Chapter 3: The Only Ones
The cafeteria hummed with the low murmur of conversation, the clatter of plastic trays, the anonymous noise of forty women who had become a kind of background static in Becca's days. She sat across from Chloe, pushing a fork through a mound of bland mashed potatoes, but her eyes kept drifting to the other tables. To the flat stomachs. The unremarkable silhouettes that folded into chairs and reached for coffee and laughed at jokes she couldn't hear.
None of them were swelling. None of them had that taut, heavy curve pressing against their shirts the way hers did, the way Chloe's was beginning to.
"You keep staring," Chloe said quietly. She had pulled Becca's hoodie up over her hands, the sleeves swallowing her fingers, and looked smaller than usual in it. Smaller and more fragile, like something that might blow away if the ventilation kicked on too hard.
"I keep noticing," Becca corrected. She set her fork down. "All these women, Chloe. Look at them. Not one of them looks... like us."
Chloe's pale eyes flicked to the nearest table, then back. She tucked a strand of blonde hair behind her ear. "Maybe they're just early. Maybe their creatures are taking longer to..."
"To what? Quadruple my belly in an afternoon?" Becca's voice came out sharper than she intended. She softened it. "I'm not trying to scare you. I just... something's off. Dr. Vance said this was routine. That we were part of a larger wave. But nobody else is showing."
The words hung between them for a long moment. Chloe's hand drifted to her own belly, a protective, unconscious gesture. Through the fabric of the hoodie, Becca could see the beginning of a curve, still subtle, still deniable. But hers was well past subtle. Hers demanded attention, a swollen moon that had appeared in a single afternoon.
"I want to talk to him," Becca said.
"Dr. Vance?"
"Who else? He's the one who put us here." She pushed back from the table, the chair screeching against the concrete floor. A few heads turned, then looked away. "You coming?"
Chloe hesitated, her fingers tightening in the hoodie's sleeves. Then she nodded and stood, falling into step beside Becca as they crossed the cafeteria. The medical wing was a short walk through a series of identical corridors, past doors that all looked the same, past checkpoints that buzzed them through with plastic badges stamped with their numbers. Becca had memorized the route by now. Day six, and the Atheneum had already become a monotonous maze of gray and white and fluorescent light.
Dr. Vance's office sat at the end of a hallway that smelled faintly of antiseptic and something underneath it, something organic and damp. Becca raised her hand to knock, but the door was already cracked open. Inside, the doctor sat at a desk cluttered with holoscreens and paper files, his gaunt face illuminated by a pale blue glow. He looked up when they entered, his tired eyes registering no surprise.
"Ms. Holloway. Ms. Harrison." He set down a stylus. "You're both scheduled for a metabolic assessment in the morning. This isn't on the itinerary."
"Neither was my stomach tripling in size," Becca said. She didn't wait for an invitation. She walked in and planted herself in the chair across from his desk, leaving Chloe to hover awkwardly by the door. "I want answers, Dr. Vance. We've been here for almost a week, and I've been patient. I let you put a squid in me. I've been a good little reservoir. But I looked around that cafeteria just now, and I noticed something. None of the other women are showing. None of them look like they have anything in them at all."
Vance's gaze flickered to Chloe, then back to Becca. For a moment, he said nothing. His fingers tapped against the desk, a slow rhythm that felt like calculation.
"You've noticed correctly," he said at last.
"I know. I was there." Becca crossed her arms. "So what does that mean? Are we just the lucky ones? Did the rest of them have, I don't know, a bad batch?"
Vance removed his glasses and pinched the bridge of his nose. The gesture was almost human, a crack in the clinical facade. When he looked up again, there was something in his eyes she hadn't seen before. Not pity, exactly. Not guilt. Something closer to weighing.
"The other forty-two women," he said slowly, "failed to bond with their creatures."
The word hung in the sterile air. Failed.
"Failed how?" Chloe's voice was thin, barely above a whisper. She had moved closer, standing just behind Becca's chair, one hand resting on the back of it.
Vance stood and walked to a wall screen that had been dark and inert. He touched it, and it illuminated, showing a grid of medical charts, vitals, dates. Forty-two entries. Forty-two records that ended in the same place, marked with the same red annotation.
"The creature is a parasite in the truest sense," he said. "It requires a host that is not merely physically viable, but biologically compatible on a chemical level. We identified genetic markers we believed would predict success. We screened over a thousand candidates. Selected forty-four." He gestured at the screen. "The other forty-two expelled their creatures within seventy-two hours of implantation. Their bodies rejected them as foreign matter. We attempted to re-implant. The result was the same, each time."
Becca stared at the screen. Forty-two red marks. Two remaining lines, hers and Chloe's, still active, still climbing.
"So we're... the only ones that worked?" she asked.
Vance turned to face them. "You are the only successful hosts in the entire program. As of this morning, the only viable reproductive reservoirs for the entire species."
Chloe made a small sound, something between a gasp and a laugh, high and nervous. Her hand pressed flat against her belly.
"Dr. Vance," Becca said slowly, "are you telling me that this whole thing, this entire alien baby project, the future of their species, is riding on me and Chloe?"
"Yes." He said it simply, without apology. "You are, as of today, the last hope for the Xanthari."
The last hope for the Xanthari.
The words landed like a physical weight, pressing down on the sterile air of the office. Becca turned in her chair, and Chloe's eyes met hers. There was shock there, yes, a wide, pale bewilderment that made her look even younger than her years. But underneath it, flickering in the corners of her mouth, was something else. A faint, almost incredulous pride. Becca felt it mirrored in her own chest, a small, stubborn glow that refused to be dimmed by the enormity of what had just been said.
"Holy shit," Becca breathed. Then, louder: "Holy shit. Dr. Vance, do you hear yourself? You're telling me that Chloe and I, the gamer girl who couldn't hold a job and the nervous woman who thought she was signing up for a clinical trial, are the entire future of a dying alien race?"
"Your social circumstances were not a factor in the selection process," Vance said, his tone dry. "Your genetic compatibility was."
"And what made the other forty-two fail?" Becca pressed, leaning forward. "You said they rejected the creatures. Why? What was different about us?"
Vance let out a slow breath and returned to his chair, settling into it with the weariness of a man who had spent too many nights staring at those same red-marked charts. "The creatures are selective in ways we do not fully understand. We can map genetics. We can predict immune responses. But the bond, the chemical and psychological resonance that allows the creature to settle, to become part of the host rather than attack it, that remains opaque." He spread his hands. "For whatever reason, the Xanthari reject the host bodies. They do not find a home in them. The creatures detect something, a mismatch we cannot yet identify, and they withdraw. Some hosts reported intense cramping. Others felt nothing at all. But the result was always the same."
"So it's the creatures doing the choosing," Chloe said quietly. Her voice was still thin, but there was a new note in it, something steadier. "They decide if a body is right for them."
Vance nodded. "That is an accurate characterization."
Chloe took a step closer to the desk, her fingers still wrapped in the hoodie's sleeves. "Have you tried letting them pick?" she asked. "Instead of screening for genetic markers, instead of all those tests and checklists, have you tried just... putting them in a room with the women and seeing which ones they gravitate toward? They're intelligent, aren't they? The creatures? You said they can communicate, that they feel things. Maybe they know better than your charts what they need."
The silence that followed was heavy. Becca watched Vance's face shift, a slow process of gears turning behind his tired eyes. He opened his mouth, closed it, then opened it again. His expression settled into something that might have been exasperation on a less controlled man.
"No," he said at last. "We have not tried that."
"Why not?" Chloe pressed, a flush of color rising in her pale cheeks. "If you've failed forty-two times, isn't it worth trying something else?"
Vance removed his glasses again and polished them with a cloth from his pocket, a gesture that seemed almost compulsive. "Because our protocols were developed by the best minds in xenobiology. Because the testing matrix took two years to refine. Because," he added, a thread of frustration creeping into his voice, "the idea of simply releasing the creatures into a common area and letting them choose is not how we conduct scientific research, Ms. Harrison. It is not measurable. It is not controllable. It is the opposite of everything this program stands for."
"Maybe that's the problem," Becca said. She wasn't sure where the words came from, but they felt right, like a puzzle piece sliding into place. "You've been trying to control something that doesn't want to be controlled. You picked us the way you'd pick cattle for breeding, based on stats and markers. But the creatures, they're not livestock. They're people. Sentient beings. Maybe they need to pick us the way we'd pick... a partner. Something that feels right."
Vance stared at her for a long moment. His expression was unreadable, but Becca caught the flicker of something in his eyes, a recalibration, a reassessment of her that went beyond her genetic profile.
"That is," he said slowly, "a remarkably insightful observation for someone who spent the first three days here complaining about the lack of Wi-Fi."
"I contain multitudes," Becca said flatly.
Chloe laughed, a short, surprised sound that cut through the tension. She covered her mouth with a hand, but the grin stayed in her eyes. "He's not wrong."
Becca looked at her, and for a moment the absurdity of it all threatened to overwhelm her. Here she was, her belly swollen with alien eggs, standing in a secret government facility, being told she was the last hope for a species she'd never heard of until a week ago. And beside her was Chloe, a woman she'd known for days, wearing her hoodie, carrying the same impossible burden, and somehow making it feel survivable.
"Okay," Becca said, turning back to Vance. "So what does this mean? For us? Now that we're the only ones who worked, what happens next?"
Vance replaced his glasses and folded his hands on the desk. "It means the program's focus now narrows to two subjects. You will receive enhanced monitoring, additional nutritional support, and around-the-clock medical oversight. Your creatures' timeline has accelerated; we will adapt our protocols accordingly." He paused. "It also means your compensation package has been renegotiated. You will be well compensated for your contribution. Very well compensated, once the eggs are successfully delivered."
Becca blinked. She hadn't thought about money. Not once, not since the procedure. It seemed almost obscene, a reminder of a world that felt increasingly distant.
"And if we don't want to do it?" she asked quietly.
Vance met her gaze without flinching. "You signed waivers. Both of you. Your participation is contractual. I would prefer not to invoke the enforcement clauses, but they exist." His voice softened, almost imperceptibly. "That said, I believe you are both capable of completing this. You've already outperformed every expectation of this program. The creatures clearly chose you, whether or not our testing understood why."
The word echoed in Becca's mind. Chose. Chloe had just said the same thing. The creatures had chosen them. Not the genetic markers, not the screening process. Them, specifically, for reasons even science couldn't explain.
She felt Chloe's hand find her shoulder, a light, tentative touch. Becca reached up and covered it with her own, interlocking their fingers.
"We're going to need a bigger cafeteria table," Becca said. "If we're the only ones showing, we should at least sit separately. Make it a club. The Last Hope Club. Get jackets made."
Chloe snorted, a wet, nervous sound. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm the last hope for an alien species," Becca corrected. "I can be as ridiculous as I want."
"The Last Hope Club," Vance repeated, his tone dry. "I'll have the jackets commissioned."
Becca's grin faded. She leaned forward again, elbows on his desk, ignoring the way the edge pressed into her swollen belly. "I'm serious, Dr. Vance. About what Chloe said. About letting the creatures choose."
Vance's fingers stilled on the desk. "Ms. Holloway, I've explained the protocols."
"Your protocols failed forty-two times," Becca said flatly. "What have you got to lose by trying something else?"
The silence stretched. Chloe's hand tightened on Becca's shoulder, a silent signal to push on. Becca took a breath and went for broke.
"We're not asking you to scrap the whole program. We're asking for one experiment. One room. Three other women, volunteers, no genetic screening, no markers. Just bring the women in, bring the creatures in, and see which way they go. See if they pick someone the way they picked us."
"That's not how scientific research—"
"Dr. Vance." Chloe's voice cut through, steady and quiet. "Forty-two failures. That means forty-two women went through an invasive procedure, with all the physical and psychological side effects, and got nothing for their trouble except a story they can never tell anyone. And whatever the Xanthari went through, watching their offspring reject host after host, watching their species' last chance slip further away each time." She paused, and there was steel under the softness of her voice. "If you had one better idea, I'd be happy to hear it. Do you?"
Vance stared at her. For a long, uncomfortable moment, no one moved. Then he exhaled, a long, tired breath that seemed to come from somewhere deep in his chest, and he pressed his palms flat against his desk.
"The women would have to consent," he said at last. "Fully informed. I won't subject anyone else to this without a complete understanding of what they're agreeing to."
"Of course," Becca said quickly.
"And the creatures are not to be handled by untrained personnel. I'll need to coordinate with the xenobiology team, which means scheduling around three other ongoing projects and my own administrative duties." He pinched the bridge of his nose again. "To be frank, I don't have room in my schedule to manage a new experimental protocol in the next stretch. Not in my own."
Chloe stepped forward, her pale eyes bright. "So we find the women, and you find the time?"
Vance looked at them, two swollen-bellied women standing in his sterile office, one in an oversized hoodie, the other bundled in way too much fabric for a climate-controlled facility. They were anomalies, variables he hadn't accounted for, and he knew it. The thought seemed to exhaust him.
"Find me three women," he said slowly, "willing to participate in an unproven, unorthodox trial that involves the implantation of an alien organism with a forty-out-of-forty-two rejection rate in a controlled setting. Find them by the end of today. And I will find time in my schedule within the next week to conduct the experiment."
Becca's heart stuttered. "By the end of today?"
"You asked for my time," Vance said. "I'm asking for diligence. The evenings in this facility are quiet; the women are in their quarters or the recreation level. If you want to convince anyone, that's your window. Otherwise, we can revisit this in a month, when my calendar opens."
A month. The words hit like a cold wave. Becca's hand drifted to her belly. In a month, she'd already have delivered. The Xanthari were already down to a handful of creatures, she suspected, and each day without a new successful host meant fewer chances for the species to gain any foothold.
"Three women," Becca said. "By tonight."
"Three women, fully informed, completely voluntary." Vance's tired eyes held hers. "I'll have the consent forms drafted by 2100 hours. If you bring me three names, I'll have the orientation materials ready by morning and we'll pencil in the trial for next Wednesday at 1400 hours. That's the best I can do."
"Wednesday," Chloe repeated. "That's... a week away."
"Which is why you should get started." Vance turned back to his holoscreen, the gesture a clear dismissal. "The cafeteria is open for two more hours. I suggest you begin there."
Becca stood, her joints protesting the movement. She exchanged a look with Chloe, and without a word, they walked out of the office and into the corridor. The door clicked shut behind them.
"Three women," Chloe said, her voice a little breathless. "By tonight. Willing to let an alien squid pick them."
"We've pitched worse setups in game lobbies," Becca said. "This is just a different kind of boss fight."
Chloe laughed, nervous and bright. "I think I preferred the loot drops."
They walked down the corridor side by side, shoulders brushing, the weight of the mission settling over them like a mantle neither of them had asked for. The cafeteria doors slid open ahead, letting out a wash of fluorescent light and the murmur of forty women who had no idea they were about to be approached by the two most unusual members of their cohort.
"Okay," Becca said, rolling her shoulders like she was queuing into a ranked match. "Let's go find ourselves some volunteers."
The cafeteria hadn't changed in the twenty minutes they'd been gone. Same fluorescent hum, same clatter of trays, same clusters of women picking at bland food under the pale light. But Becca saw it differently now. Every face was a potential recruit. Every flat stomach a possible success story waiting to happen, or another failure waiting to be logged in red.
"Okay," she said, planting her hands on her hips. "Strategy. We need to find the ones who look like they're not just going through the motions. Someone with something to gain, or something they're desperate enough to risk."
Chloe folded her arms, tugging the hoodie sleeves over her hands. "You make it sound like a sales pitch."
"It is a sales pitch. We're selling the opportunity to have an alien squid move in and knock them up. The market is niche."
"Great. I'll follow your lead."
Becca scanned the room. A table of three women near the salad bar was laughing about something on one of their phones. A solitary woman with dark hair ate with mechanical efficiency, her eyes fixed on a spot above the door. Near the far corner, a small woman with sharp features and a pointed chin was sitting alone, nursing a cup of something that might have been tea, her gaze half-lidded and unimpressed.
Becca pointed at the solitary woman first. "Her. She looks like she needs money."
"How can you tell?"
"Because she's eating the cheapest thing on the menu, she has one napkin, and her shoes are held together with duct tape. I recognize that energy."
They approached. The woman looked up as they reached her table, her fork pausing halfway to her mouth. She was short and stocky, with red-brown hair pulled back in a messy bun and a guarded expression that flickered with curiosity.
"Hi," Becca said, sliding into the seat across from her without asking. "I'm Becca. This is Chloe. We need to talk to you about a new trial."
The woman's fork lowered. "A trial. Like the one that got us all stuck in this place?"
"Different trial. One that might actually work."
The woman snorted, but there was interest in her eyes. "Name's Amber. And I'm listening, mostly because I've got nothing better to do."
Becca leaned forward, lowering her voice. "You've noticed that none of the other women here are showing, right? That we're the only ones with actual bumps?" She gestured at her belly and then Chloe's.
Amber's gaze dropped to Becca's stomach, then to Chloe's. Her eyebrows rose a fraction. "I did notice. Figured you two got the good batch."
"The good batch is the point. The other forty-two women failed to bond with their creatures. Chloe and I didn't. We're the only two successful hosts in the entire program." Becca let that sink in. "Dr. Vance is willing to try a new approach. Let the creatures choose instead of screening for genetic markers. Three women, no tests, no predictions. Just see who they pick."
Amber's expression shifted. She set her fork down, folded her hands on the table, and gave Becca her full attention. "And what do I get out of it?"
"Compensation. A lot of it, if it works. And the chance to be the one who actually makes a difference."
Amber was quiet for a long moment. Then she looked down at her own flat stomach, her hand resting on it in a way that felt almost wistful. "I came here because the recruitment was mandatory, wasn't the way they sold it. They told me it was a clinical trial for a new medication. I didn't find out about the aliens until I was already on the table." She looked up, and there was a hard glint in her eye. "But if I'm here anyway, if I've already gone through the worst of it, then I might as well get paid for it. Sign me up."
Becca blinked. "Just like that?"
"Just like that. I've got bills, and I've got nothing left to lose." Amber picked her fork back up and pointed it at Becca. "But if this works, I want the first cut of whatever they're paying."
"You'll have to take that up with Vance. But I'll put in a good word."
Amber's mouth twitched, something between a smile and a smirk. "Good. Now who else is on your list?"
Becca turned to Chloe. "You saw the tall girl with the afro?"
Chloe nodded. Jasmine was sitting at a table near the windows, her back straight, her head tilted as she read something on a tablet. She was striking, tall and elegant, with a thick crown of dark hair and features that could have graced a magazine cover. She looked up as they approached, her dark eyes sharp and curious.
"Can I help you?" Her voice was low, musical, with a hint of wariness.
"We're recruiting for a new trial," Chloe said, before Becca could launch into her spiel. "One that might actually succeed where the others failed."
Jasmine set the tablet down. "I heard about the failures. It's not exactly a secret around here, the way people talk." She studied them with an appraising gaze. "You two are the ones who worked, aren't you? The ones with the bumps."
"Guilty," Becca said.
"And you want to try again? With new women?"
"We want to let the creatures choose this time. Match them with hosts they actually bond with, instead of picking based on genetic markers that have a ninety-five percent failure rate."
Jasmine tilted her head, considering. "I wasn't supposed to be here at all. I was in my final year of medical school when they took me. I had plans. A residency. A future." She touched her flat stomach. "I didn't get a say in any of that. The procedure, the rejection, all of it just happened to me."
"I'm sorry," Chloe said softly.
Jasmine's mouth curved, not quite a smile, not quite a grimace. "Me too. But this, this is something I actually get to choose. And I'll be honest with you, I'm curious. I want to know what it feels like to be chosen. To have something look at me and decide I'm worth carrying." She picked her tablet back up, but her eyes stayed on them. "Count me in."
That was two.
Becca scanned the room again, looking for the third. Her gaze landed on the small woman in the corner, the one nursing her tea like it owed her money. She had sharp, almost cat-like features, high cheekbones, a pointed chin, and eyes that narrowed as Becca approached, as if she'd already decided this conversation was going to waste her time.
"Let me guess," the woman said before Becca could open her mouth. "You're recruiting for some new trial, because the old one failed, and you think I look desperate enough to volunteer."
Becca blinked. "That was, well, yeah, basically."
The woman sighed, setting her teacup down with a delicate clink. "I'm Lydia. I've been here for nine days. In that time, I've been poked, prodded, implanted, and then told my body wasn't good enough to keep it. The creature stayed for about thirty hours before it decided it wanted out." She looked down at her cup, her voice flattening. "I've never felt so rejected in my life."
Chloe stepped forward, her voice gentle. "I'm sorry. That sounds awful."
"It was." Lydia looked up, and her eyes were hard. "But I know what it feels like to be on the wrong side of the lottery. And I know what it feels like to want something so badly you'd risk everything just to see if it might work." She tilted her head, studying them. "What's your angle? Why are you doing this?"
"Because we're the only ones who worked," Becca said. "And if we don't find a way to make this succeed, the Xanthari go extinct. All of it, on our shoulders. I didn't ask for that. I don't want that. But it's real, and it's happening, and I'd rather try something stupid than let it fail."
Lydia was quiet for a long time. Then her mouth curved, a slow, sharp smile that had the quality of an unexpected gift. "Fine. I'll do it. Not for the money, though I'll take it. Not because I'm curious, though I am." She picked her teacup back up. "Because I want to be chosen. I want to know that something looked at me and decided I was worth keeping."
Becca felt something loosen in her chest. She reached down, and Chloe's hand was already there, finding hers, squeezing tight.
"Three," Becca said. "We've got three."
The sun had set by the time they made it back to Vance's office, the corridor outside his door lit by dim emergency lighting. The doctor was still at his desk when they entered, his holoscreens glowing in the dark. He looked up, unsurprised to see them standing there, slightly breathless, their hands clasped together.
"Three names," Becca said.
Vance set his stylus down. "Let's see them."
"Amber Reyes. Jasmine Okafor. Lydia Chen." She slid a scrap of paper across his desk with the names and bed numbers scribbled in Chloe's neat handwriting.
Vance picked it up, studied it, and for a moment, the exhaustion in his face gave way to something that looked almost like hope. He folded the paper and tucked it into a drawer.
"I'll have the consent forms and orientation materials ready by morning," he said. "The trial is scheduled for Wednesday at 1400 hours. I'll confirm with the xenobiology team."
Becca nodded. And then, because she couldn't help herself, she added, "Make sure the jackets are nice. We're the founding members of the Last Hope Club, and we have a reputation to maintain."
Vance's mouth twitched. It might have been a smile. It was hard to tell.
Becca and Chloe walked out of the office and into the corridor, their steps in sync, their hips brushing. The weight of the day pressed down on them, but there was something else there too. Something that felt like momentum.
"We did it," Chloe said, her voice hushed with wonder. "We actually did it."
Becca squeezed her hand. "We did. Now we just have to hope the creatures agree with our taste in women."
They walked out of the medical wing in silence, the hum of the facility wrapping around them like a familiar blanket. The corridor stretched ahead, empty and pale, the fluorescent lights casting long shadows on the polished floor. Becca's hand was still wrapped around Chloe's, their fingers loosely laced together, and the weight of it, the simple warm pressure of it, felt like the only real thing in the world.
"So," Chloe said, her voice quiet in the stillness. "That actually happened. We just convinced a government scientist to try a completely unproven experiment because we said it was a good idea."
Becca let out a breath that was half laugh, half disbelief. "We're the last hope for an alien species, and we just recruited three strangers to join the club. I think we're allowed to be a little proud of ourselves."
Chloe smiled, small and tired, but genuine. She looked down at their joined hands, then up at Becca, and a faint flush colored her pale cheeks. "Do you want to come over? To my place, I mean. I could make some tea. I've got, um, I have a setup. It's not much, but it's home."
Becca's heart gave a soft, surprised flutter. They'd spent nearly every waking hour together for days, in the cafeteria, in Becca's apartment, in the quiet corners of the facility where they could pretend they weren't being watched. But Chloe's apartment was still a mystery, a space she hadn't yet seen.
"Yeah," Becca said, and the word came out softer than she intended. "I'd like that."
Chloe's smile widened, a genuine, radiant thing that transformed her nervous features. She tugged Becca forward, and they walked together through the labyrinth of corridors, past doors that all looked the same, until Chloe stopped in front of one and pressed her palm to the lock. The door slid open with a soft hiss.
"Welcome to my humble abode," Chloe said, stepping aside.
Becca walked in, and the first thing she noticed was the difference. Her own apartment, the one she'd been assigned, was a functional cell: gray walls, institutional furniture, a bed, a desk, a chair. This was... not that.
The lighting was warm, a golden wash from a small lamp on a side table and a string of fairy lights draped along the top of a bookshelf. The ceiling above the main room had a soft, amber glow, a cheap clamp light with a yellow bulb that had probably cost five dollars at a hardware store. An ornate blanket hung from the wall behind the couch, a patchwork of deep jewel tones, reds and blues and golds, with intricate stitching that looked handcrafted. The pattern was unfamiliar, almost tribal, and it gave the room an unexpected warmth, like a hearth in a cave.
The couch itself was the same institutional beige as every other piece of furniture in the facility, but it was buried under cushions and throws, a riot of textures and colors that made it look inviting. And everywhere, everywhere, there were books. Stacks of them. On the floor, on the windowsill, on the little desk in the corner, arranged in small, precarious towers that somehow managed to look deliberate. Not chaotic, exactly. Organized in a way that defied classification, as if Chloe had her own secret system, a map only she could read.
Incense burned on the coffee table, a thin curl of smoke rising from a small brass holder, and the scent of sandalwood and something floral settled over Becca like a comforting hug. On the table next to the incense was a stack of books with titles she could half make out: a worn copy of The Left Hand of Darkness, a thick volume on astronomy, a poetry anthology with a cracked spine, a novel with a faded cover depicting a ship sailing into a storm.
"Wow," Becca breathed, turning in a slow circle, taking it all in. "Chloe. This is like... a different world."
Chloe ducked her head, a shy flush rising to her cheeks. "I know it's cramped. And the furniture is terrible. But I figured, you know, if I'm going to be stuck here for who knows how long, I might as well make it feel like me. The blanket was from a market back home. I couldn't bear to leave it. And the books, well, they were the one thing I asked for. They let me bring them." She gestured vaguely at the stacks. "I've read most of them twice. Some of them three times. It helps, the familiar weight."
Becca walked over to one of the stacks and ran her fingers along a spine. The paper was soft and worn, well loved. She felt a strange tenderness toward Chloe, toward this room, toward the effort she had made to carve out a space that was entirely her own, even in a place designed to strip away identity.
"It's perfect," Becca said, and she meant it with her whole chest.
Chloe beamed. "I'll make tea. Sit, sit, get comfortable. I have chamomile, and I think I've got some good stuff, the kind that's actually just leaves, not bags. It's a little ritual of mine." She moved toward a tiny kitchenette, a countertop with a hot plate, a small kettle, and a row of mismatched mugs.
Becca sank onto the couch, the cushions molding around her. She kicked off her shoes and tucked her feet under her, the weight of her belly settling into her lap. She was suddenly aware of how tired she was, how much of the day had been spent walking, talking, convincing, and just holding fear at bay. The warmth of the room, the smell of the incense, the soft hum of Chloe moving behind her, it all wrapped around her like a blanket.
Chloe busied herself with the tea, her movements unhurried. She measured leaves into a small ceramic pot, poured steaming water over them, and let them steep in silence. Becca watched her from the couch, the way the warm light caught the blonde strands of her hair, the way her shoulders had relaxed, the way she hummed a melody Becca didn't recognize, soft and low.
Chloe brought the tea over, two mugs, and set one on the coffee table before sinking onto the couch beside Becca. She curled up, tucking her legs under her, cradling her mug with both hands. The hoodie slipped off one shoulder, revealing the pale curve of it, and Becca's gaze lingered for a moment before she looked away.
"Here," Chloe said, blowing on her tea. "This is the good stuff. The kind that makes you feel like everything might be okay for a few minutes."
Becca wrapped her hands around her mug, letting the warmth seep into her fingers. She took a sip. The tea was smooth and honeyed, with a hint of something floral and bright. It tasted like a pause, like a held breath, like a moment to just be.
"This is amazing," she said, closing her eyes.
Chloe hummed, a note of contentment. "I told you. Ritual."
They sat together in the warm quiet, the incense curling between them, the books stacked like silent witnesses around them. Becca leaned her head back against the couch and let her eyes drift closed. Her belly was warm and heavy, pressing against her thighs, and she could feel the creatures moving inside her, strong and awake now, but not restless. They were settled. At ease.
"You know," Chloe said after a long moment, her voice soft, "I never thought I'd have that. A moment where everything feels okay. Even here, even with all of this, I didn't think it would be possible."
Becca opened her eyes and turned to look at her. Chloe was watching her with a gaze that held something fragile, something hopeful.
"Me neither," Becca said. "I was pretty sure I'd spend my whole life just getting by. Getting through. And now..." She gestured vaguely at her belly, at the room, at the whole impossible situation. "Now I'm the last hope for an alien species, and I've got a good friend, and I just drank the best tea I've ever had. Go figure."
Chloe laughed, a soft, genuine sound. She leaned her head onto Becca's shoulder, and the warmth of her settled against Becca's side like a missing piece clicking into place.
"I'm glad you came over," Chloe murmured. "I'm glad you're here."
Becca didn't answer with words. She just reached out and took Chloe's hand, squeezing it gently, and together they sat in the warm glow of the lamp, the incense, the books, waiting for the tea to cool and the world to come back to them.
The tea had gone lukewarm in Becca's hands, the honeyed sweetness fading to something flat. She took another sip anyway, letting the stillness of the room settle around her, Chloe's warmth pressed along her side, her head a soft weight on Becca's shoulder. The incense had burned down to a thin coil of smoke, the fairy lights casting a gentle, golden glow across the stacks of books.
Then she felt it. A low, familiar hum, starting deep in her belly and spreading outward like a struck chord. It pulsed once, twice, a warm insistence that made her breath catch. She felt Chloe stir against her, felt the other woman's body go still.
The creatures were reaching out again. That same pull from that morning, the need to be close, to press together, to close the distance between them. Becca's hand tightened on her mug, her pulse quickening. She turned her head and found Chloe already looking at her.
Chloe's eyes were half-lidded, dark, and there was a heat in them that Becca had seen before, hours ago, when they had been tangled together in a different bed. The same pull. The same need.
"Becca," Chloe said, her voice low and rough. She set her mug down on the coffee table, her gaze never leaving Becca's. "Should we go to the bedroom?"
The question hung in the air, simple and loaded. Becca's mouth went dry. She set her own mug down beside Chloe's, slow and deliberate.
"Yeah," she breathed. "Yes."
They rose together, hands finding each other as they stood. The apartment was small, the bedroom door just a few steps away, but the distance felt vast, charged with something electric. Chloe led the way, her fingers laced through Becca's, and Becca followed, her heart hammering against her ribs.
Chloe stopped at the doorway and turned. She pulled the hoodie over her head in one fluid motion, letting it drop to the floor. Beneath it, she wore nothing else. Her skin was pale in the dim light, her belly a soft, prominent swell that caught the glow from the living room. Her breasts were fuller than Becca remembered, her nipples dark and peaked.
Becca's breath caught. She reached for the hem of her own shirt, the loose facility tee she'd been wearing all day, and pulled it off over her head. Her belly was a heavy, taut globe, the skin stretched tight and warm, the weight of it low and dense. She saw Chloe's gaze travel down, taking in the curve of her, the fullness of her, the pale stretch marks that had begun to bloom across her sides.
"God," Chloe whispered. "You're beautiful."
Becca felt a flush rise to her cheeks. She stepped forward, closing the distance between them, and pressed her hands to Chloe's waist, pulling her close. Their bellies met, the soft swell of Chloe's pressing against the heavier weight of Becca's, and the hum inside them sang in answer. The creatures pulsed, a synchronized beat that rippled through both their bodies, and Becca felt her knees go weak.
The bedroom was dark, but the light from the living room spilled through the doorway, casting long shadows across the bed. Chloe guided Becca backward, and Becca let herself fall, the mattress catching her, the soft sheets cool against her bare skin. Chloe followed her down, her body a warm line against Becca's side, her thigh sliding between Becca's.
Their bellies pressed together, the curve of Chloe's fitting against Becca's like a clasp. The hum grew stronger, deeper, and Becca could feel the creatures moving inside them, straining toward each other through the barrier of skin. Chloe's hand found Becca's face, cupping her cheek, and then her mouth was on Becca's, soft and insistent.
Becca melted into the kiss, her hands sliding through Chloe's hair, pulling her closer. The weight of her belly was a warm pressure between them, and she could feel Chloe's stirring against it, the gentle shift and pulse of the creature inside her. They weren't just two women in a bed. They were hosts, vessels, homes to something that hungered for connection.
Chloe broke the kiss, her forehead resting against Becca's, her breath coming in soft, ragged gasps. "It's them," she whispered. "But it's not just them."
"I know," Becca said, her voice thick. "I know."
She pulled Chloe down again, and they moved together in the warm dark, their bodies finding a rhythm that was their own, the hum of the creatures a low, steady bass beneath their gasps and sighs. Their bellies stayed pressed together, the heat of their skin melting into one another, and Becca felt something in her chest loosen, something she hadn't known was clenched.
This was absurd. This was impossible. She was carrying alien eggs inside her, and the woman in her arms was doing the same, and the creatures inside them were trying to reach each other through the flesh of their hosts. And yet, in this moment, it felt like the only thing that made sense. The only thing that was real.
Chloe's hand slid down Becca's side, over the curve of her hip, and Becca arched into her touch. The creature pulsed inside her, a warm, insistent beat, and Chloe gasped, her body shuddering against Becca's.
"They feel us," Chloe breathed. "They feel how close we are."
Becca nodded, her throat tight. She pressed her belly more firmly against Chloe's, and the hum rose, a deep, resonant chord that seemed to vibrate through her bones, through Chloe's, through the very air between them.
The night stretched on, warm and slow, the two of them tangled together on the narrow bed, their bodies moving in quiet synchrony, the creatures inside them singing a song only they could hear. And when at last they lay still, breathless and spent, their bellies still pressed together, Becca felt a peace she hadn't expected. A calm, settled thing, rising from the heart of the hum.
Chloe's hand found hers under the sheets, squeezing gently.
"Thank you," Chloe whispered. "For everything."
Becca turned her head, pressing a kiss to Chloe's temple. "Thank you too."
They lay there in the warm dark, their breathing slowly evening out, the hum of the creatures a soft, contented lullaby. The weight of the day, the weight of their mission, the impossible burden they carried, all of it faded to a distant hum of its own, pale and far away. There was only this. This room. This bed. This woman beside her, carrying the same impossible weight.
In the morning, there would be consent forms and orientation materials and a trial to prepare for. There would be women to meet and protocols to navigate and a species to save. But now, there was only this.
Becca closed her eyes, and let the hum carry her into sleep.