by Nick Webb
What is your background, and does it inform your writing?
I am a scientist by training and a writer by hobby, but that has recently flipped. I’m now a full-time professional writer, and dream of doing science on the side. I have a Ph.D. in experimental physics and have done work for Los Alamos National Lab and a handful of other government agencies. Does it inform my writing? Yes and no. I mean, it’s great to have a solid grasp of science and physical laws and it certainly makes “hand-waving” a bit easier since I’m fluent in the language of science. But on the other hand, this is fiction, and for me the characters and the story are far more important than writing a book with 100% accurate science.
What are you working on now?
I just finished up my Legacy Fleet trilogy, which was one of the bestselling SciFi series last year, for which I’m both flabbergasted and grateful. Next up will be something similar: another space opera trilogy set in the same universe as the Legacy Fleet trilogy. After that I’m going to shift my focus to something more present day. For years I’ve developed the wonderfully addicting habit of Wikipedia surfing—I’ll start on a benign page like “Solid Rocket Motors,” and eventually, twenty pages later, will be reading up on the origins of Rosicrucian secret societies in late medieval Europe. For over a year I’ve planned to write my “Wikipedia surfing” technothriller—something where I can dump everything I’ve learned falling down the Wikipedia rabbit holes and cram them all into one novel, a hodgepodge of conspiracy theories, reimaginings of historical events, and in general explodey, shootey goodness against the backdrop of a present day societal-techno crisis.
So how can readers find you?
Come friend me on Facebook (https://www.facebook.com/authornickwebb), and/or sign up on my website at www.nickwebbwrites.com to receive all my short stories for free!
Symbiosis
by Rory Hume
MARI HAD SEEN the space elevator go down to the surface of Verdu too many times to count. From a holodisplay.
It was one thing watching the elevator take cargo to a planet from a flickering light on your desk. It was something else to be in the damn elevator.
It didn’t help that Mari wasn’t secured in one of the biped seats when she’d forced the elevator to drop. She’d had one strap on her shoulder and had been fumbling to put the other strap on when the pounding on the door started. Rationally, she knew that she had at least enough time to get the harness closed, and it would have taken more than five seconds to breach the door. But the box under her arm sloshed, Mari felt a flash of panic, and she hit the red emergency release button.
The elevator plummeted, and Mari slid off the seat.
She yelled, a deep-throated cry that echoed off the metallic walls. It sounded simultaneously raw and unreal. It didn’t seem right that her yell was the loudest sound in the room, not with poorly-secured cargo rattling and a metal box plummeting to Verdu on a cable. It seemed even weirder that she cared how loud she was. After all, she was hanging out of a harness and clinging to a metal box so hard that she could feel the corners bruising her skin through her shirt.
I’m going to die, Mari thought. I am absolutely going to die.
The box slid out of her arms; when it hit the floor of the elevator, the glass shattered, and the forked-head symbiote inside slid out, a trail of water in its wake.
Mari might die, but it looked she wasn’t going to be the only one.
Earlier
The space station was a lot like the other ones Mariana Soto had served on. There wasn’t much need for variation when they were boxes with just enough space for a couple people to live in.
Of course, Mari had never served in a station meant for only one bipedal resident before.
“The glowing red line takes you to your cabin.” The voice from her wristwatch wasn’t joined by a hologram. Mari wouldn’t get to see what the station’s off-site manager looked like this time. “The glowing blue line will lead you back to the common area. You may have seen the kitchen and office on your way in.”
Mari nodded before realizing there was no way for the manager to know she was acknowledging. “I did see,” she said.
“Take a closer look.” Was that a humming Mari heard under the speech? She’d heard Jovians often took these managerial roles because they couldn’t live off world. They lived on gas giants, and their speech was more music than words. “Follow the blue line.”
Mari did. It wasn’t easy; the line was on the ceiling, and she was hunched over pretty severely. Most human stations had been built for early explorers, and they’d had a height restriction of 5’7” back then.
The blue line split into green, orange, and yellow. Yellow went to the lavatory, which was appropriate if gross. The two orange forks went to what Mari assumed was the office door—it had a “staff only” sign glowing on it—and a kitchen space with no door. Green went toward the airlocks.
“Your coworker is in the office,” the manager said. “Would you like to meet them?”
Coworker? There was only space for one biped on the station. Would she have to share a bed with some stranger?
“Soto?” the manager asked.
What else would Mari say? “Yes, of course.”
“Press your thumb on the scanner. Your skin print will be recorded.”
Mari did as asked, and after some buzzing sounds, the door slid open.
The office was small and mostly empty. There were two desk spaces and a narrow gap between them. Mari would have to leave the office door open and keep her feet out to fit. The perils of being 6’3”.
“Symbiote 22302, this is your new operator, Mariana Soto.” Mari heard crackling from a speaker just above the rightmost desk, but no actual reply. “She begins her shift in four planetary standard hours.”
Symbiote? Didn’t those usually have bipedal hosts?
“Hello,” a tinny voice called out. It was high-pitched, much higher-pitched than Mari when she spoke. “Hope you like small spaces.”
Mari blinked. She couldn’t see the symbiote anywhere. “Hi.”
“Please step outside,” the manager said. “The last part of the tour involves the elevator.”
Mari shuffled out of the way as best she could. The door slid shut before she could turn away. She could feel the breeze of it on the tip of her nose.
The elevator door was in the room with the airlocks, down a level from the rest of the station. Mari had been told, when taking the job, that visitors hauling cargo would use the kitchen, but they’d keep to themselves otherwise. She should only engage in a professional capacity or if they spoke first.
“Open the elevator door,” the manager said.
Mari pushed the button, and the door opened, revealing the inside of the elevator. It looked like a smaller version of cargo freighters she’d seen. There were four seats with harnesses for bipeds, with possibly more folded into the walls, and the rest was empty space for cargo. The walls were dreary metal, and the lights were painfully blue, which was even less pleasant than the metal walls and golden lights of the station.
She took a step forward. Or she tried. She hit something she couldn’t see pretty fast, but red lights spread from her body quickly. A clear gate was blocking entrance.
“Humans are barred from entry on their own,” the manager said. “In emergencies, Symbiote 22302 will assist you.”
“How?” Mari asked.
The manager either didn’t hear, or didn’t care. “Close the elevator door.”
Mari sighed heavily, stepped back, and hit the button again.
“You are not permitted to help with loading or unloading the elevator,” the manager said. “Monitor the elevator’s status and monitor the computer sending messages to HQ to ensure repair crews can be brought in if necessary. You may do maintenance on the interior computers from time to time.”
It was a babysitting job. Mari had done some technical work in the past, and she had her spacewalk qualifications; part of the reason
she’d gotten this job was because she could fix exterior parts of the elevator if it was broken. Or so she’d thought.
Computers on these kinds of stations never broke. She’d stare at the computer and do nothing for a living.
“Do you understand?” the manager asked.
“I understand,” Mari said, even though she didn’t. Why hire a human, drag them halfway across the galaxy, and pay them more than industry standard...to do nothing?
* * *
Mari didn’t fit in her cabin. It wasn’t a surprise. Mari hadn’t fit into any of the cabins she’d been in since she’d been fourteen.
Back then, it had been that she’d been too wide to fit in the narrower doors, but she’d hit her last major growth spurt at fifteen and leaned out just enough that she could get through them. Many of her family members weren’t so lucky.
“First station standard,” Mama had said when Mari had been seven and seen Mama struggle with the height of the door. “They’d wanted shorter colonists so they could fit more of them in.”
So Mari had to bend over if she was on her feet in her cabin, and she contorted to fit between her chair and desk, but it was actually the best room she’d had as an adult. Most spacious, for sure.
She squeezed into her chair and brought up her mother, who flickered in full color. That was another thing. Color diversity. Most of the holodisplays she’d worked with before had been black and white for contrast.
“Mari!” Mama said, beaming. She looked tired and pale, but generally okay. “You made it!”
“Did you think I wouldn’t?”
“Of course I did.” Mama was lying. She and Papa had worked in space all of Mari’s life, and at many jobs on the level of Mari’s. That Papa was dead and Mama was on a planet as part of a work accident settlement was proof that she knew the risks. “Settling in?”
Mari nodded. There wasn’t much settling in to do. “Have you done elevator work before, Mama?”
“A very long time ago, mija. I didn’t work with lower-gravity planets much, and they’re more common on those.”
“Verdu has Earth-standard gravity.” Not that that meant much to Mari. She’d never been to Earth or on any planet surface. Mama had only been on one planet, and it was the one she was calling Mari from. She’d moved there three years ago. “Do you miss being in space?”
Mama laughed. “Absolutely not.”
* * *
Everything on the station was automated. The ships that came in at the beginning of the shift docked without any input from Mari, and she watched from a holodisplay as their crews unloaded their cargo and traveled down the elevator, which descended on their go-ahead.
A small red light flashed, issuing a warning about the elevator. Mari frowned and brought up the computer’s readout on the display.
“Gear replacement needed,” she whispered. She always spoke to herself quietly while working alone. It filled the space.
“It’s been needed for years.”
Mari jerked, and her hip connected with the desk. She hissed. That was probably going to bruise.
“You okay?” the voice said. “What happened?”
“Nothing.” Mari rubbed at her hip. “What did you say? Before?”
“Don’t worry about the gear replacement.” It was a tinny voice...the tinny voice from the tour. The symbiote. “The station reports it every day, and HQ ignores it every day. Do you go by Mariana?”
“Um. Mari, usually. Sorry, what was your name again?”
“Symbiotes don’t get names. My designation’s 22302.”
Mari didn’t know what to say about that. The tinny voice sounded wry, and she didn’t want to push.
“You’re very quiet,” the symbiote said.
“I am?”
“Most of the humans who’ve worked here call someone and talk the entire shift. I’ve learned a lot of different languages that way.”
“You don’t use a translator?”
“I have a converter. Translates electric impulses into speech, and those don’t function well with translators.” The symbiote laughed. “I’m glad you speak English. I know that one.”
Mari made a wordless noise that could mean a lot of things. She was good at those.
“You can speak English with me. If you want.” When Mari didn’t say anything, the symbiote added, “To stay fresh?”
“Shouldn’t I...work?”
“Oh yes. So much work for both of us to do.”
Mari hadn’t known a symbiote using a converter could sound sarcastic. “What’s your job?”
“Emergency assistance.” There was an oddly human snort. “It means, if someone’s dying in the elevator, you can pick up my box and get inside.”
“That’s it?”
“What else can a symbiote do?” The symbiote sounded bland and innocent. Almost like they were quoting something.
Mari flinched. “That’s terrible.”
“That’s Space Station Management Corporation for you. Well, that’s SSMC when there’s no one to see them.”
What a cheering thought. “Wait,” Mari said as the conversation caught up with her. “Your box?”
“You didn’t see? Look under the desks.”
That was easier said than done. Mari had to stand up, push the chair out into the hall, and carefully ease down so she didn’t brain herself on the tables. But sure enough, in the corner under the right-most desk, she saw a box with glass walls and a metal top and bottom. It was mostly opaque, but Mari could see a shadow and hear water sloshing.
“Hi,” she whispered, grazing her fingers along the box’s edge.
“Hello,” the symbiote said back.
“Are you stuck in there? Even when I’m not working?”
“Oh yeah. System’s solar power feeds me and runs the pump that filters my water. There isn’t anywhere else for an unattached symbiote to go.”
Mari got back to her feet and went to fetch her chair. Her throat felt a little thick. At least Mari could go back to her room when her shift was over. To give herself a moment, she watched the elevator signaling its return from Verdu’s equatorial ocean.
“How often does the elevator go most days?” she asked.
“Solid dozen, at least,” the symbiote said. A pause, and then, “They’re putting in a lot of work to change the planet down there. You’ll see if you’re around long enough.”
Mari suspected she didn’t want to.
* * *
A ship docked as Mari was getting her breakfast. She was close enough to the docking ring that she could feel the rumbling under her feet. Ship rumblings were soothing, and the kitchen was the biggest one she’d had to herself. There were worse days to have.
“Biped.”
The voice was stern and loud in the cramped space. Mari whirled around and nearly dropped her tea.
A person in a gray worksuit was standing behind Mari, hands on her hips. Probably a cargo hauler. The stranger was short enough that she stood comfortably in the space station, and her skin had a subtle green tinge to it. Her forehead had ridges that weren’t human-like at all.
“Do you have anything to say for yourself?” the stranger asked.
“Uh,” Mari said. “Hello. Can I help you with something?”
The stranger rolled her eyes. “The back of your neck, biped. Show me immediately.”
Mari had no idea if the stranger had any authority. She didn’t think twice about it; getting fired on her second day wasn’t an option. She got on her knees since that was the only way to show her neck easily, and she lifted her black braid aside.
“Human,” the stranger hissed, and Mari flinched.
Mari stayed in that position for a few moments, and when she looked up, the stranger was gone. She hadn’t heard her step away.
* * *
“Treaty shit,” was the symbiote’s response.
Mari hadn’t set out to tell the symbiote what had happened, but Mari hadn’t been in a particularly talkative mood after the encou
nter in the kitchen, and the symbiote had asked why Mari had been silent. It would have been rude not to answer.
“Treaty...stuff?” Mari asked.
“Oh, should I not have said ‘shit’? I’m still figuring out professional language.”
“No, your language is fine. What treaty?”
“Humans are applying for symbiote candidacy. There’s a lot of Ectos and not many hosts on their home planet, and apparently the human tests look good for both symbiotes and Ectos.” The symbiote made a derisive noise. “Plus, the Ectos are offering financial incentive.”
“What does that have to do with the station?” Mari was staring at the elevator’s descent again. Hopefully, the woman she’d spoken to earlier was long gone.
“It’s one of the steps to Ectosymbiote acceptance. Humans supply bodies for jobs, and maybe they can supply bodies for Ectos. But they don’t like humans without hosts, from what I can tell.”
Mari shuddered and stroked a hand on the back of her neck. “They won’t make me be a host, will they?”
“Nah. Major interplantary violation to have non-consensual bondings.”