A treehouse. She would live in a treehouse. He couldn't decide how he felt about that. On the one hand, it was an easy glide for a disembodied mind, down through the branches and among the airy lights of the reservation. On the other, he wasn't good with forests and any landmarks that existed were indistinguishable to his eyes.

Luckily, he didn't depend on physical direction. The person he was seeking was just ahead, and, he thought, a little below his current path. He drifted quietly down, alighting on the balcony and making himself as visible as he could manage from such a distance. It was easier with the shadows of dusk muting the already dim glow beneath the canopy.

"Psst," he whispered through the open window. He knew she was inside. "Kit'scheni. You awake?" He paused, listening to the silence. "Here, kit-kit-kit..."

A flurry of motion made the window darken, and a sudden presence took his breath away. "Who?" She recognized him immediately, and he tried not to let his relief show. If she had raised the alarm, things could have gotten very interesting.

"What are you doing here?" she demanded. "How did you get past the net? Why did you... why are you glowing? What are you doing here?"

"Came to see you," he said boldly. "What are you doing here?"

She stared at him in shock. "I live here," she managed at last. "And why me? Did I do something wrong? Have you come to take me away?"

"Do you want to be taken away?" he countered, holding his form steady with an effort. She hadn't meant it like that. She was as scared as the rest of her people, knowing there would come a day when the reservation's marginal protection would fail them completely.

It was only one of the reasons that he had to offer. He would take her away if she wanted, but not the way they would. He would take her as an equal, not a sub-person.

"I'll fight it with my last breath," she said defiantly. "This is my home, not yours, and if you think for one moment that you have any ability to change that then I'll be more than happy to prove you wrong."

Oh, he really liked her. He liked her a lot. "I'm not here to take you away," he said, when she stopped long enough for him to get a word in. "I told you, I just came to see you. I was worried."

She seemed mystified by that. "About what?" she asked at last.

"You. This isn't exactly the safest little corner of the universe you're living in," he reminded her. "I wanted to see how you are when you're not surrounded by twenty or thirty armed guards."

"Why?" she repeated. "Why me? Do you need to come in? And why are you glowing, again?"

"No thanks," he said easily. "I can keep a better watch out here. And I'd rather not be caught off guard if they drop the net without warning."

"How did you get past it in the first place?" she wanted to know. "How many times do I have to ask what you're doing here before you answer?"

"I'm not," he answered, admiring her rapid-fire style of questioning. "Not here at all, actually, but the net could still catch me if they drop it while I'm corporeal like this."

"Corporeal?" she repeated. She was giving him a blank look, whiskers twitched back in startled confusion. Her tufted ears were flat against her head.

He reached out to stroke her fur on a whim, and to his own surprise, she let him. "Corporeal," he agreed quietly. "Like this."

"But--" She gave his fingers an almost cross-eyed look, careful not to move her head. "Why wouldn't you be? If you're not here, where are you?"

She didn't forget, either. "Sleeping," he told her, letting his hand fall. "About three galaxies away. Here I'm just--" He let his hand pass right through the windowsill. "Just a projection, really."

Now she was really staring, wide eyes and stiff posture that screamed defense! Still she didn't move, making no attempt to back away, let alone sound the alarm. "What are you?" she breathed.

"You knew I was an alien," he reminded her. "Why so surprised now?"

"Knowing you're an alien is one thing," she snapped. "Knowing you're a crazy alien is something else."

"Oh, are you worried about me?" He played it up, but secretly he was delighted. "I'm touched!"

"In the head," she muttered. "You're lucky I didn't sound the alarm when I heard someone speaking Trade at the window."

"So teach me your language." He leaned forward, concentrating just enough to appear as though he was bracing his arm against the windowsill while he peered inside. "Next time I won't have to whisper."

"Next time?" she hissed. He couldn't tell whether she was amused or outraged. "I can't! You must know I'd be exiled for sharing the language!"

"What do you think I'm going to do?" he inquired. The space behind her was annoyingly dim, making it difficult for him to see much of her dwelling. "Write a book?"

"How do I know what you'd do with it?" She made no move to block his view, though he was willing to be that she didn't know much about their relative physiological abilities. Her people were awfully isolated here. "You could be a Na'i'da spy for all I know!"

Whatever that was. He'd have to learn something about this planet before the coronation. A token meeting of delegates, especially under guard and in the company of sworn enemies, had taught him exactly nothing. Except that the reservations had defenses he didn't want to trifle with, and Kit'scheni was an outspoken rabble-rouser who had caught his attention with her unwillingness to submit. To anything.

"Teach me by rote," he suggested. "Don't tell me what the words mean. Just give me a phrase that will get your attention without triggering the 'net or die' reaction."

The speculative gleam in her eyes told him that she was about to make a fool of him. Somewhat to his surprise, he realized he didn't care. So when she spat out two phrases in her native tongue he listened idly and repeated them back to her verbatim. "Iths'chi'na. Eneth, schen ik'la."

His accent could have been better, he mused.

Her wide, toothy grin did not entirely hide the evidence of her surprise. "You mimic well," she remarked, wariness barely buried underneath her obvious entertainment.

He drew back a little, mindful of what might now seem a visual intrusion as well as an auditory one. "I probably should have warned you," he offered. "I remember everything. Don't teach me anything that could get you into trouble."

"Now you say this," she scoffed, but she actually seemed to relax some at his words. "I should teach you nothing!"

"But you won't," he countered. Any more than he would stay at home sleeping when there was even a single place in the universe he had yet to see. It wasn't a challenge that he saw in her. It was a kindred spirit.

"Are you so certain?" she demanded.

"Yes," he said easily. "The status quo is boring, Kit'scheni. You'll teach me because it will make something happen, and you like to see things happen. I know because that's why I'm here. I like to see things happen too."

"I do not court disaster," she snapped.

He brightened. "Would you let disaster court you?" he teased. "If he was particularly smooth about it?"

She stared at him stonily.

He looked down at the windowsill, poking it carefully with a steady finger. "I'd prefer they be good things, too," he told the sill. "The things we make happen--I'd rather they were good. But you don't get good things without risking the bad. I've made some bad things happen... I like to think I've made up for them with the good things."

"No bad decision can be erased," she reminded him.

"And no good one can be undone. Even by doing nothing, we make a decision. It's just a matter of whether we take responsibility for it or not."

She didn't answer right away. It was dark enough now that he was casting shadows, and he allowed his form to fade a little so that he might be less conspicuous. Was that even possible? How many people were out tonight, how many would wander through this part of the forest, and how many would look up--or down?

"Eneth is the homeland," she said at last. "The closest equivalent to 'schen' is 'life'. Or perhaps hope, nourishment... that which sustains."

He briefly compared the two sounds to every native word he had heard her utter. "Is that anything like the 'scheni' in your name?" he wondered.

There was a pause. "It is," she conceded, her tone somewhere between annoyed and grudgingly impressed. "Scheni. One who lives the true life, or the real life."

He tried not to roll his eyes. "You made me say something religious, didn't you."

She made a scratchy sound which, after a moment, he decided to interpret as laughter. "Heathen."

She didn't sound fanatically upset about it, he noted. "Come on, tell me," he prodded. "What did I say?"

She yielded unexpectedly, and he could still hear the undertone of mirth in her voice. "'I renounce my alien ways and accept the homeland as the one true source of life.'"

He gave that statement due consideration. "I like it in your language better," he decided.

The scratchy sound came again, and he smiled to himself. He could get used to that. "So how do I say, 'wake up and come to the window'?"

She didn't answer right away. He doubted he had offended her, but he had gotten to the point where the thought that he might have was a little bit troubling. When her answer finally came, it reassured him.

"I do have a door, you know."