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It was snowing outside the Kado. A blizzard such as ZaShunina, at least, had never seen before, though since he hadn’t been here for more than a couple months, that wasn’t saying much. He stood outside for a while watching the snow sometimes land and sometimes skitter away from the cube’s surface—the reaction seemed to depend on the angle. Shindo, standing by his side, felt like he might be blown over the edge at any moment, but it didn’t exactly worry him. He’d basically crossed the threshold of worrying about practical things like this, when ZaShunina was around and could probably catch him easily enough.
A message delivered over loudspeaker earlier had cancelled the meeting planned for them with a number of diplomats. The snow was too thick, too deep, to risk travel. Shindo had had to explain this to ZaShunina carefully.
“I could make it safe for the diplomats to travel,” ZaShunina had said.
“What,” Shindo had asked, “would you stop the storm?”
This was not said incredulously or as a joke; Shindo had no doubt ZaShunina and the Kado could do so, with proper application. After all, ZaShunina had shown him wonders enough. What he was skeptical about was how people would react to such an interference with nature—or how the diplomats would react to being surrounded by shielding devices they knew nothing about, which turned out to be ZaShunina’s actual suggestion. After some argument it had been decided they would pause their work for a couple days, or at least ZaShunina would—Shindo still had every intention of chugging away at certain reports and letters he was writing, but they would still be cut off from the world outside the Kado for a while. The storm made cell reception and internet not great either; it was not a good time for communication. Not when working on issues that required precision, like all Shindo’s work with ZaShunina did.
So they had resigned themselves to it, and now ZaShunina was enjoying the storm. Perhaps analyzing the patterns of snowfall, of the winds. At last he turned from the view off the side of the Kado to look at Shindo, blown apart and only kept from freezing by some supernatural essence of ZaShunina’s proximity. He smiled slightly and touched Shindo’s cheek.
Shindo raised his eyebrows.
“Your hair has collected snow,” ZaShunina said. “It’s interesting.” His other hand circled Shindo’s head, lightly brushing the snow off. When he was done, he cradled a last couple snowflakes—they didn’t melt on his skin, even though to Shindo, at least, he seemed warm to the touch.
“I’d like to go in,” Shindo said, “if you’ll open the Kado up again.”
ZaShunina nodded. “Of course.”
Inside was warm, or rather, was the same neutral temperature the Kado always was. One could not hear the wind from outside either. The Kado, as always, remained perfectly self-contained, its own environment.
ZaShunina flitted off to a corner and returned with a cup of what looked like hot chocolate. “I made it like your mother used to make it for you. You like it when there’s a storm, don’t you?”
Shindo tentatively accepted the hot chocolate. It was the perfect temperature, and tasted almost right. “Did I tell you about that?”
“We’ve shared memories,” ZaShunina said. “I know about such things.”
“We’ve…”
“Back when we first met, and we psychically bonded.”
“…oh.” Shindo frowned and put down the cup. “That was sharing memories?”
“We shared many elements of ourselves at that time. To say we shared memories is only about twenty percent correct.” ZaShunina frowned too, but his frown was annoyance at the imprecision, while Shindo was more concerned about, well…
“I didn’t know that was part of it. It seemed mostly to be about communication at the time.”
“Communication is a more accurate explanation, but the human definition of communication would not encompass the experience in totality. We communicated with a level of intimacy atypical for humans, I believe. Human communication does not lead to such complete understanding as we in that moment were able to achieve. Haven’t you noticed our communication has been very compatible ever since? The reason for that is because we basically synchronized our minds. I took a part of you into myself, while you took in a part of me.”
“…I see.”
Finding himself at a loss for words, Shindo used a long traditional method to stall and recoup: he took another long sip of the hot chocolate. It really did taste almost right. If it tasted wrong, it would have been impossible to say if it was something ZaShunina had lost in translation or simply a fault in Shindo’s memory, or him tricking himself into thinking he could tell the difference between the real article and ZaShunina’s imitation. He doubted Kanata could have found a difference on a cellular level; ZaShunina had probably made it just right. But to his tongue, there was still something almost plasticky about it. If he really were at home and his mother had made it for him, he might have asked her if she had properly rinsed out the mug, or if she had left the aftertaste of soap.
While he tasted, he thought, and eventually came up with a mild comment. “I can’t remember picking up any of your memories, though.”
“Your mind was unaccustomed to such an intense experience of sharing, so your understanding of the information imparted was highly limited. You were still more receptive than many humans might have been. We were probably compatible from the start.” ZaShunina tilted his head. “Is the information inequality disturbing to you?”
“A little.”
“If we were to share again,” ZaShunina said, “the link already being in place, you would be able to understand more. Would you like me to give you some of my experiences, Shindo?”
Shindo’s first instinct was to say no; last time it had been so painful he’d felt as if he was about to die. On the other hand, though, he’d clearly survived the experience because here he was, better than ever. And the “information inequality”, as ZaShunina put it, was a little disturbing if ZaShunina really did have many of his memories while Shindo still could barely conceptualize what kind of being ZaShunina was. And the opportunity of understanding that more—for anyone even nearly as curious as himself, it was irresistible.
“I’d like to,” he said, “but it does make me a little nervous. Would it still be as painful as last time?”
ZaShunina considered the matter. “There are some ways to make the linking easier on the participants. To make you more receptive, similar to loosening muscles—though that comparison has limited accuracy, given that this affects your mental state and your brain more than other parts of your body.”
“Any way to make it easier would probably be a good idea,” Shindo said with a tight smile.
“Very well, then. Come with me.”
The walls of the Kado parted into an unfamiliar corridor, and ZaShunina swept away at a determined pace. Shindo hastened to follow.
He was a little surprised when they arrived at a large pool of translucent pinkish liquid. Not that he hadn’t supposed the Kado was full of strange things—actually it was almost too ordinary—but he couldn’t see quite what this could have to do with a psychic link.
ZaShunina said, “This is ikbist. It’s a liquid that can have many purposes. One is to heighten the receptivity of a person’s senses, both mental and physical. If your senses are more receptive, they will be more open to receiving memories, and you will find it easier to comprehend what I share with you. Of course, I would also join you in the ikbist, and would in the process perceive you in greater detail as well.”
His expression was utterly bland and unemotional, his tone of voice informative in the manner of a tour guide, but it suddenly seemed to Shindo that he looked somewhat hungry.
It was probably just his imagination.
He crouched next to the pool and touched the liquid. For a moment, it felt like nothing much. It was just slightly cooler than the temperature of the Kado, a little more viscous than water… Then his fingers brushed against each other in the ikbist and he almost flinched. It tingled, sort of; his fingers felt oddly tender, not in a way that hurt, but still. It was a strange feeling.
“I’m sure you know more about this than me,” he said to ZaShunina, “but if this heightens my senses, isn’t it more likely that the link will produce a sensory overload than otherwise?”
Human complaints. He felt a little embarrassed to point out his limited capacities. ZaShunina shook his head; the issue, he said, had not been that Shindo was receiving too much information from ZaShunina at the time of their initial bond, but that he had not the faculties to process it. Shindo had a feeling it was really both, though, despite ZaShunina’s denial. Not that he thought ZaShunina was lying, exactly, but he had a way with bending words sometimes. A way that Shindo sometimes thought he must have picked up from Shindo himself—perhaps that part of Shindo he claimed the bond had imparted to him. Not that Shindo really understood anything about that.
The ikbist might well do what ZaShunina claimed: open him up to sensing things that otherwise he would not have been able to understand. On the other hand, when he pictured how much being this sensitive would increase the level of pain he had felt from the bond initially—pain which had already been unbearable—well, it wasn’t a very nice thought.
“You’re uncomfortable with this method,” ZaShunina said.
Shindo started, realizing he’d been crouched by the ikbist in silence for a while now. “No—well, yes. It’s not that I don’t trust it, but I’m unfamiliar with it. It disturbs me. Human minds and bodies are fragile, after all.”
“Lack of familiarity.” ZaShunina nodded. “All right. Then you’ll try out the ikbist first, and see how you can handle it, and we’ll do the bonding later, when you’re ready. You’ll see that once you’re used to it, you can do more than you think. Humans can be fragile, Shindo, but you are very resilient.”
Shindo laughed. “You’ve learned how to flatter. Did I teach you that?”
“I only state what I have observed,” ZaShunina said. “Let’s proceed. You’ll want to undress, I suppose.”
Shindo had, as was often the case, lost track of ZaShunina’s hands, so when they began to unbutton his pants, he was caught by surprise, and was in fact already unzipped by the time he caught them and pushed them away. “Humans undress themselves.” Something ZaShunina certainly knew, given all the information he’d picked up from Shindo and others in the past couple months, not to mention that Shindo changed his own clothes regularly.
Some things took longer to stick, maybe. That or ZaShunina was being purposely obtuse, but Shindo preferred to give people the benefit of the doubt. It usually helped his approach as a negotiator.
ZaShunina withdrew without complaint, but his tightly pressed lips indicated his impatience. Shindo stripped speedily down to his underwear; then, under ZaShunina’s imperative stare, removed that as well.
“So. I guess I’ll just go in, then.” The pool had steps in it, so Shindo at least wouldn’t have to jump in all at once. Instead he stepped in and submerged himself little by little: Ankles, knees, hips…
ZaShunina hadn’t announced any intent to follow him, but he did so anyways, after discarding his usual cloak. His body made small ripples in the ikbist that spread to touch Shindo’s skin, lightly tingling. Shindo shivered.
But so far, so good. It wasn’t overwhelming, anyways.
He waded until he was up to his shoulders, then paused. He wasn’t nearly halfway to the center of the pool.
“Go on,” ZaShunina said. “You can safely submerge.”
“The ikbist behaves strangely.” It did—it didn’t seem to carry his weight quite as much as water, yet it still offered resistance to his body. “I’m not sure I can swim well in it.”
“You can safely submerge. The Kado will preserve your bodily functions if you are unable to breathe.”
“I—well, that’s good to know,” Shindo said, “but as a human, I generally do prefer breathing.”
“To fully immerse yourself in the ikbist, you will have to cease breathing for a while,” ZaShunina said. “I assure you it is entirely safe.”
It probably was.
Still. Shindo began to step towards the shallower section of the pool. “I think I’ll sit for a while first, to get used to the sensation. It’s very…”
Something grabbed his ankle. An eel, he thought at once, the instinct of childhood. But this was the Kado, no eels here. He tugged at it. “ZaShunina, there’s something…”
“Don’t worry,” ZaShunina said. “That’s just me.”
“What…” But both of ZaShunina’s hands were clearly in sight, mere inches below the surface of the ikbist.
The grip on his ankle tightened. He could feel every nuance of its texture, which didn’t feel quite like skin. It was smooth and slippery, but not slippery in such a way that he could slip away from it—there were also small bumps, but the shape of it was more like a rope. And as he was thinking this, he felt something else grip his other leg, this time higher up, wrapping around his knee. He reached down to grab at the—tentacle, he could think of no other word for it—and found his wrists seized as well, each with a tentacle of their own.
“ZaShunina!”
“Shh.” ZaShunina’s hands, disconnected, squeezed Shindo’s shoulders, right near the base of his neck. “You’re fine.”
“What—you grew tentacles now?” He could only vaguely make out the shape of them beneath the water, but they did seem to attach to ZaShunina’s body at the torso, more firmly than the hands did, at least.
ZaShunina ignored the question. “Now we’ll go deeper.”
“What—no. No, listen…”
ZaShunina wasn’t interested in listening. He only continued to head deeper into the ikbist, and Shindo was securely pulled along with him. If he struggled against ZaShunina’s grip, his struggles had no effect except to summon more tentacles, one wrapping around his thighs and another around his chest, pinning his arms to his sides. The grip was not overly tight, but there was a certain torture in feeling so much contact against his sensitive skin, especially when the tentacle across his chest slid against his nipples. He was so distracted by the sensation of it all that he didn’t even notice how deep they had gotten until in one quick tug of the tentacles, his head was pulled underwater, and there he was, fully submerged.
He’d gotten just a quick breath in, and now he held it. Through the pink haze of the ikbist, he could see ZaShunina turning to look at him, to meet his eyes. He was smiling.
Shindo jerked his head to nod towards the surface. Let me up.
Instead, ZaShunina pulled Shindo closer, deeper, until their bodies were pressed together, chest to chest, hips to hops. He’s gotten his suit all wet, Shindo thought absently, though he knew perfectly well ZaShunina’s clothes were as much a part of his body as anything else. The texture of them was like the texture of his skin, smooth and warm and eerie. Not bumpy except for on the tentacles, which were practically tying Shindo to him now. They moved against his back and the back of his legs in a way that might have been meant to be comforting, and might have been if his whole body weren’t so tender that every movement made him want to cry out. He didn’t cry out. There was still breath in his lungs, and if he could somehow, without speaking, convince ZaShunina to let him up and out of the ikbist…
But the tentacles were squeezing firmly, and ZaShunina’s eyes were uncompromising. Slowly, Shindo exhaled, watched the bubbles float away, and then breathed in. The ikbist felt like seltzer sparking at the back of his throat.
He didn’t drown. The world didn’t go hazy. He felt, if anything more alive than ever. More awake.
ZaShunina smiled at him, and the hold of the tentacles loosened slightly, though they still caressed him. See? his eyes said. That wasn’t so bad. You’re fine, aren’t you?
He nodded slowly. He should have felt annoyed, but he mostly just felt relieved. ZaShunina had said he would be fine, of course, but instinct was stronger than knowledge sometimes.
He couldn’t quite relax, though, because just as he began to sag against ZaShunina’s hold, something brushed against his cock. When he looked down, he saw it was not a tentacle but one of ZaShunina’s hands. That seemed somehow more indecent. ZaShunina was still smiling at him and now, gently, he began to stroke.
If Shindo hadn’t released his breath already, he surely would have now. His mouth opened in a strangled yell. It was more pleasure than he had known himself capable of feeling—ZaShunina would say I don’t know my own capacities—utter bliss and yet agony at the same time. He thrashed against ZaShunina’s grip, less trying to fight him off now than to buck into the grip—if he could just get some satisfaction maybe he could deal with the sensation a little more.
ZaShunina paused, and removed his hand. Shindo glared at him. It had been inappropriate to start, of course—far beyond what could be excusable as an alien faux pas, ZaShunina knew this was past the limit of all human propriety—but to stop now was just rude. He rubbed himself against ZaShunina’s hips, trying to gain friction on the smooth surface. ZaShunina didn’t react as a human might have; if he had bothered to mimic a human’s genitalia for himself, he gave no sign of it now. But he did seem to enjoy Shindo’s touch, and he rocked his body gently in response, and pressed his chin into the curve of Shindo’s neck. He felt bony, though who knew if he actually had any bones.
When Shindo finally managed to come, he was thoroughly wrung out and exhausted. ZaShunina’s hands, so long hanging idle, returned to gently poke at his worn-out cock, but didn’t bother him overly. ZaShunina was gazing at him fondly, and he stared back, unsure what to make of all this. As he stared, ZaShunina kissed him on the lips. Gentle, not probing.
Gentle, until he opened his eyes into ZaShunina’s and suddenly all those things that had seemed overwhelming—the lapping of the ikbist, the touches of tentacles all over his body, the taste in the back of his throat—faded into nothing in the face of new sensations far more powerful.
The stars.
There were many of them. They were born when gas clumped together and began fusion. First hydrogen fusing into helium, then helium into carbon, and so on and so on. Sometimes the stars became black holes in the end; other times white dwarfs. There were various cases. But in the end it was all pretty predictable—you could guess the death from the birth.
The Kado. Home. Like another limb to him, though of course also separate. The concept of limb was very, very inexact—but Shindo would like it; humans liked metaphors. Humans. So full of variations, and much more interesting than stars. You could try to predict a human’s death from their birth, but you would probably fail. A human’s life was full of so many incidents.
Vague, all these thoughts. Vague, and pulsing with other thoughts inside them. So many stars, and so many experiences. He could see them in summaries, with light pinpricks of specificity: a glimpse of the planet where ikbist came from, a glimpse of companions debating with each other over what a human might conceptualize as a table (it was not a table). Vague, and then—Earth.
And Shindo.
Kojiro Shindo, a being with only thirty years of existence behind him. One hundred seventy-six centimeters tall, a measurement that did not waver, at least in ZaShunina’s experience, for humans had far less tendency to change. ZaShunina was tracking the rate at which his hair grew; he liked the way it looked when Shindo ran his hands through it; he liked the way it looked with snow in it. He had only kissed Shindo once, but he had complex thoughts about the texture of his lips.
Shindo Shindo Shindo Shindo Shindo Shindo Shindo.
Shindo woke up dizzy. He stood. He was lying on a couch that ZaShunina had created some time ago in the main room of the Kado, for human inhabitants’ convenience. The couch was slightly damp. Not from water.
He was still naked.
“You’re awake,” ZaShunina’s voice observed. Shindo craned his neck and saw him seated at the very edge of the couch.
The couch was slightly longer than it usually was.
“I’d like some clothing,” Shindo said.
ZaShunina tilted his head. “I’ve already known you.”
“Human modesty,” Shindo said. “Did you leave my clothes near the pool?”
No, he hadn’t. He had them here, ready for Shindo’s use. Shindo slipped them on, and felt a bit more confident in turning to face ZaShunina again. ZaShunina, who now had a human number of limbs (and he heard a mockery for the human concept echoing in his head, before he shut it away) rather than countless arching tentacles.
A more manageable ZaShunina.
“The inequality of information should be smaller, now,” ZaShunina said. “Did you understand more than last time?”
He still hadn’t understood as much as he’d have liked, but he was almost beyond the point of caring about that. “I understand enough to know you were as interested in fucking me as you were in renewing the psychic link.”
“Sex is the human way of expressing intimacy,” ZaShunina said. “I’ve always wanted to speak your language, Shindo.”
A hand touched Shindo’s back, and he flinched—lost track of them again. Fuck. “Well, you seemed to know what to do.”
“Are you angry with me?” ZaShunina’s brow wrinkled.
“Generally, it’s polite to ask.”
“We know each other by now. I know what you like.”
“I put that too lightly. In human terms, it is unacceptable not to ask.”
ZaShunina nodded. “I’ll ask next time.”
“Next time? ZaShunina—if you plan on pursuing other people like this, we’ll really need to talk…”
“Not other people. Only you. I’m not interested in that kind of closeness with other people.”
“Oh.” Well then.
“Humans build closeness through repeated sexual encounters,” ZaShunina said. “We’ll have to do it again later. Though, even the one time was very illuminating. You were wonderful, Shindo.”
Shindo might have thought he was just saying the thing humans said, or that his interpretation of sexuality and desire was all wrong, that he misunderstood human intimacy. Might have thought that, before. But he knew better now. Having received that small part of ZaShunina’s memories—no matter how little he’d understood, he knew one thing. That ZaShunina’s “interest” in him was not as academic as Shindo had once believed; that ZaShunina wanted him ravenously, curious and possessive—that desire in its most basic, irrational form was not a purely human trait…
“You look tired and hungry,” ZaShunina said. “I’ll make you some soup. It’s cold outside.”
The soup tasted like many soups Shindo had had before. And it was warm, though why this was comforting Shindo didn’t know—after all, it wasn’t cold inside the Kado. Still, it was good.
“Maybe I’ll work on those letters,” he said. “I never did get around to them.”
And there were so many to write. So many diplomats to assure that ZaShunina’s technology was reliable; that his intentions were pure and altruistic; that he was, at the end of the day, quite harmless. Shindo did believe all of that, basically, if a bit less so this evening than usual. Perhaps he should have noted that his uneasiness came at an hour when, of all times, he had come closest to what ZaShunina called understanding. But he was tired, and in the end, ZaShunina hadn’t really done anything he hadn’t wanted. Except pulling him into the ikbist, maybe, but even there… really ZaShunina did mean well.
He had convinced himself it was true by the time he was halfway through his second letter. It was easier with ZaShunina absent. He had gone to the top of the Kado again, to watch the snow fall. The blizzard would continue for several hours longer, and after all it was a very interesting natural phenomenon, and ZaShunina still wanted to learn more about it.