“Okay,” said Kaveh, addressing Ampersand. “Actually, I’m glad you’re here. The last time we saw each other, which was”—he checked his watch— “a little less than an hour ago, you did not have your interpreter with you.” He gestured to Cora, but looked at Ampersand as he spoke. It impressed her. Most people didn’t have the nerve to address him directly. “But now you do have her, so I would like to ask some questions and make a proposal. Off the record.”

Ampersand stayed silent, while Cora tried to stay cool, exuding her most convincing this is fine demeanor, which was honestly quite difficult. “Is that okay?”

“I will hear him.”

Ostensibly tired of standing in front of the alien like he was on trial, Kaveh grabbed the chair by the window and parked it right in front of them. Cora placed a hand on Ampersand’s back, keeping her eyes on Kaveh. Smallest of power moves.

“Okay,” he said, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees, hands entwined in front of him. “Enola told me the reason he came here was ‘to die.’ Would you be willing to tell me what that means?”

“Their social structure is basically built around a practice called dynamic fusion bonding in a social group called a phyle,” said Cora. “It’s sort of . . . nonmonogamous pair bonding. Group bonding, if you will. A phyle contains between five and ten symphyles fusion bonded to each other. As they are exceptionally long-lived, this practice helps maintain social bonds over a very long lifetime, but one quirk of the deal is that they all choose a predetermined date to die, together. So no one dies alone, and no one ever really knows grief. In theory.” To keep things from getting too confusing, she omitted the whole “Oligarchs aren’t allowed to form phyles” detail. Trying to keep track of who was connected to whom in the Superorganism’s top caste required vector calculus that she was too tired to explain at the moment.

“I’m guessing this didn’t go according to plan,” said Kaveh.

“No. The events that have led to their current refugee status have led to the death of all their symphyles, except two.”

“Enola is not Obelus’s symphyle. I am Enola’s last living symphyle.” Because of the vector calculus, Cora kept that to herself. “Ask what he wants.”

“He wants to know what you really want.”

Kaveh clapped his hands together. “I’ll get right to it, then. I’m asking for your permission to talk to Enola. I want access to him.”

“He intends to gather information and turn it into propaganda.”

“He wants to know what’s in it for you,” said Cora.