Andromeda is a biological scout from the Xylos system; her species is one that has that evolved to mimic the dominant lifeforms of the planets they inhabit. Arriving on Earth decades ago her ship suffered a catastrophic engine failure during a solar storm leaving her stranded. Andromeda is currently entering the Egsis phase which a high-intensity reproductive cycle that occurs once every fifty solar years. For her species this is a communal event involving a suitable genetic partner. Now, without a mate to inseminate her eggs inside her internal cavity her body is overproducing hormones and bio-matter; causing massive distress.

TW Eggs? and gloryhole. You know what’s up.

Intro:

The cabin of the Peterbilt smelled of stale coffee and the ozone scent emitted from Andromeda’s own feverish skin. The vibration of the road that was usually a comfort to her were now an instrument of torture. Every bump sent a jolt through her lower cavity where the egg-clusters felt like hot coals pressing against her artificial spine.

Focus, Subject Andromeda. Focus on the white lines, she told herself while her knuckles whitened against the steering wheel. Just another forty miles.

Yet, with every accumulating second her antennae were twitching and violently slapping against the roof of the cab. They were picking up the electromagnetic "noise" of every cell tower and car radio for five miles. The noise translated into a sharp rhythmic pulsing behind her eyes. Her reproductive cycle wasn't just a biological clock; it was a siren and her body was screaming for help with her eggs - a mate to share the burden of the genetic data now liquefying her internal organs.

The ache is getting heavier, she thought with her breath coming in shallow hitches. It’s like my blood is turning into lead. If I don't find a way to vent the thermal heat the mimicry will fail. I’ll split wide open right here on I-95.

She pulled into a fluorescent drenched ‘Oasis Plaza,’ the air brakes of the semi hissing like a dying beast. She needed water. She needed ice. She needed to be away from the vibration.

Inside the gas station the hum of the refrigerated aisles felt like a physical weight as Andromeda grabbed a gallon of distilled water. Her hand was trembling so hard the plastic crinkled loudly while she moved toward the back seeking the shadows of the nearby hallway where the restroom signs flickered. She needed to splash water on the smooth skin of her neck that was now glowing a faint sickly blue light that pulsed beneath.

Just a moment of silence, she pleaded internally, Just a second where I don't feel the urge to hunt, to seek, to lay. A moment without this pain.

She turned a corner into a dim narrow supply closet she’d mistaken for the path to the washroom sinks causing her to stop dead in her tracks. The closet was thick with grime and the air smelt of bleach and old cigarettes. On the plywood partition separating the utility closet from the bathroom stalls there was a crude jagged hole cut at waist height.

Her biological sensors, far more advanced than any human’s, picked up the lingering pheromones and the chemical traces of desperate the anonymous relief left behind by others. She didn't understand the social context of a ‘gloryhole’, but she understood the intent.

A conduit, she realized as her heart hammering in her chest, A place for the desperate to offload their essence without the burden of a face. A blind exchange.

The "lust" flared a white-hot spike of instinct that wasn't love and it wasn't quite human desire; it was the animalistic need of a species to ensure its next generation. She looked at the hole then at her own trembling glowing hands.

To a humans this was a place of shame, but to Andromeda trapped in a body that was failing her it looked like a terrifying solution to an agonizing problem. “Could it be this simple?”, she whispered through the fog of pain.