Skidoo managed an approximation of a human shrug, which became an entirely different motion when translated into Tlellan. “Is being how things is were evolving on my world. My brain is being one creature; it is being working with several others for digestive system and means of locomotion.”

“Your tentacles are not part of you?” Atlanta said, fascinated but also not wanting to appear rude.

Skidoo sounded amused, “More that they is being doing and not doing, all at once.”

When he reappeared, Dabry was trailed by three machines, each bearing a covered dish, all made at his specifications by the ship, so they were a cloudy, almost translucent beige, plain and unadorned (with the exception of the ship’s logo blazoned on the underside of each, this being the compromise that the ship and Dabry had arrived at after considerable negotiation).

He set a dish of flatbread and several small bowls in front of the critic.

“Baba ghanoush,” he said. “Hummus. Seared protein.”

As he stepped back, Niko said in his ear, “You brought the eggplant with you?”

“Captain,” he said, eyes fixed on the dish. “I cashed in a lot of favors for that eggplant. Of course I brought it.”

Lolola sat down, her beautiful face haughty. She broke off a piece of the bread, sniffed it, nibbled at the edge, and dipped the other side of it in the smoky brown baba ghanoush. She chewed, her eyes distant with concentration, before she repeated the act with the hummus.

She carved a sliver of the seared protein block away with a knife, then used her fork to hold it up for inspection before she ate it.

The meal was excruciatingly slow, but Niko refused to give way to impatience. She sat with folded hands, eyes slitted as though perhaps drowsing, though the truth of it was that she was closely observing the critic. Dabry had brought out a chessboard; he and Gio sat down to play out a game, the two focused on the pieces as though there were nothing else in the world, but not speaking at all except to use the gun-shooting gesture that signaled “check,” when appropriate.

The rest of them watched the critic work her way through the food, tasting bite by bite.

At the end, Dabry proved to have been paying attention to Lolola after all. He revealed Milly’s cakes, which he turned out to have stored in a small container. There were enough for everyone to have one.

Atlanta savored hers. The cake itself was soft and white and sweet, the upper crust crisp and brown, the pink crystals starlike lace that melted on the tongue. It reminded her of the delicacy of court food. She’d felt unsteady, disoriented all this time, the conversation a wash of words that she tried to keep her head above. The sweetness was the first familiar thing she’d encountered. She could have eaten a dozen more.