Maybe I should strip down, J.D. thought, but I'm not quite ready for that yet.
Nemo touched her palm, her sleeve, her palm again, testing the differences between skin and fabric.
The tip of one tentacle brushed her throat, her lips. She closed her eyes. Fur caressed her eyelids. A second tentacle curled around her waist, gently embracing her. The tip probed at her, tracing the texture of her shirt, touching each button, following the curve of her heavy breasts and coiling softly down her arm. The third tentacle wound around her leg, then its tip traveled up her spine, touching the bump of each vertebra through her shirt.
She opened her eyes. Her lashes brushed against the sensory cilia.
'You detect sensations with these hairs,' Nemo said.
'No.' She smiled. The squidmoth was trying to make the same kinds of assumptions about her that she was making about it. 'That is, I can feel your tentacle, but my eyelashes are for protecting my eyes. Um--do you call this a tentacle?' She brushed her fingers across the soft peacock skin.
'In English, I call it a tentacle.'
This time J.D. thought she heard a flash of humor in Nerno's voice. Again, she told herself she must be imagining it.
'I meant, is 'tentacle' an accurate translation of what you call it in your language? What do you call it in yourlanguage?'
'I have no language.'
'I don't understand,' J.D. said.
'Our communication does not consist of sounds.'
'I know, you told me: you use transmissions. But what do you transmit? Words? Visual images? Sensations?'
'A surface of meaning and perception.'
J.D. frowned. 'A neural visual image?'
'Position, and change of position, within a multidimensional surface of meaning, intensity, rapport between the speakers.'
'Multidimensional? More than three dimensions?'
'Many more.'
J.D. tried to imagine a more-than-three-dimensional surface; she tried to imagine being shown a more- thanthree-dimensional surface in her mind. An acquaintance of hers claimed to be able to imagine rotating a sphere around a plane, but she had never been able to explain to J.D. how to do it.
'It sounds beautiful,' J.D. said.
The squidmoth tentacles twined and curled before her; their tips touched her cheek, her breast, her hand.
'It is beautiful,' it said.
'Do you have art forms associated with your communication? The way humans have singing and stories and poetry?'
'It is an art form in itself, whenever a talented one extends the limits and forms new regions and new shapes.'
'May I . . . Will you show it to me?'
Without warning, a flash of perception tantalized her brain. She heard sugar dissolving, smelled the pink clouds of a brilliant sunset, sensed the position of a billion raindrops like muscle fibers. She saw a melody of Nerno's vision. Each sensation had its own particular place, its own connections with all the others. More information poured into her. But her internal link acted like the narrow end of a funnel. Nerno's transmission filled the funnel to the brim, and spilled out into nothingness.
J.D. gasped acrid air. She sneezed, and began to cough. Nerno's transmission faded away, and J.D. found herself sitting sprawled on the floor. She buried her
nose in the crook of her elbow, breathing through the fabric of her shirt, forcing herself to take shallow breaths, until her coughing stopped. She wiped her teary eyes.
Nemo lay placidly before her, short tentacles ruffling slightly, long tentacles guiding a frilled, wormy little creature as it spun silver thread in concentric circles.
The radio in her helmet rumbled with a faint hollow sound. J.D. sent an 'I'm okay' message back to Victoria and the Chi. The rumbling ceased. J.D. pulled herself together and sat crosslegged near Nemo.
'I didn't understand what you sent me,' J.D. said to Nemo. 'But you're right, it was beautiful.'
'You cannot absorb enough information to gather the complete communication surface,' Nemo said.
'Internal links aren't one of our natural senses,' J.D. said sadly.
'They're pretty limited.'
'it is too bad,' Nemo said.
'But any of us can use them to talk to you,' J.D. said quickly. 'And my colleagues would like to meet you. Would that be possible?'
'I want to become acquainted with one human being, first,' Nemo said. 'I want my attendants to become familiar with you.'
'Your . . . attendants?'
Nemo's fragile legs drummed on the floor. J.D. felt the vibration, and heard a faint thrumming.
She heard the same sound she had heard farther out in the webbing, tiny feet scratching against soft silk. Several small creatures scuttled from beneath the curtains, moving on many legs, and another slithered down a steep slope. They gathered around Nemo, crawling up the iridescent skin. Their dull colors changed and brightened. Like chameleons, they blended into their background. If she watched carefully she could make out their shapes, malleable and indistinct, reaching out with long pincered fingers to groom Nemo's skin. One clambered up the feathery gill-leg, and vanished beneath the fluted fin.
'The attendants are not used to the presence of other beings.'
'Oh,' J.D. said. She did her best to be diplomatic. 'How long will it take?' She wondered if she would get a useful answer; she did not even know if Nemo reckoned time in long spans, or short ones.
'I don't know, I've never received a guest before,' Nemo said.
'Never?'
'We're solitary beings,' Nemo said.
'Does it-does it bother you to have me in your crater?'
'I enjoy unique experiences.' Nemo guided the circling creature around the edge of the disk of silk.
'Would you like to visit Starfarer? I don't know if you're mobile or not-' And I have no idea what you might be sensitive about, either, she thought, doubting the brilliance of her spontaneous suggestion. I only know that human beings are most sensitive about what's hardest, or impossible, to change. 'You-you or any of your people-would be welcome on board Starfarer, if you cared to visit.'
The squidmoth's mustache ruffled, from left to right, then back again. 'You inhabit the inside of Starfarer, ' Nemo said.
'Yes.,,
'I wouldn't fit inside Starfarer, ' Nemo said.
'Oh.' She glanced at Nerno's iridescent back, the tail section disappearing into the floor. 'How much of you is out of sight?' Anything that could fit inside the crater would fit inside Starfarer, though the logistics could be difficult.
'You see all of me.'
'I don't understand,' J.D. said.
Nerno's long tentacles touched the silk, the walls.
'All you see is me,' the squidmoth said.
'The whole crater?'
'Everything,' Nemo said.
'The whole ship?'
'What you call the ship.'
That stopped her. She wiped one more unexamined assumption away, embarrassed to have made it without even noticing, and revised her perception of the squidmoth. J.D. had assumed Nemo was her counterpart, the individual who volunteered, or was chosen, to meet an alien being.
