He Hadn't Told Her "No"

Most extraterrestrial species understand the concept of a symbiotic social group, bound together by ties of loyalty and friendship rather than genetic relationship or compatible software. The exact terminology and cultural weight vary, but the fundamentals are simple: cooperation, peace, sharing of resources. In a multi-species environment where there is no central authority, such relationships assume supreme importance. Most are not formal, but every successful multi-species coalition is based, ultimately, on such relationships.
—Anastasia Massimi, Slugnomicon: A Guide To Brain Slug Spirituality (unpublished draft)

Sleep did not want to come. Jordan and Jenny flanked Mel, the women breathing deeply, slowly. Mel wasn't sure how they did that. They seemed to just close their eyes and go out like a light, even if the brain slugs on their necks remained active in the darkness. Mel stared up at the darkness for a while.

He worried what he would dream about tonight. Whether Rache would come in the morning. How he would face Molly and Lucie tomorrow. The dull ache of the revelation had settled into his chest now. Sex had pushed it out of his consciousness, but the sex was over, and it was just Mel and the darkness.

Changelings. Etherlings. Brain slugs, brain bats, gholas . . . all these strange alien creatures are part of my life now, Mel thought to himself. But do I know any of them any better than I know women? Jordan and Rache, Jennie and Amelia, Molly and Lucie . . . do I really understand how they think better than any of the others?

Consciousness did not click off. It merely faded, imperceptibly, into a deeper blackness. Mel felt his eyes close. His chest rose and fell, slowly, Jordan's cheek on his shoulder, her breast pressed against his arm. He imagined he could feel her breath on his neck.

Skitter, skitter.

Something was breathing on his neck. Something moved across the floor, the roach-swift skitter of many legs moving. Mel's body tensed; he tried to open his eyes, to move, but his body wouldn't obey him. Trapped in the dark, paralyzed, only his ears alert to the soft sounds of movement around the room as something moved. He heard the rustle of his dirty clothes bag, the soft slide of the chest of drawers in the outer room.

Searching for something. But what?

Skitter, skitter.

The source of the noise drew closer. Perspiration beaded Mel's face. Something touched, feather-light, against his scrotum, and the sack compressed and squeezed up against the steel ring. Within its cage, Mel tried instinctively to shrink from that touch—and then he felt it again, different this time, probing.

The key, Mel realized. He imagined the tip of a finger unweaving itself into fine threads and investigating the body of the lock. It wants the key!

A familiar weight pressed down on his hips. Smothering warmth. Trying to engulf him. It only pressed the steel cage harder into his swelling flesh, the bit of warming metal the only barrier between Mel and whatever or whoever was trying to get him inside of them. Mel tensed in mingled excitement and frustration . . .

. . . and awoke to a moan, eyes opening as Rachel ground her pussy against his captive cock.

Jordan, Jenny, and Béibhinn were in the living room. Anastasia poked her head in as the naked Rache collapse on top of Mel, her sweaty breasts flattening against his chest, panting over his shoulder. 'stasia, in her pajamas and a grey button-up sweater, smiled and sipped her coffee.

"You were safe in your cage, so we thought it might be best to let her finish," his neighbor said. She had no makeup on, and he could see the hint of bags under her eyes. He wondered how late she stayed up, and how often Rachel woke her in her nocturnal wanderings.

There were clothes and coffee available to Rache. She was running late, and kissed Mel, Jordan, and Jenny good morning and goodbye before running off for class. 'stasia simply gave a wave, and then blew Béibhinn a kiss, which made the ghola frown.

"I was not prepared for this assignment," the ghola said, as the four began their exercises. Stretches, push-ups, reverse push-ups. Upper body workout.

"What do you mean?" Mel asked.

"When she ate my pussy last night," Béibhinn said. "I told you I preferred girls. That wasn't a lie. It was something I think I picked up from my host. But I've rarely . . . had sex with human women. This one knows how to eat a pussy. Not like you. But definitely experienced."

Mel blinked. "Well, we don't really know much about her background. You could ask?"

The ghola stared at him sharply.

"I mean, if you want to have a continued relationship with her," he said. "You don't have to if you don't want to. I'm sure she'll understand."

The rusted jade eyes bored into him for a moment, then looked away.

"Perhaps I will," she said. Béibhinn did not clarify whether she would ask about Anastasia's sex history or seek to continue a relationship with her. Mel had a feeling that ambiguity was deliberate, and did not seek to pry.

Shower. Shave. Mel grabbed a cold hot dog for breakfast, and the three of them were out the door into a spring where dawn was visible in pink streamers of cloud across the sky far above. People hurried about with cups of coffee and tea, and Mel felt the pulse of traffic shift. He hadn't been aware of it earlier, but after driving with Molly he was now more conscious of cars that were on autopilot, maintaining computerized distances from other cars, the whole line of traffic moving together when enough cars were in sync, with the human drivers the chaotic elements in the dance.

There were two bluebirds in the nest above the door. Mel saw the other one only briefly, a head poking out of the nest, the original bird with its deeper blue plumage returning with a worm in its small dark beak.

Ha-Yoon had her eyes closed at her desk. She held the sobriety chip in both hands. Mel glanced at the trash can. Three Twinkie wrappers and an empty can of diet soda.

"You okay?" he asked.

Her eyes shot open. Bloodshot around the golden stars.

"Yeah. Just, ah, hit me this morning. The craving. Couldn't get it out of my head. So I started reciting the Litany of Fear." She gave a weak, embarrassed smile, as if she had shared too much. Mel, who had heard her describe in anatomical detail how Ha-Yoon had once calmed her sister down after the former had tried to drunkenly shave her pubic hair with an electric clipper and nipped the clitoris, felt a pang of sympathy.

"I must not fear," he said, trying to recall the lines from Dune. He'd read the first book a couple of years ago, not for any class, but because someone had left a ratty paperback in the break room and never claimed it. "Fear is the mind-killer."

"Fear is the little death that brings total obliteration," Ha-Yoon repeated, her smile relaxing a degree. "You know, the French refer to orgasms as 'la petite mort"—'the little death'?"

"I did not know that," Mel said.

She was calmer after that. Though Mel kept the access card for the beer fridge, and opened it whenever someone wanted to browse. The morning was slightly busier than normal. Several regulars, but more people with purple armbands or headbands, most of whom stared at the mural out back for a moment before coming inside to use the restroom or buy a snack. Jordan and Jenny were behind the counter, and if anyone recognized their likeness from the mural, Mel didn't hear them say anything.

It was after lunch, not long before their shift was due to end, when Lucie stepped inside. She stared around and found Mel pulling a bag of trash out of the bin, preparing to haul it out back.

Her dress was casual today. Long pleated gray slacks and a matching jacket, a black turtleneck sweater that hugged her frame, and black trainers. Her hair was pulled back tightly, which made the dark sunspots on her cheek seem to stand out more. She gave Mel a smile as she walked towards him. Not coquettish or hungry, but also not entirely genuine. Like a calculated mask of near-regret was the best way Mel could describe it to himself.

"Melville," she said. "Do you have a moment to talk? I—owe you an apology. About last night. I said some things that—"

He stared down at the bag of trash in his hands.

"Just a minute, please," he said, and nodded toward the food tables. "Take a seat? I'll be back soon."

Mel took his time putting the trash away. He took stock of himself before he went back out there. Ran a hand through his hair, in lieu of a comb. Took a deep breath. There was a small knot in his stomach.

"I must not fear," he told himself.

Lucie had bought herself a coffee and was sipping it at one of the tables. Mel offered a cautious smile as he sat down opposite her.

"Last night," she began, her hands on the cup in front of her. He noticed her long nails, not painted, but clearly clean and well-maintained. Mel hadn't seen Jordan or Jenny with so much as a nail file, but Lucie was clearly a fan of manicures. "I—came on too strong. I was off-balance, not expecting to feel—I didn't think about how this all must be like for you. Too engrossed in myself, in what I was feeling. I'm sorry."

She meant it. Or at least, Mel thought she did.

"It's okay," he said. "I know this is a bit of a weird situation. I wasn't—I didn't know. About the surrogacy. It wasn't on my birth certificate, any of the official documents."

Her head inclined. Not a nod, exactly. Lucie's dark eyes met his.

"That's not all I'm talking about," she said. "I—James, your father and I—we had an agreement. That if I wanted another child, he would provide the sperm. You see, I always intended to give Molly a little brother. A full sibling. Seamus understood. We had an agreement. It was something that didn't happen before your parents passed, and when I saw you—"

She let out a small sigh. Her shoulders slumped.

"—I treated you like I would have James. That was wrong of me. You're not him; we don't have that history, that—understanding."

"Oh," Mel thought, and suddenly the game of footsie under the table took on new context

"Yes," Lucie said, with a sad smile. "Oh. In truth, Seamus and I discussed this situation before I flew out here. It's why he stayed home; it wasn't just to feed the cats, it was because—well, I'm not getting any younger, but there's still time. And you are as close to James as I'm going to get, and—Seamus didn't want to be a roadblock."

Mel felt that knot in his stomach again. He stared at Lucie as the impact of her words hit him.

"I know. I'm terrible," she said. "You're less than half my age. I didn't even consider your feelings in the matter. How it might seem to you, this old woman—"

"You're not old," Mel said, automatically. His hands tightened into fists under the table. "This is just—sudden. My situation is complicated. I'm in a relationship. We're exclusive. And—you know I spent fifteen years in that orphanage? A decade and a half where no one fostered me, no one adopted me, nobody even looked for me?"

His voice dropped lower, almost to a whisper, and he cringed at the slightly petulant tone that crept in.

"Why didn't you look for me?"

Lucie didn't look away from Mel. She was staring at him, calculating what to say next. When she opened her mouth, she let out a soft rattle of breath, but her shoulders were tense, the lines around her eyes a bit deeper. Her expression, then, was exactly the same as Molly's when Molly was being very serious.

"James broke it off," she said. "He loved Sinead. She wanted them to be exclusive. The idea of her husband having what she called a separate family—she accepted Molly, because Molly was already born. She was Aunt Sinead to Molly. But she made it clear, in no uncertain terms, that I wasn't part of their family. That was the last time we spoke."

She sucked in her lips and closed her eyes tight, as if reliving that moment.

"That was my failure," Lucie said when she opened her eyes again. "I thought it was over. I didn't think of how you might feel. I never imagined you wouldn't be adopted. Never thought about how you and Molly would grow up, not even knowing about each other. You weren't there. James was dead. Sinead—no, that's an excuse. I'm sorry, Melville. I failed you. And then, when I realized you were alive again, my first thought was to try and pick back up where I'd left off with your father, with no Sinead to tell me no."

Mel felt that knot in his stomach like a physical thing now. The size of his fist, twisting in his gut.

"I just needed to tell you that. I'm not sure I could have if Molly was here," Lucie said. "I don't know if she would understand. She's never had that kind of relationship, those kinds of feelings. Never had to make the choices that Seamus and I and your parents made. Maybe I wanted to preserve that innocence a little longer."

"Molly's a grown woman," Mel frowned. "You can't treat her like a kid. She's smart, she has her life together—you should trust her more. She knows more than you think."

Lucie's face softened a little, a genuine smile.

"Look at you, sticking up for your big sister. I'm glad to hear that," she said. "Things are more complicated than just one man and one woman sometimes."

"Sometimes," Mel said and nodded his head.

He felt like she was waiting for him to say more, and even though he wasn't sure how to express his feelings, he tried. "I'm not—I don't blame you. It hurts. The missed opportunity hurts. I know it wasn't a conscious rejection, but it feels like it. I know you want something from me, but I don't know if I can provide it. I'm not my father. It isn't because you aren't—"

"That might be a separate conversation," she said, gently. "I know, this is a lot to take in. You're only 18, and a woman old enough to be your mother walks into your life and says she wanted to seduce you into giving her a baby. Even without any other relationship, that would be a lot to take in."

"Right," Mel said. Suddenly aware he hadn't told her "no" in any firm way yet, and thinking that perhaps that was a mistake.

"Oh, you're already here!"

Lucie and Mel turned to see Molly wander in. Leather jacket, ankle-length red dress. She smiled at the both of them, and Lucie stood up to hug and kiss her daughter hello, so Mel stood up too. Molly crushed him to her and planted a chaste kiss on the corner of his mouth.

"Come on! The museum is only open until seven!" she said.

Mel had to sign out. Jordan and Jenny gave him a thumb's up from the counter.

"See you at home," he said, and followed Molly out the door toward the waiting Protoss.