“You didn’t need him any longer, Huma,” Hillary said. “He had fulfilled his purpose in giving us The Vessel.”“I know, Mother. I just thought I could be enough.”
“No one is enough for his type. He will be taken care of, child. A mugging. Or a suicide. A single car accident on a dry and windless night. Soon, child. The stamen shaken free of pollen means the flower may be plucked with no regrets.”
“Yes, Mother.”
“Hand me The Vessel. I can feel his hunger.”
Huma passed the struggling infant into Hillary’s shaking hands. She placed him on one of her ponderous, black-veined breasts and forced a leathery nipple into his mouth.
“Feed. Yes, you grimace. I know the black milk is bitter. All power is bitter.”
She traced the line of his furrowed brow with a gnarled finger. “Our Master sailed the winds between the stars when we struggled to pull ourselves from the primordial slime. He came before words or legs, driven out by the corruption at the heart of the galaxy. But he returns. We return. Grow strong.”
The infant when slack on her corrupted breast and a stream of warm urine flowed from his tiny body. Huma took the child and handed him off to one of the hooded attendants.
“Come,” Hillary said. “Come now for your own benediction.”
Huma leaned forward and began to suckle the penile fang growing from Hillary’s armpit.
“Yes. Drink deep.”
She stroked Huma’s thick black hair in an obscene mockery of affection.
Hillary whispered to herself, “I am becoming.”
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