"You learn that you can't really survive in this family without relying on it, in a strange sort of way."

"Hmm?"

"If you don't believe that we can and will do everything, everyone's expectations are overwhelming and you have to face all of the bad things we've done and it's too much to ever possibly justify and you wonder who you even are. If you do believe it, then everything that matters is in the future, and all it takes to make the future good is to invent things."

"...Well, that's... a familiar way of thinking," he says. "And reminds me of my intention to go tell Macalaurë interesting stories about my life sometime. Not right now, though, we still haven't finished exchanging information about electrical generators."

Magnets!

They talk well into the night; at some point someone brings them food.

Oh, right, that. Food and sleep, those both exist.

...but inventing is more fun. And Tyelperinquar is a delight.

Interesting stories from Miles's life do end up making it into the conversation, for example when he explains as an aside that you can use magnets to propel a projectile made of or encased in magnet-affected materials very quickly, and in the course of this explanation mentions that when he was fifteen he accidentally turned an interactive display at a science museum into a makeshift railgun.

"Are these easier to invent than your Balrog-killers? What's their range and accuracy?"

"Much easier, at least in principle. Range and accuracy both depend on construction, which depends partially on the strength of your available materials. I can probably assemble a prototype for testing." He yawns. "...But before I do that, I should sleep."

"Good night."

"Goodnight. Lovely meeting you."

He makes the trek back to his shuttle, which is not the most comfortable available bed but maintains the advantage of offering him breakfast without his needing to dip into any elves' scarce supplies, and sleeps and wakes up and eats a 24-hour ration bar and reminds himself that if it comes up he should update his estimate of the length of his food supply now that he's given half of it away and exits his shuttle and wades underwater to shore.

"I can't hear them, they're out of range," she greets him. "I assume they're not all dead, but if they are we'll run over to Macalaurë's side of the lake and ask him to protect us, I'm now reasonavbly confident he would. We have a bigger generator. I think we require less sleep than you."

"I think you require less sleep than me too. I have some fascinating insights about generator construction to deliver, unless I've been preempted. Would now be a good time for someone to help me add your alphabet to the set of alphabets recognized by the readers? It will involve coming into my shuttle and writing things."

"Can do. Guess who invented the alphabet?"

"Is it the same person who invented nearly everything else?"

"I think he was scared that he'd lose it all if he ever stopped. Or maybe it was just that he'd lose the reputation for constantly coming up with it."

"Well, that's unexpectedly relatable."

"He was not a happy man, and he ried very hard to earn all of the things he was desperate to have. I think that's why everyone forgave him for so long."

Miles sighs. "Yeah..."

"I'm not trying to make you feel sorry for him. Mass murderer. Twice over. Just - we did understand, this didn't happen because no one understood. And we still do, and that doesn't make it any better."

"An unusually depressing Miles Story springs to mind..."

"Do share."

"...Before I was born, my grandfather tried to kill me."

"What? How?"

"Oh, 'how' is the easy question. There's a device for that. Most children of Men spend little if any time in their mothers' bodies unless their parents are old-fashioned; they grow in a uterine replicator until it's time to be born, instead. Under most circumstances it's safer that way. No, the hard question here is why."

"That too."