Total pages in book: 103
Estimated words: 97459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 97459 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 487(@200wpm)___ 390(@250wpm)___ 325(@300wpm)
She reaches out and touches my arm, her eyes widening. “Oh my god. Are you in STEM? What’s your degree?”
“I’m not. I have a master’s in library science. It’s not quite the same—”
But she reaches out and hugs me tightly anyhow. “Doesn’t matter. Can I show you my work?”
“Your work?” I pat her awkwardly.
“I’ve been trying to catalog my learnings here,” she continues, releasing me. “You might be the answer to my prayers.” She pauses and looks down at the shell in her hands again. “Well. I’ll show you after we look for the other shell, if that’s all right? Are you busy? Super busy? Do you have some time? I might be monopolizing you today.”
Her enthusiasm is infectious. “Monopolize away. R’jaal won’t be back for hours and I’m still figuring out how to do the basics like how to start a fire—”
“The basics can wait,” she says with a flick of her hand. “We’ve got shell fragments to hunt!”
Several hours later, Devi is disappointed to find no more shell fragments that match up with the treasured disc she’s been carrying around all morning. We retreat back to their hut, where N’dek is putting their son down for his afternoon nap. He gives his mate a kiss and they share a word while I eat a bowl of stew and try not to feel weird about being in someone else’s house and eating their food while they talk in low whispers nearby.
Eventually they kiss, sharing a tender moment. “Remember to eat,” he chastises her. “You forget when you grow excited.”
“Totally going to eat,” she promises him. “I swear.”
He gives her a mock-stern look, rubs his nose against hers, and then nods at me. He heads out of their hut and Devi slops the bare minimum of stew into her bowl and shoves it into her mouth as she collapses onto the pillow next to me. “When N’rav wakes up, he’s coming with us,” she tells me by way of explanation. “Which means we won’t be going far with our shell hunting. He’s got a good eye, though, so no worries on that part.”
I guess I’m spending the afternoon with Devi, then. It’s kind of nice that we’ve clicked so well. She starts spouting about extinctions and the evolution of invertebrates here and I chime in every now and then with random tidbits I’ve picked up from researching my fanfic (which I always set in the past, or in strange locations, because I’m just weird). Devi doesn’t laugh at my fic hobby, and just nods as if it all makes perfect sense to her.
“Anyone that’s around books all the time either loves learning or making up stories. Or both. Like I said, you’re my people.” And she shoves another quick spoonful of food into her mouth. She tosses her empty bowl aside and unfolds her legs, getting to her feet. Devi grabs a large, person-sized sack on the edge of the hut and hauls it over to me. “Now, let me show you what I’m having problems with, since you’re the expert.”
Me? An expert? “I’m not sure I agree with that assessment, but all right.”
“If nothing else, you’re another brain to bounce ideas off of and I need help.” She dumps the sack in front of me and then pulls out what looks like a rolled up skin. Carefully, she unrolls it and displays it in front of me. “There are no books here—I’m sorry to break the bad news—and no pen and paper, so I’ve resorted to this.”
“Oh.” I set my bowl aside and touch the edge of the skin that she’s showing me. “I kinda knew there wasn’t pen and paper, given that R’jaal is running around in a fur kilt. Not that that’s a bad thing,” I say quickly. “But it just tells me the technology isn’t there.”
“I mean, there’s some technology,” Devi says, pulling out another skin and unrolling it nearby. “Mardok is our expert on that. We’ve got some scraps from the alien ships that have landed here, but I also think he’s careful not to upend people’s way of life with too many jumps ahead. He’s got a tablet that he can record information on, but there’s only one. And I don’t know that we have any more language-translator chips, which means that your friends might not be able to pick up the language as easily as you and I. And no one knows how to apply those anyhow, except for Mardok, and he’s in Croatoan.”
I’m trying to follow her conversation. Data pads. Translator chips. Makes sense. “I see. So there’s a few things, but not enough for everyday use.”
“Bingo. And we don’t want to become completely reliant on something that might break and then we’re stuck. So I’ve been recording my findings on these skins.” She holds a hand over them like a spokesmodel, careful not to touch the surface. “I can’t not record what I’m seeing, not when it’s so scientifically exciting to me. But you see my problem?”