Which was what, exactly?
The sonic shower took no time. She slathered the lotion she had gotten it to order for her over her face, head and body, then used the gargle gel to freshen her mouth (which was as gluey as her eyes had been).
When she finished, she found her bonder waiting, standing with a carrier bag slung over its shoulder, something it gave her a pang to see. Other than the tubes of lotion and mouth freshener she had slipped into her pocket, she, of course, had nothing—but her body. If, that is, she could be said to have it at all.
11.
As Azia trailed Pluummuluum through the station, she tried to remember what the therapist had told her about the things that had been done to her and what they might mean. The neural receptor, of course, she knew accounted for her need for being in the same physical space with her bonder. But there were other receptors, too. Like most species, humans have a variety of receptors naturally. For the most part, they don’t impinge on the consciousness of the individual. For instance, human sperm tissue have twenty olfactory receptors, attuned to the scent given out by human ova. The ova draw the sperm to them with the scent. Of course, these receptors have to he in a position where they can smell the scent— namely, ejaculated into a place reasonably close to an ovum. Though the sperm tissue can be influenced by the scent of an ovum, the whole organism that generated the tissue is unaware of this influence, and is itself not subject to it. Similarly, many of the new receptors located in your tissues will be affected by scents given off by your bonder, which your conscious mind may well be unaware of. Unlike the case of the sperm tissue, the influence of this chemical relationship probably will influence you, and may well impinge on your consciousness through the physical effects olfactory reception may have on certain tissues in your body… Hadn’t there been something about negative and positive reinforcement? Azia was sure he’d said something about sudden, sharp physical symptoms as likely due to these receptors…
She really hadn’t listened to him very closely. He’d been so preachy and boring, lecturing her at endless, droning length on the importance of psychological control of her body and emotions. Oh, but the dream, the shameful, exciting dream that she could not shake from her consciousness, permeating her body, lurking deep in her soma. Did putting her to sleep—real sleep—fall into the category of symptoms the shrink was talking about? Or was this a special power—like giving her dreams that were telepathic texts she read on waking—that any Corollian could use on any human with the ability to Receive?
Azia—not paying attention, simply following Pluummuluum’s back— walked right into it and trod on its heels. Gasping, she sprang backward. It took its hand off the access control it was touching and looked over its shoulder at her, then turned sharply through the access that opened, into one of the long tubes that extended out from the body of the station to the hatches of docked craft. Its pace picked up, as if it were impatient to board. Azia hurried after it, fearful—even while feeling foolish at her fear—that it might disappear through the hatch and strand her behind.
Realizing, perhaps, that it could do just as well without her. And since it found her such a nuisance…
Inside, three Corollians wearing robes like theirs stood pressed close, in a row. As though at a signal Azia could not perceive, they shifted as one and clasped hands and joined tentacles. Azia stood motionless, watching. Pluummuluum moved forward and stretched its arms and tentacles so that the tips of the latter touched the tips of the only unengaged tentacles of the three, those on the outsides of the row. Then it leaned forward and extended and intertwined its tongue with each of theirs in turn—its and their tongues, long, very long, pointed and black. Azia felt her gorge rising; with difficulty, she suppressed an urge to gag and looked away—anywhere but at them. The Corollians seemed not to notice that she was there. Though it underscored her sense that she did not belong on that ship, she supposed she was glad that they didn’t.
While she waited, Azia, standing barely inside the hatch, glanced curiously around. The atmosphere held so much moisture that she could see it hanging in the air, a fine, pervasive mist that soon wrapped her in a blanket of chilling damp. She realized that this must be the kind of atmosphere Corollians preferred. And this being a Corollian ship… Azia could not imagine ever feeling warm in such a place. The very thought of living in it struck a chill deep into her bones, making her tissues ache with it. She had never been in such an atmosphere in her life. Surely it must be bad for the instruments, bad for the very bulkhead? All sorts of… things liked to grow in humidity. Molds. Mildews. She blinked. There was something growing on the walls, she saw, something that looked like mold and was glowing a weird, purple color, which she realized was probably what was giving the air that strange, thick, gloomy look, making even the brightness of the logos on their robes look dingy.
Finally the Corollians separated. Without further ado, Pluummuluum led her to a cabin adjacent to the bridge and—remaining on the bridge, itself, gestured her in. She stepped through, then shrieked with panic as she saw the door sliding closed, shutting her in—away from it. She banged on the slimy, cold ceramic-metal and yelled, over and over and over, “No! No! I’ll die away from you! Let me out! Let me out!” Did it hate her? she thought desperately. Or did it really not understand her physical need for keeping close to it?
Azia yelled herself hoarse and bruised her fists pounding on the door. She stopped only when the lurch of sudden free-fall struck and she went tumbling about in a nauseating loss of control. We’re detached from the station. Expertly she eyed the cabin, looking for a hold-bar or -strap or -net. She found a hold-net dangling from the bulkhead opposite the door. She propelled herself to it, then discovered that the bulkhead there was covered with the horridly slimy glowing purple stuff she had noticed on the bridge. It made her gag to press herself against the stuff, but since she stood a good chance of injuring herself if she didn’t use something to hold her body in place for however long it took before the ship started accelerating, reluctantly she netted herself in. Every muscle in her back strained to avoid the stuff she knew was there.
Obviously no one would be coming into the cabin until after acceleration. It was pointless of her to try to get Pluummuluum’s attention now. It would be less than an hour, probably, before their inertial motion got them far enough out for safe ignition. And then it would be a matter of minutes before they accelerated and got some gravity. Azia suddenly remembered how unperturbed Pluummuluum had been by the heavy G-forces of the shuttle. No, she thought bleakly, no, they wouldn’t… and yet it was all too hkely, she thought, that they would accelerate (and later decelerate) at as high a level of G-forces as they themselves found comfortable.
Her muscles rigid, her stomach heaving, Azia curled into as tight a fetal ball as was possible to an adolescent human body.
12.
Time passed, an eternity, it seemed to Azia, lacking the means of measuring it. Pluummuluum did not come any time soon after the ship had gotten under power. Though the ship’s acceleration was at an uncomfortably high gravity, it was lower than the shuttle’s had been. She freed herself from the net, but continued to he curled in on herself with her head on her arm so that the purple slime touched her sodden sleeve rather than her face. She wondered if she would get sick from being soaked to the skin in such a cold place. Her body certainly felt like a perfect place for viruses to be partying.