She said she loved him

Limbs are relatively common among most tool-using species, and manipulators at the end of those limbs vary in size, number, dexterity, and applicable grip strength. From a practical perspective, this means that a wide variety of alien technology shares broadly similar mechanics for control interfaces: handles, buttons, and levers are common. Humans may find an Etherling hammer, designed for a three-fingered grip, short and awkward in the hand, but they can probably use it effectively. Similarly, any human (and many other terrestrial species) can press buttons. This has caused a wide variety of accidents.
—Mallory Giger, Xenobiomechanics, Chapter 1

After everyone had dressed, Lucie was gone, and Mel had kissed Rachel goodnight; he found himself stuffing dirty laundry into three washing machines down in the laundry. Jordan was with him, seated on an orange chair. He settled down next to her and closed his eyes, exhausted in body but also deep down inside, a kind of mental and emotional exhaustion that was different from what he normally felt after sex. Not satisfied, not pleasantly spent, just sort of empty.

Her hand found his, and he gave it a little squeeze.

"Did I do the right thing?" Mel asked. He stared into the little windows, where water was pouring down onto the clothes, to wipe them clean of the scents and stains of sex and sweat. "Should I have just said no?"

Jordan didn't answer. She just held his hand.

Mel opened his eyes and looked at her. She was watching the machines as they began to spin. In profile, he could see the little dip in her nose—it had been broken once, though Mel didn't know how—and the soft roundness of her chin. It occurred to him then, staring at that placid face, that because they didn't smile, brain slug faces might age differently. Fewer lines around the mouth.

"I didn't want to hurt you," Mel said into the silence. "I didn't want to hurt anybody. Never wanted to be put in that position. Just wanted to make everybody happy. In the end, I don't know if I made anybody happy."

Now Jordan turned her face towards him. No longer flush with arousal, her face was pale, except for the scatter of freckles across her cheeks and the bridge of her nose. The brain slug on her neck, a translucent emerald now, shifted its small dark head towards him. Her thumb played over his fingers for a moment, then pulled away. She twisted in the chair to face him.

Jordan pointed at herself. One finger, right between her breasts, almost tapping her sternum.

Then she crossed her arms over her chest.

Finally, she pointed at Mel, and her finger poked him in the chest, as if for emphasis.

Mel knew those signs. He had learned them recently. Some of the most important signs of all. They spelled out a simple phrase.

"I love you, too," Mel said, as he repeated the signs to her.

Jordan didn't smile. But she took his hand in hers and went back to watching the laundry. Mel wasn't sure what else he needed to say to her. What else could she say to him? He knew she could understand what he said, but his vocabulary in ASL was still so limited; he wasn't sure what she could say back that he would be able to understand. There was still that vast gap between them, of things unsaid and unsayable.

Yet she said she loved him. Maybe she thought that was enough.

Mel hoped she was correct.

They worked together to move the wet laundry into the dryers. More credits spent. More spinning. In the quiet, Mel's brain would not stop running over things. Piecing together patterns that might not exist. Trying to define a picture from the noise of his life. A dangerous mood that led to weird, paranoid thoughts.

Did they want me to impregnate her? Mel wondered, thinking of the brain slugs. Just to make sure I could? I mean, I know my sperm count and motility are high, and they said they want a hybrid. Is this an experiment? To see if I can get someone pregnant?

It wasn't a thought Mel liked. He wanted, needed, to trust his girlfriends. The thought that this was all part of a long game, and he was just supposed to be some stud horse for their breeding program . . .

The thought was short-circuited by Jordan climbing into his lap. Being taller than Mel, this was awkward. He had to shuffle forward until his butt was on the edge of the chair, so her legs could wrap behind him. Her long arms wrapped around his, and her cheek rubbed against his forehead. One of the women working at the orphanage occasionally brought an old cat, which would crawl into her lap like that. A vampire for warmth, demanding physical touch and proximity.

Mel wrapped his hands around Jordan's lower back, just above the waistband of her athletic pants. A distant twinge of complaint from his crotch, which he ignored. There was nothing sensual about this. Just . . . warmth. They sat there as the dryer did its thing, and Mel breathed in her smell, that slightly fishy odor that he had grown so used to that he didn't even notice it anymore, except when they were close like this. Her mouth moved down to his ear and nipped it, holding the cartilage between her lips, applying just a little pressure.

There was a time when being this close to her would have scared Mel.

The ding of the dryer interrupted their reverie. They folded shirts and socks, pants and panties, sheets and towels. Mel wasn't sure how to roll a fundoshi, and decided to simply roll them up into tubes. He could look up the proper procedure later.

Then up, five flights, his thighs aching, eyes resting comfortably on Jordan's butt. He wondered how she felt. They'd never talked about what it felt like after sex. Mel knew she and Jenny liked to take a shower soon after. Brush their teeth. Come to think of it, Béibhinn had been quick about it after their encounter. Brain slugs were fastidious because of their sensitive chemical sensors. Probably Jordan would be dying for a wash once they got back.

Jenny was curled up naked on the couch. Béibhinn's door was closed. Mel handed Jordan the towels.

"Go ahead and shower," he whispered, trying not to wake Jenny. "I'll put the laundry away."

No smile. Jordan's hand brushed Jenny's shoulder, and the other sat up, as if she hadn't been asleep at all. Mel spent a few minutes putting the clothes in the drawers—and noticed, to his chagrin, that the box with that alien device was now in the uppermost drawer. He stuffed his underwear around it. The water was still running when that was done, so Mel made the bed.

They had been very keen on making the bed at the orphanage. It was one of the things they expected them to do. There had been older teens, Mel's age, who swore when they got out that they would never make their bed again. That they'd rather sleep on the floor. Mel wasn't sure if any of them followed through on that.

At the end of the day, he thought, as he stuffed pillows into pillowcases, I like sleeping on clean sheets.

Jordan and Jenny emerged, clean and fresh and very tired. Mel let them pass straight into the bedroom as he took his turn in the shower. He was just getting a good lather going when the door opened again, and Béibhinn sat on the toilet. His cheeks burned as he heard a tell-tale tinkle.

"So, you actually did it?" the ghola asked. Mel had to stick his head out from behind the shower curtain to hear her. The burn spread to his ears as he realized that Béibhinn was naked and taking a leak. Automatically, he shifted his gaze to the ceiling. "Inseminated the old lady?"

"Yeah," Mel said. "I did. Indirectly. Condoms."

"Right," Béibhinn said, nodding. She was staring at the curtain, at about the level where Mel's crotch should be. "Did they use the device? The bio-selector?"

Mel frowned. He hadn't even considered they might do that.

"No. Never took it out of the box," he said.

"Good," she said, elbows on her knees. Her skin looked thinner than before. Stretched taut in places, slightly baggy and wrinkled in others. "That might have been a problem. I'm a little concerned, honestly."

Mel's jaw worked. "About what?"

"This whole breeding urge," Béibhinn said. "It isn't normal. I mean, it's normal enough for brain slugs. Once they're in a host body, you've got a critter with a brain the size of a pea plugged into a much bigger brain, and the slug is piggybacking most of the host's instincts and autonomous routines. Reproductive urges can be very strong. It's not unusual for brain slugs to investigate mating behaviors. The hives plan on that, work around it, to control it, channel it into desired outcomes. But . . . the others. Rachel, that older woman . . ."

"Lucie," Mel supplied.

"Right. From what I gather in Earth culture, that's not normal," the ghola said. She twisted her head. There were audible cracks from her vertebrae, and she gave a lopsided smile. "I never really get used to that. I need to talk with MacElroy about your . . . breeding session."

"Why?" Mel said, not sure what she was getting at. Sure, what happened tonight wasn't normal as far as he understood it, but he couldn't see how that was any of the brain bat's concern. She had nothing to do with brain slugs or anything else.

Those rusted-jade eyes rose and met his.

"The Changeling," she said. "If it exists. It could potentially influence people indirectly. Rhizomat bodies are basically bio-chemical factories, but they don't understand the communication protocols of most species, but brain slugs primarily communicate through chemical markers, scents, and pheromones. A regular brain slug plugged into a human can't produce anything that would affect you more than, say, a wet pussy in the face might get any human male hard. A brain slug plugged into a Rhizomat has access to a much better chemistry set. It could be capable of amplifying responses. Triggering instincts. It might be why Rachel keeps coming across the hall to try and mate with you in the wee hours. That's one theory, anyway."

The hot water began to run out. Mel quickly rinsed the suds off and shivered under the cold for a few seconds before turning it off. Béibhinn stood, wiped, and flushed, then thrust the curtain aside and had a long look at the wet, naked roommate before handing him his towel.

"Not trying to dent your ego, you understand," the ghola said, offering him a crooked smile. "But it's possible that there was a lot more going on tonight than just one MILF with a biological clock tick-tick-ticking. Something for you to think about."

Mel did think about it as he toweled off. That aching emptiness inside his chest, the knot in his guts returned. He had assumed Lucie had been acting of her own free will, but if she was under the influence . . . but then, how could she be? She'd been coming on to him at the restaurant, hadn't she? Told him about her desire to get pregnant at the Cosmic Fill Up. When and where could the Changeling have gotten to her?

There were no answers to Mel's questions. So, before he crawled into bed between his girlfriends, he carefully slid the cold steel cage over himself and locked it, then wrapped the fundoshi about his hips.

Maybe he would be able to think more clearly in the morning.