Chapter 12: The Keeper's Visit
Sarah worked the bones. They were long, fibrous shafts harvested from the meat the nozzles provided, scraped clean and dried in the artificial sun. She sat by the black-water pond, a flat stone as her anvil, another fist-sized rock as her hammer. Her brow was furrowed in concentration.Crack.A careful split, lengthwise, along a natural seam.
Emily watched from the moss bed, her fingers rubbing circles over her belly. The movements were more frequent now, little protests against the confines of her womb. The golden orb the Overseer had left pulsed softly nearby, a steady, warm heartbeat of light. It didn’t chase away the shadows of the cave, but it made them feel less hungry.
“You’re going to wear a groove in your own skin,” Sarah said without looking up.She picked up another bone, examining its length.
“It’s itchy.Everything is itchy. The fur, my skin, my... insides.” Emily leaned back.The coarse moss was surprisingly comfortable, molded now to the shape of her body. “I feel like a giant, broiling tick.”
Sarah chuckled, a low, rough sound. “Charming.” She positioned the bone and struck it again.A clean break. “Almost done with the slats.Need to find something to lash them together. The sinew from the furs is too thick.”
“The tendrils,” Emily said, her engineer’s mind clicking online despite the constant, low hum of need. She pointed to the cave wall where the vein-like growths pulsed.“The smaller ones near the floor.They’re fibrous. We could peel them.”
Sarah glanced over, her eyes assessing. “Might be worth a try.” She set down her tools and wiped her hands on her fur leggings.“Come on.You need to move anyway. Your ankles will swell up like mushrooms.”
“They already look like mushrooms.” Emily grunted as she sat up, accepting Sarah’s outstretched hand. The touch, even this casual, sent a bolt of warmth through her. It was less sharp than the full tide of the aphrodisiac, a constant undercurrent now, a gravitational pull between them. She saw it flicker in Sarah’s eyes too—a dilation of the pupils, a slight flush on her weathered cheeks. It was just there.Another fact of their environment, like the twin moons.They moved to the cave mouth. The air was cooler here, tinged with the scent of ozone and damp stone. Sarah crouched, her strong fingers probing at the thinner, pencil-sized tendrils that crept along the seam where wall met floor.They gave under pressure, yielding a clear, gelatinous sap.
“Hold this,” Sarah said, passing Emily a bone slat. She took a sharp-edged flake of obsidian she’d scavenged and sawed at the base of a tendril. It came free with a soft snap.She peeled back the outer membrane, revealing a bundle of tough, white fibers underneath. “Well, look at that.”
“Alien twine,” Emily said, a ghost of her old smile touching her lips.
“We’ll take it.” Sarah worked efficiently, harvesting a dozen of the strands before the larger tendrils above began to pulse a warning, bioluminescent ripples traveling up their length.She stood, coiling the fibrous rope. “Let’s not piss off the wallpaper.”
Back at the pond, Sarah began the meticulous work of lashing the bone slats together. Emily tried to help, but her fingers felt clumsy, and Sarah gently took the piece from her. “You’re on supervision duty.Make sure my knots are up to code.”
So Emily watched. She watched the play of muscle in Sarah’s forearms, the专注 in her face. She watched the crib take shape: a simple, rustic rectangle, about three feet long. It was crude, but it was solid.It was the safest thing in their world.
The sudden dissolution of a section of the barrier made no sound, but the light changed.The low hum shifted in pitch.They both froze.
The Overseer stepped through.
It moved with an unnerving, fluid grace, its segmented limbs placing its weight with precise silence. Its cluster of eyes swiveled, taking in the scene: the half-built crib, the pile of bones, the two women caught mid-action. It held something—a sleek, oblong device of the same iridescent metal as the walls.
Sarah moved instinctively, putting herself slightly in front of Emily, her body tensed. Emily’s hand found the curve of her belly.The Overseer approached, not to them, but to the golden orb. It placed the new device beside it.A tap from one delicate, chitinous finger, and the device unfolded. It wasn’t a toy, not like the silver strapon had been. It was a basin, shallow and wide. A second tap, and a viscous, milky fluid began to seep from its bottom, filling it to a gentle brim.A clean, mineral scent rose from it.
The Overseer then turned its multifaceted gaze directly on Emily.It emitted a series of low, resonant pulses. A holographic image sputtered to life above its limb: a simplified human figure, lying in the basin, water covering its swollen middle. Then, the image of a small, wriggling form held in outstretched hands.“A bath?” Emily whispered, her throat tight. “It wants me to… bathe?”
The Overseer tilted its head, a gesture so eerily human it chilled her.It extended a limb towards the basin, then towards her.
“It’s a suggestion,” Sarah muttered, her voice tight. “Probably not a great idea to refuse.”
The heat was building in Emily again, a response to the Overseer’s presence or the sheer vulnerability of the moment, she didn’t know.Her skin felt tight, oversensitive. The idea of the cool liquid was suddenly a profound, physical craving. “I… I want to.”
Sarah’s jaw worked.She gave a single, sharp nod. “Okay.”
Emily walked to the basin, her movements ungainly.She stepped into the fluid. It was warm, not hot, and surprisingly silken against her skin. She sank down with a sigh that was almost a sob, the water supporting the immense weight of her belly, floating her.For a moment, the itch was gone. The pressure was gone.She was just… suspended.The Overseer watched, its eyes recording every nuance. Then it turned to Sarah. It pointed to Emily in the bath, then to Sarah, then made a slow, smoothing motion with its limbs.Sarah understood. Her protective scowl deepened, but she knelt at the side of the basin. She dipped her hands into the milky fluid and began to wash Emily.Her touch started clinical, scrubbing at the dirt on her shoulders. But under the Overseer’s unblinking gaze, under the influence of the warm fluid and the constant pull between them, it changed.Her hands slowed.They became a caress. She washed Emily’s neck, the slope of her freckled shoulders, the swell of her breasts with a reverence that made Emily’s breath catch.Emily leaned into it, her head lolling back.Her eyes closed. The rational part of her screamed that this was a performance, a sanitized exhibit of maternal care for the watching aliens.But her body, her rewritten psyche, didn’t care.This was Sarah. This was care.This was love, filtered through a nightmare, but real nonetheless.
Sarah’s hand drifted underwater, over the tight drum of Emily’s stomach.The baby kicked against her palm. Sarah’s breath hitched. She looked up, not at the Overseer, but at Emily’s face.Her eyes were fierce, watery. “You’re doing so good,” she murmured, the words only for Emily. “Just hang on.”
The Overseer emitted a final, approving hum.It turned and melted back through the barrier, which sealed seamlessly behind it.
The moment it was gone, the spell fractured.Sarah’s expression shuttered. She pulled her hands from the water as if burnt.“Come on,” she said, her voice rough. “Let’s get you out before you prune.”
Emily stood, water sluicing off her fur loincloth, feeling strangely bereft.Sarah wrapped a dry hide around her, briskly rubbing her arms. The gentleness was gone, replaced by a pragmatic efficiency.
“The crib’s done,” Sarah said, nodding to the finished bone structure.It looked small and impossibly fragile under the vast, humming sky.
Emily looked from the crib to the bathing basin, then to the glowing orb. A luxury, a necessity, and a beacon.All provided.All part of the set.
“They’re setting the stage,” Emily said, her voice flat.Sarah followed her gaze, her face a mask of grim acceptance. “Yeah. So we’d better learn our lines.” She pulled Emily close, not for passion, but for stability.A fleeting, solid anchor in the liquid uncertainty. “And we don’t let them write the ending.”