Will you let him penetrate me?

The end of any tech tree appears like an inevitability; individuals struggle to conceive how different technologies could have flourished. Yet there are species and cultures who pursued "dead end" technologies further: vacuum tubes and analog computers of startling complexity; fluidic circuits; three-dimensional abaci for solving gravimetric equations; laser revolvers that use one-shot canisters of ignitable gases to produce the primary light-pulse. The strengths and efficacy of individual technologies vary, and the most widely-adopted technology is often a function of economic interests rather than the limitations of manufacturing or knowledge, but the lesson every species learns is the same: don't underestimate what you don't understand.
—Mallory Giger, Xenobiomechanics, Chapter 1

"You're my sister," Mel said, as if the word was a shield of sanity against the arrows of madness.

"You did not even know I existed until a few weeks ago," Molly pointed out. "If you had met me before we knew, would you have reservations? Am I that unattractive?"

"You're beautiful," Mel blurted, the reassurance automatic. "It's just—isn't it—wrong?"

"According to whom?" Molly said, as she pulled out of the parking garage. "You are not religious. I am not ma mère, begging for un bébé. Your girlfriends Rachel and Jordan are siblings, yet they have sex, n'est-ce pas?"

"I mean . . . yes, they are," Mel said. Unsure if he wanted to discuss the philosophical ramifications of incest when one of the parties was legally deceased and possessed by an alien entity. "But don't you think there's . . . I mean . . . someone better?"

They were back on the highway now. Mel grabbed the handle of the car door as the small car zipped around a large, automatic cargo truck. He did not like driving this fast, in crowded conditions, while having an argument with the driver.

"Who is better? Some drunken hook-up? A horny jerk who wears me down until I surrender just to get them to shut up, only to be left hurt, bloody, and unsatisfied after a few pitiful thrusts!?" She slammed a fist against the wheel, which made several artificial crystals set in the dash blaze red. With a growl, she zipped in front of the truck and off an exit, decelerating rapidly toward the surface streets.

"I know you know how to please a woman," Molly said softly. "I have seen it. You can be gentle. Conscientious. You do not let your partners go away unsatisfied. I want that."

Mel tried to form an argument. Nothing in his life had really prepared him for this. Most of them revolved around issues that didn't apply in his peculiar situation. As much as he had grown attached to Molly in a short time, he still felt that gap, that lack of shared experiences. Kids who grew up together normally didn't have sex. He had seen that in the orphanage, the long-timers who had been together since third grade usually didn't start dating once they became teenagers. Mel wasn't sure if he could articulate why.

So he said the only thing that he could say.

"I just . . . I don't want it to be weird," Mel said, shoulders sagging as he slumped in the seat. Eyes out the window, watching Seacouver go by. "Between us. Right now, we're friends, we're learning about each other, enjoying each other's company. If we have sex, that might change."

His left hand formed a fist, the nails biting into his palm.

"You've seen how I live. It's not normal. I may never be normal. All of my adult relationships and friendships seem to involve my dick in some way, except you," Mel said. "You're different. And you're a beautiful woman. You don't need me. Not that way. I just, I don't want . . . Even if you or my girlfriends don't care about it, there's what other people think. Your friends, your family. If they find out, they'll judge you. You're going to school, you've got a future, a career; I don't want to screw that up for you. Can you imagine what would happen if social media found out you'd fucked your own brother? How would that look on a résumé?"

It had started out as just an excuse, and by the time Molly had turned into the parking garage, it had become a heartfelt plea. Now Mel's voice dropped again, that empty feeling in his chest like he'd been hollowed out.

"Even if you feel like this now, you might feel different in the future. And you might resent me for giving in. I don't think I could take that. I finally found my sister, and I don't want to lose you," he said, then added. "I don't want to ruin your life."

They pulled into a parking spot. The Protoss powered down. They sat in silence, and Mel had a sick feeling that just by talking about it, they'd already crossed some threshold, done something that couldn't be undone.

"Ma mère, mon père, they lied to me for my entire life," she said. "Maybe they meant well. Maybe they felt no obligation. Yet I knew there was something missing. When I received that notice of a match, it was like a missing piece of myself had been found. I thought maybe it would complete me. Fill the hole in myself. Then I met you."

Molly reached over and laid her hand on Mel's clenched fist.

"I have always been the good girl. My teenage rebellion was trying out hair straighteners. No tattoos, no sex, no alcohol. My guilty shame are the bro-con hentai I don't tell ma mère about. Yet when I watched her with you . . . I realized I wanted that," she said, and sniffed. "I want to do what I want with my life. I want to live my life. And I am scared to do that. Yet I see you living your life, and it may not be perfect, but you are trying and . . . and you've found love . . . and I want a part of that. I want to be a part of that, if only for un moment."

She sniffed again, and Mel saw the tears in her eyes, threatening to fall.

"I need your help, mon frère," she said, and this time something trickled down her cheek. "I don't want to do this on my own. Please. You're the only one I trust with this. You did it for ma mère. Can't you do it to me?"

Crying was cheating. Mel's internal resistance crumbled. She was upset, the emotion plain on her face, and Mel felt a hole open up inside him, not sure how to comfort her. It reminded him of the time Rache had cried on the couch, when Jenny had been caught in her night terror. Even with all the arguments he mustered, Mel couldn't ignore her pain.

"I'll ask," he said. "I can't promise anything beyond that. It's not that I don't care for you, but I have to square things with the others. You get that, right? And if they say no, that's a no. I care for you, but I'm not going to betray them. I promised I wouldn't lie to you, and I won't now."

Molly sniffed again. She wiped her tears with the back of her hands. She was smiling now. Excited. Disturbingly so.

"We'll ask them," Molly said. "Right now!"

Mel dragged his feet a little on the way back to the apartment. Molly kept up with him. Not grabbing his hand or arm, but she hadn't stopped smiling, either. That ache in Mel's chest was still there. He couldn't stop his brain from running through all the reasons this was a bad idea. In his pockets, Mel gripped the device MacElroy had given him and his new phone.

Rachel had class today. It occurred to him that he didn't even have her phone number. Now that he had a phone, he should put her number in there. Maybe Amelia and Béibhinn, too. Ha-Yoon, probably. Just so she could get ahold of him if he wasn't home and there was an extra shift available. Anyone else? The brain slug hosts couldn't talk, but they could text . . . did MacElroy need his number?

The door to 402 opened and they filed in. Jordan and Jenny weren't wearing clothes; Béibhinn had her door closed.

"Hey," he said. "We're back."

The brain slug hosts cocked their heads to the side at the same time. They must have caught something in his voice. Molly gently closed the door. She coughed and stepped forward.

"I am . . . a virgin. I do not wish to be. After watching Melvillé with my mother, I . . . I decided that I would like him to break my hymen," Molly said, her voice quavering a little. "He has reservations, but after discussing it, he agreed we should ask you. Mon frère values his relationship with you. He will not do it without permission. I, too, respect your relationship. So . . . please? Will you let him penetrate me?"

Mel winced. There had to be a more delicate way to say it.

Jordan and Jenny's hands came together. They stood motionless, though the slugs on their necks raised and lowered their heads in a strange rhythm. The colors shifted until they both came to a simple, clear green. Not for the first time, Mel wondered if that represented internal debate or just synchronization. When they touched like that, Jordan and Jenny often seemed to cease to be individuals, but a single, gestalt entity.

After a long moment, they stepped forward together. Molly glanced at Mel, who just stepped out of their way and watched the naked women as they went from the living room to the kitchen. At the fridge, Mel's girlfriends pointed at the schedule.

Saturday. Sunday. Mel's choice days.

He let out a breath he didn't realize he'd been holding.

"That's the schedule. So I don't miss anyone," Mel said. "On the weekends, it's my choice. So I think that's a tentative yes. But I still need to ask Rachel when she gets home tonight."

Jordan and Jenny turned and gave a thumb's up.

In answer, Molly wrapped her arms around him and crushed him with the strongest hug she'd ever given him.

"Thank you," she whispered, her head resting against his chest. "Call or text me when you arrive at a decision. Whatever it is."

Mel sighed. There was still a lot more to talk about. If Rachel approved it, they had to figure out when and where it would happen, if his girlfriends would be present. He needed to buy condoms. Yet he heard the happiness in her voice. Mel hugged her back.

"Sure," he said. "What are little brothers for?"