Every time Amy calls, they begin with this dance. They’d done it whenever Amy called to offer encouragement before Ify’s exams, whenever Amy called to summon her from the library for meals, whenever Amy called to deliver bad news about Ify’s early immigration struggles. Whenever Amy called to vent about something her wife, Paige, had done or tell Ify far too much about their struggles having a child. Whenever she’d managed to find Ify at just the right time to console her over a bad test result or something her classmates had said or done to highlight the fact that she was nothing like them. Despite the changes that had raged around Ify like a maelstrom over the past four years, Amy had stood in the calm eye with her, holding her close.

“How was your trip?” Amy asks.

“It went very well. Céline is perfect for the job. You remember Céline, don’t you?”

“Ah, yes! Your friend from school.” To put it lightly.

“Yes. She will begin her post as a Colonial administrator after graduation. Among the youngest in the history of the Colonies.”

Amy chuckles. “The Colonies aren’t that old, babe. Some of us are older than the Colonies, in fact.”

Life-preservation tech in the Colonies still flummoxes Ify. It means constant upgrades for your cyberization, constant maintenance, sometimes debilitating illnesses that only grow prolonged and never end. Eyes or legs or organs that cease working because they cannot adapt to the advancement of the rest of your body. All so you can take a few more breaths of recycled air.

“But I’m glad you were able to see her. How is it out there? Paige and I rarely get any time away from Alabast these days—it’s such a shame—but we’ve been planning a vacation. And if you have any ideas of places to go in Centrafrique, maybe a safari or something of the like, do let us know. We haven’t been on an adventure—a true adventure—in so long. And, if I’m being honest”—she lowers her voice into a conspiratorial mumble—“our marriage could use a little seasoning, if you know what I mean.” She launches into a fit of giggles.

Ify chuckles nervously. “I will, Dr. Reed. I will.” Normally, she’d let Amy drone on and on and make the conversation about herself—she does this more the older she gets—but the memory of Centrafrique and its vibrancy and its uniqueness still burns fresh in Ify’s memory. There are no lions in Centrafrique, she wants to tell Amy. No elephants. No safaris. “What’s new with you?”

“Oh, nothing.” Amy pauses, bites her lip. “Well, actually, there’s something I was hoping you could help me with. Us, actually. It’s something Paige and I have been dealing with.”

Ify stiffens, expecting more marital troubles.

“We’ve adopted a child.”

“What?”