The Memory of That Brief Touch

In the wild, brain slugs prefer to target hosts that are physically healthy, comfortable, possess good access to resources and a safe lair. These advantages become the brain slug's when possession takes place.
To expand, a hive may entice potential hosts by sharing food and shelter.
—Brain Slug Infestation: Cause and Avoidance, Chapter 2

They ate dinner together, standing in the kitchen. Mel's was the remaining half-loaf of cheap white bread. Jordan carefully and daintily devoured a block of uncooked tofu. It was the most domestic thing they had done since Mel had moved in.

According to the book, the brain slug provided some advantages to the host—improved immune response, additional bacterial load that expanded what the host could digest. On their own world, that helped the host live longer and process different foods, the better to sustain itself and the brain slug. Which meant that she wouldn't get salmonella from raw eggs, or the soft block of pale white bean curd. Probably.

After they finished, Jordan immediately went to brush her teeth. That seemed like too sensible an operation for Mel not to do the same, once she'd exited the bathroom. He noticed, perhaps for the first time, that her toothbrush was pink, with odd little purple ridges and a heart symbol—what he thought of as a girl's toothbrush.

Did she have that from before she joined the hive? Mel wondered, as he scrubbed his molars with his own generic, orphanage-issued white unisex toothbrush. Was it on sale? Does the slug even know what her sex is? Does it understand gender?

Too many questions.

Jordan was on the couch, staring at the TV. The screen was the deep, placid blue of a dead channel. She sat still, not stiffly but relaxed, and he noticed that the cushion on the back of the couch was low enough that she could lean back with squishing the slug. Mel rubbed his palms against his jeans, not sure what to do now. He could go back to his room, read more of the book. Or go out for a walk.

Yet...it was his apartment, too. So half of that was his couch. Half of his television. Community property and defining boundaries for sharing them was a big part of orphanage life. There were always microtransactions, spoken and unspoken agreements. You didn't want to piss off everyone else by peeing on the toilet seat or not returning your cafeteria tray. Changing the channel while someone else was watching something was tantamount to throwing the first punch.

So Mel opted for diplomacy. He settled on the far cushion. The remote control sat between them.

"Do you mind if I change the channel?" he asked. Jordan didn't look at him, but her body tensed, hands against the cushions, ready to rise. "No no no, you don't have to go! I wasn't trying to chase you off!"

She paused. Still staring at the deep blue of the dead screen. Then relaxed and settled back into the cushion. Mel reached over and picked up the remote. He took a deep breath, weirdly nervous as he clicked over to the index screen. The blue was replaced by a grid of channels and icons and a cursor controlled by the remote.

"I'm, uh, just going to browse for a bit," he said. "If you don't like it, just give a nod or something. We don't have to watch anything you don't want."

Mel scanned through the menu. It was a basic streaming service, whatever was free. There were channels for live sports—the Seacouver Immortals were facing the Arkham Cephalopods—and public domain programming from old black-and-white silent films more recent stuff that hadn't been copyrighted correctly. Some science podcasts, health programs—Mel felt his brain shift into research-porn mode. Scoping out potential places to see something titillating. Pre-Code Hollywood films, anthropology documentaries.

It wasn't as if he was going to jerk off right now in front of her. Yet the ache in his balls was palpable. At some point, he'd need to find relief. Mel knew he had to bide his time. Wait for some moment when their schedules didn't overlap, when Jordan would be out of the apartment. Or maybe when she was deep asleep. Then he could have a nice, soul-cleansing wank. He smiled despite himself. These were the same skills he'd used to get off at the orphanage.

Having done a quick slide-through of the available channels, Mel was about to go back to the blue screen and leave the television to his roommate when four cold, small points touched the back of his hand. He froze and stared. The fingers of Jordan's left hand were poised on the back of Mel's hand like a spider. Her face was still fixed on the screen.

Mel looked at the screen too. The remote's cursor had stopped on a nature station. THE RAINFORESTS OF THE PACIFIC NORTHWEST.

The press of a button. The screen filled with an aerial shot of vast, dark green forests that clung to a range of mountains like a mold. The scene shifted to the forest floor, and from the speakers came a steady drip of water, an echoing susurration like a seashell, the whistle of wind that shifted with the branches of trees.

Jordan's hand went back beside her leg. Mel let go of the remote. The memory of that brief touch lasted far longer than the actual sensation. Together, they watched the documentary, so sharp that Mel could almost imagine he smelled the dark earth and rich pine. Jordan barely seemed to blink, her whole face turned toward the screen with an avid interest evident from the way her eyes tracked the movement of the camera, neck straining as she leaned forward a little.

Does that remind her of home? Mel wondered, hands in his lap. Or does that remind the brain slug of its native environment? Maybe a bit of both?

That sent Mel's thoughts off in strange directions. He wondered to what degree the thoughts and personalities of humans and brain slugs might coincide and reinforce each other.

Did an alien slug love the smell after the rain? Or a drink of water so cold it made your teeth hurt? Could it appreciate long walks on the beach, or was that a waste of energy that an apex predator would rather preserve? Would a brain slug possess a host just because it presented the best option for survival, or was it smart enough to seek out a host who could have the experiences it desired?

As the program ended, Mel rose, said good night, and headed to bed. There was time enough to read a little in the book before he went to sleep. Maybe he'd find some answers there.

Jordan continued to stare at the television. A new nature program was starting.