“Why?”

It was the same question Rebecca had asked, all those years ago, and Mwashanta still didn’t have a good answer. He coughed softly, in embarrassment, and tried to keep his ears forward. Erin was already angry with him and he wanted to avoid another screaming fit.

“You hear,” he tapped the base of his skull with a hunting claw. “Can feel, yes? When they talk.” He hadn’t spoken English in decades and it showed. The Aashin snapped his teeth, hunting for the words. “Like… radio? Can hear, no speak. Good for secrets. Spies.” He waved a hand to encompass the ship and its crew. “When Becca gone, need new you. So, borrow.”

Apparently ‘borrow’ was not a good choice, Mwashanta ducked back through the door a whisker ahead of the enraged teenager. He leaned back against the cool ceramic and took a moment to thank Maai for soundproofing. There was a whistle-click of laughter from his right and he looked over to see Tvansha leaned against the bulkhead and looking smug. “What.”

“You’re lucky you have any fur left,” she smirked, “calling it a radio. What were you thinking?”

“I was thinking she was a radio,” Mwashanta sighed. “Was Becca ever more than that?”

Tvansha’s expression slid from smug into cold hostility.