Bring your body close to mine for the ecstasyI got them other senses for alchemy

  Okay, how are we gonna stay separated?

  We should keep it to one thread each, if we can.

  I roll to the side and sit up. You did the link different this time.

  I feel Cascade put a couple tentacles on the bed to keep us up. Wait- you think of them more like fingers, right?

  Yes. I can feel them position more tendrils downward, along my spinal cord. I wanted a more complete link. The st one was an emergency measure. I kept in a position to eclipse your body if I had to.

  Rubbing my temples with a hand, I stand up, Eclipse… you were gonna take over if I didn’t comply?

  I was. If you weren't peaceful, I had permission to control you until a solution was determined. Sorry.

  I look to my side, at the full length mirror next to the bed. There I am, too tall, chubby, alien cephalopod hanging off my shoulders, tendrils plunged in at the base of my neck, blonde ponytail softly resting on top of them. They’re mimicking my skin, and it almost looks like I have a second head. I smile softly at the ridiculous image. What are we gonna do now?

  We should take it easy, maybe try some basic tasks while working together. We may run into more problems over time, though your immune system shouldn't be a problem now.

  Dinner it is, we head to my shitty little kitchenette to prepare something. I'm thinking chicken Alfredo.

  I reach in the fridge, grabbing the chicken and cream. With a mental prompt, Cascade grabs the parmesan and a stick of butter. Then things from my cupboards. A box of penne, nutmeg, salt, pepper, a pot for water and a wooden spoon. They get the small things while I slice open the package of chicken.

  Not the filtered water? They ask when I prompt them to fill the pot from the sink.

  It doesn't really matter. Satisfied with my butterflied chicken breast, I season with salt and pepper. The sink starts behind me, I can see the pot fill through their eyes. Turn a burner on, spsh a little olive oil in a pan, and wait for it to heat up.

  While I open the noodles, Cascade braces against the opposite counter to move the pot. Thanks, it goes on another burner and I give it a generous pinch of salt. Like the sea, they say? When the oil is hot, I y one of the fillets in it, and a nice sizzling starts up. I go to grab a beer from the fridge before stopping myself. Would you prefer I don't drink alcohol?

  Oh, they reply, maybe we should avoid that for now?

  Shrugging, I grab a diet soda instead. Cracking it open, I take a sip and lean against the counter. What do Corda eat, anyway?

  We will sometimes eat small invertebrates and animals. Otherwise Corda are hematophages.

  Hemato-?

  “You drink blood!?” I stand upright before calming myself down.

  Sorry, that was a bit of an overreaction. I don't know what I was expecting. Apologetic, but not forgetting the task at hand. Setting down the co to reach for some tongs.

  I have nutrient supplements for the mission. It's not really in our interest to drain you.

  I figured that. Flipping the chicken, I'm pleased to see some crisp browning. A few minutes pass as I cook the fillets. Cas keeps an eye on the pot of water, and it starts to boil just as I set the second fillet on a pte. Without prompting, they grab the noodles and pour them into the pot. I gesture at a wooden spoon on the counter. Seven minutes, stir occasionally. Does Corda society even cook much?

  They pick up the spoon with a tendril. No, not really. We do try to formute good feed for hosts. Food that is nutritious and enjoyable to both host and Corda.

  Oh, you can taste the host's food? I pour a bit of white cooking wine in to degze the pan while they fumble at stirring.

  Yes, I'm excited to have an impression of your “cuisine”.

  I chuckle a bit. My homemade Alfredo is hardly worthy of being called cuisine. In with the butter and heavy cream, and now I just stir while it cooks. Cas’s struggle is certainly amusing, but I figure I can help. Here, I try to project the motion to them.

  They improve quickly. I'm surprised how well you've picked up on the link.

  Oh? Did you think it'd be more difficult for me? I take another sip of co. They find it a strange beverage.

  I'm… not sure. Corda haven't had many other intelligent creatures to interact with. Some Flora had difficulty, but those were minds grown with limited senses.

  That sounds ethically unsound. I keep it to myself.

  Actually, that reminds me- we're offering you a basic interface chip, if you'd like.

  A what? I didn't need to ask, again. They're offering me a brain chip. It has computing functions and can connect to FC's comms rey. Oh, um, will that be painful?

  Maybe. I can install it without any more incisions. Of course, I'll also use anesthesia.

  Do I want a computer in my head and a line straight to FC? I need some time to consider. I'm not really against it. There wouldn't be rejection issues?

  No, it has a set of cultivated neurons, all keyed to your body's immune system.

  Weird. We both stir for a minute or two while I contempte. With the sauce sufficiently reduced, I turn the pan down and pour cold cream in. I wordlessly offer to take over the pasta, but Cascade refuses, continuing to stir.

  Lay, could I tag along to your “job”, this week? I want to see what your regur day is like.

  Uh? How do you think that's gonna work? Don't you want to be discreet? I grab a knife and start to slice the chicken into strips.

  I thought I might hide myself in a backpack.

  I have doubts. That… might work. Do you really want to risk that?

  They acquiesce, It's a directive from Field Command. They want my impression of human working conditions.

  I'll see if I can make an excuse. The pasta is probably done, give me the spoon. They hand it over, and I fish out a noodle, then blow on it to cool before popping it in my mouth. Yep, they're done.

  I scoop a half cup of pasta water, pouring it in the sauce. Strain it in the sink, put the noodles in, season with salt, pepper, and nutmeg. Last, the chicken, and a generous helping of parmesan. Just a bit more, the heat goes back up and I stir until the sauce is nice and thick. Dinner is ready.

  The pan goes off the heat and I scoop about half into a bowl, sprinkling more parm and nutmeg on top. This is hardly the most impressive dish, you know.

  I'm still interested! Humans have a deeper retionship to food than Corda.

  I shrug and head to the couch. Sitting in a strange posture, my lower back and a couple of Cas's fingers against an arm, I dig in. It's pretty good, even with store bought pasta. The symbiote's reaction is amusing, to say the least.

  It's incredible. You have so many different ingredients just to improve the taste.

  I take it as a complement to my cooking. I'm not a great chef, but I do like to put some effort in. We could try some restaurant food, or I can make a few different dishes to show you, sometime.

  That sounds wonderful, Lay!

  Guess I should pn a dinner date for one.

  ---

  We continue a rexing night, despite some annoying directives from FC. After cleaning up the kitchen, Lay sits at her desk and puts on some music. We occasionally commune as she sketches on paper and I zily flip through my book, half perched on the back of her chair.

  She asks, if we're gone that long, what are you going to give me to eat during the trip?

  Both FC and I had figured nutrient supplements would be good enough. Seeing the care put into human food, I don’t bme her for wanting something better. We can give you supplements to keep you healthy, but I’ll see what we can do about synthesizing some food for you.

  She seems irked at the prospect, but not overly so. We could bring a few snacks on the skyhook. Do we have to watch the weight we bring up?

  It’s a concern, yes, but not so limiting. We can bring a few things for you to eat. The orbital ferry is a zero-g ship so you’ll want to be careful of anything too messy for that environment.

  She stops sketching for a moment, the scout cruiser isn’t a zero-g ship?

  No, it isn't. There's gravitational field manipution on the cruiser. I’ve been told it’s trivial compared to the spatial manipution it performs. I’m not really an expert on it, though.

  She considers for a moment and I peer at her drawing. A self-portrait of sorts. She has a second head, with a ring of eyes, and… is that supposed to be me?

  I can feel her blush a bit, it’s more of an impression. I don’t have a strong grasp on your anatomy.

  She has humanized my mantle, but it is rather endearing. A portrait of Corda and host. I’d worry about the proof of my presence, but apparently humans tend to reject tall tales of aliens from another gaxy.

  Corda anatomy is more flexible than that of humans. An impression isn’t a bad way to show it.

  She seems content with the answer and goes back to drawing. A couple songs ter I ask her, the other name from you, earlier, that was from-?

  Before I transitioned. She puts the pencil down and sighs. I'm transgender. People like myself choose to live as a different gender than the one assigned to us. Part of that often includes changing one's name. I don't like to tell my previous name to anyone, if I can help it. I'm Lay now.

  From the briefing data, I know this is not the most favored cohort. We're both outcasts, in a way. I see. This is the reason for the hormones. To make that choice tangible.

  Yes, to have a body that resembles what I want to be. She redirects to me, you have several names.

  Our names aren't as set. We have designations based on specialties, achievements, or current occupation. Currently, I'm a Wayward scout, generation two, number seventeen. Flora have a more high minded system, involving a permanent name. Many of them have reputations to know of.

  Lay ignores my misdirection to push the point. Cascade is who you consider yourself, though. Wayward is your designation. The former isn't a designation in the same way.

  This human is perceptive. Umbral Cascade is the reported moniker for my… illegal activities. Other Corda refer to me that way when talking about a notorious outcast. I liked the title.

  So you have a reputation as well.

  Not… quite. The Cascade moniker is intended to be a sort of protection so that others do not strictly know my whole history. We prefer to rehabilitate those like myself and the pseudonym is meant to shield me from ter judgement. I liked the notoriety. The caretakers in charge of my rehabilitation found it a frustrating catch to try and fix, but I was sent on this mission before I rejoined our rger society.

  Lay's demeanor softens in earnest. Cascade, they didn't need to fix that part of you. There's nothing wrong with preferring a certain name.

  This is a comfort none have offered me. Thank you, Lay. I'm not the only one who found the rehabilitation program's bar for reintegration to be too high. Our leadership was convinced to give me this assignment by the Flora half of the council, the highest minds seemed to think I was ready to py a role. They knew I would want the opportunity to meet intelligent alien life. Hundreds of years ter, I am here.

  She prompts me to put my mantle on her shoulder. A little confused, I oblige, and she cradles me against her head. It's… comforting.

  ---

  I was dreaming something.

  By the time I went to bed and fell asleep, we had put together the pn. Cascade will refit the skyhook for a day or two while I get things sorted at work. They should be finished by Wednesday, when they'll come back to the surface. Thursday and Friday, they'll come to work with me, riding in a backpack (this idea still seems half-baked to me). Then, by Saturday night, we should be boarding the skyhook.

  Now, staring at the nightstand, I'm trying to remember what I dreamt. I was alone, on the roof…

  It escapes me.

  I'm not alone right now, symbiote still attached, just regaining consciousness themself. We're not pnning on much today, potentially taking a walk around town to test out the backpack pn. Otherwise, they're going up on the skyhook tonight. Off into the vastness in a tiny little pod. Then what will I have to show for it? They could disappear into the sky forever, leaving me nothing but a scar on my back. I can get one more souvenir, at least.

  Cascade? A simple mental acknowledgement comes in response. No words or images. I'd like you to install the interface chip before you leave.

  They seem pleasantly surprised. Of course. Do you want to do it this morning or ter tonight?

  We should do it this morning. In case there's any issues.

  I catch a bit of hurt indignation from them. Right, I don't want to rush.

  I'm not sure why I'm anxious about issues with the chip. They've already shown they can be careful with my brain. For a moment I consider feigning further illness to keep them here. It's a gross thought. I try to forget it.

  They help me as I get up to my feet. Changing into fresh clothes, I wistfully look at a my lower cut shirts. I sigh and put on a cheap tee I'm not attached to, considering it may need some alteration for the backpack. Out to the living room, to the box from the skyhook. It's bck, with a hinged top. Opening it, there are several divided compartments inside, containing circuits and very fine wires, as well as an assortment of strange items that I think are tools. Cas reaches around me, grabbing a couple of the tools, an ovur wafer two or three millimeters wide, and a bundle of wires. A minute ter and I'm face down on the bed for the third time this weekend.

  This shouldn't be painful, but it may be strange. They try to calm me. We will stay linked so I can help you through the process.

  I'm uncomfortable about the prospect of permanent hardware linked into my nervous system. That discomfort is easy to dismiss compared to the link. Hopefully, the comms will keep my catastrophizing in check. When I signal that I'm ready, they get to work. The link wanes as they pull a few tendrils out. I concentrate on my breathing, trying not to feel any of their senses as they work.

  As a numbness sets in to the base of my skull, I feel them start to move. I'm installing the pseudo nerves in three stages. Here's the first.

  I barely feel a few feelers pushing back in. Over a minute or two, they slowly push up and around my brain, then carefully pull back out. Feeling lightheaded.

  You're doing great, girl. Here comes the next.

  A scant moment of amusement at their phrasing before another set of tendrils pushes in. Deliberate, careful movement, up to my skull, then back down. They set a finger on each of my shoulders and the back of my head, gently holding me still. I feel like I might faint.

  Stay with me, now. Just two more steps. This next one is the shortest.

  They pat my head before the third set pushes down into my spine. It's over in less than a minute. I hear quiet clicking and snapping sounds from behind me.

  Okay, I'm going to put in the chip. This will take a few minutes, and I have to do a little internal work once it's in pce. I'm going to keep you conscious with the link. Are you ready?

  I give a small whimper of confirmation. They take a firm hold on my head and shoulders, pushing it in. I feel the effort and the pressure move up and against the base of my skull.

  I should pass out, but Cas is keeping me lucid. A practiced pattern comes through the link, keeping me right in this moment. A minute passes. I can tell they're moving as fast as they can with the care required. Internal actions in my head, felt in the ghost of the anesthetized senses. Two minutes now, maybe? I'm sweating profusely, dampening the pillow as they work. It drips down my brow while I try to keep my breathing steady.

  A snapping noise resounds through my head. They assure me, in my ensuing confusion. One trim done, you're doing great. Trim? I feel something gently pull out from my neck. Then, again, the snapping sound, quieter this time. Second trim done. Another pull down my neck. We're done, Lay.

  They're gently rubbing my head now. A couple more minutes pass as I just breathe and catch my bearings again. Now what?

  Cas prompts me to try and sit up. While still a bit shaky, I manage it. I drink some water at their prompting. I'm going to teach you to use it. It's easiest to do some of it while we're unified.

  Unified?

  As one mind. Let me know when you're ready.

  This again. I don't dislike it so much, but it gets confusing. I gulp down a good amount of the remaining water before giving the go ahead.

  Now, try to just follow my thoughts.

  They're casting simple math right to my head. Easy enough.

  1+1=2, 2+1=3, 3+2=5, 5+3=8, 16+77=93, 1336+1569=[2905], 1888493+260033=[2148526]

  2x2=4, 4x8=32, 13x6=78, 71x41=[2911], 1485x6003=[8914455]

  Stage one done, moving on to comms. We’re sending a message through the tool rig to the chip. Message text: ‘three hundred days, five hundred years, aeons to the end’. Expecting several seconds for the rebound…

  MSGIN.CODE.57415957415244:74687265652068756E6472656420646179722C20666976652068756E647265642079656172722C2061656F6E7220746F2074686520656E64

  That’s not right. Encoding was off, minor frequency errors… recalibrating. Sending another message: ‘dolrs to donuts in deutschnd’. Waiting…

  WAYWARD:dolrs to donuts in deutschnd

  Good, stage two complete. Memory buffer time. 3rd digit roundup: [3,5,9,4,0,5,9,4,0,4]. Excellent. We should be set up with the basics now. I’m splitting us back up.

  It takes me a moment to refocus after all the booting and debugging in my head. I think… I can feel the bump in my mind where the chip is. There's a calcutor, memory functions... I could easily just do like 532 times 685, that’s [364420].

  I… have an unread message?

  Looks like FC queued a message to your chip. You can take it when you want. We should probably eat, though.

  Agreed. I get up and start breakfast, a couple egg-in-a-holes, while I take Field Command’s message. I almost burn the first egg while "reading". Cas keeps an eye on the second while I process the information.

  Our kind regards and greetings to you, Miss Lay Drake,

  Apologies for the formality, we chose this mannerism after some consideration over the appropriate method of addressing you. We are the Sol Field Command unit, directly designated Metasequoia Joiner. We believe you have been informed as such by Wayward unit 2-17, but we wish to express our desire to meet and commune via direct link with you.

  A fsh of emotions and images come along with the words, somehow encoded in the message. Feelings of apology, friendliness and urgency. Interior rooms of the cruiser. A lounge with a strange, betentacled machine pced in the center.

  We wish to apologize for the trauma our commands have caused you. Understand that it was a necessary action, taken to smooth over our survey of Earth and its inhabitants. On the matter of your fellow humans, our future discussion will be reted to the state of your pnet and its people. While your expertise may not extend to the entirety of your world. we assure you this is not a problem. We wish to understand how your world is viewed through your own eyes. We have some worries.

  A few fshes of events I’m familiar with. Wars. Nuclear detonations. Homeless and starving peoples of the world. Sadness and concern are broadcast.

  We have no intention of pcing the bme of such problems at the feet of individuals such as yourself. In the time until you arrive at our ship, feel free to correspond with us as much as you’d like.

  I get a brief image of Jupiter from orbit

  Sincerely,

  Metasequoia Joiner

  Sitting on the couch, pte of egg-toast in hand, I blink idly at the strange message I’ve received. Joiner is… different. As I start to actually eat, I ask, Are they always so… so much?

  Cas starts making a strange chirping noise again in response. With the link, I realize that they’re basically ughing. No, not always. Flora units can over-analyze things at times. Particurly when interacting with somewhat unknown elements - like yourself. Do you mind sharing?

  Sure, I shrug and, after a few moments of fumbling at how to share the message, give them access. They process for a moment while I munch away at my eggs.

  Cas specutes, I believe they're overthinking the pain from the initial link we established. They’re also worried about the people of your pnet. Flora are generally grown with a strong egalitarian impulse.

  I reply, so they could be as emotionally devastated by ongoing genocide as I am.

  Yes, it's a shared trait we think humans might- there's ongoing genocide?

  They replied before that was fully processed. I swallow the st of my breakfast and give them the bleak details.

  By the deep and the vast… that's terrible.

  Despite the serious subject, I have to hold back amusement at the alien turn of phrase. It is. In some ways it's infuriating. I'm practically powerless to help… I steel myself against the grim reality of my world. Let's change the subject.

  I get up to wash the dishes and Cas moves on, like I was saying, we think empathy and egalitarian impulses may be a shared trait between Corda and Humans. Something we can connect over.

  It’s a nice thought. I’d like to believe humans have a common empathy. We definitely have issues to work through, though. That makes sense. I do believe empathy and community got humans as far as we are. I hope we can learn to accept Corda, though I have no idea how our world would react to creatures like yourself. Many people have wildly varying beliefs.

  They start to help out with the dishes, speeding up the process. We’ll have to see what we can do. That sort of thing is FC’s territory, to be honest.

  After the dishes, we get ready for the journey outside. Cascade alters an old and kind of ratty backpack I dug out, cutting a discreet hole for their link tendrils to pass through without showing themself on the outside. They do the same to my shirt as well. I figured this wouldn’t be particurly comfortable to them, but Corda physiology seems to have a catlike quality where, if they fit, they can find a comfortable position. The extra weight is hardly noticeable. I've already gotten used to carrying Cas around in the st couple days.

  Stepping out onto the street, I take a walk over to the little park nearby. It's fairly nice outside for a fall afternoon. I read a couple dedications and info-boards about the pnts. They marvel at the quaint nature preserve, thinking it’s strange to bring a plot of nature into our brutal cityscapes when we could be cultivating and building in tandem. I’m fairly inclined to agree, as they expin the ins and outs of their homeworld’s habitats.

  I end up walking several more blocks to a convenience store after the park. The nearest corner store doesn’t allow bags inside, so we trekked to a rger one, further from my apartment. We buy a few drinks and snacks- I let Cas pick a couple to try. Then, we aimlessly chat about the minutiae of human culture while I enjoy fruit soda on the way back. The trip goes off without a hitch, somewhat to my chagrin. I’m still not sure this is a good strategy for an 8 hour workday.

  I order delivery for dinner. A local sub sandwich joint that’s a favorite of mine. When the food arrives, it's another point for the backpack pn. Cas marvels at the incredible variety of ingredients. I’m just happy to have the Italian sub. Inevitably, it gets dark.

  We head up to the roof and wait for the hook to nd. My worries edge in again but Cas comforts me, sensing my trepidation at their departure. I will see you soon, Lay. I am excited to continue our explorations together. Stay safe, my human.

  I give them another awkward embrace before they carefully unlink themself. The process is smooth this time, though still a bit unnerving. They get into the pod as it arrives, and I solemnly watch it disappear back into the heavens.