After a grueling 300-light-year journey from Cryzx, Zarel and Rolas finally approached the orbit of Cryzxlle, a lush, agrarian world dominated by vast farmlands and sprawling ranches. The Swenson Triplets’ operation, known as Swenson Exotic Ranch, was the largest on the planet. It was a massive complex that spanned continents, breeding everything from traditional livestock to bizarre, genetically engineered hybrids. Rolas and Zarel were truly in awe of what they saw before them. According to Brae’s warnings, the Swensons were shrewd businesswomen who drove hard bargains, often turning deals into lifelong commitments.

Zarel piloted their stealth cruiser to a discreet landing site in a forested area just outside the ranch’s perimeter. “Alright, Rolas, we’ve got to play this smart. No charging in like we did on Dione. We infiltrate, find the herb, and get out without signing our lives away.”

Rolas nodded, her bionic arm whirring as she adjusted its scanner mode. “Agreed. I’ve hacked into their public job listings and it looks like they’re hiring for a nurse in the medical bay and a botanist in the greenhouse sector. Perfect covers. I’ll take the botanist role since my tech arm can pass for a prosthetic from a lab accident. You handle the nurse gig, because your leadership vibe screams ‘authority figure.’” Rolas said with a bit of sarcasm.

Zarel gave her sister a sneer before agreeing with her, “As much as I’m gonna hate acting as a nurse, you would make a much better botanist so fine, whatever I’ll do it.”

So they split up at the forest’s edge, agreeing to rendezvous in 48 hours at a hidden cache point. Zarel headed toward the ranch’s main entrance, forging credentials as a traveling medic specializing in exotic animal care. Rolas slipped through a side fence, using her enhanced hearing device to avoid patrols, posing as a freelance botanist with expertise in rare herbs. As they parted, neither sister realized how deeply the ranch’s secrets would entangle them or how the Swensons’ experiments would test their resolve.

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A bit later, Zarel arrived at the ranch’s administrative building, her tactical gear swapped for a crisp white nurse’s uniform she’d replicated on the ship. The fabric was form-fitting, accentuating her elegant birthmarks and carbon fiber shoulder pads, which she passed off as protective implants from a past injury. The hiring manager, a burly alien with four arms, barely glanced at her forged resume before stamping approval. “We need hands in the med bay ASAP. Lots of cows have been acting up from some kinda mutation spike. Report to Swenson Alpha immediately.”

Swenson Alpha, presumably one of the triplets, turned out to be the stern, no-nonsense leader of the trio. Tall, with platinum hair tied in a severe bun and piercing blue eyes, she wore a tailored lab coat over a sleek bodysuit that hinted at her athletic build. “You’re the new nurse? Good. We’ve got a herd in quarantine showing unusual bovine traits bleeding over to handlers. Administer these serums and monitor vitals. No questions unless it’s life-threatening.”

Zarel nodded to Swenson Alpha and dove in, her day blurring into a routine of injections, scans, and observations. The “cows” weren’t ordinary; many were humanoid hybrids, volunteers or debtors transformed via genetic cocktails for milk production or labor. She hated seeing these helpless creatures kept like this, but she kept her head down, eavesdropping for hints about the reverting herb, but found nothing.

Unfortunately though, on her third shift, disaster struck. While treating a particularly aggressive hybrid in isolation, Zarel accidentally pricked herself with a contaminated needle—one laced with the ranch’s proprietary bovine enhancer. She felt a warm flush at first, but shook it off, attributing it to fatigue. That night, in her assigned quarters, subtle changes began: her skin itched, her breasts felt heavier, swelling slightly under her uniform. By morning, small nubs poked through her hairline.

Panicking, Zarel tried to slip out for reconnaissance but was intercepted by Swenson Alpha in the hallway. “Nurse Zarel? You look… different. Come with me.” Alpha’s tone was clinical, almost amused. In a private exam room, she scanned Zarel, confirming the exposure. “Bovine serum. Potent stuff. You’ll develop traits slowly; Enhanced curves, maybe a tail, lactation if it progresses.” Swenson Alpha looked at Zarel predatory. But don’t worry; we can stabilize it. In exchange, you sign on for a full tour. A six month minimum contract.”

Zarel hesitated, but the swelling in her chest and the budding pressure in her lower back left her little choice. “Fine. Stabilize it.” Swenson Alpha administered a partial suppressant, but the changes continued subtly: her hips widened, her posture shifted to accommodate growing sensitivity in her breasts. Throughout the rest of the day, Zarel found herself drawn into deeper ranch operations, her undercover role turning into reluctant immersion as bovine instincts, docility, and a craving for fresh hay began to whisper in her mind.

Rolas, meanwhile, integrated seamlessly into the botanist team. Her cover as a wandering plant expert held up, especially with her bionic arm’s ability to analyze soil and growth patterns on the fly. The greenhouse sector was a vast, climate-controlled dome, teeming with exotic flora from across galaxies, including bio-engineered plants that produced the ranch’s transformation serums.

Her supervisor, a cheerful, tentacled alien named Vrix, welcomed her warmly. “Ah, New blood I see! Great! We’re short-staffed on the hybrid herb sector. Your resume says you’ve worked with revertants? Perfect—we grow a rare one here that resets DNA mutations.”

Rolas’s heart skipped a beat. That must be the herb she was looking for. This was gonna turn out to be a much quicker mission than she thought. But she had to play it cool. “Revertants? Yeah, I dabbled in them. But could you show me around first? This facility is massive and I don’t want to get lost on the first day. Hehe.”

Vrix responded with a toothy smile, “Of course! Let me show you around.”

After settling in, the day turned into a routine of tending plots, mixing nutrients, and chatting with coworkers. There was Lira, a bubbly florist with petal-like hair who shared stories of her own transformations; Jax, a stoic engineer who fixed irrigation systems and cracked dry jokes; and a dozen others who formed a tight-knit crew. At first, Rolas kept her distance, focused on locating the herb without raising alarms and because, well, she’s not very good at small talk. But over a shared lunch of nutrient-rich salads and a late-night shift under the greenhouse lights, she warmed up to the group.

That evening, after successfully cross-pollinating a serum booster, Lira slapped her on the back. “You’re a natural, Rolas! Most newbies wilt under the pressure, but you? Thriving! Join us for drinks after shift?” Rolas surprised herself by agreeing. “S-sure, why not.”

The camaraderie was genuine. Their discussions about plant genetics flowed into personal tales, and for the first time since Mitra’s transformation, she felt a sense of belonging. Her bionic arm, no longer felt like a reminder of her mishap, and instead became a tool for impressing the team, scanning anomalies and optimizing yields.

By the end of the day, Rolas had grown to like the job. The rhythm of planting, nurturing, and harvesting was meditative, and a far cry from the chaos of their previous space voyages. She even caught herself humming while working, which she would never be caught dead doing previously.

“Maybe this isn’t so bad,” she muttered that night while downing a delicious purple tonic out with her botanist crew. But her loyalty to her sisters pulled at her still.  She knew she needed to get that herb still, because Mitra depended on it.

The next day, Zarel’s changes accelerated, despite the suppressants Swenson Alpha provided. By early morning a short tail swished under her uniform, and her breasts had swollen to an exaggerated size, leaking faintly when stressed. Swenson Alpha noticed, pulling her into a private “treatment” that involved milking her to relieve pressure. This was deeply embarrassing for Zarel, yet oddly relieving at the same time. “You’re adapting well,” Alpha purred, her hands expert and lingering. “The bovine traits suit you. You really should consider staying longer. We could use a nurse with your…assets.”

“That’s a kind offer Miss Alpha, but I really have other things I must tend to after my contract is up. I hope you understand.” Zarel said while letting out a couple of errant moos as the milking machine sucked a little harder, sending pleasure through her body.

After her “treatment”, Zarel even more so now had to resist the growing bovine haze and urges to graze, and finally by the afternoon, she had a small break from her nursing duties which she tried to utilize in contacting Rolas via a hidden comm link. “Rolas, come in Rolas. What’s your status? I’m…changing. And we might need more of that herb than we expected, and fast.”

Moments before, Rolas, deep in the greenhouses, had finally pinpointed the revertant herb: a shimmering blue-leafed plant in a restricted vault. During a team project, she volunteered for inventory duty, slipping in under the guise of cross-checking samples, and there it was, rows of the herb, labeled “DNA Reverter: High Value, Trade Only.”

That’s when she heard Zarel on her hidden comm for the first time this mission, “I found it,” she whispered into her comm, pocketing some small cuttings from the herb. But as she exited, Vrix caught her eye. “Hey, Rolas, great work today. The team’s throwing a party for the harvest yield, you in?”

She paused, the warmth of friendship tugging at her. “Uhh, y-yeah… I’d like that.” For a moment, she considered staying and joining her new friends, but Zarel’s plea echoed. “But I have to run a small errand first.” She said, fighting a tug of war internally between having actual friends for once, and saving her sister.