A word rang out: one alien syllable, not even shouted, but it cut through the clamour and silenced everyone. The Nissa woman was walking towards them, and there was something in her face that said disappointed mother to a primal part of Lee’s mind. Everyone else must have had the same response, save for the translator. It was left complaining vociferously in the silence, before its words—composed of high squeaks and an urbane list of accusations—petered out.

The Cousin spoke again, and Stig translated for her. “You are all our guests.” She was old, her hair grey with a few red streaks and her craggy face deeply lined. With her, the lack of eye contact was not self-effacing but imperious, beyond question.

Dr. Khan did not feel the same way. “Why does he get to be your guest? He’s a murderer; he kidnapped me and…” A moment’s flash of pain and vulnerability. “He’s a fucker, okay? Translate that, Stig.”

Stig’s put-upon expression intensified, but he certainly translated something.

“I am here, Dr. Khan, for the same reason we all are,” Rove said smoothly, with that little smile Lee dearly wanted to punch. “It’s my universe too, after all. I have perspective and resources you lack. I have the rodent scientist’s research, too. I know you weren’t able to take it, only your own work.”

Khan looked to the Nissa matriarch desperately, a child seeking the judgement of an adult. The woman simply stared at them. Their squabbles were beneath her, and she had more important things on her mind. Then she turned and went back inside. There was little to do but be pulled along in her wake or stay outside and get wet.

There followed possibly the most awkward meal in history.

It wasn’t just that they were eating elbow to elbow with Rove and Gym Bro—or Lucas, as he was apparently called. Rove himself was clearly one of those people who could push buttons without actually saying anything controversial. Khan was fuming from the start. There was also the fact that the Nissa themselves didn’t talk at the table. Or rather on the floor, as another thing they didn’t do was furniture. There were cushions and rugs on the ground, and they sat wherever they pleased. The matriarch seemed to lose all interest in her guests the moment food appeared. Stig referred to her as “Murther,” which was either her name or indicated that their language shared an ancient commonality with most human tongues.