Whose Body Is It, Anyway?             by: Brandy Dewinter

 

Chapter 1 - Room 17

One of the most hallowed principles in engineering is, "Form Follows Function." Aesthetic considerations must be built upon a solid foundation of utility for any valid solution to a design problem. Unfortunately, whoever designed waiting rooms must have skipped that course. Proper function for the room would have allowed someone to be productive, or at least comfortable while they waited, especially in this year of 2247. Instead, I was forced to endure a hard plastic chair, seemingly shaped with deliberate intent to be as uncomfortable as possible. No handy computer terminal, even one keyed to entertainment programs, provided any diversion from watching the featureless robo-receptionist doing, well, nothing. I didn’t even know why I was there. I had just received a terse summons to the medical wing, along with an appointed time that was now 20 minutes past.

Then a surprisingly pleasant soprano voice issued from the robo-receptionist, "Lieutenant Commander Xora, please report to Room 17."

*Room 17!* I thought excitedly I stood up. *I wasn’t expecting that.* Room 17 was where volunteers were mated with symbionts. I’d volunteered of course. Who wouldn’t? The rumor was that symbionts gave their hosts all sorts of incredible abilities. Maybe they even provided immortality. But I never expected to get accepted. Field agents were tall, and strong, and didn’t have allergies to everything under the sun, well, all the suns where human commerce led Federation citizens, and therefore Federation agents.

I found the door quickly and pressed the announcement buzzer. It had a nasty, raspy sound and I jumped a little at the harshness of it, then jumped again at an equally raspy, "Come in!" from within. The door opened with the invitation and I took a step across the threshold.

Then froze.

Inside the room was the single most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Hell, she had to be the most beautiful woman there ever was. I was too overwhelmed for instant absorption even though all other activities, including breathing, ceased in a brutally-focused attempt to assimilate the woman before me. Colors came first; bright blonde hair, brighter blue eyes matched by a decidedly non-regulation skin-tight jumpsuit.

It was what that jumpsuit covered though, that really brought me to a reverent halt. The form within the jumpsuit screamed of femininity. Her full bosom lifted and fell with a compelling rhythm, slow, regular, hypnotic. The relative stability of her slim hips merely accented the smooth curve that led from incredibly long legs to . . . And that was the really amazing thing about the woman. She had the tiniest waist I had ever seen. I’ve never been particularly forward with women (right, stick that in the file as the understatement of the year!), but all of the sudden my fingers itched to try and surround that impossible accent to the curves above and below it.

Yet I knew I’d never have a chance with this gorgeous lady. Her bearing was regal in a way that made all other claims to that word ludicrous. She stood tall, impressively tall on what I finally realized were amazingly high heels. But even more than mere height, her nobility was evident in a bearing that showed self-disciplined pride untainted with self-satisfied arrogance. Her back was militarily erect, her neck was lifted by a high collar that would have seemed cruelly restrictive on a lesser woman, but which seemed merely accent for a pre-existing elegance on this goddess made flesh.

I was startled from my stupor, before I passed out from lack of breath, by the sharp tones of the other person who had been waiting for me.

"Come in, I said. Don’t just stand there." The speaker was some sort of technician, sitting behind the only desk in the room. Other than that desk and his own padded chair, there was a low couch covered in a black blanket, and another of those uncomfortable chairs like the ones in the waiting room.

"Oh, leave him be," the goddess chuckled. "I think his attention is flattering."

She swayed over in a motion that elevated her femininity to new heights, ones that made any static pose drab and neuter. Some portion of that was forced by her towering heels, but I knew this woman needed no artifice to be mind-numbingly sensual. When she offered her hand to a casual handshake, I finally found myself able to move again, though it was to bend and touch my lips to her gloved fingers in a surprisingly courtly kiss.

*Where did THAT come from?* I wondered. If I’d have had moves that smooth with other women, I might not have spent so damn much time playing Laserorbit.

"Why, Commander, now I truly AM flattered," she smiled.

"Uh, I, um . . .," I stammered, blushing so fiercely it was only the magnet of her sparkling eyes that kept me from bolting from the room.

*I knew it couldn’t last,* I sighed to myself. *Back to being a klutz.*

She laughed, but it was a companionable acceptance of the compliment implied by my distraction, not an insult. Taking my hand in hers, she towed me gently over to the room’s single chair.

"Sit here, and we’ll talk," she promised. Unfortunately, the tech-nician seemed to do all the talking.

"So, you are Lieutenant Commander Xora?" the man asked.

"Yes, sir," I nodded.

"Don’t call me ‘sir’," the man ordered. "I’m not one of you military types. I’m just a scientist, Professor Inchbod."

"Yes, sir," I repeated, then kicked myself for being an idiot. Again.

The man sighed like he had been through this entirely too many times before. "You volunteered for the symbiont program?" he continued.

"Yes, s. ., yes."

"Have you been briefed on the program?"

"Um, no, not really. I, uh, never really expected to get accepted."

The professor frowned and turned to the woman. "I thought all of those who volunteered were to have been fully briefed."

"Um, yessir," I blurted out an answer before she had a chance, "but they were doing the briefings in some sort of priority order, and I guess they just hadn’t gotten to me yet."

"Is there some reason why you were delayed?" asked Inchbod.

"Well, not really, except, well, look at me. All the field agents are . . ." My voice ran down, but my eyes flickered to the goddess, who I now noticed was wearing the collar tabs of a full commander, along with a Federation field agent’s insignia. It didn’t matter that she was a woman. Differences in plumbing paled to insignificance next to the contrast between the trim (incredibly trim, with that amazing waist) fitness personified by the established agent and my own slouch. I tried to pull my belly in, but too many hours behind a desk weren’t going to go away in the time I could hold my breath.

"Yes, well, the selection criteria have been revised," Inchbod declared. "Commander Tryx has convinced the board to try out a different approach with our latest symbiont."

"You’re Commander Tryx?!" I blurted, again. The legendary Tryx was the basis for most of the rumors about the symbiont and its powers. I mentally kicked myself for not recognizing her, for if there were any common denominator to the rumors of the symbiont’s abilities, it had been the tales of a waist made impossibly tiny on a woman made matchlessly beautiful. I had just put those down to tall-tale exaggeration, yet here she was in the, well, maybe flesh was the wrong word if some of the other rumors about the symbiont were as true as the ones about her appearance.

She smiled again. Her only other physical response was an almost imperceptible nod that seemed strangely appropriate within the high collar of her jumpsuit. She did continue with the briefing, though.

"It would seem that I have achieved the best host-symbiont relation-ship so far. It has been my experience that a proper bond can overcome many physical limitations. Your allergies would be no problem at all, for example. On the other hand, a high psi rating seems to improve the ability to interact with the symbiont."

Now the Professor resumed the narrative, "And your records indicate a psi rating as high as any other current applicant. I don’t trust the tests with too much accuracy, but it would seem that you are quite similar to Commander Tryx in that regard."

Even in the scientist’s eyes I could see the opinion that I matched the matchless beauty in no other regard. I knew I was outclassed, too. Yet, I did indeed have a high psi rating. And I knew it was nothing less than the truth to recognize that I was quite intelligent. It was only the physical things that had always held me back. Of course, my lack of physical prowess had resulted in a lack of social prowess as well, in a sociological truism that went back to cave men wooing cave women.

"Very well," Inchbod said, standing, "if you have no objections, Commander, we’ll proceed." His words might have applied to both Tryx and me, but it was clear that my opinion was not considered significant. Tryx gave another of those barely-perceptible nods and smiled again at me.

"Don’t worry, Commander," she said, "it’s not so bad, if you stay calm."

I had risen to my feet as the Professor walked around the desk. At the command to strip, I had looked at Tryx but it seemed she intended to stay. That re-ignited my too-ready flush, but I complied with the order. Soon I was trying not to be too obviously covering myself while still actually concealing my all-too-apparent response to her feminine attractiveness. I didn’t figure I succeeded in either objective.

"Lie down over there," Inchbod said, pointing toward the black-draped couch. "When the symbiont perceives your body heat, it will begin the melding process."

I tried to keep my hands over my obvious excitement without looking like I was, well, encouraging it or anything. It was so embarrassing to be reacting so crudely to the presence of Commander Tryx that I failed to notice the first stirrings in the black sheet. By the time I did, it had already flowed halfway up around my body. Two pseudopods of darkness extended to my wrists, surrounding them. Gently, but irresistibly, they pulled my arms to my sides. If I thought I had been embarrassed before, the next step was the most embarrassing action I could have ever imagined. Another finger of black flowed up my erection and surrounded it, pulling it painfully down to lie along my leg. In a few moments, the darkness had surrounded me entirely, cutting off all light and sound.

It was actually a relief to be able to hide from my observers, at least psychically. As a result, it was almost an irritation when I heard a clear, contralto voice say, "I am pleased that you did not panic at the sensory deprivation. That will be relieved in a few more minutes. Now, open your mouth, but do not speak."

"I am now going to penetrate all your body cavities," the voice continued. "Do not panic."

*Panic is not usually one of my problems,* I thought to myself. Then I wondered if that assessment needed to be reconsidered as some very unusual sensations started to crawl down my throat, and then into more intimate passages as well.

*Just a damn minute!* I shouted in my mind, but neither sound nor movement seemed to make it out of my rigid body.

"I will now begin the adaptation," the voice announced. "Remain calm."

*Right. They have a name for this, and it’s illegal throughout the federation!* I snarled. But that voice was oddly compelling. It was beautifully feminine, in the low contralto range I had always found most musical of all voices. Yet it was quite firm as well, leaving no room for even the consideration of disagreement. There was a continuing tingle, as though I were bathed in a strong electrical field, but no other sensations for a few moments. Then I realized my isolation was ending as my vision slowly cleared.

The voice gave one final warning, "Say nothing about my presence. As far as your scientists are concerned, we are non-sentient."

The first thing I did was . . . nothing. I lay there for a moment, trying to determine what changes had occurred. Actually, I felt the same as before so I stood up and looked at the other people in the room, trying to get some idea of my state from their response. Neither of them betrayed any particular emotion, but they had already seen this of course. They were, however, blocking a full-length mirror and when they saw that I was moving they cleared a path for me to see.

In the mirror, my reflection was of a shiny mannequin no more humanoid than the robo-receptionist. From head to toe, my body gleamed with slick blackness, a most uncompromising condition. Every lump and bulge of my unflattering shape was highlighted with brutal clarity by a covering that seemed to be either pure black or mirror-bright reflection with nothing in between. Next to the fantasy perfection of Tryx, my own results with the symbiont were well past disappointing and into pathetic.

Even Tryx had lost her perpetual gentle humor. For the first time since I had entered the room, Tryx showed concern. The challenge of lifting me from sedentary analyst to field agent would be even greater than she had anticipated. As a result of her concern, and my shock, Professor Inchbod was the first to speak.

"Are you feeling all right, Commander Xora?" he asked.

"Yes, fine," I replied. "It was never worse than unpleasant, and that has passed." *That is, if you ignore the ‘fate worse than death’ when this thing stuck it’s, um, whatever up my . . . *

"Yes, well, um," Inchbod continued, "Commander Tryx, I do hope you are right in your assessment of optimal host selection criteria."

"What, oh, uh, yes, me too," she replied in her turn. "Very well, um, Xora, you will need to go to your room and continue the adaptation process for a while. If you need anything, please let me know."

Inchbod indicated with a curt nod of his head that I should get dressed, then returned to his seat to make some entries into his computer. In a moment, I was ready to leave. As I turned to go, I heard the voice say, "Shake hands with Tryx."

She was a bit closer to the door than me anyway, so I moved toward her with my hand extended. Just as she accepted the gesture, I thought I caught a shimmer of blackness on her palm to match that covering my whole body. Nothing else seemed out of place, though. With a brief reward from her spectacular smile, I took my leave of Tryx and went to my room.

Once there, I stripped down again and looked at my apparent future. It was a bit of a surprise that I could even see, since there was no visible decrease in the midnight darkness of the covering around my eyes. I could hear of course, though again there was no indication of penetra-tion through my new skin. I was wondering what I should do to speed any remaining adaptation when the voice returned.

 "There is nothing particular you need to do until I finish my assessment of your needs," it said.

*That was a bit too coincidental,* I thought to myself. *I wonder if this thing can read my mind.*

"Indeed I can," the voice responded in that cool, clear contralto. "Though I’ll thank you not to consider me a ‘thing’."

"Oh, sorry," I said. "What’s your name, then?"

"You do not need to speak. I can hear your conscious thoughts just as easily. I do have to admit, though, that your deeper thoughts are surprisingly turbid. We’ll have to work on that."

"We have no need for names as you use them," the voice continued. "However, I understand your race’s need to label everything, so you may pick a name for me."

"Uh, okay, so, um, what sort of name would you like?"

The voice now had a tone that was probably intended to be regal, but instead came across as petulant, "It should be compatible with my dignity as one of the nobility of our race."

"Very well, let’s see," I mused for a few moments. What sort of name for this prideful voice? Maybe the regal nature of Tryx was still on my mind, but an idea came to me and I began to explain, "There is a queen in a play by one of our greatest writers. She has magic powers, but can be a bit capricious. It seems perfect for you. Will you accept the name, ‘Titania’?"

"Very well, it seems appropriate," the voice, now Titania replied.

*So,* I tried a mental message. *What do we have to do?*

"From the look of things, quite a lot," she sniffed. "It would seem that I have my work cut out for me."

"What work is that?" I asked, speaking out loud again. It just seemed more appropriate, somehow, for a real conversation.

The voice didn’t answer for a long moment. When it did speak, there was a sort of lecturing tone that came through even the sweet tones of that mellifluous voice.

"What I am about to tell you is considered highly secret by my race," it began. "You will never tell anyone. Other symbiont pairs will already know, and no one else must ever find out. Is that clear?"

"Well, yes, I guess so," I answered. It was a pretty blank check, but if others, for example Tryx, were willing to support continued pairings, it must not be too bad.

"Very well. The first and most highly guarded secret is that we are individually sentient. Your scientist believe we have no real intelligence of our own but only aid the human half of each pairing at a sort of reflexive or instinctive level. This is not true. I am pleased to recognize that you are quite intelligent, but do not assume I am any less so."

I nodded my acceptance, then was ready to say something when the voice continued in a way that indicated it had understood the gesture.

"Second, and most human hosts do not even know this, our society is highly complex, and highly structured. The first symbionts were from what would be considered our common, or peasant classes. Only Commander Tryx, and now you, have been paired with one of our nobility. The fortuitous coincidence of Commander Tryx’s high psi rating aided her pairing immensely. We decided to build on that success when another opportunity presented itself. Within our standards, my psi rating is as high as yours is for a human."

"Ah, so that is why Commander Tryx was so successful," I mused.

"Do not discount the contribution of her symbiont," Titania cautioned. "Now, to employ your vernacular, I have good news and bad news. The good news is that I am at least as capable as her symbiont. In fact, though our reproduction relationships are not really analogous to yours, you could say that her symbiont is my brother."

"And the bad news?" I had to know.

"Well, my brother, who has accepted the name ‘Bee’ from Commander Tryx, is a lot nicer than I am." Now the voice had an ominous tone, as though even the pure melody of her voice had changed to a minor key.

 

(continued in part 2)

 

 

*********************************************
© 1999 by Brandy Dewinter. All Rights Reserved. These documents (including, without limitation, all articles, text, images, logos, compilation design) may printed for personal use only. No portion of these documents may be stored electronically, distributed electronically, or otherwise made available without express written consent of the copyright holder.