If this girl is an alien, it's a much smaller galaxy than any of them have theorized. The catgirl that Klaus took such a liking to was similar enough, but this girl is indistinguishable from a human, for all that her ship is like no technology on earth.
"Well," Milla says, smiling at her, "we've gotten off to a bad start. But it doesn't have to stay that way. Wouldn't you rather be friends?"
The girl glances past Milla at the guards, then raises her shackled wrists. "This doesn't feel very friendly," she says.
Milla nods. "I'm sorry about that," she says. "But you did prove yourself to be rather dangerous."
"Your soldiers attacked me!" the girl protests.
"After your landed an interstellar space craft directly over a top-secret research facility," Milla says mildly. "You must admit that's suspicious."
The girl looks away, frowning.
It's as good as agreement, for now. "Now," Milla says. "Where are your comrades? You can't have been flying that ship with only that little girl to assist you. The ship has berths for a crew of eight. It stands to reason that you had other company. Where are the rest of you?"
"I won't tell you anything," the girl says.
Milla nods. "I was afraid of that," she says. "I'll start with what I can learn without your assistance, then."
Two of her guards step forward to hold the girl still, and Milla picks up a syringe from her instrument tray. The girl's eyes go wide at the sight of the needle -- another piece of evidence for her being an Earthling. True, she could be from an alien culture with similar medical technology, but the simplest explanation, the most likely hypothesis, is that she knows Earth medicine.
The girl's uniform leaves very little of her skin bare, but her thighs are partially exposed and the muscle there will serve as an injection site. The guards hold her still -- still enough -- and Milla gives her the shot, quick and efficient; this is hardly the first time she's had to work with an uncooperative subject.
It takes effect quickly; the girls knees buckle, and the guards haul her up to lay her across the examining table. "What did," she slurs, her eyes wide and glassy.
"A simple paralytic," Milla says. "You seemed unlikely to voluntarily hold still for a physical examination."
The girl makes a small noise then as though she's frightened; perhaps she can be convinced to cooperate after all. Milla unlocks the shackles, sets them aside, and then turns her attention to the girl's uniform, examining it to see what it's made of and how it unfastens. The material is something she's never seen before, tough but flexible, and there are hidden catches in the seams that, when opened, allow each piece to be lifted away easily. "This is a synthetic material, isn't it?" Milla asks. "An advanced sort of plastic?"
The girl doesn't answer; it's possible she can't, with the drug so fresh in her system. Her cheeks are turning pink as Milla undresses her, though, which is an encouraging sign. She can be convinced to cooperate.
Milla sets the girl's clothes aside and gets herself a pair of gloves. "I'm very sorry it had to come to this, you know," she says. "I'm not interested in harming you, but I have the future of our entire world to think about. I'm afraid I simply can't afford to pass up any opportunity that could give us a crucial advantage." She makes a cursory examination of the girl's eyes, nose, and mouth, presses gently beneath her jaw to check the lymph nodes there, and then trails her hand further down. Her guards stand still, silent, watching; Milla glances at them briefly to make sure the girl doesn't forget their presence.
She palpates the girl's breasts rather more slowly and more thoroughly than is strictly necessary, and brushes her thumbs across the girl's cold-stiffened nipples. That provokes a shiver, faint but unmistakable, and Milla smiles.
"You seem to be in very good health," Milla says, working her way down the girl's abdomen, "and so far, I'm not finding any evidence that you aren't human." She pauses with one hand resting against the girl's pubic bone. "But I'm sure you understand I need to be thorough."
The look in the girl's eyes says she understands quite well, and she manages a faint, slurred, "Please," as Milla fetches lubricant.
"Are you ready to tell me about your ship?" Milla asks. "About your companions?" That earns her only more stubborn silence -- perhaps she'll want to try drugs with psychological effect next, since the girl's biology seems so human. Not until she's done with the physical examination, though.
She spreads the girl's thighs, meeting no resistance, and slides two lubricated fingers into her vagina. The girl tenses under her hands, mewling; she's recovering from the injection surprisingly quickly. Milla makes a cursory examination, feels nothing out of the ordinary -- she expected nothing else, by this point. Instead of withdrawing, then, she presses the heel of her hand against the girl's clitoris and rocks slowly, moving her fingers in slow, shallow thrusts.
"Stop it," the girl pleads, which Milla would be happy enough to ignore, except that she manages to lift one hand, slow and uncoordinated, to push at Milla's arm. There's a shifting, a clink of gear, as one of Milla's guards takes a half step forward.
"That won't be necessary," Milla says. She withdraws her fingers and strips off the used gloves. She should still have enough time, before the girl recovers fully. "You're metabolizing that extremely quickly," she says. "It definitely falls outside the parameters of ordinary human response. I would very much like to know your secret." The girl only shakes her head, though, which by this point Milla expects. "I've given you a number of opportunities to cooperate," she says, "but I cannot allow this opportunity to be wasted. I do hope you understand. This 'SRF' that you serve is a military organization, isn't it? You must recognize the demands of a crucial mission."
The examining room has supplies on hand for a number of contingencies, including multiple delivery mechanisms for all of the drugs they've found useful. If injections are metabolized too quickly, Milla can certainly administer her next dose in a more lasting fashion. She selects suppositories from the supply cabinet and puts on a new pair of gloves.
"I'm going to need to keep you immobilized for a while longer," she says, rolling the girl onto her side -- there's some resistance now; she'd best hurry. "Try not to tense for this, or you'll cause yourself unnecessary discomfort." She lubricates the girl's anus and inserts the first suppository. "This is a second dosage of the muscle relaxant you've already had," she says. "It should affect you less strongly, but last longer, delivered this way." She massages the girl's anus for a moment, until she sees the slump of tension leaving the girl's shoulders, and then she picks up the second one. "And this one should help to lower your inhibitions," she says. She presses it in, follows it with her fingers to make sure that both are seated deeply enough to stay put. She doesn't remove her fingers immediately; this is a harmless discomfort, more psychological than physical, and that will be the way she erodes this girl's resistance. "We're going to continue this examination until I have the answers I'm looking for," she says, "but I hope that these will speed up the process."
She removes her fingers and discards her gloves, then rolls the girl onto her back again. The resistance she'd felt a few moments ago is gone now; the girl's arms fall limp at her sides. For good measure, Milla spreads her legs for her, far enough so that she's straddling the table, her feet dangling off either side. She's held completely open, on display; let her draw what conclusions she will about what's in store for her.
"Now," Milla says, walking around the table so she's just out of the girl's line of sight, "let's start from the beginning." She strokes the girl's hair, and the girl shivers. "Tell me your name."