"Was it ever apparent why the Cetagandans were invading?"

"Ultimately, because there's an ongoing instability in the social fabric of the Cetagandan Empire that pushes its lower-tier nobility to external conquest as a comparatively easy-looking source of wealth and status. Proximally, Cavilo may have encouraged them into it. We never got her under fast-penta, so we never found out for sure."

"You make Men sound much, much worse than even our worst tales of them. But nonetheless rather compelling."

"There are a lot of really awful people in the galaxy. It's a big galaxy," says Miles. "There are a lot of really wonderful people in it, too, but they start fewer wars."

"I've heard that's a marker of wonderful people, yes."

Miles snorts. "Yes. Anyway, I hope I'm managing to entertain you."

He also hopes he's managing to provide viable evidence that this reality is not an elaborate fiction, but he's not going to inquire after that one directly because if this reality were an elaborate fiction it would not be in Maitimo's interests to admit to being convinced otherwise. He doesn't expect to hear any interim feedback on the ultimate success of this project, and wouldn't feel right asking for it.

He doesn't comment on that. He can imagine the sophistication it would take to make up this story; he can't actually imagine the sophistication it would take to make up the memories and thoughts accompanying the story. He is trying to evaluate how Macalaurë will react if he announces he's reclaiming the command. Perhaps he should wait until he can walk.

"I should go learn Thindarin or something. Get my brain running again. See you later," he says, turning to go.

Yeah, he'll wait until he can walk unless some calamity demands his attention earlier.

And Miles steps out and says, "Who wants to teach me Thindarin today? And how are those gender-neutral pronouns coming along?"

Lots of people are still delighted to teach him Thindarin, and the pronouns are being debated but in Valinor decisions like that took years.

Then he will happily spend some time trading languages, English for Thindarin. Although this time he plans to cut it short around sundown. Sleep is important.

The Elves disagree, and are sad to see him go.

"I'll be back tomorrow," he assures them.

Back across the lake, a quick check with the engineers that turns into four hours talking logic gates with Ténië, yep that sure is why he gave himself such a generous bedtime, off to the shuttle with him.

In the morning he's almost willing to confidently expect that there will have been no disasters while he slept.

Somehow all these people did manage to live in a city together for several thousand years. No disasters.

Right then! Ration bar, quick chat with Ténië, whoops where did half the morning go, and then he heads across the lake and remote-updates their readers with assorted technical notes and proceeds to the library.

Macalaurë meets him outside it. "Let's talk about recording devices."

"Sure, what about them?"

"How high-fidelity are they? Would we be able to tell the difference, on playback?"

"That depends on the quality of the devices used for recording and playback and the data format used to store the information in between. We could test it. Why?"

Is he going to get to enrich someone's life? He loves it when he gets to enrich someone's life.

"I can sing storms into existence, I can sing blades out of peoples' hands, I can sing injuries closed, I did not spend two days singing to my brother when we got him back from Angband out of sentimentality. What are the higher-fidelity options like?"

Ooh. This definitely sounds like an opportunity to enrich some lives.

"If you wanted maximum fidelity I'm afraid you'd have to come sing at my shuttle, the armour's microphones are good but not that good, but electrical generation is coming along pretty well and I should have it flightworthy again in a few weeks if no unexpected problems crop up. For the best I can get out of what I've got on me, well," he replays the armour's recording of Macalaurë saying 'higher-fidelity options'. It's pretty damn precise. Even an Elf would have to pay close attention to notice any flaws.

"We can try that," he says, "and go for better options if that one is insufficient."

"Sure," says Miles. "Magic songs. Can't say I would have guessed that one. What would make a good test?"

He sings. After a few minutes a wind whirls up around them, making his hair fan out dramatically around his face.