Episode 8 - Symbiosis

  Chapter 69 - Cowards

  Wesley’s symbiont is the largest Cervus hart I’ve ever seen. Pooka is bigger, but he’s big even for an Equus - all sleek velvet black. The stag is strapped into a small wagon that Wesley has loaded with plastic supply tubs and groceries; fresh cabbages, carrots and other longer-life root vegetables. Under them are canned and jarred goods, then below I can read the labels of the dried meal cakes and vacuum packed foil pouches of long life rations. I realize pretty quickly that I might not get to eat as well as I’m used to, and I note the ratio of the fresher goods to significantly more jarred, canned and sealed pouches.

  Pooka wanders behind the wagon, brightly colored ribbons in safety orange flapping as he moves. He’s returned to his tantrum, chewing on the lead rein that now secures him to the wagon with both ears flattened to his skull.

  Wesley slaps his Cervus on the rump and it leans into its harness willingly, beginning to trot eagerly ahead of us. “You got gear for your Equus?” he asks conversationally as we continue to walk.

  I rub the back of my neck shyly, fingers curled on the bandage around my collar. Rhett is somewhere several steps behind us both. “Uh, not that I could bring with me. It was Aquila property.” That seems like a believable lie.

  Wesley rubs his smooth chin in thought. “We might have to see what we can scratch together. You’ll get a sore rump pretty quick.”

  “I can ride bareback okay,” I say.

  “I’m sure, but you’ll be up there all day with us. It’ll get unpleasant quick. This way.”

  Wesley leads us down a side street now deep within the lower-class apartments of Apex. Here, the shadows of the apartment buildings block out most of the sun, and messy bundles of cables run between the buildings or up walls. The water that laps beneath the other side of the city is not here, this must be the older parts of the city before it expanded across the water in search of more space. I cannot smell salt like I can at coastal cities, it must be a freshwater body. A few people hang clothing from their packed balconies, others mingle in the public spaces. The laundry and common facilities mustn't be sufficient to keep up with the population density living here. The buildings are progressively getting shorter as we approach the edge of the dome too. Finally, we pass beyond housing into warehouses - the roller doors all labeled. A few are open as workers pass in and out, and I can see old technology in storage in one, unused standard-issue furniture in another. The last warehouse is pressed right against the concrete walls of the dome, and this is the one Wesley stops at, typing a long key-code into a number pad at the door by the large roller-shutter.

  The roller door shudders as the mechanisms inside turn and he steps inside. “C’mon,” he chimes cheerfully. “In you get before someone comes over and starts looking through the door.”

  His Cervus trots within, scut wagging cutely on his white rump. Wesley shuts the door behind us as Rhett ducks under last, plunging the warehouse into darkness, and I hear him come to the wagon and rummage within the storage containers.

  “Pup-pup, get the lights for me?”

  Rhett’s voice sounds distant as I hear him reply. “Yeah.”

  Moments later, LEDs flare to life, and I look around the empty warehouse. It’s dusty, with a white film on half of the surfaces. There is some storage shelving on one side, but the few boxes that are stacked there look empty. At the far side of the warehouse is a huge laboratory-blue double door with a flashing control system at eye level. It’d be large enough to let through the engine-car of a train - although the double door we just came through would be nowhere near large enough to let it progress into the city.

  Wesley drags one of the largest storage boxes off the back of his wagon and cracks the lid open. “Come here. What size are you? Small?”

  I nod, drawing closer but keeping my eye on the huge blue doors. He unfolds a black and yellow environmental suit, with cuffed ankles and wrists that draw tight using a plastic snap mechanism. He then hands me a set of blue boot covers and a pair of rubber gloves as well. “We’ll get you proper boots from the home base, but these will do. Listen to me very carefully. You can technically have skin contact with most things out there. Suit breaches are not life threatening, we mostly do this to help keep commons in the habitats clean. What you need to make sure you keep covered are your mucous membranes - mouth, nose, eyes. Anything happens, hold your breath, pinch your nose, shut your eyes. What do you keep covered?” Wesley pauses, waiting for me to answer.

  “Mouth, nose, eyes,” I parrot obediently. He feels like one of the safety trainers from Murasaki’s labs.

  “Correct. Mouth, nose, eyes. Never forget it. You could be naked out there otherwise if you really wanted - not that I recommend it - sunlight is harsh if you are not used to it. Get dressed, wear it over the top of your clothing for now, and we’ll get you fitted with a mask. With your bad hand, someone might need to help you get the cuff snaps.” He strips his bright tailcoat off his shoulders and tosses a suit over to Rhett, whose choice of gym clothing suddenly makes a lot more sense to me.

  They’re both dressed quickly. I stumble a little bit, but Wesley is patient despite his earlier bluster and shows me with his own clothing how to navigate the more complicated aspects of getting the environmental suit on. Next, he withdraws a full-face respirator, with a clear plastic eye shield across the face, a black silicone nose and mouth cover, and an apparatus for the filters on the front.

  He shows me each part of the mask, naming them and guiding me through the straps. He shows me the bright pink filters and how to install them. He then slips the mask over his own head, showing me how to hold it in place while doing the fit check. “Deep breath in,” he says, demonstrating the motion and drawing my attention to the edges of his mask as it collapses inwards on his face. “No air should escape from any part of the seal. If you feel air getting in, check for loose hairs. Just in case it matters to you, you’ll need to be clean shaven as well.” He drags a finger along the face shield of his mask to indicate his chin. “You try.”

  I do as instructed, and he waits patiently for me while Rhett test fits his own mask without any instruction to one side. His fingers are quick and confident drawing the cuffs at his wrists and ankles tight.

  Wesley runs his fingers over the edges of my mask, checking the fit of the straps around my head and the rubber seal. “Big breath in, good job.” The silicone mask sucks against my skin, but I can’t feel any air getting in. It’s claustrophobic having the black silicone press around the bridge of my nose and mouth. I feel boxed in as the edges of the mask cut off my peripheral vision.

  This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

  “You have someone check your fit before you go outside for the first few days, just till we are sure you’ve got the hang of it. Now, listen carefully to me. You’re gonna feel like breathing is a little harder out there, and it’s not because the mask isn’t working. The air is different. Dome utilities will scrub out some of the carbon dioxide for Bubbler air, but these masks can’t do that. They keep the deadly stuff out, and that’s it. It’ll feel a little heavier at first, like breathing is harder and you’ll get tired faster than you're used to, but there shouldn’t be discomfort. If you feel you can’t breathe, or your lungs burn, let me know, but do not take the mask off. You’ll get used to it pretty quickly. Okay?”

  “Okay,” I repeat. “What is it?”

  “What?”

  “The white fog?”

  The edges of Wesley’s face wrinkle as he must grin under his respirator. “It’s spores. Holobiont spores. Pup, help her with her gloves. I’m gonna go get the lock.” It's strange to me how effortlessly Wesley has become all business, but he seems to take safety seriously. I watch him march off towards the blue double-doors.

  I turn to look at Rhett who is still fixing his own fit. We’re alone for the first time since Nessa’s death. He doesn’t make eye contact as he lifts one hand to beckon me. “Come closer.”

  “Holobionts?”

  “Composite organisms. Lichens. Technically, the spores are from the mycobiont.”

  “Lichens are a plant? I thought you said there was nothing out there?” I ask quietly. My voice sounds so odd hearing it through the mouthpiece of the respirator. Every breath I take rushes in my ears loudly, I can even almost hear my pulse in the strange echo chamber of the mask against my skull.

  “It’s not a plant.” Rhett grabs my wrist roughly, and arranges the edges of my gloves with the cuffs of the suit as he pulls it shut.

  “What is it then?”

  “A symbiotic partnership between fungi and other organisms.” He doesn’t seem much in the mood for talking.

  As he finishes with one wrist, I give him my second, letting my wounded hand drop to my side. “I’m sorry,” I say.

  “I don’t want to talk about it,” he replies in a brusque rush.

  My breath catches in my throat. He hates me, I’m sure of it. “I’m so sorry. It’s-” my breath catches “-my fault.”

  “I said I don’t want to talk about it.”

  “I just-”

  “Stop.” Rhett snaps the band on my wrist cuff shut, dropping my second hand like it's something painful to his touch. “Just stop. For once in your life. Stop.”

  Something about his tone stokes a tiny flame in me. “I’m telling you it was my fault.”

  “Can’t you just-”

  “No,” I interrupt. I need to take ownership for this. I need to feel this way, for Nessa. I need all these rotten feelings to fester, I can never let myself not feel this pain and regret again.

  “For fucks-”

  “Why won’t you listen to me?”

  “Because it was my fault, not yours!” I think he’s shocked himself at how much he raised his voice. He gives a strangled growl and turns back to the storage tubs, clattering around the supplies.

  “What do you-?”

  “I am responsible for you! I am responsible for… Aquila! If I’d just-”

  “How dare-” The words cut off in my throat, the flame roaring to life within the numb shell of my flesh. The silicone mask around my face feels too tight, and I want to claw the respirator off my face suddenly. When I breathe out, the air gets uncomfortably warm around my face, the moisture from my lungs clings to my skin. It feels rotten and stuffy. I’m not even outside and the extra effort of drawing my breath through the respirator filter is already getting to me. “How dare you? You? Responsible for me? I never asked for that, you imposed yourself on me! I was a stupid impulsive fuck up long before you, and I’ll be a stupid impulsive fuck up long after. You don’t get the credit for any of it!” I spit. My voice sounds silly through the mask instead of full of the self-hatred I want to inject into it, there is no catharsis in speaking the words.

  “What are you doing here?” he asks, not looking at me again.

  “I’m here because your Mum is exiling me or something. I guess your Dad is renting me now? Your whole fucking family want a piece of me?”

  “It’s not…”

  “What are you doing here?” I ask, turning the question back on him with as much venom as I can muster.

  He turns, blue eyes meeting mine. “I…”

  “Pup’s running, aren’t you, Pup?” cajoles Wesley, stepping into our fight. His eyes gleam darkly underneath his own mask. “Running away from your mistakes again?”

  Rhett surges to life, pressing his chest against Wesley’s and staring up at the taller man. Wesley pushes him back, and Rhett, to his credit, squares his shoulders and barely rocks from the shove. “Don’t call me ‘Pup’,” he commands. It’s not a request; it’s not even a cry of uncontrolled anger. It’s a command, clear with authority that expects to be obeyed. He catches Wesley’s hands in the air as the older man tries to shove him again and takes a step forward, pushing Wesley back. “Don’t call me ‘Shorty’, don’t call me ‘Rhett’. Don’t call me any other name you’ve come up with. Don’t. Call. Me. Pup. We clear? Bosun?”

  “You haven’t earned the right to give me orders,” hisses Wesley, struggling to free his hand from Rhett’s grip.

  “Lucky I’m not on your crew.”

  “I’ll tell your father about this, Everett.”

  Rhett pauses at the threat, and masks whatever he feels with a spit of an indifferent, “I don’t give a fuck what you tell him.” He tosses Wesley’s hands free, grabs up his respirator from the ground, and stalks apart from us. It’s a vast warehouse, and his every step echoes as he puts distance between us but has nowhere to go.

  Wesley straightens his environmental suit with an anxious chuckle. “You see? Stick so far up his ass he should marry it?”

  I watch Rhett’s back still. Pell grips his shoulder through his suit and looks back at me as he walks. Curiosity gets the better of me. “What did he do?” I ask.

  “I’m not surprised he doesn’t tell anyone. Got four of the younger crew members killed six years back, including my nephew. Extraction operation went south, a whole dome-side crew got taken in by security. Captain Rattakul’s operation hasn’t got the credits to spring that many bodies, so they called in his whore-mother for help. She paid the ransom for the only one she cared about.”

  “Regina is a whore,” I mutter, but the words feel bitter on my tongue the moment they leave my mouth. I knew the story, or I’d guessed it between what I had heard and what was unsaid. Four was more than I expected, my stomach twists.

  “And you know, we might have been able to move on from it. But he just ran, and never came back… till now.” Wesley rubs his wrist. “You get it then. With luck, Captain Rattakul will keep him busy once we drop him off.”

  It’s not my problem he insists on feeling responsible for everything. The weight of this is mine. I encouraged him. I talked Adrian into going rogue, I offered Rhett my hand. I need to be better.

  here and also on Patreon. I also added an extra song as a thank you call out to one special commenter :D My only warning is that I do move around future songs when i find something that ends up being a better fit, so if you really like a song, make sure to add it to your personal playlists so I don't get rid of it and you can never find it again.

  Cervus I've introduced before and they are deer. Scut is the correct term for their little stumpy tails... I dunno, it sounds like a slur to me lol. I think it was, just not in fashion now. 'Hart' is an older term as well, it's like 'stag', but implies a more mature male. The equivalent term for female deer was 'hind'.

  Cervus are primarily European, with only one (I think?) american species. Wesley, I imagine, has a Red Deer, which is one of the OG species of the genus - the term Hart sort of implied a Red Deer as well. A lot of the other deers in the genus have been merged into it in the last 50 years or so.

  Cervus elaphus scoticus. This is a subspecies of the species Cervus elaphus. It is called a trinomial name and all parts are written in italics.

  Cervus elaphus elaphus - which turns out to be to be a critically endangered Red Deer subspecies that just escaped extinction in Sweden.

  the same species, but you would never know it based on the vegetables you eat and how different they look. The rules are made up. Definitions and words are human inventions. Sometimes they are useful, sometimes they are gross oversimplifications of the reality. In fact, plants get so messy they have naming conventions at this level that wildly differ from animals and include categories like variety, subvariety, form and subform. Another reason I don't do plants.