Be Happy For Them

This work would not have been possible without the assistance of brain slugs and other extraterrestrial species who agreed to interviews and to open their archives for this project. When, in one of my emails, I asked why they would reveal such information to a human who might come to hate and fear them, they replied: "A hive mind cannot see itself; it is too vast, too rooted in the collective sense of self. The human brains the brain slugs have assimilated have changed, are changing, how it thinks. Already, the majority of brain slug hosts on this planet are humans. Your work helps us make sense of ourselves. To understand what we are becoming." (Personal communication with [email protected], 29 Jan 2055)
—Anastasia Massimi, Slugnomicon: A Guide To Brain Slug Spirituality (unpublished draft)

Jordan and Jenny stepped forward. Mel felt a lump in his throat, his heart suddenly thumping harder in terrible anxiety. Except . . . his roommates didn't turn toward him.

They turned toward Rachel.

"I don't . . . I don't understand," Rachel said, staring from Jordan's face to the scalpel and pearl in her hand. She turned to Anastasia, who had her arms crossed over her breasts, tears finally dry, though her "war paint" had run.

"They're offering to implant the pearl. In your neck, near your spine. Where a brain slug would normally go," 'stasia said. "It means that—they want you to be a part of the World Soul, but that you won't be implanted with a brain slug. It's like . . . like the hive mind wants to adopt you."

Mel, still on his ass, said nothing. He couldn't process the sudden tightness in his chest, an old and familiar emotion finding purchase in his dazed and exhausted brain. It felt exactly like being back in the orphanage. Watching other kids get adopted. Only being able to look on as someone else was chosen.

Up all night, utterly spent until he had nothing left to give, sucking in air, body covered with sweat and smelling of sex and brain slugs. A part of him had been waiting, hoping for this moment, unsure how he would react. Now, deflated, he realized that it had never been his choice at all. MacElroy had thought they were going to offer him the pearl. She had been wrong.

Bitter humor bubbled up in Mel that manifested as a lopsided grin as he brought his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around them. He didn't try to get up, didn't try to interfere as Anastasia and Rachel talked quietly. Then Rachel turned her eyes to him. She dropped into a squat, seemingly unconcerned with the wide-spread thighs, the view of her bald labia that, in any other circumstances, might have driven him wild. Right now, he barely managed a painful twitch, the limp organ not even lifting off the ground fully.

"What do I do?" she whispered.

Mel's jaw worked. He had seen other kids find their new parents, new families. Heard about teenagers joining gangs just for acceptance, and knew the appeal. All his life, he had been passed by, and there was a hollowness in him that had nothing to do with the hunger in his stomach, the dryness in his throat, or the exhaustion in his brain. A deep hurt that he thought had healed over the last few weeks, being with the three of them. Yet as much as Jordan and Jenny wanted him . . . they obviously wanted Rachel more.

Memories seemed to click into place. Jenny's eagerness for Rachel. Jordan's trying to draw her sister closer. Mel felt a sinking sensation, deep in his gut. A terrible suspicion that this had all been for her. Always for her. Maybe even he was just here so Rachel could get some dick.

He didn't want to believe that. Yet in his hurt and exhaustion, it seemed like an inalienable truth.

Rachel stared into his eyes, studying his face. She was tired. Maybe not as tired as he was, but with the bags under her eyes that showed the lack of sleep. Her eyes were startlingly white, with no luminescence at all. Utterly, profoundly human.

For the moment.

He had never cried when the other kids went away, though he had heard other kids, at night, in their beds, sobbing to themselves. At some point, Mel realized, he had stopped expecting to be rescued. Stopped expecting to be accepted. That he had no future other than what he made for himself. He stared back at Rachel, and if she saw the hurt animal in his eyes, she didn't show it. So he told her the only thing he could without being a complete and utter bastard.

"She's your sister," Mel said, voice thick, dehydrated. "You spent so long looking for her. Changed your whole life around to be close to her. This is your chance to be with her. Do you really want to run away from that?"

Rachel's jaw set. Determination. It had been the right thing to say, even though it felt like ripping his own heart out to say it. Yet what else could he say? That it should be him? That he deserved it, because he'd licked their pussies, let them suck him until he was ready to shoot dust? The grin on his face hurt.

You could be jealous of the kids who got adopted and still be happy for them.

She turned away. Jenny touched her shoulders, and they knelt together. Rachel bowed her head as the Asian brain slug host carefully prepped the area just at the base of the neck. Cleaned the sight. Jordan approached, glass scalpel in hand. The Ancient's tentacle-arms touched them both, giving the eerie appearance of a puppeteer orchestrating a little play.

Mel saw Jordan place the blue pearl in her mouth. The knife made a single deep slash. Rachel gasped. Jenny had a wad of cotton to catch the blood as it streamed down Rachel's bare back from the wound. The blood only ran for a moment, and then Jordan had her mouth pressed against the slit she had made in the skin. When she pulled her head back, Mel saw blood on her lips and something black oozed around the wound. Beneath her sister's pale skin, a blue-purple bump like a marble flashed slightly.

Then, Jenny cleaned the site and applied the bandage.

"The same orifices that the brain slugs use to draw semen from the oral cavity can be used to inject a quasi-neurolytic agent. Kills the pain, for a little while, and promotes new neural growth around the foreign body. Will help keep her body from rejecting the blue pearl. That's the theory, anyway. This is the first time I've heard of them doing it with a human," Anastasia said. She looked down at Mel. "How do you feel?"

"I have to pee," Mel told her.

Jeans, socks, sneakers. He wandered down the long ramp, away from the ship, and turned off the path to a nearby bush he hoped wasn't poison ivy. The night in the forest was alive. Owls hooted. Insects buzzed. A waning crescent of moon beat down on his bare shoulders; his shirt was still inside there. The arc of his piss glimmered in the moonlight like a monochromatic rainbow to his sleep-deprived brain. It seemed to burn down the length of him, his urethra had been asked to do more than it ever had been before, the sheer violence of that last ejaculation almost felt like it had torn something.

Yet the ache in his heart hurt worse than the ache in his dick.

No tears. He didn't want to cry in front of the aliens. Wasn't sure when he'd have an opportunity by himself to cry. Mel remembered Rachel that first night, sobbing alone on the couch. Having found her sister and lost her, and this strange guy was there, who never knew how to talk to girls, not sure how to connect, how to make her stop hurting.

Maybe this would do it. He hoped it would. Mel wasn't sure how this would change things. What the blue pearl would actually do, how it might shift the dynamic of their weird four-way relationship.

Steps on the ramp made him shake off the last few drops and turn around.

Jordan was there, naked in the moonlight. She had Mel's shirt. Her eyes didn't seem to be glowing quite so bright, and the Ancient's tentacle-arm didn't stretch this far.

"Thanks," he said, taking the shirt from her and pulling it over his head.

It was when his arms were up and through the holes, and the shirt blocked his eyes, that she pressed her mouth against his. There was a moment of numbness, an unpleasant taste like Novocain at the dentist's office. Her tongue pushed deep, and her hands slid into the back of his jeans and grabbed his ass, pulling him up onto his toes against her.

Mel couldn't tell if that was a promise or an apology. Yet as she broke the kiss and pulled the shirt down so he could see again, Mel felt like maybe it was supposed to be a confirmation that he had done the right thing. Yet a part of him wondered if this wasn't more of the same manipulation. He hated his brain for such suspicion, but it was there.

There were no long goodbyes. People got dressed, someone passed out water bottles, which Mel gratefully sipped, and the brain slug hosts formed a double line again. At the front of the line, the brain slug host in the Immortals jacket and ball cap now manned the wheelchair; the new host still wore that odd mask, but now had on a floral smock, too big for them, with mittens and slippers over hands and feet. Mel could clearly see that the new host's arms and legs were definitely in casts. Jordan, Jenny, Rachel, and Mel were at the very end.

"Where are they going?" Mel asked.

"Our building. Floor below. 402," Rachel said. She blinked a lot and kept reaching toward her neck, where the bandage was, then changing her mind. "Jordan told me on the smartphone."

"Are you okay?" Mel asked.

Rachel frowned. "I don't know if anything will happen until I start to heal. It's just weird. I can feel it there, in my neck, even through the numbing. Anastasia said I might start picking up bits of traffic from the hive mind when I'm in contact with a brain slug host. Images, impressions, emotions."

Jordan slipped next to her and held her sister's arm.

Rachel's frown deepened.

"Now I really want to suck your cock," she whispered.

Mel grinned again, a softer and less painful grin this time, and whispered back: "That might not be the brain slugs."

Jenny slipped beside Mel and slipped her hand into his. The procession was ready to start back down to the gravel parking lot.

In the pool, the Ancient raised all eight of its tentacle arms. It's eight, evenly-spaced glowing eyes watched as the visitors from Seacouver departed. Mel paused at the top of the ramp, looked back, and waved.

Was it his imagination that the eight eyes winked out, one after the other, as it sank down into the pool?

Rachel gave a tug. He turned and staggered on after the rest.

Only you, Mel Arkwright, he told himself. Could get your feelings hurt by an all-night blowbang.