The Galaxy, and the Ground Within (Wayfarers #4)(55)

‘They seem to be,’ Speaker said. ‘I’m not familiar with most of them, so I ran it all through a scanner before I came over. No offence, I hope.’

‘Oh, not at all. A wise precaution. I once made the mistake of not doing that before tucking in at this little Harmagian eatery once, and I couldn’t feel the inside of my mouth for a tenday.’ He looked her up and down. ‘I’d invite you to sit, but … I suppose you’re already sitting.’

Speaker laughed from her cockpit chair. ‘I can sit the suit down so I’m not towering over you.’

He chuckled in agreement, and lowered his abdomen to the floor, folding his legs in neatly. Speaker pulled her controls, setting the suit down with an industrial thud.

‘Vehlech hra hych bet,’ he said magnanimously, then translated: ‘May it be to your liking.’

She cocked her head with interest. ‘Tellerain is such a beautiful language.’

‘Do you think so?’ he said. He reached for a plate of quick-pickled marshpears. ‘Sounds and beauty are such relative things. I know Aandrisks don’t like the sound of us much, but then, I think Reskitkish sounds like someone trying to choke to death as quickly as possible, so to each their own.’

‘I love the layers in Tellerain,’ Speaker said. ‘It’s like a song.’

He made an appreciative sound, then a much louder one as he bit into the marshpear. ‘Oh! Mmm! Oh, I think this turned out quite well, what do you say? And please know, I won’t be bothered at all if you don’t like any of it. I’m sure we have very different palates.’

Speaker looked at what he was eating, then searched the bundles around her seat to find the matching stuff. She pulled out a marshpear with an intrigued look, studied it for a moment, then took an investigative nibble with her beak. ‘Stars, that’s tart,’ she said.

‘Too tart?’

‘No, no. I think I’ll eventually like it; I just had no idea what to expect.’

‘I think I’ll eventually like it,’ he repeated with approval. ‘Spoken like a true adventurous eater.’

She took a more confident bite. ‘I wouldn’t call myself that,’ she said. ‘I don’t eat much alien food.’ She swallowed. ‘Hardly ever, honestly. I hadn’t really thought about it, until you sent me this.’

‘It would make sense, if you can’t go out to eat,’ he said. He began to tuck in with gusto, grasping delicious things with each of his thoracic feet. ‘If you’re getting groceries for a long haul, you want to make sure it’s something you know you like.’ He poured himself a cup of mek with the one leg that wasn’t holding a piece of food. ‘Who is the better cook, you or Tracker?’

‘Me,’ Speaker said with conviction. ‘She always overcooks anything leafy. And she likes things burned.’

He laughed. ‘I sense a long-standing argument.’

‘Very long,’ she said.

He continued down that road with delicate steps. ‘Are you feeling better in that regard than you were yesterday?’

Speaker finished the marshpear she had in hand, then began eating another one. ‘No,’ she said frankly. ‘I’m not.’

‘I rather suspected as much. That’s why I thought you might appreciate a distraction.’

She did nothing but eat for a moment. ‘That’s kind of you,’ she said. She studied him, crunching the fruit she held with both hands. ‘Would I be right in guessing you also needed distracting?’

‘Hmm,’ he said. ‘Yes, you would.’

The frankness continued. ‘You’re not looking forward to going home, are you?’

Roveg looked up at her. ‘Ouloo mentioned where I was headed, I take it?’

Speaker chuckled. ‘She did.’

‘Well, it’s not home. Home is on Chalice, for me. But I am headed to Quelin space, yes.’ He took a strip of sugared snapfruit. ‘It’s been a long time.’

‘How long?’

‘Fifteen standards.’

She considered this. That was nearly a lifetime for her, he realised. It rather felt like one to him, too. ‘What’s taking you back there now?’ she asked.

Roveg almost told her. Part of him wanted to purge the anxiety he’d shoved inside for days on end, but he was so afraid of the possibility of things going wrong that he dared not speak his fear aloud. That would make it too real. So instead, he relayed only the logistics, the piece that was nothing more than a means. ‘I’m barred from living in Quelin space, but it’s been long enough since I was thrown out that I’m now eligible for a … hmm, I don’t know what to call it in Klip. A visitor’s permit, essentially. Extremely temporary, and my permissable activities will be equally limited. I’ll have a law-enforcement escort with me wherever I go, to make sure I don’t do or say anything disruptive. I’m sure whoever xe is will be delightful company.’

The way Speaker looked at him suggested she was well aware that this was a half-answer. But to her credit and his relief, she did not go digging for missing details. ‘So that’s your appointment,’ she said. ‘To get your permit.’

‘Yes. There’s a tedious interview process and other assorted nonsense. It’s very strict.’ He paused. ‘Tardiness would not factor favourably, for me.’