The city was full of lights and colorful explosions in the sky that painted over its usual dreary dark blue with shades of brilliant red and orange. The source of these explosions was all too familiar to her, that stewarn-headed Junovian from her class with poor impulse control. What was his name again? Phatasma? Proton? Something with a "p" that ended in "stop trying to win me over".

It started two cycles ago and continued every month since, this painting the sky with ephemeral lights in a sort of dance with her. The male Junovian knew that Prisma enjoyed travelling, seeing other worlds and photographing their likeness. But travel was expensive, and the male had taken it upon himself to try to bring other worlds to her. A gift fit for a queen-mother, at least that's what he told her.

They met in hydropology after being assigned to each other as lab partners. Their goal was to keep a flora sample transported all the way from the Core alive for half a cycle. That meant a lot of trips to each other's nests, and a lot of time in close contact. She wondered if the male was reading too much into things; all the maternal instincts and traits that she displayed were purely automatic responses to taking care of the flora. Nothing more than that.

Certainly not.

The explosions died down almost as quickly as they began. Had he spotted her?

Just as quickly as the thought crossed her mind, the male Junovian descended from a silky rope attached to the supernest behind her. Prisma turned to face him, folding her arms over one another, her head shifted to one side as she looked the male up and down.

"Still not impressed?" He said, clattering his dominant mandibles, "By the stars you are tough to "wow"."

"I don't think breaking the law is something a worthy mate would do," Prisma replied, her four primary eyes narrowed into slits, "besides, I have standards and you certainly don't fit the bill."

The male closed his eyes, letting out a chuckle through his secondary, smaller set of mandibles, "Come on, Pris, don't be like that."

Prisma straightened, "You're blatantly defying SysCo laws, using that thing like that. Aren't you supposed to be like a GCP officer or something soon?"

"GCP cadet. And they still let you in even if you have a little fun every once in a while. Who in this system is going to report me anyway? You?" Another chuckle.

"Someone might and then SysCo is going to take you away somewhere on the other side of the galaxy and I'll never get to-"

The male narrowed his eyes, clattering his dominant mandibles ever so slightly, "Never get to what, my queen?"

"Never get to..." Prisma racked her brain, desperate for a less embarrassing response.

She came up blank.

"Ah," The male said, jabbing her in the shoulder, "You're a big softie under that exoskeleton."

Prisma jabbed him back, "You're literally the most annoying lifeform on this planet. I hope when they ship you off, you get stuck on some scorching hot desert world like Hamea and dry up and die."

"Flattery will get you nowhere fast, my queen." The male bowed, a parody of an actual queen's guard. She snickered at him, then burst out into howling laughter, causing the male to stumble and fall flat on his face.

Prisma snorted against her will, before spinning on her heels and covering her face, "Your form is awful. You look like a hatchling taking their first steps into trumble!" Then, she added with a little sarcastic sting to her voice, "If you weren't going into the GCP, you'd make a fantastic jester!"

The male sat up on his posterior, all four hands rubbing either side of his face, "Oh, my dearest queen Prisma, a terrible fate has befallen me! I seem to have lost my balance and fallen over. Forgive me, my queen, my world, my universe!"

Prisma could feel the haemolymph course through her abdomen and flush her mandibles. Her thorax vibrated but for the briefest of moments, quick enough for her to regain conscious control and stop it before it made any noise. She stifled another chuckle. How could this lifeform, this *matured* lifeform, act like a fresh hatchling? Surely it was all an act, there's no way anything in the entire galaxy was this moronic.

She turned to face him, offering two of her hands. "Get up, it's not very attractive seeing you like that."

The male took her hands and hoisted himself up. He dusted off his clothes, secondary mandibles clattering before he said, "So, you think I'm more attractive on my feet, or in the air, painting the sky for you?"

Prisma snatched her hand away, "I never said you were attractive, just, being on the ground made it more obvious is all. And for the record, that thing you do? Using government gifted biotech without the necessary permission or even a permit?"

The male's eyes widened, "Yeah?"

"Could you stop? Seriously, isn't SysCo huge on rules and order?"

"They'll make an exception for their golden lifeform," Prisma stared, hard, as he said that. He scratched the back of his head, looking down at his feet, "But if my queen commands me to stop, I will."

"I'm not your queen," Prisma paused as a starskipper zoomed overhead, through the skyline. It wasn't a design that she was familiar with, even among the more obscure System Collective designs that went out of service centuries ago. She sighed, avoiding eye contact with the male, crossing her arms, "and you will never be my queen's guard."

The male closed his eyes, hanging his head low. Prisma thought for a moment that she might have accidentally ended the dance they had become so accustomed to just like that. One comment too far, a phrase said with too much cruelty. She thought to reach out and touch him, if only to make sure that he hadn't died from embarrassment or something. But then, in that moment, the male perked up again, mandibles rubbing against one another gently.

"I won't lie to you, that stung." He said, clutching the part of his carapace over his heart dramatically.

Prisma's shoulders sagged ever so slightly, "Sorry." She offered.

"You can make it up to me with dinner. Newt and scartonami?"

The male was as observant as he was annoying. Perhaps she shouldn't have ordered out as much when they were taking care of that stupid flora. Still, it was free food. Good food, even. She could out up with this methane-brained Junovian a while longer if that was the case.

"From where?" She asked, already knowing the answer. There was only one place to get genuine newt and scartonami on this side of the Nest Cluster.

"Porthalu's," The male shrugged both sets of shoulders, "Only the best in the Nest Cluster for my... friend."

Prisma unfolded her arms, "Lead the way, jester."

The eatery wasn't too far of a walk from where they were, and with a brisk pace in anticipation of free food, the pair arrived there in a matter of minutes. Prisma and the male walked in silence, mostly. The male tried to make conversation but she wasn't having any of it. There simply wasn't enough time left for small talk.

Not nearly enough.

Porthalu's was exactly the same as when she was a hatchling, wriggling around in the abdomen of her father. The doors, made of tightly woven silk and metal, still creaked with the familiar creeeek they made, as if the hinges hadn't been lubricated since the beginning of time. For all Prisma knew, they hadn't.

Still, the inside of the establishment was filled with layers upon layers of different scents, from the scartonami to boiled carapace, from steamed flora to charred meat. Quite a pleasant mixture of aromas.

As they sat together by one of the dug-out windows, Prisma stared at the Junovians walking through the streets of the Nest Cluster, minding their own business. She took note of the queen's guard, adorned in their silken jackets with war paint across their bodies unique to each queen they served. She regarded the business-folk, both Junovian and not, as they conversed with one another, no doubt trying to establish trade of some kind to put this planet back in on the starmaps. The artists, known for their black abdomens and colorful mandibles, painted the sides of supernests with their insignias. Not unlike the male sitting across from her, really. The local enforcers chased them away in their own little dance of predator and prey.

They had time for that sort of thing, she supposed.

"It won't be long," The male started. He had ordered them both scartonami while Prisma wasn't paying attention, "before I get sent through the warp gate and start my life as a GCP officer."

Prisma sighed, clattering her secondary mandibles together softly, "You think I don't know that?"

The male shrugged, "You'll make an excellent queen-mother. Don't doubt yourself."

"You're a hatchling," Prisma responded, "a literal hatchling with super powers."

"What can I say, I'm good at what I do. Good enough for SysCo themselves to take notice."

"That's not a good thing!" Prisma said, a bit louder than she would have liked. She let out a bit more of her true emotions, then. Dialing it back, she added, "They might not even give you a warp pass at this rate."

The male rubbed his dominant mandibles together before reaching into his pocket and removing something. He placed the thing on the table in front of them, a small holographic card with his name and credentials on it.

Weaver, it said, Level 1 Warp Gate access ONLY.

Prisma felt a sharp pain in her abdomen.

"Oh."

"You can come with me," the male, Weaver, said as he put the card back in his pocket, "I can apply for a cultural exception. You'd live on-base with me somewhere, maybe in the Mid-Rim if we're lucky, or even the Inner-Rim if we're really lucky. This doesn't have to end, you know."

"I..."

Before she could respond, their food had arrived at the table, hot and steaming. Weaver took a leg off the scartonami and broke it in half, offering Prisma the larger portion. She took it, staring at him, contemplating. She said nothing as she ate.

Secretly, she wished this moment would have lasted forever. She willed it with her entire being, just to be stuck in this moment in time. She didn't have feelings for Weaver, of course, but his company was nice and he gave her something to laugh at. That would be gone before the season was over.

She stared out of her window, mouth full of scartonami, and made eye contact with a human being wearing a broken space suit staring right back at her. She blinked, and then he was gone.

Prisma swallowed, "I'll think about it."