“You’re allowed to enjoy being out,” she added.
“I don’t wish to seem ungrateful.”
“No fear of that. I don’t expect gratitude from you. Or anything else for that matter. Whatever you feel, whenever you feel it, that’s acceptable and valid. If you were angry with me, I would understand that as well.”
In truth, he had been at first. He held quiet as she led the way, tapping her wrist unit against a screen near the entrance. “Was that currency?”
“No, we have a robust arts program on Tiralan, and all citizens receive free access to admire our greatest collective works. This is a membership program that tracks how often you use such facilities.”
“For what purpose?”
Interestingly enough, from the flutter of her head tendrils, Qalu didn’t seem certain. “Perhaps to gauge the popularity? If modern art attracts more attention than classical works?”
“An intriguing theory. I would be interested in seeing the comparative data.”
“I’m not sure it’s disbursed,” Qalu said.
“That is disappointing. More information is always preferable.”
“Never mind that. Let’s start here. Do you want to listen to the narrator describe the history and inspiration for each piece?”
Helix stood in front of a three-dimensional painting, and somehow the colors seemed to shift and slide, coming toward him as if the frame were full of water. The spectrum was cool but somehow not at all soothing, more urgent and a touch disturbing. His insides tightened as he studied the piece. He had no notion how he was supposed to be reacting, whether there was a correct response to what he perceived. Clearly clarification was required.
“Yes, please.”
“Put this on.” Qalu indicated a clunky wrist unit, not sleek and elegant like hers.
He complied and she carefully activated it without touching him. Suddenly, he had a stranger’s voice in his head. “This work is called Feral Ocean. The artist was inspired by marine life and created a constantly changing piece. Many viewers feel a sense of calm—”
He turned it off by tapping the unit. “I have a question.”
“What is it?”
“If my impressions don’t match what I’m being told, does that mean I am incorrect?”
“Definitely not. Why, do your thoughts differ?”
“I agree about the color shifts, but the painting disturbs me. I don’t feel quiet at all when I look at it.” In fact, the longer he stared, the more he gained a sense of menace, as if something lurked deep beneath the churning colors, a dreadful threat.
“Then why don’t you skip the narration? There’s no right and wrong in art. Even if your opinions differ, the painting exists apart from the creator’s intentions.”
“Is that true?”
“Absolutely.”
“Then no matter what I intend when I craft a piece, the audience brings their own bias and experience. There can be no correct response. Art is entirely subjective.”
“I think that’s a reasonable statement, though there are empirical criteria for evaluation, such as whether the technique is skilled.”
“You’ve given me much to consider.” Thoughtful, Helix moved to the next piece.
This one affected him differently than the chaotic one. First, the colors were static, and though they were all earthy, reminding him of the Barrens on Barath, they were also somehow welcoming. He couldn’t tell what the picture was meant to represent, but the flow of color opened a tightness in his chest. The longer he looked, the better he felt.
“What do you think?” she asked eventually.
“It’s very warm. Restful. Beautiful,” he dared to add, because now he felt sure about the word, about the way beauty made him feel. There was softness and warmth, a sweetness that made it easier to breathe.
Just then, he glanced at Qalu and realized the tones of her skin were echoed in the painting he found comforting and lovely. Bronze, here and there, glazed and gleaming. Her eyes shone in that hue, and if he searched hard, he could find shadows of her in the picture as well: head tendrils in those lines, the curve of her face near the bottom.
What does this mean?
“I like this piece as well,” Qalu said. “And I’ve always preferred not to hear how I’m supposed to feel about a particular work. The discrepancy only makes me feel inadequate.”
She let Helix set their pace, and he moved with precision from piece to piece, lingering at some, moving on quickly from others. Soon, she discovered he preferred warm tones to cool ones, and he liked concrete depictions as opposed to abstract art. Helix seemed enthralled, entirely focused on each piece.
Eventually he said, “It’s true.”
“What is?”
“A faithful reproduction does not carry the same impact as experiencing the original work with my own…eyes.”
Before she could reply, someone called, “Qalu, is that you? It’s been ages! How are you? Still working with those replicas?”
Not him. Please, not him.
She turned to offer a respectful greeting and also to confirm that it was him. Her foremother had thought she and Gravitch might make a good match, given that he was part of the Scientific Coalition. Qalu had met him a few times and found his personality absolutely grating. She hadn’t spoken to him since their last encounter and had ignored all his messages. Yet he was hurrying toward her with every evidence of pleasure, as if he didn’t realize she had cut their connection on purpose. He was small for a Tiralan with a wiry build and skin that radiated from pale green to a deep moss on his scales.
“They’re not replicas,” she said icily. “They are biosynthetic—”
“Never mind that. You’re not here for work.”
I am, actually. That was how Gravitch had been each time they met, talking over her, interrupting her, and minimizing her achievements. He was truly the worst prospect Inatol had ever offered, but then, Qalu had rejected five perfectly nice femmes, four gender-neutral prospects, and three male suitors before Gravitch was offered. She took no insult from the suggestion, as Inatol had probably been desperate by then.
With Helix by her side, she would not suffer such awkwardness any longer.
“Let me introduce my companion, Helix.” She wished she could link their limbs together to make the point visually, but she had promised to respect his boundaries, so she didn’t touch him. “Helix, this is Gravitch.”
“Who’s this?” Gravitch cut in.
She saw him register Helix’s sheer physical perfection, and she took secret pride in how well she’d designed the prototype. Gravitch was seedy in comparison, which wouldn’t matter if he had an agreeable disposition. She had no idea what Inatol had been thinking when she selected him for a potential match. It must have been their mutual interest in science, but even then, Gravitch was more of an administrator, secretly looking down on those who preferred research. If she recalled correctly, he enjoyed doing the assessments for the science coalition, deciding who deserved their annual stipend.
“I cohabitate with Qalu,” Helix replied unexpectedly. “This morning, I met with her mothers. They all like me very much.”
That…is perfect. Delightfully, it was all scrupulously true and those revelations combined to give a certain impression. She could almost imagine that Helix had been designed with a knack for chicanery. Gravitch glanced between them, visibly nonplused.