“I don’t know,” Ashby said, giving the Reskitkish another try. “About Humans?”
“Ah, yes, yes. I’ll never forget the day when we learned Humans had been accepted into the GC as a member species. We were at the Muriat Marketplace—have you ever been there?”
“Sometimes,” Ashby said.
“Is there still a bar there called [Hanto: The Fully-Stocked Cupboard]?”
“Don’t know.”
“Oh, I hope it’s still there. Best sugarsnaps in the GC, no question. I’ve never found another bartender who can get them that tart. But anyway. Yes, Humans joining the GC. I was at an algae depot—no, no, it was a tech shop, yes, a tech shop. There was a Human man working there. His job was to clean used parts meant for resale. Mindless work, and hard, too. Not a good job for a species with soft hands. You could tell by his clothes that he didn’t get paid much. His boss was out, so he was helping me find—oh, whatever it was I needed. There was a news feed on a little projector at his work desk, and suddenly, there it was. Humans in the GC. The man went quiet. And then he did something I’d never seen before: he started crying. Now, I didn’t know that crying was something that Humans did, so I was a little afraid. Do you know how disturbing it is to see someone’s eyes start leaking? Ha! And poor man, he’s trying to explain crying to me while going through all of those emotions. I’ll never forget what he said to me. He said, ‘This means we matter. We’re worth something.’ And I said, ‘Of course you’re worth something. Everyone is worth something.’ And he said, ‘But now I know the galaxy thinks so, too.’” Ishren squeezed their shoulders and looked between them. “And now, you have ships of your own, and you go out into the open like we Aandrisks do. And to the Core! I must admit, I am jealous of your journey. What a lucky thing that is.” He smiled. “I hope I don’t sound patronizing, but thinking back on that man, seeing you here makes me think on how far your species has come. That makes me very happy. Oh! I just remembered! Are you hungry? I know that Humans have to eat more than we do, so Rixsik and I spent last night preparing plenty of extra food for the [noun, no analog available; a table where communal food is offered throughout the day].”
“That’s kind. Very kind,” Ashby said. “I wish—I hope it were not… difficult.”
“Not at all,” Ishren said. “We are all looking forward to see how much you can eat.” He grinned and pointed off to the side. “I think they are, too.”
Behind a stack of empty crates, a pack of hatchlings had gathered, watching the adults with intense curiosity. They were hanging back, as if waiting to be invited. Rosemary realized that might actually be the case. Perhaps they knew not to butt in when adults were socializing. That would make sense, among a species where children did not need help learning basic survival skills. In a Human gathering, adults wouldn’t think twice about dropping a conversation the moment a child needed something, even if it was simply attention. But here, the hatchlings seemed to know that adult activities took precedent, and that if they wanted to join in, they’d have to figure out the rules. So instead of tugging at sleeves and showing off, they observed the goings-on of adults from the sidelines, trying to puzzle it all out. They were learning how to be people.
Rosemary saw Teshris among them, her little arms wrapped around a hatchling of similar size and features. Eskat, presumably, Sissix’s other—Rosemary stopped herself before thinking the word child. Offspring? Progeny? All the words granted too much of a connotation of those hatchlings belonging to Sissix, which they clearly did not, or at least, not in a Human way. Perhaps it was enough to say that Teshris and Eskat shared an egg mother, who happened to be Sissix.
Her attention swayed back to the cuddle heap, which was beginning to disintegrate. Three of the elders—ones Sissix had not known the names of—were heading back to the house. A few stayed with Sissix, still touching, but their energy was waning. Issash, however, continued to hug Sissix as tightly as she had at the start. Two of Sissix’s other hatch parents, apparently overcome by all the affection, had left the group for a nearby bench. There could be no doubt that they had moved on to actual foreplay, and in one brief, unexpected moment, all of Rosemary’s idle curiosities about what a male Aandrisk kept inside the slit between his legs were answered.
“Come,” Ishren said, leading Rosemary and Ashby toward the homestead. “Let’s take care of you two. And you know, you don’t have to wear clothes here, unless you want to. I know it’s your way, but we want you to be comfortable.”
“Thank you,” Rosemary said in Klip. She did her best to avert her gaze from the Aandrisk elders on the bench, who were now coupling with gusto. “I think I’ll keep them on for now.”
The way the day progressed, Rosemary felt sorry for the techs, crowded into some concert pit with greasy food and overpriced kick. Her own afternoon was spent lying on floor cushions, drinking grass wine and eating strange, delicious nibbles from the communal table (the elders had little frame of reference for how much Humans needed to eat, and had provided enough food for ten of them). She listened as Sissix’s family caught their hatch daughter up on the daily dramas of friends and relatives. Everything about the gathering was intriguing, from the unfamiliar food, to the obsessive level of detail given to local gossip, to the unending physical affection lavished upon Sissix. In many ways, Rosemary felt like the hatchlings, peeking through the windows and slipping in to fill bowls with snacks. She, too, was content to watch and learn.
But by evening, Rosemary had grown a little restless. She had eaten herself sluggish, thanks to Ishren’s urgings, and the effect of the wine had shifted from “pleasantly relaxed” to “mild headache.” Her legs were stiff from lying around, and her brain felt like goo after several hours of listening to conversations in an unfamiliar language. Shortly after the sun went down, she excused herself and went outside for some air.
Theth dominated the desert sky, hanging close enough for her to imagine that she could reach out and brush its rings with her fingertips. Without the haze of city lights, shimmering colors shone down unhindered —the glow of neighboring moons, the murky purple gauze of the galactic cloud, and all in between, nothing but stars, stars, stars. She lived up there, in that vast expanse of color. Every day, she saw planets and comets and stellar nurseries right up close, plain as weather. Yet, there was something about being planetside that made it feel different. Perhaps stars were supposed to be viewed from the ground.
She glanced inside at Sissix, surrounded by a throng of feathered heads. She looked back to the sky, guiltily entertaining the idea of everyone but Sissix disappearing for a while. She imagined Sissix coming outside, handing her another glass of wine, putting her arm around her shoulder, teaching her the names of constellations. It was a silly, selfish thought, she knew, but she indulged it all the same.
A short while later, Ashby stepped out of the doorway, carrying a heat blanket. “Thought you might be cold.”
“I am a bit, thanks.” She took the blanket and pulled it around her shoulders. A soft warmth spread like sunlight through her clothes. “Oh. Mmm.”