“Sorry,” he said, trying to push the water back in his eyes. “I just—”
“No, no, see, you don’t have to tell me what you’re feeling. I get it. I know.” She smiled wide, her own eyes wet but holding steady. “See? Brothers.”
Jenks was quiet a long time. He cleared his throat. “Do you want to smash and play Battle Wizards?”
“Stars, yes. But only if you promise that we’ll never get this emotional about each other ever again.”
“Deal.”
Ashby took a thoughtful bite of bread, still warm from the oven. “It’s good,” he said, and considered. “Yeah, really good. This one’s a keeper.” He swallowed and nodded. “What are the crunchy things?”
“Hestra seeds,” said Dr. Chef, sharpening a knife as he spoke.
“What are hestra seeds?”
“I have no idea. I know they’re not poisonous. Not to any of us, at least. A Laru merchant back on Coriol gave me a bag for free, along with my other purchases. It was a slow market day, I think she was just glad I bought something.”
“Well, I like them. They’re… zingy.” Ashby reached to the other end of the kitchen counter and refilled his mug with tea.
Dr. Chef set down the sharpener and took a handful of fresh cut herbs from one of his harvest boxes. Ashby could smell them from across the counter. Sweet and astringent. “So,” Dr. Chef said. “Anyone knocking at our door?”
“Not yet,” Ashby said. And that was okay. He wasn’t in any rush, and the Hedra Ka incident wasn’t going to keep them out of business. If anything, their reputation had been bolstered by getting out of a collapsing tunnel unscathed. Of course, there was still the question of whether or not they’d need to find a new Navigator, but they’d cross that bridge when they came to it.
“I’m sure something good will come along. Honestly, I think we’d all be glad of a little downtime. Vacation is one thing, but it’s nice to settle back in slowly.” He rumbled. “Especially since there have been some changes around here.”
Ashby looked over at the vox on the wall. A new voice came through it now—Tycho, a gracious, accommodating AI with a Martian accent. Ashby sometimes thought Tycho sounded nervous, but given that the AI knew the circumstances under which he’d been installed, Ashby couldn’t blame him for wanting to please his new crew. And he and Jenks had been getting along so far. In Ashby’s eyes, that was the most important thing.
Dr. Chef peered at Ashby. “I’m giving you a physical tomorrow.”
“What? Why?”
“You’re squinting. I think we should check your eyes.”
“I’m not squinting.”
“You’re squinting.” Dr. Chef shook a pudgy finger at him. “You spend too much time with your nose in your scrib.”
Ashby rolled his eyes—which worked perfectly fine, thank you. “If it’ll make you feel better.”
“Scoff all you want, you’ll thank—” Dr. Chef set down his knife. Footsteps were approaching. More than four.
Ashby turned. Around the corner came Corbin, walking slowly, holding his arm at a steady angle. Bracing themselves against his arm was Ohan, walking on three legs as they held onto Corbin with the other. No, no, not they, Ashby reminded himself. He. This was no longer Ohan the Pair. This was Ohan the Solitary. After years of making sure he got the pronouns right, Ashby found it a hard habit to break.
He set his mug down and turned to face them. In some ways, not much had changed. Ohan rarely left his room, and the only person he spoke to at length was Dr. Chef, who needed him to answer questions about how he was feeling, or about the medication he’d been taking to aid his regrowing nerves. Otherwise, he sat by the window, as he’d always done. But there were changes. The wetness in his eyes had ebbed, and there was an alertness to him that Ashby had never seen before. His fur was growing out, the patterns cut through it fading away. Dr. Chef had told Ohan that he was strong enough now to shave, but the Sianat had made no efforts to do so. And he’d been spending time in the algae bay, here and there. That was new. Ashby didn’t know why Ohan would want to be around Corbin, after what had happened. Ashby himself had barely been able to be in the same room with him since. Maybe it was Ohan’s way of reminding Corbin of what he was responsible for. Honestly, who knew?
But here he was now, approaching the kitchen, touching Corbin. “Ashby,” Ohan said. “I need to speak with you.”
“Of course,” Ashby said. Across the counter, Dr. Chef was nearly silent.
Ohan let go of Corbin’s arm and stood on all fours. Ashby could see a tightness in Ohan’s face as he did so. Recovering though he was, standing still took effort.
“I should go to Arun now,” Ohan said. “I am Solitary, and that is where I should go. It is the way of things.” He looked down for a moment, deep in thought. The next words came with difficulty, as if he feared them. “But I do not want to.”
“Do you have to go?” Ashby said. “Will your people do anything to you if you don’t?”
Ohan blinked three times. “No. We are… expected to do things. And we do them. We do not question.” He looked confused. “I don’t know why. These things made sense, before. And they made sense to the Solitary you met. But not to me. Perhaps it is because they have never been around other species without the Whisperer. They never saw other ways to be.”
Ashby spoke with care. “Ohan, what do you want to do?”
“I want,” Ohan said, rolling his tongue as though he were tasting the words. “I want to stay.” His forelegs trembled, but he set his jaw. “Yes. Yes.” The trembling stopped. “And I want to have dinner. With my crew.”
A burst of coos and whistles erupted from Dr. Chef’s mouth, making them all jump. Ashby knew the sound. It was the Grum equivalent of crying. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Dr. Chef said, pressing his cheeks with his handfeet. “I just…” His Klip dissolved into a cooing drone. He rumbled and huffed, trying to get a hold of himself. “Ohan, as your doctor, I have to remind you that as your body has only had to digest nutrient paste for some time, adopting other foods will take some adjustment.” His cheeks puffed wide. “But as your—as your friend, there is no way I’d rather spend my afternoon than cooking a meal for you. With you, even, if you’d like.”