99. Chapter Two
Chapter Two
A nya
It took us a moment in the cave to pull ourselves together. Maybe it’s planet Paragon, or that we’re on vacation and away from our duties on the Fool’s Errand , but I’m calm and happy and more in love than perhaps I’ve ever been.
“Do I look okay?” I ask when we’re close enough to the cave entrance for ambient light to shine in.
He doesn’t spare me a glance when he answers, “You’re the most beautiful thing in the galaxy, Anya.”
I smack his shoulder.
“Do I look like I’m a tourist who hasn’t just fucked her mate in public?”
He turns to inspect me, slides a few stray curls behind my ear, and shakes his head. “The four holes in your shirt are a dead giveaway.” He doesn’t even have the good graces to look contrite. On the contrary, he gives me a wide smile that’s happy enough to show fang. No, he’s not apologetic, he’s proud .
I slap his shoulder again, not bothering to hide my proud smile, either. Hey planet Paragon, this guy is mine.
As we trudge up the mountain, we play a game we sometimes do when we’re on a planet or space station and waiting for others in our crew. It’s a game best played when sitting down, although this works nicely. We people watch.
It’s not just people-watching, though. We tell stories about them. My best friend in high school and I used to play the game at the mall, but on another planet, with a hundred different species milling around, there are so many exciting possibilities.
We giggle. Well, okay, I giggle, he rumbles about the green male and his much younger female companion as we trade salacious hypotheses about their relationship.
We stop the game for a moment as four young, red Halckon males approach. Their matching saffron robes are a clear sign they are acolytes of some religious sect. They look so somber, as if they just touched a sacred artifact. It’s heartwarming after all the hatred, slavery, and death we’ve encountered in our travels to see such earnest holiness in these young monks.
Two tall gray males approach us next. They’re obviously of the same species, looking almost like brothers, although one is much older than the other. They’re nearly Zar’s height, but they’re much thinner. It’s almost as if their necks are too thin for their rather too-large heads.
“They went to the temple to repent their illicit relationship,” I quip because they were both so serious, so dour, it’s impossible to imagine either of them as sexual beings.
Zar laughs, immediately understanding my little joke—the juxtaposition of incongruity.
Suddenly, the planet trembles beneath my feet. Zar was a gladiator for decades. His reflexes are lighting fast. He envelops me in his embrace and takes us both to the ground, covering me as best he can, which is a good move, because rocks are tumbling from the mountain and landing with shuddering thuds all around us.
“It will be okay, Love,” he says, his mouth inches from my ear.
His body bounces against mine. He grunts in pain as he’s pounded by falling rocks while he protects me.
The tremor continues for what feels like hours, but is perhaps a minute at most. It almost stops, then starts again.
When it finally shudders to a stop and Zar peals himself off my back, I hear shouting and wailing from all around me.
People are picking themselves off the ground and finding their loved ones amidst the rubble. As I scan the area, I see two bodies that aren’t moving—the two thin gray males we accused of being illicit lovers.
After Zar ensures I’m fine, we bolt to them. It’s obvious one of them is dead. The younger one’s head is at a shocking angle and his open eyes are glassy. The other is still alive, but his breathing is labored and both legs are pinned under a heavy boulder.
He gasps, then breathes no more.
Zar comms Dr. Drayke. He’s one of the friends who started up the mountain with us less than an hour ago. He can’t be more than half a mile away. It’s obvious we don’t have time to wait, though. The older male isn’t breathing.
I rush to him as I try to remember my CPR instructions. I took the class twice for my shitty call center job back on Earth, but the steps are fuzzy. Kneeling near his head, I sweep his mouth for foreign matter, look, then turn my head so my cheek hovers over his mouth to listen and feel for a breath hitting my cheek. He’s definitely not breathing. I turn my head, lift up on his chin to tilt his head back, pinch his nose with my other hand, seal my mouth over his, then give the two rescue breaths.
“Anya!” Zar shouts. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to save his life.”
“Tell me how.”
If things weren’t so dire, I’d have to laugh. My big Ton’arr male can’t bear to see my mouth on another male even in a life-and-death situation. Ridiculously sweet.
Within precious seconds, Zar’s mouth is on the gray-skinned male.I focus on my chest compressions for half a minute, then glance at Zar. His mouth is sealed over the male’s open mouth with his fingers pinching the male’s nose. Just as I told him, he’s giving rescue breaths.
As soon as I notice he’s breathing in and out without letting up, I shout, “Zar, release his mouth after you breathe into him so you can take a full breath, then breathe it into him.” He immediately complies, and together we give CPR with Zar giving breaths and me providing chest compressions.
All at once, Zar’s body freezes. It’s as if he’s paralyzed. He’s so still, so frozen, I immediately know something is terribly wrong although I can’t fathom what it is.
I hear Dr. Drayke’s reassuring voice from up the mountain as he calls our names at the same moment I watch Zar’s eyes roll into the back of his head. His body loses all muscle tone, and he slips to the ground.
“Anya!” Drayke shouts as he kneels next to Zar who is in a crumpled heap on his back, his head on the gray male’s chest. “What happened?”
I tell him what I can, but I know nothing that can be of help.
Zar is breathing. His skin is unmarked. I see no bruises, no blood.
“Let’s turn him to look at his back,” I say, wondering if one of the falling boulders he protected me from did damage I hadn’t noticed.
Drayke’s mate, Nova, calls for a hover-stretcher, then kneels next to Zar to examine him more closely. As we wait for a hover-stretcher so we can get him back to the ship, the two of them check Zar over. There are some scrapes and small cuts on his golden fur. Drayke palpates his ribs and assures me nothing is broken. We can’t find anything obviously wrong with him.
Dr. Drayke does a quick assessment on the male we were trying to save and assures me there was nothing more we could have done. There’s a small river of blue blood flowing from under the boulder that crushed the male’s legs. There was no chance of saving him, but at least we tried.
Dax, Dahlia, Stryker, and Maddie join us. They’d been exploring the mountain and heard our desperate comms requesting someone from the ship bring a hover-stretcher for Zar.
“No time to wait!” Dax announces. He’s the biggest male on the ship, a mountain of muscle who easily stands seven feet tall. “Will it hurt if I carry him?”
Drayke pauses a moment, which scares me more than anything that’s happened yet. The doctor is a consummate professional and always seems to have the answers. Him not knowing whether Zar is safe to be carried makes me feel as if the blood in my veins has turned to ice water. My breath actually stutters in my chest.
“Yes. I can’t do anything for him here. Let’s get him off this dracking mountain,” the doctor bites out.
I’ve never heard him curse before. Ever. I can’t ask it out loud, but in my head, I wonder if Zar is going to die.
Rynn
Everything is wrong .
It’s the first thought I have upon awakening. Although I’m lying down, my body feels heavy, and my thoughts are slow.
Now I remember. I’m on planet Paragon. There was a quake. Did the body die? That must be it. They must be performing the Sacred Transfer Rite.
That couldn’t be correct. Where are the stringed instruments, the flutes, the music designed to facilitate a peaceful transfer? Why don’t I hear the priestesses chanting, helping me calmly make the attachment to my new host?
In my 56 lifetimes, I’ve only had one emergency transfer, but it wasn’t like this. Despite the urgency and lack of planning, it went smoothly. The journey into my new body was peaceful and orderly.
Now that I’ve been conscious for a moment, it strikes me that this doesn’t feel like a Boklorn body. For 56 lifetimes I have made peaceful exits and entries. For 56 lifetimes I have entered a Boklorn body. This is unlike anything I’ve done before. I need answers. As soon as the initial meld is complete, I’ll have to discover what has happened.
Despite the lack of either properly soft bedding or a silken pillow beneath my head. Despite the lack of stringed lutes and melodic flutes and a softly beating drum. Despite no quiet susurrations of the priestesses as they welcome me into a new body and encourage the seamless joining of an Arclite and his new Boklorn host, I must ensure I’m securely embedded into my new host’s brainstem.
At the moment of my former host’s death, I unwrapped my filament-like tendrils from his brainstem and returned to my most elemental form—gas. I left his body with his breath and entered through my new host’s mouth. This makes me wonder who my new host could be.
The transfer is a most fragile moment. My gaseous state has to be accepted into a new host without disagreement. My species is not invasive. We are not conquerors. Our new host has to breathe us in on purpose.
How did this happen?
I return to my task, speeding through my new body, ensuring I’m at the base of the brain, then willing myself to transmute from formless to formed. Tendrils thinner than the most sophisticated filament assemble from nothing, wrapping around cells at the most elemental level. This process progresses as I build a platform from which to merge with my host.
I don’t have control of the body yet, so I can’t open my eyes, can’t get my bearings, can’t inspect my new host. What’s making it doubly hard is that I’m now moving. The body is jostling.
As I connect to my host’s neural network, it doesn’t help that the first sensations I receive are of pain. I’m working under a handicap to be sure.
People are shouting in different languages. I’m fluent in 187 languages and I’m certain I know the ones I’m hearing, but I can only multitask on so many levels. Right now, if I don’t complete the connection with his neural network, both my host and I will die.
I don’t know how long the bumping and shaking goes on. I simply focus on my task, forming delicate connections in my host’s brain.
Finally, the pummeling stops. I believe I’m in a vessel, perhaps a hovercraft. Soon I might be able to demand to be transported home, to get the support my host and I need to form the bond that will last my new host’s lifetime.
I must connect to the body’s brain activities, but now is not the time. This connection is too fragile, too tenuous. We both need to rest before I move to that phase.
Anya
This is surreal. I keep wavering from terrified and crying so hard I have to keep wiping my nose with the back of my hand to being so emotionally detached I can barely process what’s going on.
Dax and Stryker took turns carrying Zar’s comatose body to the hover lot. Shadow, Zar’s second in command, ran ahead and was in the driver’s seat of our vehicle when the rest of us arrived. Dr. Drayke tried to assess and treat on the wild hover ride to the ship’s medbay, but that was a fool’s errand. He had no medical equipment.
Now I’m in the ship’s medbay, trying to stay out of the med team’s way as they investigate what’s wrong.
In the hover we debated taking him to an on-planet hospital, but I know Dr. Drayke. He’s a friend as well as a gifted physician. He loves Zar. No one—no one—would treat my mate with more skill or compassion.
I’m trying to remain out of the way, even as I stay physically connected to my mate. I’m sitting behind his head, barely allowing my lips to leave his mane as I keep kissing him and murmuring quiet encouragements.
“It’s okay, Zar. We’ll get you through this.”
Drayke has me move as he performs brain scans for what seems like the tenth time. I watch his blue face, usually so dispassionate, as he goes about his assessment. Is that a slight frown? A fresh bout of panic flies through my body like a live electric wire.
“See this?” he motions with his head, wordlessly calling his human mate Nova to his side. Nova, who’s now his trained medical assistant, slides next to him and tips her head to get a look at the medpad. Her lips form into a tight line.
Drayke and Nova developed a psychic connection during their mating ceremony. They’re not talking out loud, but I’m certain they’re having a long conversation in the privacy of their minds. If it’s not fit for me to hear, the news couldn’t be good.
“What?” I demand, my voice full of terror.
The pair exchange silent glances, then Drayke comes to the head of the bed and shows me his medpad.
“See this?” His elegant blue finger indicates something in a picture that must be Zar’s brain.
“Mmm.” I have no idea what I’m looking at.
“This, here and here.” He points to various places on the screen. “This is healthy, normal brain tissue. Now look here.”
He points to what appears to be the top of the spine.
“See this… lacey mass?”
“Maybe.” I’m still uncertain what I’m seeing.
“This shouldn’t be here. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“You said it could be blood, maybe from a blow to the head,” Nova says, no doubt trying to calm me down. This just proves they were having a long, private conversation they didn’t want me privy to.
My gaze flicks from the doctor to Nova, to my mate, to the medpad. I’m lost.
“Look!” Nova points to the vitals screen on the wall above Zar’s head. “His vitals have stabilized. That’s a good thing, Anya.”
Twisting to look behind me, I see the reassuring vitals. They’re marked in such a way that even a child can read them. They’re color coded, and all of Zar’s are in the green column.
With a few slow, deep breaths, I force my heartbeat into the green column as well. I can feel my blood pressure lower.
“We could give him meds to force him out of his coma,” Dr. Drayke offers, “but that could elevate his vitals. I’d like to just observe him for a while. I’m not leaving this spot. At the first sign of his condition worsening, I’ll administer those meds. Let’s not worry. Zar’s the healthiest male on the ship.”
Yeah, let’s not worry, even though he just said he’s never seen anything like the spidery looking thing gripping Zar’s brainstem. That sounds reassuring.
I shimmy closer to Zar’s head, kiss his round, furry ear, and thrill when it twitches in response. Is that just a reflex, or did he feel that? I can hope, can’t I?
I only half pay attention when Drayke walks to the medbay entryway and makes an announcement about Zar’s health to the group of our friends waiting in the hallway for the news.
The more he tries to sound detached and professional, the more frenzied their questions become.
This reminds me of what happened after our insurrection three years ago. A few people got minor cuts and bruises during the armed skirmish. Except for Zar. One of our enemies stabbed him in the belly, almost killing him. It was touch-and-go for a while. Everyone on board offered their support then, just as they’re doing now.
I try to reassure myself as I repeat the same mantra. This, too, shall pass. He’s the healthiest male on the ship. Of course he’ll make a full recovery.
I kiss his head and pet his mane and furrow my fingers through the fur on his arms. I remind him how much I love him and ask him to come back to me. No. Not ask. Beg. Which makes me want to cry.
I have to draw the line at that. I can’t cry. It’s not good for any of us.
Suddenly, his eyes pop open. It feels like a miracle and fills me with relief.
“Zar! Dear God, you’re back!”
I roll my short stool from the top of his head where I’ve been sitting, to his side. I want to see that beautiful face when the lights are on inside his mind.
“How do you feel?”
“This is not the way it’s supposed to be done,” he says as he glances around the room. His gaze skips over me as if he’s more interested in the color of the walls and the placement of the light fixtures than in seeing his beloved’s face. He must have taken a helluva hit to his head.
Drayke closes the doors to the hallway and bustles to the gurney. “What hurts?” he asks.
“No pain. It’s disorienting, as it always is,” he says.
Always?
“Yes. A concussion,” Drayke says, nodding. He seems pleased with the news.
A concussion is probably a good thing compared to the thousand other terrible things that could be wrong. Zar’s been a gladiator his whole life. He’s probably had a number of these and lived to tell the tale.
Drayke runs through a routine, the outer space version of how many fingers am I holding up. With each response, Drayke’s smile becomes wider and his nods travel farther up and down.
“I think you’re going to be fine,” Drayke tells us. “It’s a concussion. Lie down for the rest of the day, no sparring until I clear you, and you probably don’t want to eat anything more than broth today. You might be nauseous.”
See, Anya? I tell myself, You were terrified about nothing. It’s a concussion. Nothing more.
“Hear that, Babe?” I ask him with a huge smile on my face as relief courses through my veins. “I was so worried about you.” Heaving a sigh of relief, my shoulders release the tension they’ve been carrying.
Is he having trouble focusing his eyes? Isn’t that a symptom of concussion? He hasn’t even spared me a glance.
“There’s an anomaly at the base of your brainstem,” Drayke says, with no change in his voice. He’s obviously not worried. “It’s kind of an echo on the scan. We’ll follow it. If it doesn’t resolve by the end of our stay on planet Paragon, I’ll have you see a local neurologist.”
“That’s not an anomaly,” Zar announces, his voice irritated. “That’s me. I’m an Arclite.”
Fear slams through me so hard and fast that a harsh, shocked breath escapes my mouth even though I’m trying to keep my feelings in check.
“You’re a… what?”
“An Arclite. A symbiont species. My previous Boklorn must have died in the avalanche, correct? I’m a symbiote and I’ve now attached myself to the base of my new host’s brainstem. We’re connected. Once I’m fully linked, someone will have to fill me in on the specifics of the transfer.”
“Host? Symbiont?” Drayke asks. “Zar, what are you talking about?”
Zar looks more closely at his surroundings, examining Drayke, Nova, and me for the first time since he opened his eyes.
He lifts his hands, yanking his right hand out of my grip as if he’d been holding a dirty napkin. “I’m not in a Boklorn? This body? It wasn’t a novitiate? No wonder nothing is progressing as normal.”
I don’t think the word “normal” has any place in this conversation. All the talk of Arclites and Boklorns and hosts and novitiates? That’s weird enough. More unusual, though, is the look on Zar’s face and his tone of voice.
He looks as if there’s a bad smell in this room. His nose is all squinched. And there’s a haughty, nasal tone in his voice that I’ve honestly never heard come out of his mouth before.
Wait. Yes, I did. A couple years ago, he’d had a shot of Sillerian whiskey and was mockingly imitating a pompous official at one of his gladiatorial matches. He had us all in stitches with his imitation of an arrogant, pompous asshole.
Drayke pulls up a chair, sits down, and sticks his face close to Zar’s. “You need to explain. I want to know what you mean by the terms symbiont and host. You will give me an explanation right now.”
I’ve never seen Drayke this upset.
It’s confusing that Zar is content to keep his hands fisted at his sides rather than threading his fingers through mine. Not more than a few hours ago, we shared such intimacies. I glance at my t-shirt and see the four holes from his fangs. They reassure me, tether me to the here and now, because otherwise it would be hard to believe the furred male on the table and I are anything more than strangers.
I examine Nova’s face, her eyes wide in surprise. I try to pay attention to something other than the feelings of dread circling in my belly.
This is just due to the head wound, right? Some odd effect of a concussion? The ramblings of a confused mind? Because it can’t be true. It just can’t.
“I’ve already explained myself,” he says, his voice sharp, irritated. “You’re capable of interstellar flight, right? That means you have access to the Intergalactic Database. Look it up.” Zar closes his eyes, obviously fatigued.
My heart constricts in empathy for him. He just needs some good old-fashioned rest. I grab his hand and twine my fingers between his. Even as I’m trying to convince myself everything will be okay, he yanks his hand from my grip and folds his hands together on his chest.
I know he’s sick and in pain and confused, but he’s never done this before. We’ve had our spats over the years, but never has he refused my touch. I try to control the hot tears gathering behind my eyes, but I can’t. Instead, I tip my head and try to hide my face.
I’m vaguely aware Drayke and Nova have both grabbed their computer pads and are researching the wild ramblings of a concussed male. Trying not to pay attention to anything other than how much I love my mate, I strengthen my belief this will all work itself out over the next few hours.
I’m jolted back to reality when Drayke comms Shadow. Although initially I try to ignore their quiet conversation, I’m soon sitting up straight in my chair as I listen.
“The findings are preliminary,” Drayke says, “but I think what he’s told us might be true. The Arclites have been around for eons, taking humanoid hosts who willingly undergo the merging. I’m going to research how to remove it. Until I get conflicting information, I’m considering it a parasite.
“In the meantime, I think it wise to put an armed guard in the room and one outside the door. I have no idea what this… thing is capable of. And,” he pauses, clears his throat, and his gaze darts guiltily to me, “I think you should officially take over the duties of captain until we get this sorted out.”
This quiet, factual conversation does what Zar’s own words did not. Drayke just made it clear these aren’t the fever dreams of an injured male. There may be a… parasite living inside the male who is the most important being in my world.
Hot tears stream down my face. I have no control over them and no longer have the will to hide them.
“It’s true?” I ask. Perhaps if Drayke and his mate Nova didn’t have a psychic link, if they’d been talking out loud as they researched these wild allegations, it would have prepared me for this sudden pronouncement that things are so dire they’re relieving Zar of his duties. But with the way it unfolded, I’m thunderstruck.
“The Database confirms everything Zar said,” Drayke intones dolefully.
The male I love is inches away from me. His fur was under my fingers, his tongue in my mouth, his cock was inside me only hours ago. I refuse to believe he’s now sharing his body with some parasite.
I snag his hand again, pull it toward me, twine our fingers together, and bring his knuckles to my mouth to kiss each one. At least he doesn’t yank away from my touch like he did a moment ago.
Shadow approaches the foot of the bed. He’s Zar’s closest friend and confidant on the ship. Their relationship started with friction because Shadow was an ass.
He’s come a long way since then, growing into a male with an enormous heart, compassion, and a good head for leadership.
Initially, I thought he was a cyborg. He had a prosthetic arm and eye. The eye was like something made for a Borg from Star Trek. It was a badly fitted metallic eye that shone with a red light. Dr. Drayke made some modifications, and Shadow now looks more humanoid. Although he’s from Morgana, their species can’t be differentiated from humans without DNA testing.
“You!” he says, his voice colder than I’ve heard it in years. He shakes Zar’s ankle. “Wake! Wake up.”
I’m about to snap at him that bodies don’t work that way when Zar’s eyes pop open. He immediately snatches his hand from mine.
This. This, more than anything that’s happened today, makes my heart feel like it’s being torn from my chest.
“Name?” Shadow barks.
“Rynn,” he says, as if he’s reciting a fact, like two plus two equals four.
“You don’t belong in that body, Rynn. Get. The. Fuck. Out of it. Now!”
“That would be impossible,” his voice is clipped.
“Nothing is impossible,” Shadow replies in the soulless tone gladiators use with their opponents in the arena.
If I’m not mistaken, his fingers tighten around Zar’s ankle.
“You don’t belong. You’re an interloper. A thief. Give this male his life back!” He removes his hand long enough to grab the dagger all the males wear hidden in their boots. He must think better of it, realizing it would hurt his friend’s body, because he returns his crushing grip to the ankle.
“The process has begun. My being is now intertwined with this male’s brainstem,” Zar’s beautiful lips say. “An Arclite only has a few hoaras to make this connection. It is a biological imperative that must be fulfilled. Despite the bumpy traveling, my only initial concern was the inaugural meld. Now that it’s complete, separation will kill us both. The process has progressed far enough that this host’s body will die if I leave.”
I shake my head, unable to process the information. Shadow’s faster than me.
“Where’s Zar? He’s still in there? I want to speak with him.”
“That’s not possible.”
Shadow can’t control himself. He steps closer to the head of the bed and grabs Zar’s cheeks in one of his huge hands, squeezing until Zar’s handsome face contorts into an ugly grimace.
“Where. Is. Zar?”
Zar shakes his head until Shadow removes his grip. “The first portion of the melding process occurs in the host’s brainstem. And, might I remind you, he was a willing host. Arclites are not an invasive species. We only enter volunteers who inhale us into their bodies once we have released from our previous host.”
The CPR. The fucking CPR! Is that how he invaded my mate?
I flashback to the image of Zar giving rescue breaths, keeping his mouth sealed around the Boklorn’s lips while he inhaled and exhaled.
A wave of despair washes over me. I wish it had been me. I think it would have been easier on me to have been absorbed by this… cruel, unfeeling asshole than to be on this end, watching the person I love stolen from me.
“Go on,” Shadow’s tone is menacing.
“The second step is for me to connect with your friend’s brain. Right now, I don’t have access to his memories. When the second step is complete, I will have absorbed his memories.”
“What does absorb mean?” I ask, leaning forward. Zar’s still in there? My Zar. I want to get him back.
“Your friend is my 57 th host. Inside my consciousness, I hold the memories of all 56 previous hosts. When our consciousnesses combine, I will hold his memories. I can avoid this if you would like. I have no need of his memories.
“The Boklorn are the species who choose to host us. On their planet, they consider it a great honor. They vie for the opportunity to become a host and are groomed for it from an early age. Once chosen as a possible recipient, they reside in monasteries and live simple lives to better accommodate their Arclite symbiont if they are lucky enough to receive one.
“They lead lives of contemplation with a minimum of emotion. It makes it easier for us to meld with them. And easier for us to continue our important work. When an Arclite like myself chooses to become a Recepticon, it is our mission to become the repository of all knowledge in the galaxy. My species’ payment for the use of the host’s body is to keep their memories alive. That is the tradeoff.”
He settles back against the pillow and closes his eyes. As if what he said just explained everything.
“So Zar is still in there?” I ask.
“Once I embedded into his brainstem, the male you knew as Zar is dead as you know it. His will, his life-force, his soul, if you believe in those things, are all dead.”
He has the audacity to open his eyes and spear me with an emotionless look that pierces straight into my heart. No compassion at all.
If he weren’t in Zar’s body, I would strangle the motherfucker without a second thought. Instead, I grab his balls. Out of the blue. I’ve never done such a thing and never would have if I’d given it a moment’s thought.
“You’re going to disentangle whatever that web is at the base of his brain. You’re going to pack up and leave, motherfucker.” I twist just a little to make sure I have his attention. “You’re going to pack up and leave, motherfucker.” I squeeze until he yelps. I’ve never heard this noise from Zar before. Instead of satisfying me, it only serves to prove to me that this male is not my beloved.
He looks pleadingly not at me, but at Shadow. As if I’m a hysterical female and he needs a level-headed male to intervene. Thankfully, Shadow’s having none of it.
“Do it! Do what she asks,” Shadow seethes.
“It will kill us both. If you don’t believe me, it’s on the Intergalactic Database. Look it up.”
Drayke steps into my field of vision, his expression dripping with compassion, and nods.
The doctor reads from the Database. “’Once the Arclite symbiont fully assimilates with its host, the body becomes dependent upon the Arclite for survival. If the Arclite disengages from a living host, the body ceases to function. The Arclite, now in gaseous form, moves to the lungs, then has a maximum of ten minimas to transfer to a new host’.
“‘Once an Arclite chooses to become a symbiont, they can no longer exist in a gaseous form for more than ten minimas outside a physical body. Thus, the Arclite and its host are codependent for survival’.”
I release the balls of the male I love, cup my face to try to hide my emotions, and weep.
“You have one choice,” the thing adds. “If you don’t want me to acquire the host’s memories, I don’t have to. They mean nothing to me. It’s simply part of the contract. Let me know. You have twenty hoaras from the moment I entered his body before that choice will be made for you. His memories will fade and be irretrievable.”