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You cannot focus on our flight and feel what we are sharing?

No, it—too much. I need a moment.

I can fly without your guidance for a while.

I’m not supposed to let you do that.

Am I of your trust?

Yes, of course you are.

I will fly the same corridors as always. I will keep to the same speed. I will not stray.

All right, go ahead.

I am grateful.

Colibri?

Yes, Cora?

Why do you love?

I do not understand.

Rorquals do not have a social nature. Humans had to teach you this. I had to teach you. Rorquals can interact with rorquals, but you don’t require it as humans do. You don’t even seem to like it much. But for us, never seeing another human is torture. We do not allow this even as punishment. But for you, it is expected that meetings with your own kind will only be by chance. And you do not require a partner to breed.

I am not allowed to breed.

You are not. Do you wish that you were?

I do not know. Please, continue. Tell me what you think is different in the way that we love.

I’m not sure it is different. How we focus it, display it, mold our lives around it, yes, that is different, that is social, that is societal, but the feeling—the feeling is innate. And as you say, it shapes itself differently, not just in the spaces you and I do not understand within each other, but within myself. My love for a lover is different than my love for a sister, for a friend, for a child if I had one, but all these branches share a root, and I know you share it, too. And humans, humans are taught that we are unique in the way we feel, the way we love. We are told that love arose as a chemical means of binding individuals together. We are required for each other’s survival, and so we must bond. But you—you defy that conjecture. Why do you love, Colibri?

It is necessary.

How so?

It is the only logical response.

To what?

To existence.

Chapter 785 Signy, Cypsela

Once or twice, Signy had tried to imagine telling her younger self that one day, she’d own a spaceship, and that her primary use for it would be going to pick up groceries. She never got very far with this imagining. Her younger self wouldn’t have had the patience for that kind of nonsense.

Signy climbed aboard her spaceship, which was nothing fancy—one of the same five prefab shuttle designs from the Primer owned by everybody living in the Ring. There were two seats up front, a bench in the back in case somebody needed a ride, and a respectable amount of space to fill with supplies and the occasional piece of domestic machinery. The outer hull was done up in rusty red and blackish gray, with the ship’s name hand-painted on the sides. Signy hadn’t thought it necessary for a craft this small to have a name, but Cora had disagreed vehemently on that point. She’d named the shuttle The Kestrel. When asked what that was, Cora had replied, It’s an Earth bird. When asked why that was her choice, she’d further explained, Because it sounds cool.

Signy had humored Cora then, just as she was humoring her current bullshit now. “Preflight check,” Cora said, flipping switches and opening fuel lines. “Passenger, are you secure?”

Signy sighed. Cora had been doing this stupid bit for a solid ten years at least. The eternal problem with it was that Signy didn’t want to give Cora the satisfaction of playing along, but that fight had been lost ages ago. To add insult to injury, she knew deep down that if Cora ever did stop doing this stupid bit, she would miss it. Signy sucked her front teeth grudgingly as she buckled her safety harness. “Passenger is secure,” she said in a flat tone. “Is pilot secure?”

“Pilot is secure,” Cora confirmed snappily. “Capcom, we are go for inventory check.”

Signy raised her eyebrows. “Am I capcom? I thought I was passenger.”