Evrim watched her go. There was something unknowable in Evrim’s face. Some emotion Ha could not decipher. But perhaps that same unknowability was in all human faces as well and Ha had simply never been as aware of it.

Evrim looked back at the terminal. “It is the octopus’s own eye, opening. The horizontal slit of their eye widens first at the edges—”

“Yes,” Ha interrupted. “Yes. That’s exactly what it is…”

“Widens first at the edges,” Evrim repeated, “creating that strange goat-like iris shape. And then, in very low light, it opens wide to a full circle. The sequence is iconic—it is a depiction of an eye opening.”

“Which could mean—” Dr. Mínervudóttir-Chan began.

But Evrim cut her off. “So many things. But perhaps—and this is what I am clinging to—hoping for—perhaps it could mean the same things it means to humans. The eye is a structure the human and octopus have in common—so maybe it can lead to a metaphor, or a set of metaphors, held in common. And it is one of humanity’s most important symbols. Not just something peripheral, but something central to the human’s entire being. The opening eye … it’s…”

“Awareness,” Dr. Mínervudóttir-Chan said.

“Consciousness,” Evrim said.

“Birth,” Ha said.

And then the words began to come from all of them, so fast that it was not always clear who was speaking:

“Intelligence.”

“Vigilance.”

“Enlightenment.”

“Perception.”

“Discovery.”

“Knowledge.”

“All of those,” Evrim said. “And then, in religious and philosophical symbolism, so much more. But the point is—what it might be is a place to begin from. Look at the care taken to carve the eyes in the coral man. This likeness it made of us—presuming it made it—demonstrates the importance to them of the eye. We can start there.”

“Common ground,” Ha said.

“Now we’re back to species-specific metaphors,” said Evrim.

“No—we’re not. And that is my point. You’ve broken through to something. It’s not a species-specific metaphor at all. ‘Common ground’ is a metaphor both species might understand. The octopus doesn’t swim in the ocean, like a fish: It lives in one place. It lives in a home, often built in the ground. It holds territory, and it walks across the sand and stones of the seafloor. I’ve been focusing on the differences between us. I’ve forgotten how many similarities there also are. And there are so many. The eye is one of them—but once we start looking, we will find many others. This is something to work with.” Ha threw her arms around Evrim, hugging Evrim close, then released them. “You are extraordinary.”

Evrim blinked.

“Sorry,” Ha said. “I got excited.”

“No, don’t apologize. It’s just—well, nobody has ever done that to me before.”