For ysabetwordsmith‘s continuation of Poison, a Bug Invasion story

The symbiotes had been talking about poison.

Paula couldn’t always hear everything; sometimes her symbiote shut her out. But this conversation just kept going on, so she could fill in the parts she missed easily enough.

%*&^ …and it tastes like the nectar… ^&*%

%*&^ …but it deteriorates their neural processes… ^&*%

%*&^ …the HomeLand sun never left one feeling this relaxed… ^&*%

%*&^ …too much can cause failure of the organs. It kills them. Look at this one; it is killing it. And it keeps drinking. Its symbiote should stop it. ^&*%

%*&^ No no no no no no no no, no no! ^&*%

%*&^ …It is poison for us as well? ^&*%

%*&^ Not poison. Pleasure. Sweet Pleasure. Pleasure that must keep going. ^&*%

%*&^ No no no no no no no no, no no! ^&*%

And so it went. Fallon’s symbiote was further gone than Fallon was, chittering angrily at anyone who got close. It, not Fallon, was going to be the one who tipped his body over the killing point.

“Addiction.” She wrested control of her body back from her symbiote – it was easier, the more sugar she ate. It got jittery. “Do you have addiction?”

Eli’s symbiote blinked Eli’s eyes at her. “We don’t have that word.”

“You wouldn’t. It isn’t a hive word, it’s an individual problem.”

“Is it why you eat poison?”

“We eat poison for pleasure. I have told you that already. It is why we don’t stop eating poison when it’s killing us.” Or gambling. Or shopping. Or hoarding.

“This addiction makes you… Keep doing pleasurable things?”

“Or things that are normally useful. Eating. Storing for winter.”

“Why do you have addiction?” Eli’s symbiote was becoming uncomfortable – its eyes were twitching – but so was Eli. His hands were jittering and his shoulders beginning to shudder. She recognized the symptoms – the subconscious found tiny ways to take over.

She couched her next words carefully. Eli had less control than many of them, and he was generally twitchier and more secretive. “I don’t know what happens that makes people more likely to be addicted. Nobody’s entirely certain. Some people think it’s upbringing, or neurochemicals, or some combination.”

“Nerochemicals…” The symbiote went off on a long string of the bug language. Paula’s brain-rider provided imperfect translation; all she could tell right now was that the bug was very upset.

Finally her bug took over.

%*&^ You are reading what she is saying incorrectly. ^&*%

%*&^ If their brains are different then they are buhdeparp… ^&*%

That word had no translation Paula could understand. Outside? Sideways? Beyond? Beyond what?

%*&^ You see that this is not true. They are within. Held to their families. They have no buhdeparp ^&*% Paula’s voice was very calm, very soothing, as her symbiote tried to convince Eli’s of… something. That their addicts weren’t beyond something?

%*&^ But they do not know. If they are truly different… ^&*%

%*&^ They are not. ^&*% This time, Paula could hear the bleed of thoughts. If they were, perhaps this would mean freedom.

Freedom? For their jailers?

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