I scoff and point to my distended stomach. “You’ve been here?” I say, my voice heavy with derision. “Tell me this isn’t what I think it is.”
She and her monster mate share another look. I want to smack it off their faces. I want, more than anything, to be on my feet and at least twenty yards away. I chose my assignment in part because of its uniqueness, but mostly for its isolation. I don’t want to be near people. Now, I’m stranded with what seems like the most patronizing woman on the planet, and her over-sized protector whom she claims is her mate. And, unless I’m wrong, I’m carrying another life. I’ll never be alone again.
If I had the energy, I’d be sick.
Before they can answer, a door to my right slides open and a second white-skinned—there isn’t any other word for it—freak marches in. He’s dressed in some sort of lab coat with a pen stuck behind his ear. His black hair is buzzed where the other one has messy hair.
He comes immediately to my side and ignores my responding flinch. “My name is Avrell. I’m a doctor.”
“Well, thank God for that. You can tell me what the hell you things did with me and then you can let me go.”
“They’re not things,” the blonde corrects. “They’re morts. Aliens. They look intimidating, but they’re really nice.”
I don’t have time for her simpering. I don’t care what she thinks. I want answers and then I want to leave.
“Well?” I demand when Avrell doesn’t respond.
“There’s no easy way to explain, but I’ll try to be as succinct as possible. Our race was facing extinction. Until we discovered a ship with five alien women on board. The decision was made to attempt to save our people by breeding with the females. At first, the implantation process was unsuccessful. Our first trials indicated we must mate with the humans in order to create viable young.”
The woman nods. She has her hands clasped over her belly. My own belly quivers and I try not to jump out of my own skin.
“Our aliens—Aria, Emery, and Molly—decreed the remaining two females be roused to decide their own fates. You are the first to wake. The other still sleeps. We would like you to join our females in the faction here. It is safe here. We have food and protection.”
He points to a sleeping woman on a table to my side. She’s dressed identically in a barely-there medical gown, but I note she isn’t swollen around the middle like I am.
My brain—which has so often been a point of pride—can’t seem to grasp what he’s saying. I lift a hand, which finally seems to move at my command. I place it on my belly. As though whatever is inside me can sense it, I feel movement under my palm.
My eyes shoot up to Avrell, who is now preparing some sort of device. He waves it over my body and considers an image on a screen. Avrell looks both trepidatious and triumphant.
“I wasn’t certain before, as we’ve been busy delivering mortlings recently, but the evidence is undeniable. Though we were unable to implant Emery, Aria, and Molly with mortyoung, it appears your implantation has been successful.” When I don’t seem to understand, he adds, “You’re pregnant. About six months along, adjusted for the different growth rates for mort-alien breeding.”
Moments pass, how long I can’t be certain. Fury floods me as I come to understand. “No—hell no! Hell no, freaks. This is not happening!”
They try to repeat Avrell’s comments. I’ll be safe in the sub-faction. They mean me no harm, but I stop listening. All I can seem to focus on is the movement low in my stomach. I’d never wanted to be a mother. My lab had been my home and my experiments my children. My work had always taken precedence over everything else.
Now my life, my future, and my very identity have been stolen from me and they act as though I should be grateful, or thankful.
A third male shows up, his face so white he appears to be trying to disappear into thin air, then a fourth behind him. Their eyes are so wide, I fear they may swallow up their faces. I ignore them and jab a finger in Avrell’s direction.
“I know it’s a lot to take in,” the blond woman attempts. “But if—”
“No,” I cut her off. “I heard this three times already. You want to take me to something called the sub-faction. Everyone is nice. Who cares if they’re big fucking freaks because you all want to have their babies. Yeah, got all that. The part I’m not getting is how this one”—I poke Avrell in the chest—“says I’m fucking pregnant!”
“Listen, honey,” she starts again.
Just hearing her voice is enough to send the rage inside me bubbling over. “Grace. My name isn’t honey or alien. It’s Grace Miller. AND I AM A FUCKING VIRGIN! My name isn’t Mary and this guy here isn’t God! This is not happening!”