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* * *

Is that her? Her motion, not yours?

Yes. She’s saying hello.

To me?

Yes, goofball, she can speak to me with her mouth. She is saying hello to you with her feet.

Oh! Oh—SIGNY! HELLO! WARMTH AND LIGHT, HELLO!

* * *

Beneath the saddle, the rorqual rippled like lake water responding to a thrown brick.

Cora laughed. “Feel that?”

“Hard not to,” Signy said with startled delight. “Was that on purpose?”

“Yep,” Cora slurred. “Yep, yep, yep. Oh, this is great, this is so great.” She paused, taking a deep breath through her nose. “I’m not gonna be able to talk much, it’s—it’s real hard, going back and forth.”

“I understand,” Signy said. She did, and she didn’t mind.

The flight tech started to buckle her in. Her heart hammered with anticipation, but she wasn’t scared. Perhaps it was just the adrenaline talking, but to her surprise, Signy felt nothing so much as being safe. She was with Cora, and Colibri had said hello. Yes, she was safe here. Yes, this would be a good day.

* * *

It’s not okay, what we made

her species into.

No. But we can’t undo that.

I worry about what’s happened

to the others, after what

she did.

Whatever has happened, it’s

not your fault. It’s not her

fault, either.

Isn’t it?

No.

* * *

All right, let’s make a nice easy orbit, as close to the atmospheric lip as you’re comfortable.

May I skip? May I play among the pulling fields?

You may, but gently, gently. Signy isn’t used to this.

I will play, then. Gently. May I go fast enough to see many sunrises?