Unnatural Instinct: Abduction

8.

You're asleep now.

If only I could be the same. I twist and turn in bed, unable to get you out of my mind. What is it about you? You're special to me as my subject, but not that special. My other two subjects are just as important to me and should mean just as much.

But why don't they? I think about you lying there in my laboratory, waiting for my return. I remember how you felt against me as you fell into my arms through the vent, how warm you skin was, how hot your breath felt against my face.

It's safe now. I've taken an extra-long steam bath tonight and I've inoculated myself. I've divested my body of any lingering germ of yours, but it means nothing when you've somehow driven yourself deeply into my mind.

My associates are right; you and your kind really are a disease.

I don't know how, but sleep eventually claims me.

The next day I'm resolute that I'll get my job done without any emotional interference. I work on my other two subjects first: cutting, snapping, crushing. Don't worry, it sounds harsh, but these two species can withstand most things, healing and regenerating themselves under the worst conditions.

When I finally do turn to you, you're awake. The others are awake too. They had watched helplessly as I 'studied' them. Just like you will.

I recall that I'd forgotten to take a sample of your reproductive lubricant yesterday. That'll be easy to remedy. Today, I'm going to push your body hard.

Your response is the same as yesterday. You moan as I stimulate your nipples with the vibratory forceps. You groan as I caress your body with the resonator. And when I place it hard on your clitoris, you cough and splutter and your lubricant flows between your wide-open legs into my waiting sample container.

One of my drones tightens the lid and I take it from him, raising it to the light as I twist it about. It's so different to the male discharge I helped sample so many years before. His had been much whiter and smellier. There had been something repugnant about it—even for a scientist as professional as me. Yours is different. 

Shaking my head, I hand the container back to my drone and pick up my pressometer. My study of you is far from over. Carefully I insert it, and just like yesterday you almost encompass it entirely. Pressing the resonator against your clitoris again, I wait for you to orgasm.

It doesn't take long. This time, I can see for myself how the walls of your vagina clench hard around the instrument. You almost seem to pull it further inside. Once the pressometer has finished reading, I stimulate you again.

And again and again.

You've orgasmed three times before I'm done with that part of my study. Easing out the pressometer, I then check the results. After handing the instrument over to my drones, I take a look at you. You don't look well: your cheeks are flushed, you're sweating under the arms and your eyes are sunken in. It seems even your kind has its limits. I notice that your mammary glands are heaving as your frightened eyes stare up at me.

I experience a little twist in the chest. I don't like the way you're looking at me. Ignoring it, I turn to my drones. 'Get my hydronic needle.'

While one goes to retrieve it, the rest set up my ultrasound machine. It's one of the machines above you, the long tube-like one with the orange light at the end. I have to see where I'm going in order to stimulate your ovaries to release their eggs. I could give you a chemical to make you ovulate more naturally, but this is faster. And I need to get you away from me as soon as I can.

Manual stimulation it is.

The drone returns, pushing along a trolley with a silver tray containing my needle. It's thirty centimetres long, thin and made of stainless steel. The end is attached to a cord leading to the villibrator that'll send vibratory waves into your pelvis.

I'll try my best not to hurt you, but I can't deny that it won't be painful, at least a little bit. And it won't matter if I put you to sleep, you'll still feel it. Then again, at least I won't have you looking back at me as you suffer.

I return to your trembling figure again. I don't understand why I do it, but I lift my shield so you can look at me. Maybe so you can see in my eyes that it's not something I want to do, but that it's something I have to do, for the good of my species.

Do you understand? It's hard to tell. A tear trickles down the side of your face. Quickly, I rest my hand against your forehead, and you shut your eyes.

'Let's begin,' I tell my drones.

It's a very precise process. I've learned from previous studies that the easiest way to achieve successful ovulation is to stimulate your ovaries through the walls of your uterus, which means I'll have to imbed the needle from the inside.

After the drones spend some time cleaning you up, I take a seat on a chair and they raise your bench up to the height of my eyes. I look inside you briefly but it's much too dark to see anything at all. So, I ask for the specula. Easing it inside you, I slowly widen the walls of your vagina with several clicks. There's a light attached to the end, allowing me to see clearly.

Your opening yawns at me. I can see you. I can see all of you. It's ironic to think that I now know you more intimately, at least physically, than any female of my own species. 

I proceed with my research.

With a steady hand, I grip onto the needle with a pair of long clamps and feed it inside you. The cord that attaches to the villibrator follows like a black worm. In and in I go until I reach the end of your channel. There, I slowly ease the needle into the wall of your uterus. I grit my teeth, taking my time.

Suddenly, you jerk, your legs pulling against the straps lashing you to the stirrups. I pause, thinking it just a reaction of your nervous system. But then you jerk again. Still holding the needle in place, I raise my head and ask the drones to check on you.

They tell me you've woken up and that you're leaking discharge from your eyes again. I shake my head. If you're awake, so be it, but I have to continue.

I ease in the needle further. My stomach turns at the sound of that choking in your throat. They're right; you're awake. But I keep going.

Finally, the needle is inserted far enough.

I pull out the forceps, leaving the needle inside you. 'Start the villibrator,' I tell my drones.

Lights flick on. I can hear it hum. I can't feel a thing—but you certainly do. Your choking gets worse. You jerk again in the stirrups. I stand and approach you and I see that your face is streaked with tears. They've wet your hair and when you gaze up at me imploringly, your eyes gleam like shards of glass.

I take a step back. 'Stop the machine,' I say in a voice that doesn't sound like mine.

The drones obey and instantly you stop jerking and choking. You're panting, though, gasping for breath, your breasts heaving.

'Out,' I say to the drones. 'All of you. Out!'

Again, they obey. I hear the whoosh of the door opening, then gently closing shut. And just like that, everything is different.