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 assess-
ment 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.
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