Not even a fellow Olone, Dev reflected. An A'jeii. Come to think of it, it had been two A'jeii who had piloted, or directed, the shuttle that had brought them to the mothership. Was he beginning to identify signs of a hierarchy within the alien ship’s crew? Or was it just coincidence? Of one thing he was certain: he scarcely had enough information on which to base such a conclusion.

“A ‘she.’” Katou-Zimmer looked pleased to have one aspect of alien biology confirmed. “That infers sexual reproduction.”

“For the A'jeii, anyway,” Jakob remarked. “Unless ontogenesis is involved.” Husband and wife fell to discussing reproductive possibilities and how that might affect the aliens’ perception of humankind.

Like everything the Zimmers discussed, the ongoing dialogue was captivating, but more pressing concerns occupied Dev’s thoughts. He followed up on Jakob Zimmer’s query.

“I may be completely wrong,” he said to the A'jeii captain, “but you seem to me to be somewhat—distressed. Does it have anything to do with our presence here?”

“Yes … no … difficult to explain. No, not difficult. Awkward.” Turning away from the taller human, Syrenii once again launched into what Dev could not help but perceive as an ongoing haranguing of Vantolos. What made the exchange even more significant in Dev’s mind was the fact that the Olone offered nothing in response: not a verbal riposte, not so much as an argumentative wave of one tentacle.

He and his colleagues were left trying to make some sense of what was happening. No explanation came from Syrenii who, upon concluding her diatribe, rebuke, information dump, or whatever it was, turned and hurried back toward the front of the control center. It was left to Vantolos to explain. The Olone looked to Zimmer, then back to Dev.

“While unsophisticated and abrupt, your fractional assumptions were correct. There is a slight and unforeseen awkwardness. As a corollary, I find myself personally discomfited.”

Reed’s voice was low and wary. “What kind of awkwardness?”

Vantolos looked over at him, eyes in a tight squint, one tentacle waving aimlessly back and forth in front of the cylindrical body. “Circumstances have arisen that required our immediate departure from your system. An emergency, you would say. I am sorry.” Pivoting on his tentacles, he turned to go.

Go where? Dev refused to give in to the sudden panic he felt. They were in the control center or bridge or lookout station or whatever it was of an alien spacecraft and the creature who was their sole sustained contact was about to leave them. Leave them standing, with no one else to talk to, among a small flotilla of busy alien automatons, a host of diminutive and uncaring A'jeii actively engaged in tasks of their own, and one lone and disinterested Kaijank.