The Erotic Mind-Control Story Archive

Day 1

New Mexican Desert

Nights in the high desert are crisp like the snap of a glass rod. The shadows are so sharp that the eye almost waters. This night, like any other in the desert summer, was blessedly cool after the heat of the day. The moon was a mere sliver, allowing the full glory of the star-filled sky to shimmer down on Copper Cliff.

In clear air, the stars twinkle, flickering and pulsing to the rhythm of the miles of air moving between the viewer and themselves.

A handful of viewers saw the object flare to life in the upper atmosphere: night watchmen, a doctor on his way to work, lovers up well past their bedtime. The object hadn’t been visible while out among the stars, being too dark to reflect much light. Only when it hit the atmosphere did it burst into view, a bright streak plunging almost straight towards the earth.

Those who saw it watched it flare, then dim, then disappear entirely behind the sharp edge of the mountain. The lovers, the only people who even thought of finding it, reckoned that it had landed beyond the Rez, out in BLM land. Offroad and too far away for them to have any idea where it really was... if it had even survived. They went back to their amorous pursuits.

It had survived.

It had slept on the long, frozen journey to this planet, seen from so far away. Had it missed, it would have traveled forever, never knowing. Had the planet possessed no atmosphere, or an atmosphere too thick or too toxic, it would never have awakened. It was just a spore, a seed, sent by its mother like millions of others, each carefully aimed and then forgotten. Almost all would die.

But this one was the lucky one.

Here it would be Queen.

Day 45

Washington, D.C.

Washington in the summer is a study in contrasts: blue sky and green trees, hot air and cool marble, urban poor and world leaders. Yet despite her own dual nature, Miranda Vega was never entirely comfortable in that mix. The dreams of advancement that had once brought her east, now turned her thoughts west toward home.

Even her office reflected the split in her spirit: here a regulation gray filing cabinet, there a piece of Navajo pottery; here a crystal paperweight shaped like the Washington Monument, there a geode dug from a mine in Colorado; here a framed photo of herself and the President, there a row of family pictures, all from Arizona.

Then there were the photos of Cassie, with her sunny Mediterranean smile that, as often as not, shone through a face full of dust and sweat. Nothing made Cassandra Methoni happier than digging in the dirt. She’d even found a way to make a living out of it, by becoming a geologist. The USGS didn’t pay much, but Cassie loved her job. And it kept her out in the desert.

Miranda’s favorite picture of Cassie was the one she held now: the two of them at the bottom of the Grand Canyon, sitting on a rock, with their arms twined together and their heads thrown back in triumph. That was their senior year of college, when the two women had been lovers. Randy (Cassandra was one of the very few people allowed to call her that) could still envision them that way, their hair spread out between them on the pillow, black on black, curly on straight; their fingers interwoven through it all.

But Cassie, though sexually adventurous, had always been hetero at heart; and it was inevitable that the romance would cool. Today the women were best friends who pretended they’d never been more. Cassie had no problem with the pretense, and Miranda tried her best. It was better to have Cassandra in her life as a friend, than not to have her at all.

The thought brought Randy a pang of fear. She and Cassie had called each another faithfully once a month, ever since their graduation from Arizona State. Sometimes they spoke more often, but always at least once a month—until now. It had been almost eight weeks since their last call, and even Cassie’s parents hadn’t heard from her. She’d been working out of Copper Cliff for the past two years, but calls to her home went unanswered, and the local police apparently couldn’t be bothered to search.

The only one Randy had been able to contact was Cassie’s latest boyfriend, a Native American named Joseph Clearwater. According to him, they’d split up six weeks ago and hadn’t seen one another since. Not that they’d ended on bad terms, he added hastily. Cassie just couldn’t commit to a serious relationship. Tell me about it, thought Randy.

She’d run a background check on Joe after they hung up, but it only confirmed her instincts. Aside from a six-year-old Drunk and Disorderly, his record was clean. That didn’t mean he wasn’t a secret serial killer, of course, but something in Randy’s gut told her to look elsewhere.

In Copper Cliff.

The phone beeped, jarring Miranda out of her reverie. “Assistant Director Rohn,” read the LCD. She snatched up the receiver. “Yes, Sir?”

“Agent Vega?” growled her boss. Miranda ran a check against her mental catalog of Rohn growls and decided this one barely rated. She crossed her fingers.

“I’ve just finished reviewing your request for a leave of absence,” the A.D. said. “Four weeks is a lot to ask, especially on such short notice.”

Miranda squeezed her eyes shut. “I know it is, Sir,” she sighed. “But I might find out, once I get out there, that I don’t need that much time. Besides, don’t you want to know why the Copper Cliff police don’t want to investigate a disappearance?”

“You’re jumping to conclusions, Agent Vega.”

“I hope I am, Sir. But this is my best friend. I have to make sure she’s okay.”

“And you’re going to do so whether I give you leave or not. Am I right?”

Miranda looked at the plane tickets, lying on her desk in their red-on-white envelope. She struggled to keep her voice level. “Yes, Sir. I’ve got two week’s leave accrued already. If I need any longer than that, I’ll take time without pay.”

There was a long moment of silence. “I’d fire a lesser agent,” he said at last. “You’ve got four weeks.”

“Thank you, sir!” Miranda hung up the phone and pounded her desk in triumph.

Day 4 (a month and a half earlier)

New Mexican Desert

The egg shivered and tore. Two legs pushed their way out past the flap of casing, found a footing, and pulled out the body behind them. More legs quickly followed.

The Queen was pleased. These were Her first true offspring on this new world.

But not her first slaves.

When She had emerged from Her own shell, the one that had borne Her here, her first action had been to call for drones. She was swift and strong, true, but labor was for slaves. Her race was a race of Queens. She had reached out with Her mind, searching the miles around Her for subject wills.

Most of what she found did not hear Her. The small scaly things, some with legs and some without, ignored Her summons. So did the flying creatures above Her, and the larger, four legged creatures that slept in the valley below. There was a panoply of minds, a diversity surprising to Her. None of them heard.

No matter. They could be altered, made to hear. That was what She was for. She just had to feed, and grow. The Queen could produce offspring of a dozen different sorts, for all manner of tasks. Some as slaves and some to take slaves. But it would be hard, starting out alone....

Then she found them. They were smaller than she had expected, lesser, but they were there. A species—no, a diversity of species—very like Her own. And their minds were receptive. They heard Her call and came to Her, to do Her bidding.

Scurrying towards Her on their eight little legs.

Day 47

12:08 p.m.

Near Copper Cliff, NM

She had forgotten about the glare. Copper Cliff was a town of light, where packed dry earth the color of parchment reflected the sun back into the eyes. The sky was a fine china blue—darker than the ground, but no relief from the brightness. Miranda squinted.

She hadn’t come as FBI, she’d figured, so she’d left her regulation sunglasses in Virginia. And then she’d managed to leave her own, personal sunglasses in her car, back in long-term parking. Stupid, stupid, she chided herself. You grew up in this.

From one horizon to the other, the only darkness in sight was the road, fresh asphalt pointing like a beam of blackness straight towards Copper Cliff. The road was obviously federal, bridging arroyos at the least likely places, cutting through minor hills, anything to keep to its razor’s edge linearity. No state or county would have wasted money that way on a route to such a minor town.

It made her proud, in a way. Miranda liked working for the Bureau. She firmly believed that the government could be, should be, and usually was a force for good in the world. Doing the things that simply wouldn’t happen if people were left to their own devices. Like this road.

The rental car hummed along. Her head began to ache. On either side, identical vistas of sagebrush and tumbleweed crawled by, hills and mesas faded presences in the distance.

Slowly, one such mesa approached her on the left. It was old, crumbled at the edges, but still rose hundreds of feet from the desert floor. She could see the green tint that banded it even from the road.

That tint was what had led prospectors to the mesa, a hundred and twenty years ago. Their reward for sweating and digging in the desert heat wasn’t gold or silver, but copper. A good, rich vein that brought in a railroad track from Santa Fe and shunted tons of ore back to civilization, ore that became telegraph wires, stills, and pennies.

Ore from Copper Cliff.

The road finally curved, defeated by the mesa, and swung in a wide arc around the bulky landmass. On her way into town Miranda saw scores of abandoned diggings, which lay along a tiny creek on the opposite side of the road. The mines had been closed since the sixties, and the town now consisted of federal employees, some ranchers, and a handful of retirees.

And here, at last, was the town. Copper Cliff boasted a total of two paved streets and the connector streets between them: perhaps thirty inhabited blocks altogether. Dirt roads led up to the mesa and out into the badlands north of town. As far as pavement went, Copper Cliff was the end of the line.

Miranda had only been here once before, on a three-day visit that started with long hikes and ended with empty wine bottles and several hours of gentle, missing-you sex. It was the last time she’d slept with Cassie. Since then they’d met in Santa Fe, D.C., and once in San Antonio; but mostly they talked on the phone.

Miranda rubbed at her eyes. She had to get some sunglasses; her head was really starting to hurt. She pulled the car over at the grocery store, larger than a town this size seemed to merit. But of course, it supplied the ranchers in the outlying areas as well as Copper Cliff.

The first thing Miranda noticed, when she stepped out of the car into the heat of the afternoon, was the quiet. No sound anywhere—not a motor, not a voice, nothing. Frowning, she walked into the store.

The bell on the door jingled to announce her entrance, but no one was around. The lights were on, and the ice cream freezers and milk fridges hummed, but she couldn’t see a living soul.

“Hello?” she called out.

What was going on? Had there been an evacuation?

A search of the aisles turned up no human beings, but at least she found the rack of sunglasses. She took the pair that seemed least stuck in the seventies and headed back to the registers.

If Miranda expected a clerk to magically appear, she was disappointed. The store was as empty as ever.

She tapped the sunglasses on the counter a moment, thinking. Damn, she could just loot the registers and walk out! Either this town was a lot more laid back than she remembered, or something very unusual was going on.

Miranda stepped towards the exit, sighed, turned to put the glasses down on the counter, and then walked outside.

The streets were still empty. Parked cars, but no people visible anywhere. Copper Cliff was a ghost town.

But there weren’t any notices. Any sirens. What was going on? Had there been some sort of epidemic?

At last she spotted a car, rolling down the street at maybe five miles an hour. Miranda stepped to the curb, strangely reassured by the weight of the pistol under her jacket.

It was a police car, Miranda realized as the vehicle drew closer. Maybe there really had been an evacuation.

The driver was a woman with a flat-brimmed trooper’s hat on her head. She pulled alongside Miranda, stopped, and for a long moment simply stared at the visitor. At last she opened her door and stepped out.

“Hello,” said Miranda, when the officer seemed disinclined to speak.

The sheriff was pretty, somewhere in her thirties, her sandy hair cut to the shoulders. A long streamer of spider silk had caught on her hat and fluttered in the slight breeze. The lenses of her sunglasses contained two little reflections of Miranda.

Finally, she spoke. “Can I help you?”

Miranda blinked. “Um,” she tried, “Has something happened here? Has the town been evacuated?”

The sheriff regarded her coolly from behind her mirrored glasses, making Miranda curse herself again for her own lack. She should have just taken the ones from the store. Left a note.

“No,” said the cop. “The town has not been evacuated.”

“Oh.” Miranda had begun to feel obscurely embarrassed by the quickness of her own responses. “I... there’s no one in the store.”

Pause.

“I see,” said the sheriff. “I guess you’ll have to come back later.”

“I guess. Um... is Copper Cliff usually this empty?”

The cop paused even longer over this question, as though it required deeper thought. “No,” she said at last. “Copper Cliff is not empty.”

A flicker of movement caught Miranda’s eye. Turning, she saw doors opening up and down the street, and people stepping out to look at her. It was almost as though they’d been hiding, and now that the sheriff had vetted her, they felt safe to come out.

But they just stared at her. Women, children. A few men. All of their faces blank and unfriendly.

She turned back to find the sheriff hadn’t moved.

“Um... right. Great. I’ll just be going, then.”

She turned to her car, and just when she expected it—one one-thousand, two one-thousand, three one-thousand—the sheriff replied.

“Going where?”

Miranda turned back. “I’m visiting a friend. Cassandra Methoni,” she added, not wanting to wait three seconds only to hear ‘who?’ “We’re old friends.”

She waited for a response but didn’t get one.

“Right. Nice talking to you.”

Miranda walked back to her car and slid into the drivers’ seat. Still no sunglasses. She started the engine and slowly rolled past the sheriff, standing in the street as before. The woman turned in place, watching her drive off—as did the people standing in front of their houses. One by one they pivoted as Miranda drove past them.

“This place is seriously fucked up,” Miranda muttered to herself. She started to chuckle, then frowned instead. No wonder the police were no help.

I just hope they haven’t hurt Cassie.

Day 17 (one month earlier)

10:04 a.m.

Outside Copper Cliff

Cassandra Methoni sat on her stoop and watched the world go by.

It didn’t go by very fast, out here.

A couple of white clouds, looking out of place, skidded across a far corner of the sky. In town, some cars moved around. A tractor puttered across the patch of irrigated land across the creek. When the wind blew, her chimes jingled lightly.

Cassandra was trying not to think about Joe. He’d wanted to move in, or have her move in with him. Either would have been fine with him. But she’d pushed him away. Cassie sighed, leaning back in her rocking chair. She wasn’t a bad person. She just liked things... informal. Why did everyone want commitment?

But it was a Sunday, and she wasn’t thinking about Joe. She glanced at her book, sitting next to a dewy glass of diet Mountain Dew, then looked back out at her chunk of the world.

It was a nice chunk.

And here came someone across it. A familiar car had just turned into the driveway, trailing a plume of dust like the train of a wedding gown.

Oh, great analogy, Cassie, she chided herself.

Sheriff Lane pulled her car in behind Cassie’s Land Rover and the dust cloud caught up with glee, coating both cars in powder. Whatever had brought Martha out to see her, it couldn’t be too urgent—or the sheriff would have stepped out before the dust settled.

Instead, Martha opened the door after an appropriate wait and swung her long legs to the ground. Cassie waited, sipping her Mountain Dew and enjoying the sheriff’s tight uniform pants and knee-high boots as she came around to the porch.

“Howdy, Sheriff. Care for a drink?”

“Thanks, Doctor Methoni, but I haven’t the time. I’m just here to ask a favor.”

“Sure thing. Take a seat.”

She gestured at the other rocking chair, but Martha waved her away. “Can’t,” she demurred. “I hate to impose, Cassie, I know it’s your day off. But,” she sighed and ran a hand under her hat, “we’ve got a missing child.”

Cassie sat up. “Oh no. Who is it?”

“Jennifer Escobar.”

She called the girl’s face to mind. “She’s sixteen, right? What happened?”

“She disappeared from her room last night. The window was left open, and we’ve found some tracks leading up to the Mesa.” Martha looked up at the expanse of cliff behind Cassie’s house. “We think she wandered up there, maybe fell into a shaft.”

“So she wasn’t kidnapped or anything.”

Martha made a face. “Well.... we’re not sure. Only her footprints, but there are... scuffmarks. And her prints are strange, too, not like she was walking. So we’re not sure. It doesn’t look like an abduction, though.”

“Wild animal?”

“None that I’ve ever seen. It’s damn well not a panther or a wolf, or anything else I’ve heard of, for that matter. We’re thinking she was carrying something, maybe, that made weird drag marks. And you know what tracking can be like on the hardpack around here.”

“Yeah.” Cassie pressed her lips into a determined line. “Okay, let me get on my boots, and I’ll help look.”

“Well, I sure appreciate that. If you’d just check around behind your house, look in all the likely caves. Especially the Bolthole. I’ve got Blake and some other folks already working over the area down by the tailings, but no one as qualified a spelunker as you.”

“Sure thing. I’ll go right now.”

“Thanks a lot, Cassie. We’ll find her; I just hope it’s not in a heap at the bottom of some shaft.”

“Me too.”

Day 47

1:03 p.m.

Cassie’s cabin was about a mile outside Copper Cliff, counter-clockwise from it on a lower slope of the mesa. Although it was small, it offered a great view, and Cassie had always appreciated the solitude of the place.

Miranda pulled around the greenish, person-size boulder that marked the end of the driveway. There was Cassie’s yellow Range Rover, the lower half crusted with chunks of mud from the last rainfall, the upper half garnished with a layer of dust that tried and failed to dim the banana yellow of the vehicle. Miranda parked behind it.

The wind chimes jingled softly as she walked up onto the porch. Her footsteps sounded hollow on the well-maintained wood. The rocking chairs sat empty.

She knocked on the door, but as she expected, no one answered. She tried the handle.

It was open.

That wasn’t much of a surprise; Cassie never locked her doors. “Around here,” she said, “if someone really wants in, they’ll break a window. No one would come all the way out here to steal something and then give up because of a simple lock. So why bother?”

Tsk-ing at the memory, Miranda stepped into the house and called out a greeting. It wasn’t answered, of course. The air conditioning was off, and only the height of the ceiling kept the cabin cooler than outdoors.

Miranda checked each room quickly but efficiently. The house was as empty as it had first appeared, but nothing was missing. Nor did it seem that Cassie had had company. She’d had twenty-two unheard messages, though, according to her answering machine.

On the desk beside the phone lay a note in Cassie’s round, clear script: “Carmela—have gone to Bolthole to look for Escobar girl. Back before dark.—Cassie”

There was no date, but the edges of the note had turned yellow.

Well. It was too obvious to be what they in the Bureau would call a “clue,” but at least it gave Miranda her next step. She remembered the cave called the Bolthole: Cassie had taken her there the last time she’d been to Copper Cliff. It wasn’t very far, as she recalled, though it might be hard to find based solely on memory.

She started for the door and paused, noticing the small basket nailed to the frame. This was where Cassie kept all the little things she might need as she bustled out of the house: keys, a pack of chewing gum, postage stamps. And sunglasses.

Miranda picked them up. “Great. Sunglasses. I’m going into a fucking cave, and now I find the sunglasses.” She sighed. Then she headed for her car.

Day 17 (one month earlier)

10:58 a.m.

Cassandra picked her way around the rocks below the cave. She’d driven the five minutes to the mesa from her cabin—might as well have the Rover handy in case she needed a winch. It shone bright yellow on the flat ground below.

Start with the highest probability, Cassie told herself. And that was the Bolthole. You couldn’t see it from the town, or even from the dirt road that ran up to it, but the cave was a popular teen hangout. Cassie had explored it, too, on general principle when she’d first moved into the area. The Bolthole was neither the easiest nor the most difficult cave system she’d been in, but it was one of the least interesting. No stalactites, no flowstone, no water—just miles of winding, dirty tunnels.

It was also fairly extensive. A thorough check could take Cassie several hours, so she’d left her housekeeper a note telling her where she was going. It wasn’t unusual for Cassie to disappear for days on the trail of some geologic feature, and Carmela was always annoyed to find the house empty when she expected Cassie to be home.

At the cave entrance, Cassie stopped to put on her helmet, kneepads, and gloves. Cool air wafted out of the hole and she breathed deeply, enjoying the scent. Then she flipped on her helmet light and stepped inside.

The first few caverns, with floors flattened by miners who’d camped in the cave long before, contained nothing but graffiti and broken glass. But beyond them the caves quickly became bent, rocky holes in the ground. Cassie picked the most likely passage, turned sideways, and wiggled in.

She’d gone maybe a quarter of a mile when she heard the noise. She stopped and held her breath to better hear. There it was again, a faint but definite voice:

“Help.... me....”

That had to be the Escobar girl, and she sounded like she was in pretty bad shape. She must have fallen down a shaft, but at least she was alive. “Jennifer?” Cassie called. “Is that you? Hold on, Jennifer! I’m coming!” Crawling forward, she hit her helmet on the ceiling, grunted, then readjusted and pushed through a tight passage in a military crawl.

“Please....” the voice drifted by her.

“I’m coming!” Cassie called again. Poor kid. She worked her way around a nasty rock jutting from the floor of the tunnel.

“Please.... this can’t be happening....”

Cassie frowned at that, but saved her breath for the strain of pushing past the rocks.

Then she was in the open, at the top of a large cavern. Without adequate light, she could easily imagine the Escobar girl tumbling down from here.

“Jennifer?” she called out.

“Help me...” The voice came from just below her. It seemed very weak.

Cassie grabbed a rock spur and leaned out, shining her light down into the chamber.

There was the girl, but...

“Oh my sweet mercy,” gasped Cassie.

She got no further. Something dropped on top of her, something as large and soft as she was. She screamed and lost her grip on the rock, pitching forward into the cavern.

Fortunately she didn’t fall far, because the thing that had dropped on her held her in a tight embrace. But that only made her scream louder.

Day 47

2:05pm

The Bolthole

Miranda parked her jeep near the foot of the cliff, surprised at how easily she’d found the cave. In her memory it had been almost invisible from the ground, but she could see it clearly now: a long, dark fissure in the rock, uphill and to her right. In fact, she’d seen it clearly from a quarter mile away.

It didn’t take Miranda long to solve the mystery. As soon as she began to climb, she realized that the path to the entrance had been scoured clear of brush and trampled flat. She could still see the tread marks of a dozen different kinds of shoes—and paws and hooves, as well. That bothered her. Animals congregating with humans? Had they been herded into the cave? She drew her gun almost without thinking.

Inside, she found even more cause for concern. The “lobby area,” as she’d called it (sending Cassie into peals of laughter) looked much as she remembered: a conglomeration of large, rough chambers littered with trash and graffiti. But beyond them, one of the tunnels had been widened and its floor flattened, much like the entrance itself. Most of the work looked to have been done with pickaxes, though Miranda was sure she saw claw marks in the mix. Something caught her eye, and she bent down to pick it up.

A fingernail.

She shivered and tossed it aside.

Well, at she knew which tunnel to follow; and if the floor stayed as wide and smooth as it was now, she wouldn’t have to worry about freeing a hand for balance. She could hold the flashlight and the gun. That was suddenly very reassuring.

Determinedly, she stepped out of the lobby and into the cave proper. The darkness quickly swallowed her.

2:25 pm

a quarter mile underground

There was nothing like a cave, Miranda reflected, to make you doubt the power of your flashlight. A beam that was more than adequate for a deserted building barely pierced these shadows. If anything, the glowing cylinder made the dark around it seem more impenetrable.

Miranda cast a longing glance back toward the entrance, though she’d lost sight of it fifteen minutes earlier. When she turned back around, a glitter in one rocky corner caught her eye. There! What was that, dangling from the ceiling like a dusty hornets’ nest? Were those spider webs? But if they were, what the hell was that glittering inside them? She crept closer, fascination warring with disgust.

Soon she could see the shape within the web: brown fur, leaflike ears, and wings pressed tight against a small bound body. A bat? But if so, what kind of spider could have been big enough to subdue it? Miranda backed away slowly and the bat’s eyes, bright beneath their webbing, seemed to follow her.

Uh uh,, she told herself. Impossible. That thing’s either paralyzed or dead; and even if it isn’t, it can’t be watching you. On the other hand, whatever caught the bat, that I give you permission to worry about. She stabbed the flashlight around the tunnel, finger tightening on the trigger of her gun, but she was alone. With the bat.

Cassie, Miranda reminded herself. She’s in here somewhere. She pressed herself against the cave wall and edged past the bat, deeper into the dark.

The bat watched her until she was out of sight. Then its attention shifted to the line of beetles trudging toward its mouth. Flicking its tongue out past its bindings, it took its meal one bite at a time. The beetles made no effort to resist; they knew they were the bat’s reward for serving its Queen.

2:25 pm

1.2 miles underground

The animals were just one small cell in a network that stretched all the way to Copper Cliff and beyond. By now, the Queen had even made inroads into the reservation. And what beachhead would this new prey bring her? She followed the woman’s progress through Her lair, Her thoughts flowing eagerly from one empty drone-mind to the next. They were Her eyes, Her ears, Her nose, Her antennae. And soon the human would be, too.

This was Her favorite part of the game. She mustn’t reveal too much of Herself, or the woman would flee the trap before She’d finished setting it. But it was so much fun to tease Her prey. Let her see the spy-lizard just long enough to notice its extra legs, but send it scuttling off before she could count them. Give her a glimpse of six-eyed snake, but only a glimpse. Let her hear the sighs and rustles of the largest drones, deep within Her lair, but don’t let them call her by name.

Not yet.

2:35 pm

0.8 miles underground

Miranda’s heart was hammering now. First the bat, then the lizard, then the—was that a snake?!

What could cause mutations like this? Radiation? She hoped not, or she was giving herself another dose of poison with every step. Was that what had happened to Cassie?

No, don’t think like that. She’s alive; she’d better be. I can’t be going through this hell for nothing.

Miranda had barely completed the thought before she found a new level of hell. The track was as smooth as ever, but to her left gaped a fissure, laced with wall-to-wall cobwebs and swarming with tiny spiders. There must have been hundreds of them, none larger than a dime. But something else scuttled in the web, too, something larger and deeper in. She aimed her flashlight into the hole and cursed herself for not being able to hold the beam steady. Raising the gun helped a little, but not much. And now whatever lurked in the hole had stilled itself. Or perhaps it had never been there in the first place.

No, she didn’t believe that. Miranda might be frightened, but she wasn’t seeing things. She had a way to go yet—in more than one sense. Sighing, she swung the flashlight beam from the crack to the tunnel ahead, then back. Ahead, back. Ahead, back. No movement in either direction, but now she could hear something, far away and faintly echoing. “Cassie?” she called, but there was no answer. She set out again, onward and downward.

There were fissures on both sides now, and more spiders, too. Some were as large as rats and mottled with sickly green. Miranda’s hand grew tired from gripping the gun so tightly. She wondered what would happen if she had to shoot—or worse still, if she had to reload. Her pockets carried two extra rounds, but there was no guarantee she’d have time to chamber them.

Fortunately, the creatures seemed content to watch her progress. Their eyes glittered in the beams of her flashlight, much as the bat’s had done before. They made no move towards her. But every step she took brought more into view. There must be thousands of the things. Millions, maybe. Her best option, if they swarmed her, might be to shoot herself.

2:45 pm

1.19 miles underground

Miranda was sweating now, despite the cool of the cave. Maybe that was why she noticed the breeze that blew soft and damp from somewhere up ahead. It carried an alluring smell, a strange, rank mix of human sex and animal musk. She breathed deep despite herself, and felt her nipples harden.

She did her best to ignore them. A breeze meant a large chamber up ahead, she thought. And somehow, she knew, that would be the end of the line. Thumb caressing the safety catch on her weapon, she crept up to the next corner and rounded it slowly.

And met the Queen.

Of course, she didn’t realize at first Whom she’d found. All Miranda knew was that she stood at the edge of a vast, dark chamber, festooned with cobwebs and swarming with half-seen shapes. Something lurked against the far wall, but her light could barely reach that far. She had a sense of globular eyes, larger than her head, perhaps; and tree-trunk legs too numerous to count. And in the midst of it all a huge, dark bulk, crawling with smaller forms. Her flashlight beam jittered and skittered across the shape as if it, too, were afraid to look closer. Then something shifted to her left and Miranda swung her beam aside, almost grateful to have something else to focus on.

That gratitude lasted less than a second.

The man she’d found was a stranger, naked and pale to the point of bloodlessness, with skin marred by dirt and blood and dozens of tiny puncture marks. Cobwebs bound his right arm to his side and his swollen dick to his belly. His eyes were twin black holes, as was his mouth, gaping like a cave behind a film of spider web. He shambled toward her.

Miranda screamed, barely managing to turn the yell into a command. “Stop right there!” she commanded. “Stop, or I’ll shoot!”

The man was ten yards away and closing. His unbound arm stretched out, and she saw that his fingers swarmed with tiny spiders. This time there was no holding back the hysteria. Miranda screamed again and pulled the trigger.

Her assailant jerked soundlessly aside, his free arm flopping outward and his bound arm seeping blood. She’d had just enough control to aim for the shoulder.

For a moment he flailed and shuddered, almost like a dying insect. But then he got control of himself—or something got control of him—and he lurched toward her again. “No,” muttered Miranda, and again a little louder, “No! NO! Stop right there, motherfucker, or I swear I’ll kill you!”

The man was apparently well beyond hearing her, though he was barely ten feet away. Miranda’s finger tightened on the trigger, but before she could fire again something soft and sticky spattered onto her hand. Her arm jerked and the gun fired wild, but somehow she managed to hold onto it. She swung the flashlight upward and shrieked when she saw what had hold of her.

The gun was coated in thick, gooey webs; and following their line upward she found the source: a spider the size of a beagle. Instinctively she tried to fire at it, but the weapon was jammed now and the spider-man was almost close enough to touch. She jerked desperately against the webbing but managed to free only her fingers; the gun was bound tight in the spider’s web. Uselessly she yanked on the grip.

Then came a feathery touch on her cheek. Miranda whirled to find the spider-man at her side, his mouth gaping and the webs billowing in and out with his breath.

A spider ran off of his hand onto her face.

Miranda screamed and fell backwards, releasing the gun but clamping down even harder on the flashlight. The man bent toward her and she clubbed him aside. Then she scrambled upright and tore out of the cave, too hysterical to notice that nothing tried to stop her.

3:18 p.m.

the surface

ThecarthecarthecarthecarTheCarTHECARTHECAR!!!

Miranda ran full-tilt down the hillside. She bashed her hands into the rocks, fell once and tore her jeans, but never, never looked back. Skidding and stumbling, she came off the slope and bolted across the dirt lot to the car.

Chest heaving, she flung the door open and slammed into the driver’s seat. She missed the ignition the first time, and experienced a brief moment of fear when she thought she’d bent the key on the steering column, but her second stab found the keyhole and slid in. The car roared into life.

Only after she had made the wildest three-point turn in her life and was headed towards town, did she look in the rear-view mirror to check for pursuit.

There was nothing, just the black slash of the cave mouth, looking sinister.

She wasn’t about to stop, though. Cassie was in that cave, but Miranda wouldn’t set foot in there again without backup. And firepower.

Of course they wouldn’t believe her. Zombies. Spiders. Mutant lizards. She’d have to lie. Maybe she could make up some story about a drug lab. Cassie lived too close to the cave, Miranda would say; she’d seen something, and now they were holding her hostage. The Bureau would believe that. Would believe her. They never listened to local law enforcement anyway.

She could be out here with six agents from Albuquerque tomorrow. No, this afternoon. Agents with shotguns.

The road leveled out as it entered town. Miranda’s adrenaline buzz was fading, and she slowed down as dirt gave way to asphalt under the car’s tires. Her heart rate had finally slowed to something like normal.

Right. Time to call for that backup. She could meet them in Santa Fe.

Her cell phone was in her purse, in the back seat. The street was still deserted, so Miranda stopped the car in the middle of the road and turned around to grab her purse. A black leather square on the tan rear seat, it was where she’d left it. She flipped it open and shrieked.

Eight eyes glittered at her from inside.

The spider was in no hurry. Slowly, deliberately, it stuck its head out of the pocket. Its mandibles were as big as her fingers; the creature itself almost filled the purse. Miranda had never imagined a spider so large, but after the cave, nothing was impossible to believe. The one that had seized her gun had been even bigger.

As terrified as she was, Miranda managed to wonder where they’d put the stuff from her purse.

The creature seemed content to crouch in its black leather lair, but Miranda had seen spiders leap several times their own length. She was already reaching for the door handle, never taking her eyes off the bug.

Then a second one crawled over the back of her seat, pausing inches from her face.

Shrieking, she threw herself backwards out of the car.

And landed on someone’s feet.

It was the sheriff. Miranda scrambled upright, moving farther away from her car and the spiders inside it. Putting the sheriff between herself and them. A third one crawled up onto the driver’s seat as she backed away.

The sheriff stood with thumbs hooked loosely in her belt. Her hat sat lightly atop her head, shading her face. She gazed calmly at Miranda from behind her mirrored sunglasses.

“Sheriff,” Miranda gasped, “do something! Shoot them!”

Languidly, the woman turned her head to look at the spiders. She pursed her lips. Then she looked back at Miranda.

“I don’t think so,” she said.

“What?”

“Hey now, just calm down.” The sheriff ran a hand along her face, tilting her hat back slightly, and seemed to think for a moment. “I’m gonna have to ask you to come with me.”

“What? Don’t you see them?”

The woman sighed and rolled her head side-to-side. She pushed a stray lock of hair back over an ear. She looked at the spiders, sitting inside the car. She looked at Miranda. “I see them just fine, Miss Vega. But you don’t understand our situation here.”

“Don’t understand- How did you know my name?” Miranda began to back away.

“Just stop right there, Miss Vega.” The sheriff raised a hand, and Miranda took another step. “Wait—Miranda. Calm down. Let me take you to Cassie. Let her explain things to you.”

“Cassie?” Miranda asked. “Where is she?”

“She’s here. I’ll take you to her. I—”

A scream sounded from somewhere behind them.

The sheriff turned to look in that direction, and as her hair swung, Miranda stared at the back of her neck.

The sheriff’s blonde hair was cut short, just reaching her shoulders. Her uniform collar was loose over her tanned skin. But where Miranda would have expected the smooth slope of a neck, she saw a fat bulge instead. The protuberance ran straight up the sheriff’s spine, from her shirt up into her hair, and spread fine bands of shadow under her skin.

It twisted, grublike, and the sheriff’s flesh bulged.

Miranda didn’t even bother to shriek. She just ran.

Ironically, the first building she came to was the grocery she’d been in before. She bolted inside, casting a quick glance over her shoulder to see the sheriff following. The woman didn’t seem to be in any hurry, though.

The place was as quiet as ever, the hum of refrigerators and overhead lights the only noise in the store. Miranda spotted a phone on the back wall but didn’t dare stop to use it. Instead, she raced straight down an aisle toward the back door, throwing her arms out ahead of her as she aimed for the aptly-named panic bar. She just hoped the door wasn’t locked.

Bam! She hit the bar and the door flew open, expelling her onto a small back stoop. She windmilled her arms for a moment, regaining her balance, then looked up and down the length of Copper Cliff’s other main street. Not surprisingly, it was empty.

Miranda ran across the street and up onto the porch of a two-story wooden house. Forcing herself to slow down and avoid making noise, she tried the door handle. It turned and she slipped inside, closing the door behind her.

The house was cool—from air conditioning, not high ceilings. Someone was home, or had been home, or was coming home. Miranda wished she could believe that was a good thing.

She held her breath to listen, and sure enough, she heard a noise upstairs. Soft movement. Crap, she should really find another house. But the sheriff was looking for her outside, and she couldn’t tell what had made the noise. It might be just a pet. Or someone sleeping.

Or a great big spider.

She had to look. If it was nothing, she could use the phone and just wait here for help. If it was ... something, she’d rather know about it than not.

She tiptoed up the stairs.

The noise came and went, a brushing sound like someone turning in their sleep.

It changed just as Miranda reached the top of the stairs. Now she heard someone... was that singing?

Someone was singing a nursery rhyme.

The voice came from an open door at the end of the corridor. Moving with infinite patience, Miranda crept closer until she could peer through the crack between the door and the jamb.

Her eyes widened, but she made no noise. The scream clawed at her throat, but she fought it down.

It was a woman. Two women, actually. They were in the corner of the room. One of them—a teenager—was cocooned, little more than a head sticking out of a fat bundle of spider silk. She had been encased standing up, a thick white spindle two feet at the base and five and a half feet tall.

The other woman—or once-woman—perched on her. Her feet clutched the sides of the cocoon, and the muscles of her thighs flexed slightly, keeping her in place. She was naked from the waist down, her sex hidden from Miranda’s view by the head of the cocooned woman. Above, she wore a cropped t-shirt and flipped through a magazine. She was the one singing the nursery rhyme, softly, to herself. Her head bobbed slightly, inches below the ceiling.

She looked like the cocooned girl’s mother.

The teenager’s eyes were open and her mouth formed an ‘O’ of dismay, screaming in silence. Her whole face contorted in an expression of drugged horror. In slow motion, the muscles of her face flexed and wept.

Meanwhile, the singing woman sang on, bobbing slowly up and down.

It took Miranda a moment to realize the two were connected.

The top woman was dipping slightly back and forth, tapping gently at the back of the other woman’s neck with her own splayed cunt. Something stretched between them, thin and glistening.

Slowly the bound woman’s eyes rolled up into her head.

There was a wet sound.

The woman in the t-shirt looked up from her magazine, a pleased expression on her face.

And saw Miranda.

“Hey,” she said.

Miranda ran.

3:42 pm

She had to get out of here. No hiding, no waiting. Out. Away.

The sheriff was at the far end of the street. She saw Miranda and started towards her, raising a hand.

Miranda ran again. Down a side street, across the other main street, and up a side alley to the rear of a house.

She had to get out of Copper Cliff. Everyone was one of Them.

Cassie.

She wouldn’t think that.

Cassie’s car.

The Rover! The keys were by the front door. And Cassie wasn’t home.

If Miranda was clever, she could sneak out to the cabin. It was only a mile, and there were rocks most of the way for her to hide behind.

No time to waste. Miranda cast a quick glance down the street. Seeing no one, she sprinted across the open ground to the first clump of boulders and dove behind them. Then she peered over the rocks. No sign of pursuit, thank goodness. She paused to catch her breath, then headed for the next outcrop.

It took her half an hour to reach Cassie’s cabin this way, sprinting and sweating and trying to keep her gasps as quiet as possible.

No one came after her.

She almost cried with relief as she rounded the Rover, still gleaming yellow beneath its dust. The vehicle was no good to her without the key, though. Moving cautiously, Miranda crept onto the porch and over to the front door. It was still unlocked. She slipped inside and scanned the room. No one was there. She turned to the key basket.

The keys were gone.

“Fuck,” she moaned, panic creeping back into her voice. “Who took the keys?”

“Actually,” a calm voice from behind her replied, “I did.”

Miranda’s eyes widened. It couldn’t be. Slowly, she pivoted on the cabin floor. And looked up.

A small squeak escaped her open mouth.

It was Cassie.

Cassie, naked.

Naked, and clinging to the ceiling.

She hung in the corner of the room, an arm stretched out to either side, her palms flat against the bare boards. Her legs bent in a crouch, one foot at the top of either wall. Her back was pressed against the ceiling, her buttocks wedged into the corner.

Below her hung her heavy breasts, nipples relaxed and smooth. Her skin was bright with a dry shine. She had on gloves and socks of some black, plastic material. Somehow, she was clinging to the ceiling.

Dumbly, Miranda realized that she was also wearing sunglasses.

“C-cassie?” she whimpered.

A smile spread beneath the black plastic rims.

“Hi, Randy,” Cassie said. Her voice, bubbly as always, was tainted by a strange sibilance. “It’s wonderful to see you.”

“Cassie?” Despite herself, Miranda took a step backwards, away from the naked woman clinging to the ceiling. “What’s going on?”

Cassie started to crawl forward and Miranda almost screamed.

“I got your messages,” Cassie said, stretching an arm forward.

Miranda’s gaze flashed to the answering machine, its red display now showing 0, then back to the woman—her friend—sliding slowly towards her. On the ceiling.

Cassie’s breasts swung from side to side as she slid forward, elbows bent unnaturally, palms and feet alternating between stretching forward and pressing flat against the ceiling. Her strange black gloves and socks stuck like glue.

About five feet away—and three feet over Miranda’s head—she stopped. “It was sweet of you to worry about me, love. But as you can see, I’m fine.”

“Cassie, please... tell me what’s going on.”

In response, Cassie let go with her feet, letting her body swing forward, her legs arcing down towards Miranda then stopping abruptly. Now she hung only by her hands, shoulders flexing muscularly as she kept a gymnast’s position, head against the ceiling.

“Of course, Randy. I’ll tell you everything.”

Miranda stared at her. Her body was ... taut. Like her skin had been tightened, shrunk down around her muscles. It reflected the light from the windows like fine silk.

She was hairless between her legs. Miranda couldn’t help but glance at Cassie’s sex, hanging at eye level. In the shadow between Cassie’s shining thighs, it presented itself artlessly. Naked and unashamed.

She forced her eyes away, glancing at Cassie’s feet, and gasped.

She wasn’t wearing socks. It was her feet that were black. Shining black plastic, in the shape of... feet, almost. Armored feet. Her toes were pointed, devoid of nails. A sharp ridgeline ran along the top of her jet-black foot, and a strange joint marked the place where it met her black ankle.

“Oh, Cassie!” Miranda breathed.

Cassie dropped to the floor, landing in a crouch, one hand touching the floor between them, head bowed.

Miranda took a step back as her friend looked up at her, and slowly rose.

Her hands were the same as her feet. Black and shiny as hard plastic, no sign of fingernails, fingers tapering to sharp tips. Where her knuckles had been were now thin lines, creases where two joints connected.

They stood for a moment, facing each other. Miranda tensed, fear and confusion warring in her brain. If Cassie came any closer...

But Cassie just stood there, stiffly erect, hands hanging limply at her sides. Her eyes were unreadable behind the sunglasses. Her smile remained, promising laughter and light kisses.

Then she spoke. “Oh Randy. We’re so glad you came.”

“’W-we’?”

“All of us. And Her. The Queen. She needs you, Randy. I’ve told Her all about you, and She has decided that you are perfect. Just what She wants.”

Miranda a step back.

“And I get to bring you to Her.”

Miranda tensed but Cassie remained at attention, those familiar breasts resting heavily above her eerily tight stomach. The small lumps of her abs glinted in the light, the dry shine running down her muscular thighs to her knees, where it blended into the harsh reflection from her black shins.

Miranda stared at Cassie’s hands, hanging limply by her hips. Those hands, soft hands, that she’d once loved to kiss. To feel sliding along her body. Now they were sharp, hard, inhuman.

Beneath her sunglasses, Cassie’s mouth moved. “We need to go to Her now. Please don’t run.”

“Cassie, please... snap out of it.”

“Snap out of what?”

Cassie’s smile widened slightly. “Oh, I see,” she said. “You think I’m hypnotized. Brainwashed.” Her smile flickered, then faded into nonchalance. “No, Randy, it’s a lot more than that. I’m one of Her children now. One of Her lovers. One of Her pets. She took me and remade me, and now I am Hers. Don’t worry; you’ll understand soon. Very soon. You’ll come to love Her just as I do.”

“No...” Miranda whispered.

“Yes,” Cassie said. “You’ll get to see with all new eyes.”

Proudly, Cassie raised one onyx hand and slid off her sunglasses. Her hazel eyes were gone. In their place were black spheres, pearls of glittering darkness. And beneath each of those eyes were three more, shining black marbles embedded in her upper cheeks. Eight unblinking eyes fixed Miranda with their alien gaze.

Miranda stared.

Cassie smiled. “It’s wonderful, Randy. I can see so much more. So very much more.” She raised her chitinous black hands, palms up, to take Miranda’s hands. “And soon, you will too.”

“Oh, Cassie,” Miranda breathed. Then she turned and ran out the door.

Right into the arms of the sheriff.

The woman grabbed her, wrestling her quickly to the ground, and her mirrored sunglasses flew off in the process. For a moment Miranda stared surprised into the sheriff’s perfectly normal blue eyes.

Miranda had been trained in hand-to-hand combat. She knew how to fight. But somehow the few blows she landed did her opponent no harm, and in a moment Miranda was on the floor, wrists locked tight in an inhumanly strong grip and a woman’s weight on her stomach, driving the wind out of her.

“Martha,” Cassie said.

The sheriff looked up at Cassie, still standing naked and inhuman above Miranda’s head. Miranda twisted ineffectually.

“Let her go.”

A second passed, and suddenly Miranda’s wrists were free. The sheriff rolled off her and stood up. Her eyes remained on Miranda’s prone form, as deceptively placid as ever.

Then Cassie’s hand appeared, offering Miranda a hand up. “Please, Randy. Don’t run.”

The hand was black and shell-like, like the back of a beetle. “Please. Come with me.”

Miranda took the hand, letting Cassie lift her to her feet.

Then she ran again.

Not out the front, since Cassie’s pet sheriff was still standing there. Instead she ran past Cassie, into the short hall. The study had a window that she could jump out of. If she had time, she might even open it first.

The door was open. She ran through it.

And was suddenly and violently halted, thrown back towards the hall, and brought to a halt in the doorway of the study.

She’d run into a web.

Miranda gasped and thrashed, pulling backwards, but the threads clung remorselessly to her arms and legs. Her face was mashed to the side, her right cheek adhered to the webs. The thick strands held her like steel wires.

Still, Miranda fought. She knew what was behind her.

Then she saw the cocoon and froze.

It was Carmela.

Just like the teenager from the house in town, Carmela was cocooned standing up, only her head emerging from a puffy white spindle. But unlike the teenager, Carmela’s eyes were glazed over, her face slack and lifeless. Her mouth had dropped open.

There was a little spider on her lower lip.

Another ran out of her throat.

“Oh no,” Miranda breathed.

“She’ll be fine,” Cassie said from behind her.

At the sound, Miranda thrashed again, but she had no more luck breaking free of the sticky webs than before. A sob of fear tore from her chest.

“Shhh, there, there,” Cassie murmured. Head stuck, Miranda couldn’t see her, but she felt her former friend step close.

“I’m sorry about this, Randy,” said Cassie. “I had so hoped you would come with me.”

“Please, please, no,” Miranda pleaded.

“But you’re going to love it,” Cassie cooed. Her face entered Miranda’s field of vision, her eight nightmare eyes glittering. “It’s the best thing ever.”

“No, Cassie, don’t do it. Please don’t. I don’t want to be a spider.”

“Not a spider, silly. Something much better. The best of both worlds. Now shush. She wants you, and I’m only here to do what She wants.”

Cassie opened her mouth, wide, as though she was yawning. Miranda gasped.

From inside Cassie’s cheeks, mandibles unfolded. Glistening pink mandibles, the size of fingers. Tipped with black points.

She ran a hand across Miranda’s cheek, brushing her hair back, and Miranda whimpered.

Cassie leaned forward and bit her.

4:51pm

The Bolthole

“It’s okay,” Cassie soothed as she led Miranda back into the cave. There’s nothing to be afraid of. Not anymore.”

Miranda wasn’t afraid. In fact, she wasn’t very much of anything. The venom sang in her head so loudly that it drowned out all other concerns. It had been an hour before she could even stand up. Thank goodness Cassie was there; if she hadn’t been, Randy wouldn’t have known where to go or what to do.

“She’s looking forward to meeting you,” her friend murmured, demonstrating her own eagerness by nibbling Randy’s earlobe. “Look, she’s even lit the way for us.”

Sure enough, a glow had sprung up around them, courtesy of a swarm of bee-sized insects. “They’re fireflies,” Cassie explained. “Drones. Aren’t they beautiful? And powerful, too, thanks to Mistress’s modifications. They’ll stay lit like this for hours.” She gave her friend a squeeze. “Oh, Randy, I can’t wait to see how She’ll improve you!”

There was something objectionable in that statement, but Miranda couldn’t figure out what it was. She gave up and sagged against Cassie’s shoulder, grateful for her guidance.

“That’s right, baby,” breathed Cassie. “You’re learning. Just go where you’re led and everything will be all right.” Her hand slipped under Randy’s blouse and her palm ran the length of Randy’s spine. “I’m with you. Just like old times.”

“Ol’ times,” Randy slurred. She’d longed for them so often, imagining Cassie’s arms around her body and Cassie’s lips against her ear. Now she had them again—or almost. Close enough. Cassie’s hand on her back felt different than before, and her voice was strange. There was something different about her face, too; but Miranda couldn’t quite remember what it was, and she didn’t have the strength to raise her head.

She could still see her friend’s breasts, though, and they were as beautiful as ever. She reached for them, wondering how her hands had grown so clumsy. But Cassie, sweet Cassie, stopped on the path to help her. She guided Randy’s hands to her nipples and let her suck, gently raking her scalp with sharp nails.

The shadows around them glittered with tiny eyes.

5:25pm

Randy’s body flickered with sweet, low flame. Cassie had been gracious enough to stop several times, but she never gave her lover more than a few seconds of bliss. Then it was onward and downward through a growing crowd of drones. First came the bats and snakes Miranda had seen before. Then came larger animals, some recognizable and some not. Once she saw what looked like a coyote, though it was hard to be sure since its head was completely encased in webs. A spider as big as her hand crouched on its face, steering.

At last they reached the final corner and Cassie paused, savoring the moment. “It looks a little different this time, doesn’t it?” she asked.

Miranda managed to raise her head this time, and as she did so, she caught the familiar mix of musk and sex. But something was different; even she could see that. Was it the light? Surely it hadn’t been this bright when she’d been here before. She’d had to use, had to use a—“Fashlt,” she tried, and Cassie chuckled.

“I know,” she said. “It’s a shame you had to use that dinky little thing when you were down here before; but darling, you just weren’t ready to appreciate the Queen’s beauty. Now that you are, She’s turned on all the lights to welcome you. See?” Her eyes, large and small, glittered in the acid-green glow. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

“Unnhh,” mumbled Randy.

“I’ll take that as a yes.” Cassie hooked her arm a little tighter through Miranda’s and led her around the corner to meet the Queen.

Cassie’s Mistress was three stories tall and roughly spider-shaped, though no earthly spider could have sat as She did, curled like a woman lounging on a divan. Her teardrop abdomen sagged between her legs, its dew-damp spinnerets pointing toward the door. Eight bristly legs spread out around her, thick as tree trunks. Naked drones crawled along her length, combing her rich black fur and massaging the flesh beneath.

Despite her delirium, Miranda recognized a few of them from Copper Cliff. There was the sheriff, lubricating a leg joint with the juice of her pussy; and the mayor halfway up the Queen’s midsection. And there was a doctor she’d met on her last visit, impaling himself on the Queen’s spinnerets. All were naked save for their spider webs and identical expressions of ecstasy.

Cassie followed Miranda’s gaze and grinned. “Where do you think She’ll put you? Out in the world, up the corridor, or right here in Her inner sanctum? Maybe she’ll let you groom Her, Randy. That’s the highest honor. Maybe She’ll even let you groom Her face.”

Driven by Cassie’s words, Miranda raised her eyes to meet the Queen’s. Eight black globes, varying in size but united in their desire to pierce her skull and claim its contents as their own. Miranda’s knees buckled and she began to sob, though whether from fear or pleasure she couldn’t say. Cassie eased her to the floor and soothed her with words and caresses.

“That’s right, Randy. Now you understand. You see what an honor we’ve been given, being among the first to serve earth’s new Queen. It’s so wonderful to be a slave, Randy. Her voice will be with you, right there in your head. Forever. So wonderful...” Cassie paused. “Now get up so I can undress you. Then you’ll submit yourself for transformation.”

There was no possibility of resisting. Not with the Queen’s eyes, Cassie’s voice, and her own poisoned blood all pressing her into obedience. Miranda rose and submitted herself to her friend’s touch, remembering all the times they’d stood like this before. She leaned in for a dizzy kiss and Cassie returned it.

But this was no time for dallying. Cassie stripped her quickly and efficiently, then led her to the soft, damp tip of the Queen’s abdomen. “Now you have to climb,” she said. “The Queen doesn’t go to Her subjects; they come to Her.” She boosted Randy up onto the hump and Randy clung there, using the long bristly hairs as handholds. The flesh beneath her crotch was warm and gave slightly with her weight. Almost unconsciously she rubbed her clit across it.

“Good girl,” said Cassie. “Now climb, all the way to Her mouth. Then offer yourself to Her.”

On the way through the cave Miranda had been too drugged to walk, but her mind and body were stronger now, and she had the Queen’s will to draw her on. Then there were the drones. Though they seemed, for the most part, too engrossed in their work to notice her, a hand or leg or paw always stretched out to help her when she strayed. The Queen must be speaking into their minds as She did into Cassie’s. As She would into Miranda’s.

For now, it was only Her gaze which dug into the back of Randy’s neck, ancient and heavy as the earth itself.

At the top of the Queen’s abdomen Randy found a flower-shaped opening, pulsing gently and reeking of musk and sex. Above it crouched a man-sized spider, thrusting its penis into the folds. Cassie’s voice drifted up from below. “He’s fertilizing Her eggs,” she called. “Wait till you see how many things She can do with them! It’s beautiful, Randy. I’m so glad you’re here with me, to experience it.”

A warm, sleepy glow built in Randy’s chest. She was glad to be here, too.

Carefully she crawled around the spider-drone, to the place where the Queen’s abdomen joined Her thorax. The climb from here was almost vertical, but more spiders appeared, rappelling down from the ceiling to hover behind her. The guides’ feet tickled against her back but gave her the support she needed to finish her journey.

At last the Queen’s great mouth hung above her, its fangs curving inward and downward. Miranda didn’t have to be told what to do anymore; the buzzing in her blood said it all. “I’m Yours,” she murmured, and stretched her head up into the gap.

The fangs closed against her temples like calipers, punching almost delicately through the skin. Not too delicately, though. The venom gushed into her brain as a wave of dark ecstasy, paralyzing her mind and body. Randy stiffened and her hands lost their grip on her Mistress’s fur. Then the Queen opened Her fangs and Her new drone fell backward like a diver, right into the arms of her guides.

Miranda heard nothing, saw nothing, thought nothing, even when the spiders set her down before Cassie and the other woman’s hands closed around her face. “Oh, Randy,” she sighed, “that was beautiful.” Her tongue found her friend’s, twining around the stiffer, stiller organ, and she chuckled when she got no response. ”You’re beautiful, too. Even more so, now that you’re like this. And it only gets better from here.”

Something quivered in the drone’s mind—not a thought, for hers were still paralyzed—but a command from outside, from the One who owned her. Her body jerked into motion and Cassie stepped aside.

The thing that had been Miranda marched past her without a glance; indeed, she didn’t even notice her friend standing there. All she saw was what the Queen wanted her to see: her destination.

She stopped at the tip of her Mistress’ abdomen, where a new organ had sprouted inside the ring of spinnerets: a long, pale tube, curving upward to a height of about two feet. The puppet-strings in her head jerked again, and she straddled the tube and bore down. Reward came instantly: a gush of cool bubbles and her first scrap of drone awareness. The latter was just enough to explain the former: the Queen was laying eggs.

Miranda’s womb filled quickly, stretching to accommodate the load, for the venom worked on her body as well as her mind. Already it had begun to remake her, enhancing some organs and simplifying others. Her belly swelled and still the eggs poured on, spilling out between her legs and sticking to her thighs and mons. Mechanically she scooped them up and spread them across herself, scrubbing like a woman in a bubble bath. Then, when the ovipositor finally retreated, she cast herself down among the spinnerets.

At first she could aid them in their work, sliding her body up and down to ensure an even coating of web. But soon her legs were stuck together and her arms were pinned to her sides, and it fell to Cassie to lend a hand. Other drones joined in, so that before long the initiate was nothing but a featureless mummy.

However, she retained the flicker of awareness that had begun with the egg laying. She felt the hands remove her from the spinnerets and carry her to a wall. She felt them lift her high and press her in place, and she felt them spin their own webs to bind her there. When at last they withdrew, she hung as still and silent as the eggs that surrounded her.

If she’d been able to see—and indeed her eyes were open and her sight returning—she would have realized that her cocoon was one of hundreds. Most of Copper Cliff was here beside her, plastered along walls and floor and even ceiling. But the initiate’s head was bound in gauze, both inside and out, and all she saw was white.

Day 49

Bubbling. Everything in and around her bubbling. Sweet soft globes, shifting, tickling, growing....

So beautiful.

Day 52

Sounds and pictures flickered in her head, but she had no desire to interpret them. They were meant for the Children who fed on her mind. She nursed them gladly, having no other purpose in life; and when they burst their sacs, she rejoiced in their newfound freedom.

The hatchlings were tiny, just large enough to slip between the threads of her cocoon. She felt them go, sliding first from her breasts and buttocks and eventually from her womb. What little awareness she’d gained departed with them, and she hung blank-eyed and empty on the wall.

The Queen watched them come, wending their way between the writhing glowworms that gave Her lair its light. She watched them trundle single file across the floor and mount Her body for the long, slow journey to Her head. She watched them, and was pleased.

Though She’d been able to manipulate the woman’s mind from the moment She’d bitten her, She couldn’t fully read it; the contents were still too alien. Fortunately, She had the Children to bridge that gap. The tiny hybrids had nursed on human memories, and now they would feed them back to their Mother a form She could digest. One by one they climbed Her bulk and settled behind Her eyes. When all had assembled, they injected their tiny loads into Her mind.

Oh yes, thought the Queen as She ruminated on Miranda’s memories, this prey had been worth the wait. And it was a good thing She had waited. If She’d claimed Agent Vega in Her first days of waking, She might have destroyed the woman’s mind without realizing it. Humans were a complicated species; at once fragile and frighteningly intelligent. She’d ruined several drones before She found the knack of taming them. Some, like the man She’d used to frighten Vega on her first trip into the lair, were little more than automatons. Others, like the sheriff, could take simple direction and even pass as human...in the short term, at least.

Then there were the high-functioners like Cassie, who’d actually been taken before the sheriff but kept in storage for days before being transformed. The Queen had sensed something special about that one from the first, and now She understood what it was. Cassie had been the key to Miranda Vega, and Miranda Vega was the key to the planet. Her newest drone would inject Her venom straight into her government’s intelligence agency, and weave Her webs all through its brain.

With a brood mother in Washington, it would only be a matter of time before She took control of the country....and after that, the world.

Unfortunately, it all started with a drone that could pass for human. The Queen took great delight in customizing Her slaves, but there could be no extra eyes for this one, and no chitin either. She’d have to content Herself with hidden fangs and spinnerets—and increased strength and flexibility, of course. Humans were poorly designed, but so easy to improve.

The Queen’s mandibles churned as She formulated new venom, drawing a snippet of DNA from here, a scrap of RNA from there, everything necessary to create an agent among Agents. When She was ready, She called the hatchlings down from her head. They gathered below Her mouth, tiny fangs clashing beneath Hers as they took in venom She offered. Then it was back down their Mother’s length, across the floor, and up the slack form of the drone that had birthed them.

Their presence reignited the drone’s awareness, such as it was. She sensed the Queen’s pleasure and the hatchlings’ excitement, and she trembled in her webs. They spread out across the length of her body, each in the place assigned to it by its Mother. The drone’s pleasure mounted with each bite until the last, when the tiniest spider of all bored its way into her brain. Then she began to buck, darkening the web with her juices and orgasming so hard she tore away from the wall.

The drone fell to the floor and lay there, moaning, as her mind awoke from its dreams. She knew who she was again.

And she knew Whose she was.

Day 59

7:12 am

Washington D.C.

She was at her desk when the phone beeped. It was Rohn.

“Back so soon?” he asked dryly. “You even have some leave left. Did you find your friend?”

“Oh yes,” Miranda replied. “She was fine. I’d been worried for no reason.”

“Hrm. You’ll be at the nine o’clock today?”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Good.” The line clicked off, and Miranda hung up the handset. She looked around her office. Everything was in order.

Above the desk, Miranda was dressed in one of her two-dozen starched white shirts, collar open slightly to show the opal pendant she liked. It had been a gift from Cassie. Around her clustered the neat stacks of paper she’d been working on before she left. A sliced loaf of banana bread, bought downstairs at the commissary, filled the air with its slightly spicy odor.

Below the desk, she was naked.

Between her legs, her snatch bulged wetly. Four legs emerged, gripped her naked thighs, and flexed as the round glistening body and four more legs slid out behind it. A quick mental command sent it onto the floor under the desk, with the others.

If she kept eating, a brood mother could birth a drone every two hours, not even stopping to sleep. Miranda’s condo in Tyson’s Corner was now home to almost a hundred Children, of various purposes. And four large cocoons, holding the changing bodies and gently dreaming minds of her neighbors.

Today they would hatch. They would join Miranda in service to her Queen. And they would bring their friends and relatives to their home, to enjoy their own rebirth and slavery.

Dreamily Miranda smiled; she loved the Queen so much.

Just then Teresa Penick walked by her open office door. Seeing Miranda, she paused and smiled. “Hey, you’re back.”

“I sure am. Say, come in here a second. I’ve got something to show you.”

With just a flicker of thought, she readied the two drones clinging to the ceiling above the door.

Teresa walked in.

“Could you close the door?”

“Sure.” The chestnut-haired girl did as Miranda asked, then turned around expectantly.

Miranda stood up.

The spiders dropped.