The trees were out to get Ixabi, and they were everywhere.

Rarely had she seen a capital city like Yovra: instead of plants landscaped as an afterthought into a city’s soft corners, each building, road, and signpost seemed carefully woven into whatever spaces the forest offered. The trees–glowing softly in hues of blue and purple and gold–were even invited inside. A cluster of plants growing tall in the center of the university’s communications hub blocked Ixabi’s view of the screens on the opposite wall.

On the off chance that maybe the trees were sentient and no one on the planet of Varjon had figured it out yet, she sent a kind but firm “Could you please tone it down a bit??” telepathically in their direction.

No luck.

“I’m sorry for saying so, Lieutenant Ixabi, but you don’t look well.”

The concern from Naryn, her Varjokh liaison, was as evident in his deep black eyes as it was in the psychic waves rippling across the space between him and the trees.

And he probably didn’t need the flora-enhanced empathy to read what was plainly visible on her pinched face.

She gave him a pained smile. “There’s so much background noise here. I’m sure I’ll get better at filtering it out eventually, but I’ve been too distracted by our project to really try.”

Naryn nodded. “Do you, uh, need to return to your ship?” he asked hesitantly. “Maybe you could walk me through the rest of the set-up over comms.”

Ixabi shook her head vigorously. And immediately regretted it. “We’re almost done setting up the sensor relays! I can hold out a little bit longer. I want to be here when the data starts pouring in.”

Naryn’s face lit up, and Ixabi felt his excitement for the project emanating from his mind. She also felt a burst of happiness and joy that seemed to be related directly to her.

She tried her best to ignore it. There were too many emotions in the air already.

“I probably won’t be joining in on the Dreaming Ceremony tonight, though,” she added. “And I’ll definitely be sleeping on the ship.”

Ixabi felt a flash of disappointment from Naryn that didn’t show on his face. “I understand.”

His eyes drifted to the far side of the room, and Ixabi followed his gaze. Qsshrr, their chief science officer, had a small retinue of enraptured scientists and technicians surrounding her. She was describing the resolution and sampling frequency of the Babylon’s sensor arrays, which could analyze Varjon’s trajectory through space to a level of detail they’d never imagined. Discovering the origins of their rogue planet was a thrilling prospect, though perhaps not as immediately thrilling as their first encounter with a Horta.

“Do you think Commander Qsshrr will attend?” asked Naryn.

Ixabi shrugged. “I think so, but… I don’t actually know if she sleeps.”

A loud trilling noise made her jump, and for a moment she thought it was the uplink to the Babylon’s sensors. Naryn tapped a command into the nearest console, and the screen lit up and bathed his face in a soft green light. “The rest of our new colleagues have arrived. The Olympic and the Meridian are requesting permission to enter orbit.”