Page 32 of Aliens Love Curves

The pad chimes softly, the door sliding open with a whisper of hydraulics.

My breath catches. Why would I have access to a restricted area?

Beyond the door, a sterile corridor stretches into darkness. The air carries a sharp, medical scent that makes my skin crawl. My footsteps echo differently here – hollow, as if there's space below.

The corridor opens into a larger area, and I have to stifle a gasp. Medical pods line the walls, their monitors casting a sickly blue glow. Most are empty, but three... three are occupied.

I approach the nearest pod, my heart in my throat. Through the frosted cover, I can make out a form – humanoid, but changed. The limbs are longer than natural, the skin a mottled colour that speaks of genetic manipulation.

A soft sound from the pod makes me jump. Are they conscious? Aware? The thought turns my stomach.

"Fascinating, isn't it?"

Harlan's voice freezes me in place. I turn slowly, finding him standing in the doorway, his cerise skin almost luminescent in the pod-light.

"What have you done to them?" My voice comes out steadier than I feel.

He approaches with that liquid grace I once found attractive, now sinister. "Done to them? My dear Casey, we're saving them."

"Saving them?" I gesture to the twisted form in the pod. "They're deformed!"

"They're evolving." He reaches past me to stroke the pod's surface almost lovingly. "There was an accident in one of our prototype tests – a virus that attacks pilot genetics, attempting to enhance them for better performance. These brave souls..." He sighs dramatically. "Their families begged us to help. With our advanced medical facilities, we're their only hope."

The lie is beautiful in its construction. Plausible, even. But I've seen the files, the pattern of disappearances going back years.

"And you just happened to have facilities equipped for genetic manipulation?" I keep my voice curious rather than accusatory.

"Quickening Gliders believes in being prepared." His hand moves from the pod to my arm, the touch making my skin crawl. "Your concern for your fellow pilots is admirable, Casey. It's one of the things that makes you so... special."

The way he says 'special' confirms my suspicions. This isn't about helping anyone – it's about creating something. Or someone.

"Speaking of special," he continues, his thumb drawing circles on my arm, "the shareholders were extremely impressed with your last test flight. The way you handled those gravitational anomalies... it was almost as if you were genetically predisposed to excel."

I force myself to lean slightly into his touch, playing my part even as bile rises in my throat. "You really think I have what it takes?"

"Oh, my dear." His smile shows too many teeth. "I think you have exactly what we need. Your unique physiology, your natural talents... with just a few small enhancements, you could beextraordinary. Come. Let’s get you out of here and back to bed. You have a busy day tomorrow.”

“Yes,” I nod, my reply barely audible as I drag my eyes away from the lifeless bodies in the pods.

Harlan’s hand cups my elbow and guides me in silence back to the door my ID pass allowed me access into. I glance at his profile, his face is emotionless, but I can see his brain ticking behind his eyes. I just hope I haven’t messed things up by coming here. My mind swirls as I try to think of a reason for my snooping as the door swooshes open.

I open my mouth, hoping whatever comes out of it will sound plausible, but before I speak, movement on the other side of the doorway catches my eye. Stryker stands there, his expression carefully neutral despite the tension evident in his tail.

"There you are," he says, his voice carrying just the right note of exasperated concern. "Sleepwalking again?"

I blink, catching on to his improvisation. "Was I?"

"Saw her leave the apartment so I quickly dressed and followed at a distance," Stryker explains to Harlan, moving closer. "Didn't want to wake her – heard somewhere it's dangerous to wake sleepwalking humans."

Harlan's hand tightens briefly on my arm before releasing me. "How fascinating. I wasn't aware humans exhibited such behaviour."

"Oh yes," Stryker continues smoothly. "Quite common, especially under stress. Competition anxiety, I expect."

"Indeed." Harlan's eyes narrow slightly. "Well, we can't have our star pilot wandering into restricted areas in her sleep. Perhaps we should both escort her back to her quarters?"

"I'll handle it," Stryker says quickly – too quickly.

Something dark flashes in Harlan's eyes. "I insist on helping. After all, we wouldn't want her to... get lost again."