by Mary E. Lowd
An excerpt from Prodigy of the Wanderlust. If you’d prefer, you can start with Chapter 1, or skip ahead to the next chapter.
Lt. Cmdr. Vossie argued vehemently with Dr. Eol and then stormed off to argue with the captain of the ship. Well, as much as anyone can storm off in zero gee. The rabbit simply wouldn’t accept that the Sidiians — ostensibly allies — could just abscond with him, refusing to tell him where they were going, and blocking his attempts to contact Captain Carroway.
Mike knew better. Mike was used to being less than a person.
So, the toadstool focused their efforts on being useful, because that was their best bet at getting out of this situation alive. Besides, Mike and Vossie had come to this ship for a very specific reason, and that reason still stood. It had simply changed in scope. Mike still needed to save Vossie’s life, but now, that might also mean curing an ongoing plague. Or two?
At least, for now, Dr. Eol was still treating Mike like a consultant — an expert on their own mycelial existence — rather than a scientific sample to be examined. Mike wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible, so the toadstool called on every piece of knowledge they had from their memories of the knowledge in the Wanderlust’s computer banks, sharing every detail they could recall. When Mike ran up against the edges of what the Tri-Galactic Union had learned about the mycelial flesh that had been cultivated from the stray comet and turned into organic computer systems, then the mushroom started calling on their extensive knowledge of Morphican anatomy, physiology, and behavior from their time as a neural implant, in order to help Dr. Eol compare Lt. Cmdr. Vossie’s scans with scans that had been run on Sidiians infected with the Hyphaic.
Mike dreaded the moment when they ran out of useful knowledge to share.
When Vossie finally gave up on arguing with the Sidiian captain and came grumbling back to the med bay, the rabbit didn’t know anything more than when he’d stormed off. However, he’d become much more subdued by his failed attempts to assert any sort of dominance in this gecko-filled ship.
Dr. Eol suggested right away that Lt. Cmdr. Vossie try taking tranquilizers so that Mike could attempt talking to the Hyphaic through him again.
“What if I don’t sleepwalk on tranquilizers?” Lt. Cmdr. Vossie asked ponderously, nose twitching slowly. He seemed to also be accepting that if the two of them were trapped on this Sidiian vessel, being kidnapped, then they might as well work toward curing his illness. “What if a drugged sleep is too thick for the Hyphaic to break through?”
The gecko doctor shrugged and said, “Then Ensign Mike should try their tasting trick. Maybe they can learn something from connecting with the Hyphaic more directly.”
Both the rabbit and mushroom shuddered at this idea. Vossie didn’t want even more mycelial flesh invading his own, even if it belonged to a dear friend, and Mike was struck with the worry that if the Hyphaic was somehow facing a plague of its own… would they be vulnerable to it? Could Mike end up sick too?
“Let’s hope the tranquilizers work,” Mike said unhappily.
Vossie didn’t accept his fate so easily. Even after failing in his arguments with the gecko captain, the rabbit still tried arguing with the gecko doctor, until Dr. Eol finally insisted that if Vossie didn’t cooperate, she’d call for security officers to hold him down while she sedated him.
Mike admired the way that Vossie fought for his own agency, even when he’d clearly run out of any real leverage. Even so, he kept clinging to his own sense of self. Mike wanted to be like that. The toadstool wanted to believe in their own self worth that firmly.
In the end, Vossie argued all the way up to the point where a pair of gecko security officers had their scaly hands on his shoulders. However, the rabbit could see he’d lost at that point, and he didn’t want to risk getting injured in an actual fight. Besides, he had no practice fighting in zero gee.
Once Vossie was secured in one of the med bay hammocks and sleeping a sound, chemical sleep, the security officers went back to whatever their other duties were, leaving Mike and Dr. Eol alone to watch the rabbit sleep.
As Vossie twitched and shifted in his sleep, Mike prayed fervently for the rabbit to begin talking. Just a few words. Anything. If it were only a few incoherent words, maybe that would be enough to give Dr. Eol hope that this plan would eventually work, and stave off her insisting on escalating to her backup plan.
Or maybe the ship would arrive wherever it was heading to… and then Mike didn’t know if that would be better or worse, but it would at least be different. A disruption. Something to change this disturbing status quo that kept sliding slowly more and more towards Mike and Vossie becoming nothing but ingredients in Dr. Eol’s latest science experiment.
The tension rose as they waited, and Mike’s mycelial beard kept bunching up tighter and tighter. But finally, Vossie sighed and mumbled something unintelligible.
“Is that you again?” Mike asked, their voice pelting down suddenly, forcefully like hail. The mushroom realized… they hadn’t only been hoping Vossie would speak to stave off Dr. Eol’s plans, but also, because Mike really wanted to talk to the Hyphaic again. It was their kin. Did that mean anything? Could there be a meaningful connection between them? Was it even possible, maybe, that the Hyphaic would recognize Mike and care about their needs and desires? Maybe the Hyphaic could be convinced to leave Vossie and the Sidiians alone. Just by talking to it. No… Mike knew that was too much to hope for… but that didn’t stop Mike from hoping.
Vossie shifted again, mumbled again, and then seemed to settle into a deeper, sound sleep.
Mike was crestfallen.
“How long do we wait?” Dr. Eol asked, surprising the mushroom. Mike didn’t expect to be consulted on when their own personhood would expire and they’d be forced to do something they didn’t want to do.
“Longer,” Mike said. As soon as they said the word, Mike realized they should have said something else. Something that obscured their true motives in the situation better.
Dr. Eol frowned and shook her spade-shaped head. “No, I think we’ve waited long enough. We could spend months playing this game.”
“Lt. Cmdr. Vossie would waste away if you kept him sedated for months,” Mike said sharply.
“We’ve tried talking to sleepwalkers before,” Dr. Eol continued, as if Mike hadn’t objected at all. “And it’s never been useful — just gibberish at worst or nonsense at best. I thought, maybe, because you’re different that this situation would be different… and it will be. But we need to lean into your differences. So show me this tasting trick.”
“I don’t want to,” Mike said. “Vossie hasn’t invited me to.”
“If you’d prefer, we could start you off with some corpses of infected individuals who’ve died,” Dr. Eol said plainly, as if she weren’t suggesting something profoundly abhorrent. And far less likely to provide useful information.
Mike wished they’d never said anything about tasting the metallic blue. Or more precisely, wished they’d spoken about it more carefully — concealing themself better behind the knowledge. But it was too late now, and the toadstool knew from watching the security officers menace Vossie that Dr. Eol wouldn’t hold back about siccing those same officers on Mike if they didn’t cooperate.
Mike didn’t think the officers would hold back from hurting them. It might not be possible to physically force Mike to do what Dr. Eol wanted, but it would be possible to do a lot of damage trying.
Besides maybe Mike would learn something invaluable by doing what she wanted.
In the end, Mike and Dr. Eol did have the same goals, even if they didn’t have the same priorities for how to reach them.
“Okay,” Mike said, softly and sullenly like wet leaves blowing over a cliffside. “But please, stop calling it the tasting trick.”
Mike thought they must have looked especially miserable in that moment, because Dr. Eol’s expression softened with sympathy. The gecko asked, “What would you like me to call it.”
Mike hadn’t really thought about what to call the thing they could do with the threads of their mycelial beard, reaching out into another person’s body, exploring and tasting. It was such a strangely intimate thing, and Mike had only done it twice — both times with individuals who were practically unconscious, unable to give consent, but in desperate, dire need of help.
Intimacy without consent or reciprocation is a deeply problematic thing, but Mike had saved Lys’s life and been trying to save Vossie’s. Thinking back on those circumstances, Mike had done what needed to be done. Lys was grateful, and Vossie at least understood Mike’s choice. But still, it wasn’t something Mike especially wanted to remember. Or give a name to… Something clinical, Mike supposed. Something that sounded like a medical procedure.
“Interfacing,” Mike said. “Mycelial interfacing, call it that.”
The gecko doctor nodded sharply. “Very well, please proceed with interfacing with the patient.”
The combination of the doctor’s request — backed by the threat of force — with her gently spoken politeness was dizzying to Mike. The gecko seemed determined to walk a very narrow, shaky line when it came to the question of whether she saw Mike as a colleague to be consulted or an instrument to be used.
Mike could only drag their hesitation out for so long. Eventually, no matter how slowly they moved, when Mike began to reach out with their mycelial beard hairs toward Lt. Cmdr. Vossie’s paw, the tips touched against the rabbit’s fur.
The fur on the back of his paw was soft. Mike’s mycelial threads didn’t stop there. Their mycelial flesh pushed through, pressing down on the fur, penetrating the porous skin underneath. All animal skin is porous at the right scale. And the threads of Mike’s mycelial beard narrowed down to thin enough to creep between cells, feeling their way inward.
When Mike was trying to save Vossie’s life, the toadstool had pressed their beard right up against the rabbit’s chest, reaching into the parts of his body with organs that might be failing or seizing; organs that could be palpitated or stimulated in ways that might save his life. But Vossie didn’t need that kind of interference right now, so Mike had chosen a less invasive place to infiltrate, telling themself it was less of a violation of each of them this way.
The metallic-blue taste was gone. Dr. Eol had successfully turned that off when she’d stopped the subspace pulses. But that wasn’t the only change. Last time Mike had done this, Vossie’s cells had felt regular and strong, firmly defined by their cell walls, vivid with life. Whereas now, there was an exhausted quality to them — withered and thinning. Like his cells had been running at full speed, fighting for their lives, and slowly losing. The richness of energy that had been here before, ready and waiting to defend the rabbit from any invaders, was depleted and worn out.
The rabbit’s body had become like a war-torn land, showing the scars of ongoing, erratic battles.
The further Mike let their mycelial threads press through Vossie’s flesh, the clearer the picture of his illness became. The Hyphaic was wearing the Morphican down, taking him over from the inside.
It was amazing to Mike that Vossie had been showing as few signs as he had, given the extent of the changes to the very fabric of his body. The rabbit had to be exhausted all the time — depleted of energy at a mitochondrial level. The neural transmitter must have been working overtime to keep the Morphican from being cranky and depressed.
Searching deeper into Vossie’s body — past the skin, through the muscles, and working up his arm towards his shoulder, Mike’s mycelial feelers began to encounter a comforting, lulling, familiarity. It was a confusing sensation at first — like seeing someone just around a corner and not noticing for a moment that it’s just yourself in a mirror. And then stepping forward to see more and more mirrors, a whole carnival fun house worth of reflections. Mike felt themself reflected everywhere in Vossie.
Startled and upset by this revelation, Mike withdrew their mycelial feelers as fast as possible. As soon as the toadstool was completely disconnected from the rabbit, they pushed away, floating backward through the med bay.
Mike watched Vossie lying asleep in the hammock, and it felt like looking at themself. For years, Mike had lived inside Vossie’s head, and it was indeed the rabbit’s reflection they’d seen in mirrors.
But now, there was something like Mike’s new mycelial self filling the rabbit up on the inside too.
“Well?” Dr. Eol asked excitedly, as if Mike might have magically extracted a cure for the Hyphaic from the flesh of Vossie’s paw.
“I encountered the Hyphaic inside Vossie,” Mike said, each word forced. “But I wasn’t able to communicate with it or learn anything… other than that Vossie is very sick.” Much sicker than Mike had been able to see from the outside.
Dr. Eol frowned and shook her head. “You’ll have to try again. Closer to the brain this time, okay?”
No, Mike thought, no, that’s not okay. But the mushroom was tired of pushing back against the gecko’s demands. Tired of this conflict. And tired of this situation.
And there was something so compellingly comforting about the Hyphaic presence inside Vossie, eating the rabbit from the inside out. Maybe Dr. Eol was right. Maybe Mike could truly connect and communicate with it, if they reached the right part.
Maybe Mike could convince the mycelial presence living inside of Vossie to withdraw or let itself be drawn out somehow… Convince it to cooperate with letting Vossie go.
Mike pushed off a computer display on the side of the med bay they’d floated to and floated back over to Vossie. The toadstool pulled themself up to the rabbit’s head and allowed their bushy beard to press down between his long ears, overflowing around the rabbit’s head like a funny kind of fancy wig for an old English barrister in an Ancient Earth movie.
Mike let their mycelial threads work their way in through the base of Vossie’s skull, finding the cracks where bone didn’t actually protect the rabbit’s brain. Mike moved slowly, not wanting to cause harm and feeling keenly aware that they’d never done anything this audacious before.
Anything this invasive.
Right now, Mike was literally acting like the Hyphaic, infiltrating Vossie’s body without the rabbit’s permission.
The mycelial strands of the Hyphaic were everywhere, threaded through Vossie’s body, but they clustered especially thickly near his brain. Mike didn’t want to infiltrate the Morphican’s brain, but instead, tried to fuse their strands with the Hyphaic strands… trying to become one with the infection.
Mike kept hoping for whispers of voices to appear in their mind. Anything that would give the toadstool a sense that there was something meaningful here to communicate with in the rabbit’s sleeping, contaminated body.
But nothing answered back.
The metaphorical hall of mirrors reflected Mike back at themself as soundlessly as any mirrors would.
Continue on to Chapter 18…