Attunements

1 of 4

It was positive.

Sarah tossed the pregnancy test into the air and whooped. It clattered around the stall as she laughed, before coming to rest face-up on the floor in front of her.

The pink plus sign swam in her blurring vision. She imagined the embryo dividing in her abdomen, her hormones re-adjusting, her body making room for a new resident.

This was happening. This was her life now.

She hadn’t known she could be so frightened and happy at the same time.

Gulping, she tore a fist full of toilet paper from the roll and dabbed at her eyes. She didn’t have time to celebrate just now, nor to re-do her makeup. She needed to get into her leotard and warm up.

Tonight, she’d put on one hell of a show.

*

Telling Matt had been even better than finding out herself.

He’d been working for months, a little at a time, to prepare their house for an infant. He’d painted the nursery with a meadow-themed mural, rendering each blade of grass in adoring detail.

She loved him almost as much as she loved the dance.

He kissed her for a long time when he got the news, and then they talked for even longer. He was patient, trying to understand what she wanted before pushing her into anything. Was she absolutely certain about this? Did she understand the sacrifices she might have to make?

She was worried, of course. She understood that ballet would become a second priority for a long time, that her child would always come first.

But this had been her dream, all this time. In a couple years she would retire from the company, and open a studio close to home.

And then, she would teach her child to dance.

*

She was only five months in when the contractions started.

Matt rushed her to the hospital, but by the time they arrived, it was too late to stop the delivery. Sarah made it through, but the baby didn’t.

Matt held her as they both wept.

“We’ll try again,” he told her, after hours of silence.

“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not yet.”

* * *

2 of 4

It was positive.

Sarah threw the pregnancy test against the wall. It clattered around the stall, before coming to rest face-up on the floor in front of her.

The pink plus sign she was staring at grew blurry.

Sniffing, she tore a square of toilet paper from the roll and dabbed at her eyes. She didn’t have time for grief, nor to re-do her makeup. She needed to get into her leotard and warm up.

She’d deal with this after the show.

*

Telling Matt had been even scarier than finding out herself.

He was three years younger than she was. He’d been training incessantly for the lead in La Bayadère this fall, and damned if he wouldn’t have a real shot at it come audition time.

She loved him almost as much as she loved the dance.

He’d taken it well, though, skipping straight through shock to begin weighing options. He was patient, trying to understand what she wanted before pushing her into anything.

No, she’d never felt called to be a mother. No, not even after she left the company. After that, she wanted to open her own studio and pour herself into teaching as she’d done with performance.

Yes, she understood she could still dance even as a mother.

But would she still want to?

In every sacrifice she’d made throughout life, dancing had won. Every time. With her priorities re-written to feature her children, what would win next time?

And who would be making that decision?

*

The paperwork for the adoption was almost complete on the day the contractions started. Matt held her hand.

When the long birth was over, the nurse bundled the infant in a powder blue blanket before letting it sleep on Sarah’s chest.

He scrunched up his face in a yawn, stretching his hands wide open. Sarah stroked his palm, and his tiny hand closed automatically around the tip of her finger.

“Matt,” Sarah whispered. Tears were pooling on the sweat-soaked pillow beneath her head. “Cancel the adoption. His name is Alex, and I’m keeping him.”

*

By the time he was three, Alex had a little sister.

They were both perfect. Sarah loved them more than anything in the universe. She could no longer imagine her life without them.

She only missed Matt sometimes.

She thought of dancing hardly at all.

* * *

3 of 4

It was positive.

Sarah threw the neophyte test against the wall. It clattered around the stall, before coming to rest face-up on the floor in front of her.

The green plus sign she was staring at grew blurry.

She imagined the spores swimming through her head, snipping this neural connection, strengthening that one.

Sniffing, she tore a square of toilet paper from the roll and dabbed at her eyes. She didn’t have time for grief, nor to re-do her makeup. She needed to get into her leotard and warm up.

She’d deal with this after the show.

*

Telling Matt had been even scarier than finding out herself.

He was three years younger than she was. He’d been training incessantly for the lead in La Bayadère this fall, and damned if he wouldn’t have a real shot at it come audition time - provided he avoided her spores.

She loved him almost as much as she loved the dance.

He’d taken it well, though, skipping straight through shock to begin weighing options. He was patient, trying to understand what she wanted before pushing her into anything.

Had she ever felt called to serve the Udall? Was she curious about learning from a transcendent consciousness?

No, she didn’t want to serve. No, not even after she left the company. After that, she wanted to open her own studio and pour herself into teaching as she’d done with performance.

Yes, she understood she could still dance even as a servant. But would she still want to?

In every sacrifice she’d made throughout life, dancing had won. Every time. With her priorities re-written by the spores, what would win next time?

And who would be making that decision?

*

She was still holding strong on the morning of inoculation.

It would hurt, she knew, but she took calming breaths as she trembled, playing her proudest moments in Carmen over and over in her head, straining to feel their meaning. Matt held her hand.

As the nurse drew bright orange liquid into a syringe, a member of the Udall Itself crawled in to oversee the procedure.

It flapped Its stabilizing fins at her, clicking Its beak warmly. Its skin glistened, and Sarah’s breath caught.

The vision of her twirling skirt wavered.

She imagined long feeding tentacles resting on the back of her head as she lay before a throne in full prostration.

“Matt,” Sarah whispered. Tears were pooling on the sweat-soaked pillow beneath her head. “Tell them to stop. Tell them I want to serve.”

*

Her Udall master was perfect. She loved It more than anything in the universe. Sarah could no longer imagine her life without It.

She only missed Matt sometimes.

She thought of dancing hardly at all.

* * *

4 of 4

It was positive.

Sarah tossed the neophyte test into the air and whooped. It clattered around the stall as she laughed, before coming to rest face-up on the floor in front of her.

The green plus sign swam in her blurring vision.

She imagined the spores swimming through her head, snipping this neural connection, strengthening that one.

This was happening. This was her life now.

She hadn’t known she could be so frightened and happy at the same time.

Gulping, she tore a fist full of toilet paper from the roll and dabbed at her eyes. She didn’t have time to celebrate just now, nor to re-do her makeup. She needed to get into her leotard and warm up.

Tonight, she’d put on one hell of a show.

*

Telling Matt had been even better than finding out herself.

He’d been working for months, a little at a time, to prepare their home for her transformation. What had once been a storage space was now a climate-controlled rebirthing chamber, stocked with all the nutrients and equipment a growing pupa might need - with room for two, just in case his own spores took hold sooner than expected.

She loved him almost as much as she loved the dance.

He kissed her for a long time when he got the news, and then they talked for even longer.

He was patient, trying to understand what she wanted before pushing her into anything. Had she considered a synthetic cocoon? Was she absolutely certain she wanted to go through with it?

Yes, she was sure. Yes, she understood it was irrevocable. Of course she was worried.

This is what it had all been for, though, all this time. She’d studied dance for years, and though she enjoyed performing for her fellow humans, her dream was to serve the Udall.

She was ready to dance for her new masters.

*

She was only five months in when the cocoon began to tear.

Matt rushed her to the hospital, but by the time they arrived, it was too late to stop the premature emergence. Sarah made it through, but the process had to be reversed. Her spores did not survive.

Matt held her as they both wept.

“We’ll try again,” he told her, after hours of silence.

“Not yet,” she whispered. “Not yet.”