by Neil Clarke
“I’m sure once the painkillers wear off he’ll be hungry. Thank you though, very kind of you to offer.”
The EMT showed up in the kitchen doorway. “Mrs. Crane, he’s as comfortable as we can make him, and awake. He’s asking for you. And we’d like to go over some aftercare.”
“Thank you,” she said automatically.
“I should get going,” said Mr. Smoot, closing his briefcase. “Here’s my card,” he said, handing her one. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Okay,” she agreed.
Just as they’d promised, all Jared needed was rest and darkness. A little help getting to the bathroom and back, or to the kitchen table for meals. After five days, the bandages came off, and for better or for worse he was back to his usual self.
Donna forced herself to put off bringing up a possible separation until at least his black eyes faded; tried to focus on the positive within their relationship. Jared had a good job, as did she. They lived in a nice house a reasonable commute away from the airport and the dental office where she worked, and had nice friends whom they saw regularly.
Turning these facts and others into a sort of litany, Donna began to doubt herself. Her life was good, so why did she feel so on edge all the time? Her feelings of dissatisfaction made no sense. Why did she feel relief instead of regret when Jared called to say he’d be working late? She shouldn’t feel that flash of annoyance when she heard his key in the lock; shouldn’t find it so irritating when she asked how his day was and he said, literally every afternoon or evening, “Good. Busy.” Shouldn’t resent the way he never asked about her day, or his perpetually preoccupied, predictable “Oh?” when she prompted him with an “I had a long day” or similar. That and a million other things ought not to make her nerves sing with tension and her heart flutter with frustration and resentment.
But they did.
Jared was exactly the same after he recovered. That’s what confirmed for Donna that the oddness surrounding his accident was simply DIA attempting to avoid going to court. Jared worked the same amount, said the same damn things, ate with the same hand. Nothing was different about him. Sadly.
At least so she thought . . .
Just like every other part of their marriage, sex had become a routine. To be fair, that monotony was pleasant enough, not like his responses to her attempts at conversation. Always shy about such matters, Jared would turn off his light and pretend to sleep, waiting for her to tire of reading. Once she turned off her lamp, he would grope for her under the covers in the darkness of their bedroom, first finding a breast, then drifting down to her sex, which he would caress until she was wet enough to accommodate him. Usually she came, either while he was inside her, or after, squeezing her thighs together after he rolled off.
About a week after the accident, when the purple bruises around his eyes had faded to mustard yellow and a soft, pea-soup green, Jared reached for her. She was ready. As far as she was concerned, Jared’s ability to sexually satisfy her, however inadvertently, was the only thing he had going for him. Responding more eagerly than usual to his touch, she was pleased when, instead of anxiously stroking her over her panties, he pulled them aside and slid a finger gently but deeply inside her—and gasped in surprise when he inserted a second.
All too soon he withdrew them both, to snap on his bedside light. She blinked, and when her eyes adjusted she saw he was sucking his fingers as he gazed at her exposed body. She shuddered, half-alarmed, half-aroused, and covered her breasts with her hands, unaccountably shy. He pulled them away almost roughly.
“I want to see,” he said.
His voice was the same, but something was different. His eyes. They glinted queerly in the light, like Skimbleshanks’s did when he was hiding under the bed. Were they a slightly different color now? Or was it just the low wattage of the bedside lamp and the sickly bruises?
She didn’t think long on it. How could she, while he was peeling down her undies and pushing her knees apart to inspect her sex? She was unable to interpret his expression—all she could come up with was wonder, but that wasn’t possible, not after ten years. And yet, how else could she explain the way his eyes widened and breath quickened as he spread her open before tasting her, which he’d never previously been particularly inclined to do. His attentions inspired her to respond with equal enthusiasm and soon she was suckling his hard cock. His delight inspired her, and she actually whined a little when he took it away from her—but her complaints turned to moans when he plunged it inside her and proceeded apace with more than his usual vigor.
He came before her, with an unexpected yelp much different from his usual relieved exhalation of breath; more aroused than she could ever remember being, she came as he slowed his thrusting. He said nothing after, just smiled and pushed her sweaty bangs away from her forehead before turning off the light. She was left in darkness, confused but far too happy to worry much about it as she drifted off.
The next morning she felt like a housewife in an old movie when she caught herself humming as she toasted her English muffin. Amazing, the power of excellent sex . . . she was actually in a good mood. Sliding into the chair beside him instead of across from him, she grinned at him.
“Have a nice time last night?”
“Hm?” He looked up from the paper. His awful bruised eyes no longer shone with that same intense, interested light.
“Last night,” she said, faltering.
“Oh,” he said vaguely. “Yes.”
Donna no longer had any appetite for her cooling English muffin, margarine coagulating in all the nooks and crannies. Feeling disappointed—even a bit betrayed—she said nothing as he folded the paper, gave her a quick peck on the cheek, and left for work without putting his cereal bowl in the sink, as usual.
Things went back to normal, and Donna cooled down enough that when Jared next feigned sleep she didn’t keep reading until he really fell asleep, as she sometimes did when feeling particularly resentful. Indeed, she put her book down early, as she was curious to see if she’d be treated to another display of genuine interest in her needs and her body. Hell, if the shift proved permanent, she might be able to deal with their marriage. For a little while longer, at least.
He reached for her in the darkness, to her mild disappointment. As tired as she had become of her husband’s face, she had enjoyed watching him grimace and wince during their lovemaking last time. His lip had curled and his eyes had closed when he came; it had almost looked like it pained him, which had been very hot to watch. So, while she usually kept quiet during sex, that night she asked, “Want me to turn the light on?” as he fiddled with her nipple.
“What?” Jared’s surprise was genuine.
“The light,” she said. “Like last time.”
He paused, then reached over and snapped it on. “Definitely,” he said, as his eyes gleamed.
While she was tempted to pay more attention to the fact that he was already hard, she placed a hand on his chest.
“What’s going on?” She said it calmly.
Jared froze. She waited.
“What do you mean?” he asked.
“Something’s going on, and I want to know what it is. And I want to know badly enough that I’m putting off . . . things . . . which, let me tell you, is difficult after last time.”
Jared laughed. “You did seem to like it. I did, too.”
“Oh, now you want to talk about it?”
“I wanted to talk about it before, but . . .” He looked worried for a moment. “I couldn’t.”
“Why not?”
“Because . . .” He shrugged. “Because I’m not your husband.”
This shocked her less than she thought it should. Then again, she was tired of her husband. Whoever he was now, he had the advantage of not being Jared.
“All right,” she said. “Who are you, then?”
�
��That’s hard to explain . . .”
“Try.”
Jared—well, Not-Jared—nodded. “I thought it was strange, when I found out, that you don’t know. But your husband, he isn’t an . . .” Not-Jared squinted, as if thinking hard, “administrator. I mean, he is, but not for the airport. For what’s under the airport.”
She felt a frisson of fear and pleasure. The truth had been out there! All those times she’d scoffed at friends or strangers . . . “What’s under the airport?”
“A research facility. Around twenty of your Earth years ago, we made contact with you. Ever since, we—our two species—have been working to facilitate an experimental collaborative co-consciousness. Jared is hosting my mind in his body.”
Donna held up a hand. “Our two species? What sort of species are you?” It—it was now an it to her mind—opened its mouth, but before it responded, she added, “And what is your name?”
“My name is,” it sounded like Glreerak, and when Donna repeated it, Not-Jared—Glreerak—smiled and nodded. “Close enough. My world is—”
“You’re an alien.” Donna, again, felt minimal surprise.
“I am. But we are not so different. Neither of our species has achieved faster-than-light travel, and yet we wished to know more of who else might be living in our galaxy. My people are naturally able to separate our consciousness from our physical forms, so we developed the technology to send out a psychic beacon. You—humanity—were the first to respond.”
Donna finally felt upset. “And Jared? He knew? All this time?”
“Yes. He has been the . . . accountant for the program since before you were married, but his selection as my host was more recent. They ran tests on everyone who worked there, from the top scientists to the janitors, and he was the most naturally receptive to the process.” Glreerak stared at her. “This dismays you.”
“He never told me.”
“He could not. He was forbidden. But,” it was studying her face, “perhaps he ought to have trusted you? You are . . . married. It is the sort of relationship where confidences are exchanged, according to my understanding.” Donna nodded. She felt furious, miserable. “We have a similar pair-bonding—my species, I mean—where intimacy is encouraged.”
Donna dashed a tear from her eye. It felt ridiculous, crying about such a small thing, when she had been ready to leave Jared anyway. “Are you . . . pair-bonded?” she asked.
Glreerak nodded. “I am.”
“But the other night . . .”
It shrugged. “I am not in my own body. And I have been instructed by my government to find out as much as I can about human ways and lives. My mate knows sex is a part of that.”
Donna looked sidelong at it; met its eyes that were not her husband’s eyes. Jared wasn’t unattractive. She’d been very eager for his attentions when they began dating, set up by a mutual friend. Then, his reticence had seemed manly, his steady, government job a sign of maturity.
“So, does that mean you want to . . .”
“Definitely,” it replied. “I am supposed to learn all I can about you, after all.”
“But for now,” it said, once it had her writhing, three fingers inside her, “let’s just keep this, ah, educational session between us?”
“Of course,” she gasped.
Jared’s eyes healed up enough that he agreed to go to a party at a friend’s house. It was a nice time, for a bit, at least. Donna was with her girlfriends in the grass, giggling over a joint and drinking Mang-o-Ritas when her husband broke off from the pack of men standing around the grill to take her aside. He was grumpy after two scotch and sodas, and wanted to go home.
It was just so goddamn typical. She felt cute in her nice dress, the weather was finally good after several late spring snows, and she hadn’t seen Vicky or Marissa in a while. Of course he would be a pill.
“Just a bit longer,” she said, feeling like a child pleading with her parents to be allowed to stay in the pool.
“I didn’t want to come anyway,” he snapped. “We’ve stayed long enough.”
“But . . .”
“Donna, I have to work tomorrow.” She felt her expression sour at his condescending words in that exasperated tone. Work! Indeed he did, at his secret job, living his secret life. Well, she had to work, too, at her decidedly not-clandestine dentist’s office, her back aching as she picked things out of people’s teeth.
“Please?” she asked.
He shook his head, but then paused; looked back at her. “Well . . . all right,” he said, with a slow smile that was not Jared’s smile. “We haven’t been out in so long. You go spend time with your friends. I’ll get another drink.”
It was Glreerak speaking. She was sure of it. The alien was talking to her, here, in front of all these people. It was actually kind of a turn-on, the secret. Maybe she did want to go home . . .
“We can’t stay too late,” it cautioned her, waggling its finger. “But a bit longer. You’re having a nice time. Later, you can thank me,” it said, and winked.
They stayed until the sun set. Donna couldn’t remember the last time she felt so happy, alternating between chatting with her friends and sneaking kisses with Glreerak. When she climbed into the passenger’s side, she favored Jared—she was pretty sure he was Jared again—with a smile. He didn’t see it, however, sitting there with the key in the ignition.
“It got so late,” he said, sounding confused. “How did it get so late? I was ready to go hours ago.”
Donna froze. Of course, Jared didn’t recall when the alien took over. It had seemed so harmless in bed. But in public, among friends . . .
Then she recalled his tone, earlier, when he’d insisted they leave. Recalled that he had kept secrets from her—secrets bigger than how a pleasant afternoon had been passed.
“You had another drink,” she said as casually as she could, buckling her seatbelt as cover. “Maybe you got a little drunker than you realized. Sure you’re okay to drive?”
“I feel totally sober,” he said. “Huh.” He waited for another moment, then turned the key. “Better keep it to two next time, I suppose.”
Donna said nothing. Eventually, her heart slowed down.
Before going into the induced sleep that allowed its mind to live within Jared’s, Glreerak dwelt beneath the waves, in a vast city of coral skyscrapers grown and maintained by bioarchitects to harvest and emit the faint light of the planet’s sun. Millions lived in that phosphorescently illuminated gloaming, lived and worked and loved and died in ways similar and different to humans in their cities on Earth.
Glreerak lived with its mate in a flat high above the ocean floor. It was comfortable—luxurious even, with a good view of the surrounding towers and parks and even the farmland beyond the city limits. They had been assigned such a wonderful home because while Glreerak’s mate was one of the scientists working on the project to make contact with Earth, Glreerak held a much higher-status job: sanitation.
As with all civilizations, waste removal was an issue. Burying garbage beneath the ocean bed poisoned the food supply; allowing it to drift away created problems for other cities. So, there was only one place it could go.
While all of Glreerak’s people were telepathic, only the most powerful communicators were able to pass the rigorous tests to become sanitation workers. Those who did were trained to develop their mental aptitude from a young age, until they were able to throw their minds into the bodies of simpler creatures, such as the mammal-like bipeds that lived on land. Teams of sanitation workers could combine their efforts to mobilize whole packs of them to haul waste out of the sea and inland, away from rivers and other tributaries, to minimize seepage back into the water. Glreerak was particularly talented; in fact, it could control these creatures for miles, and had seen more of its planet’s land masses than any other, such as the astonishing—
“Wai
t,” said Donna.
“What’s that?” said Glreerak.
It had been an intense evening. Donna had been overwhelmed by the menu at Linger, a trendy eatery with a spectacular view of Denver that Jared had never been willing to brave due to its world cuisine-inspired menu. Indeed, Jared would have hated it—would hate it tomorrow, given how spicy everything had been. Then again, maybe he wouldn’t notice anything even as fundamental as altered digestion. He’d been withdrawn and preoccupied of late, even for him, and had become nervous as well, startling at loud noises, rubbing his eyes.
To be fair, Linger’s menu had been a little weird for Donna, too, but she’d done all right with red wine, an order of sweet potato waffle fries, and the kofta, which turned out to essentially be meatballs dressed up for a night out.
Glreerak had liked everything, and the drinks along with the view of the city skyline had made it a bit homesick for its watery world.
“You can control other creatures with your mind?”
Glreerak didn’t answer; it just sipped on its cocktail, some weird thing called “Streets of Puebla” that Donna hadn’t liked at all.
“Well,” it said after swallowing, “yes. My telepathic prowess is why they chose me.”
Whatever she’d eaten for dinner felt like a cold and leaden lump inside her.
“So you knew.”
“Knew what?”
“That you’d be able to control . . . us.”
“No!” Glreerak pursed its lips. “We wondered—hypothesized, as my mate would say. But we didn’t know. I mean, it was a week before I felt comfortable enough to try, just to see. And it was you who inspired me, Donna. Your body was so soft—you seemed so receptive to pleasure. I had to see you! The shape of you, all of you. The way you responded to him, I couldn’t let my time on Earth go by without taking advantage of the endless possibilities you suggested to me . . .”
Was it wooing her with sweet talk to distract her from the idea of a mass invasion? Were Glreerak’s people testing the waters, so to speak, to turn humanity into their next generation of garbage-hauling slaves?