by Nick Webb
Mari couldn’t help her relief at that. She shifted in her chair as much as she could. “Is that why you’re here? Lack of bodies?”
A pause. A laugh.
* * *
Mari was eating lunch in the office when the alarm sirens went off. She dropped everything and ran for the airlocks as red flashed throughout the station.
The elevator door was open when she arrived. There were a half-dozen cargo haulers grouped in front of the door, but Mari’s attention was grabbed by two things: a three-eyed biped gasping and convulsing in the elevator, and an unattached Ecto on the floor just outside, flopping like the biped.
A cargo hauler scooped the Ecto and placed them in a bucket of water. Mari went for the elevator and slammed into the clear gate. It flashed red at her touch. She couldn’t get inside without a symbiote.
One of the cargo haulers yanked her back, even as the biped inside reached for Mari desperately.
“Get away!” the cargo hauler said. Mari was close enough to her eyes to see the irises turn red. “Do you want to bring the planet’s atmosphere in here? We’ll all die!”
“We have to vent the elevator,” another hauler said grimly. “Only way to clean out an atmosphere trap.”
“Go! Report this to your superiors!” the first cargo hauler told Mari.
Mari wanted to ask what “venting the elevator” meant, but she wasn’t used to speaking at work. Before she could summon up the courage to ask, the red-eyed cargo hauler was pressing buttons on the display generated by her watch, and the elevator doors slid shut.
The hiss that followed after told Mari everything she needed to know anyway.
They’d opened the elevator to push out the toxic air, and the biped inside had gone with it.
* * *
The symbiote didn’t say a word to Mari when she went into the office to file the report. The symbiote didn’t say anything when Mari dropped her head in her arms and tried to remember how to breathe.
It was probably for the best.
* * *
When Mari woke up a couple days later, there was a light flashing in her face. It was actually a word on her holodisplay, and not one she’d seen much.
“VIOLATION”, it said. There wasn’t a standard alert for “you fucked up at work” between companies, but it never took much work to figure out a new one.
Rubbing at her eyes, she pulled up the full message on the display. Apparently, she’d been reported by a cargo hauler for “inappropriate conduct”. It didn’t say when, but Mari figured it was from the elevator incident. She’d heard before that warnings were meant to be menacing and not actually helpful. Considering this one told her nothing about what she’d done, she was inclined to believe it.
Mari pinched the bridge of her nose. Two more weeks, and she would have enough money to get to her mother’s planet. Three more weeks, and she could leave. Her contract would be over.
Just three more weeks.
* * *
“You haven’t asked me about my reproductive cycle yet.”
Mari hadn’t spoken at all on the shift after her warning. She’d closed the door to the office at the beginning of the day so her legs weren’t sticking out, and she’d stared at the holodisplay so intently her eyes were dry and painful. The most noise she’d made was a quiet grunt when the symbiote had greeted her that day.
But, to the symbiote’s statement, Mari couldn’t help saying, “What?”
“Ha, knew I could get you talking again.” The symbiote sounded smug. “I bet it’s just because you’re quiet, but humans seem overly fascinated with reproduction and an individual’s role in it. One person—I’m sorry, one man—who worked here was offended I didn’t use ‘he’ to refer to him.”
Mari sighed. “Nothing about your reproductive cycle is my business.”
“You’re the only one I’ve met who’s said that. Even people who didn’t ask about it seemed nervous with a lack of pronoun.”
“There are reasons to care in a lot of human societies.”
“Well, it’s not important in my society.” The symbiote sighed wistfully, but it didn’t seem to be over lack of pronouns.
Mari bit her lip for a moment. She shouldn’t be making conversation. She should be making sure she didn’t lose her job.
But she said, “I think more about your lack of name. I’ve been calling you ‘the symbiote’ in my head. I’d probably call you your species name if humans could say it out loud.”
“I kind of like that. I’m the symbiote.” Mari pictured a person with their chest puffed out. How would a proud symbiote look?
“There isn’t something else you’d like to be called?”
“I don’t get a name.” A pause, and then, “We have different means of identification in my society. When we got to place where a name would have been helpful...the designation number works, I guess.”
Something simmered in Mari. She wasn’t sure what it was. It felt...big.
“You get a name if you want a name,” she said, the edge of what she was feeling giving weight to her voice. “You can choose your name, and I’ll use it.”
For the first time since Mari had met the symbiote, the voice in the speaker was hesitant. “If it gets out...”
The “VIOLATION” light flashed through Mari’s mind. It was in her contract that she would get taken to a transport hub and given her last paycheck if she was fired. What happened to a symbiote that was kept in a tiny box and not given a name?
Her first instinct was to apologize and drop the whole thing. Her mouth formed the beginning of the word “sorry”, even. But there was something else there. Something that knew the symbiote deserved a damn name.
“Just us,” Mari said. “I won’t use it outside this room, if you want.”
Silence. Mari held her breath and curled in as much as she could. If she’d had a little more room, she would have pulled her legs in front of her on her chair and hugged them. She liked hugging herself. It felt safe.
“Sym,” the symbiote said, finally. “Short for ‘the symbiote’, but that’s like a human name, isn’t it?”
Mari couldn’t quite manage a smile, considering everything. It didn’t matter. Sym could probably hear the pleasure in Mari’s voice.
“There’s lots of ways for humans to have a name,” Mari said. “But ‘Sym’ sounds like one I might hear.”
* * *
The only alert that woke Mari up the next day was her standard alarm.
Usually, Mari started her day by getting breakfast, showering, and catching up on intersystem news in her room. She never fully woke up until she was at work. That was why, when the door didn’t open from her cabin to the hallway, she spent several long seconds frowning at the door instead of doing something about it.
When she finally woke up a little, she tried again. The door was stuck.
She tried a third time, pushing the button with one hand and scrabbling with her fingers to find a gap in the door with her other hand. Nothing.
It was second nature for Mari to take the button’s plate off the wall and play with the wires. She’d worked at enough stations where it had been necessary to open any door that way; doors tended to be low priority. She pushed the emergency release, leaving the button’s plate hanging from the wall.
The door slid open like nothing was wrong. Mari froze at what she saw.
“GO HOME HUMAN” painted in ugly block letters on the ground in red.
She covered her mouth to suppress the yell that wanted to come out.
* * *
According to the station info, she was the only biped currently onboard. One of the cargo ships had to have waited until after Mari had left work to leave—it happened all the time—and someone onboard had taken the time to leave her a message. That would have been enough to give her a bad day.
But when she tried to check travel information on her cabin’s holodisplay, she got an error message.
She went to the office a
full hour before her shift started, ignoring breakfast and a shower to get to the holodisplay there. The lights weren’t on in the room and probably wouldn’t be until her shift, so she didn’t say anything in case Sym was asleep. Or in a rest cycle? Mari didn’t know much about Sym’s biology.
As she turned on the display, she realized she hadn’t learned about symbiotes’ rest cycle. All she’d learned was the difference between symbiotes and Ectos in school. Ectos rested on the back of the neck, but symbiotes...her teacher had kept it clinical. The other kids chiming in on their displays had giggled about how gross “swallowing the slug” would be. Mari had turned off her display after the lesson, went into the bathroom she and Mama shared with three other crew members at the time, and puked.
It had nothing to do with symbiotes and Ectos, but Mama had been turning off her display a lot during her talks with Mari lately. Sometimes, Mama managed to apologize before cutting the transmission short. One time, she hadn’t managed before she’d started vomiting.
The glowing display brought Mari out of her head. She looked up passenger transports.
Transports didn’t make it to that particular solar system more than once a week or so; Verdu, the only habitable planet, was still being settled, and the system was just a stop for most. Mari would have to summon a ship deliberately or book passage on one of the cargo ships that came to the station. That last one would be best for speed, but considering the paint outside Mari’s cabin, it wasn’t her favorite option.
She sat back in her chair as far as it would go, tapping her fingers on the edge of the desk. It was a terrible idea, but…
Pulling up information on Verdu confirmed what the elevator incident had suggested: no humans could go down and survive without gear. Mari hadn’t been told about survival gear on the tour—or any evacuation procedures at all—which told her everything she’d needed to know about the possibility of bailing out in an emergency.
The interesting part was that only bipeds with Ectos or symbiotes were granted access by treaty. That seemed an odd distinction to make when buildings adaptable to different kinds of life were so common. Mama had told Mari about all the places on her planet with different levels of gravity and different median temperatures and different levels of humidity. There were undergrounds and bridges for the more common life populations that didn’t fit surface standard. Her planet wasn’t friendly to humans but was primarily settled by them, so the biggest tunnels were Earth standard.
“Took you long enough.”
Mari squeaked before she could cover her mouth. She put a hand to her chest until her breathing settled. “Sym, you scared me.”
“And you didn’t scare me? I didn’t expect you in here so early.”
“Then why did you say ‘took you long enough’?”
For the first time, Mari heard water sloshing. When all the computers were on, it was too loud to hear Sym inside their box.
“Because,” Sym said, “you humans are always so curious about Verdu. Why is that?”
“They’ve probably never been on a planet before.”
Sym didn’t answer right away. Mari didn’t realize how long it took Sym to reply at first because she was busy scrolling back through the travel feeds in case a ship’s manifest had changed on the hour. That happened sometimes.
“Never been on a planet,” Sym said slowly.
“Yeah.”
“Ever?”
“There are a lot of humans, and only a few planets with places where humans can live.”
“But there are so many planets. And there’re ways to adapt buildings.”
Sym was echoing Mari’s earlier thought. For some reason, it made Mari clench her jaw. “People like me don’t deserve to live on those planets.” She made herself relax her mouth. Sym probably didn’t know. “Why do you think I work a job like this? For fun? My mom worked for forty-two years before she made it to a planet surface, and it’s because she’s...she’s not well.”
“What about your home planet?”
“Earth?” Mari shook her head even though Sym couldn’t see it. “My dad passed by it on a freighter once.”
“So you’ve never been.”
“My family hasn’t set foot on Earth in...five generations? Six?” Mari had known the answer once. She rubbed her hands over her face. “Planets don’t matter as much as the people on them, anyway.”
“You said it.” There was a pause. “Have you eaten yet?”
“What does it matter?”
“Maybe you should eat and call your mom.”
“How do you...” Mari frowned. “Do you listen in on my calls?”
“I can’t in your cabin. You should go there.”
Something wasn’t right. Mari felt weird about listening to Sym without asking what was going on, but she had her own problems. And maybe Mama would have some ideas.
“Okay,” Mari said reluctantly. “I’ll be back for my shift.”
“I’m not going anywhere.”
* * *
“Did I wake you?”
Mama looked like she was struggling to keep her eyes open. She was definitely lying down. “No, mija. I’m glad you called. What’s wrong?”
“Wrong?” Did Mari look like she was upset?
“You never call me around this time.”
“Oh. It’s right before work, and I...”
Mari squinted at the display. Had Mama lost weight since Mari had last called? It was hard to tell on a holodisplay, but her face looked thinner. Mari had just called her three days ago.
“I missed you,” Mari said. “How are you feeling?”
Mama sighed. “I need to talk to you about something. Can you—”
There was a thump. Mari didn’t think it was particularly loud, but Mama stopped talking, and her eyes grew sharper.
“What was that?” Mama asked.
Another thump, and the room shook. Mari grabbed her desk to keep from tipping over.
“I don’t know,” Mari said, just as the alarms started going off overhead. She started to stand. “I need to find out, but...”
“Go. I love you.”
Mari’s hand hovered on the off button. Her mom had said it with an intensity that she couldn’t ignore.
“I love you, too,” Mari said. “More than anything.”
She turned off the display.
* * *
The alarms silenced before Mari made it to the office, but Sym was already talking when Mari came in.
“It’s fine,” Sym said quickly. “It’s okay.”
“What’s okay? The whole damn station shook!”
“We were hit by debris. The elevator was doing its daily test run, and the gear that was broken came off and broke a couple things. Whole elevator’s down for the moment, but the station’s integrity is good.”
Mari sat in her chair as hard as the lack of space would allow. The feeling that something wasn’t right still hung in the air. “I didn’t know you could access the computer from in there.”
“I can’t. Your display announces emergency updates, and I can hear them.”
Speaking of Mari’s display, it lit up with an update that directed to her watch. Probably the station manager. She turned her watch on.
“A repair crew is en route,” the manager’s voice said. “Repairs are estimated to take two days. Cargo distribution has been suspended until repairs are complete.”
“Wait,” Mari said. “If a gear needs replacing, I’m qualified—”
“No. A repair crew is en route. Stay out of their way.”
The transmission cut off. Mari kicked the office door, and thanks to her work boots, it thudded in a satisfying way.
“Feel better?” Sym asked.
Mari looked in Sym’s direction. “The gear just broke off by itself. Magically.”
“How else would it break? If HQ had listened to the warning—”
“Who got onto the station last night?”
Sym fell silent.
Mari hated that she couldn’t read the symbiote.
“What do you mean?” Sym said, finally.
“I got a reprimand, someone painted outside my damn cabin last night, and the gear that’s been broken but doesn’t mean anything shut the whole station down. What do you know?”
“I...” There were some sounds that weren’t human speech of any kind, much less English. “The gear wasn’t directed at you. I didn’t know anyone was on the station last night, and not only would I not report you to HQ—”
“You have high turnaround, don’t you? Where does that come from?”
“This is a shit job! I have nothing to do with it. HQ would never listen to a symbiote, anyway. They don’t want me here.”
Mari’s shoulders dropped. She hadn’t realized how mad and scared she’d felt until she’d heard it echoed in Sym’s digital voice. Mari put a hand to her forehead.
“I’m thinking they don’t want me here, either,” she said.
Sym laughed. They didn’t sound particularly amused. “Yeah. I’m beginning to get that.”
* * *
It turned out doing a shift without an elevator to watch was even more boring than a usual shift.
Or it could have been. Mari, knowing that she and Sym were trapped together, asked Sym questions.
The first was answered simply.
“How many people have you worked with? Humans?”
“Month-long contracts are standard, so it’s around twelve people a year,” Sym said. “It’s rarely fewer, and it’s often more. I’ve been here three Earth-standard years, so you do the math.”
The second answer was a bit more complicated.
“What’s swimming like?” Mari asked. She had figured out that lying diagonally on her desks gave her more room in the office than sitting at the chair, so she was on her back, staring at the ceiling and listening to the occasional thump of the repair crew.
“You’ve never been swimming?”
“Water on ships and stations is for drinking,” Mari said dutifully, in the same voice her mother had used when Mari was a child. “That’s a nice way of saying ‘rich people learn how to swim, and you’ll drown and get me fired if you sneak in their pools’.”
