“Wait a moment, I’ll check…” Normally, he would be able to retrieve this information instantly but the numbers didn’t come. He ought to be able to calculate the odds that a Tiralan reared in space would be able to adapt to life on the ground. “What have you done to me? I can’t even do simple mental calculations any longer! I should know if someone in my situation could acclimate on Tiralan!”

“First, that’s not a simple calculation. There’s an incredible amount of data to process, and your capabilities are different. Learning to use them effectively will require time and effort.”

“You keep saying that,” he said irritably. “But everything is terrible and slow, my mind most of all.”

Her posture indicated she intended to deploy humor. “Blame yourself. You just said this isn’t real, so is there some reason you would punish yourself in this fashion?”

Helix uttered a soft, despairing sound, one the Tiralan throat was comfortingly suited to express. “Yes.”

Her forelimbs and her head tendrils drifted toward him, expressing the desire to comfort, but she did not touch him. Even if this fantasy served as penance, as he lay trapped in the wreckage of the ship, it still reassured him that she would keep her promise and not foist unwanted intimacy on him. That burgeoning trust was critical, as he couldn’t currently fend for himself.

She said only, “I’m sorry to hear that. Perhaps I can help you heal.”

“Healing is an organic process.”

“You’re part of that world now,” Qalu noted. “More to the point, I meant mental damage more than physical. You can be harmed in the same way any sentient being can.”

Once she expressed it that way, he was forced to concede she had a point. Her kindness was unexpected, as was her concern that he might be experiencing an emotional wound. A strange feeling swelled, similar to how he had felt when he considered Zylar being taken from him, but not exactly the same. He would need to research various emotions and how to identify them because while he had words to name the concepts, he didn’t necessarily know how such sensations would manifest, especially in a biological unit.

“Thank you,” he said finally.

Perhaps this dream was part of that process—the healing one. This gentle Tiralan could be the conduit that allowed him to move past self-recrimination for the Tiralan he had invented to manipulate Zylar.

Before she could respond, the weird feeling expanded and his insides lurched or rumbled; he had no context for what was happening. It was adjacent to the pain for which she had medicated him, but more like…discomfort?

“What’s wrong?”

“I am not certain.” Reflexively, he pressed against his abdomen and then with a joyous start, he realized he’d moved. Not by ordering it, just by doing it. Instinct, not command.