Chapter 3: The Scientific Inquiry
The days in Zylara’s chamber bled together, a soft, drugged haze of feeding, sleep, and her relentless, gentle touch. Jack’s leg itched fiercely under the moss—a sign of healing, she assured him. The pain was gone, replaced by a dull ache and a disturbing flexibility when he tentatively tried to move it. His resistance had become a quiet, internal thing, a muffled shout in a soundproof room. He still tracked the cycles of light and dark through the cavern’s ceiling, still felt a pang when his fingers brushed the dog tags, but the urgency had bled out of him, siphoned away by regular, delicious doses of contentment.
The rhythm broke when a new presence entered the chamber.
Jack was half-dozing, his head resting against Zylara’s side, when he heard the soft, rhythmic shuffle of footsteps on the fibrous mats. He opened his eyes. A Mooma stood at the edge of the moss bed, different from Zylara. Taller, leaner, with skin the pale jade of a shallow sea and hair like spun silver. Her purple eyes were sharp, calculating, scanning Jack with a focus that felt surgical.
“Sister,” Zylara said, her voice warm but layered with a subtle authority. “You are early.”
“The subject’s metabolic readings from the nursery moss have stabilized,” the new Mooma said. Her voice was higher, clearer than Zylara’s, devoid of the resonant hum. “The variance is within five percent of baseline. The window for controlled stimulus is optimal.” She looked at Jack. “He is awake. Good.”
Jack pushed himself up on his elbows, a flicker of old vigilance stirring. “Subject?”
“Vexa is our wise one,” Zylara said, her hand coming to rest on Jack’s back, a calming weight. “She understands the workings of bodies and minds. She has been monitoring your healing.”
Vexa stepped closer, her silver hair catching the soft light. She knelt, bringing her face level with his. Her scent was different—cleaner, sharper, with a hint of something chemical underneath the floral base. “Fascinating. The scarring is already receding at an accelerated rate. The human capacity for cellular repair is robust, if crude.” She reached out, and before Jack could flinch, her fingers were on his chin, turning his head side to side. Her touch was cool, precise. “Pupil dilation normal. Residual tension in the masseter muscles. He is still clenching his jaw in sleep.”
“He fights in his dreams,” Zylara murmured, almost fondly.
“I require a more controlled environment to continue my observations,” Vexa said, releasing Jack’s face. “The chamber’s ambient pheromones are too saturated for clear data. I wish to take him to my workspace.”
A cold knot formed in Jack’s stomach. “Workspace?”
“My lab,” Vexa said, as if explaining to a child. “I have questions. Your reactions to specific compounds. Your neurological thresholds. It will not be painful. Often, it is quite the opposite.”
Jack looked at Zylara. “Do I have a choice?”
Zylara’s purple eyes held his. “You always have a choice, Vance. You may stay here, with me. But Vexa’s work will help us understand you. To care for you better.” Her thumb stroked his spine. “I think you should go. It will be interesting.”
The choice was an illusion. Staying meant lying in the bed, waiting for the next feeding, drowning in her passive affection. Going meant the unknown. His pilot’s mind, rusty from disuse, latched onto the unknown. It was data. It was something to do.
“Fine,” he said, the word tight.
Vexa’s lips curled into a small, pleased smile. “Excellent.”
Getting him there was a production. His leg, though healing, wouldn’t hold his weight. Zylara lifted him easily, cradling him against her chest. The familiar scent and warmth were comforting, which itself was a kind of alarm bell. He didn’t protest. They moved through the living cavern, past other Mooma nests where curious, shimmering eyes watched from the shadows. He saw other humanoid shapes—slender, mostly hairless, their eyes glazed with contentment. Other Hadiya. None looked like him. None looked like they remembered their names.
Vexa’s lab was in a separate tunnel network. The air changed first—cooler, drier, carrying a tang of ozone and a sweet, syrupy undertone. The bioluminescence here was not the gentle pulsing of Zylara’s chamber, but a steady, eerie glow from veins of violet and gold light that raced through the walls like exposed nerves.
The chamber itself took Jack’s breath away, and not in a good way.
It was vast. Towering glass vats, twice his height, were arranged in rows, filled with a viscous, iridescent fluid. Suspended within them were shapes—half-formed, embryonic things with too many limbs or no limbs at all, their silhouettes twisting slowly in the light. The air hummed with a low, rhythmic thrum, the sound of organic machinery. Tables of smoothed, dark stone held instruments that looked grown rather than forged: scoops, probes, and shallow bowls that seemed to be made of polished bone. The floor was a mosaic of living tiles that gave slightly underfoot, glowing with a soft blue light.
Zylara carried him to the center of the room and laid him down on a wide, moss-covered table. This moss was different—cooler, firmer, with a texture like memory foam. It conformed to his body, holding him in a gentle embrace.
“I will observe,” Zylara said, moving to a shadowed alcove where the light from the walls dimmed. She settled onto a low bench, her form merging with the darkness, but Jack could feel her purple eyes on him.
Vexa busied herself at a stone shelf, her back to him. “First, a baseline,” she said, her voice echoing slightly in the humming space. “You are familiar with the primary nectar. My sister’s milk. Its effects are… pronounced. But we have variants.”
She turned, holding two small, bulbous pods. She placed one on the table near his head. It was translucent, filled with a milky white fluid. The other held a liquid the color of liquid gold. “The white is a neutral carrier. The gold contains a concentrated euphoric compound. We will start with the carrier alone, applied topically.”
Before Jack could ask what that meant, Vexa dipped a finger into the white pod. The fluid was cool and slick. She reached for his chest, her touch clinical. She drew a line from his collarbone down to his sternum, right over the dog tags.
A faint, pleasant warmth spread from the line. It was mild, like sunlight on skin. He felt his muscles relax incrementally.
“Interesting. Minimal autonomic response. Heart rate stable.” Vexa was watching him, but also seeming to listen to something else. Jack realized the moss under him was probably feeding her data. He was on a sensor plate.
She wiped her finger on a cloth and picked up the golden pod. “Now, the compound.”
This time, when she drew a line parallel to the first, the effect was immediate. A bolt of pure, undiluted pleasure shot through him, radiating from the line across his entire nervous system. It was like the first hit of the milk but cleaner, sharper. He gasped, his back arching slightly off the table. His fingers clenched in the moss.
“Ah. There it is,” Vexa noted, her voice holding the cool satisfaction of a confirmed hypothesis. “Dopamine analogue, direct dermal absorption. Faster than digestive uptake. Less lasting, but more intense.”
The pleasure ebbed after a few seconds, leaving him breathless and oddly empty. He wanted it back.
“Question,” Vexa said, leaning over him. “Did the sensation localize, or was it systemic?”
“It… it was everywhere,” Jack managed, his voice shaky.
“Good. The blood-brain barrier is more permeable than I estimated.” She straightened up. “Now, for the main series. I have been cultivating three specialized nectars. They target different reward centers.”
She produced three slender, curved vessels from a recess in the wall. They were like hollow thorns, each filled with a different liquid: one pale pink, one deep blue, one emerald green.
“You will taste them. In order. I will measure your physiological and verbal responses.”
Jack’s mouth was already watering. The craving, never fully gone, woke up with a vengeance. He hated how eager he felt. “And if I say no?”
Vexa blinked. “Why would you say no? The experience is pleasurable. The data is valuable. Your compliance helps my sister care for you.” She tilted her head. “Is this a human ritual? A performance of refusal before acquiescence? I have seen it in the younger Hadiya.”
From the shadows, Zylara chuckled softly.
Heat rose in Jack’s cheeks. He said nothing.
“We begin,” Vexa said. She picked up the thorn filled with pink fluid. “This is for social bonding. It mimics the effect of oxytocin.”
She brought it to his lips. There was no breast this time, no soft flesh. This was direct, utilitarian. He opened his mouth. The tip of the thorn was smooth and cool. She pressed, and a single drop landed on his tongue.
Flavor exploded—like ripe berries and warm honey. The pleasure was gentle, a wave of profound well-being and connection. He looked at Vexa, and for a moment, her sharp, analytical face seemed kind, familiar, like someone he’d known all his life. He felt a surge of gratitude towards her. For studying him. For caring.
“Subject is smiling,” Vexa noted aloud. “Facial muscles relaxed. Pupils dilated. Verbal response?”
“It’s… nice,” Jack heard himself say, his voice warm.
“Vague. But the affect is clear.” She made a note on a flexible, glowing slate that grew from the table.
The blue thorn was next. “This stimulates the adrenal response, but without the fear. The thrill of danger, followed by safety.”
This drop tasted of cold mint and ozone. The effect was a jolt. His heart hammered, his senses sharpened—but there was no panic. It was like the peak of a challenging flight maneuver, the exhilaration of pulling out of a dive. He let out a short, sharp breath.
“Heightened alertness. No distress cues.” Vexa watched him closely. “Do you feel strong?”
“Yes,” Jack said, the word bursting out. He felt invincible.
Then, the green thorn. “This is the core addictive profile. It combines the opioid response with a mild hypnotic. The foundation of the primary nectar.”
The green drop was sweet, but with a complex, herbal bitterness underneath. It hit him like a warm blanket and a soft hammer. The world slowed. The sharp edges of the lab blurred. The hum of the machinery became a lullaby. All his wants, his memories, his fears, dissolved into a single, simple need: more of this.
“Please,” he whispered, his eyes locked on the empty thorn.
Vexa placed the thorn aside. “Fascinating. The verbalization of need occurred fastest with this variant. The dependency pathway is remarkably straightforward.” She reached out and patted his cheek. Her touch was almost affectionate, but her eyes were like data recorders. “You did very well.”
The praise washed over him, warm and satisfying. He had done well. He had helped.
“Now, the synthesis,” Vexa said. She moved to a larger apparatus—a living pump made of glistening, translucent tubing connected to a soft, bladder-like organ. She manipulated a series of nodules, and a stream of fresh, warm milk—the familiar, opalescent kind—began to flow into a shallow basin. “This is a calibrated blend. Enhanced for compliance and memory softness.”
She carried the basin to the table. “This is your reward.”
She didn’t need to guide him. Jack lifted his head, his body thrumming with anticipation. He drank directly from the basin, lapping at the milk like an animal. It was richer than Zylara’s, sweeter, with a chemical edge that made the pleasure bloom brighter and fade faster, leaving a hollow that demanded another sip. He drank until it was gone, then licked the basin clean, desperate for every drop.
When he fell back, panting, the world was soft and unimportant. He felt boneless. Perfect.
Vexa was cleaning the basin. “Results are conclusive. The human neurochemistry is highly malleable. The attachment to the caregiver is reinforced most efficiently by alternating the stimulating compounds with the base addictive nectar. The will to independent action deteriorates exponentially.”
She was talking about him. He knew it. He just couldn’t bring himself to care.
From the shadows, Zylara rose and approached. She looked down at Jack, her expression one of deep satisfaction. “So quickly he learns.” She ran a hand through his hair. “My clever Vexa. You have done well.”
“He is an excellent subject,” Vexa said, putting her tools away. “So responsive. So… honest in his needs.”
Jack looked up at Zylara, his thoughts slow and syrupy. “Can we go back?” he asked, his voice a slur. He wanted the nest. The constant warmth. Her.
“Soon,” Zylara promised. She turned to Vexa. “The memory softness?”
“The compound is active. Episodic recall from before the crash will be foggy, non-linear. He will remember feelings more than events. Fear. Loneliness. Then the contrast of our care becomes his only solid reference.”
Jack tried to think of his ship, the Kestrel. The image was blurry, like a picture underwater. The controls under his hands felt distant, unreal. But the memory of choking on smoke, of the crushing silence after impact—that was sharp, a spike of old terror. He flinched.
Zylara’s hand was on his chest, over his heart. “Hush. That is over. You are here now.” She leaned down and, without offering her breast, kissed his forehead. Her lips were soft, and a tiny trickle of her own, unaltered milk touched his skin. The simple, familiar comfort of it broke something loose in him.
A tear rolled down his temple into the moss.
Vexa observed this, her head tilted. “Emotional lability. The integration is proceeding.”
Zylara gathered him into her arms. He nuzzled automatically against the softness of her bosom, inhaling her natural scent. It was simpler than the lab’ air, more real. It was home.
As she carried him out of the humming, glowing lab, Jack looked back over her shoulder. Vexa was already engrossed in her glowing slate, the eerie light reflecting in her silver hair. The shapes in the vats twisted silently.
He turned his face into Zylara’s skin, hiding from the sight. The craving was a quiet, steady pulse in his veins, a rhythm he was starting to know better than his own heartbeat. He didn’t fight it. He just rode the wave, letting it carry him away from the sharp, knowing eyes, back into the warm, smothering dark.