Symbiosis

by Nicky Drayden

  “So, um, there’s kind of an urgent situation with the Senate, and Charrelle—” Doka’s voice cracks. He swallows the lump in his throat, then tries again. “Charrelle said she saw you two steal off in this direction.”

  Charrelle. Adalla and I exchange looks. Doka’s head-wife. We all love her—we really do. And things are fine at home—just lovely—but ever since Charrelle got promoted to work the heart a few months back, Adalla has been insufferable. She’s confided in me with complaint after complaint. It was all a part of the plan to integrate members from the Contour class into doing beast work, and on paper, it all sounded great: break down the barriers between classes and share the workload. But stick two groups that come from vastly different backgrounds together, and there are bound to be issues. Charrelle was one of the best and brightest, the only Contour class citizen who’d proven herself fit enough to work the most important organ, but despite her talents, she apparently still couldn’t grasp the nuances of beast work. Like privacy. Adalla had clearly been carrying a dimmed lamp that screamed “look the other way” to every other person we’d passed. To them, we were like ghosts, not even there.

  But Charrelle had seen us, and then on top of that, blabbed about it.

  It’s fine, though. Everything’s fine.

  “Well, Seske’s all yours,” Adalla says. “I’m about to go report to ventricle nine, anyway. Busy day. Utopias don’t build themselves.”

  “Actually,” Doka says, “the Senators want you both in their chamber. They say there’s an emergency session, and they need your expertise.”

  Adalla stops. “An emergency session concerning what? Can’t be heart related. I know things are busy here, but we’ve got it all under control.”

  Doka shrugs. “I don’t know, they wouldn’t say. But I don’t want to keep them waiting. They seemed really anxious.”

  “Well, if they’re not saying, it couldn’t be too important. Catch me up later, okay, love?” Adalla kisses me on my cheek then heads for the exit.

  “Wait! You can’t leave us here,” I say. “How will we get back? What if we get lost?”

  “It’s a straight shot back. I’ll leave the lamp for you,” Adalla says, winking at me.

  I shake my head. “Well, what if we do something to hurt the heart? What if I kick a capillary or get sucked through a valve?”

  “Relax. The heart is resilient now, stronger than it was even before we settled here. You’d have to know exactly what you’re doing to really harm it, sure is sure is sure.” Adalla smiles at me once more, then disappears back into the darkness, leaving me here with Doka.

  Alone.

  “I’ll admit I’m glad we have a moment by ourselves,” Doka says. “I have a very personal favor to ask you as well.” He takes a seat next to me. Adalla’s warmth is already dissipating, and a chill runs through me. I pull my blanket up to my nose.

  “Can it wait for me to get dressed? Last thing we need is a scandal. I’m sure Charrelle already saw Adalla leave and will be ready to tell anyone who asks.” I don’t bother to hide my brusqueness with him. I’d been looking forward to this time with Adalla for nearly a week, and in an instant, he’d ruined it.

  Doka bristles at my tone, then his eyes go wide as if the thought of me being naked under this blanket had just occurred to him. “Of course,” he says, his voice cracking again. “Meet me back at home in fifteen minutes?”

  I nod and he leaves. Slowly, I get up, taking the blanket with me, draped over my shoulders as if they’re regal raiment and I’m still Matris. I pick the smashed woodlice from my silks, tossing them to the side. My outer silks are completely ruined, but the inner ones are black as space, and the ichor stains don’t show. I catch a whiff of Adalla’s smell still on them and press them to my nose. Breathe it in. I shudder once more, a small one that fixes a smile back on my face. Leaving me here in her heart, alone—maybe that was a sign of trust. I don’t want to let Adalla down, so I use our dim light to find every little scrap of food and pack them away, along with my ruined clothes.

  By the time I arrive home, Doka’s sitting on the front porch, twiddling his thumbs, definitely not his usually confident self. He glances up at me, almost smiles, then looks back down. Our home blends in with its surroundings, no longer the palatial bone structure I’d grown up in, but closer to a bunker made from brown-gray gall husk bricks. Paired with the glittery blues and pinks of star jewel mortar, it isn’t at all displeasing to the eyes. The bricks vary in size and shape, and are piled in fanciful, meandering patterns, walls bulging out where each family-unit dwells, and a common area in the middle. It’s beautiful, yet quaint—the perfect home for Adalla and me.

  Too bad we have to share it with six other people.

  “What?” Doka asks, standing up and stretching his legs in preparation for our journey to the Senate chambers.

  “What what?” I say.

  “You have to share what with six other people?” he glances back at our home, and I realize I must have said that last bit out loud. He sighs. “I thought you were happy with us. We’ve tried to give you your space.”

  “I am happy,” I say, ducking inside and grabbing a fresh dress and plucking bits of dried ichor from my hair. Doka lurks just outside the doorway. “Everything is perfect.”

  “You’re sure?” he asks, the skepticism in his voice obvious. “You went through a lot, Seske. It’s okay if you need more time to process. No one is trying to pressure you into doing anything you don’t want to.”

  I nod and will myself to stop from trembling. I’ve learned to ignore it, but the mounting pressure for us to complete our family never truly goes away. Doka’s taken both of his mates already, and we’ve joined with three amazing heart-wives, but Adalla and I, we’re still just a couple. A unit apart. “I know people are starting to talk . . . ,” I mumble as I undress. I need a bath, but no time for that.

  “Let them talk. You don’t need to worry about finding a will-husband. Not this year. Not the next, or even the next, if you’re not ready.”

  “Okay,” I say, and I’m somewhat relieved. Living like this hasn’t been easy for me, but it hasn’t been a walk in the gardens for Doka, either. But he seems to understand me, and I can at least appreciate that. I finish changing clothes and change the subject as well. “What did you want to ask me, anyway?”

  “It’s about Charrelle, actually,” he says as I rejoin him.

  “Oh.” I stiffen at the mention of her name. I know I shouldn’t be so defensive, but I still feel guilty for practically forcing her onto Doka. Personality-wise, she hadn’t been the best fit for him of all his suitors, but she had the strongest, longest matriline—one that was well-respected by many members of the Senate. It was a strategic move my own mother would have been proud of, which makes me even more ashamed to have made it.

  “We should really hurry. Can we talk about it on the way?” Doka presses his hand against my back, leading me out of our home and up the path to the Senate chambers. But between here and there, all the world spreads around us. The view never fails to amaze me. We’ve returned as much of the Zenzee’s gut to nature as we could. It took a couple years for the plants to reestablish themselves, but the blooms this year are so magnificent. The bog waters are so clear, you can see the throttle fish swim to the surface, begging for snacks. Even though we’re pressed for time, we stop to feed them. It’s not my favorite custom, and as a child, I’d once protested, yelling at my will-mother that they were such frightful, ugly creatures with all those little needle teeth smiling back at me. It was the first and only time she’d clapped her hand against my cheek. They are beautiful and perfect; her words ring in my ear even now.

  Doka and I stop at the local vendor and buy a bag of treats for a few cowries, then find a spot far enough away from all the other visitors. Together, we toss bits of boiled meat and cabbage into the water. The throttle fish swim to the surface and snatch them, stuffing the morsels into their puffy little cheeks. They blink their too-wide, too-huma
n eyes at us before dipping back down below into their underwater caves. Doka and I go for the last morsel in the bag at the same time, and our fingers touch. We share a tension-riddled moment before he yields to me. “Take it. It’s yours.”

  I shake my head. “It’s best not to feed them so much anyway,” I say, and leave the morsel where it sits. Doka folds the bag up tight.

  “Maybe later, then,” he says, eyes cast down.

  “On our way back, for sure,” I say, trying to ease the discomfort blossoming between us. “Maybe later” had become my mantra in all matters that didn’t involve Adalla. I would have withered away if she hadn’t been by my side, helping me to pack away all the traumas I’d endured back in that other life, when our world was dying. Avoidance isn’t the best way to deal with the jumble of my still-raw feelings, but it’s certainly the most convenient. “You still haven’t said what you wanted to ask me.”

  “It’s nothing. It can wait.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Mmm-hmm.”

  I don’t pry further. He’s sensitive, this one. But I trust him. He’s brought us back from the brink of extinction, after all.

  Finally, we arrive at the entrance to the Senate chambers, flanked by giant gleaming columns of carved bone. These columns would have been perfect candidates to graft back into the Zenzee, but Doka proposed that we keep them here. He then ordered for the reliefs that depicted our deep histories to be sanded down and smoothed over and hired our best artists to re-carve them as monuments to our darkest moments as a people—showing the lives we’d so callously tossed away, both Zenzee and human. Histories have a tendency to rewrite themselves if you don’t take certain precautions, or so Doka says. It’s strange how easily forgetting comes when you’re not on the receiving end of the hurt.

  I open the door and let Doka pass. He stops so suddenly that I bump into him. “Go. Run now,” he whispers to me. I catch a glimpse over his shoulder. The entire chamber is empty except his three senator mothers with eight young men standing behind them, clad in the most elaborate silk dressings I’ve seen, with thick patinas covering their faces in teals and fuchsias and golds.

  Suitors for me and Adalla.

  It can’t be anything else. I try to turn, but fear has me frozen. I bite my lip as waves of anxiety pour through me. My heart hitting like a fist against my ribcage. So this was the “urgent matter.” The “emergency session.” I’m not ready for it. Not yet. Later, maybe. Much, much later.

  But there is no later.

  “Doka! Seske!” Doka’s head-mother, Jesipha, comes to greet us, pulling me inside by the elbow. “Where’s Adalla?”

  “Couldn’t make it,” Doka says, his voice clearly irritated. “And actually, Seske is supposed to be at another very important meeting right now. We stopped by to say that we’ll need to reschedule.”

  “Nonsense. This won’t take long.” Jesipha shoves me forward now, to get me closer to the men. They all smile demurely, but I don’t make eye contact. “We have some friends we’d like you to meet.”

  “I’ve got plenty of friends already,” I grumble.

  “Seske,” Jesipha says sternly. “We’ve been nothing but patient with you.”

  “Mother, don’t—” Doka tries, but his words are trampled over.

  “It’s been almost three years since you and Adalla married. The rest of your family unit is in order—Doka, Charrelle, and Kallum. Your three heart-wives. It’s time for yours to be complete, as well. Now, we don’t have to make a big show of it. Just a small party with a couple hundred people, max. We’ll plan everything. All you and Adalla have to do is show up.”

  All I have to do is show up. And marry one of these men . . . and extinguish any remaining embers of defiance that still dance in my soul. Even amid the chaos and betrayal from what seems a lifetime ago, I knew who I was and what I wanted. Now, in this time of peace and prosperity, I’m about to lose everything that I am.

  I want to scream, but I don’t. Not here, in front of my law-mothers. Yes, they are family, but they are also senators who would not hesitate to use my instability against me and even their own son if it suited them.

  I open my eyes, force a smile onto my face. “Of course. A small party I won’t object to. Next year, I promise.”

  “Next year cannot do!” says one of Doka’s will-mothers. “We must act now.”

  “We have time. Don’t we, Doka?” I ask, nudging him in the side for support. “It’s not like there’s a child on the way, right?”

  Doka stares at me.

  “Right?”

  He bites the tip of his thumb. “That’s what I wanted to talk to you about earlier. Charrelle is expecting. Not far enough along for us to talk about it openly, but she does need a midwife . . . someone to comfort her and see her through the whole process. We were hoping you would do it.”

  My womb knocks. Phantom tentacles slide against my thighs, reminding me of that Zenzee egg I had carried inside me. I shake my head. The position of midwife is for a woman who has already given birth. Who knows about labor pains and contractions and . . .

  “She asked for you, Seske. Personally. She looks up to you so much,” Doka says, trying to tear through my defenses.

  “I don’t know anything about birthing children.” Not human ones anyway.

  “You’re resourceful and kind, Seske. Charrelle is inquisitive and patient. And you’re both brilliant. You’ll figure it out together,” Doka says, draping his arm over my shoulder. I wither inside, but keep my chest poked out, as if I’m confident.

  “Okay,” I say, agreeing to that, too. What’s another soul-wrenching task to stack up on top of the first?

  “Excellent!” cries out Jesipha. “Now, on the matter of a will-husband . . . would you allow me to introduce you to the candidates.”

  “Not necessary. I choose that one.” I point. The third one to the left. I’ve given more thought in choosing what flavor of curd I want served on top of my gall steaks.

  “Seske,” Doka says, “Don’t you want to consider it a little more before you make a decision?”

  “I don’t care who I marry. It’s not like I really have a choice, right?” I gesture at the suitors, well-built, dark-skinned, and handsome, so much alike that each could be a copy of the next. Faces as blank as statues. If I have embarrassed or upset them, it doesn’t show. I wait for Doka to say something, but he just bites at the air. “Can I go now?” I ask, but I don’t wait for a response. I walk out of the Senate chambers, and when Doka starts to follow, I fix him in place with a cold stare. I know this wasn’t his fault, but I need to be alone right now.

  I let my mind wander as I walk, trying to conjure up the good memories I have . . . before everything went sideways. But even my childhood is not safe. Sisterkin infiltrated our family at every turn, and even though—with her banishment—we were supposed to forget about her completely, she still haunts me in my dreams. I can’t even count the number of times I’ve woken up, sheets drenched with sweat, Adalla hovering over me, blotting my forehead with napkins.

  Even though we don’t speak Sisterkin’s name, Adalla knows how much that betrayal still haunts me. My own sister had tried to kill me, on several occasions, and each time with that sly smile on her face.

  How does someone forget that?

  “Good day to you, Seske,” shouts one of the groundkeepers for the Senate chambers.

  “Hello! Good to see you!” I yell back, surprised by the jovial tone I’d mustered up. My smile is sharp and practiced, though it feels as though it is made from thin glass. The slightest touch would shatter it to nothingness.

  I walk faster. My legs take me to the last place I want to be right now, but it’s the only place I know that will be quiet. It’s cold. Dark. Silent. The equipment has all been scrapped and put to other purposes, leaving only scar tissue behind. The spot where the baby Zenzee had grown has reverted back to a small puckered fissure—ready for the next pregnancy, though there will not be another one.

/>   I’ve never been in a place that felt quite this hollow, which is perfect for how I feel right now.

  I lie down on my back, close my eyes, and will my heart to stop pounding. I feel like I’m spinning.

  I’m having the nightmare again. I hear Sisterkin call my name, feel her cold fingers against my arm, grabbing me. I fight against it, trying to startle myself out of this wretched dreamscape.

  But I realize my eyes are open, and I’m already awake.

  Doka

  Of Collapsed Worlds and Expanded Populations

  I stare at the charts spread out before me, bunkered in my study, ancient tomes piled high all around me. This month’s report from the Environmental Research Initiative looks too good to be true. We’ve achieved an 80 percent reduction in energy usage, the waterways are flowing at record levels with no signs of pollution, and after accounting for the new composting program in the worm fields of the lower bowels, food waste is practically nil. In their recommendations, the ERI suggests that eight hundred more people can be awoken from stasis without a negative impact. I breathe a sigh of relief.

  Which eight hundred will be the next question. I receive letters daily, dozens of them, sometimes numbering in the hundreds, begging for mothers, daughters, and loved ones to be freed from stasis. They say that life is passing them by, and if they are held any longer, they’ll be strangers to their own people when they are finally freed. I wish I could deny it, but I’m afraid they are right about that.

  In some ways those in stasis are the lucky ones. The first year of my reign was hard, there’s no doubt about that. It had been so difficult for most people to let go of their creature comforts. I put them to work, tearing down their old lives, brick by brick. Storefronts leveled, homes too, gardens left to grow wild, nuisance fauna reintroduced despite lengthy protests. It took an emotional toll on everyone.