Symbiosis

by R S Penney

  Heaven help him.

  Chapter 2

  McDougall's Pub was a quaint little restaurant down in Centre Town, a hot spot for people who wanted to enjoy a quiet meal and a beer after work. Faux lanterns were hung up on the wood-panelled walls, casting soft orange light upon the wooden tables that were spread out across the blue carpet.

  There were booths along each wall, most of them filled with young couples sharing a romantic evening, and the noise of soft conversation permeated the room, settling into a hum in the back of Jack's mind.

  The young hostess stood at her place just inside the front door. Skinny as a post, she wore a pair of black pants and a matching shirt that clung to her body.

  Her sun-darkened face was framed by long dark hair that dropped to the small of her back, little flecks of body glitter sparkling on her cheeks. “Hello, Jack,” Genevieve Stevenson said coyly. “Working late again?”

  Folding his arms across his chest, Jack lifted his chin. He squinted at her, steadying his nerves. “Genevieve,” he said, nodding once. “And how is my favourite grade-twelve student this evening?”

  “Eighteen in two weeks,” she said. “In other words…soon to be legal.”

  Jack snapped his fingers. “I'll have to write Parliament about that.”

  He left before she could come up with a reply, clocking in on the small touch-screen terminal on the back wall. After that, it was a quick jaunt to the middle of the room where he found several tables in a state of disarray. Nothing like a little manual labour to take your mind off things you'd rather not think about. School and grades and seventeen-year-olds who didn't know when to quit.

  “Do you work here?”

  He spun around.

  Mopping a hand over his face, Jack scrubbed fingers through his hair. “Yes, ma'am, I do,” he said, blinking a few times. “Is there anything I can help you with? Do you have a table?”

  The old woman who stood before him wore a winter coat despite the warm spring weather. Her leathery face was marked by a mole on her cheek, and the curly hair on her head had turned white. “My hamburger is all wrong,” she explained. “I specifically told the waitress no pickles. Are you all deaf?”

  Red-cheeked with chagrin, Jack smiled and bowed his head to her. “We'll get you another one right away,” he said. “My apologies, ma'am. Allow me to offer you a free dessert.”

  “I don't want dessert.”

  The old woman folded her arms over her chest. She lifted her chin and stared up at him for a long moment. “I want you to get my order right the first time. My husband and I have been waiting twenty minutes!”

  “Right away, ma'am.”

  He made his way back to the kitchen, trying to stuff the bile back down into the pit of his stomach. These were the joys of the service industry! Without some kind of higher education, he could look forward to a long life of taking abuse from senior citizens who had forgotten that to err is human.

  The kitchen was a white-tiled room where fluorescent lights in the ceiling gave off enough illumination for the half dozen or so cooks to scurry about like a swarm of bees gathering pollen. A deep-fryer on the back wall was operated by a man in a white uniform with a hairnet on his head.

  The head chef stood at her worktable, chopping carrots. A gorgeous woman in her late twenties, she wore the same uniform as every other cook, but somehow made it seem a little more…spiffy.

  Her round face was marked by rosy cheeks, and sweat glistened on her forehead. A hairnet held blonde hair in place. “Hey, Tracy,” Jack called out. “We need another burger for that couple at table six.”

  “Seriously?”

  “Sadly, yes.”

  A smile bloomed on Tracy's face, the rosy hue in her cheeks somehow deepening by several shades. “All right, Jack,” she said softly, “but only because you ignore my cousin's attempts to throw herself at you.”

  “She can throw all she wants,” Jack muttered. “I've never been good at catching. I'm more the guy who shouts, 'I've got it! I've got it!' then runs into the wall.”

  “The wall?”

  “Mine is not a happy story.”

  His night went on like that for several hours: menial tasks coupled with a whole lot of self-recrimination. For whatever reason, he just couldn't get the events of that morning out of his head. Jack Hunter, the loser. Jack Hunter, the man who had managed to screw up his life before his age even started with a two.

  When he wasn't waiting tables, he was putting supplies away, making sure that the condiments were stocked and cleaning up after people who really should have been old enough to know better. It was a lovely existence. At one point, he crossed paths with old Lou, the restaurant's owner. A grunt and a stiff nod were all he received after wishing the man a good night.

  The supply room wasn't much bigger than a closet, its walls lined with old brown bricks, and steel shelves made it hard to move around. He spotted a box of napkins up on the highest shelf. Good thing I'm tall.

  Craning his neck, Jack squinted at the top shelf. “All the way up there, eh?” he said, nodding to himself. “Well, good thing natural selection decided to bless me with a tall and lanky physique.”

  “Hey, Hunter.”

  He whirled around to find another man standing in the doorway that led back to the kitchen. Marc Norris was a large fellow with a scruffy beard on his sun-darkened face. “Your sister's here.”

  Jack buried his face in the palm of his hand. He let out a groan that reminded him of a dying weasel. “Just what I need,” he muttered. “A little mothering by proxy. Let me guess, she has food.”

  “Go easy on her, man,” Marc shot back. “Wish my sister cared like that.”

  “Yeah…I know.” Jack pushed past the man, making his way into the kitchen. The steel door in the back wall led out to the small parking lot that the staff used. When they could use it. Half the time, customers sneaked in there, and it wasn't like you could tell them not to.

  Once he was outside, Jack took a moment to savour the sweet caress of cool wind on his face. The night was crisp and clear with a thousand tiny stars decorating the sky, barely visible thanks to the glow of city lights.

  The small parking lot was packed, each space taken up by someone's car – many of them too big to maneuver in such close quarters – and Jack wondered why anybody even bothered to drive to work. He spotted his sister maybe twenty feet away from the back porch, waiting for him.

  Lauren Hunter was a slender woman wearing black pants and a short-sleeved shirt. Her long dark hair was tied back to reveal a pale face with sharp blue eyes. “I come bearing gifts,” she said, lifting a plastic bag. “Chicken soup. And I expect you to eat it.”

  “Or what?”

  “I'll kick you.”

  Jack rolled his eyes.

  “I have something to tell you,” he began with a touch of hesitation in his voice. He had been meaning to put this off as long as possible – anxiety was like a drill punching a hole in his chest – but now that the opportunity had presented itself, he had to get it over with. “The university turned me down.”

  “Oh…That's not so bad.”

  Jack turned away from her.

  Marching up the steps with his arms folded, he stopped on the wooden deck. “Not so bad?” he said, glancing back over his shoulder. “I seem to remember a whole army of guidance counsellors saying the opposite.”

  Lauren stood in the parking lot with hands clasped behind her back, her eyes fixed on the pavement. “You yourself said guidance counsellors don't know anything,” she told him. “I know Dad will have a fit, but you'll work things out.”

  “If you say so.”

  “Stop being so hard on yourself, Jack,” she snapped. “There are many schools and there are many ways to survive in this world without going to any of them. Our parents might have had all these lofty ambitions, but things aren't the same for us and that's okay. You know we'll always take care of each other.”

  He did know that much. Many times over the last ye
ar, he had considered moving in with Lauren and her boyfriend Steve. The idea of living with a couple made him a tad uneasy, but his sister seemed in favour of it. It was Steve he wasn't so sure about. Still, it was good to know he had someone. “Thanks, sis,” he said softly. “For the soup and the words of encouragement.”

  “Make sure you eat.”

  The evening wore down along with Jack's energy levels, customers gradually clearing out and leaving the pub in a state of dim silence with the scent of various dishes still lingering in the air. Somehow, he found time to wolf down the sandwich and guzzle the cup of soup before midnight.

  His last few tables wanted nothing more than a pitcher of domestic beer and the odd appetizer, so he left them with their bills and set about cleaning up. With that done, he sat down to rest for a while. That was how he found himself talking to Genevieve.

  Jack sat in a booth with his elbow plunked down on the table, his chin resting on the palm of his hand. “Not a bad day,” he said, eyebrows rising. “Tips alone will cover groceries for a week.”

  Across from him, Genevieve leaned back against the leather seat cushion, a smile on her pretty face. “Or you could do something romantic,” she teased. “You ever hear of the Star Registry? Last week, Lou bought a star for his wife.”

  “You know, one of these days someone's gonna purchase a star that happens to be home to some other species.” His mouth stretched in a yawn that he stifled with his fist. Letting his arm drop, Jack smacked his lips a few times. “I wonder what's gonna happen when they find out about it.”

  “Are you always so glum?”

  A wave of heat surged through Jack's face. He squeezed his eyes shut, bowing his head to her. “I like to think I'm realistic,” he murmured. “But I guess I could buy a star. Galactic Domination has always been a goal of mine.”

  In a way, he felt sorry for Genevieve. He wasn't that much older than her – less than two years, to be honest; hardly a massive age difference – but deep down, he just couldn't bring himself to open up to her. Oh, she was gorgeous, but Jack knew that if they were to ever try a serious relationship, it would fall apart. “Look, kid,” he said at last, “I promise it's not you.”

  Genevieve lifted her chin, her eyes as sharp as daggers as she watched him. “Then who is it?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “Don't tell me you're going to fall back on the 'it's not you, it's me,' routine.”

  “Can't beat a classic.”

  “Har har.”

  “I'm not headed for a bright future, kid,” Jack said. “Trust me, you do not want to board this train.”

  Genevieve lowered her eyes to stare down into her lap, her cheeks flushed to a soft pink. “You know,” she began, shaking her head, “maybe you're right. Excuse me, Jack. I just remembered I have something to do.”

  She left without another word.

  A heavy sigh escaped him as he buried his face in his hands and rubbed his brow with his fingertips. “Good one, Jack,” he muttered to himself. “You're becoming such an expert in the fine art of diplomacy.”

  Chapter 3

  Anna threw her head back with eyes squeezed shut. She let them flutter open. “Oh my…,” she said through a gasp. “Well, that should just about take care of it. Thank you for the conversation.”

  The woman who sat across from her was positively lovely with a pretty face framed by long dark hair. “Are you alright?” she asked, raising an eyebrow. “You look like you might be sick.”

  Covering her mouth with the tips of her fingers, Anna felt her face grow warm. She shut her eyes. “Yes, I'm fine,” she said, nodding to the other woman. “Just a little fatigue. Nothing serious.”

  The woman stood.

  Slipping the strap of her purse over her shoulder, she watched Anna with a concerned expression. “Well, if you're sure,” she said, turning away. “But if you need medical attention, I can call an ambulance.”

  “Thank you, but no.”

  The small coffee shop she had chosen for this exchange was sparsely populated. A dozen round tables were spaced out across a black-tiled floor, most unoccupied. Behind the counter, a young man in a black uniform stood with his face concealed by something called a…Damn it! What's that word? A magazine!

  The face of a woman with a sultry expression dominated the cover, her long dark hair falling over her shoulders in waves. Objectification of women. If her knowledge of history was accurate – Anna cursed her decision to frequently doze off in Mr. Dae's class – her own people had faced similar problems once.

  Through the window on her right, she could see people making their way up and down the sidewalk and beyond them a line of…Cars! A line of cars making its way along the road. You can do this, Lenai.

  Her faint reflection in a mug of coffee wavered as she blew on it, ripples spreading across the surface. At least these people had discovered coffee. Their planet seemed very similar to her own.

  The Nassai within her stirred.

  Anna bit her lip as she stared into the mug, a lock of reddish blonde hair falling over one eye. I know you're tired, she thought at the symbiont. I'm tired too, but we've got to keep at this a while longer.

  No reply.

  Clamping a hand over her mouth, Anna shut her eyes tight. She took a deep breath through her nose. Can't you at least acknowledge me? she screamed in her own mind. I'm all you've got down here.

  No reply.

  The Nassai preferred to avoid direct interaction. Through their blending of minds, she was able to learn a complex language in days, but that was not something that Nassai did often. They preferred to allow their hosts to learn on their own. Only sheer necessity had changed that.

  Pulling her brown coat over her shoulders, Anna got to her feet. She paced across the room to the door, pushed it open and stepped through. I guess I'll just have to keep myself company.

  Once outside, she found herself on a street with tall buildings on either side, glass spires that stabbed the overcast sky. A yellow car sped toward her, carrying a young man who stuck his head out the back window.

  His thin face was marked by a neatly trimmed beard, and spiky black hair crowned the top of his head. “Hey, gorgeous!” he shouted as he passed. “Five Twenty-One Lisgar Street! I'll be expecting you at seven!”

  Anna flinched.

  Such behaviour was considered taboo among her people. That wasn't to say there weren't any brash young men with difficulties respecting boundaries, but most would be compelled to keep their mouths shut by the stares and frowns they received from their peers. The driver of that car ought to have scolded him.

  She looked down at herself.

  Anna still wore the gray pants and black blouse that she had been wearing during her pursuit of Denario. “Except now they're starting to smell,” she muttered in her own language. “I need to blend.”

  Not far ahead, the door to a shop swung outward, allowing a woman in a black skirt and white blouse to step out onto the street. Her face seemed frozen in a tense expression, golden hair falling to her shoulders.

  A child came out behind her.

  No older than four or five, the boy wore a pair of overalls and a red shirt, a tiny cap on his head. “I want McDonald's!” he shouted, stumbling up to his mother. “Mom, I want McDonald's for lunch!”

  He looked over his shoulder.

  In a heartbeat, he was waddling up to Anna, craning his neck to stare up at her with enormous blue eyes. “Who are you?” the boy inquired. “You got crazy hair! Why do you got crazy hair?”

  She dropped to one knee.

  Chuckling softly, Anna smiled and nodded to the boy.“You shouldn't run away from your mother,” she told him. “If you get lost, you won't be able to have any McDonald's.”

  “Why are you talking to my son?”

  The woman strode forward with arms folded, her chin thrust out as she stared down her nose. “What's wrong with you?” she said, seizing the child by his shoulders.

  Anna said nothing.

  Such hostility. Did
the woman actually believe that she would harm a child? What kind of people were these? Doing her best to remain inconspicuous, she started down the sidewalk again.

  A queasy feeling settled into her stomach when she added the factors together. In two days on this planet, she had encountered all sorts of people, and every single one of them had displayed mistrust. Those first few interactions – when she had not yet grasped the rudiments of their language – had been particularly difficult. Thank the Companion for her Nassai.

  A few minutes later, she came upon one of the currency-dispensing machines these people used, built into the concrete wall of a skyscraper. The bright blue screen displayed words in a language she could not yet understand. She could speak but she couldn't make sense of any of the letters. She looked around to make sure she had enough privacy; after a few months of this, she'd be as distrustful as anyone else in this city.

  I cannot believe I've been reduced to this, she thought to herself. A Justice Keeper made into a petty thief.

  She retrieved her multi-tool – a small metal disk that fit in the palm of her hand. After pushing a few buttons with her fingers, she watched lights blink on its surface. The tiny screen lit up with the words “scan mode.”

  A blue ray of laser scanned over the intake slot that she had seen people use to slip plastic cards into the machine. A moment later, her multi-tool went silent as it processed the slot's dimensions.

  Tiny nanobots emerged from a groove along the tool's outer edge, trillions of them building on top of one another, forming a gray rectangle in the shape of one of the cards she had seen people use.

  Anna fed it into the slot.

  The screen on the disk blinked a few times. Her multi-tool was sending electrical signals, learning the currency dispenser's circuit architecture. In just a few moments, it brought up a series of menus.

  Turning her face up to the sky, Anna blinked when the sunlight hit her eyes. You're really going to make me do this? she thought at the Companion. No last-minute twist of fate to spare me the blow to my integrity?