg said. ‘But it’s entirely worth it if you’re going to be off-world for a while. Helps keep my head clear. I can only do spacer life in small doses.’

‘I see,’ Speaker said, still watching the clouds. Her tone was hiding something, but Roveg couldn’t determine what.

‘Sorry,’ Roveg said, ‘but you … I didn’t quite understand what you were getting at before my clouds interrupted us. You said you were wondering … what I can do?’

‘Yes,’ Speaker said. She righted the mech suit and held her scrib at the ready. Roveg tried not to stare at her hands. Hands were an odd-enough alien feature to begin with, but he was accustomed to slender Aeluon digits and bold Aandrisk claws, not the backward hooks that sprouted from each of her wrists like gnarled thorns. Something about them made Roveg’s antennae bristle nervously, but he shoved the errant feeling aside. Speaker looked at him, her wet vertebrate eyes sharp and focused. ‘I’m making the rounds and finding out what skills everybody here at the Five-Hop has.’

‘Why?’ he asked. He didn’t understand the point of this endeavour.

The feeling was clearly mutual, because Speaker looked back at him with a gaze that seemed to say why wouldn’t you? ‘It’s an emergency. We need to know who can contribute what.’

Roveg looked out the window in the bulkhead beside him. Everything outside appeared exactly as it had hours before. ‘Has something more happened?’ he asked with a stab of concern. Had he missed something important while sitting on his belly and drinking mek?

Speaker stared at him. ‘Something more than the planet’s satellite network falling apart?’

‘Well, I – I mean, of course, that’s serious, and an emergency for those who have to sort it out, but all’s well for us on the ground, isn’t it? Barring more sudden landings?’

‘For now,’ Speaker said. ‘But we have no idea how long this is going to drag on, and comms are severely limited. If something happens, it’d be wise for us to know how we might handle it.’

This seemed unnecessarily cautious to Roveg, and a tad silly to boot. ‘The Transit Authority said it’d be a day,’ he said.

Speaker looked at him, saying nothing, tangibly unconvinced.

‘Well,’ Roveg said. He felt as though he’d lost an argument, but hadn’t the faintest notion of what the argument was. ‘I’m good with tech.’

Speaker made an entry on her scrib. ‘Mech tech or comp tech?’

‘Both,’ he said, ‘but in rather superficial ways. I can patch a fuel line or fix a buggy input panel, but I can’t, say, build an engine or recode an AI.’

‘That’s not superficial, that’s great,’ Speaker said, gesturing her input with efficient speed. ‘You’re saying you can fix everyday stuff, but nothing too specialised.’

‘Exactly. Or, well … it depends on what sort of item we’re discussing.’

‘Got it. What else? Don’t just think of things related to your profession. Think of every practical thing you know how to do, even if it seems trivial.’

Roveg was unprepared to deliver such a résumé on the fly, and had never really taken inventory of himself in this way before. ‘I can … hmm. I can pilot a ship. I know how your average life support system works. I can write well.’

‘In what languages?’

‘Klip and Tellerain, same as I speak. I understand a bit of Hanto and Reskitkish, slowly, but I don’t speak either.’ He gave a short, good-natured laugh. ‘Trust me, you don’t want me to try.’

‘Can you read Aeluon colours?’

‘About as well as anybody who hasn’t studied. I can gauge a general sense of what they’re feeling, not what they’re saying.’

Speaker logged every word. ‘What about first aid?’

Roveg did not foresee a scenario in which this would be necessary, but he played along. ‘For my own species, yes, in a very, very basic sense. I could bandage someone’s shell for long enough to get xyr to a doctor. For any other sapient, no.’

‘What about your needs? What should the rest of us know about?’