Without warning, the air between them erupted into light. A holographic display materialized, showing a solar system that defied Mike's understanding of physics. Multiple suns danced in complex orbital patterns, their light shifting through colors he couldn't quite name. Planets moved in ways that suggested the space itself was folded like origami. Strange geometric structures floated between worlds, connected by lines of force or energy.

At'chii manipulated this display with fluid tentacle movements, zooming through their star system with practiced ease. They pointed to a particular geometric structure, repeating their name-sound, then gestured at the surrounding system with a different series of clicks and light patterns – presumably its name.

Then they cleared the display with a sweep of their tentacles, leaving a blank canvas of responsive light. One tentacle moved through it demonstratively, showing how it could be shaped. They looked at Mike expectantly.

"Right. Okay." Mike reached up hesitantly. The light responded to his fingers, forming wobbly spheres as he tried to reconstruct the familiar layout of his solar system. He placed the sun, then worked outward: Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars... The moon took several tries to position correctly. Everything looked wrong somehow – too close together, not quite the right orbits, definitely not to scale.

At'chii watched with intense interest. When Mike finished his rough model, they pointed to the central star with a tentacle, eye questioning.

"This is the Sun," Mike said, pointing to the central star he'd made.

At'chii nodded encouragingly, then pointed at it with a tentacle, eye expectant. Clearly waiting for its name.

"Yeah, that's it. The Sun."

At'chii's eye narrowed slightly. Their tentacle pointed again, more deliberately.

"Sun. That's what it's called. The Sun."

The creature's bioluminescence flickered in confusion. Their beak clicked rapidly as they pointed at the star, then made a complex series of gestures suggesting a request for its proper designation, its title, its formal name.

"No, you don't understand. We just call it 'the Sun.' That's its name. Sun."

At'chii's tentacles moved in what might have been exasperation. They pointed at their own star in their previous model, clicking out a complex series of sounds and light patterns that seemed to encompass coordinates, spectral classification, and possibly its entire stellar history.

Then they pointed back at Mike's star. "Sssnn?" Their eye held a mix of disbelief and concern.

"Sun," Mike confirmed.

At'chii's eye closed briefly as if processing this shocking lack of astronomical nomenclature. When Mike started placing the planets, they perked up. Surely, these would have proper, complex names.

Mike pointed to the third planet. "This is Earth."

At'chii's beak clicked rapidly. They touched a tentacle to the ground beneath them, then pointed back at the planet.

"Yeah, Earth. Like dirt. That's our planet."

The creature's bioluminescence dimmed momentarily as if experiencing a brief system shutdown. They rallied and pointed to the small orbiting sphere Mike had added.

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"That's the Moon."

At'chii went completely still. Their eye fixed on Mike with growing concern. One tentacle made a circular motion.

"Moon. Just Moon."

Their bioluminescence flickered like a dying light bulb. When they finally pointed to the galaxy, it was with visible trepidation.

"That's the Milky Way," Mike said.

The creature tilted its head, eye focused intently on him. Their bioluminescence shifted in a pattern that clearly conveyed confusion.

"Oh, right. Um..." Mike thought for a moment, then mimed drinking something. "Milk?" He made a flowing motion with his hands. "It's white stuff that comes from..." He hesitated, then used the light to draw a rough shape of a cow. "These animals. Called cows. Big creatures that eat grass and make white liquid. We drink it."

At'chii's bioluminescence flickered rapidly, their eyes moving between Mike's crude cow drawing and his drinking gesture with increasing concern. Their beak clicked in what sounded like an alarm—making Mike wince slightly—as they seemed to process the idea of humans extracting and consuming bodily fluids from other creatures.

"No, no, it's normal!" Mike tried to explain, adding udders to his light-cow. "They make it for their babies, but we..." He mimed milking motions, then immediately regretted it as At'chii's bioluminescence took on a distinctly disturbed pattern.

The creature made a low-register series of clicks that somehow perfectly conveyed "Please stop explaining this disturbing practice and return to the galaxy naming."

"Right. So..." Mike pointed back to the galaxy model, grateful to move on. "At night, from Earth, it looks like..." He added a cloudy band across his spiral. "Like someone spilled milk across the sky. So we named it after that. Milky Way. The path of milk in the sky."

At'chii went completely still for a moment. Their bioluminescence did something complicated that looked like a visual double-take. Several tentacles moved in different directions at once, as if trying to confirm they'd understood correctly. They made a motion like liquid flowing, then pointed back to the galaxy model, their eyes practically radiating disbelief. Did they really need to confirm he'd named his entire galaxy after mammalian fluid?

Finally, they pointed to where they were now in the model – the new planet.

"Um... Terranovus?" Mike offered weakly.

At'chii's eye lit up hopefully.

"It means 'New Earth' in another language..."

One of At'chii's tentacles actually facepalmed. The light in their eye died. Their tentacles made a gesture that somehow perfectly conveyed "I don't know what I expected." They turned to the holographic display and carefully, methodically, began adding proper astronomical notation to Mike's model, their movements suggesting the patience of a kindergarten teacher labeling a child's crayon drawings with the correct spellings.

Their eye crinkled with what could only be described as infinite patience, and their bioluminescence shifted to gentle, soothing patterns. It regarded Mike with the kind of fond amusement usually reserved for very small children who've gotten lost in a grocery store and decided to rename everything they see along the way.

When they finished, they gave Mike's head another gentle pat, their bioluminescence pulsing in what was clearly a silent prayer for the species that had somehow managed space travel while naming celestial bodies like they were picking names for pet rocks.