“Should we—ah, say hello?” Celise asked, lurking on the edges of the clearing.
Torian scanned for Zen and Dutch—but almost instantly, someone careened into them.
Well, not justsomeone. Nasra, the tou’siil from Rhymarra. She pulled Torian into a massive hug, nearly spinning her around. “Captain Torian Razner! The human responsible for uniting species and honoring a nylarian heritage site. I’m so excited you’re finally here!”
Torian wheezed as Nasra nearly choked her. “Me too. Hi, Nasra.”
“I knew you wouldn’t be long, but it felt like ages.” Nasra’s eyes were sparkling with hive connection as she turned toward Celise, bouncing on her webbed feet. The tou’siil was wearing lighter clothing here, thin billowy layers that eased around her curves and showed off her long, eel-like tail. “You must be the sister. The doctor. Celise, right?”
It was a rhetorical question. A tou’siil never forgot… well, anything.
Celise cleared her throat, coughed a bit, and gasped, “You’re atou’siil.” She turned to Torian now, her tone accusatory. “All this fucking time, and you didn’t tell me there was a tou’siil on Vaesa?”
Torian exhaled indignantly. “I’m sorry, isthatthe tipping point?”
“Of course it’s the tipping point,” Celise hissed. “Do you know how expensive it is to even talk to a tou’siil? The last one available for hire in the colonies visited fifteen years ago—there’s a fuckingregistryto meet the next one that shows up.”
“Well, clearly they didn’t know that Nasra’s been on Rhymarra, at the university.” Torian kept her voice low, although this conversation was anything but private. Nasra—and the hive through her—watched their back-and-forth with an amused smile.
Celise spun around in a panicked circle, like she was going towalk away to clear her head—then changed her mind. “She must know—Heavens, you must knoweverything. Human biology, the impact of space travel on our physiological state, the best methods to ensure clean living—”
“Actually,” Nasra interjected, “we haven’t had much time to study humans. Very few emissaries have toured this solar system, mostly in the last few hundred years. Before that, you all were very skeptical of us.”
Torian rubbed the back of her neck. “That’s apparently a theme with humanity.”
Celise had already moved on, dipping her head reverently. “It’s such a pleasure to meet you, Miss… Nasra, she said?”
“Nasra Sal’zirettex. Call me Nasra.” A pause, a laugh. “No, humans use ‘Miss’ as an honorific. Their version of ‘Slira.’ Their honorifics are gender-specific, so mostly they just assume.” Another pause. “Yes, they often assume wrong, from what I’ve seen. I’ve suggested—”
Torian listened to her ramble and suddenly realized she’d followed Headmaster Nuun and Zenthielutos’s cues with pronouns for Nasra. With a nervous laugh, Torian interjected: “If ‘Miss’ isn’t right, what pronouns do you use?”
“Oh, I identify as female. ‘Miss’ isn’t incorrect—it’s just unnecessary. We use ‘Slira’ as a gender-neutral honorific, but only in the most formal of situations,” Nasra replied, clearly pleased Torian had asked. “Tou’siil have four recognized genders, and several offshoots depending on their stage of life.” Now Nasra paused, tilting her head as if listening to voices in her ear. “That’s more of a joke. If I dive into nuance, we’ll be here all—”
“Is she talking to the hive right now?” Celise whispered to Torian, clearly in awe.
Torian nodded.
Nasra realized their side conversation and cut off instantly, offering a wry smile. “Apologies! More people are watching my connection, especially since I arrived here. A lost civilization—and thenylarians, at that? It’s like your history channels and renovationshows rolled into one.” She giggled, and with a blink, her eyes were that flat blue again.
Celise couldn’t tear her eyes away. “How does the hive communication work? We would go insane with that much sensory input… but you must go insane without it?”
“Bless the Book Itself, yes, it’s a slow descent into madness.” Nasra shuddered. “We’ve allowed it exactly twice, both to volunteers. Once examined the effects, and once verified the results. For a breath, our leaders thought it would be a fitting exile for criminals—but it’s far too cruel.”
“How is it able to span such a distance? Your planet isn’t anywhere near this solar system, is it?”
“Correct! We utilize an organic neurological communication similar to your theorized telekinesis. It’s a brain wave all tou’siil are born with, a signature completely unique to my species. It works like the roots of a huge tree, connecting us all to a single center point. The more distance from the planet and that center, the higher the strain on our hive. That’s why only a few tou’siil emissaries are permitted to leave at any given time. We crave knowledge, but seeking too much of it might destroy the very thing that allows us toretainthat knowledge.”
Celise had that doctor look again, absolutely dazzled by this new information. “Fascinating. Have you attempted to replicate that brain wave? The implications into modern communication could be—”
“Astronomical, yes! Sadly, we can measure it, but technology simply isn’t advanced enough to attempt what we’re able to biologically produce.” Nasra gestured around them. “Although none of us have tested nylarian technology. It’s wholly possible we might find the answer in this station!”
“Were they really that advanced?” Celise breathed.
Nasra bounced again, seemingly thrilled to have found a new scientific partner. “They set the standard for the rest of the galaxy. Their energy shields are in every space station, and Vaesa’s use of isolated biomes—”
Torian cleared her throat.
Both of them glanced at her. Nasra seemed curious, but Celise looked vaguely annoyed.
