“Never mind that. Let’s start here. Do you want to listen to the narrator describe the history and inspiration for each piece?”

Helix stood in front of a three-dimensional painting, and somehow the colors seemed to shift and slide, coming toward him as if the frame were full of water. The spectrum was cool but somehow not at all soothing, more urgent and a touch disturbing. His insides tightened as he studied the piece. He had no notion how he was supposed to be reacting, whether there was a correct response to what he perceived. Clearly clarification was required.

“Yes, please.”

“Put this on.” Qalu indicated a clunky wrist unit, not sleek and elegant like hers.

He complied and she carefully activated it without touching him. Suddenly, he had a stranger’s voice in his head. “This work is called Feral Ocean. The artist was inspired by marine life and created a constantly changing piece. Many viewers feel a sense of calm—”

He turned it off by tapping the unit. “I have a question.”

“What is it?”

“If my impressions don’t match what I’m being told, does that mean I am incorrect?”

“Definitely not. Why, do your thoughts differ?”

“I agree about the color shifts, but the painting disturbs me. I don’t feel quiet at all when I look at it.” In fact, the longer he stared, the more he gained a sense of menace, as if something lurked deep beneath the churning colors, a dreadful threat.

“Then why don’t you skip the narration? There’s no right and wrong in art. Even if your opinions differ, the painting exists apart from the creator’s intentions.”

“Is that true?”

“Absolutely.”

“Then no matter what I intend when I craft a piece, the audience brings their own bias and experience. There can be no correct response. Art is entirely subjective.”

“I think that’s a reasonable statement, though there are empirical criteria for evaluation, such as whether the technique is skilled.”

“You’ve given me much to consider.” Thoughtful, Helix moved to the next piece.

This one affected him differently than the chaotic one. First, the colors were static, and though they were all earthy, reminding him of the Barrens on Barath, they were also somehow welcoming. He couldn’t tell what the picture was meant to represent, but the flow of color opened a tightness in his chest. The longer he looked, the better he felt.

“What do you think?” she asked eventually.

“It’s very warm. Restful. Beautiful,” he dared to add, because now he felt sure about the word, about the way beauty made him feel. There was softness and warmth, a sweetness that made it easier to breathe.