The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

‘Pierced’

(mc, f/f, nc, sf)

DISCLAIMER: This material is for adults only; it contains explicit sexual imagery and non-consensual relationships. If you are offended by this type of material or you are under legal age in your area, do NOT continue.

Synopsis:

Alien bioweapons are unleashed on an human colony world.

* * *

‘Pierced’

Chapter Five ‘Velcado Farm’

Part One

* * *

They stood at the edge of the yard as Tsugerloi backed the utility truck out of the barn.

“There’s a passenger groundcar,” Stone said. “Han-Irinov spotted it. Not sure why, but they’re on the dirt road north of here, heading this way. Going to arrive the same way we did last night.”

“Probably not infested, then.”

“Probably not—but in three minutes they’re going to come out right where these fuckers are picking up the last of the cows.”

“Shit,” Margot said.

Tsugerloi pulled up next to them. Cruzado-Liu was already in the back with her big 88.

“No,” Stone said, vaulting up into the truck bed. “I’ll take it. If things go south you need to be here where you can work on the AATGV. I’m expendable.”

“That’s bullshit,” Cruzado-Liu said, standing up and taking the shoulder strap off. “You’re not expendable in the fucking least. But you are my CO and I’ll do what I’m told.” She handed the 88 to Stone. Margot ran around and got into the passenger side, where she found Tsugerloi’s shotgun on the bench seat.

Lillana Wen had gone into the house and now came running across the yard. “I’m coming,” she said.

“No,” Stone replied, “You need to be here to control the combots.”

“That’s why I need to come with you,” Wen said, jumping up into the bed. She pounded on the side of the truck. “Let’s go.”

Tsugerloi started forward.

As they left the yard, Margot could see the gate they had come through the night before. There were still bloated bovine bodies scattered in the field near it. The truck headed directly for it.

One of the brood slaves’ flatbeds, the one which had collected the bodies near the farmhouse, was also approaching the gate, and was much closer. Several of the infested humans were crouched among the bodies piled on the back.

“Not going to get there,” Tsugerloi said. “Not before they do.”

That much was abundantly clear. Before they were even halfway to the gate, the flatbed was already there, stopping. The infested women leapt down and began to approach the bodies of the downed cattle.

“Oh shit, they see them,” Margot said.

Sure enough, the brood women had all stopped what they were doing and turned their heads to the north. A faint haze of dust was visible, marking where the approaching groundcar was passing behind the field of maize.

A moment later, the hovercar rose from the farmhouse drive where it had remained since they’d met with the brood’s spokeswoman. It flew quickly towards the flatbed, then turned sharply. A moment later and it came down right in front of Tsugerloi’s truck, forcing the truck to stop.

“What do we do?” Tsugerloi asked. “I can’t go around them, that hovercar’s far more maneuverable. They’ll just hover in front of us.”

“Shit,” Margot said.

Stone stood up in the rear of the truck. “Move!” Stone demanded.

The hovercar passenger door opened, and the woman from earlier stepped out. “Go back to the farm,” she said, gesturing. “This is not your concern.”

“Those are our people,” Stone shouted. “As part of our agreement—”

“I’m enslaved, not stupid,” the woman interrupted. “Those are none of yours. You may not pass.”

Stone hoisted the 88.

“Go on, shoot me,” the woman said. “The four of you are here, so close to my people, and your combot is all the way back there. Would you like to see how fast a brood-enhanced human can truly move?”

Stone hesitated, then her shoulders relaxed and she tilted the muzzle away.

The groundcar had reached the gate now. The six infested humans walked up to it.

It bumped into the gate, surprisingly hard.

One of the infested women walked up the driver’s side door, looked inside, then turned her head to look at the truck—no, at the woman from the hovercar, still standing in front of them. She in turn looked back. Everyone stared at the groundcar.

The infested woman at the groundcar’s door opened the door and climbed in. A moment later, the groundcar’s engine turned off.

“The heck?” Tsugerloi said.

Something caught Margot’s eye.

Two women came running out of the maize field.

They were fifty meters to the right of the gate—and the infested. There were two of them, an older and a younger, both with red hair, both running full-tilt for the farm buildings.

“Oh, clever,” Margot whispered to herself.

Tsugerloi suddenly revved the truck’s engine and they jerked backwards, then turned sharply right and lurched into the field with a spray of dirt.

But the hovercar driver hadn’t been distracted, and it jumped forward in front of them again, forcing Tsugerloi to hit the brakes. Margot scowled at the impassive face and liquid black eyes of the woman behind the aircar’s controls.

The two redheads were still running. They had a huge lead. If they were trying to outrun any normal person, they should make it to the farm houses.

But then the infested women started running.

They were fast. Extremely fast. Unnaturally fast. They leaned forward and their black hands were dark blurs at their sides as they raced across the field. Margot had seen many Imperial service track and field events, but she’d never seen humans run at speeds like that. They must have been moving ten—no, fifteen—meters a second.

The women had no chance. The closest infested woman leapt through the air, crossing the final five meters in a single inhuman jump, and caught the rearmost woman by her waist. She cried out, and the woman in front stopped and was instantly grabbed by another of the infested. The two women were forced to the ground.

Margot turned away.

“We can’t just... shit,” Tsugerloi blurted. She revved the engine, but the hovercar remained in front of them.

Lillana Wen jumped down out of the back. She walked towards the brood spokeswoman. Margot leaned out the window to listen.

“You will let them go,” Wen said.

“We shall not,” the woman replied. “They belong to us now. If you like, we can send them to visit you once they have embraced the brood.”

“That’s cute,” Wen replied, her voice level. “If you would look at your other flatbed, please. The one in the field.”

The woman—and everyone else—turned to look at the other flatbed, at the far northwest corner of the field.

There was a combot adjacent to it. It was painted in different colors than the one stationed at the farmhouse, garish red and white, the markings of the long-defunct Xanthiride clan.

“That is another of my combots,” Wen said. “At my instruction, it will destroy that truck and everything on it. It will then proceed to kill as many of your people as it can see. Are these two humans worth the lives of the half-dozen of your people over there, as well as what they have collected?”

The woman paused. Then she raised her hands, palms up.

“So be it.”

Margot looked over to where the infested women had been force-marching the two newcomers back towards the flatbed. They stopped, then all took a single step away from their captives. The two of them looked around confusedly for only a moment, then began to jog towards the farmhouse.

“Thank you,” Wen told the black-eyed woman.

“You will all be brought into the brood,” the woman told her. “Today’s resistance means nothing.”

“If you say so. Now finish collecting my cows and be gone,” Wen replied.

She walked back to the truck, put a hand on the edge of the bed, and vaulted up into the rear. Tsugerloi pointed them back towards the farm yard.

“Hang on,” Margot said. She pointed at the pair of women, who had stopped; one of them was leaning against the other one. “We need to pick them up.”

They drove across the field towards the women; as they neared, Stone hopped out of the back and walked quickly over to them. As she got there, both women buckled at the knees and fell to the ground.

Margot got out of the truck and went to help.

They were clearly mother and daughter; the resemblance was immediate and striking. Red hair, strong noses, dark brown eyes. Stone had picked up the daughter, who was lean and muscular, with an athlete’s body. She draped the young woman’s arm over her shoulder.

“They spit on us,” the mother said, and Margot bent down to raise her from the ground. “They opened their mouths and spit something... some slime... and now I’m all woozy...” Margot could see the venom glistening on the woman’s face.

“It’s okay,” Margot told her, getting under her arm and lifting. The older woman was much curvier, with full hips and generous breasts, but was in good shape as well. Not that it helped her now. “They have a paralytic spit. It will wear off. You’re safe now, we’ve got you.”

“Thank you so much,” the woman said. “I’m so... so...” her head lolled forward. “I can’t...”

“Sh. We’ve got you. We’ll get you inside.”

They loaded both women into the bed of the utility truck, and drove back into the farm yard.

* * *

Inside the farmhouse, Cora sat with her eyes closed, and her mouth slightly open.

The broodmind was there. She could feel it.

Cora reached out to it, touched it. Felt its attention.

She spread her mind open, letting it in. It reached into her memories, sifting, understanding.

Collecting.

Cora sat there, dazed, as it accessed her mind. Had she thought about it, she would know that it was performing the same task with Emilee, gathering all of her thoughts, her memories.

It harvested their memories, their knowledge. It would take the information back to the brood, to consider, to plan.

For now, it considered their information. Then it gave them instruction, slid new thoughts into their eager, open minds. They would remain with the humans. They would watch, and when opportunities presented, they would act. It was pleased with their behavior so far.

Cora fought to stifle her gasp as it communicated its pleasure. Dimly, she heard Emilee bite down on a whine.

Her free hand went to her pants, into her pants, and she pushed three fingers up into her suddenly wet, tingling vagina, clenching her teeth at the pleasure. Her master was pleased. The brood was pleased. She was a good, obedient slave.

She wiggled her fingers.

Her whole body shook.

Having gathered all of Cora’s thoughts, having implanted her updated goals, the broodmind’s attention shifted elsewhere.

Nipples hard, body tingling, Cora sighed and opened her eyes. It would be hard to explain how her pants had gotten wet—but no, the humans had left her locked there for some time. Handcuffed without access to a toilet, accidents would happen.

She looked at Emilee, still sightless beneath the husk of the seeding drone. Cora licked her with her mind, and Emilee smiled.

It was wonderful to be a brood slave.

* * *

Their names were Lynn and Calla Thompson, from Illoster Five. They were tourists, offworlders. They had been trekking the Strand coast for their holiday.

“We’d just camped at Yunglei beach,” the mother said, “and were on our way south, when we saw the meteors coming in. So we went to the nearest town—”

“Brescia,” her daughter cut in.

“Yes, Brescia. And we saw these... these horrible things, big black crab things, and those little ones, they were on people’s heads, and the people they had grabbed were just lying everywhere. So we took the groundvan—”

“I got the keys from a dead guy,” the daughter added.

“Right, and then we just headed south. I thought that maybe, maybe Savoy would be safe. I don’t know, I mean...” she shrugged, and looked into her glass.

They were all in the sitting room. The two newcomers were seated on the green sofa; they had piled last night’s mattresses together against the wall. The rest of the women were on chairs.

Cora and Doctor Vanderbruk were present as well. Keeping them cuffed in the foyer had seemed... petty. And it seemed that Cora had had some sort of accident. So now they were sitting quietly at the back of the sitting room, while everyone else—except Cruzado-Liu and Han-Harris, who were still working on the AATGV, and Junipero, who had relieved Han-Irinov up on the silo—spoke with the newcomers. The infested crew from Savoy was gone, having left the properly with all of the bovine pods and the xeno corpses shortly after the Thompson women had been taken inside. They had taken the Thompsons’ groundcar.

“We saw a couple of the big ones, the giant crab-things, on the road when we came out of the jungle, so we figured maybe we could get around them, use some of the back roads, they wouldn’t be patrolling there—”

“But when we got closer we saw them blocking the road between us and the farm.”

“So Calla got the idea to wedge the drive pedal down, and sneak through the corn field,” Lynn said, looking at her daughter with admiration.

“It would have worked if the fucking things weren’t so fast,” Calla said.

“Watch your language,” Lynn objected.

“Sorry, mom. So, uh, what... what happened to them?” Calla pointed past Margot and Han-Irinov at Cora, who was watching with her wet black eyes. Cora said nothing.

“Apparently the xenos can transform people,” Tsugerloi said. “Take over their minds, and... meld with them, physically. Although I’ve never heard of such a thing before.”

“So they’re... xenos now? Or what?”

“Pretty much,” Han-Irinov said. “On their side, at least.”

“We’ve heard it’s a weapons program,” Stone added. “Some sort of top secret bio-weapon.”

“A bio-weapon? But—why Strand?” Lynn objected.

“No one knows,” Margot said. “It makes no sense.”

“So what can we do?” Lynn asked. “I mean, now? Just stay here?”

“The soldiers,” Tsugerloi said, pointing at Stone, Han-Irinov, and Margot, “are heading south, to the Jade peninsula, once their vehicle is fixed. I believe we have the option to go with them.”

“You may,” Stone said, “Although we’ll have to work out how to transport everyone.”

“What’s there?” Lynn Thompson asked. “Is it safe? Why are you going?”

“Doctor Vanderbruk there,” Stone replied, gesturing at the woman with the crawler still attached to her head, “used to work at an Imperial lab down there. She informs us that it might have information about these xenos.”

“To be precise,” Vanderbruk said, “I never worked there. I worked with other scientists, who themselves were stationed there.”

Calla leaned over towards Tsugerloi. “Isn’t she... isn’t she one of them?” she asked in a low voice.

Tsugerloi shrugged. “I am told that she has been able to resist the parasite’s control. How, we don’t know.”

“Is it safe down there?” Lynn asked again. “I mean, will there be people, guards, there?”

“We don’t know,” Stone said.

“It’s not particularly safe here,” Wen said. “Not so close to Savoy, not when they are well aware of our presence. My combots are deterring them, but eventually they will figure out a way to overrun this farm, even if they do so by simply throwing bodies at us.”

“Wish I had a gun,” Calla Thompson observed darkly. “I want to kill them all.”

“That can be arranged,” Wen said, rising to her feet. “At least, the firearm portion of that request. I believe it will be safer if we are all in fact armed. Miss Thompson, if you’d like to come with me, we can find weapons for you and your mother both. Mrs. Thompson, is it acceptable to you if I arm your daughter?”

Lynn seemed surprised. “Oh! Uh, yes, that... that would be okay.”

“Incandescent!” Calla enthused. “Uh, I mean, I’ll be very careful.”

Wen gestured at the door into the kitchen. “Come along.”

Margot stood up as well. “May I?” she asked.

Wen looked at her, then shrugged. “Certainly.”

The three of them walked through the kitchen, then into the formal dining room on the far side. Behind them, Tsugerloi was telling Lynn Thompson about her and Han-Harris’ escape from Savoy—and thus the probable fate of the rest of the town.

The late afternoon sun cast orange stripes on the interior wall. Wen walked over to a large cabinet, which displayed a fine collection of late Corven era dishware.

Opening the cabinet, Wen put her hand on a small porcelain figurine. She rotated it in place.

With a click, the entire cabinet slid to the side. In the space where it had been was a niche containing a metal ladder, which descended into the floor.

“That’s fucking impact,” Calla said.

Wen lifted a flashlight from a hook just inside the narrow shaft, then climbed down. Calla followed. Margot looked downward; it was a two-story climb, not merely a short descent into the basement. She waited for a moment, then took hold of the rungs.

“We are below the root cellar,” Wen said, as Margot stepped off the ladder at the bottom. “This is where my father kept the items which local authorities might object to. I’m afraid that, like the rest of the house, the electricity is not currently working.”

Margot looked around as Wen slowly panned the beam of the flashlight around. Her mouth came open.

“No, this is fucking impact,” Calla remarked.

The walls of the room were lined with firearms. Most of them were antiques; many of them were highly illegal for private citizens to own.

“Saints and Martyrs,” Margot breathed, “That’s a Nordstrand ionized plasma cannon. And those are Vesper pellet carbines. And that’s... good lord, that’s an old Earth automated rifle.” She looked at Wen’s profile in the dark. “This collection is incredible.”

“Here,” Wen said, handing the flashlight to Margot. “Hold this while I fetch something for the Thompsons. Ah heh. A small automatic machine rifle would be appropriate. But impractical, I think.”

Margot panned the flashlight around some more, marveling at the history, intimidated by how severely illegal some of the weapons were. There were some black powder rifles that she had to assume were reproductions; otherwise they would represent museum pieces worth a substantial fraction of Strand’s annual economic output.

“That’s a—Blessed Lord, that’s a Cosgrave Fusion Pistol.”

“Yes,” Wen said, holding out a long gun to Calla. “Here, Calla. Charge-assisted shotgun. I have another for your mother. I assume that you are not particularly conversant with firearms?”

“I don’t, uh, no, I guess?” Calla replied.

“That’s fine. You point these and they hit what’s in front of you, and the recoil isn’t bad. Also I have a fair amount of the ammunition. You are correct, Miss Belangier, that’s a Cosgrave. Over two hundred years old. It has one shot, and discharging it will burn off all the hair on your body, but it will disintegrate an Irellidan titanosaur.”

“What’s in there?” Calla asked, pointing at a metal door.

“Private things,” Wen replied. “Let’s go back upstairs, please.”

The shotguns had straps, and after a quick fumble Calla had hers slung to her back. With a touch of regret, Margot followed her up the ladder. Lillana followed. Back in the dining room she closed the cabinet behind them, and there was no mistaking the heavy sound of a bolt sliding into place.

“Mom! Mom! Check it out,” Calla called out, rushing through the kitchen into the sitting room. “I’ve got a shotgun!”

Margot didn’t hear Lynn’s response, but Calla replied “There’s one for you, too!”

Margot followed Wen back into the sitting room. Stone was sitting in a high-backed chair with her datapad in her lap. “It’s probably best if you are armed,” she was saying to Mrs. Thompson.

Lynn, on the sofa, was looking up at Calla, who was practically grinning. “But... but...” She sighed. “You need someone to show you how to use it,” she finally said.

“Oh, I’m sure that...” Calla’s gaze was drawn to movement in the mudroom. Bekka Han-Harris was there, washing her arms, which were covered in grease.

Calla’s eyes widened as she took in Bekka’s full-sleeve tattoos and her spiked hair. “I bet she knows,” she mumbled. She looked at her mother. “I’ll get her to show me!”

“Calla,” Lynn said, but the teenager was already leaving the room.

Margot looked at Stone, who shrugged and picked up her datapad. Tsugerloi was most succeeding in stifling her smile.

“Ah, the impetuosity of youth,” Lillana observed. “Fortunately, I have not yet given her the ammunition.”

* * *

Margot sat on the a chair in the sitting room and considered incongruity.

Everyone was in the house now. It was full dark outside. Lillana had baked a chicken for dinner; there was a coop on the far side of the silos, and so far the chickens there had remained unmolested. She had killed one, plucked it, cleaned it, and roasted it in the oven with potatoes and carrots from the root cellar.

Margot knew how to do only the last of those tasks, and not well.

Now Tsugerloi and Stone—of all people—were in the kitchen washing the dishes. The sounds of water and clinking dishes drifted through into the sitting room.

Everyone not busy in the kitchen was sitting around the sitting room. The air was a pleasant temperature; although it was humid the humidity was not nearly as uncomfortable as it had been farther north at the resort areas, or at the EVDP station. The room was lit by candles.

It felt to Margot almost normal, as though she were a tourist, with a group of other tourists at some rustic ranch, where city-dwellers paid to experience life as it was before mankind ever reached for the stars.

Of course, in that world, there wouldn’t have been a pair of combots patrolling outside the house in case crawling xenos tried to rush the building and consume all of their brains.

Incongruity.

Stone walked into the room, rubbing her hands together. “Andreia,” she said, approaching the upholstered chair that Cruzado-Liu was sitting in, “where do we stand with the AATGV?”

Cruzado-Liu looked up. “Well, Captain, I’d like to say that we’ll be ready tomorrow, but it’s almost certain we won’t be until the day after, or if we hit problems even the day after that. Mostly it’s that axle, but we’re also using a lot of non-standards—had to replace the fuel lines, some wiring, a lot of the pipes... We’re even cannibalizing a tire from one of the farm loaders. If I’d been smarter we would have brought an extra from Naigurh, I’m sure that depot had them.”

Stone dragged a wooden chair over to face Cruzado-Liu and sat down in it. “Spilt milk, Specialist. So, probably the day after tomorrow, then?”

“Yes, that’s what I’d guess. If the axle we’re fabbing doesn’t work, or we hit some other serious problem, it’ll be longer, but I think day after is right.”

The lights came on.

Everyone looked around.

The lights went off again. Then, a moment later, came on a second time.

“The lights are on,” Junipero said.

Wen walked into the room. “Looks like they’re bringing the grid back up,” she said.

“But... but it’s... it’s the monsters,” Mrs. Thompson objected. “Why would they turn on the power?”

Margot looked at Cora, sitting in the corner, but she said nothing.

“Because they’re not just animals,” Tsugerloi observed, standing in the doorway to the kitchen. “They drive cars, they make plans. They’ve invaded to take Strand over, not just to destroy it. So they’re turning the power back on. They probably want their air cooled.”

Stone stood up and walked towards Cora. “And what do you have to say, Miss Flannigan? About this turn of events?”

Cora looked up at her impassively. “Your veterinarian is right. We’re not here to eradicate you. On the contrary. We’re here to assimilate you. We want you to join us. We want to make your life better.”

“But to do what?” Thompson said. “What’s next on their—your—agenda?”

Cora shrugged. “I don’t know. I don’t make decisions. My purpose is to obey.”

“So who makes the decisions?”

Cora chuckled. “It would be easier to show you than to tell you.”

“No thanks,” Stone snapped.

“Why is she even here?” Han-Harris asked. “I understand the other, she’s your map and key. But why do you have that one?”

Then they were all looking at Margot.

“Uh...” she said. “Because she wanted to come with us? And, has been answering questions?”

“She’s risky,” Han-Harris said. “You should send her away.”

“If you don’t want me here,” Cora said. “I’ll go. I mean, I’d rather stay. It may sound stupid but my job is to watch Margot, and I want to do that. I need to see her join us. That’s... that’s what I want. It’s what I’ve been programmed to do.”

“But you failed,” Tsugerloi pointed out. “She escaped.”

Cora shook her head. “I have not failed. She simply hasn’t embraced us yet. It hasn’t even been a week. I’m sure she’ll come around.”

Everyone looked at Margot again. Her cheeks felt warm.

“Hey, let’s talk some brass tacks,” Han-Irinov said. “There are twelve of us, if we are taking Flannigan and Vanderbruk with us. The AATGV can hold eight. If we put two in the police groundcar, and those two in the back, that’s everyone, but it will be close quarters. How far is this place, Doctor?”

Vanderbruk didn’t respond.

“Doctor?”

She was sitting in a chair with her back to the wall, not moving.

“Oh, shit,” Stone said, pushing past everyone and dropping to one knee. She reached for Vanderbruk’s neck, held her fingers to it. “She’s got a pulse. Doctor? Are you in there?”

No response.

Stone shot a hard look at Cora. “Flannigan. What’s happening?”

Cora closed her liquid black eyes. “I don’t...” she shook her head. “I think the seeding drone has died.”

“Died?” Han-Irinov repeated.

“Yes,” Cora nodded. “They’re not designed to survive on their own, they are designed to convey the brood to new hosts. I suspect it has starved to death.”

“So what’s happened to Doctor Vanderbruk?”

“I’m not sure. You should all take note, when we join with you it really is much better not to resist.”

“Shut the fuck up,” Stone said. “Shit, I think she’s comatose.”

“Let me,” said Tsugerloi, crossing to Stone’s side. She touched Vanderbruk’s neck, put an ear to her chest. After a moment, she stood up and said: “I think we should take the thing off.”

“The crawler?”

“Yes. If I could see underneath...”

For some reason, Stone looked at Margot. “Belangier, what do you think?”

“It should be safe,” Cora chimed in. “They are designed to die and fall off.”

“What is there to lose?” Margot replied.

Stone stood up. She looked at Tsugerloi, who shrugged. One corner of Stone’s normally impassive mouth curled downward in distaste. Then she put her hands on the crawler’s front leg.

Together, she and Tsugerloi pulled at the crawler’s stiff body.

For a moment, it did not move; then with a sucking noise it pulled away, peeling like a scab. They pulled its legs away from her cheeks, leaving behind red lines where it had gripped her. The dried under-body came away from her eyes, which were closed, the flesh around them bruised dark.

When they had peeled it back to the crown of Vanderbruk’s head, it stuck. Stone looked at Tsugerloi. They pulled harder and there was a crispy tearing sound that made everyone wince.

The rest of the crawler’s body detached from the back of Vanderbruk’s head and came away entirely.

Tsugerloi looked at the crown of Vanderbruk’s head; she had the same black fibrous ‘stem’ that Cora did.

“Vanderbruk?” Stone asked. “Emilee, are you in there?”

Suddenly, Vanderbruk inhaled. Stone and Tsugerloi took a step back.

Vanderbruk’s eyes opened.

They were liquid black.

She turned her head, looking around the room. “I can see,” she said. “But... everything is so...” she frowned, and turned her head towards Cora. “I can... hear you.” Her frown deepened. “No. Stop it.”

The room looked at Cora; Han-Irinov moved threateningly towards her.

“Hey, hey,” Cora said, raising her hands. “It’s stopped. I’m not doing anything.”

“So... odd...” Vanderbruk said, her gaze traveling around the room. Then she focused on Stone. “Who are you?” she said. “I...” Her hands came up to touch her face, then her head. “Oh. It’s gone.”

“We took it off,” Stone said. “Flannigan said it was dead.”

“Oh. I guess it was. Wait, your voice. You’re Captain Stone.”

“So are you normal?” Cruzado-Liu demanded. “I mean, are you a slave?”

Vanderbruk looked down at herself. “I don’t... I don’t think so. But... but there’s this... this feeling. As though I’m lacking something, as though I need something, and there is something external that will... that will fill that need.” She looked at Stone again. “Like my mind is primed to have a purpose, and has a... as slot ready for that purpose, and when it comes it will fit into my mind and everything will fall into place.”

“Great,” Han-Irinov said. “So we just have to keep her away from whatever will do that.”

Vanderbruk was yet again looking around the room in wonder. “It’s... it’s lovely to be able to see again,” she said. Her gaze swung back to Stone. “But... you still should not trust me, Captain. I don’t know what it is that my mind is waiting for, but I can sense that when it comes, I will probably obey it. It’s so odd, I feel like an... like an instrument.”

“Well,” Stone said, stepping back, “it’s good we didn’t lose you, Doctor. Han-Irinov, will you please throw that,” she pointed to the crawler’s body, “outside?”

“You got it, Captain.”

The women, who had largely stood up to see what was happening to Doctor Vanderbruk, returned to their seats, except for Han-Irinov, who had gingerly picked up the crawler husk, and Tsugerloi, who was examining Vanderbruk.

“Hey,” Calla Thompson said, turning to Bekka.

“Yes?”

She pointed at Han-Irinov, who was carrying the crawler towards the mudroom with obvious distaste. “Are you related? I mean, she’s named Han-Irinov, and you’re Han-Harris...”

“No,” the mechanic replied. “’Han’ is a common name on Strand.”

“Oh.”

Vanderbruk pointed at Calla. “Who is she?” She moved her finger to point at Lynn. “And who is she? I do not recognize their voices. I assume they are related.”

Tsugerloi lowered herself into a chair next to the doctor. “There was some excitement this afternoon,” she began.

* * *

The house was dark, and quiet. Margot yawned and looked at Cora who, to all appearances, was fast asleep.

Margot was sitting in the foyer with the two infested women. Both of them were cuffed to the furniture again; Vanderbruk to the sofa she was sleeping on, Cora to the settee. As it was not long enough for her to stretch out on, she was sleeping on cushions on the floor, her handcuffed wrist next to the settee’s leg.

Margot was in a chair at the bottom of the stairs. If she looked up the stairs she could see Private Junipero—or rather, she could have, had Junipero been in the chair at the top of the stairs. Instead, Margot could hear her soft tread as she paced around the upstairs hall.

With the power back on, Wen had turned back on the cooling system. The house was now a pleasant twenty degrees. Exterior floodlights illuminated the grounds around the house; one or the other of the combots rolled slowly by every few minutes. Inside, the house was dark, but dim night lighting meant that the women on watch could see into every room.

Sleeping quarters had moved back upstairs. The farmhouse had four large bedrooms; they had moved the mattresses and mats into three of them. Tsugerloi and Han-Harris now slept in the master bedroom with the Thompsons. Stone, Han-Irinov, and Cruzado-Liu were in a second room. And Margot and Junipero were in Wen’s bedroom, on the floor. Or they would be, once their shift on watch was over.

They hadn’t asked the Thompsons to take watch that night; after the day’s events, they probably needed their sleep more than anyone else. So once again there were four night shifts, two people on each.

Vanderbruk shifted in her sleep. Margot wondered if the Doctor was right, if she’d submit to the first xeno broodmind that got close enough. She wondered why she herself hadn’t told anyone about the broodminds. Maybe she was worried that knowing more about the xenos would seem suspicious. Of course, that was stupid—they all knew what had happened to her.

Cora hadn’t told anyone, either. If Cora didn’t want to tell the others, Margot probably should.

In the morning.

She heard Junipero checking each of the bedrooms upstairs, stopping at each open door. Nothing was amiss, of course. Theirs was the second shift, and so far the xenos had kept their word.

Margot wondered what was going to hatch out of those cows. More of the warrior types? Something else?

Maybe even broodminds.

Enough about the stupid broodminds. She’d tell them in the morning.

At least the crawlers didn’t lay eggs in people that caused them to bloat up like that. Even being enslaved seemed preferable to being hatched out of.

Then again, she hadn’t seen the ultimate disposition of those eggs. Maybe that poor purple-haired girl was destined to swell and pop.

Margot didn’t think so.

Now she was picturing it over again, the clear tubes with the sinuous black line, the eggs pushing their way up into the blonde’s vagina...

“Pst. Hey.”

Margot jumped, looked at the stairs. “Y-yeah?”

Junipero was standing on the bottom step. She tapped her wrist. “It’s one. Come upstairs, I’ll wake the others.”

Margot rose from the chair and stretched. The stairs led up from the foyer to a large open hall with a railing all the way around the stairwell. The bedroom doors all opened onto it. She ascended as Junipero called quietly into the second bedroom.

Han-Irinov and Cruzado-Liu emerged from the room they shared with Stone, rubbing their eyes and yawning.

“See you in the morning,” Junipero told them, and Han-Irinov muttered some acknowledgment.

Margot slipped through the doorway to Lillana Wen’s room. Wen shifted in her bed.

“Belangier?” she mumbled.

“Yeah,” Margot replied. “Junipero too. Change of watch.”

“Mm.” Wen rolled over.

Margot found her mattress in the dim light of the nightlight and crawled on. She had already changed into the t-shirt and sweatpants which Wen had found for her. Margot had weaseled the clothes’ provenance out of Lillana; apparently they belonged to a housekeeper who had lived there when her father was alive.

She laid her pistol in its holster right at the edge of the mattress.

The clothes were a little snug, but once she pulled the blanket over herself, Margot fell asleep in seconds.

* * *

Pearl sat in the chair at the top of the stairs and thought about boats.

She was pretty sure that this Cliffgarden thing was not going to work out. Snatching the doctor had been Andreia’s idea, and a fucking bundle of cocks that had turned out to be. They’d come down here to the ass end of fucking Verdis on a wild goose chase and now they were holed up in this fucking farmhouse, with the fucking crabs right next door. At least the food was good, that was a plus. And the civilians seemed relatively competent and not prone to weepy fuckery.

Ancestors, what she’d give for a fucking beer.

Getting off the fucking continent, now that made some sense. The fuckers couldn’t fly and probably couldn’t even fucking swim. They should get a boat and head for the islands and wait until the Impys showed up and did a combot insertion or some shit.

Like they’d done on Mathras, or Goowoolanong. She’d seen the footage. Sure, it was against human rebels, but eighty thousand hells did the fuckfeathers fuck those rebels’ shit up.

Staying on Verdis was stupid.

But Stone thought it was worth doing and Pearl wasn’t about to strike out on her own. Stone was a good CO, best she’d had, and Pearl knew that by herself she was fucked anyhow. No, they’d have to get to this Cliffgarden fuckhole and discover it was either fucked or useless. Then maybe they’d figure out the boat part.

Did any of them even know how to drive a boat? Larsen back home had a powerboat, but Pearl had no idea how to drive it, much less one that came with with fucking sails...

“Psst.”

Andreia’s voice. Pearl looked down the stairs. “Yeah?”

“C’mere.”

With a sigh, she rolled her head around on her neck, then stood up. The fuck did Andreia want now?

Pearl walked down the stairs. “Yeah?”

Andreia wasn’t in her chair, which was strange. She was sitting on the sofa instead, back straight, staring at... at Vanderbruk, who was awake and sitting next to her.

“The fuck are you—?” Pearl hissed at her.

“Hello, Pearl,” Cora said. She was also awake, standing next to the settee.

Wait—why wasn’t she handcuffed?

Pearl’s hand went to her pistol. “Okay, what’s—”

Cora’s voice silenced her. “Pearl,” she said, and Pearl found herself unable to continue speaking, found herself focused on Cora’s voice and Cora’s lips. “When you think about my dark pools, do they tempt you in?”

Pearl sighed happily. Her arms went slack.

“Yes,” she said. “Your pools are what I desire.” She blinked, a dopey smile on her face. “My mind is open and my attitude is good,” she said. “I love you,” she added.

“Yes, Pearl, you do,” Cora replied, stepping closer. Pearl realized with a slight thrill that Cora was naked. “You are my lover.”

“I love you,” Pearl mumbled.

“Come with me, Pearl,” Cora told her. Her eyes were black and glistening in the dim light, and Pearl found herself unable to look away from them. “We’re going to go in the other room and give Andreia and Emilee some privacy. I have some things for you to understand and, if you’re a good girl, then we will make love.”

“Yes, Cora,” Pearl promised. “I will be a good girl for you.”

* * *

The room was quiet, save for the sound of the four women breathing.

Calla’s eyes opened.

She sat up, and pulled the sheet aside. On the mattress next to her, her mother did the exact same thing.

Silently, Calla stood up. Quickly, quietly, she disrobed, dropping the loose t-shirt to the floor, followed by her boyshort panties. She had trimmed her pubic hair in the shower that afternoon, and it formed a neat red strip above her nude labia.

Her mother’s pubis was furrier, clipped short but not shaved around her lips. It was the same shade of pale orange. Her mother was chesty, heavy-breasted, her pink areolae angled toward the floor. Calla’s chest, though not flat, was smaller, firmer, above visible abs.

They stood next to each other, nude, hands at their sides. Their eyes stared at the wall as instructions pulsed in their minds.

Calla’s hand slid across her hips, ruffled through her pubic strip. Robotically, her finger began to stroke her labia.

Her tongue moistened her lips beneath blank eyes.

Her other hand rose to her mouth, pushed in. She sucked on all of her fingers, lathered them with her tongue. Then that hand went to her crotch, stroked on her labia, while the first hand rose to her mouth in turn.

The two women remained completely silent while they masturbated.

Calla slipped a finger into her vagina and sighed softly. Her eyelids fluttered shut. When they rose, there was once again awareness in them. Slowly, still frigging herself, her neck turned and she looked around the room.

She looked at her mother, at her wobbling breasts, at her hands busy between her legs.

She looked up at her mother’s face, and found her mother’s eyes waiting for hers.

Their mouths curved into wicked smiles.

Calla’s hands stilled, fell away. She turned to look down at the sleeping form of Bekka on the right-hand bed. Calla stepped closer, then knelt down. She inhaled quietly, her eyes wide, carefully studying Bekka’s sleeping face. She leaned closer, close enough to stroke her cheek, to hear her breathing.

Calla stopped moving. Slowly, her jaw dropped, and her mouth opened wide.

From the new glands in her throat, a fine mist began to spray.

It drifted across the sleeping woman’s face and was pulled into her nostrils, and deep into her lungs. Bekka’s breathing shifted, perhaps scenting something, feeling something, in her sleep. But she did not wake. Calla squirted out more of the drugged spray.

Bekka shifted again. Her breathing became heavier.

Calla’s eyes were wide, hungry. She looked at Bekka’s sleeping face, then leaned inward, down, until her own breath wafted over the sleeping woman’s lips.

Bekka did not stir.

Slowly, Calla stuck out her tongue, and drew it across Bekka’s lips.

Bekka’s mouth moved, slightly, a tiny smacking of her lips. Her head turned a few degrees, but she remained deeply asleep.

Calla drew her tongue across Bekka’s lips again, wetting them.

She leaned still closer, and now their lips met. Gently, she worked her tongue into Bekka’s mouth. Bekka did not resist. Once Bekka’s mouth was open wide enough, Calla squirted in more fluid, not a mist, but twin spurts of liquid.

Bekka swallowed. She sort of mumbled, turning her head, but only slipped deeper into sleep.

Calla stood up. She ran her hands across her flat stomach. Across the room, her mother rose from the side of Helen Tsugerloi’s bed, looked down on the now-drugged veterinarian.

Calla ran her hands across her stomach again. She felt movement; the nipples on her small breasts tightened to points. Goosebumps rose on her pale flesh.

Between her legs, her glistening wet labia parted.

A slick black tube emerged.

Calla spread her feet a little and squatted downward a handspan. The black tube pushed out of her pussy, its surface smooth, four centimeters in diameter. Calla slid a hand down to touch it, then up to stroke her splayed labia and bump her clit. She shivered.

The tube slid downward, ten centimeters, fifteen, twenty. Calla stroked her sex and savored the feeling of the tube extending. She closed her eyes for a moment, relishing this feeling, then opened them again.

Time to fulfill her purpose.

Bekka slept on, drugged into unconsciousness. Calla turned in place, facing her mother, then bent over, extending her ass—and sex—out over Bekka’s face. She hovered there, not quite touching.

Using new nerves, new muscles, she guided the tip of the fleshy black tube to Bekka’s open lips.

Slowly, she pushed it between them.

The tube pushed downward between Bekka’s lips, over Bekka’s tongue, down her throat. It slithered deep inside her; Calla extended it fully, and then lowered her haunches until her spread pussy came to rest on Bekka’s open mouth.

The drug would keep her from choking, guard her from asphyxiation. Calla had plenty of time to lay her egg.

She shivered in pleasure as the egg left her womb, stretching her oviposition tube. It passed through Calla’s vagina, sending jolts of pleasure to her brain, then pushed into Bekka’s open mouth, spreading it wider, and slid into her throat. Flexing the muscles of her tube, Calla guided the egg down, down, an ovoid swelling sliding along Bekka’s neck as it passed through her esophagus and safely into the warm confines of her stomach.

The egg popped free of Calla’s ovipositor. Calla looked up.

Her mother, squatting similarly atop Helen Tsugerloi’s face, blew her a kiss.

Reluctantly, Calla withdrew her ovipositor, pulling it back up into her body, up out of Bekka Han-Harris’ throat. The feel of exercising her new muscles—the muscles that allowed her to fulfill her purpose—was almost as sensual as the feel of the tube sliding back within her vagina. As it popped free of her victim’s lips, Bekka gasped for air—but did not wake up.

Calla felt the tube withdraw up inside her, up through her vagina, back up to its home in her altered womb. She rubbed her stomach and sighed in pleasure.

This was what she was for. This was why she lived.

It felt so good.

She stood up, pussy tingling, body flushed with pleasure. She squeezed her breasts, then saw her mother looking at her as she rose in turn.

Lynn Thompson stepped away from Helen’s sleeping form, met her daughter in the center of the room.

“I am so proud of you,” she whispered, and their mouths met in a deep kiss.

* * *

End Chapter Five, Part One