Chapter 2

“Isn’t that just perfect.”

A few Farishi are ambling about. Ayaan approaches one and asks in Standard, slightly breathless, where he can find the Inter-Planetary League base. They blink at him, shake their head, and say something incomprehensible in an apologetic tone. Ayaan tries again with someone else, and again, and again, growing more and more agitated with each bewildered look and helpless smile.

Nobody here speaks Standard.

Ayaan drags himself into the shade of a shop’s awning, groaning and clutching his damp hair. His clothes cling to him with sweat; he raises his head and the town tilts and bobs.

Beyond the spots in his vision, on the opposite side of the road, a Farish is exiting a building, swinging a knapsack onto their shoulders. Ayaan rubs his eyes. The Farish’s black tank top seems to be printed with a monochrome image of Bruce Lee’s face. Ayaan’s brain cobbles together Bruce Lee, human, Earth , and he stands up straight. They might speak Standard , he thinks, tottering towards them. “Excuse me!” he says, waving.

The Farish turns to him and their eyes go wide as dinner plates. “A Terran!” they say, in Standard. “You are Terran, right?”

“Yes, yes!”

“I speak Standard almost fluently.” They grin and thump their fist against their chest. “I took two years in classes 6 and 7. But I continued on my own! It’s not a useful language unless you want to get into space exploration or inter-planet diplomacy, but there are lots of really good films in it.”

They are the personification of an exclamation mark, but Ayaan is too grateful that they can communicate with him to care. “Do you know the way to the Inter-Planetary League base?”

The Farish does not seem to take offence at Ayaan’s brusqueness. “I’m actually from Ishihaz – that’s up north. I only got here a few days ago. I was posted for work, so I hardly know the place. But I can look it up.” They pull out a tablet from their knapsack, and their fingers fly across the cracked screen. They whistle. “You are a way off. Should I walk you back? I would drive you, but I will not have a scooter till tomorrow.”

“There’s no need,” says Ayaan in his politest dismissive tone, hoping they will not insist. He just wants to listen to the rest of his audiobook. “I wouldn’t want to keep you from your work.”

“No problem!” The Farish’s smile is broad and magnanimous. “I have the day off today.”

Ayaan thanks them and resigns himself to an hour and a half of no peace.

They begin their trudge towards the base. Ayaan has to increase his pace to keep up with the Farish’s long stride.

“I am called Yachi,” they say. Now that Ayaan is not fixated on being lost, he can pay attention to his guide. Their voice is deep, with an undertow of scratchiness, as if they have the beginnings of a bad throat or spend a lot of their time being very loud. Ayaan would bet money on the latter; they don’t seem to have any concept of volume control.

“Ayaan.”

“I haven’t heard tell of any Terran researchers arriving. They usually announce those things.” Their smile hasn’t lost any of its wattage. Ayaan wonders if their cheeks hurt.

“It’s not a research visit. It’s just a shore leave. It’s been a while since we’ve breathed fresh oxygen and the crew was getting antsy. We didn’t want to wait another six months for…” He was about to say, Something more pleasant than a desert hellscape . “For a break.”

“You are here for a while, then?”

“A few days.”

Yachi’s leg gives out and they stumble, and Ayaan almost reaches out to steady them, but decides he does not know if that would be considered appropriate. They catch Ayaan staring. “An illness during my childhood left me with weakness in my left leg. It’s fine, nothing I can’t manage!” They pat the leg in question; their pants are covered in a film of dirt, and scuff marks line their boots.

“I see.”

“I trip sometimes, but I’ve gotten good at catching myself.” They speak without self-pity; if anything, they sound proud.

Ayaan falls into silence as Yachi chatters on, about their work in hydroponics, about how they watched so many Terran movies they picked up bits of English and Mandarin and Portuguese and would sell their front teeth to try authentic Terran cuisines. Their words blur into each other till Ayaan isn’t sure if he’s dreaming; the sky is the whole expanse of his mind and he could float up to touch the papery moon if only he willed it.

The world blinks into sharpness again when they reach the base. At the gate, Yachi turns to Ayaan. “Would you like to get a coffee tomorrow?”

Ayaan has no desire to. He feels odd and unsettled around Yachi, and he had planned to spend the next day sitting in a blanket nest and watching cat videos. Then he blinks. “I didn’t know they served coffee here.”

“They don’t. I thought that was how Terrans commonly make friends with each other? By asking to get a coffee?”

“That’s not how it works.”

“It’s what they show in films!”

“That’s…never mind.”

“Do you want to come see my greenhouse? I think you’ll like it.” Yachi is bouncing on the balls of their feet with excitement. Ayaan wonders if they are considered strange among Farishi.

Green. I haven’t seen green in a long time .

He agrees, half grudging, half eager.

Yachi begins to rummage through their knapsack again. “Give me your tablet code! I will save it.”

Back in his cabin, Ayaan sets the air-conditioning to 18 Celsius. He’s barely finished untying his jacket from his waist when there is a knock at his door.

“Your cheeks are are burnt,” says Onkar, sweeping in.

“It’s your fault. You didn’t remind me to put on sunscreen.”

“Hasn’t Doctor Darwish reminded you enough times?” Onkar pours a glass of water from the half-empty decanter on the desk and drops it into Ayaan’s hands. “You also forgot to hydrate yourself today again, didn’t you?”

Ayaan gives a shamefaced smile and chugs the water down.

“How would you survive without me?” says Onkar, sounding fond.

“With fewer headaches.”

He gets a punch to the shoulder for that.