Organic

“Well it sounds like you enjoyed the trip.”

“Seeing more of the planet was fun, and I’m finally not wearing anything with holes in it. So [yeah], it was great.”

“What else?”

“What?”

Tasser stared at me unflinchingly, “You have the look on your face where there’s something more that you don’t want to talk about.”

“There’s not,” I said.

“Then have you got the look?”

“I don’t have a look,” I insisted. “And even if there was ‘a look’, there’s nothing about the trip I don’t want to talk about.”

“Well then it’s probably about Nai,” Tasser guessed. “What did she do?”

“Nothing,” I insisted. “Don’t worry about it.”

“Huh,” Tasser mused. “…she really didn’t do anything. But this is about Nai…”

My Casti friend leaned forward, scrutinizing my face. I knew his eyesight was good: falcon good. I hardened my expression, trying to give away nothing.

“…It was the other Farnata,” he concluded. “You actually saw other Farnata to compare her to besides Dyn, probably even Adepts.”

“How do you do that? With everyone else I’m an unreadable alien. You don’t even have psionics, but it’s like you read my mind,” I complained.

“Can you read minds?” Tasser asked cautiously.

“Pfft, I wish. I get really vague…’vibrations’, hums, coming off people. I can tell if what they’re giving off changes, but without something to compare it to, like their tone or body language, I have no idea what vibration means which feeling or thought.”

“Well you’re in uncharted waters,” Tasser said, “you’ll probably get better with experience. That’s how I know you: raw experience. Dyn probably has the most time spent around you after me, but even then you’ve probably spent eight times more time with me than any other alien.”

“Which is why we probably need to remake our schedule,” I agreed.

“You’re trying to avoid talking about Nai still, but fine, we can do that first.”

Up until last week, I’d been spending seven (out of eight) days a week learning Starspeak with Tasser. We’d branched out into math as well, because some of the concepts were useful educationally speaking. A lot of my early psionic notes on grammar and word agreement had been hedged in math symbols.

‘quick’ = ‘fast’

That kind of thing.

But we’d passed beyond the first major hurdle of the Casti educational program Tasser was allegedly following. After language and communication came all the things we wanted to use it for. Science, history, more science. It felt a bit like advancing from elementary to junior high.

When I’d first babbled my way through a conversation with Dyn about the medical tests he wanted to perform, I’d been totally lost. I was still mostly lost when he talked about why he was ultrasounding me every few weeks, but since I hadn’t keeled over dead yet, he must have been doing something right.

“Well if it’s all the same to you, I talked to Dyn about helping him out when [flu] season comes.”

“Flu?” Tasser asked.

“Seasonal illness on Earth. Dyn said Casti tend to get sick more when things warm up.”

“We do,” Tasser confirmed. “Has to do with how quickly our bodies make our immune cells.”

I snorted, “Sounds inconvenient.”

“Sure, but if you’re spending that much more time with Dyn, you could probably convince him to teach you some biology.”

“Hey, I know biology,” I said testily.

“Not in this language. You know the word for ‘cell’, ‘germ’, ‘organ’, and not much else.”

“Words aside, I do know biology. Learning the terms in this language should be easy.”

“Well Dyn certainly knows more than me, and if you’re specializing in subject, you could probably find people better than me at most things you need to learn.”

“Why doesn’t it seem like you have a problem with that? I would have figured it would be more efficient to stick with one person.”

“Sure,” Tasser said, “back when you weren’t verbal it was. But if you’re fluent enough to hold a conversation about this with me, or talk about tactile cascading with Nai, then you can start finding better teachers. Fact is, you were stuck with me as long as you were because of rapport, and because I didn’t fit into the Ase ’s duty rosters.”

“Well, I can think of a lot of humans back home who wouldn’t have been half as great a teacher as you,” I said.

“Are any of them named ‘Caleb’?”

I winced, “Yes, in fact.”

He smirked at his joke, and I found it a bit infectious. While Tasser in particular stood out, it was easy to get along with all the aliens here.

“You should talk to Nai about physics,” Tasser said.

Well, almost all of them.

“She barely puts up with the Adept stuff we go over, and she only does that because Serral ordered her to. Your military might be, well, alien compared to what we had on Earth, but only being willing to do something under orders? Come on, some things are just universal.”

“It’s because of the Adept stuff that she should teach you physics. She’s an expert in ways that no non-Adept could hope to match.”

“She’d never do it.”

“She’ll agree if I ask her to,” Tasser stated confidently.

“I know you two are friends, but she does not like me.”

“Well you did admit you tried to kill her the moment you laid eyes on her,” he pointed out.

“On one of the worst days of my life,” I defended, “while I had no way to know anything about what was happening. Don’t forget I was bumbling my way through hostile aliens and trying to figure out Adept senses for the first time. Plus having been completely—”

“Yeah, special circumstances, I know.” Tasser sighed, “but you should know how many Casti would die to have a five-minute technical conversation with her, to speak nothing of what any given Adept could learn. She’s infamous for a reason, and it’s not just because of her abilities. She can be a resource if you let her.”

“Believe me,” I said seriously, “I’m willing to learn if she’ll teach me. But that doesn’t mean anything unless she won’t ignore my first impression.”

“I’ve known her far longer,” Tasser shrugged. “You’re being hasty. She’s stubborn, but if you give her even a small reason to, she’ll come around. But just like you said, I can’t force you.”

The two of us walked down a hall of the Naxoi base toward Dyn’s medical ward. After my closet-turned bunk and the room Tasser had taken over for a makeshift classroom, this was one of the spots I’d spent the most time in the last few months.

“I like that we can at least disagree and still be friends,” I said.

Tasser smiled, “I have a lot of experience with that too.”

And with that, we ducked in to see the doctor.

“Knock, knock [Doctor] Dyn,” I said as we walked in.

Tasser gave me an odd look, before checking with Dyn to see if the label would fly. “That’s not your name.”

“Well, he told me what it means,” Dyn said, “and I actually don’t hate it. It’s not much different from people saying my rank.”

“How do you know it means what he says it does?” Tasser inquired.

“Because if he’s having a joke at my expense, there’s no one else to enjoy his ‘clever deception’,” Dyn deadpanned.

“Actually, I know the word in English.”

Surprise flickered on Dyn’s face before looking at me, “You taught him your language?”

“Some of it,” I replied. “He can count, say the alphabet, and not much else.”

“But I do know enough stray vocabulary from teaching you, that I know when you’re trying mess with a poor, pure, uncorrupted military doctor.”

Dyn followed Tasser’s gaze and looked at me accusingly.

“You wouldn’t…” I said, staring back at Tasser.

He didn’t break immediately, but he let me sweat for a few seconds.

“I’m kidding,” he finally told Dyn, “the word does mean ‘medic’. Or close to it.”

“That’s not funny, Tasser,” I said, “Dyn told me names get taken seriously.”

“Well, most of my own kind would agree with you. My sense of humor just goes unappreciated by other Casti.”

“Oh, I’m sure Ase Serralinitus would find it hilarious if it hadn’t at Caleb’s expense,” Dyn said. “But I don’t want to waste time, what brings you?”

“I come here almost every day after I’m done with Tasser,” I said.

“Only Tasser usually sends you alone,” Dyn pointed out.

“The only time I get away from him is when he’s here, exercising, or asleep,” Tasser defended, “but we’re looking to get your help with continuing Caleb’s education. I wanted to check your schedule.”

“Finally getting fed up with him?” Dyn asked.

“Hey…” I said, only mildly offended. I knew I was the mother of all black sheep here, but this was starting to feel uncalled for.

Tasser’s grin widened, “Not particularly, but I’m real mean, and I want to inflict him on some other people.”

“See now that’s not Casti humor,” Dyn remarked.

“Caleb mentioned that he might help you out through the thaw,” Tasser said, “if he’s here, can that shift enough of your workload so you can teach him the biology that I can’t?”

Dyn eyed Tasser a bit more seriously before grabbing a calendar from his desk drawer. “…Not him alone,” Dyn looked to me, “no offense but alone you aren’t enough to make up for the time I’d lose teaching you.”

“What if I got Nemuleki to help out too?” Tasser asked.

“Why Nemuleki, why can’t you?” Dyn replied.

“The whole point of this is to make Caleb other people’s problem,” Tasser said. “Besides, you want Nemuleki before me. She has an organic-science certification; I didn’t even pass the standard course.”

Tasser held his breath while Dyn looked at his calendar again, slowly pouring over all the details.

The Farnata medic almost didn’t seem to be really looking at anything in particular on the page…like he was forcing himself to find important details to consider.

“Are you pretending to make this a hard decision?” I asked.

Dyn’s hand clenched on the clipboard and his face went totally still.

Tasser saw his reaction and with a look of surprise, gaped at both me and Dyn. Then he burst out in chirping Casti laughter before heading for the exit, saying, “I’ll send Nemuleki your way!”

I sat awkwardly next to Dyn, not quite brave enough to talk first.

“…You just needed to say something,” Dyn said. He seemed surprisingly unperturbed that I’d called him out. “You realize I’ll make you pay for that right?”

“I didn’t know you were joking with him!” I protested.

“I never joke with people…” he muttered, “the one time I try…”

“Oh come on! Let me help with something, to make it up to you.”

Dyn made a point not to look directly at me.

“Come on!”

“You want to learn?” Dyn asked, “shut up and pay attention.”

·····

Pay attention, I did. I wasn’t the only one either, Nemuleki wandered in a few minutes after Tasser left, and Dyn put us both to the test.

“Tasser said you had a certification for organic-science,” Dyn frowned.

“What? No, I’m about halfway through, but I dropped out of school to enlist,” Nemuleki said easily.

“So he lied,” Dyn grumbled. “Congratulations Caleb, you’re no longer the one I’m most upset with.”

I fought the urge to look up from the machine I was supposed to be watching. There was a better than fifty-percent chance if I did so, Dyn would berate me for ignoring his instructions to ‘not take my eyes off that gauge’.

The chief medical officer on base was giving me and Nemuleki a crash test in following instructions. I was vaguely reminded of the nonsense worksheets with dozens of odd instructions, only for the last one to read ‘now that you’re finished reading everything, just write your name’.

“What did you do?” Nemuleki whispered to me.

I didn’t look at her to respond but whispered back, “He tried to play a joke on Tasser, and I might have given it away.”

“I heard that,” Dyn grumbled, “You’re back at the top of the list.”

Nemuleki winced, mouthing ‘sorry’ at me.

Except I glanced at her to make out that very word. Dyn noticed.

“Caleb, if you look away at the wrong time with a patient, they could die ,” he said gravely.

There was something about hearing the normally straight-laced medic raise his voice; it made me wince like I’d just broken a family heirloom and my mother was about to disown me.

I redoubled my focus on the device, writing down the reading at set intervals. It was, if I understood it correctly, a blood pressure readout. But it felt old . There wasn’t a digital display, even a primitive one, I was marking down numbers from a needle on a gauge.

It was wobbling a bit, but we’d settled at…one-hundred three and seventy-one. I continued recording until it had stayed within the same five-point range for more than three minutes.

“Done,” I said. “A hundred three by seventy-one.”

Dyn rose from his desk and inspected both my chart and the machine.

“Your patient is dead,” he said matter-of-factly.

“What?” But he’s still in range,” I protested.

“You recorded in decimal, the gauge is labeled in octal,” Dyn said.

“[Son of a…]” I said, frustrated at my mistake. Had I left my filter on? A quick psionic check revealed that I hadn’t. Ouch, then this mistake was all on me. Then again, this was exactly the kind of scenario I was leaving it off for. I didn’t want to depend on it too much.

I punched one of the bulky buttons to reset the device, but Dyn stopped me.

“Don’t bother right now, we’re moving on to lunch,” he said.

Nemuleki’s mock patient also died, but only because Dyn pulled the plug on it.

She began to open her mouth in protest, but he cut her off, “Sometimes patients die. You have to be ready to immediately move on to the next one without delay.”

He beckoned us to walk into one of the rooms attached to his medical bay and I actually recognized it. This was the room where Ase Serral had stashed the four of us when we arrived. There was a large patch in the middle of the floor where the tile was a different color. Brighter, less worn.

Instead of being lined with plastic sheeting though, now it seemed to be returned to its original purpose: housing large and bulky machines.

I’d seen a few of them before when Dyn had dragged them out onto the ward proper and either scanned me with them or something related to me. The first time I’d seen them, I was somehow disappointed in the lack of flashing lights or satisfying beeps.

Everything was analog, dials and big bulky buttons. I couldn’t help but wonder how they’d react to a touchscreen if I could ever get one of the phones back on.

“Here,” Dyn said directing me toward a long machine with a glass lid. “Help me carry this.”

It was not light. Even with Dyn and I with both hands under it had a hard time, it must have been almost two-hundred pounds. If Nemuleki hadn’t been there to hold the door open, we would have dropped it trying to leave the room.

After we set the device down on the tabletop he’d cleared off, Dyn opened one of the overhead cupboards and pulled out a familiar tray of powder packets, as well as a larger bag of what seemed like flour.

“Alright, Nemuleki, this should look familiar to you. Tell him.”

“It’s a complex synthesizer,” Nemuleki said confidently. “This one is specialized for making food.”

“How do you know?” Dyn asked.

“It’s a smaller one, so it’s not general purpose—it only works a certain category of molecule.”

“What makes you so sure this one is for food?”

“Because you said we’re moving on to lunch,” she replied.

“Ten points off for being mouthy,” Dyn snapped. “But otherwise correct.”

Nemuleki bit her lip, a very unsubtle gesture in Casti, but didn’t object. I almost said something too, because I was pretty sure Dyn was actually mocking me. Hadn’t I arbitrarily given ten points a couple weeks back? Or had that been with Tasser.

Either way, I thought better of asking.

Dyn saw me think about it though, and when I remained quiet, he said, “Minus sixteen points for cowardice.”

I knew it! He had been mocking me.

“Specifically,” Dyn said, bringing us back to the lesson, “the machine is specially calibrated for primary groups of hydrated-carbons, they’re the atoms that make energy molecules in Farnata and-” he gestured toward me, “-humans too, I’m pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure?” I asked warily.

“I already told you I don’t know what you eat, I just know how to make it,” Dyn said. “And now you will to.”

“Wait, if we’re making human food, you don’t mean my lunch do you?” Nemuleki said aghast.

“No,” Dyn said. Nemuleki looked like she might pop her eyes out.

“This, is dehydrated mix of odd carbon complexes, the machine, supplied with water and catalytic agents, can turn the random complexes into the specific category we want, namely, non-toxic stuff for Caleb to eat.”

I raised my hand, a gesture that didn’t quite land, but Dyn paused to let me talk, “If I’m understanding ‘carbon complex’ right, then what does this thing actually do if not mix it with water and spit it out as a block? Because there’s a whole category of food on Earth that’s just a certain carbon molecule and water, plus any other junk.”

“It’s not just mix molecules,” Dyn explained, “It’s a synthesizer, it subjects the materials to some complex fields, maybe even exotic ones—I don’t know, but it affects what bonds are able to form and break within the materials. This?” Dyn hefted the larger bag of flour-adjacent powder, “this wasn’t made from plants from either of our biospheres, obviously. Normally, plants harvested from a Casti biosphere, aren’t going to break down into all the same molecules that plants from other biospheres would, even if there was some overlap, it wouldn’t be in the same ratios either. This machine breaks down, and even reconstructs some, molecules into forms they wouldn’t normally break down into.”

The medic took careful scoops of powder and dumped them into the machine through certain slots, and poured water in through a tube. I took psionic notes on which buttons he pressed in what order, before he cranked a timer dial for five minutes and hit a button labeled ‘process’.

The machine gave a gentle whir and sprang to life.

“And you said the molecules Farnata digest for energy are the same as humans?” I asked.

“I don’t know for sure,” Dyn said, “but it’s a working theory right now.”

“Please tell me you didn’t just gamble and feed me Farnata food,” I said.

“It would be a huge breach of medical ethics,” Dyn said. “That’s why I tested it on your blood first.”

What?

He took out laboratory photos of two little transparent trays, lenses zoomed in on them. “Two samples, one exposed to pure water as a control. The other exposed to a solution of water and food molecules. Since the second sample outlasted the first, your body was getting some nutrients.”

“Aren’t there serious risks if he has organic molecules on common with Farnata?” Nemuleki asked.

My hackles rose a bit. Dyn saw my question without me even opening my mouth.

“She’s not wrong. The whole reason you’re safe to be around Casti is because the fundamental molecules that Casti life is based on are different than yours. But if your biology shares a few molecules with the Farnata, then it’s a bit less impossible for you to be affected by Farnata organic molecules, namely viruses.”

“I know there’s some complicated organic chemistry out there, but surely there’s still some molecules in common for us all. Water, for one…” I trailed off. It occurred to me he probably meant ‘carbohydrates’ when he was talking about hydrated carbon-groups.

“There might be,” Dyn said honestly, “but I’m not the smartest [ doctor ] around. I’m a medical officer not an expert theorist.”

“So should we be worried?” I asked.

“Probably not,” he spoke. “This is one of those things, that if we’d known when you first got here, we wouldn’t have wanted to let you out. But you’ve been here for months and nothing major has happened yet. To me, that indicates very low risk despite significant exposure. But with these kinds of biological questions, you really don’t want to roll the dice if you can’t help it.”

“I was just at a Farnata meeting a few days ago,” I said warily. “Are they in danger from being close to me?”

“What?” Dyn said, genuinely surprised, “No, you’re the one at risk here. If you were poison to Farnata, they’d live. They can get medical attention. But if it was the other way around, my options would be limited. You’re lucky you have those meta-microbes. It’s possible you’re only alive because you’re Adept.”

“I thought meta-microbes fought off germs,” I said.

“True, but they can also help clean your blood. Ease the strain on your ordinary immune processes.”

Huh. I couldn’t tell whether to be terrified or fascinated after my first day actually moving around the medical bay. Usually I sat in a chair while Dyn poked me or scanned me. After the machine gave ding and spat out a stack of eight food blocks, Dyn gave me some orange foil to wrap them in.

It had been interesting to learn, but even after we were done, part of my brain was stuck back at the synthesizer, and not entirely because of the guesswork that had apparently gone into feeding me.

·····

Even an hour later, I was still trying to wrap my head around the technology while Nemuleki was eating the meal that she hadn’t gotten while we’d worked with Dyn.

There was a mess hall in the base, but I was pretty sure it had originally been some other room converted to a new purpose. Not unlike the ship I’d come here in, there were a few tables near a small window behind which the base quartermaster stored all sorts of resources.

I didn’t usually eat down here, the Casti soldiers always stared at me. But it wasn’t the usual meal hours, so we were among the only ones present.

“He’s brutal,” Nemuleki said, “Aksi brutal. He never said I did anything right.”

“It’s preparation,” I said, “he’s just trying to make sure you don’t get blindsided when there’s actually sick soldiers.”

“He went easy on you,” she said, “no matter how much he said he was upset with you.”

“That’s because he actually expects positive results from you. You have the background to at least know what you’re doing. I could do this for weeks and I’d still just be a pair of extra hands. Dyn might be strict, but he’s just trying to prepare you.”

“Caleb, I shoot a gun,” Nemuleki said. “I’m in a military; I know how tough love works. I just wanted to say it out loud.”

“I know when you got here, but I was curious if you knew how long the Naxoi have been here. I’m trying to figure out what this room used to be before,” I said, changing the subject.

“Well I know we’ve held Pek Nantra since the Vorak breached this system. I know this is one of the few bases from the original colony that’s never been in Vorak hands.”

“So is that longer than a few years? If it’s more than five years, I have to change my guess.”

“Going on ten years for this planet, Barely even two for Paris though.”

“Paris,” I said, “Gas giant, further out right?”

Nemuleki clicked a yes, “it’s where Tasser and I were teamed before the raid on Korbanok. Dira , that feels like a long time ago. I did not expect to wind up at Pek Nantra at the end of all that.”

“I bet you expected me even less,” I said.

She clicked again in the affirmative.

“Hey, the base is called Pek Nantra right? What does that mean?”

“Well it’s not a Starspeak phrase,” Nemuleki said, “It’s from an old Nos-hi set of stories.”

“Nos-hi?” I asked.

“Nos was an ancient nation on the Casti homeworld,” she explained. “They wrote a lot of the early literature that spread around our half of the planet. The Nantra was this special hole dug in the ground that had flames in it forever. Pek was supposed to be this…well, it’s hard to explain but it was a kind of monster that was supposed to punish the dead for their misdeeds.”

“[Kinda] sounds like a [demon],” I said. “That would make Pek Nantra… [Demon’s Pit]?”

For speaking English I knew she didn’t understand, Nemuleki glared at me, “I know, I know: ‘you’ll take my word for it’,” I said. “I was just thinking out loud.”

“Still,” I remarked, “sounds like an odd name for a powerplant. It’s so cold here, I would have picked something a bit more to do with the ocean.”

“Caleb, it’s a dust generator,” Nemuleki said, “it has to be hot like a star to work properly.”

I frowned. “I thought it was…” I was getting a familiar vibe, the same one I got when started to think something Adept related was impossible. It was the feeling where I’d made an assumption that was about to be corrected at my expense.

“When you say ‘dust’, you don’t mean the dirt that settles on the floor do you?”

“No, I mean ‘dust’ like infinitesimally small pieces of material. Smash them together, and a lot of energy gets released.”

“[Oh…]” I said faintly. She was talking about atoms. Demon’s Pit was a nuclear reactor. The name sure fit better now. I needed to update my compendium. What I’d translated as ‘dust’ before now…was actually ’particles’.

“Have your people not developed dust energy?” Nemuleki inquired. Except, even if the word was a homonym in Starspeak, she was not saying ‘dust’.

“No, we did. I just didn’t realize what kind of generator the base was.” I suddenly realized why the reactor was built next to the frigid ocean. It was the water supply for keeping the thing from overheating and exploding.

“Has there ever been a [meltdown]? Like, an accident where the reactor exploded?”

Nemuleki almost gagged on her food.

“What?! No! There hasn’t been a reactor failure for years, and I don’t just mean here, I mean anywhere! Was that a common problem on Earth?”

“Well no,” I said, “but there also weren’t that many reactors though. But if there was an accident, it was really big news. Lots of panic.”

“What kind of reactor?” she asked.

I made a motion with my hand, asking her to elaborate.

“Do your reactors combine small, light particles, or do they split heavy, large ones?”

Ah, fusion or fission.

“The latter,”

Nemuleki gave another click, “The last Casti reactors to fail were like that too. Demon’s Pit is the other kind. It crashes protons together. The reaction is way hotter, but it’s also easier to stabilize.”

“If I remember right, we hadn’t built a viable reactor. We could achieve, what’s the word?”

“Fusion,” Nemuleki clarified.

“We could achieve fusion, but not in a design consistent enough to utilize for power.”

“Not my field,” Nemuleki said candidly, “so I don’t think I’ll be sharing any nuclear breakthroughs with you today.”

“I wouldn’t know what I’m talking about if you did,” I replied.

Still, once again I found myself thinking about the device Dyn had showed us: one that used ‘exotic fields’. I was a hop, skip, and a jump away from a fusion reactor.

“I don’t get it,” I admitted.

“The reactor?” Nemuleki asked.

“No, well sort of,” I said. “I can’t get a frame of reference for your technology. You guys have spaceships and advanced reactors, but you still make machinery like it’s fifty years ago.”

“…Fifty years isn’t that long,” Nemuleki said.

“It is on Earth,” I said. “Technology from fifty years ago, especially computers, is completely obsolete now. The technology you guys have feels… incongruous. The otters too, they were using devices that looked like [Mattel Football]. Everything is bulky and ridiculous.”

“I’m going to ignore that,” she said. “But part of it could be our hands. Casti fingers aren’t nearly as small as yours, and the Vorak have those nail-claws. It could be a functional difference…”

“But…?” I prompted.

“ But…there are some Casti out there who think that contact with Adept races has cost us in technological growth.”

“How do you mean?”

“Well, Adepts make a lot of ordinarily impossible technology. Some Casti think that, by relying on them for some advancements, we took a shortcut.”

“Like what? The reactor?”

Nemuleki nodded, “We don’t rely on Adepts anymore, but when the fusion breakthroughs first occurred, they depended on Adepts to build and maintain. There’s a lot though, too much to list. But since humans on Earth have apparently never activated any Adept powers, maybe it explains the disparity. In some ways you’re more advanced because you haven’t relied on powers—”

“—but in others we’re less advanced, because we haven’t had Adept powers at all.” I finished.

Nemuleki clicked in agreement.

“I guess that could be part of it…” I said, “But the Vorak stuff I saw on Korbanok had the same ‘analogue’ vibe to it.”

“Vibe?” Nemuleki mocked.

I frowned at her, and she smiled, “Sorry, I’d just never heard that word used that way. I think I get what you mean though. You should find someone who knows more Underpinning Theory than I do.”

She stood up from the table, scarfing down the last of her bread-facsimile.

“You’re out of here?” I asked.

“Yes. You should…” she trailed off, “well, I was going to say you should go find Tasser, but you’re fine on your own aren’t you?”

“I have to talk to him next anyway, but yeah, I’m independent now,” I preened.

“Ciao, Caleb” she said, not literally, of course. But one of the Starspeak ‘goodbyes’ sounded close enough, it was hard not to substitute the word in my head.

My mind was still turning over ideas about alien and Earth technology when Nemuleki called my name as she walked out of the mess, “Caleb!”

I looked up and she was standing in the exit to the mess, pointing down the hall in the opposite direction she was heading.

I got up and looked where she had indicated.

The mess hall was next to one of the workshop-garage amalgams and visible in the open door were the two other aliens I’d come to Demon’s Pit with.

Tasser and Nai were both leaned over the metal cylindrical device Byr had given me, the oxygen barrier. Nai had her palms laid against its surface with a furrowed brow. She was, I realized, trying to feel out its internal structure, finding the broken part or section. Tactile cascading. Tascading.

Tasser saw me and surreptitiously pointed a finger at the Adept fixing the breathing device. ‘See?’ his expression said. Nai wouldn’t fix something for me unprompted. He must have asked her.

Nai looked up and saw me staring and suddenly I had felt the urge to be anywhere else.

Still…Tasser wouldn’t give up on this. And I was being forced to admit, he might not be wrong.

They didn’t make enough progress to have it fixed that night, but when I lay down and started psionically fiddling until I fell asleep, I remembered that the oxygen barrier wasn’t the only broken device in need of fixing.

I had cell phones in my backpack, and the ability to sense their internal structure. Rats, I might actually have a good reason to go to Nai.