Xenogenesis

January 3, 214 CY

15:49

“Looks like Subject 19 is coming to."

Dr. Tanea Young set aside her analysis and swept a hand over her workstation display. The graphs and charts swept to the side, replaced by a video feed of a small holding cell. Just as her colleague had indicated, the young woman secured in the cell was awake; probably shouting, judging from her face, though the feed included no audio. Strapped tightly to a chair, the subject wasn't going anywhere, but that didn't stop her from trying.

“Thank you." Young stood. A clipboard holding the subject's dossier was on her desk; she took it up as she pushed her chair in. “Is the GCA-13 ready?"

Seated across the office, her colleague leaned back in his chair and flipped through several screens on his display. “Looks like. Fabrication has it ready to go."

“Good. I'll get it on the way."

"Not wasting any time, huh?"

“The sooner we get her integrated, the sooner we see results."

He grinned. “Always the hard worker. Don't let me stop you."

“Thank you. I won't." With a gesture, Young deactivated her workstation and departed her office.

The holding cells were located at the far end of the station, closer to the dock than the labs; it was a fair walk, but she took it at a brisk pace. In truth, she was eager to get Subject 19 integrated. It had been several months since they'd had a new subject, and the additional data would be useful.

She stopped at Fabrication on the way; they had been informed of her arrival, and a hypospray with the compound was ready for her the moment she walked in the door. Two pages of paperwork and five minutes later, she was well on her way to Subject 19's cell.

There were not many cells on the station; they were only ever temporary, for new subjects prior to processing and – rarely – for unmanagably unruly individuals. It had been a very long time since anyone had been unmanagable. But as she opened the door to 19's cell, Young reflected that it might be approaching that time again.

“Fuck you!" The door hadn't even opened the whole way before 19 began to shout. “Let me go!"

Young lifted her brows, but otherwise did not respond. Most subjects began their stay as hostile and demanding, with varying degrees of aggression. This was nothing new. She pulled up the only other chair present in the cell and sat down across from 19, legs crossed.

“You think you're fucking cool, huh?" The girl lunged against her bindings. Both wrists and ankles were secured to her chair with hinged manacles, and a broad, durable cargo strap crossed her abdomen for good measure. “You don't scare me!" Her words were slightly slurred: a side-effect of the drugs that had kept her unconscious for transport.

Young adjusted her glasses and fixed her eyes on the girl. She was slender on the verge of skinny, red-haired, and she might have been ruggedly pretty if not for a face flushed with rage. “I can and will sedate you, if you –“

“Fuck your sedation! I want a lawyer!"

Young sighed and stood. From her coat pocket she fished out a small hypo that she kept on herself at all times, one that didn't require special paperwork to procure. As 19 kept shouting, Young seized her by the hair and pulled her head to the side, exposing her neck to the hypo. Seconds after the quiet hiss of injection, the thrashing girl's movements began to slow. The sedative was effective on its own; combined with the aftereffects of her prior drugging, 19 would not be able to muster the necessary psychomotor strength to resist.

Young seated herself again and took up the clipboard. “Now, then. Are we ready to cooperate?"

The sedative acted quickly; within 45 seconds her movements had all but ceased, her head sagging with her chin against her chest. Her lips worked silently for a time, mouthing words before she mumbled, “You can't… do this to me."

“Can and are. Let's see…" Young skimmed the dossier in her lap. 19's personal information was all there: name, age, address, education, criminal record. Coincidentally, she was also nineteen years old – close to the ideal age for integration into the project. The criminal record was a handful of meaningless juvenile delinquency charges. No major underlying medical problems. That last one was important: illness would render 19 unsuitable for the project.

Young nodded approvingly. All the pieces seemed to be in place. “I can tell you're very… independently minded," she said without looking up. “For your own sake, I advise you to check your impulses here. They won't help, but they can make everything considerably worse for you."

19 shook her head slowly. “They'll… someone has to know. Mom and Dad. They'll come and… and…"

“No one is coming." Young flipped through the papers in her lap. “In fact, it looks like your own parents received a sizable settlement." 19 emitted something like a strangled hiccup, and Young lifted her eyes briefly to catch the stricken expression on the young girl's face. “A very sizable settlement. I suppose everyone has their price."

Young stood and placed the clipboard on her chair. “As far as we're concerned, however, that's all immaterial. You're here now, and our first task is to prepare you for integration." She slid a hand around the hypospray with the GCA-13 in her pocket, index finger tracing the contours of the trigger.

19 blinked slowly. “Integration…?" Even through the haze of drugs, her eyes widened when Young drew the hypo. “No, no –“

The mumbling plea was all that 19 could manage; she didn't even toss her head as Young pushed her chin to the side to expose her jugular. Injecting a dose of GCA-13 sufficient to induce the desired effects would, combined with the sedative and the lingering longsleep drugs, probably render 19 all but catatonic for a time, but Young was confident that the medical effects would be temporary. She pressed the silvery head of the hypospray to 19's jugular and pulled the trigger.

The hypo hissed, and kept hissing as Young kept the trigger depressed. GCA-13 was not highly concentrated, and the entire volume of the ampoule would be necessary. 19 whined, afraid, and her knuckles whitened from her grip on the arms of her restraints. “S-stop," she slurred. “Please…"

Young did not stop until the hypo was empty. She deposited the spent hypo in her coat and took a step back to observe. The effects were as expected: shallow, rapid breathing in spite of the sedative, trembling in the arms and legs, flushed skin. Through dilated, blurry eyes, 19 sought out Young and mumbled, “What did you… do…?"

“I injected you with a metamorphic compound to prepare you for integration into the project. GCA-13's primary function is to induce radical changes in your reproductive system. Your germline cells will adapt to produce ova of a specific design, and your uterus will likewise see some alterations to facilitate implantation and support of non-human embryos. There are also ancillary hormonal adjustments and various other minor supporting changes."

As she spoke, 19's eyes widened in disbelief. “W-what? No, that's… that's not…" Between the revelation and the chemical cocktail in her bloodstream, she was having difficulty speaking.

“In about fifteen minutes, you will become permanently infertile with other humans. Over the next twenty-four hours, you will become fertile with…" Young pursed her lips; 19's head was sagging further. “Well, we'll discuss that when you're more alert." She wasn't sure if the subject heard her; the girl's chin rested against her chest, and her rapid breathing had slowed.

That was that. Young left the subject in her restraints and started back for her office. She would dispatch orderlies to clean up the subject and prepare her for integration; she wanted to begin as soon as possible, as soon as the GCA-13 had done its job. That meant readying the lab equipment, giving 19 a preliminary physical, and, most importantly, scheduling a time slot for Alpha.

Much to do, and little time in which to do it.

January 6, 214 CY

06:24

Young arrived at the induction lab early. The room was empty; the other technicians would not be arriving for half an hour, and the subject an hour after that. Banks of monitors and control panels ringed the outside of the room on a slightly raised platform. She took the steps up to her station and settled in with Subject 19's medical report.

The girl was in relatively good health. Traces of nicotine from a hair test; she had likely experimented with tobacco previously and found it not to her liking, judging from the lack of metabolites in the bloodstream. No evidence of illicit substance intake. Elevated cortisol levels over the long term, suggestive of a difficult home or work environment. Liver function normal, circulatory system normal, respiratory system normal.

Muscle tone was good and volume was within normal ranges, but the subject was slightly underweight at just over 45 kilograms. Young pursed her lips and made a note in the report margins; while the experiment would likely take care of that deficiency naturally, Young preferred not to leave matters to chance. They would make sure to bring 19 up to weight as soon as possible.

Most importantly, the subject's acceptance of GCA-13 was swift and thorough. Several of the previous subjects had shown difficulties in adapting, or incomplete metamorphosis necessitating further intervention. 19 had adapted so completely that she practically looked born that way. A bit of genetic serendipity, or the product of improvents in compound refinement? Young made another note: further testing recommended.

She skimmed the rest of the report as the first of the lab technicians arrived.

“Good morning, Dr. Young."

She glanced up from the report. “Good morning. Everything remains on schedule?"

“Yes. We'll run the usual calibrations and call in the subject when you're ready."

“Excellent."

Gradually the remainder of the technicians filtered in, and they set to work. A bristling array of scanners, monitors, and instruments mounted on articulated armatures surrounded a medical bed in the center of the room; the technicians tested them one by one. Only the bed's sturdy nylon straps and ratcheted buckles went untouched. That was a technology that required no second-guessing.

“All clear."

“Great." Young tapped a few keys on her display. “Young here. Is A-13 ready?"

A tinny voice came through the monitor. “Finally. Yes, he's more than ready. I'd be very pleased if you could take him off my hands."

Young smiled. “That sounds about right. Tell him ten minutes. We still have to get 19 strapped in."

“Patience isn't his strong suit. I'll pass it on." The voice sounded resigned.

“Thank you." Young cut the line and sent the signal to bring 19 in.

She entered on a gurney, escorted by a pair of muscular orderlies. She must have given them trouble to be restrained like that; indeed, from the moment they wheeled her into the lab, she twisted in her restraints. Only the sight of the medical bed in the center of the lab gave her pause, and then only briefly.

“Oh, fuck no. No fucking way."

19 continued to shout and squirm as she was rolled alongside the bed; she was not in a cooperative state, and one of the orderlies glanced up at Young questioningly.

Young nodded. “Go ahead."

He unclipped a device from his belt – an impulse neutralizer – and pressed the pair of metallic contacts on its edge to 19's neck. She squeaked and instantly went still and silent, eyes wide. She did not so much as twitch as the orderlies transferred her to the lab bed and strapped her in. The pair departed with the gurney, leaving the subject in Young's care.

Young tapped her monitor. An overhead lamp switched on, turning its bright glare upon the subject. Her eyelids twitched, and Young glanced to the technicians at her side. “Status?"

The man's eyes were fixed on his monitor. “She's coming out of it. No unusual effects."

Impulse neutralizers were brutally effective at interrupting nerve signals to voluntary muscles, but their effects were short-lived. Rarely, there would be complications from their use, but they were medically less risky than chemical sedatives, if more heavy-handed.

Below her, 19 slowly rolled her head from side to side, eyes regaining focus. She was quieter than before. No struggles, either. The impulse neutralizer had the additional benefit of being excruciatingly painful. It was usually effective at reducing noncompliance after subjects came to.

“What… what are you going to do?" An edge of fear in the voice.

Young adjusted her glasses. “We're going to impregnate you."

19's breath caught. “You're… what?"

"This is a breeding program."

“What… what the fuck?" Her breathing had become shallow, and her skin paled beneath the glare of the light.

Young looked over. “Anything unusual?"

The technician shook his head. “Cortisol rising. Slight drop in blood carbon dioxide levels. Well within normal stress response levels."

“Good." She stepped around her station and rested her hands on the railing around the observation platform. Below, 19 flexed her fingers and toes, looking fragile in her ill-fitting hospital gown. “You're aware of the existence of extraterrestrial biospheres, I assume. The native fauna is, of course, best adapted to living in them, and may possess advantages over humans even in cases where we can live there unaided. It's our goal to combine the best of both worlds."

The subject's brows knit in confusion, but gradually, realization dawned, and confusion melted away into disbelief. “You're going to… what, make me have aliens?"

“Genetically engineered hybrids, specifically."

19 was silent for a moment. Her eyes darted around the instruments surrounding her. “What is all this shit for, then? You couldn't use, like… a turkey baster?" Several of the technicians laughed.

Young shook her head. “No. The ultimate goal is to establish a stable, self-sustaining population without the need for technological intervention. We need data from natural methods. And we need to ensure that natural methods aren't compromised by vaginal trauma or your body's physiological responses."

The subject had gone white. “Trauma?"

Young's monitor beeped, and she diverted her attention back to her station. A-13 was approaching.

"What do you mean, trauma?"

Young confirmed the signal, and the lab's doors slid open.

A-13 was huge. Over two meters tall at a slouch, he had to duck to pass through the entrance. The only human thing about him was his body shape. Enormous spiraling horns framed a caprine head with six crimson eyes arranged in rows of three on either side of his snout. Broad shoulders and a barrel chest supported enough muscle to bend steel, and powerful chargers' legs terminated in a pair of broad, polished hooves as wide as Young's outstretched hand. Black fur coated his body from horn to hoof, and a pair of lashing, muscular tails the circumference of her arm danced around his flanks like living whips, terminating in six-inch obsidian spines.

His eyes found the subject, and he grinned, baring a set of white, omnivorous teeth.

The subject began to shake her head, slowly at first, then with increasing vehemence. “No. No, no, no. Nuh uh. No fucking way. You can't."

A-13 paced forward, hooves clicking rhythmically on the lab's tiled floor. One hand was on his groin, stroking a nascent, black-fleshed erection that was already ominously proportioned. His target was showing signs of panic.

“Adrenaline spike, still nominal," a technician reported.

Young could see that. The subject was jerking against her restraints with increasing urgency. At this point, they were just a convenient formality: she wouldn't be able to fend off A-13 even if she were free. And armed.

With one hand, A-13 casually loosed the ratchet securing one of the subject's ankles. Her first act was to kick him in the chest, which he absorbed seemingly without even noticing it. He loosed her other ankle without missing a beat.

19 sought out Young's eyes. “Are you just going to let him rape me?"

“Yes." Young paused, head tilted. “Well, I suppose whether it's rape is ultimately up to you. But he will inseminate you, yes."

“You… you're all fucking psycho!" She kicked her feet, but A-13 had both ankles in his hands now, and with the ease of tearing a sheet of paper he forced her legs wide. Her gown hiked up to her waist, exposing her, and his nostrils flared. He wasted no time in climbing up onto the medical bed atop her; it creaked under his weight, but held fast. “Stop it! Get off me!"

Other than her legs, splayed out at angles to either side of A-13's body, little of her was visible from Young's station beneath his enveloping embrace. He twisted one hand through her hair for grip and pulled her head back and chin up. His tails snaked downward to either side to coil around the bed's legs for grip. “How can you just sit there?! Please, I'm sorry! Tell him to –“

A-13's hips moved, and Subject 19's words cut off in a squeal. She drew in a ragged breath, but no sooner had she taken it than he thrust again, further. Her legs jerked sharply. “O-oh God! Fuck! Oww, oww, s-stop! It hurts!"

He did not stop. Even if they had ordered him to, she doubted he would listen at this point. A-13's base species was notoriously territorial and aggressive. He was mellow enough not to need a heavy hand in guiding him, but his instincts were particularly strong in the midst of coupling. It served their purposes well enough.

One of the technicians spoke up. “Elevated pulse, oxygen levels… sufficient, hormones still in acceptable range."

Young nodded. The spike at the beginning was always the most severe, and the most they needed to keep an eye on. Things would level out after this. “All right. Keep an eye on it." She continued to watch the scene unfolding while the technicians themselves turned to talk amongst themselves, only occasionally glancing over at the vitals monitors ensuring Subject 19's relative health.

A-13 had quickly built up a rhythm. He never had patience for foreplay or a gradual build of sexual pace; with each subject he had demonstrated rapid entrance into a deep and sustained rut. Curiously, unlike his base species, he appeared to have quite a bit more sexual stamina, and would sometimes spend up to twenty minutes at full speed.

A groan emerged from beneath him as he pounded away at 19. “He's too big, oh God, oh God, I can't… I can't…" Young pursed her lips and swiped a few fingers over her monitor. A sensor strobe flickered briefly across the rutting pair, and the results streamed by in front of her. Minor vaginal tearing. Nothing that wouldn't heal in a day or two, and she would soon adapt to it. Young also noticed the beginnings of several contusions along the subject's pelvis and inner thighs. Nothing to be concerned about. Most subjects came away from A-13 bruised, and to date it had not impacted their fertility.

The bed creaked rhythmically, shaking on its struts, and as 19's verbal protestations faded away into subvocal groans, the wet sound of bodies impacting grew audible. They'd had to invest in reinforced medical beds after A-13's initial forays ended up breaking the originals. The sounds of scraping metal occasionally drew glances from the technicians, but mostly they left Young to watch the pair. She caught snippets of conversation about sports.

A-13's body rose and fell in a ferocious, enthusiastic rhythm for well over 15 minutes. Young watched the tensing and loosing of his muscles beneath his black pelt, watched as his gripping tails used the bed itself for leverage to thrust him forward into the subject with greater force and speed than his thighs alone could manage. He had tucked his snout in against her neck, giving Young a glimpse of the subject's tear-streaked face as his hot breath fluttered her hair about in turbulent gusts.

She had grown very quiet, aside from a continuous, low-key whine that spiked with each of A-13's thrusts. Her vitals showed all the hallmarks of an ongoing terror response, but they had not spiked again since the initial burst.

Young could tell when A-13 was nearing the finish. His already frenetic pace became erratic and urgent, and the creaking bed groaned in irregular protests. One of the technicians picked up on it as well, and slid his chair back over to his station. Perhaps 19 could tell, too: she grew more animated, first squealing, high-pitched and pained, then, as A-13's thrusts neared their apex, she moaned, “Please don't let him… tell him to pull out! Not inside me, please not inside me, I-I can't –“

A snarl erupted from A-13 and he bucked a final time, then grew very still, aside from tiny little twitches as his body trembled, tight-muscled. 19 cried out, head tossing. He held himself there above her for long seconds.

“And that's a nut," the technician at Young's side announced. The others laughed; she rolled her eyes.

“Please."

He grinned up at her. “Sorry, Doctor. But, yes, looks like insemination is complete. Doubt we'll have any problems with a volume like this."

A-13 had relaxed and was pulling himself back off of the subject. She lay slumped upon the bed, arms still stiiff at her sides in their restraints and legs splayed wide, unmoving. A copious volume of heavy white semen spilled from between her thighs and trailed out in a drooling line along the bed toward where A-13 stood at its edge. Thin streaks of blood cut through the liquid like a zebra's stripes.

“Thank you, Alpha," Young called down to him. He looked up at her with a grin. “Good work as always."

“I liked this one." His voice was like listening to gravel in a tumbler. Young liked it. Many of the subjects did also, after they had overcome their terror of him.

“I'm glad. She'll be joining us for the long run, so I'm sure you'll be able to see her again." A little whine went up from 19; she was not so poleaxed as to have missed the remark. “For now, please go clean yourself up. We still need to finish up with the subject."

A-13 gave 19's ankle a suggestive squeeze before departing, hooves clicking on tile. For once, the subject did not respond to the contact.

When he was gone, Young initialized the final step of induction. As she tapped and slid fingers across her station, one of the armatures near the subject's bed whirred to life. It unfolded smoothly, revealing a long, fine needle at the tip of a liquid reservoir. A thin tube emerged from the reservoir's rear and snaked around the length of the armature to eventually disappear among the tangle of technology.

19's inhaled sharply when she saw the needle rise into view. On the monitor, her heart rate jumped. “What… what is that?" Her voice sounded small.

“A synthetic hormone that will induce ovulation."

The needle approached closer, armature shifting its angle to direct the point toward the subject's side. The point of injection would be near the ovaries. 19 flinched as it moved, but her waist remained securely bound despite her freed legs.

“What happened to natural?"

Young pursed her lips. “Yes, well… full establishment of a natural cycle will take place after we verify the effectiveness of insemination in the first place. This is just to speed up and guarantee the conditions for the initial test." At her command, the injection armature approached 19's side and shifted several times left and right in preparation. “Please be still."

One command later, the syringe struck, stabbing like a coiled viper, spearing through the thin gown and striking deep beneath the subject's skin. She squealed and tensed, chin lifting, eyes wide, and the armature adjusted for her movements with precise, mechanical twitches. A quiet hum emanated from the machinery, and the fluid reservoir filled with a pale yellow liquid. The compressor engaged, and the compound shot into the subject's body.

“You may feel a burning sensation, or twitching at the small of your back," Young remarked off-hand as she watched the vitals monitor. “That is normal." She cut off the injector at the proper volume, and retracted the armature with the swipe of a finger. It withdrew from the subject's body, slowly dripping hormones onto the bed, then folded itself back into its original position.

19 did not reply, though she had begun to curl and uncurl her toes. Heels dug into the bed, pressing furrows into the padding. Her nostrils were flared with the depth of her breathing. Two minutes passed, Young tapping her foot as she waited. The hormone should work quickly, and with how responsive the subject had been to initial treatments –

19 suddenly twitched, and her eyes tightened.

Young leaned forward. “Is that it?"

The technician at her side worked his monitor, and a set of scanners swept panes of blue light over 19's abdomen. He leaned forward, squinting, then nodded firmly. “Yeah, looks like we got it. More than one, I think. Hard to tell on the scanner, this soon."

“One is more than enough. We just need confirmation."

The voice from the bed was quiet, now, almost a whine. “What's… going to happen to me?"

Young switched her monitor off and stepped down from the observation platform, crossing to where Subject 19 remained strapped down. “In about half an hour, you will be fertilized. Anywhere from four to six days from now, the embryo will implant in your uterus, beginning a roughly three-month pregnancy cycle." She folded her arms thoughtfully, fingers drumming on her bicep. “The species that just bred you has a fairly short gestational cycle, and that seems to have carried over into the engineered form. It's a boon to our testing."

Tears welled at the corners of 19's eyes. “Fuck… fuck your testing. I don't want to be a… a mother…" There was no vehemence in her voice any more.

“Too late for that, I'm afraid. The biological machinery is already in motion. We couldn't stop it if we wanted." Young shrugged. “I suggest you make the most of it. You will be a mother many times over before our work is finished." She checked her watch. Almost 0900. “I'm heading to my next appointment," she called up to the technicians still on the observation platform. “You can wrap things up here. Collate the observational data and forward them to my office, please."

“Aye, Doctor."

Young looked down a last time at the subject. Her head lolled, wet eyes turned stubbornly away. There was nothing more to do for now. Young departed, leaving the silently weeping girl behind her.

Such was the way of things.

January 11, 214 CY

14:11

Subject 19 sat quietly with her hands in her lap, eyes fixed on the floor in front of her. She had become more managable after her insemination, though she was also exhibiting multiple depressive symptoms. Poor appetite, lack of sleep, and exaggerated responses to abrupt simuli consistent with post-traumatic stress.

Everything was proceeding as expected.

Young sat across from her in an office chair, legs crossed and a datapad situated in her lap. A lone technician operated the scanning equipment that surrounded 19's reclining chair. Though some of her colleagues had expressed concern, 19 was not restrained for the examination. Young had long familiarity with how this arc went. She anticipated no trouble from 19.

“Your health markers remain good," Young said, skimming her pad. “I understand you haven't been feeling well, but there's nothing physically wrong with you – at least nothing permanent or untreatable." The contusions from the insemination had grown ugly and greenish in the intervening days, but they were hidden beneath 19's yellow jumpsuit. It suited her much better than the gown.

The subject averted her eyes to the side and wrinkled her nose. “Except for… for what you did to me. This fucking…" Her hand twitched, wavered toward her stomach as if she meant to touch it, then pulled back abruptly.

“Pregnancy isn't a disease."

“No. You are."

Young pursed her lips, but ultimately chose to leave the remark unanswered. “Please lean back for the scan." 19 sulked, but as the reclining chair began its descent, she ultimately settled back into it to stare at the ceiling. Anywhere but at Young herself.

“Please understand it's in my best interest to ensure nothing happens to you –“

“You raped me." The subject's fingers clenched against the chair's armrests, white-knuckled.

“Nothing happens that will threaten the project's viability," Young continued. “And that means your health and well-being."

19 said nothing. Young nodded to the technician, who initiated the scan. A grid of blue lights emerged from a pair of chair-mounted apparatuses and swept back and forth on perpendicular axes. They persisted for several seconds, pausing periodically and adjusting their angles.

The technician's console beeped. “Huh."

Young raised her brows. “What is it?"

“She's implanted, all right. I'm reading three embryos."

19 sat up so quickly she nearly banged her head on the scanner. “Fucking what?"

Young ignored her. “Three? Are you certain?"

“I know it's weird, but here – take a look." The technician initiated a data transfer, and gradually the results of the scan streamed to Young's datapad. “You tell me if that's not a hat trick."

It was. Three separate embryos were clearly visible in the scan; Young had seen enough of these to know there was no concern about false positives. “Fascinating. I wonder if we've inadvertently discovered a breakthrough." She looked up to Subject 19, who was staring back incredulously.

“What do you mean, three? I'm… going to have triplets?"

“Yes, it looks like that."

“Oh, shit." She leaned back into the chair, hands coming to her stomach.

“This is unexpected, but excellent news," Young said. “Most subjects only have one at a time, with occasional twins. This is the first triple we've seen. We'll have to see if there are genetic factors, or…" She trailed off, already queueing up possible causes in her notes. “Could you put Subject 19 in for… let's start with three additional cycles before the species shift?"

“Wait, what? Species shift? Cycles?" 19 was sitting up again, arms wrapped tightly under her breasts.

“Yes, normally after we confirm the viability of reproduction with one species, we cycle to the next in the list. A-13's species is only one of them."

“Oh… oh my God. How many are there?" Young recognized the slowly dawning horror on 19's face.

“I don't remember how many we're up to. Forty or so have been sequenced sufficiently for engineering, and we've actually done work on…" She tapped her fingernail on her datapad thoughtfully. “Was XS-1035 the fifteenth or sixteenth?"

“Sixteenth," the technician answered.

“Sixteen, then. None of the species have formal names, yet. Alpha's is currently designated XS-1002, though I understand the pioneers unofficially call them 'chargers' on account of their temperament."

16 was drawing deep, slow breaths in an attempt to calm herself. “So… so what, you're going to rape me with… fifteen more aliens? You're so fucked up, I…" Tears, again.

“By the time we finish with all the currently engineered species, there will be more. Especially in your case, since I'm going to recommend you go several additional cycles with A-13 to determine whether this triplet is a fluke or some product of your genetics."

“How can you say it like that?"

Young hesitated, for just a moment, then shrugged. “Life is what it is. We do important work here. You'll come to appreciate that."

“Fuck you! I won't! God, fifteen, that's like…"

“About ten years, accounting for gestational differences. That's for the initial viability testing. There will be more later, but we'll discuss that when it comes time. You'll be working with us well through, and past, your period of prime fertility, suffice to say. Fortunately, we have access to rejuvenation treatments here that would be prohibitively expensive for someone of your means planetside."

“Are you saying…" 19 trailed off, eyes wide.

“Our project operates on an extended timetable." Young pursed her lips. “A very extended timetable." Centuries. Subject 19 would undergo rejuvenation more than once before the project even began to approach its goals.

As the subject placed her head into her hands, Young stood. “All you have to do now is stay healthy. The creche will do its best to take care of any needs you might have." To the technician, she added, “I'll send an orderly to collect her. Have you eaten lunch?"

“Not yet."

"Let's. I'm starving." The pair of them left Subject 19 behind, weeping into her hands. Young didn't look back.