“Plants have DNA,” said David, in a tone that clearly stated that he had encountered this question before, multiple times. “They have chromosomes, too.”

“Huh.” Toni shook her head. “Okay, that’s weird. Why do plants need chromosomes? Do you know, Peony?” Her eyes were suddenly, unnervingly back on me. Again, there was that shock of recognition: I knew her. I just didn’t know how.

“Um,” I said. “No? I’m not a botanist.”

Toni blinked. “You’re not? Why the fuck not? You should be. I would be, if I hadn’t managed to get away. You stupid, Hyacinth?”

“Uh, my name is Anastasia,” I said. “‘Stasia’ is fine.”

“Oh, like ‘stamen.’”

“No, like a nickname for Anastasia,” I said, and glanced at Graham. He looked as confused as I felt. “I don’t have a plant name.”

“But you are one,” said Toni. “A plant. You didn’t run, run as fast as you can, and so the thing from space gobbled up the little gingerbread girl. I assume you’re here about my signal?”

“I—” I began.

Graham squeezed my fingers hard enough to break my train of thought. I glanced at him. He was shaking his hand, not vigorously, but just enough for me to see. I stopped talking.

“Yes,” he said. “We called before coming. I really want to see the source data.”

“Are you an astronomer, or an astrophysicist, or anything with ‘astro’ in the name?” She managed to make the question sound mild, but there were teeth in it. I could see them in the shadows around her smile.

“No,” said Graham.

“So you are…?”

“A herpetologist.”

“A herpetologist. I see. Do you normally figure out where the lizards are by listening to celestial signals? Because if that’s so, I may have missed my calling. I’m great with celestial signals, and I never know where the lizards are.”

“No,” said Graham. “I usually figure out where the lizards are by finding the places the lizards aren’t, and then following the lizards I know about back to the rest.”

Toni raised an eyebrow. “Okay, so maybe you do understand what I do. But the signals still aren’t going to make more sense to you in their raw form, unless you’d been hoping I’d make you copies to take back to someone who actually speaks the language of the stars.”

“Really, I was hoping you’d play them for us.” Graham seemed possessed of an almost-supernatural calm, like he had been playing games of verbal tag with this woman for years.

In a way, he had. Graham had always been happier to fight with words than with fists, and unlike me, he really wanted people to like him. Part of that was in the code-switching he did so easily, jumping without hesitation from one set of linguistic metaphors to the next. It made him an effective communicator and the life of the party, and I loved him for it, even as it could draw things out until I wanted to scream.