We walk most of the way back to Chloe’s dwelling with the same juvenile group we walked to school with. When we part ways with them, I try to decide which question I should ask first. There are so many.
Chloe says, “Welks, I think I need some chocolate before we play Twenty Questions.”
“I have far more than twenty,” I tell her.
“Chocolate first, Welks. Trust me.”
When we get to her dwelling and find this chocolate in the kitchen, I learn exactly what she means. We need the chocolate. We really need it. It is quite possibly even better than pizza. We’ve finished our second morsel of the chocolate when brother Josh arrives. He brings several other juveniles with him. “Brownies!” Josh yells. They swarm over the precious chocolate. Seconds later, it’s gone.
“They took it all,” I say. “All.”
“Typical,” Chloe mutters.
Josh grins at us and raises a fist. “Check this out, Chloe.” He pumps his arm downward. Immediately, a loud explosive sound emerges from his gluteus maximus.
“Omigod,” Chloe says. “You’re disgusting.”
I fail to understand why Chloe finds this disgusting. I’m intrigued. I thought all purposely made human sound came from the vocal cords.
The band of juveniles hoots with laughter. “Pretty cool, eh?” Josh asks. “Wanna see me do it again?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer. He pumps his fist and once more emits a sound. This time, the sound has a muffled, repetitive quality. It goes on for some time. But although I listen carefully, I can’t understand a single word.
Chloe bursts into laughter, and the others join in. “Stutter fart,” one of them yells.
“I’m outta here,” Chloe says. As she stoops to grab her baggage from the floor, we encounter a noxious odor. Our nose wrinkles, and Chloe moves fast. “Nasty,” she gasps. And we flee.
We take refuge in Chloe’s sleeping chamber. I finally have a chance to ask some burning questions. We begin with Chloe very kindly explaining the nature of farts. “They’re just escaping gas, Welks.”
“Extraordinary,” I reply. “What did Josh’s fart say?”
“It said he ate the wrong food for lunch.”
I ponder this. “In English?”
Chloe laughs again, and I find I greatly enjoy the sensation. It makes our body feel good all over. It’s almost as good as running. When the laugh ends, Chloe says, “No, Welkin. Farts don’t say anything. They’re some sort of chemical reaction. From digesting food.”
“Ahhh,” I say. “Yes. I studied that. So somehow, Josh has learned the art of controlling his gas emissions?”
“I wouldn’t call it an art,” Chloe says. “But yeah, he has fart control.”
“What about your reaction to the Noah human?” I ask. “It didn’t seem like you had control of your body then.”
“I can’t really explain it,” she says. “It just happens.”
“Does he get breathless too?” I ask.
Chloe giggles. “I hope so.”
She seats us at a desk and switches on an electrical device. I wonder if this will involve our hair but soon find out it’s a communication tool.
“It’s called a computer, Welks. I use it to talk to my friends.”
“We already did that,” I say. “A short time ago.”
“Yeah, but we didn’t finish talking,” she says.
“When will you be finished?”
“Hmm,” she says. “Probably never. Unless we have a fight.”
Ah. Primitives.
“I wish you’d stop thinking that. We’re not primitives.” She clicks some buttons on the computer and says, “I’ll show you.”
Images appear on the screen of humans with bulging brows and sloped foreheads. Some of them have head hair extending over large areas of skin. Others carry weapons and are shown battling other beings.
“See?” Chloe taps the screen. “Those are primitives. We’ve evolved since then.”
“Perhaps,” I tell her. “But Universals have evolved further.”
“I’m not so sure about that,” she says. “You’re different. But are you better?”
“We are superior,” I say automatically.
“How?” she asks. “So you don’t have bodies. But I think since you’ve been here, I like my body more than ever.”
She has a point. The body is limiting, yet—
“And another thing,” she says. “Humans believe in helping others. Most of us, anyway. Do Universals ever help anyone but themselves?”
“Of course we do.” Don’t we?
“Hmm,” Chloe says. “Okay. How about you use your superior intelligence to help me with my math homework?”
I agree to do that. Chloe must state the problems aloud, as I can’t read the symbols. The questions are easy. Chloe whines when I explain too quickly, but we work through it.
She is pleased. “Thanks, Welkin. I couldn’t get some of this stuff, but I do now.”
“Glad I could help,” I tell her. And I am.
We are called then, by the mother human, to come for supper. I encounter both of Chloe’s parents in the kitchen. They are like Chloe’s friends, talking about people and events that aren’t present. They’re also similar to the adult humans in the school. They give instructions, especially to Josh. For example, they forbid farting while eating.
I place my focus on the food. It’s a dish known as stir-fry—a mixture of plant matter, sauce and noodles. Each mouthful tastes different, and some morsels are better than others. It’s a delight to find her parents have saved the best food for last. The mother calls it lemon pudding. Every spoonful is superb.
When the eating is done, our stomach is happy. I’m happy. It seems Chloe is not happy with the task of cleaning up the kitchen. She sighs, and we move slowly to start but soon speed up. When we’re done, we join her mother in another room. There, we watch a device that emits sound and displays video. I recall that it’s known as a TV and that some humans are strangely attached to it. It displays images of cavorting humans.
“They’re dancing,” Chloe mutters.
“Hmm?” says the mother.
“Uh…I was wondering,” Chloe says. “Is it okay if I go to the dance on Friday?”
The mother squints at us. “Who are you going with?”
Chloe shrugs. “Just my friends.”
“I suppose it’ll be all right,” the mother says. “Your father or I will pick you up when it’s over.”
“Great,” Chloe says. “Thanks.”
We continue watching the TV. Chloe and her mother appear to be fascinated, but I find it boring. I’d rather run or eat or attempt farting. I’m relieved when we depart that room to go back up the stairs.
“I need a shower,” Chloe says.
This proves to be another lengthy process in body care. I enjoy the sensation of warm water washing over our skin, but tending to our body hair again is tedious. It seems Chloe must remove tiny hairs from certain places. She uses a tool to scrape hair from our legs and under our arms. Then we must deal with the head hair.
“Why not scrape that hair off too?” I ask.
“Because I like it,” she says. “Don’t you?”
I consider the hair. “Perhaps it helps you feel connected to your hairy ancestors?”
“Omigod,” she says. “Forget it.” She yawns as she puts the hair-drying device back into a cupboard. “Having you in my head is exhausting, Welks.”
“It is?” I ask.
“Yeah.” We return to her sleeping chamber. She switches off the light and places our body in the bed. “And for some reason, I didn’t have the greatest sleep last night, either.”
I suspect I may have had something to do with that. Me and the mosquitos.
“You got it,” she mumbles. “Please tell me you can do your doze thing for the night.”
“I’ll try,” I say. I sense her consciousness fading. It’s strange how I can detect that shift yet still can’t hear her thoughts.
“Welks,” she murmurs. “Stop thinking.”
It is peaceful, lying here. Our body is comfortable. There’s nothing to see with our eyes closed, and the only sounds are quite distant. I wonder how long we’ll remain like this.
“Welkin!” Chloe hisses. “Go to sleep.” She shifts our body onto its side.
Doze mode, I tell myself. For a time, I succeed. But I wake during the night and don’t recall where I am. I feel trapped, and it’s frightening. My impulse is to think myself elsewhere, but something resists. I’m held back—and then I remember I’m inside a human host. Somehow it has become a part of me. Or I’ve become part of it. Our separation at the end of bioethics class will be difficult.
“Difficult,” Chloe murmurs.