A lot to take in.

The oldest cultures had experienced this before. The Murkers, the Brain Bats, and Brain Slugs had all been refugees previously, had gained and lost worlds. They were not the most desperate; they were the most understanding. They told the humans that whatever happened, things would be different. Their world would change. The brain slug ambassador—the first one to successfully integrate into a human host—promised that they were not here to take from this world, but to become a part of it. To make it richer. They had no other choice. It was integrate or die.
—Anaïs Nineveh, The Exodus: A History, Chapter 1

Seated on the couch, Mel stared down as Rachel and Jordan knelt on either side of his legs. Their lips locked on his prick, rigid as steel, pointed toward the ceiling. Something slithered on his shoulder, and he looked over to see a brain slug with Ha-Yoon's face.

"Do it," Ha-Yoon whispered.

Mel's hands cupped the back of the sister's heads. Felt each strand of blonde hair against his palms. Carefully, he pulled them up, and they rose in time. Their lips moved up his erection until they reached the swollen, purple head. He erupted as they lifted off of him completely, thick cream bursting over their faces, their lips, tongues extended to catch it. Mel guided their faces toward each other, the sisters' tongues touching, wrestling with one another as they kissed slowly, deeply, swapping his sperm.

"Yesss..." Ha-Yoon hissed, the whites of her eyes glowing, which made the little yellow stars flash and sparkle.

Something wriggling through the slit in his cage brought Mel to consciousness. He opened his eyes, expecting to find a familiar face and tongue—and was shocked to see the six-centimeter-long greenish body of a brain slug curled around his cage, its head portion perched around the front where he would urinate, its mouth-parts tickling his urethra. Jordan, next to him, laid an arm against his chest, and as he blinked, suddenly and terribly awake, he saw that Jenny was kneeling at the end of the bed, her hands hovering on either side, ready to snatch the brain slug away.

His heart hammered, and Mel forced himself to relax. There was a throbbing need, deep inside, at the root of his encaged prick. Mel had been increasingly aware of the sensation and knew it for what it was. The pent-up need for release. Rationally, he told himself that after so many days and nights without sex, he'd probably been leaking pre-cum in his sleep, and Jenny had smelled it and decided waste not, want not.

He told himself that. Yet as Jordan's restraining hand teased his nipple, and her mouth kissed his neck, Mel wondered whether there might have been some method in this, if the two of them had planned it to keep him on edge.

If so, it was working.

The brain slug wasn't on Mel for long; maybe thirty or forty seconds after he awoke, before Jenny carefully picked it up and pulled it away, to return it to the terrarium. Jordan withdrew her arm, and they rose, stretched. Jenny returned for their morning exercises.

Except today, when touching their toes, the two women made sure to face away from Mel. He was afforded an unimpeded view of their shaven slits as they bent over, the labia almost within arm's reach. Mel felt his mouth water, that part inside of himself throb. He had little doubt that they knew exactly what they were doing.

Jordan joined him in the shower. As the water splashed over her naked back, she unlocked him. Mel felt momentary relief as she rubbed soap into his balls—and then the safety razor came out. Mel realized, to his chagrin, that he had grown stubbly down below during the incarceration. He didn't make a fuss as Jordan carefully scraped his scrotum smooth once more, washing off the excess soap and little hairs with a hand cloth. Jenny, standing outside the shower, washed the cage in the bathroom sink.

After they emerged and dried themselves, Jordan and Jenny presented the cage again. Mel sighed.

"Not long now, right?" Mel asked.

Jordan gave a thumb's up. They held up a single finger. ASL 1. One day.

"Okay," Mel said, and let his girlfriends lock him away again. Glad that he hadn't immediately popped a boner in the shower, which would have made things on that front more difficult.

Jenny gave Mel a zinc tablet and a boiled egg. Jordan held his arm close, all the way to the Cosmic Fill-Up. There was something territorial in her mood, or at least it seemed that way to Mel. Often during the day, he felt her hand slip onto his arm or neck, seeking skin contact. Never enough to detract from the work. Bathrooms were cleaned, customers were checked out, receipt paper replaced, trash taken out, and boxes broken down for recycling. Yet more than normal. Mel wasn't sure whether he appreciated it or not.

Growing up in the orphanage, kids could sometimes be clingy. Starved for attention. Mel had seen it, understood it, but felt no need to imitate. He had seen what happened to those teens in high school when affection wasn't reciprocated. The depression, the angst, the fickle betrayal. So, too, he had seen what happened when the affection was reciprocated too much. Emotionally vulnerable youngsters could be easy to manipulate.

Am I being manipulated? Mel wondered. I mean, yes, of course. I've been letting them lock my dick in a cage all week. But do I mind being manipulated?

He thought of that kiss on his neck this morning as if to reassure him, as the alien slug sipped from his urethra, that it would all be alright.

If I had to go through that situation again, I'd be okay with it, if Jordan would still kiss me like that.

Ha-Yoon asked them to restock the Mexican beers in the walk-in fridge, just the two of them.

"This integration ceremony. It means a lot to you, doesn't it?" he said.

Jordan's left hand came up, formed into a fist facing him, and it nodded on her wrist three times. That was a definite yes.

"I kind of figured that's why you've been so clingy today," Mel said. "I'm sorry if I haven't been reciprocal. I'm just not . . . used to showing my affection. But I want you to know, I said I'd help however I could, and I mean that. No need to worry."

She leaned forward and kissed him. On the lips. Just a quick peck. Mel smiled. He wished he could see Jordan smile. Failing that, it was up to him to do all the smiling.

Detective MacElroy was chatting with Ha-Yoon as Mel and Jordan emerged from the beer fridge. Long coat, turban, sunglasses; she filled the small hallway to Ha-Yoon's office. She turned to look at Mel and bared her teeth.

"Mister Arkwright," the detective said. "A moment of your time."

They left the store and walked around to the back. The designers of the Cosmic Fill-Up had designed motion detectors and automated light sequences to highlight anyone moving near the building. Probably a security measure. Effectively assured that there was no such thing as privacy within five feet of the building. Yet it did nothing to stop two people from standing outside and chatting.

"Been enjoying your little chats?" MacElroy asked. Mel kept pace with her.

"Yes," Mel said after a moment. "It's really interesting to meet new people, new species. So different to see them in person than to just read about them in books or watch them on t.v."

"You've made quite an impression on them as well," the brain bat said. "'The Good Human.' Polite. Considerate. More than considerate, in some cases."

Mel cringed mid-step. "Is this about the video?"

"It is about the video," MacElroy acknowledged, arms behind her back. "And about your reputation in general. The brain slugs already almost went into conflict; the ghola has put forward a formal request to borrow you, and several individuals of various species have pushed for their own 'interviews' with you. There is a great deal of attention focused on this upcoming integration; the whisper in the World Soul is that they want to offer you a blue pearl."

Mel scratched at his leg, careful to keep his hands away from his crotch.

"I don't know what that means," he said.

"The Ancient, the oldest brain slug host on this planet, is not human," MacElroy explained. "The species is physiologically similar to cephalopods. No true skeleton, primarily aquatic, multiple arms, biologically almost immortal, and incredibly intelligent. The only representative of that host species in the Exodus; the rest of the species may well be extinct. They are prized as host species for their ability to produce blue pearls. Not exactly like Earth oyster-pearls, although the idea is similar. Small, round objects formed over time from natural secretions around a seed of foreign material; typically of superconductive material."

"Oh," Mel said. "That sounds cool."

"Very," MacElroy said. "To the brain slugs, blue pearls aren't property. They resonate with the hive mind; nodes that can transmit some of the bioelectrical signals that make up the World Soul. They are, in effect, like cell phone towers or satellites. Extensions of the hive mind. Anyone who carries a blue pearl—which is implanted in the body—is considered a part of the hive mind. Those who accept are binding themselves to the World Soul. Permanently."

That made Mel pause. "That sounds like . . . marriage."

"Or adoption," MacElroy flashed their teeth again. "It's as close as brain slugs have to the concept. Which is why you need to think very carefully before you accept or reject it. This isn't a small commitment. It means mutual support and fidelity. Including putting the hive mind before yourself and your own needs. Of course, if you hadn't already done that, the offer would never be made."

Mel let out a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding and ran a hand through his hair. The matriarch of the brain slugs was basically Cthulhu and wanted to marry or adopt him. He'd laugh if his bladder didn't suddenly feel cold and full.

"That's a lot to take in."

The detective nodded their turbaned head. "It might not happen. But I wanted you to have some idea, ahead of time, of what it means if they offer you the pearl. You shouldn't go into such a situation blind. A human has never been offered a blue pearl before. It might attract additional attention, from human authorities as well as extraterrestrial ones."

"Okay," Mel said. "Thanks."

"You're welcome," the brain bat said. "I'm not going to be welcome at the integration ceremony, even as a witness or intermediary. So if you do run into difficulty there, I can't help you. However, if you fail to show up for work next week . . . I'll report you missing and start an investigation."

"Ominous," Mel joked, his voice cracking a little. "But thanks again. I think I'll be okay."

MacElroy turned and lowered her shades. She paused. The grey eyes fixed on him, catching and holding his gaze. "Really. Why?"

Mel stopped and sighed. He looked at the grey sidewalk below, the grey sky above. Then he looked the brain bat in the eyes.

"Because I trust them," Mel said.

"Extraordinary," MacElroy said, and slid her sunglasses back up her nose. She turned right, out into the bustling Seacouver streets. Mel turned left, into the Cosmic Fill-Up, where Jordan was waiting behind the counter, eyes bright. Mel flashed her a thumb's up.

The walk back to the apartment at the end of the day was odd. Jordan was with him, arm in arm, hand in hand. Yet there was a flow in the traffic around them. People who fell into step, before, beside, and behind him. Mel saw the brain slugs on their neck, the hands that carefully joined, forming a cordon. Not touching him or Jordon, just a ring of bodies that pressed their way through the sidewalks of Seacouver like a wedge.

There was a bus pulled up outside the apartment. Jenny was there, dressed in Mel's hoodie and black jeans, holding the terrarium. Anastasia and Rachel were beside her, and others—Mel recognized all the brain slugs that Jordan had met in the building that night the brain slug had budded. The trans-man who had met him naked at the door was wearing an Immortals jacket and a ballcap, and beside him were a pair of skinny dark-skinned women like enough to be twins, a young androgynous, muscular figure with red hair and wearing only a wifebeater despite the cold, which showed off two bare chrome arms.

As Mel and Jordan arrived, the doors of the bus opened.

"All aboard," Rachel said. She wore what Mel thought of as business attire—a button-up white blouse, black dress slacks, low-heeled shoes, hair in a bun, a touch of makeup, and made Mel in his Cosmic Fill-Up uniform feel underdressed by comparison. As the crowd parted to let Jenny and the terrarium pass first, then Mel and Jordan, Rachel and Anastasia, the rest followed behind them.

The bus driver was human—no brain slug on her neck—a heavyset middle-aged woman in a basic blue short-sleeved uniform with a sewn-on patch that said Universal Transportation Solutions. Mel wondered if any of the brain slugs actually knew how to drive, or if it was just more convenient to have someone who could talk at the wheel, just in case they got pulled over.

Seats, ancient green leatherette that reminded Mel of school field trips. Only big enough for two adults to sit side-by-side; Mel got the window seat beside Jenny, while Rachel and Jordan sat behind them, Anastasia in front of them, having the whole seat to herself. The seats had that smell, that look; even the small seat belts were reminiscent of trips around the city, never really outside of it. Suddenly, it occurred to him that this might be the first time he would actually leave Seacouver.

"Where are we going?" Mel asked, throat dry.

"The Seacouver Hive maintains a compound, south and east of the city, up the mountain," Anastasia said. "I've never been there, but that's where their archives are supposed to be; and the older hosts—the extraterrestrial ones who are too fragile to move much, or need different climates and medical care—are supposed to be there."

She wore all black, trousers instead of a skirt or dress, including a long black wool coat and black boots. Heavy black makeup around her eyes, like the hollow eye-holes of a skull, and more to emphasize her cheek-bones. Black lipstick that ran above and below the lips to mimic teeth; even the tip of her nose was painted black to emphasize the skull-like appearance. Last but not least: a spiked collar Mel had never seen 'stasia wear.

Protect your neck, Mel thought to himself, and remembered a documentary about desert spiders with various markings to deter predation. Warning coloration.