Mel confessed.

Dreaming is not a common trait among extraterrestrial species; very few experience true unconsciousness as many Earth species understand it, much less the altered state of **** association that is dreaming. Brain slugs had never encountered a host species that dreamed before humans. Their first nightmare scarred the hive mind; they thought the integration had failed. Even now, dreams fascinate and frighten the hive mind in their capacity to interpret subconscious sensory stimuli.
—Slug Sutra, chapter 6

A blue shower curtain hung in the family restroom at the Cosmic Fill-Up. Mel stared at it, taking up the entire wall next to the toilet, where the support bar and the three seashells should be. His eyes were drawn to the hole cut in the blue plastic, the sharp edges covered with silvery grey duct tape.

Something on the other side of that hole breathed. It made the blue curtain ripple. A smell, sickly-sweet and familiar, though Mel couldn't place it. Tentatively, he stuck his finger into the hole. Something warm and wet sucked on his finger so hard it was pulled inside, right to the first knuckle. Mel had to pull hard to draw his finger back, the tip now pruned, the whole length covered by a clear slime.

Whatever—whoever—was on the other side of that hole breathed. Moaned. Soft, so strange it could have been a wounded animal. Yet a sick shiver of excitement went through Mel's body. His erection strained against his pants, the tip already leaking into the fabric.

He didn't move. Every muscle suddenly locked, even breathing was difficult, tiny gasps in a chest that didn't want to rise and fall. Instinct and desire warring against something else in Mel's mind and heart. Fidelity, perhaps. A promise he had made.

Two grey fingers with cracked nails pushed through the hole. The curtain stretched. The nails scrabbled and scratched at his jeans. Caught the brass handle of the zipper. Mel quivered, unable to pull away as the zipper teeth gave way, one by one, and the stiff staff was swollen hugely purple, veins standing out along its length. He bared his teeth, tried to pull away, but his arms and legs weren't working. Rock hard, he stood still as a statue, and the curtain stretched towards him, the shape distended around the form of the being on the other side of it.

Feminine. Definitely. Mel could see the imprint of the breasts. With a scream that seemed to rip muscle from bone, Mel lurched forward and tore the curtain aside—

Mel awoke to Jordan staring down at him, her blonde hair like a curtain on the side of his face. The back of his glans kissed the skin of her stomach; she was that close. Their noses almost touched. Guilt washed through him, like the time at the orphanage when he had been caught raiding the pantry in the cafeteria for cookies.

Maybe she sensed that. The luminous whites of her eyes made her irises seem huge and black in the darkness, and as she stared at him, her lower body began to move. Gently rubbing against him, pressing his dick down against his stomach, never breaking eye contact. Mel blinked, unsure what to do or say. Obscurely embarrassed at being caught out in a dream.

Jordan didn't grin. But she did tilt her head and rub, first her left cheek against his, and then her right. She pressed her forehead against his, and Mel felt the size difference between them; for all that he was a bit more muscular, she was taller, and he felt small in comparison as her legs came up so that she could squat on the bed and rub her labia against his erection. The swollen spine rubbed at her cleft; she could have put it in at any time.

But she didn't.

The blonde broke eye contact and slid off the bed, leaving Mel harder than before.

Was that a tease? Mel wondered. Was she teasing me?

As he heard the shower start, Mel sat up. Jenny was there. Naked. Expectant. Yet utterly ignoring his condition. She moved into the first position of the morning stretch. Mel, awkward and cheeks burning. He rose and joined her. He counted aloud the sets, and she kept up when she could, rested when she couldn't. Not pushing her body too hard, too fast. The budding slug was much more active, squirming along her back, though still attached at what Mel thought of as the tail. Sensory tentacles extended, taking in everything.

Jordan slid her hand into Mel's once they hit the street, and her palm against his was reassuring. In his own mind, he wondered if it meant she forgave him, then asked himself: forgiveness for what? I didn't do anything! Not really. It was just a dream.

Except, as he had read in the Slug Sutra, dreams affected brain slugs oddly. And he'd read, too, that brain slugs could influence human dreams, subconscious channels of communication.

Does that work both ways? Can Jordan see what I'm dreaming? Mel wondered. It seemed fantastic. Maybe it's something simpler and more complex than that, like getting a boner in my sleep, and she smells me thinking about cheating on her?

No answers. But then, he hadn't asked any questions, not really.

"I had a weird dream last night," Mel confessed. "I think it was when I met the ghola the other day, and she mentioned glory holes, and then . . ."

He talked. Not too loud, because they were on the open street, but Jordan had her head inclined towards him, as if listening. When they got to the Cosmic Fill-Up, she gave his hand a squeeze. Maybe that was a sign to say she understood. Maybe it meant something else. But it felt like recognition, at least.

Blair met Mel at the door and handed him the key card to the beer fridge. Mel frowned at that and glanced at Ha-Yoon's office.

"Is she okay?" he asked, softly.

The brain slug host stared at him, face blank. Her scalp had been freshly shaved, almost gleaming under the lights. Then she shrugged. It was an eloquent shrug, but it told Mel nothing about what he hadn't asked about in as many words.

Ha-Yoon was in her office. There were bags under her eyes, her hair had come undone from the clip, and there was a tell-tale sag and protuberance that suggested she wasn't wearing a bra beneath her gold shirt. She was turning the sobriety chip over and over in her hands. Mel glanced at the waste basket and was relieved to see there were no cans or bottles there.

"You okay, boss?" he said.

She looked up. Her dark eyes were clear, at least. Her smile was wan, kind of pained.

"I'm okay," she said, voice hoarse. "They wanted to try felching."

"I don't know what that is," Mel said, his mouth running far ahead of his brain.

Sixty-five minutes later, Mel knew exactly what felching was, alongside several related practices. Ha-Yoon had approached his sexual ignorance with the kind of dedicated one-on-one education she had learned from her ajumma's unique disciplinary procedures. Mel returned to the cold light of day older, wiser, and slightly haunted by possibilities he had not previously considered and suspected would haunt his dreams.

He wondered if he would have to apologize to Jordan for those, too.

The K'lur'k was emerging from the biowaste disposal kiosk as Mel was grabbing the swifter. He paused, openly staring at the extraterrestrial. Mel had seen individual K'lur'k on television before: Six feet tall, impossibly skinny, with four stick-like limbs for locomotion and four for manipulation. This close, he could see the mottling on the carapace; what he had taken for bark and moss were revealed on closer examination to be something like chitin, but oddly-textured, rough in spots. At the ends of the limbs were odd, highly developed, multi-jointed pincers.

And it was wearing a small metal box around an area that might have been a neck. There were black, forward-facing pits that might have been eyes, and a central set of what looked like mandibles.

As Mel studied the K'lur'k, so the K'lur'k studied Mel.

"Sorry to stare," he said. "Are you done with the kiosk?"

The mandibles clicked in a pattern like Morse code with Tourette's. It wasn't just rhythmic; there were tonal differences between the clicks, a sense of emotion. The metal box squawked.

<<You are the Mel.>>

Mel blinked. One of MacElroy's friends, presumably. He nodded.

"I'm Mel Arkwright," he said. "What shall I call you?"

More clicks. There was a texture to the sound that suggested frequencies above or below human hearing, ones that Mel couldn't hear directly but gave a warmth to the sound.

<<You may call me Two-Clicks.>>

Mel heard the name, but he also heard the sound behind the name. He tried it, experimentally, two swift clucks with his tongue.

The K'lur'k grew very still.

<<For a human, that is not bad.>>

"Thanks," Mel said. "I like your voice box. Is that standard for K'lur'k?"

Two-Clicks bobbed up and down on its four legs. Then began a rapid staccato that had a rhythm almost like beatboxing.

<<My people's evolution involved a period of deep oceanic life. We underwent what humans call 'cancerization.' Developed adaptations suitable for deep pressure, like your crabs and lobsters. Later, we migrated to shallows, sunken forests. Evolved further. Our audible language biomechanics are not directly compatible with humans, but with prosthetic devices, we adjust.>>

"Cool," Mel said, with sincere appreciation. "I wonder why the brain slug hosts don't use those."

Now that Mel knew to listen to it, he could hear the faint echo of small clicks as his words were translated into the K'lur'k's own language.

<<Different mechanism. Brain slugs hear fine, but have difficulty producing audible language. Something in the brain. Our minds process language well, but cannot produce human languages. Require a translation device.>>

"Okay," Mel said. "That makes sense. So . . ."

<<Did you know,>> Two-Clicks broke in. <<The first human to attempt sex with a K'lur'k suffered severe acid burns?>>

Mel blinked in surprise. He blinked again when he felt Ha-Yoon's hand on his shoulder.

"Who is your new friend?" the manager said, her tired smile genuine.

"This is Two-Clicks," making the little clicking sound. "Our conversation had just shifted to K'lur'k biology and, um, I guess interspecies relations?"

The K'lur'k bobbed on its four legs.

<<Our internal biochemistry is highly acidic. Our waste products contain a considerable amount of hydrochloric acid. The first human suffered severe tissue damage. That is why we made sure to insert it more slowly the second time.>>

Ha-Yoon's grin was strange and terrible. Mel hadn't seen a smile like that since a teenager had found out he was actually being adopted.

"Really," she said. "Tell us more."