Lyn was almost immediately given cause to regret their decision — a death scene enacted by Moira's chosen protégé in the art of stage drama. Who threw their arms out into the air when they were supposedly choking to death? Nobody — that's who. A clutching grasp at the neck followed by a stumble to the knees would have been appropriate, but here we were — twenty full seconds of emoting before he finally keeled over — and winked at Lyn. Winked! Amateurs, the lot of them.

  By way of comparison, Lyn felt their own stance — showing dispassionate, clinical observation, then covering of the body while leaving room for movement, before turning to the still-living patient was a master-class in verisimilitude.

  At least the flailing provided Lyn an excuse to shoo the smaller Clackaw away from Tessan. They'd need the space to move around in the Talent; anyone or anything not brought into the Talent would become a near-immovable obstacle.

  The vacuum in the chamber was near total by this point — the pumps were powerful, and the remaining sound of them was barely a whisper.

  This is where gestural Tradish shone — it has been created to be effective in all environments, after all. The motions broad and readable — even between species wearing bulky suits in the darkness of space. Thirty seconds of rapid signing later and Lyn had explained the healing plan to Tessan and Nezzar.

  Nezzar's response was predictably curt, ‘I'll distract the young while you work.’ And without waiting for a response, she'd turned away to face the cluster of watchful young Clackaw. Her feathers ruffled briskly, appearing gray with the speed of the shifts. The young watched with a uniform focus that would be the envy of teachers everywhere. Also, how was it fair that Clackaw could talk with their hands full?

  Lyn nudged Tessan's foot towards Nat's hand, and then placed theirs alongside it. Nat's hand pressed against both, and they were back within the oppressive darkness of the Talent. It was strange to note how it was quieter within than even the near vacuum outside of it.

  Nat shuffled out from beneath the sheet and held out his palm, with the miniature door already forming — clearly he was enamored with the concept. Moira's tiny form walked through it as it had just shortly before, and then jumped up to his shoulder to sit, feet swinging — and the aetheric light illuminated the surroundings enough that signing became viable. He made a show of hanging the door in the air, and hand thus freed for signing — he faced Lyn and Tessan, ‘I think that went well.’

  Lyn was momentarily thankful that other species couldn't tell when Silverpaw rolled their eyes, and they set their cane aside. ‘Whoops. I didn't mean to bring the cane with me. Anyway, time is short at these mass levels, so let's focus on the healing work. Nat, could you and Moira place a pattern somewhere suitable that isn't visible from above? Or else make it invisible if you could.’

  Moira's puppet made a show of looking around — the tiny motions were far more realistic and practiced than even an hour ago. I can make it less visible, but not invisible, if it has to do work.

  The day might come when Lyn would cease to be surprised at the pace Moira acquired mastery of new skills, but today was not that day.

  ‘Why not directly underneath Tessan's — couch?’ He stumbled on the last word, and turned it into a question.

  Lyn made a counter-gesture, ‘Seat would be more appropriate here — as it's not exactly a chair or bed. And yes, I concur — if it's close enough to be effective.’ Then they watched as he repeated the gesture a few times — committing it to memory.

  More than close enough. Nat, rather than a new pattern, could you bend the door into a circle and place it? I'll build the pattern within it — otherwise I might struggle a bit, my reach into this room is limited.

  Tessan perked up at Moira's comment, her feathers ruffling initially, before they stilled. She had only one wing capable of signing, but most gestures worked even if the body performing them had no limbs at all, as long as it was sufficiently flexible. ‘Aetheric entity? How can you even be here?’

  Tessan waited for a response for a few seconds, but none came — and made eye contact with Lyn and repeated the question.

  Oh, right — Lyn had forgotten. ‘Moira cannot see you clearly, Tessan, unless your limbs are slightly infused with aether. Once the healing starts, I will do so.’ Lyn then repeated the question back for Moira.

  I am happy to discuss it to your satisfaction, but I think that now is perhaps not the time. Take a rain check?

  Lyn translated the response literally, which led to a blank expression from Tessan, followed by a hesitant, ‘This means yes, but later?’

  Oh, sorry — idioms don't always transfer. So, yes, later — I promise.

  Lyn echoed the response once more. The exchange, however, had revealed that Tessan's gestures were being made with some difficulty — the movement of her limbs, in contrast to her voice, was slow and imprecise. Clackaw responses to exhaustion or pain might explain it, or it could signal for serious issues — given the earlier discussion, Lyn believed it was more likely the latter. It was long past time to start the work of healing.

  Tessan seemed to understand signs fully, but it was critical to Lyn that the broodmother understood the process and consented. Things were rushed, but unless she was in danger of dying in the next five minutes, this was when clarity in communication became paramount. Lyn positioned themselves directly in front of the broodmother, arms and hands held to the fore, and signed slowly, movements crisp and clear, ‘I am going to examine you now, which means I am going to need to touch and inspect you thoroughly. Unfortunately, due to the limits of our communication, we will be unable to speak during the examination. If you need to tell me anything — such as slow or stop, tap me with any limb. May I proceed?’

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  Tessan knocked twice, closed their eyes, and tried to relax, as Lyn inspected the damage centimeter by centimeter while Nat and Moira set to their tasks. The damage was… significant. It would be easier to describe the portions of their body not lacerated. Numerous bones were broken — no surprise there, the bones of flyers were almost universally fragile. The damage to the left wing was… extensive — and probably not salvageable unless they had a healing factor that Lyn was unaware of.

  As far as Lyn could tell, the Clackaw had been almost exsanguinated — and whoever was responsible for ensuring they had been eating sufficiently was incompetent or incapable. Pain management was also clearly not up to the task — Tessan shuddered or shivered at every new touch or lift of a limb. Lyn's diagnostic mind was fighting the urge to proceed directly to life-saving measures; the subtle aetheric infusion to aid communication ended up being the unexpected tipping point, when they lost that battle of restraint and chose to begin immediate treatment.

  To avoid causing unnecessary distress, Lyn gently withdrew their probing hands, ceased their inspection and turned their body away from the broodmother. With hands now hidden from the patient, Lyn's gaze fell on the surrounding Clackaw young. And then they signed to no-one in particular, since Moira did not care about orientation, but instead read the position of limbs.

  ‘Moira — don't respond openly, please. I'm going to make an excuse for Nat to lay on hands, but as soon as he does — tell me I'm crazy. It can't possibly be that the broodmother is somehow suffering from — how to even say it — aetheric dissonance poisoning?’

  Nat was being tapped on the shoulder in the way that only Lyn ever did — how did one manage to tap their fingers in a manner that suggested precision, even? Not that he expected anyone else in here with them, but it was strangely comforting to recognize a behavior.

  ‘Nat, for the healing pattern — could you hold hands with Tessan for a minute, while Moira measures what field strength she should generate?’

  Nat looked up from where he was currently positioning a resized, larger glowing braid underneath the resting spot for the broodmother. ‘Sure, I can do that now. Does she know, or should I ask?’

  ‘She knows, but it's polite to ask.’

  With a nod to Lyn, he turned to the broodmother, and smiled as he signed, ‘Hi, Tessan. I need to hold your hands — wingtips — for a minute, if you don't mind.’

  The Clackaw knocked with one wing, which they held out. The other remained resting on the cushioned bedding, so he reached out to lay his hand atop it gently. He felt a slight tingle as Moira's aetheric probe, if that's what it was, continued.

  Enough time had passed that he wondered if she'd finished, and he'd missed it. Without realizing it, the thought had caused Nat to reflexively pull his hand away, when Moira whispered in his ear. Could you make better contact than the wingtip? Somewhere a bone is near the skin would be best. Beak or skull would do, as well.

  He nodded, and signed again to Tessan — who stretched forward, and laid their beak atop his hand. Nat's initial intuition suggested she was exhausted, but that felt wrong, on reflection. You could sleep an evening and recover from exhaustion. She felt… weary, perhaps — or despondent? He found it difficult to read Human body language though, so he placed no confidence in his ability to discern the emotions of a species he had only a few hours with. He waited for Moira to confirm the contact, or request an adjustment — which came after another two minutes.

  Okay, that will do. Thanks, Nat. Let's adjust the circle a little — do you think you could size it up a bit, for me?

  ‘Sure, how big do you need?’

  Could you do… two, no, three times the current diameter? We're coming up on the time limit, but that should be doable.

  He squinted his eyes at nothing in particular, then considered briefly before he signed a response, ‘Probably? Let's find out.’ He'd already positioned the braid in space underneath, but rather than resizing and finding it would collide, he decided to slide underneath the makeshift wooden structure designed to let multiple meters of wingspan rest comfortably upon it at full extension.

  The work to lengthen the braid wasn't as clear-cut as he'd assumed. It did not want to be lengthened by adding new segments. Which made no sense to Nat — why would that matter — why would two lengths of an identical pattern not merge together? It was the same as knotting a string, wasn't it?

  Nat, we're coming up on the time limit shortly. You'll need to wrap it up and try again in the next cycle.

  Oh. Of course — it wasn't like knotting two ends of a string. It was more akin to weaving a cable, or perhaps a hose, by wrapping the strings around an immaterial core.

  Instead of trying to join two ends of braid, instead he extended the individual filaments which wrapped it — which worked. They would join and twist around the center, where taking two existing strands and trying to glue them together did not. The ends of the braid twisted into each other, in a way that two otherwise identical braids did not. The logic of why that was escaped him, but he did not have time to ponder it.

  To save time, he slid himself out from underneath on his back, looking up into the darkness of the ceiling — past the floating Moira who had abandoned his shoulder when he jumped underneath. ‘Um. Has anybody else noticed that there are two glowing eyes in the windows up there?’

  Lyn was not looking at him, but Moira had apparently relayed his question. They looked up, then turned to him, and signed almost too quickly for him to follow in the dim light. ‘No. Point out where?’

  He held out an arm, and Lyn moved to be in line with it — they looked for a few moments, eye membranes sliding open to fully reveal brilliant cerulean gemstone eyes. The colors muted a moment later, as the protective film returned to its usual position.

  ‘I don't see anything. Is it just some glowing overhead lights? No, it couldn't be — they'd have to be intensely bright to be visible. But this chamber is aetherically shielded.’ Lyn paused. ‘Moira. I think it's time to risk a pulse — scan the observation room, please.’

  Nat wasn't sure he followed the complex sentence, or at least it didn't make sense to him, ‘A pulse? How would that work with me in here? I thought the walls absorb aetheric energy?’

  ‘It's true they're absorptive, but the shielding on the room isn't perfect, or even your trick with the door couldn't work. The windows would likely be the weakest point in the shielding.’

  Also, lest you forget — I'm not in here. This is just where the whole of my non-aetheric sensorium is. Which is what I refer to you all in my head, since ‘everything I care about in this world’ just sounds so co-dependent. So, don't let it go to your head.

  Nat perceived the faintest flash of light up above.

  Well, that's not good. Quick question — what has four arms, and about three and a half hands?

  ‘Fewmets. Where is he? Has he seen us?’

  By his posture, I am confident that he is looking out of the window down at you. From precisely where Nat is pointing. Also, time's up in five, four…

  ‘Moira — deny them additional intelligence — as Novek would say, we're back on the clock here, people.’

  [Slip]