Alien Sex Attack
Catherine DeVore
Copyright 2012 Catherine DeVore
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I ran down the hallway, my boots clanking against the steel grate floor. I
winced at the sound, but I had to get out of there, and fast . The aliens
had spread through the ship far, far quicker than I’d thought possible. I
was the last one left untainted.
I tore the cover off an air duct, leaping inside. As I replaced the heavy
grate behind myself, I saw one of the aliens slink out from a side
corridor and move down the hallway, its eyeless head scanning left and
right, hunting for me. It paused near my location, oily black head
swinging from side to side. I held my breath, too afraid to move, as its
nostrils flared. After what felt like an eternity, it continued down the
hall, nails clicking against the hard floor. Relief suffused my body as it
disappeared around another corridor. Flipping on my wrist readout
screen, I pulled up a map of the ship’s ductwork, quickly charting a
course to the main bridge.
This whole disaster had started when my team had been dispatched to a
remote planet to salvage a wrecked military light cruiser. As a mineral
extraction specialist, my job was to pick through the fine pieces of
scrap, like circuitry and other internal parts, and determine what was
worth keeping for processing and recycling. Not quite the humanitarian
research career I’d envisioned when I was in university, but I’d
discovered that I craved the freedom and lawlessness of outer space. I
had been so excited to venture further into unclaimed territory beyond
Federation-sanctioned civilian routes that I hadn’t even noticed how
unusually heavily-armed our military escort was. I found myself deeply
regretting my obliviousness now.
When we’d landed, the away team had come back with what appeared
to be an egg. The planet we were on was supposed to be completely
incompatible with life, yet the egg seemed to be viable. Before we’d
even had a chance to get it to the research bay, it had hatched.
That’s when things went south.
The creature had immediately skittered into the heating mains of the
ship, its body growing even as we watched. The marines had launched a
hunt immediately, but by the time they’d found where the alien had
gone, it was too late. The creatures spat some kind of goo that . . .
changed people. It seemed to be some kind of pheromone attack. For
lack of a better way to describe it, it made people really, really horny.
Once they were subdued, the creature dragged them off and committed
unspeakable acts on their bodies, the formerly-resistant victims eagerly
shouting encouragement as they were violated.
We resisted, of course, but it was difficult. We learned quickly that the
alien could replicate on its own just as fast as it had hatched and grown
to adulthood. The ship was littered with eggshells—no matter how
many we smashed, more hatched. Even worse, the amniotic fluid within
the eggshells contained the same pheromone load as the aliens’ spit. I’d
seen a careless marine go from shooting eggs to writhing on the ground
moaning and fucking herself with her billy club within the span of five
minutes. Really, it was a miracle that I was left in control of my faculties
at all.
I shuddered, starting off through the duct system. I knew I couldn’t kill
all the aliens by myself. Even before the marines had been decimated,
they hadn’t managed to actually eliminate a single one, aside
Gary Chapman, Catherine Palmer