Symbiosis

by Nicky Drayden

  Seske, she means. And now I see how she’s manipulated me. I shake my head. “Absolutely not!” I object, even before the name can be spoken aloud. “Seske’s been through enough. Connecting to our Zenzee again would ruin her.”

  “Aren’t you the one who taught us that sacrifices must be made for the greater good?” Tesaryn Wen asks. “We’ve given up our homes at your insistence. Our privacy. Our family members, too. Surely Seske would agree to put up with a little discomfort for the sake of saving a whole Zenzee?” Tesaryn Wen stands. There is no way for her to lose. If Seske succeeds, it will be Tesaryn Wen who comes out looking like the hero. If Seske fails, in her fragile state, she’ll come undone, and our family along with her. Our Line would dissolve, I would certainly lose my seat as Matriarch, and Tesaryn Wen would be there, eager to gobble up all the pieces.

  “Get Nandi Pharrell prepared to interface with the Zenzee,” I command, refusing to entertain Tesaryn Wen’s suggestion any further. Seske is not an option here. “I want a full risk report and as soon as we’re ready, let’s commence with the diagnostic.”

  Tesaryn Wen smirks at me. “What you want is irrelevant without the support of the Senate. Perhaps we should put it to a vote?”

  I swallow, looking out at our audience of Senate members. Despite the seeds of doubt Tesaryn Wen has planted, I still have many supporters out there. My mothers nod back at me. They will vote in my favor. They must know that this is the best shot we’ve got. And they’ve seen firsthand how Seske suffers, though it’s just as likely that they don’t want the Klang’s issues to interfere with our wedding plans. I’ll take the votes however I can get them.

  “Fine,” I say to Tesaryn Wen. “All in favor of Nandi Pharrell leading the Zenzee coupling, raise your hand.”

  Hands raise, a few at first. Bella Roshaad is one of them, and I am glad to have her behind me. We don’t always see eye-to-eye, but she’s one of the few who took me seriously from day one. And once my mothers throw their support into the mix, many more immediately follow. But I must have crossed too many people, because we’re nowhere near a firm majority.

  Tesaryn Wen counts, then chimes in with fifty-three votes out of a hundred and eighteen possible. Her smile quirks. “Well, I think we have our answer. Seske is the best suited—”

  “No one has cast votes for Seske yet,” I say, cutting her off. “There may be some who choose to remain neutral in the decision.”

  “Very well,” Tesaryn Wen says, pursing her lips at me. “All in favor of Seske Kaleigh leading the coupling, raise your hand.”

  Hands shoot up, faster this time, including Tesaryn Wen’s own, but there is not a majority here either. Tesaryn Wen counts twice, then sighs in frustration. “Fifty-three votes.”

  All the tension I’d carried throughout the assembly slips out of my body. Breaking the tie is one bit of power they had yet to snag from me. “I guess the vote comes down to me.”

  “So what is your decision?” Tesaryn Wen asks. Her face is not bitter, but instead, pleading. What if I’d been reading something into her motivation that wasn’t there? I thought that she wanted to use Seske to better manipulate me, but was Seske the more obvious choice? Wasn’t it better to have someone with practical knowledge over theoretical?

  About ten seconds ago, I thought I’d immediately toss my vote in Nandi Pharrell’s direction, but now I am unsure. It’s foolish to overlook Seske’s experience in the salivatory chambers, but it’s heartless not to recognize the danger it poses. I hate the idea that Tesaryn Wen might be right, but in the end, I need to protect Seske.

  “Based on Farah’s recommendation, Nandi Pharrell is my choice,” I say, the words falling out of my mouth before I can stop them. Nandi Pharrell has never connected with our own Zenzee, but I know she’ll have the skillset that we need. Still, she and our Zenzee will be like strangers working together for the first time in one of the most delicate maneuvers we’ve ever attempted.

  The proceedings conclude and the room starts to clear, but I’m still shaking from the ordeal. Bella Roshaad smiles at me before she leaves, which calms me some. Even my middling support of her idea was more than she’d gotten from anyone else. I make a mental note to meet with her in private, to see exactly how closely our views align. It’s clear that I will need to find more staunch allies.

  Baradonna takes my side. “Some interesting ideas presented here today,” she says to me.

  I shake the nerves from my fingertips and compose myself. “I appreciate your input earlier. Maybe taking in the Klang isn’t quite as far-fetched of an idea as I thought at first. It’s an option we might have to consider eventually. Then and only then do you have permission to say ‘I told you so.’”

  Baradonna wiggles her brow at me. “Well, hopefully the Zenzee coupling will be a success. If our lead tactician thinks it might work, then there’s hope.”

  I swallow the lump in my throat. “Do you think I made the wrong decision with Nandi?”

  “I’m sure Nandi is capable,” Baradonna says, suddenly serious. She puts her hand on my back to comfort me, but now I feel more on edge.

  “I’m sure she is, too,” I say. I wish the pit in my stomach would agree. “I’ve got full confidence in Nandi, but could you keep tabs on Seske for me? Just in case we need her.”

  We watch the procedure from the tactical room, strapped down to our seats. We’ve wasted little time. Two hours have passed, and the two Zenzee are still stuck in a timid embrace, like that of distant acquaintances at a social gathering. Penetration has not been attempted, and the prophylactic-covered tentacles drift listlessly.

  “This isn’t working,” Tesaryn Wen says pointedly, and though I am the object of her scorn, she addresses the other Senators present. “Nandi Pharrell is not the most fit candidate.”

  “Give it more time,” I say. “This is a delicate procedure. We don’t need to rush.”

  “On the contrary,” says Farah. The lead tactician is always eager to show her support of Tesaryn Wen, especially when it means she gets to refute my ideas. “Time is of the essence and we cannot afford for our Zenzee to be vulnerable like this much longer.”

  I curl my lips at her. “Is that your professional opinion, or are you angling for political connections?” I boldly ask, looking from her to Tesaryn Wen and back. I’ve already made a lot of enemies today, so what’s one more? I need the whole truth, and I need to know Farah isn’t being swayed by her allegiance to Tesaryn Wen.

  Farah huffs, hand on her chest and everything. “It’s an unmitigated fact,” she says with bite. “Our navigators are engaged in constant manipulation of the brain to hold this position. The longer and harder our Zenzee fights it, the deeper the damage being done to her cerebral cortex. Not to mention the emotional scars. We can give it another two hours, and then we will have to disengage. Perhaps we should reconsider Ses—”

  “I’ll go check on Nandi and the researchers,” I say, looking for somewhere to channel my nervous energy and to shake off my embarrassment for doubting her. “Maybe the process needs to be spurred on from there.”

  “Matris Kaleigh,” Farah says. “It’s advisable that men do not enter the salivatory chambers.”

  I should trust her. She knows what she’s doing, and she knows what’s best for our Zenzee. And I guess I do, too, but I’m still unwilling to entertain the thought of putting Seske through yet another trauma.

  “I’ll bring four accountancy guards with me. They should be competent enough to keep me safe,” I say with firm defiance.

  Farah’s warning wasn’t misandry, although that might have played a part in it. No, it had merit. While women were reasonably safe to enter the salivatory orifices and connect with the Zenzee, the men who’ve tried it never reemerged, including Wheytt. The Serrata ship had mastered the technique we are attempting, using women they called “Queens” to interact with the Zenzee and keep her company in the absence of connecting to other Zenzee. However, it took dozens and dozens of women to even scratch the sur
face of the Zenzee’s vast and complex mind. The Zenzee found comfort in the quaint interactions, which supposedly kept them from dwelling too much on the loneliness.

  We had considered instituting a practice of using Queens ourselves, but after careful study, the drawbacks became obvious. After months of communing with the Zenzee, the Queens become unable to relate to humans anymore. They slowly forget names. Faces. They forget how to eat on their own, and eventually how to breathe. They become completely dependent upon the Zenzee, confined to their pulsating orifices, hooked up through a series of tentacles. Thrones, the Serrata call them, as if it’s a great honor. Maybe that makes it easier for them to swallow the truth behind the sacrifice.

  We decided against the practice, though the Senate vote was neatly split down the middle, with me as the tiebreaker once again. Our lives would have been considerably easier if I’d gone the other way. The sacrifices we’ve made wouldn’t have had to cut so deeply. We wouldn’t have had to give up so much of our old lives. I made more enemies that day, but that was nothing new. Using the Queens would have been the easier choice, but it wasn’t the better choice. Distracting our Zenzee from her misery didn’t justify us causing more.

  Null gravity has never been kind to me, so I allow my guards to usher me to the salivatory chamber. When the door opens, I see the small contingent of researchers consoling a very distraught Nandi, still sopping with the Zenzee’s fluids and a random tentacle trailing out of the orifice and running up her nose.

  “What’s the status?” I ask impatiently.

  The researchers balk at the sight of me. “You can’t be in here!” one of them yells.

  Already the orifices nearest me have started to show interest in my presence, puckering their lips in an obscene gesture. My guards dutifully swat away the tendrils that emerge from the openings. The tendrils recoil like sulking toddlers, wringing upon themselves into tight coils, before venturing out toward me once again.

  “I am Matris of our people. I can be anywhere I please.” I cross my arms, puff my chest. “Time is of the essence, and I’ve come for a status report. The sooner I have it, the sooner I can leave.”

  “At least move over here, then,” the researcher says, pointing to the exact center of the room, the farthest away I can get from the many, many eager mouths lining the walls, yearning to lap me up with their tendrils.

  “Maybe this is good,” says one of the other researchers. “Maybe with more of an appetite, the Zenzee will be aroused enough to connect with Nandi.”

  “Please don’t send me back in there,” Nandi pleads. “It’s nothing like the simulations.” She looks as if she’s seen a ghost, then starts crying again. To show such vulnerability in front of a man, in front of her Matris, means she’s worse off than I’d thought.

  “One more time,” the researcher says. “I’ll give you a sedative to relax you some. You need to relax. You know all of this! Allow her into you, as much space as she needs.”

  Nandi shakes her head, tears spilling down her cheeks. “I can’t. Not right now. I need some time . . . to . . .” Her eyes drift off and her whole body starts trembling.

  I can’t help but feel like I’m doing to Nandi the exact thing I wanted to prevent Seske from experiencing. Not once had I considered that I’d be destroying one life while protecting another. But right now, we don’t have time to waste on stray thoughts and regrets. There’s no room for Nandi’s misgivings. Or mine. “Give her the sedative,” I say to the researcher, my voice even and calm, though inside, my every thought is roiling.

  The shot is administered, and once Nandi’s settled, she plunges headfirst into the throbbing orifice without resistance. It puckers wider, welcoming her inside. Then she’s shoulder deep. Hip deep. Ankle deep. And then the glistening lips press shut, and there’s nothing left of Nandi on the outside. A deep hum comes from the orifice, as though someone is masticating on a tender bit of flesh. Nandi’s shrill cries peak over it for a moment before turning to whimpers, then fading to nothing.

  Together, we all watch the orifice, lulled by the rhythmic motion, the sloshing, the convulsing.

  “This is good,” the researcher says, drawing up a virtual display in front of us. “This is much more of a response than we had before.” We see the live feed of the two Zenzee again, but this time, the capped tentacles of our Zenzee are erect and purposely moving toward the Klang’s. They disappear inside the Zenzee’s exposed underflesh, and the Klang’s behemoth lets out a massive shudder. Its limp limbs come to life and find our Zenzee’s underflesh in kind. It is our turn to shudder now, but the tremor is subtle, more like a ripple. Nandi cries out inside her throne, but it sounds less like a cry of pain and more like one of pleasure.

  The first images from Nandi’s mind link are projected onto the screen. They’re fuzzy and fleeting, like snatches of memory from a dream. We catch glimpses of the Klang’s Zenzee through her connection with ours as Nandi travels from one organ to the next. While it is impossible for her to process everything, she will note where the Klang’s Zenzee is failing the hardest and maybe even why. Snippets of indistinguishable data scroll across the screen, absolute nonsense from my perspective, but our finest researchers will pore over the footage, analyzing it for the source of the Klang’s ills.

  It’s all so hypnotic.

  Another scream comes from Nandi, pulling me out of my reverie. Pain this time. Intense pain. The researcher’s brow cocks as she examines the screen closely, staring at a room with organically tiled flooring and a curtain of ropes hanging from the ceiling, each ending in a tear-shaped bulb that glows faintly. It’s hard to get a sense of scale, but it reminds me of the inside of a ballroom. “The aliefe structure,” the researcher says. “One of the several Zenzee organs with no analog to our physiology. Little is known about it. It’s been almost dormant in all of the studies we’ve performed, but the Klang’s . . . it seems to be coming alive.” Nandi’s screaming intensifies, but it has become like a song. Lilting and almost pleasant to listen to. Somehow arousing.

  “We need more data,” the head researcher says, quickly attaching nodes onto her own forehead. She hastily tests the connections, and when she’s done, the virtual screens are split. Her feed on one and Nandi’s on the other.

  No one stops her. In another minute, she chooses the throne three over from Nandi. Or maybe it has chosen her. She barges inside and disappears. The two other researchers look at the remaining nodes sitting on the metal tray, then nod at each other, splitting them evenly between them. “More data,” they say, their voices the same eerie monotone.

  Then they are gone, and it is just me, surrounded by my four guards.

  “Maybe we should leave,” one of them suggests, but no one moves.

  One of the mouths gropes for me, more so than the others. It has no eyes, but I know that it is watching me. Lusting after me. Or maybe it has sensed my arousal. A long, thick tendril erupts from its lips. Had there been gravity, it would have thumped to the floor, bridled by its ridiculous girth, but in null gee, it moves with grace. Toward me. It wants inside me, but I . . .

  I—

  My guards step to the side and allow it to pass. They know that this tendril is special. That it is mine.

  We forget that we have made a mistake in coming to this place and wonder why we haven’t been here all along. My guards each find the thrones that call to them, Queens, each and every one of them. And then I am alone.

  The tendril stops inches from my face. I caress it once, like the cheek of my lover. It circles carefully around my neck, once, twice. Then tugs. The things it wishes to do to me cannot be done out here, in the open. We need the comfort and safety of a throne. I am eager, but shy to show it, and drift slowly toward the mouth that beckons me with such lustful haste.

  “Ayeeeee!” comes a voice from behind me. Once upon a time, I knew who it belonged to, but it seems I have already forgotten. My thoughts are a fog between my ears, but I watch in horror as the woman raises her knife and cuts do
wn on the tendril, separating me from my lover. I wail out in pain as thick black ichor forms droplets floating in the air.

  The tendril reels back, and the mouth seals shut. Impenetrable. I feel like I’ve lost my home, and I fold up into a helpless ball.

  “Shhh, shhh,” the woman says, curling me into her bulk like a babe. She plucks thin tendrils from the corners of my eyes, my nose, nearly transparent and as thin as fishing wire. I hadn’t even realized they were there. “Ol’ Baradonna is here for you,” she says.

  I nod as my mind starts to become my own again. Gradually, I realize there is a mechanical shriek filling the room. I look back at the projection and see red warning lights showing on the feeds of the four researchers. By the timestamps, it appears they’ve all been there for an hour now, much too long.

  “We need to decouple the ships,” I tell Baradonna.

  “Okay,” she says. “How do we do that?”

  “I don’t know. All the researchers are in there,” I say, pointing to the wall of mouths. Baradonna tries to pry open the rim of one the salivatory orifices a researcher is in, but it’s much too tight. Doesn’t even give an inch.

  “Seske,” I say, though I hate to have to call upon her. “She might know what to do.”

  Baradonna shakes her head. “I looked everywhere. I can’t find her. Your will-mother-in-law says she and Charrelle came back from their outing, then ran off together. It’s like they’ve disappeared.”

  “What do you mean, ‘disappeared’? No one saw where they went?”

  “Your will-mother said they were both quite upset. Didn’t say why, though. They snuck away. I traced their scent a ways, but lost it in the second ass. Everything smells like day-old shit there.”

  Seske and I had been on several misadventures, and I know how good she is at not being tracked, even if she is one of the most high-profile women among our people. But if they took a turn in the second ass—