I planned to hate the human. That seemed to be the most efficient course of action, and far easier than trying to like them. Humans didn’t appear to be terribly intelligent, had a rudimentary idea of space travel, and could barely leave their own solar system. I was surprised to learn that they had managed to colonize a few small planets, though they didn’t desire this planet for that purpose but for a mining facility. They wanted to test the purity of ore and study how easy or difficult it would be to extract and refine.

Their ships were excessive and inefficient, demonstrating they were not only wasteful but showy. Little wonder why they were seeking additional resources. My modest capsule was a twentieth the size of their behemoth vessel, a silver ship that would have dwarfed even the tallest buildings on Navora. The human required a ladder to reach their living quarters, which again signaled their lack of foresight and practicality. Humans also insisted on wearing an outer skin over their natural skin, a custom I found amusing and redundant, but if Navora wished to begin an agricultural colony on this planet, we would have to work cooperatively with them. Our two worlds had agreed to share the information we gained while conducting our experiments, since sending additional resources and researchers would be costly. We did not (yet) have territorial conflicts, so pooling information seemed to be the most logical course, though working in such close contact was difficult to imagine when I scented the human. Their olfactory glands must have been terribly underdeveloped, otherwise they wouldn’t have been able to stand each other’s odor. I also noticed that they had no feeler hairs on their limbs to note changes in the environment. A very curious species indeed. At least there was only one of them at the moment.

I had prepared for a version of the traditional human greeting which involved touching upper appendages, but I was relieved when the human executed a proper bow as I would have expected in diplomatic meetings with alien species. Maybe there was hope for the mission not to be truly horrendous, but only moderately awful. And that was if we succeeded. But I had to be optimistic. I had to keep the farmers back home in mind—

‘Dru,’ said the human, then paused, silent. I did not catch the hint of a whirr.

‘Pardon me?’ I said, wondering if my translation implants were not functioning.

‘My name,’ said the human. ‘It’s Dru.’

‘Oh,’ I said. Apparently, they did not also identify themselves by birth location. My reading materials on human culture had been woefully inadequate, focusing primarily on history but very little on custom aside from greetings and practices related to hygiene, eating, and defecation, which was to be done in private.

‘Tenzin,’ I said after a moment, realizing I should respond with my name.

‘How have you found the planet so far?’ the human said.

‘Adequate,’ I said. It took twice as long for the human to arrive from their home world as it did from mine. Their journey lasted the equivalent of one Navora year, which they explained was just short of half a year on their home world. I had been on the planet for ten of its days, which was only seven Navoran days. Since I was still adjusting my sleep cycles, I was not in the best of moods for our first meeting.

I showed the human the space I had chosen for planting, a wide flat area with minimal rocks. I had come with seeds from Navora, a variety of plants developed by scientists and others given to me by farmers, so we could better understand which food sources might grow best. The human had done the same. They also had equipment on their vessel to test ore deposits. I would assist with that process, as noted in the treaty agreement.

The human kept a respectful distance—I’d heard they tended to converge more closely than we found comfortable—and nodded at the neat rows I had begun planting. It was nearing the start of one of my sleep cycles, so I excused myself and told the human that I would see them at sunrise. They bid me a good rest and said they would send a message capsule to their home world relaying their safe arrival. This reminded me of how far we were from home and how we would have to rely on each other for aid. While it was pleasant to have another living being on the planet, the prospect of mutual help seemed daunting.   

—

As much as this mission to help the farmers scout a potential new colony required a level of adaptation on my part, I had been weary of home and needed an escape. I was tired of Navora’s climate, tired of my co-workers, just tired. A few of my intimates said they were sorry to see me go. My caretaker, for instance, who’d known me since I was a tiny hatchling, was emotional when we parted, whirring in a low, sad tone. I did the same. They hadn’t winced when I had the hiccups and made chirping noises that caused others to look away. I knew my caretaker felt a snap of cranial pain at the noise, as did everyone else, but there was little I could do. I experienced intense cranial pain periodically, though the hiccups were more recent. The medicals were not sure what caused them, but suggested my cranial pain, hiccups, persistent respiratory issues, and inability to reproduce might be related. Or not.

I did not know whether I had reproductive issues, since I’d only been bonded once. My partner Kyl had the same difficulty conceiving, but we had an amicable separation with no plans to bond again. They were becoming more involved with their governmental duties, and decided it was best to remain single. Before I departed on this mission, we had a meal together and resonated. It was pleasant to be intimate with them. Sometimes I wasn’t interested in resonating due to my cranial pain, though I resonated twice on the journey here since I was bored and lonely. I deserved a little pleasure, even if I found it on my own.

Navora had sent survey and communications satellites before I arrived, and those scans allowed us to determine the best locations for settlements in close proximity to water with soil that appeared fertile. We only had rudimentary chemical analyses to base those hypotheses, and there was no vegetation native to the planet, but the natural water sources and (potentially) breathable atmosphere made it precious to Dru’s home world and to Navora.  

This was far from the first exploratory mission Navora had embarked on to search for a food source, mineral deposits, a waste disposal space, or to have an excuse to play an intoxicant generator and get drunk on mellow tones the night before a shuttle send-off. Mine was the furthest mission to date, however, and previous excursions had not been undertaken by a solo traveler. Mehani, my government liaison who had prepared me for the journey, assured me I would be fine with the human and my translator implant. I was dubious.

—

On my first day of planting with Dru, I admit it was pleasant to be with someone who didn’t whirr at me disdainfully, as if wishing I’d leave. Dru spent a great deal of time examining the soil, and we discussed types of plants that were native to our home worlds.

‘I’m a level four soil scientist,’ they said, making a gesture with the upper half of their body that I could not translate, a tension and then relaxation. ‘The higher-ups back home trust me not to mess things up too much. And I’m disposable.’

That much I understood. If one of us were unable to live here due to atmospheric conditions or health problems, it had been quietly agreed that the survivor would report the death to the other’s home world and respectfully dispose of the remains. That was another part of the treaty. If we both survived and the experiments were successful, our governments would continue to the next stage of diplomatic negotiations governing territorial use and rights. Before I left Navora, Kyl cheerfully told me that such talks were likely to be drawn out for years. I did not know if the farmers would be willing to wait that long, but first we had to see if anything would grow. I knew which plants were likely to do well based on our initial chemical analyses, but the land could surprise you, and so could the seeds. Even the ones that didn’t thrive would teach me how to work with the soil and not against it. I hoped that my favorite greens would prosper, but I could only tuck a few seeds into the soil and spend agonizing days waiting for them to germinate.

It was a similarly slow process to grow accustomed to the human as we worked and ate in close proximity. We took our meals in the shade outside their ship, chatting while observing each other’s mannerisms. At some point, I would ask Dru how it felt to be in that vulnerable soft skin and have no antennae to feel the breeze or vibrations from other individuals. I hoped they had a reasonable understanding of anatomy in case they needed to instruct me regarding their medical care.

Anxious as I was about the stakes and success of our mission, the job of planting had a therapeutic effect. I lost track of time while mounding rows of dirt into neat lines. It was not like my climate-controlled greenhouse on Navora, though the landscape was brilliant orange and quite lovely. The soil on Navora was coarse and difficult to work in places, but on the new planet it was as fine and pleasant as anything I could hope for and seemed to glow under the green sky. At sunrise and sunset, the horizon blushed with a vibrant violet, much unlike the red sunsets of home. Even if my shoulders ached after a day of planting, the colors cheered me. It was easier to breathe here than it had been on Navora, even when I visited less populated areas outside the city.

I didn’t realize I was whirring until I noticed Dru looking at me from two rows away. They contorted their face into an expression I had not encountered in my reading materials.

‘What’s that noise?’ they asked.

‘Whirring,’ I said. ‘We do it when we’re content or aggravated or…’ I paused. Best not to explain the other uses. ‘It expresses emotion. But it bothers you, I see.’

‘It’s not that,’ they said. ‘It’s just different. Try it again.’

I did. They attempted to mimic me—quite amusing—but after a moment they struck a tone I was sure they did not intend because I felt my body resonate in ways reserved for intimate moments between partners. I was not sure how to explain that to Dru because I wanted them to stop and I didn’t want them to stop. While it was not appropriate to engage in such activities at work, we were the only two beings on the planet and did not have many occasions for relaxation.

‘You stopped,’ they said. ‘Was I not doing it right?’

‘You did well,’ I said. ‘I should return to planting.’

They continued whirring and hit tones that made me resonate deeply, so it was difficult to concentrate. I planted very slowly. Kyl had not made me resonate like this, and I had not achieved the same for them. Resonating did not always lead to reproduction, which occurred at certain times of year when both partners found the right tone and resonated simultaneously. There were devices to assist with that task, such as intoxicant generators that played soothing tones and were employed to aid relaxation. That tactic worked well, except when it didn’t.

I understood that humans created offspring differently than we did, but the topic had not been discussed in my reading materials. Humans used that second skin to conceal parts of their bodies that were central to reproduction, so I wondered if the subject was taboo.

As we planted and Dru whirred, when they hit a particularly erotic tone, I rested my upper limbs on my knees and let the note roll through me. If I’d been on Navora, I would have told them to raise their tone slightly and complete the act, but that seemed inappropriate. When Dru changed pitch, I let myself shudder, allowing the waves to reverberate through my chest, spirals of warmth that expanded until it felt like a star was pulsing inside my body. My back arched. I filled with light and heat and felt myself glowing, those few blessed moments of reverberation when I was sure I could fly.

 Admittedly, it was a pleasant diversion.

—

Dru and I were in a similar circumstance in that the medicals on our home worlds were uncertain how our bodies would react to the atmosphere and soil on this planet, so our paired missions were also meant to ascertain that trace chemicals in the atmosphere would have no ill effects on our health or respiration. Initial tests had been promising, and the medicals said they were (almost) positive I would be comfortable. That seemed to be the case since I wasn’t dead, hadn’t broken out in scales, was no longer hiccupping, and had not been consumed by microscopic parasites. My respiratory capacity had been depleting on Navora, but on the new planet I did not labor over each inhale and exhale, and found myself taking fewer supplements for cranial pain. The medicals had said the latter was due to compounds in Navora’s atmosphere that most could tolerate in small doses.

Additional resonating further improved my mood.

Dru continued to mimic my whirring, which might have been an attempt to communicate, but often they hit a distracting tone. Kyl had given me instructions on conducting diplomatic relations but hadn’t suggested what I might do if this happened. Admittedly, it did make me a bit more positively disposed toward Dru, which I reasoned was beneficial since we were to be co-workers for the foreseeable future. During mealtimes, Dru and I discussed our home planets and juvenile years, a social occasion I enjoyed more than I expected.

‘My brother and I went camping in the hills when we were younger,’ they said. ‘We walked along narrow cliffs and trudged through rivers where we could have drowned. I should have known I’d end up exploring a middle-of-nowhere planet. Did you always want to be a plant scientist?’

‘Some individuals on Navora doubt their assigned station, but I never did,’ I said. It was my understanding that humans were not assigned a profession based on aptitude but allowed to choose for themselves. That seemed a terribly daunting prospect.

Dru nodded and looked at me with a gaze I could not place, despite my hours of studying human facial features. It was not sad, excited, or even curious, but there was a fixedness to their expression.

‘Is everything all right?’ I asked. ‘You will forgive me if I am not familiar with this custom of extended looking.’ On Navora, such was considered rude, even when resonating.

‘What?’ Dru said.

‘Your extended periods of looking at me,’ I said. They had done this on more than one occasion. ‘What does it mean?’

‘It’s nothing,’ they said.

‘Fuck that,’ I said.

‘What?’ they said.

‘Fuck,’ I said. ‘I have been studying your profanity. There must be a social or psychological reason for your extended looking. If we are to live together, you must translate your emotions and expressions. I will do the same.’ (I had not done so yet, but at some point, I would explain the pleasurable effects of certain tones when whirring.)

‘You are,’ they said and paused, ‘nice to look at.’

‘Oh,’ I said. I was not sure how to respond. Nice could translate as pleasant, kind, a curiosity, or an abomination, among other definitions. It seemed to be a word employed when one didn’t want to reveal one’s true emotions.

‘Our corporeal forms have similarities, so I understand your curiosity,’ I said. I did not find them nice to look at. They were terribly unhealthy, with no green or blue cast to their skin. It was not the color of death, but had their skin been a bit lighter, it would have been close.

‘I mean, I like looking at you,’ they said. ‘You have a nice figure. I’m sorry. It’s rude to stare. I didn’t realize I was doing that. I’ll stop.’

‘Thank you for the clarification,’ I said.

‘You’re welcome,’ they said, but they did not stop giving me extended gazes when they did not think I was watching. I was always watching them. I wished I could have communicated with Kyl about this odd aspect of diplomatic relations, but I feared they would have been at a loss.

—

Kyl was a brilliant individual whose potential, I thought, was wasted in the government. They should have been an educator since they were passionate about history and repeated themselves often as if preparing their listener for a test. Working in government policy seemed to be little more than an endless stream of arguments, but Kyl loved it. At dinner they whirred on about this and that proposed law while I slowly consumed a beverage to dull my cranial ache from the day’s work. I admired their dedication to their job as much as I found it frustrating. They were always unraveling problems down to their historical roots, and their mind was never far from the hopeless task of trying to end long-standing social crises. After we separated, they spent longer hours at the office where they could eat, sleep, consume stimulants, occasionally use their intoxicant generator, and not leave the building for days.

I met Kyl when they were involved with agricultural policy and toured my greenhouse to take notes on the facility. They gave me a lecture on the Navora Agricultural Conflict and how those social repercussions still affected society, then asked if I would like to share a meal. Kyl didn’t mind that I hiccupped as we ate. After inviting me to a second dinner, they asked if I wanted to visit their residence. When they whirred suggestively after the meal, I said I had a cranial ache and could not resonate. They stopped whirring and said perhaps another time, but they were sincere in this intention. I never determined why they liked me as much as they did since they were gregarious and athletic while I was quiet and had respiratory issues, but Kyl said they appreciated my opinions and expertise, and found my whirr particularly fetching.

I had never considered the possibility of having a bonded partner due to my cranial aches, hiccupping, and problems respirating that left me exhausted much of the time. Too exhausted to resonate with someone else. Kyl, however, did not seem daunted.

The first time we resonated was far from perfect. We didn’t find the same tone, yet the experience was pleasant, and I was elated that someone cared to be intimate with me. I worried any partner would be exasperated when my whirr was interrupted by a hiccup or breathlessness, yet Kyl did their best to alleviate my fears.

‘I’m not very good at resonating,’ they told me before the act. I could tell from the breaks in their whirrs that they were honestly nervous, but that put me at ease. In a relaxed state, it was easier to begin the kind of whirr that lead to resonating.

We lived together for years, though our bonding period was shorter than some. It wasn’t rare to separate if a bonded pair did not have offspring, or if their goals and interests diverged. I cared deeply for Kyl, but some of their qualities drove me to exasperation. We had many brilliant conversations, but they didn’t know when to rest a point. I suppose they enjoyed working in government since they could irritate with a purpose. I preferred to devote myself to the greenhouse. My cranial aches were less severe at work—the medicals said the air quality was better—and I rarely had to speak with others.

After our separation, sometimes Kyl and I met for dinner, turned on my intoxicant generator following the meal, and resonated for the rest of the evening, joking that now we were apart one of us might have offspring. That did not happen. When Kyl and I had dinner and resonated the night before I left, I assumed that would be the last time I’d resonate with another individual.

Now it seemed I’d been mistaken.

—

Periodically, Dru and I sent communications capsules to our home worlds with notes on our experiments and soil samples. The capsules traveled faster than any craft would if it needed to support life, but we had to wait for return capsules that brought messages, supplies, and additional communications capsules before sending more updates. The delay in receiving news was irksome, so Dru and I were increasingly dependent on each other for company.

Dru had no great love for their government liaison. Yothan was an older diplomat who did not excel at diplomacy or understand the scope of our project. Dru spent a great deal of time explaining and re-explaining the details of our mission in response to Yothan’s questions. In return, Yothan likely told Dru a great deal more than they were allowed about government goings-on. Yothan thought the idea of mining the planet was idiotic and would not merit the investment.

‘Nobody can do much to the guy aside from kill him,’ Dru said after they relayed the contents of Yothan’s last message to me. ‘He’s been around for so long, even that doesn’t impress him.’

Yothan never answered Dru’s questions and sent messages only when he felt like it, some of which were composed entirely of political gossip, but I found him amusing.

I appreciated Mehani, my liaison, since they had scientific training similar to my own and understood the frustrating nature of agricultural testing and regulations. There were many things Mehani could not tell me due to the nature of their post, but they passed on messages from Kyl who could also not tell me everything they knew, but I understood the tone of their writing well enough to know when something was amiss. Kyl also provided me with an ample supply of unclassified gossip, including the continuing debates between government officials and farmers, which had only worsened since my departure. They rarely improved. Kyl also reminded me to be careful, though I wasn’t sure if they meant for myself or careful of the human. Perhaps both.

As much as I enjoyed Dru’s company, the more we talked about our respective home worlds, the more I suspected sharing this space would never work. The humans wanted a few farm fields, but their primary goal was finding new sources of ore. Navora’s government was willing to sponsor a colony for farmers whose political stance they did not care for, and hopefully diffuse long-standing tensions with the balm of distance. Many farmers who lived in the less-populated areas of Navora said they would be happy to start a new colony free of government-imposed planting restrictions. On Navora, I’d had frequent contact with both sides of the debate since my job situated me firmly on the border between them. My sympathies had always extended more toward the farmers, which only increased after Kyl’s lectures on the lasting effects of the Navora Agricultural Conflict. Generations after that tragedy, the tensions between farmers and the government had only strengthened. The heart of my mission was to help resolve that dispute, though the more I spoke with Dru, the more I realized the tenuous nature of its success.  

Navora’s politics aside, I did not think our two cultures could maintain peaceful relations between our respective farming and mining communities. There would be encroachments, toxins due to excavation operations, and officials on both sides pressing to assume full control of the planet to eliminate the need to ask for special permissions from the other group. Dru and I agreed on this matter, but our options were limited if we wished to change outcomes.

For the moment, it was easier to brush that overarching tension aside and focus on the seeds I’d been given by scientists and farmers alike. Dru had more luck in this regard—shoots were sprouting from their careful rows—but my agricultural efforts were not progressing. While some seeds germinated, their growth was poor and many seedlings quickly died off. The others were spindly, making me wonder if the plants lacked some essential nutrient in this soil.

While I puzzled over my crops, Dru collected ore samples for testing. They had brought three small rovers, which they sent out periodically. The rovers were gone for days at a time, returning with soil samples and images of land formations. Dru projected those images outside their quarters after our evening meal. They were only in grayscale, but rather stunning even without the orange tones of the land. We hoped we would see those rock formations and valleys for ourselves someday, hating the idea that they might be marred by mining operations.

‘After a few more government overthrows, we might have leaders who’d agree that a habitation colony would be best,’ Dru said.

‘How often does an overthrow happen?’ I asked.

‘Sometimes every two years, sometimes every ten,’ they said. ‘It depends.’

In their messages to Yothan, Dru explained their experiments were going poorly—they needed to run more tests on the purity of the ore, their plants were not doing as well as they’d hoped, and they had developed a cough that might be caused by atmospheric dust. Dru added that they had adequate supplies for a number of months, and would continue the experiments.

Who knew if Yothan believed them, or cared.

—

‘What’s wrong?’ Dru asked. They whirred as we tended the fields, continuing to find the perfect tone.

‘Something is wrong?’ I said, irritated and breathless. I’d felt myself start to resonate before they stopped whirring.

‘Are you in pain?’ they asked. ‘You made this noise…’

‘I’m fine,’ I said.

‘You don’t look fine,’ they said. ‘You’re sure you’re not hurting?’

‘It’s not that at all,’ I said. ‘Quite the opposite.’

They tilted their head. ‘That’s a happy sound?’

‘I suppose you could say so,’ I said.

‘What would you call it?’

‘It is,’ I paused. ‘Pleasure.’

‘So you’re happy,’ they said.

‘I suppose,’ I said.

They looked at me again. The long look.

‘Do you mean another kind of pleasure?’ they said. ‘Maybe, um, intimate?’

I said, ‘We are sensitive to tones.’

‘That’s why you’re humming all the time?’

‘Whirring,’ I said. ‘Tones may signal contentment or exasperation or pleasure.’

‘So that’s how you…have sex or something? The guys back home didn’t tell me about that in any of the briefings.’

‘Certain tones relate to emotional states,’ I said, ‘while others trigger fertility and pleasure.’

They made another facial expression I could not interpret. I had not realized humans had so many of them.

‘You’re experiencing pleasure all the time when you hum?’ they said.

‘No!’ I said, aghast they would think that.

‘I’m sorry,’ they said. ‘We reproduce much differently. It’s based on touch.’

‘You must be in close proximity with your bonding partner? How awkward.’

‘We like it,’ they said.

‘I suppose.’ I nodded, one of Dru’s affirming gestures I had adopted. How were beings supposed to enjoy each other when they were so close? Wouldn’t they be overloaded with sensory information and stimuli?

Dru whirred softly as we ate our meals that evening, sitting as we usually did outside their living quarters. Perhaps like me, they whirred without being conscious of making a sound, though their whirr was quieter than anyone I knew on Navora. Due to familiarity or exhaustion, I was too tired to conceal my emotions any longer. When Dru sounded the correct tone, I let myself resonate, felt the vibration flood my core and send bright waves to my limbs, arching my back to slide deeper into the note. I resonated in return, my tone matching theirs, as I would do if I were with an intimate partner on Navora. When I returned to my meal, Dru’s tiny eyes were wide.

‘What was that?’ they said.

‘Pleasure,’ I said.

‘You mean…’ they said. ‘Well, damn. You have sex and make babies just like that?’ 

‘At the right time of the yearly cycle,’ I said. ‘The medicals are not sure if I can have offspring. Whirring and resonating do not lead to procreation without a partner of my own kind. Otherwise it’s just…pleasant.’

‘I guess it’s more complicated with us,’ Dru said. ‘We need a male and female of the species, and very specific parts have to touch each other, but we can find pleasure without doing that. Or when we’re alone. But it’s still based on touch.’

I nodded. The custom of touch was strange to me, though it wasn’t uncommon to brush upper appendages with Dru when planting. I did not enjoy touch, but it was tolerable, something I was getting used to, rather like Dru themselves. Their pigment looked slightly less strange now that it was apparent they were not dying.

I had also noticed that Dru’s stride was not even when they walked. When I inquired about it, they explained they’d had an accident some years ago that resulted in joint injuries.

‘I almost wasn’t sent here because of that,’ they said, ‘but I’ve got technical knowledge, a brother with the right connections, and I’m expendable. Had enough wrong with me already so I wouldn’t be much of a loss.’

They gave me a smile that did not seem to express happiness. Dru did not complain of pain in their lower appendages, but sometimes it was apparent that their limbs were aching based on their strained facial expressions. I asked if medicines or other treatment protocols would help.

‘Heat would be nice,’ Dru said. ‘Maybe you could rub my knee?’

That odd touch again. But if that was what they required… They had alluded to the idea that touch could have a healing function, and it wasn’t as strange if I considered it in those terms. As I rubbed their knee, they smiled, a gesture of pleasure, though not the intimate sort.

‘Thank you,’ they said. ‘It feels better.’

That pleased me more than I’d expected it might.

The following day, as we sat outside their quarters following the evening meal, they started to whirr. I felt myself begin to resonate, arching my back. Dru never knew when they found the right tone, something that was blatantly obvious to me, but I suppose their aural organs did not run the length of their chest.

‘I’m sorry,’ they said, noting my change in posture. ‘Should I stop?’

‘No, continue,’ I said, moving closer to sit beside them on the ground. It was an unconventional posture for resonating since individuals were generally across from each other and some distance apart, but this was not conventional resonating.

‘Please continue to whirr,’ I said. ‘You may touch me if you like.’

I wanted this to sound like an intimate gesture, though while Dru whirred I was unaware if they were touching me or not, caught in the waves of sound and heat. How had Dru mastered the technique so well? I let myself ride the swell of the note, filling with a ball of light that exploded in shimmering vibrations, coursing through me until they faded.

I relaxed. Dru smiled in a way that I was sure meant they were happy.

‘Well,’ I said. ‘How do we find pleasure for you?’

They tilted their head. ‘It involves touch. You’re certain about this?’

‘Yes,’ I said. I am a good liar.

They gestured to the areas where I should concentrate my touching. ‘Maybe I should hum a bit to keep you engaged.’

‘You mean whirr?’ I asked. ‘We were going to focus on you.’

‘I would like for you to enjoy this, too,’ they said.

It was a kind gesture, though I was nervous since I was unfamiliar with their biology aside from a few rudimentary diagrams. They resumed whirring and I placed my appendages where instructed. Their body was as soft and vulnerable as I expected, almost endearingly so.

They instructed me on how to proceed and I complied, listening to them whir and considering how it felt to resonate. I desired to impart that same physical and emotional reaction to Dru, so I thought of waves, of stars, of the pleasant look on their face when I rubbed their knee. When Dru gasped, I worried I had injured them. I had not realized human arousal would appear so traumatic.

They continued whirring and I felt myself begin to resonate again. Were they improving their technique, or was I becoming more accustomed to their whirr and adjusting my vibrations? That happened when one had a new bonded partner, or so I had heard.

Oh my. I had not thought of this in those terms before…

I felt Dru’s body tighten, then shudder and release the tension. They opened their eyes and smiled at me. Evidently they had enjoyed the experience. This ritual became part of daily practice, along with our other experiments. I justified it since if our species were to remain alive and co-habitate (a dubious question), we had to understand each other. This was one (intimate) method of making the other familiar. I came to appreciate the variable tonal quality of Dru’s whirring, though one evening after dinner Dru said, ‘I want to get this right, the note, so you’re not, you know, being distracted while we’re planting seeds.’

‘It’s fine when that occurs,’ I said.

‘I know,’ they said, ‘but I’d like to know what I’m doing so it’s less random.’

We sat outside their quarters as they whirred, and I nodded when I felt myself resonate. They veered from that tone and returned, veered and returned, to understand where the note lay. With their tiny aural receptors and lack of antennae, I appreciated how this task might be challenging and was moved by their diligence.

I leaned over and touched them where they had instructed me previously. Their softness was less disturbing now. Dru continued to whirr as I rubbed. They touched my chest in return. I had not thought I could become accustomed to other forms of intimacy so quickly. This was not supposed to be part of diplomatic relations, but it couldn’t hurt.

Well, yes, it could hurt. It could hurt a great deal. But fuck that.

I felt their body grow tighter and tighter before a groan, a release, a smile.

Dru continued whirring. The resonance built such a fantastic heat in my chest that it ached, but not in an unwelcome manner. I trembled until I felt the fire surge, then quell to a flicker. Their breath tickled my antennae when they spoke.

‘That was very nice. You’re getting good at this.’

‘You as well,’ I said.

Before I had considered touch as something reserved for medicals, so it was a bit unsettling. Dru might have felt the same when they whirred for me. Each time they started, they had an expression of great concern, but I was confident they would find the right tone. It was comforting to feel such awkwardness around someone else, and have them respond in a manner that was so gracious and caring that the emotion faded and we were simply ourselves trying to make the other happy.

—

I do not know why I was nervous when Dru asked if I would like to visit their quarters following one of our evening meals. Perhaps it was because the ship was such a large and imposing structure, and their quarters were but one small part. Dru explained they wanted to show me images of their family members and a co-worker, intimates from their home world. We had no such images on Navora, simply a memory of their tones, so I found this custom interesting.

I had not considered aspects of temperature preference before ascending the ladder to enter Dru’s quarters, and I found the space cold to the point of discomfort. It was difficult to move my limbs, and I developed a cranial ache. It took a moment before Dru noticed something was wrong and suggested we return outside. They apologized for the chill.

‘It feels good to me after a long, hot day,’ they said.

I enjoyed the planet’s environment, a temperature Dru found not unbearably hot, but warmer than they would have liked. Dru suggested they could adjust the temperature in their quarters so it was more to my liking. We had our evening meal there the following day, and I found it cool but did not develop a cranial ache. When Dru showed me the images of their intimates, I thought of Kyl’s tones and started whirring before I realized it. Dru matched my tone. I think I moved closer to them, but as so often happened during intimate moments, I was not quite in my body. We continued to resonate until the notes broke through my skin and I shuddered. When I returned to myself, Dru smiled. Strange how easy this had become.

—

Rain on the planet was light and frequent, except on occasions when downpours stopped our planting for days. We sat in Dru’s quarters, which were more spacious than mine, and worried about the fate of our crops. Dru and I had planted our seeds in raised rows, hoping the rains would flood either side and the plants wouldn’t wash away, but we had not yet tested the technique against the weather.

I hated the cold and did not enjoy being wet, but loved the sound of rain itself. Dru was better than I about venturing outside in a downpour and found the rain refreshing. When they returned, they reported our raised rows looked fine, though I knew some of my plants would prefer a drier environment while others would thrive in wet conditions.

After four days, the rains stopped. The ground was still quite damp when I ventured out and I noticed some of the rows that I had nearly abandoned were sprouting small shoots. Perhaps they needed that downpour to spur growth. A sweet green I did not care for had been thriving, but a much less sweet green that I preferred was sprouting shoots as well. Greens had a short germination period and would be the easiest food source, as well as a connection to home. It was an odd feeling. The longer I stayed on this planet, the less I wished to return to Navora, but I still desired a few familiar flavors and scents.

I had also planted a few tree seeds on a whim, dreaming of the day when we might have leafy shade. I was not sure how large a tree the land would support, or if it would welcome trees at all, so I was happy to see shoots rising from my small hills. I would never miss the buildings or noise of the city, but I missed trees and wished for more green things. The balance with this planet would lie in developing agricultural practices that would not alter the atmosphere or soil too much. It was a problem I wrestled with daily: How could this terrain be its own space and support a piece of home? Such was the delicate dance.   

—

I was never certain why my co-workers found me something of a joke. I doubted it was only due to my hiccupping. Perhaps they doubted my training or thought I should have had a lower post. Perhaps they were upset that I tended to side with farmers whose ideas most scientists wanted to dismiss. Sometimes I couldn’t understand aspects of the farmers’ dialect, but they had ideas worthy of taking into consideration. The farmers didn’t know what I was saying half the time, either, but they didn’t mock me for it. I had started working with them due to the governmental regulations around planting. My team was tasked with developing strains of plants that would be hardier and more productive, but we were supposed to listen to the government, not farmers. I argued that the government understood food needs, but the farmers understood what would grow. The dismissive whirrs of my colleagues suggested I should return to the greenhouse and wait for them to deliver the next batch of seeds. 

Our project was haunted by the Navora Agricultural Conflict, which was perhaps the most devastating affair in Navora’s history. When I was young, my teachers had been quick to say that relations between the government and farmers were much better than they had been in the past, but the farmers I met had a different story. They were still being told what to grow and how much, which benefitted farmers in some areas but not others. While most had a steady wage, some scraped to survive, and there was no space to experiment with new varietals. It was the same set of conditions that had led to conflict long ago. Government officials maintained a patronizing whirr toward farmers, and it was not difficult to see the warning signs of deeper distress: heated price arguments, entrenched divisions, and whirrs of discontent when farmers came to the city for summits and talks.

I was tasked with giving the farmers tours of our greenhouses since my co-workers claimed they were busy or had important meetings to attend. I never minded the tours or planting experimental seeds in soil samples the farmers had brought and chatting with them over a meal. Many of the farmers suggested herbal remedies for my cranial aches and hiccups, and while nothing worked quite as well as they claimed, I appreciated the consideration.

On one such tour, I met Rane. They had grown up in the city but were one of the rare individuals who had left. They knew as well as I the difficulty of making snobby scientists, stuck-up government officials, and proud farmers happy with the same plans. We needed a system that could smooth the gluts and shortages of certain types of crops, but negotiations always led to allegations of favoritism for this or that part of the country.

‘I used to be more trusting of the government,’ Rane said, ‘but that has worn with time.’

‘I still prefer summits to protests,’ I said.

‘I suppose,’ they said. ‘But I can only stand to be in the city for so long.’

‘Do you get cranial aches?’ I asked.

‘I hate the congestion,’ they said.

‘Me, too,’ I said.

‘Have you been to the country?’ they asked. ‘You should visit sometime.’

I had never considered that possibility since few individuals traveled between the two, but the idea was tempting. I had always been drawn to the outdoors. My caretaker said I never wanted to return inside when they took me and the other young ones to the park. They allowed me to bring leaves home, and I studied them until they wilted. Focusing on plants calmed me, and I thought less about my respiration. Those problems worsened if I tried to exert myself physically, so my caretaker let me stroll while the other young ones chased each other around. They must have known my sensitivities were not weaknesses, but strengths in the right context.

—

Shortly after Kyl and I stopped living together, Rane came to the city for an agricultural summit. I invited them to stay at my residence, and they prepared a dinner from produce they’d grown in their fields. It was delicious, one of the better meals I’d eaten. Afterward, I turned on the intoxicant generator, planning to enjoy a few mellow notes. I did not intend for my whirr to take on such a suggestive tone, but Rane echoed the note and whirred across the table from me.

Before I could think too deeply about what was happening, I immersed myself in the note. I felt the vibrations in my core as my tone mingled with theirs. The sound became a nameless color in my mind. That had never happened before. The pulse became part of me. When the crests reached their peak, I might have made an even higher-pitched noise. Several moments passed before I returned to myself, respiration ragged, but not in an uncomfortable way.

If I had not been accepted for this mission, I might have accepted Rane’s offer to stay with them outside the city for an extended time. Sometimes I wondered why I had not done so. What did I fear? The new space? The dialect? That I would be an outcast yet again? I wasn’t accustomed to growing crops in such quantity, only understood experiments, measurements, and careful observation. Rane said they could make use of those skills, but I had already determined to make this planet a temporary home. For good or ill.

—

My favorite greens failed to grow well, though I hoped we could concoct some fertilizer to make the soil more productive. The plants would likely change its chemical composition over time, and perhaps others would grow better if we implemented a system of crop rotation. Other plants, trees and shrubs, would take an extended time to bear fruits or seeds, but it was difficult to be patient for my own sake and the farmers’. I was hungry for something fresh, even if it was a sweet green I hated. I ate it raw as Dru watched.

‘Good?’ they asked.

I had forgotten they could not interpret my whirring.

‘Terrible,’ I said. ‘I had to eat it when I was young. My caretaker would not allow me to return to inspecting leaves until I was finished with my portion. I enjoyed looking at the green much more than having it for dinner.’

The plant had tiny hairs that caught in my throat if not chewed properly. My caretaker had cooked it so the hairs were not an issue, but that made the green sweeter. It would be unpleasant if the only foodstuffs that grew here were ones I despised. Still, I had more seeds to plant and observations to make, and the farmers were depending on me for an accurate report. Rane enjoyed sweet greens—they tended to flourish in rural areas—so I supposed this news would be welcome to them and the other farmers.  

Many of Dru’s greens were growing well, but I could not eat them. If I had a poor reaction, the results could be dire. That’s why I was terrified when Dru picked one of the leaves from my plate, put it in their mouth, and started chewing.

‘Spit that out!’ I said. ‘It could be poisonous for you.’

They kept chewing.

‘This is how people figured out what they could eat before there was science,’ they said.

‘That was on your home world,’ I said. ‘This planet could be dangerous in ways we are not expecting.’ My body had not enjoyed Navora, so I was prepared for the new world to be likewise hostile.

‘Still alive,’ said Dru after they swallowed.

‘For now,’ I said.

‘I won’t do that again,’ they said, ‘at least without your consent. Eventually, we should find out if we can eat each other’s plants.’

‘When we have more medical supplies,’ I said.

‘I thought you knew I was a risk taker,’ Dru said. They smiled in a way that did not quite suggest happiness. I had so many expressions to decode.

During mealtimes, Dru often described things they loved to eat on their home planet. While I had enjoyed certain foods on Navora, it was not to the ecstatic extent that Dru suggested.

‘I would kill for ice cream or chocolate or steak,’ they said while I nodded politely.

Dru was amused, or perhaps irritated, that I did not have stories of similar delicacies. Ours was a plant-based diet and favored bitter tones, which did not excite Dru. It was equally difficult for me to explain how much pleasure I derived from sound and scent, since humans did not seem as attuned to those aspects of the world. Festival music was more important to me than the delicacies sold by vendors, and the scent of a plant was as exciting as its flavor, but Dru did not understand why I spent as much time smelling food as eating it.

After evening meals, we often discussed our respective governments and why we did not trust them. Many of the officials on Navora were fine individuals, but when they assembled and multiplied their arrogance, it led to disaster. Perhaps that was how most governments behaved, which did not give me hope for future negotiations after listening to Dru’s tales of overthrows. They explained there were many political factions on their home world, but they couldn’t tell a difference between them.

‘Each new government is more conceited than the last,’ they said. ‘My brother thought we’d be able to share the planet with you, but I don’t know.’

‘Why did you agree to the mission if you doubted its success?’ I asked.

‘It was better than staying home,’ they said. ‘I had a dangerous job. I don’t mind working with volatile materials, chemicals and other shit, but the bigger the explosion, the harder it is to escape. Everyone at my old job talked about loving the adrenaline rush, but it was the best paying job we could get for the training. I figured I’d end up dead here or there. They pay your next of kin if that happens. I was lucky to get away from that last accident with a limp. I had a girlfriend, but she couldn’t stand my job. After the accident, she said I had to quit or she’d leave me. So she left. Probably for the best. She wanted kids, but I wasn’t sure.’

‘I would not feel qualified to rear my own offspring,’ I said. ‘I do not have the skills or patience or interest. I would rather be with plants.’

‘If I had kids or a partner, I wouldn’t have come on this mission,’ Dru said. ‘At least if I die here, my brother will get a payment.’

‘Please do not talk about dying,’ I said. ‘If you passed away, it would be difficult for me to continue the mission alone, and I would need to dispose of your remains, which I would find emotionally taxing.’

‘Thank you,’ said Dru with a smile that seemed to connote happiness. ‘Don’t you die on me, either.’

‘I will do my best to refrain,’ I said.

‘If we both stay alive, my brother thinks this could be a real colony and not just a mining operation,’ Dru said. ‘He’s coordinated activities on a few colonies and he’s pretty good at under-the-table diplomacy to get what he wants, but he has limits. I’d rather work with explosives than play politics. Explosives are more predictable.’

I nodded, a gesture of affirmation I had learned from Dru. Whenever Kyl had spoken of politics, my mind wandered back to the greenhouse. Secretly, I wanted everything to thrive, even if that was counter to the goals of our experiments. Every day was a tiny thrill as I noted germination times, measured leaves and flowers and fruit, and inspected neat rows of pots in the hope that the offspring of these plants would someday thrive in larger fields.

I had never imagined fields quite this expansive or far from home. Dru and I were starting to plant crops that extended one hundred paces from our ships, but this was just the beginning if we were to survive.

—

Rane was impressed when they visited my greenhouse for the first time, asking how many varieties of plants we grew and the nature of our experiments for different climates, soils, and fertilizers. They whirred thoughtfully as I explained the controlled conditions of each row of plants. Most of those who visited did not take the time as Rane did, and I did not feel self-conscious when I hiccupped around them because they did not wince. Perhaps that is why, when Rane later asked if I could give them a few seeds from one of our experiments to improve drought resistance, I said yes. That strain wasn’t particularly innovative, and I thought just a few seeds wouldn’t hurt. The government claimed it would be dangerous to allow farmers to plant new varietals prematurely, without the full round of testing. I had doubts but kept them quiet to maintain my post in the greenhouse. Giving seeds to Rane was one tiny rebellion that I could justify, since I agreed that strain should be introduced sooner rather than later, even if my colleagues claimed they were still tweaking genetic kinks.

‘Those officials are so superior and snide,’ Rane told me during that visit. ‘They don’t understand why we need heartier plants, but they refuse to visit and understand where and how we live. That hasn’t changed since the Great Genocide.’

I started. I had heard that term before, but I was more used to calling it the Navora Agricultural Conflict—though I knew that what Rane called it was closer to the truth. I did not know if Rane noticed my surprise, or if they expected such a reaction since they continued speaking.

‘We must come to the city if we wish to meet with anyone in the government. Few of us can do that often, including me. I understand why you have respiratory problems. After a few days in the city, I do, too. You probably have our constitution. You belong in the country, Tenzin. The government should invest in a greenhouse like yours for us, but they won’t. That would give us too much control, too many ideas they don’t like.’

Rane’s upper and lower appendages were hardened from long hours in the fields, but they were proud that their body was marked in that way. A few months later, I accepted the offer to visit their home, ostensibly on a mission to collect seeds. Outside the city, Navora was not unlike this planet in terms of wide spaces. I found it refreshing not to worry about the reactions of others to my hiccups and did not have to catch my breath so often.

Rane collaborated with a small group of farmers, and I spent three days with them crouching, planting, and shuffling on. I was terribly sore but understood why Rane’s body had adapted to the work. The dinner they prepared for me was even better than the first, everything fresh picked. I whirred in pleasure and they whirred back, but I paused when I noted their tone. I was not in the mood for intimacy when I was full.

We resumed later in the evening. My body was aching, but it was a good ache, a purposeful one, and I was somewhat intoxicated by exhaustion. Rane did not have a bonded partner—I had not asked about that bit of relationship history—but they were as sweet and slow with their tones as they had been before. It was a leisurely song, while Kyl had tended to resonate more quickly. I appreciated a pace that was not hurried to find the right notes as we matched tones, a tremor that sustained itself moment after moment. The waves lingered in me, and I didn’t wish them to end. I wondered if this was the kind of resonating that produced offspring.

Before I left, Rane said I would be welcome to stay for a longer time and conduct experiments in their fields. I said I would ask my supervisors about that possibility, but never did. I worried that a prolonged stay might lead to me liking Rane too much, and wondering if they might consider being my bonded partner if I asked. I could not bear the pain if they refused, no matter how gentle their response.

—

Phim was perhaps my kindest colleague at work, and whirred pleasantly when they saw me in the hall. They tried to hide their wince when I hiccupped, though I knew it bothered them. Sometimes they visited me in the greenhouse, brought a meal to share, and asked for another tour. They never tired of listening to how each experiment was progressing. Other colleagues were content to wait for my monthly reports or breeze through the rows of plants when I was absent.

I didn’t think Phim was much older than me. They had similar respiratory problems, though they were not plagued by hiccups. I enjoyed the time we spent gossiping about the latest departmental meetings. They reassured me it was better to miss them.

‘It’s all silliness, politics, and very little science,’ they said. Our research was directed by politics, since the government provided our resources, though no one wished to discuss that.

I did not know about Phim’s life outside of work other than they had a bonded partner, so I was at a loss when they were absent one day, then another and another. I heard from one of my superiors that Phim was on leave since they weren’t feeling well, but they had not returned to work by the time I departed for my mission.

Once Phim had told me they worried about the security of their job. They moved more slowly than our colleagues, and I’d heard others give Phim whirs of disapproval in the hall.

‘Sometimes I wish I could work here with you,’ Phim told me. ‘Other days I wonder if it’s best not to leave my office. If no one sees me, they can’t make disparaging comments.’

That’s why I was concerned when Phim did not return. Their respiration had sounded labored recently, but I did not wish to make further inquiries regarding their well-being. I feared if my health took a turn and I needed to be away from the greenhouse, someone might make my leave permanent. That was another reason why I volunteered for this mission, telling myself I could do more for Rane and the farmers here than on Navora. I could do nothing for Phim but worry.

—

During meals with Dru, I remembered Navora more fondly, telling them about the New Year’s festival. At those times, there would be crowds packing every street and brilliantly whirring choirs on every corner. Kyl would soon grow bored of listening, but I could have stayed forever. Those were times when I did not mind the crowds, since if I hiccupped no one was paying attention. Everyone was in a good mood, a festival mood, and thus less likely to be upset with me for making yet another rude noise. Living around so many other individuals was difficult, but that was hard to admit at the time due to the constraints of my job. The labs had to be in the bustle of the city since that’s where the government offices were located, even if we spent much of our time secluded in quiet study.

The city was unpleasant for me. Its buildings were so tall that they hid the rose tones of the sky, and the constant whir and chatter of everyone on the streets gave me a headache. That is why I enjoyed the sanctuary of my greenhouse. On the new planet, the only sound was water: rain showers, the occasional four-day downpour, the never-ending song of the river interrupted only by the chuff of our hoes in the soil. Sometimes, the quiet was almost overwhelming, as it was now when I allowed myself to miss the festival choirs.

‘When I was young, my caretaker took us to see performances in the park,’ I said. ‘There were wonderful legends about fantastical beasts covered with fur. We were afraid they would eat us, and I had terrors at night for weeks after that, but I loved those performances just the same.’

In their quarters, Dru showed me images of travels with their brother, hiking along canyons that looked similar to images of this planet that the rovers brought back from their expeditions.

‘We just wanted to get away from everyone and the pollution of the city,’ Dru said. ‘We loved camping. No tents, only sleeping bags. My brother would have hiked miles on this planet. We have to follow the rovers sometime. They could carry supplies.’

‘The plants come first,’ I reminded them.

‘That’s why I haven’t left for an adventure. At least not yet.’ They offered a little smile that I had come to know meant they were teasing.

Despite our frequency of contact, I had not considered sharing quarters with Dru until they mentioned the possibility. There were benefits to maintaining separate spaces. I preferred to review the messages received in communications capsules from Navora alone. While the messages were in the form of text, and Dru would not be able to read their contents, I did not want Dru to see my reaction when I opened one from Mehani. At the same time, their quarters were spacious enough so we could give each other privacy during those moments, and Dru promised me they would raise the temperature to one I would find comfortable.

After a few days of pondering, I agreed to move some of my personal belongings to Dru’s quarters while reading messages from Navora in my own quarters. I did not wish to admit it to myself, but it was easy to feel lonely. Time with Dru dulled that ache and led to other shifts I had not anticipated. As our resonating became more frequent, my whirrs started to change in tenor, becoming waves of high and low tones as opposed to a single note. The sound mirrored the vibrations I felt in my core. I had never heard anyone whirr like that, but it was satisfying in a way I had not felt before.

It would be some time before I came to appreciate all the effects this planet would have on my body.

—

I was alone in my quarters when I read the message from Mehani that relations between the government and the farmers had taken an even worse turn. Rane was in custody, charged with stealing and planting experimental seeds, then protesting the existence of programs that kept such experiments secret from farmers who were not consulted in these matters. They wanted a say in the development of new varietals, and earlier access to seeds. Why wait so long to when poor harvests and depleted soil had hurt the farmers so badly?

Rane told the officials they had taken the seeds from a research lab during a tour. They were hiding me, protecting me, and still I felt a wave of guilt. This case would only heighten the distrust between the government and farmers who agreed with Rane: If scientists wouldn’t give them seeds, farmers should take them. Even if I agreed too, that didn’t lessen my shame for giving them seeds. I’d meant it to be a secret gift, but it was silly of me to think so. How long would Rane be imprisoned because of my weakness? I should have gone with them to the country. I should have stopped them from taking a public stance. The consequences of my actions spun in my head: Protests. Riots. Our mission on this planet might be put in jeopardy. Mehani would not tell me to end our experiments or return to Navora yet, but I knew things were more serious than she would let on.

Now that the farmers were even more riled (and with due cause), I feared that drastic action on their part would turn the government against them, and in turn, against our mission. It would be entirely too easy for some officials to suggest the investment in this colony was folly, that the farmers should be subdued by force, and subsequently recall me to Navora. The first Great Genocide might not be the last.

I could barely eat or work for three days, but only told Dru I was feeling poorly. They asked what they could prepare for me, brought water and fresh greens at mealtimes, and worked quietly on their logs while I tried to rest. I had not realized my exhaustion, but for three days there was little I could do but sleep.

I felt just as awful when I woke. Dru asked if I needed more water. I nodded, unsure how else they could help, but I sat up and explained the story to them. The implications continued to spin through my imagination—ransacked fields, governmental occupation, protests in the city being put down by force and it would all be my fault. I whirred as my body shook with grief.

On Navora, someone would have responded with a reassuring tone, but Dru did not know that protocol, or which note to find. They were accustomed to the economy of touch, so I let them hold my upper appendages to sense my vibrations of sadness.

‘I would have given the seeds to Rane if they’d asked,’ Dru said. ‘It would have been difficult to tell them no.’

‘But that’s what I should have done,’ I said, still trembling.

I sipped some water and consented to a meal of greens since Dru said I had to maintain my stamina, but then I made myself rise from bed and drag through the day. I had to tend to the plants on behalf of farmers who were still depending on me, despite my stupidity.

Dru whirred after our evening meal and I let myself whirr back, needing that emotional connection. I did not mean to resonate, but when I started to do so, it was unlike any sensation I had felt before. A vibration of sorrow. Mourning. My tones increased in volume and varied in waves, a fluctuation that mirrored how I so often felt on this planet and how I resonated with Dru. I let my whirr dip into the low tones of sadness, but then, unbidden, they rose into a note that was almost pleasure. I allowed myself to soar for a moment, floating and sinking until I felt the pulse shudder through my body, a release embedded with deep grief as well as joy.

—

A few days later, Dru received a message capsule from Yothan containing a long note about an unsuccessful coup attempt. It sounded like there had been minimal loss of life, but the following day, there was another message capsule from Yothan with a shorter note. Dru’s brother had been in a government building during the coup attempt and received a wound that required medical attention. They were recovering in a medical facility, but that was all Yothan knew. They would send another message when they had more information. Dru’s voice was soft when they relayed this information, and I offered my condolences.

‘Being in government makes him a target,’ Dru said quietly. ‘He’s the only person I care about back home. My brother gets my paycheck for this mission and I get an adventure. If he goes… Shit.’ Dru shook their head and small drops of water emerged from their eyes. Tears. I had read about this phenomenon and assumed that whirring would not be sufficient, so I held out my upper appendages to touch theirs. I was not expecting them to wrap their arms around me in a constricting and uncomfortable fashion, but I supposed this was another aspect of human culture to which I had to adjust. I started to whirr, more to comfort myself than to comfort Dru. Their body trembled in a manner that was chaotic and disturbing. Even when we were angry or upset, our whirs had a regularity and a rhythm. I whirred more loudly so I did not lose myself in Dru’s sorrow.

After several moments, Dru stopped shaking. They pulled back and looked at me, then drew me closer and tried to press their mouth to mine. I pushed back, instinctual. They frowned, an expression of discontent. Perhaps they were vexed, but there were some parts of my body that I absolutely did not wish to be touched.

‘I’m sorry,’ they said. ‘I guess they don’t kiss where you’re from.’

‘We whirr,’ I reminded them.

‘I’m sorry,’ they said again.

‘Did you wish to be intimate?’ I asked.

‘I don’t know what I want,’ Dru said.

I continued whirring, the tone my caretaker had used to soothe me when I had respiratory problems. I did not know if it would calm Dru, but they closed their eyes. I rubbed their upper appendages with mine, hoping to create the comforting properties that touch had for Dru. After a few more moments, their trembling ceased.

—

In my next message to Mehani, I’d determined that my best option was to embellish our results and claim that eight varieties of greens and four types of roots were doing well. In actuality, I had only managed to grow two types of greens. But I worried that Rane’s activity had put our project and the fate of the farmers into question and I did not know how else to convince the government to start additional settlements. Since the government had already invested much in terms of resources on this proposed colony, I hoped I could ease tensions and advance the settlement process by being overly optimistic. There was a reasonable chance that a few more varietals of greens and other plants would thrive on the planet if given more time and experimentation, and at these socially dire times, I felt compelled to show that this could be a productive home. The farmers needed a voice of hope, as I assumed they would be more determined than ever to start a new life free of such oversight. While I was thoroughly disgusted at the government for refusing to compromise, this was all I could do to help avoid another Great Genocide. 

Mehani replied days later, explaining that scientists on Navora had not yet been able to duplicate my results in the soil samples I had sent from the planet, but they allowed that their lack of success could be due to differences in atmosphere, light conditions, or numerous other factors. They were continuing to experiment with new strains of seeds, and Phim had been assigned to the greenhouse in my absence. I whirred with relief. I did not know how they had found their way back to work, but for the first time in a number of days, I had an appetite.

—

At sunrise I awoke to the scent of soil, not the odor of this world, but of Navora. It reminded me of being in a large park or traveling outside the city when I visited Rane. When I thought of them, I tasted sadness. I should have known they would sacrifice themselves to make a point for the farmers, but now my mission was in danger. The farmers would need resources to settle here. They could not simply disregard existing governmental bodies. Or perhaps they could, which would lead to another conflict.

I was not the revolutionary Rane was, could not tolerate the noise and crowds of a protest, and perhaps that is why I had found my home in science. If I could convince Navora to develop more seeds and send additional researchers, we could bring a hopeful future into being.

As I tended the fields with Dru and felt jealous of their success, I imagined many conversations with Rane that I could not whirr aloud. Even in my own imagination, they answered my questions with an infuriating calm that made me more upset.

‘Even if I spend the rest of my life confined to a government facility,’ they would say, ‘it was worth it to draw attention to our plight. We should not have to find another homeland and travel across galaxies. We were born on Navora, and we should be allowed to prosper here until we pass on.’

I had never asked for Rane’s opinion on the settlement project, but I suspected that they, like some of the other farmers, did not favor relocation. I sympathized with that point of view, while at the same time I understood the sentiments of others who were tired of trying to negotiate with a government that would not listen.

I whirred sadly to myself. How could I feel such a deep caring and anger at someone who I had only stayed with a few times? It took a great deal of effort to wrest my attention away from Rane and devote it to plants. Since Drew’s crops were thriving, I once again questioned whether our digestive systems could adapt to human foods. Dru ate my sweet greens without a second thought—I had given up trying to stop them—and I had done a rudimentary chemical analysis on the bitter greens they were harvesting. My tests had been negative for the obvious toxins, but there was no guarantee that some green or root would not make me ill.

Dru was more upset than I’d expected when I made my proposal during our evening meal.

‘Are you sure?’ Dru asked when I picked three leaves from their bowl to taste.

‘You do not think I will enjoy them?’ I asked.

‘You were nervous when I ate greens from Navora,’ they said without looking at me. ‘If something happened to you… Well, I don’t want to go back home.’

The sentiment gave me pause, but the likelihood I would return to Navora was growing smaller. Originally, Mehani and I had spoken about other scientists coming to this planet to relieve me of my duties after a time, but I was more comfortable here than I had ever been on Navora. This mission would require more than one champion who was willing to devote themselves to its continuation. I had to find additional nourishment, and Dru’s plants were the most readily available option. My upper appendages trembled slightly when I put the greens in my mouth and chewed, but the flavor was astounding. They were wonderfully bright and bitter, and it took a great deal of self-control not to consume more than I planned to allow for an initial test. I sat in Dru’s quarters for some time, updating my planting logs and waiting for something or nothing to happen.

I did not have respiratory or abdominal problems, but later in the evening, I experienced an itching sensation in my upper and lower appendages. Dru was more worried than I about this reaction, but I was so accustomed to cranial aches, respiratory problems, and hiccups that itching was of little consequence.

‘It sounds like you’re allergic,’ Dru said. ‘Allergies can become worse over time.’

‘Or they can dissipate,’ I said.

‘I don’t like you taking a risk,’ they said.

‘Slight discomfort is preferable to starvation,’ I said.

Dru looked at me with an expression that meant they were concerned. It was difficult not to emit a whirr of exasperation. They could take risks, but I was not allowed to do the same?  

Sometime during the night hours, a message capsule arrived from Mehani, who reported that our project had been granted additional resources and six agricultural scientists would begin a second settlement. My body vibrated with hope that political tensions were dampening. At our early meal, I ate more of Dru’s bitter greens and told myself the itch would dissipate with time.

—

Dru had not heard news from their home world for days. They speculated that Yothan was dead, their brother was dead, the mission had been abandoned, or some combination of the three. Their emotions on the subject had dulled to a point I found unsettling.

‘This wouldn’t be the first mission that’s been abandoned,’ they said. ‘Leaving people to their own devices. Are you sure you should be eating so much of those greens?’

‘I need fresh foods,’ I said, resisting the urge to scratch my upper appendage. I’d continued to try leaves and roots from Dru’s crops, and while some churned my stomach quite badly, others resulted in only minor upset. I had similar reactions to foods on Navora, and my caretaker had commented that my system was rather sensitive. I allowed myself to believe that was the case.

My one spark of honest joy came days later, following another five-day rain. Dru and I were barely able to leave our quarters during that time, but when I emerged, I discovered that three rows of greens I had nearly abandoned had started to grow prolifically, sending runners out from their hills. Soon I wondered if I should transplant them all, since they were threatening to overtake the field. Naturally, I would pivot from the dilemma of not being able to grow anything to the fear that a plant might grow too well. It was a bitter green I enjoyed, though eating too much resulted in abdominal pain. On Navora it was not so prolific, but the soil conditions on the new world must have been ideal. Rane had remarked that there were a few greens that grew so well in the country they had to be tended carefully and harvested every day.

‘I like it, too,’ Dru told me when I prepared a mixed salad of the bitter green and the sweet one I disliked. When paired, I could mask the sweet flavor more easily. For the moment, our situation was slightly less dire, but that could change in the space of a tone.

—

The most recent note from Mehani informed me that the six agricultural scientists had started their mission to this new world, including Phim. I was pleased and surprised, but assumed they had studied the logs I had recorded prior to my journey. I had reported to Mehani that my cranial aches had dissipated. Though the idea that this world was a better fit for me and others with cranial aches and chronic hiccupping was promising, it was also unsettling. Could it be an invitation to the government to shunt off the unwell with the premise they could thrive in a new space? While I wanted to make this planet more welcoming than the one I had left, I worried that the new arrivals would duplicate its confining social attitudes. But that would be a matter to address later.

Dru had not been resting well during the past several days. Sometimes they returned to their console late at night and resumed typing in their logs. They had been sending out the rovers not to collect ore samples, but to collect images and deposit seeds along the river. That was my idea. Given the regular rainfall, the seeds might germinate, and if we explored the planet further, it would be best to have fresh food along the way.

I had also been trying to cross-pollinate the sweet greens I hated with a more bitter green from Navora that was not faring well. I saved the seeds from each new crop, planting them in a different row and mapping the generations. I hoped that by the time Phim and my other colleagues arrived, our food situation would be less bleak. They would begin a new settlement on a different river some distance from us. It would be a day’s journey if we had vehicles, but several days if we had to go on foot. I hoped that Navora might be able to send a vehicle in the future, but for now we would communicate through the survey satellite.

I fretted over their possible successes or failures, worried about bearing the blame for any ill fortune they might suffer. When I had sent my somewhat embellished report on our crops to Mehani, I had only been thinking about tensions between the farmers and government and how I might diffuse them with happy news. It was one small thing I could do to inject a distraction, but now my wonderful idea seemed idiotic. That ill-founded optimism was why the government had sent another crew. I had put others in potential danger out of fear of being recalled home, and my cheerful predictions for plants to flourish would be put to the test. The fates of others rested on my flimsy word.

‘What if they can’t grow anything?’ I said to Dru during our evening meal. I hoped vocalizing my fears would make them sound silly, but it only made the possibility more concrete.

‘They’re bringing supplies to last for a while,’ said Dru. ‘They won’t go hungry.’

While I knew this was true, it did not stop my anxious whirring. Dru responded with an amorous whirr of their own—I didn’t think they meant to do that, but somehow their whirr always assumed an intimate tone. I wanted to sit beside Dru and relax for a moment, coast on the high and low tones, but I could not rid my body of tension. We both feared for our home worlds and had taken to watching the sky when we tended our crops, hopeful for the flash of light that would signal a communication capsule.

Instead, the shuttle from Navora was first to arrive.

—

After several nervous hours, I received a message from Phim in my quarters. The survey satellite relayed the whirs they cast into space and beamed them back down to me. Phim’s tones conveyed their joy (and relief?) that they had landed safely.

‘It is good to hear you,’ I said.                       

‘You as well,’ they said. ‘We are a bit weak from the journey, but after we landed, my cranial aches dissipated. They were severe during the journey, though now Arun is complaining of similar aches. It will take time to adjust to the atmosphere.’

I whirred with happiness that they had arrived without major difficulty, yet the fact that Phim was so far away made the terrain seem wider and more imposing. Before, the world had consisted of me, Dru, and one relatively small patch of dirt. Now it had expanded exponentially.

Over the next several days, it was pleasant to hear from Phim, yet there was an ongoing drama of triumphs and failures. The team was not accustomed to the physical labor of planting and found the work strenuous. The same had been true of me upon arrival, though my colleagues had spent more time in the laboratory than the greenhouse. I was not sure why this team had been selected for the mission, but Phim said they had a wide array of equipment on their shuttle to conduct experiments and note plant adaptations. We would not have to send additional soil samples to Navora for testing, but there were problems the team had not anticipated.

‘Everyone except for me has cranial aches,’ Phim said.

Their whir sounded smug, but I understood that guilty pleasure after years of not being believed about the severity of my cranial aches. I shared the daily conversations with Dru, who smiled but not happily. Those chats reminded them that they were cut off from their own home world.

Dru and I continued to resonate every evening, tired and pleased after another day of work. It was almost like being with one of my own kind, if not easier, since I did not have to consider whether procreation would occur, or if my partner was resonating with that goal in mind.   

—

As time whirled by, my efforts at cross-pollination between the sweet green and the more bitter variety showed positive results. I was on the fourth generation of plants and collected seeds from a crop that had done quite well, though other mutations had occurred that made this varietal special. It was not quite as bitter as I would have liked, but it had lost much of its sweet flavor, and its blossoms were a lavender color I had not seen on any other green. I planted five rows of them. While I could not exist on one green alone, I was pleased at the yield and number of seeds.

Phim whirred cheerfully to hear the news, but their camp was not faring as well. Three of the other scientists still had cranial aches, and their plants were not as prolific as I had reported.

‘We’ve had a few days that were rather unpleasant,’ said Phim, which I took to suggest that our colleagues were behaving unpleasantly toward Phim. No one was starving, but my guilt surged as if that were the case. The scientists needed to see plants and hybrid seeds that were thriving. Dru and I had more greens than we could eat, so perhaps now was the time to visit their settlement. The journey would take several days but might be my only chance to sustain the mission.

‘Their pain is significant,’ Phim told me, ‘but it has seemed to come and go over the past few days. I hope that it abates soon. When one is not feeling well, it is difficult to concentrate or do any work. I worry they may become further disillusioned.’

Given the severity of their cranial aches and lack of healthy crops, I worried that all the scientists save Phim might choose to abort. I had a vested interest in this planet. Dru had a vested interest in this planet. Phim had a vested interest in this planet (I hoped), and I had to prove that remaining here was worthwhile.

I determined that I could borrow one of Dru’s rovers to carry supplies, and take the small communicator I used to speak with Phim. Shifting weather patterns often disrupted the signal, but it was a means of maintaining contact on my journey.

I thought it best for Dru to stay with our plants, but they did not agree.

‘I don’t want you traveling alone,’ they said.

‘Who will tend the crops?’ I asked.

‘They’re doing well, and we can deepen that trench from the river so water will run between the rows if there’s no rain,’ they said. ‘We can take all three rovers to carry supplies, and the largest is big enough to carry one of us if we get tired.’ They paused. ‘Or if something happens.’

Injury was a possibility. We would need to follow the river through canyons and rough terrain. The journey would allow us to chart more of the planet, but was a large undertaking. If I set off alone, I admitted I would require a great deal of luck to make it through. If there were two of us…at least there would be company.

Coming with me meant Dru would abandon their mission, but I sensed they had done that some days ago. I still worried about leaving our fields, though our absence would be the grand test of whether our irrigation system would work. Dru said it would be fine, but it was difficult not to imagine how many things could go wrong.

Phim was pleased and trepidatious when I told them we would be setting out, but I said we would plant seeds along the way since we had gathered a great many of them, more than we needed for our fields and theirs. Perhaps on the return trip, some would have started to germinate, so they could be an easy food source. The problem in these early days was the great unknown space of trial and error.

—

Dru and I and the rovers set off the next morning after our early meal, as I reflected on how my intimates on Navora would have offered diverse commentary regarding this mission. Rane would have enjoyed it, taking the lead and helping my caretaker over large rocks. Kyl would have cautioned me not to overexert myself. My caretaker would have whirred a constant reminder to be careful. Perhaps that was a helpful thrum to have in the back of my mind.

I didn’t know what Mehani would think of this journey, though they would find out about it after we survived and provided the others with seeds, or when Phim let them know that we had lost contact. Phim’s whirrs kept me company as we walked. One member of the team was having joint aches, which tended to occur when one was going to have offspring.

‘After the initial fright, there was some teasing,’ Phim said, ‘though the aches have not lessened.’ Phim was sympathetic since they understood the irritation of invisible aches, though it was difficult to determine why our colleague might be hurting. Perhaps it was due to changes in atmospheric pressure? We would need much more sensitive equipment and testing to be certain.

‘Two of our colleagues objected to my taking part in the mission,’ Phim told me quietly, ‘but they have not whirred that dissent since we arrived.’

This seemingly random occurrence of physical symptoms would make settlement more difficult, but clearly, some of us could prosper. That was one small thing that kept me walking, as I needed many incentives. Phim also reported that their sweet greens were growing well—it was the only plant that had germinated so far—which was a note of hope that dulled the ache in my lower appendages.

While I enjoyed the wide spaces of our hike, each turn yielded an unchanging landscape, as if we were moving in place. The distance to the new settlement seemed to grow longer when Dru slipped and skidded on loose rock on an incline toward the river. They caught themselves, but when they crawled toward me, their expression suggested they were in pain. When we reached a level area, they wrapped their ankle in a bandage from their medical kit. I suggested they ride on the rover, but Dru did not enjoy that state of affairs.

‘Aren’t you getting tired?’ they asked as I walked along beside them.

‘If I need to rest, I will let you know,’ I said. ‘Besides, if you do not allow your foot to heal, you might injure it further.’

Dru grunted discontent, though they had to walk through narrow valleys the rovers could barely cross without extra weight. It took an agonizing day to traverse a steep valley in that manner and find more level space where we could camp. Dru cursed the landscape. The planet was lovely when it did not impede us, but that was difficult to remember when I was aching. We whirred together after our evening meal, which I hoped would help Dru relax and remember the pleasure of being in a body.

As we prepared for rest, Dru and I watched the skies, the stationary stars and one that slowly moved. The survey satellite from Navora.

‘I wonder if they’ll send another probe from home to take more readings or collect samples,’ Dru said as we lay side by side. ‘Or maybe they’ve forgotten about me. That would be fine. Only my brother gave a shit. I hope he gets the payment for my death. I hope he’s okay.’

Dru’s voice rose to a high tone, and I reached out to touch their upper appendage. They held mine tightly as we fell asleep.

—

My dreams during our travels were particularly vivid, my mind drifting back to bright moments shared with my intimates, and times I resonated with Kyl and Rane. Often I woke to find I had been whirring in my sleep. That was somewhat embarrassing, though Dru did not seem to notice my shame. They only smiled and asked if I had a good sleep.

I did and did not rest well. It was pleasant to see those I cared for, yet it made me miss them more intensely. More worrisome were dreams that I imagined could be premonitions. These began with me sitting in the park with my caretaker, under a tree with a cool breeze rustling its leaves. I was home from the new world and nervous about making my first report to the government. As I rose to walk to the cavernous meeting hall where I would present our findings, a vine from a nearby tree snagged my ankle and would not let go. I looked to my caretaker for help, but they had disappeared. I woke to the terror that I had brought the creeping green to Navora and it would overtake the landscape. Dru must have seen me jolt, since they asked if something was wrong. I explained the details of my premonition, but they only nodded.

‘I have nightmares all the time when I’m worried,’ they said, but I had never experienced such phenomena. As my fears continued to grow, I no longer planted that particularly invasive green along our path. On the return to our settlement, I would need to observe its growth before sowing additional seeds. I had thought to myself with some bemusement that the creeping vine might turn this planet green, but I remembered Rane’s warnings of how that could be a dangerous possibility.

I continued to plant other seeds, a small act that helped to push me to walk at an even pace with the rovers. We would have the greens as a food source for our return trip. The false certainty of that future kept me moving. Even my night fears were a small reassurance, suggesting this planet could house new generations, and I had a responsibility to nurture it to that end.

—

Our supplies held well enough, though I was not terribly hungry and continued to crave fresh food that we did not have. I did not worry about my lack of appetite until I had a period of weakness that lasted three days. It was difficult to drag myself along the route, and Dru said I must ride the largest rover while they walked. They claimed their ankle felt much better, though they continued to limp. I wished to protest and say that I, too, should walk, but I felt too ill to argue. I heard Dru speak with Phim quietly in the evening, a tone that suggested concern.

‘Two of my colleagues are convinced they will not feel better until they leave this planet,’ said Phim. ‘One of the other researchers and I are attempting to convince them to stay a bit longer since their symptoms have been sporadic, but I worry it is only a matter of days before they, too, elect to call the mission a failure and abort.’

Knowing the reality of that threat made me determined to push harder. On the fourth day of my illness, I felt a bit better, but my joints were sore. It was then I knew, but did not wish to believe, that I would have offspring. I did not know if this had happened before, an individual conceiving without a partner of our kind, but I did not think so. Perhaps resonating in those low and high tones had shifted something else in my body?

How to explain this to Dru?

How to tell Phim and our colleagues?

How to raise offspring without a trained caretaker?

My offspring would not be birthed for several weeks, but we would have to care for the newling, keeping it safe and warm until it emerged from its protective sac.

I did not know how many more days of travel we had before we reached Phim, or what I would do if I needed to birth the sac before then. I had heard the first experience was painful, but then one learned the rhythm of delivering well. I was sure Phim’s team would be angry with me for this predicament, so I tried to broach the topic carefully with Phim, asking if anyone among our colleagues had offspring on Navora. Phim paused and said yes, they had one offspring when they were rather young.

‘Was it uncomfortable?’ I asked.  

‘It was not pleasant,’ they said, then paused. ‘Are you experiencing joint aches?’

‘I might have conceived offspring,’ I said in such a low tone that I did not think Phim had heard me at first.

‘I will help you when the time comes,’ Phim said just as softly. ‘I remember the advice from the medicals, and the whirrs I used to alleviate some of the pain.’

Pain did not frighten me so much as the prospect of rearing a young one on this planet when we were only beginning to understand how to survive. I explained the predicament to Dru that evening. Their eyes widened as they reached toward me, but I only touched my upper appendages to theirs. That was as much of an embrace as I could bear when I was anxious.

‘How do you feel?’ they asked. 

‘I do not know,’ I said. ‘Perhaps the soil or air changed my biology, or perhaps resonating with you shifted the ways I could reproduce, or maybe both are true. Regardless, we must learn how to be caretakers. I don’t know how this young one might develop differently than those reared on Navora.’

The more I considered that prospect, the more I was terrified and slightly…hopeful? Perhaps that spark came from Dru’s smile. They could dare to be happy. Most bonded pairs were pleased when they conceived offspring. Why couldn’t I find that joy? Just a speck. A place to start. I would have to ponder the lessons my caretaker had imparted when I was young.

‘This is generally an appointed post,’ I heard my caretaker’s voice remind me, ‘but one does not need to be limited to caring for only plants or offspring. You will find your way as I did with my first brood, learning the personalities of each newling.’

Rane had told me that those who lived in the country often reared their own offspring, another local custom that those in the city found curious. Dru tried to be similarly reassuring, since humans also cared for their own young.

‘We do well enough,’ Dru said. ‘Parents don’t always have all the answers, but they figure out solutions. You’re sure you don’t want to ride on the rover?’

‘No,’ I said. I wanted to keep moving, despite my joint pain. Walking toward Phim and the camp felt productive. This development also meant the mission would be cemented for a longer period of time. Even if some of our colleagues chose not to remain, we would have a young one that could not endure space travel. Phim and I could be comfortable here, and perhaps others as well.

These were huge, lovely, scary possibilities.

Dru and I resonated after dinner, a moment of euphoria that lifted a bit of the weariness from my body. Afterward, Dru touched my upper appendage and promised they would help me be a caretaker.

‘Just tell me what to do,’ they said.

‘Your instinct on how to care for a young one may be as good as mine,’ I said.

‘I’d need the same instructions if I were caring for a human child,’ they said, a comment that did not reassure me, but their earnestness was endearing. I could imagine how we might care for the youngling and plants, two experiments in nurturing. Dru had abandoned their old mission to become part of mine, and this would deepen that process. How would we raise this youngling away from our old home worlds? How would they develop differently than on Navora, adapting to the atmosphere and soil and even a conception process we did not understand? Daunting questions, but I was hopeful we could discover a few answers.

Dru and I would need to stay at Phim’s settlement for longer than I’d anticipated, but that would give us time to plant the remaining seeds and see if they germinated before we started the trip home to our settlement.

Was I so keen to think of it as home already?

I did not expect the flush of pleasure I felt that evening after sunset when Dru and I saw the glow of Phim’s settlement from a distance. It was the only artificial light source on the planet, aside from our own quarters, which were dark and dormant for a time. We would see Phim the next day, and I imagined their whirr of greeting. The others might whirr more disdainfully, not enamored with the idea of working with this human, but we would have time for acclamation. I would send a message capsule to Navora as soon as we arrived, perhaps letting Mehani know that some of the scientists would return, and that I was about to have offspring, so our mission would be extended indefinitely. I could also tell them that I had developed a hybrid seed and found a route to the new encampment. I hoped the news would encourage the government to send a transport vehicle, since our viability was becoming clear. There was so much to do as we continued to develop varietals of plants and agricultural practices. I was afraid, very afraid, about the delicate nature of success, but for the first time in my life, I thought I might have found a place where I could fit, a place I could call home and mean it.

---

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