Y continued, looking at Apollonia. “I have utilized isotopic methods to determine a more accurate age, and it is via those that I come to the conclusion that Nor would be 22 according to the standard human calendar.” He leaned forward towards her in a slight bow. “I hope that this is not an issue for you, Nor. If you are confident that your age is 28, we can keep that on your official record, of course.”

She shook her head. “No . . . No, I guess it can be 22. Unless it makes a difference?”

“None at all!” Y replied. “You are an adult either way, under human law – twenty is considered sufficient.”

“So . . . no one looks down on me for not being like . . . 97.”

Suon laughed. “Of course not. Younger people are not considered as experienced, but fresh eyes have their own value.”

“I am just surprised that you are so interested in becoming an officer at your age,” Kiseleva commented.

They were all watching her again, and she felt strangely put on the spot. “I’ve seen some pretty young cadets!”

“In the Children’s Pre-Training Volunteer Program, perhaps,” Kiseleva said. “But they are only preparing for later training. Most people do not even apply to the Voidfleet until they are at least thirty. Forty is even more common.”

“Damn,” Apollonia said. “Why do they wait until they’re old?”

Suon glanced at Pirra and Kiseleva, then back to her. “What was the oldest person you knew on your colony?”

She had to think about that. “Uh, I think I heard about a man who lived to be 87. Real bastard he was, too.”

Kiseleva snorted. “Dr. Logus was older than that. He was almost 110, as I recall.”

Apollonia nearly spat out the bite of her corn dog she’d just taken. “What? No, you’re shitting me. He looked . . . mid-40s, tops.”

Their faces were serious. She swept her eyes over them all. Y seemed to have abandoned the conversation, returning to his book – which she realized with a flicker of annoyance was probably an act – and it was Tred who finally spoke.

“No, really,” Tred said. “Life extension is very normal. I’m almost fifty myself . . .”

She leaned in closer to study the man. He looked . . . well, nowhere near fifty. His stress clearly worked on him, but he didn’t have the deep set lines, the cancerous age spots, the general wasted quality she’d always seen in people who made it to fifty on New Vitriol – and frequently even on those younger than that.

Suon reached over to nudge Y. “Doctor, you could explain this better.”

Y looked up again. “I suppose I can. Well – it is somewhat of a lengthy topic, but with our modern medical technology a human can typically expect a fairly steady physical state until around one hundred and twenty years of age – it’s unfortunate, but without a very thorough rewrite of your genetic code, you are hard-wired for senescence, and the maximum lifespan is approximately one hundred and fifty.”

“You did tell me this before,” Apollonia said, snapping her fingers as she remembered. “There was that judge guy, he was like five hundred. But I mean, he looked it.”

“You refer to Chairman Ernesto Chung,” Y said. “He is currently 352 years old. So yes, humans can live longer, through techniques such as organ cloning or transhumanism. I speak, of course, only of lifespans that do not involve such heroic methods. With all options on the table, we do not actually have a good idea of the possible human lifespan; there are many who are still alive that we expect will be alive for many centuries to come, perhaps even millenia, so long as they choose to keep living – Chairman Chung among them, I imagine. Given the number of replaced parts, I suppose one could raise a sort of ‘ship of theseus’ question regarding their identity, but that seems rather pedantic in my opinion.”

Apollonia noticed that Kiseleva had gone silent, her eyes unfocused, her expression lost in thought.

Y spoke again. “Frankly, Nor, I am surprised that you are as healthy as you are. Given your difficult circumstances and raddled DNA, I would expect your growth to be much more stunted than it is.”

“Thanks. I love hearing that I’m stunted.”

“You suffered malnutrition, the biophysical markers are unmistakable, but I apologize if saying it is insulting,” Y said. “This was common for most people on New Vitriol, and I suspect even in Vitriol it was not uncommon. Am I correct?”

She nodded. “Yeah, that’s right. I could never get much work and there weren’t handouts.”

Tred looked concerned. “So how did you eat?”

She’d explained it before, but found that now the story had become something almost outside of her; less personal, and more of just a neutral anecdote. “People have often acted two ways towards me. Well, no, actually it was pretty much just fear. But when people are afraid of someone they either want to hurt them or if they feel weaker they . . . respect them.”

Y tilted his head. “As far as I am aware, respect has no nutritional content.”

She stared at him, unable to even tell if he was joking at this point. “They’d give me food. It wasn’t a lot, I was still hungry sometimes. But I didn’t starve.”

“That is so barbaric,” Tred commented.

Apollonia shrugged. “I suppose it was. Though, really, I’ve been surprised that you people on this ship haven’t been . . . well, scared of me.”

“Maybe we’re just a little more enlightened?” Tred said. Though, Apollonia noted, he had been pretty nervous this whole time.

Kiseleva snapped out of her thoughts to glare sternly at him. “There’s a fine line between recognizing reality and being arrogant.”

Tred shrunk back slightly. “Yes, ma’am.”

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Y raised a hand in gesture. “I suspect that you are having a better reaction because we have already been exposed to Ambassador Kell. There is no way to quantify this, but the effect you both have upon people – especially other humans – is similar. Once we acclimated to the Ambassador, it was not as difficult to accept your own presence.”

“I am not like Kell!” Apollonia insisted sharply.

Kiseleva looked at her curiously at that, and even Pirra, who had otherwise faded from the conversation, looked up in interest.

“My apologies,” the Dessei said suddenly, rising. “I need to leave. Nice talking.”

She walked away.

The other Response officers seemed rather surprised at Pirra’s departure. Kiseleva hesitated, clearly thinking, but then an alert tone came from her system.

“There’s an issue,” she said. “Goodbye.”

“Do you need me to come?” Suon asked.

Kiseleva glanced at him. “You aren’t in uniform. Just enjoy the event, there are others on-duty.”

“All right!” Suon said, seeming pleased, throwing her a salute as she strode away.

“Man, she sure can’t seem to get away from me fast enough.”

To her surprise, Suon heard her. “Ah, she doesn’t dislike you,” he said. “She just . . .” he trailed off, his face going serious as he reconsidered his words. “She’s just serious when she’s on duty.”

Which Apollonia thought was a lame response; she’d been laughing when she came in.

But it wasn’t going to do any good arguing it with him.

She looked up and down the man’s costume. “So who are you dressed as, anyway?”

The man smiled, barely visible under his holographic face. “The Omnipotent Lord, Ulu-Toyon. From him mankind, even all animals, receive their sür.”

“That’s, uh . . . what’s that?” Apollonia asked, her ability to snark failing her.

“It’s like the soul, but connected to Shamans in particular. Everything has them – even fish. At least – that’s what they used to believe in the old days.”

He glanced at her, his expression almost sly a moment but then turning thoughtful. He didn’t say anything else, though, and Apollonia glanced to Y, annoyed that he was not helping to fill in the awkward silence.

She finished her corn dog. Angel, meanwhile, had long since finished her food, and wandered over to Tred, who seemed unsure what to make of the little dog.

“Don’t start licking me again,” he said quietly to her.

She moved in for the lick anyway.

Tred rose hastily. “I should go,” he said, seeming glum. “Thanks for, um.” He didn’t finish the sentence, looking unsure what to say, then wandering off.

“Tred’s having a tough day,” Suon said. “Not sure why, though. He was just moping more than usual when the Sergeant and I bumped into him on the way in.”

“Oh,” Apollonia said.

Finally, her curiosity got the better of her. “Why did you all come sit here with me anyway? I mean . . . it’s fine and all, I’m not complaining, but we barely know each other. I didn’t even know that Tred guy’s name until you said it.” She frowned. “How are you even friends with him? He’s not in Response, he’s Engineering, right?” The colored line that represented his department was black, which she was pretty sure meant engineering, unlike Response’s yellow.

“He sometimes goes on missions with Response Teams,” Suon told her.

“Him? He doesn’t seem the type to rush into danger.”

Suon shrugged. “He’s actually very skilled. And he doesn’t go under fire, but he’s rated for all kinds of difficult situations. It surprised me, too, but it is what it is. As for you; well, it’s the same, isn’t it? You saved our asses during that boarding operation.”

The man’s face looked bothered, stricken almost. “I was helpless. Curled into a ball on the floor even before we got . . . near the center or whatever that was.”

Apollonia almost said; the Source. She could tell that was the word the man had sought, but hadn’t quite known.

He had felt it more than most, she thought. Not enough to get it all, but enough to have gotten a hint.

“Well, I was pretty helpless, myself,” she said weakly.

“You are too modest, Nor,” Y said. “By all accounts, you acted with great bravery.”

“That’s right,” Suon said. “So as far as I’m concerned, you’re one of us.”

He gave her a friendly slap on the shoulder and rose. “I should head off as well. See you at the parade!”

Y said nothing, watching her, and Apollonia felt a strange confusion.

Angel walked across the table and sat down in front of her. Her mere presence was soothing, Apollonia thought.

“If you did wish to see the parade,” Y said. “We should go soon. Otherwise we may get sub-optimal positions from which to view it.”

“That’s a good idea,” Apollonia said. “You wanna go, Angel?”

The dog did not understand, but seemed excited all the same as Apollonia stood up, and she scooped up her little bee.

As they left, several people waved to them – or to Y, rather, who greeted them.

“Do you come here often?” Apollonia asked.

“Yes, I do,” he replied cheerfully.

“But you don’t eat, right?”

“No, I do not. But it was Cenz who suggested that I start coming. He believed it would ‘humanize’ me in the eyes of others.”

Glancing around, Apollonia did see plenty of people looking at the doctor. But while some were friendly, she saw anxiety on others.

Probably cheating on their diets, she reasoned. Bad luck to have your doctor come around when you got extra cake.

“Well, I did appreciate your company, even if you did seem very distracted by that book. What are you reading, anyway?”

“Ah, yes, I do apologize. I did not want to interfere in your human socializations too much – it is good to talk to others besides just me!” Y said.

Apollonia scowled at him. He looked back at her, his metal face guilless, even though she knew he really possessed it in abundance.

But she couldn’t stay mad at him.

“Cenz suggested I appear to read at the social meal,” Y continued. “And I have a hobby of collecting old medium of information storage, from human books to Dessei feather fans.”

“Yes, but what is the book?” Apollonia insisted.

Y held it towards her. “It is called ‘The Bible’.”

“Never heard of it,” she replied.

“They are common artifacts – it is estimated to have been the most published book of all time. I cannot be sure of that, but they are numerous. It is a religious text from a religion called Christianity.”

“Oh, I have heard of that one. Some people still believe in it, right?”

“Yes, a small minority of people in the Sapient Union are adherents, the majority of a branch called Catholics, while other denominations exist in smaller quantities. It is even less common in Gohhi, though, as their religious ideals are not seen to mesh well with laissez faire capitalism.”

Apollonia shrugged. “I never even believed in my own religion. The reality of growing up in a religious colony that was so shitty made sure of that.” She thought for a moment of Father Sair and his faith . . . but she dismissed the thought right now. He had invited her to come visit him today, promising a day of calm prayer and contemplation, but she had turned it down. She felt a bit guilty about it, but she wasn’t beholden to him or anyone.

“What do you . . . think of religion?” she asked. “Do your people have anything like it?”

Y recoiled slightly. “Hahaha. No. We have nothing of the sort. However, do not take that as a stance of negativity – I cannot pass judgment on it. I understand full well that religion has played a role in many civilizations, and what I am attempting to do is understand it from the context of the times they come from. Only to understand, mind you.”

“So . . . how’s that going?”

Y looked at the book. “Poorly. To be honest, it is just hard for me to imagine the privations that humans so long ago had to suffer. I cannot know hunger or thirst. I cannot truly understand what it is like to live in a world that has not been carefully managed in a way that is imicable to my form of life, nor can I feel the level of uncertainty they had about how their world even worked. I have simply never had that level of . . .” He trailed off, seeming to struggle for a word.

“Ignorance?” Apollonia suggested. “Helplessness?”

He nodded. “Yes. Again, I do not mean that judgmentally – though my people learn and grow, we begin life with a level of knowledge far beyond any biological lifeform. So it is just . . . difficult to imagine. But I would like to know. Perhaps one day I will understand why so many believed in a god and loved the being so much. I may never, and if I do not, then I must simply accept; this is who those humans were. I find them no less for their beliefs.”

Apollonia stopped, looking up at Y for a moment. He stopped as well, watching her.

“Damn it, Y, you’re scary good at talking,” she said.