The Druid Gene

by Jennifer Foehner Wells

  She avoided looking in the full-length mirror again, running her fingers through her hair absently, feeling for tangles, then pulling it back into its ponytail and going to the door to let herself back into the hub.

  Raub lounged against the wall with his eye on the door. When she appeared, he straightened and turned without a word to open another door. There, a long, narrow counter-height bench occupied a room. At one end lay a pile of food cubes, a pair of squat plastic cups, and a couple of stools that were a bit short for the table. Raub sidled up to it and stood there, as though waiting for her to approach and join him.

  His eyes bored into her. “There’s no need to be rude. Is there something amiss with the meal? I thought perhaps you’d like to eat like a civilized person. Was I wrong?”

  She came forward, feeling numb and wooden. She didn’t know what he expected of her, but surely he wouldn’t drop a bomb like that and think she’d be unaffected. She sat down and Raub immediately sat as well, watching her expectantly.

  She couldn’t meet his gaze for long. She kept looking up to the ceiling, hoping the tears she was fighting would drain away before they spilled over her cheeks.

  “How long will you keep me waiting, Leebska? Is this some custom on your world—to delay consuming nourishment until your table partner is ready to consume you?”

  “I—no. I don’t know your social customs. The…the…ah…” She darted a glance at him. His brow was raised.

  She tried again. “The hymenoptera.”

  She noticed for the first time that his eyelids were so thin as to be somewhat transparent. She could see a network of blue veins through his skin.

  She felt a hot, fat tear slide down her cheek. Her lip quivered and she fought to tighten her lips. “I’ve always eaten alone until now.”

  He stood suddenly, his stool clattering noisily to the floor. He grabbed her face, jerking it up and tilting it one way and then another, roughly. “What’s this?” he growled.

  She pulled at his fingers, but he was strong and they wouldn’t budge. “What?”

  “Your eyes are running sores.” He dropped her face and turned away, swearing soft and low. He turned back to her. “Hain will not be pleased if you aren’t kept in optimal condition. She will want to see this, run some cultures.” He grabbed her arm and moved stiffly toward the door.

  “Wait!” She tried to pry his thick fingers from her arm. “I’m not sick.”

  He turned and cocked a fuzzy brow at her.

  “You’ve never seen tears before?” The word “tears” didn’t translate. It came out in English.

  “Tiersz?” He looked skeptical. “Is this some kind of druidic self-abasement ritual before meals?”

  She felt weary. “No, it’s a human expression of emotion.”

  He steered her back to the table and stood there, aloof. “Human? They told me you were drudii.”

  She sank back down onto the stool, shaking her head. “I guess I’m that, too. It’s complicated. I don’t really know who or what I am…or what I’m capable of.” I’m black. I’m white. I’m human. I’m druid. What else am I?

  He sat down and frowned at her. “Most individuals are capable of far more than they imagine.” He pushed a food cube at her. “Eat and then tell me of this human ‘tiersz’ emotion, if you must.”

  She ignored the food. “I’m not hungry.”

  He heaved a sigh that turned into something like a growl toward the end. “Can you at least take one bite, Leebska? I’m not permitted to eat unless you do.”

  “Oh. I didn’t realize.” She broke off a small corner of the food cube and put it in her mouth. It tasted like sawdust. She chewed out of habit and let her hands fall to her lap.

  “Finally,” he grumbled, tearing a chunk off of a dense cube and shoving it in his mouth. He eyed her malevolently for a moment, then said, “You’re like an adolescent, off your rock for the first time. I’ll try to remember that, though I have little experience with adolescents and less patience.”

  She squirmed uncomfortably. After days of solitude, she finally had some freedom and company, but now she wanted nothing more than to grieve privately. “Why did they put you in charge of watching me?”

  “That seems fairly obvious. You’re valuable, but can’t be left on the floor to stir up the stock. Normally they’d have either spaced you or confined you here under the care of hymenoptera, but Hain doesn’t want you killing the crew left and right and wreaking havoc all over the ship. I’m strong enough to keep you under control and more resistant to your…impulses than the bugs.”

  She furrowed her brow. “But you said you’re a prisoner, too. Why do they trust you?”

  “They don’t. They’re watching us, Leebska.” He gestured vaguely at the walls, as though they had eyes. “I’ve been on the ship a long time. They haven’t found a buyer yet that wants to pay what Hain has decided I’m worth. Like you, they couldn’t keep me on the floor with the rest.” He raised an eyebrow at her. “I killed a few more of the bugs than you did. But we’ve come to an accord. I remain docile as long as I receive certain perks. All bets are off when they find a buyer.”

  A lump formed in her throat. She eyed him furtively. Every instinct she had from the moment she’d laid eyes on him told her to be wary of him. He moved with menacing catlike grace and a vaguely predatory air. His words had just confirmed that. He was a killer by choice.

  She felt compelled to draw a distinction between them, to let him know that they were not the same. “That was an accident. I didn’t know what would happen when I… I…didn’t think it would kill them. I didn’t want to kill them. I just wanted to be free.” More hot tears escaped.

  His eyes narrowed on her. “That was your first kill?”

  She whispered, “Yes,” and buried her face in her hands.

  His voice was cynical. “This emotion that makes your eyes leak, this is regret?”

  She didn’t know why, but that made her laugh—a dry, humorless guffaw. It was just so ridiculous. “Yes. Regret. Sadness. Anger. Lots of emotions. Too many.”

  He looked perturbed. “I see. This washes the emotions away?”

  “Not exactly, but to a degree, I suppose that’s accurate. It’s more of a release.” She tilted her head at him. “How do your people cope with strong emotion?”

  “Strenuous physical exercise is the preferred method to clear the mind and refocus. Some escape into sims. Others use drugs to alter the mind. I prefer to hit someone or kill something.”

  She looked down at her hands to conceal her expression. He was disturbing.

  He seemed to sense her thoughts and pressed on them, like a finger gouging into a tender spot, with his next words. “Death comes to all.”

  “I know that!” she said hotly, then softened her tone. “I was training to keep death at bay. I was supposed to be a medical doctor, not a murderer.”

  “When one agrees to be complicit in pursuits such as slavery, one accepts that life may be capricious.”

  She frowned. That made sense, but didn’t make her feel any better. “I suppose.”

  “And they were just bugs, after all.” The way he said “bugs” made her think it was a slur. She’d heard that tone before and she didn’t like it. He watched her steadily.

  Her head snapped up. “I don’t believe that. Different doesn’t mean inferior.”

  It was so disappointing to find out the rest of the universe was just as full of greedy, amoral, bigoted bastards as Earth. Apparently achieving interstellar travel did not automatically mean that a species was morally evolved.

  “Interesting. It seems their perception of you is skewed.” He popped a bite of food cube into his mouth.

  His comment only confirmed what she’d suspected. The hymenoptera gossiped about her—and they all thought she was one of those bigoted bastards. It also told her something else. Raub was in their inner circle. She shook her head emphatically. “I—we got off on the wrong foot.”

  “I don’t know about fee
t, but your legs are certainly as prickly as theirs.” His lips twitched. Was he suppressing a smile?

  “What?” The fingers of her right hand slid down to her outer calf and she cringed. “I can’t shave them here like I normally do.”

  He looked surprised. “You remove your body hair? For what purpose? For speed gain in sport?”

  Her eye was drawn to the velvety hair covering his beefy arms and the strange juxtaposition of that. “No, it’s a cultural thing. For beauty.”

  “Beauty? How is such a contrivance beautiful? Nature is beautiful. Why alter yourself in such a manner? Do all of your people do this?”

  She absently brought a crumb to her lips. “No. Just the women.”

  “Adult females only? Does this signal estrus to the males?”

  She accidentally inhaled the crumb and started coughing. He watched her with narrowed eyes and shoved one of the cups filled with water closer to her. She took it gratefully and sipped carefully between coughs.

  Her face felt hot. “No. It doesn’t signal anything. It’s just expected. If a grown woman doesn’t shave her legs, it’s considered odd. We begin to do it around puberty and never stop.”

  “This is a consequence of oppression, of patriarchy?”

  She wanted to say no, but she found herself nonplussed. She’d never questioned it. It was just how things were done. Now she was free of bras and shaving, but she was in a far worse situation. She’d gladly embrace both of them, if she could just be home again.

  She decided to ignore his uncomfortable question and ask her own instead. “Is your culture a patriarchy?”

  He nodded as if she’d answered him in the affirmative and was slow to reply, taking his time chewing another bite of food. “No. It is not. Within my species, the genders are of comparable size and equally fierce fighters, though fighting style may vary greatly. There’s virtually no dimorphism between the sexes. Females need no protection during gestation, nor assistance rearing young, though one may form a cooperative if that is her inclination. There’s equal representation among our leadership, such as it is.”

  That sounded amazing, except for the fighting part. She couldn’t help but wonder what a female of his species looked like. She tried to imagine him with a slightly more feminine appearance. Perhaps, she mused, the females simply looked more feline. She shouldn’t have been staring so hard, but it was hard not to. Her thoughts raced with questions about his anatomy and physiology, his culture, his world, and how he had come to be on the ship.

  “We are not a vain people. Individuals are judged capable not on appearance, but on merit. Skills are valued above all else.”

  He’d noticed her staring. “Oh, that’s awesome, I mean—I—” She sputtered until she just gave up.

  He leaned in, clearly reveling in her discomfort. “Does my appearance please you or repulse you, Leebska? Or have you decided?”

  She put her palms flat on the table in an attempt to ground herself. “No—I mean—I’m just curious. You…” She sighed. “I’m not trained in interplanetary relations, can you tell?”

  “No matter. We are companions, confined together to these rooms, for now. You are free to do as you wish, within reason. You’ll not be confined to the sleeping cell unless you cause more problems. But, be forewarned that if you do decide to do anything foolish, I will not be gentle in suppressing you. I am not eager to give up what little freedom I have.” He waved his fingers and turned all his attention to his food and drink.

  She lingered for a moment until she was certain that had been a dismissal, and then she left the room to be alone with her thoughts.

  thirteen

  The days stretched out, long and lonely. Darcy spent a lot of time sitting on the floor opposite the egg cell with her knees drawn up to her chin, watching them squirm and tremble inside their tiny, fluid worlds. They were completely innocent and knew nothing of the ugliness of the universe on the other side of their rubbery, ovoid membranes. She ruminated on that, and her guilt, as she observed them day after day.

  She thought about Adam often. She still didn’t know what had happened to him, if he was okay, or where he was being kept. She appealed to Raub to help her find out, but he usually just grunted when she brought it up. He said that no one on the ship cared to keep track of who was who. He had no way of knowing which human was the one she described because there were many of them aboard.

  Today she was remembering the quirky way Adam had introduced himself to her in the college library. She’d been immersed in studying when he’d sidled up to her table, unburdened himself of his backpack, sat down, and opened a book.

  He hadn’t said a word or even met her gaze, but it had gotten her attention. The library had been virtually empty. There’d been dozens of study carols and open tables he could have used. When dinnertime rolled around and she’d gotten up to leave, he’d simply smiled, making eye contact for the first time, and extended a hand. “I’m Adam,” he’d said shyly, and he’d gone back to studying. He’d showed up frequently after that, always quiet, never bugging her.

  She couldn’t decide for the longest time if it was cute or creepy. Finally one day she’d had enough. She’d started out accusatory, threatening to call campus security or even the dean. Truth be told, she’d been in a pretty grumpy mood. She’d had a physics test the next day. He’d frowned and admitted that what he had been doing was pretty weird, but once he’d started on the path he hadn’t known how to stop and he was too shy to know how to do it properly. He’d gotten up to leave, promising not to bother her anymore. He’d been so earnest and what he’d said had rung true. She’d noticed him around campus since his visits had started, always just as alone as she was. So she told him to wait and asked him what his major was. They’d started talking. Then they’d had dinner together in the caf that evening. And that was it. They were inseparable. They just clicked. They had a lot in common—both biracial, both outsiders in all the groups everyone else felt they intrinsically belonged to, both serious students. They quickly fell into an easy friendship that eventually led to more. That time in her memory seemed almost magical.

  Darcy sighed and returned her focus to the eggs. She found herself feeling protective of them and checked on them often. She rearranged them frequently so that they all had equal exposure to air and none of them were crushed under another’s weight. The creatures moved so much that the eggs shifted and often managed to rearrange themselves. She wanted to be sure they’d all survive. When she asked for more information about them, Raub said he knew nothing about bug young and told her she was being ridiculous, that they didn’t need any care.

  They grew quickly, filling the volume of the eggs. They’d soon hatch as larvae and then the hymenoptera would take them away to another chamber, Raub said. She wasn’t sure how she felt about that. On one hand, super-sized larvae sounded disgusting. On the other, she was exceedingly curious to find out what they would look like and how they’d be cared for. She wasn’t afraid of the sight of human blood or internal organs. She was going to be a doctor—she needed to let go of this insect-related squeamishness. These new individuals’ lives were just as important as her own. Handling them daily reinforced that. It helped, somehow, even if her efforts were meaningless to anyone but herself.

  She thought the hymenoptera might object to her touching the eggs, but despite the fact that Raub said they were being watched at all times, no one tried to stop her. She made a point to be very deliberate and open about her actions. She touched them carefully and spoke aloud, describing what she was doing and why she thought it might need to be done.

  She never interacted with anyone but him, and even that was infrequent. Raub was let out of the rooms several times a day to retrieve food and water, but no one ever came in. A couple of hymenoptera would stand outside with shock sticks, their pincers on the door controls, and then they’d escort him away and lock her in. She kept her distance.

  She talked to the eggs, told them about her life before the abduct
ion. How hard medical school was. What living in the Arizona heat was like compared to Ohio. How good Adam was to her, bringing home her favorite chocolate milkshake on particularly rough days, just hanging with her when she was too tired to go out, or giving her random extra-squeezy hugs to cheer her up. The monologues tended to make her feel sad.

  Sometimes she sang to them, whatever she could think of—lullabies, nursery rhymes, Beatles songs. She wasn’t much of a singer and it all came out of her in a weird mishmash of English and the language from the chip in her brain. The rhymes didn’t rhyme anymore, and sometimes that made her giggle at the absurdity of her situation—singing to insect eggs because it seemed like a good thing to do and she had nothing better to fill her time with. At least it felt sort of therapeutic.

  Raub rolled his eyes whenever he caught her singing. He spent most of his time either exercising or meditating. They rarely spent time together except for meals. She got the distinct impression that he tolerated her because he had to.

  An egg wriggled atop its pile with such force that it rolled off over the edge of the cell and onto the floor. Darcy picked it up, examined it for any visible injury, and when she didn’t find any, balanced it on her knee, peering through its murky membrane at the developing individual inside.

  She heard the door open between the rooms and broke off midsong.

  Raub came in and leaned against the wall, frowning. “You should do something more productive to pass the time. You squawk like a seabird.”

  She shrugged. “There’s nothing to do. I’m just waiting to be sold.” Saying those words made it feel so real. She focused on the egg on her knee so she wouldn’t think about it.

  “There’s plenty to do, Leebska. Your physical condition is appalling. Let’s start with that.”