The flesh in the furnace

saltshaker was tucked under the band of her skirt, and she had pulled her blouse out to conceal the spiders. There was still a bulge, but she thought he might not notice.
        And she was right.
        As they drove into the storm again, eating their sandwiches, she knew that she had him in the palm of her hand, anytime she wanted him there. And tonight, when they stopped, she would teach him who was boss. Again, their roles had changed.
        She did not bring the spiders into the open immediately. It was more fun to conceal them, to feel the glass grow warm against her body and to know that this power lay so close at hand. She permitted him to eat his sandwiches. When they returned to the cargo hold to spend the night, she ate some canned fruit with him and enjoyed some bottled vegetable juice. She spoke some lines for him, relishing his joy all the more for knowing how swiftly she could change that joy into terror.
        She danced for him.
        The spiders in the saltshaker waited where she had hidden them behind the food crates.
        She read to him from a book.
        He asked for parts to be repeated.
        She read them over as often as he wished.
        The feeling of superiority was so strong, so exciting, that she could barely keep herself from rushing to the saltshaker, grabbing them out of it and waving the eight-legged little beasts in his face, laughing at his horrified fascination.
        But she restrained herself, aware that once the bottle had been shown to him, this sweet anticipation would be over and the thrill of holding an axe above his head would diminish when he knew that axe was there.
        In time, his head nodded against his chest.
        His breath came out as a long sigh.
        He slept.
        She watched him for a while, then went and got the spiders. She stood beside him, looking up at his wide face, and kicked him in the thigh until he woke.
        "I have something for you, Sebastian," she said, holding the bottle behind her.
        He looked groggy, and she wanted to be certain he was wide awake when she presented him with her gift.
        "Do you hear me, Sebastian?"
        He sat up straighter and yawned. "What?"
        "I have something for you."
        He grinned. The poor, trusting son of a bitch, she thought. And she could hardly keep her laughter down.
        "Hold your hand out," she said.
        He held it out.
        She moved swiftly, bringing the bottle around and holding it only inches from his fingertips. The spiders were trying to climb the glass walls with little success.
        He looked at it a moment before he saw that the bottle itself was not being offered, that it was the contents that should interest him. And then he blanched and tried to shove himself backwards, through the wall of the truck.
        "No!"
        Do you want them?"
        He drew his hand swiftly to his chest, clutched himself. "I'll take them out and give them to you."
        "No!"
        She made as if to unscrew the top of the shaker, though she had no such intention at all.
        "Perrrtooosss…" he moaned, beating at himself, as if a hundred spiders crawled on him and he was trying to knock them loose.
        "Do you want me to keep Pertos bottled up?" she asked. He could not take his eyes from the spiders.
        "Sebastian!" she shouted.
        He looked at her.
        "You want me to keep them bottled?"
        He nodded, his head moving quickly up and down. He didn't stop nodding even when she spoke again.
        "Then you'll do something for me," she said. "You'll take the amoeba off the Furnace. You'll resurrect the others and bring them to life in the nutrient trays."
        He said nothing.
        She moved closer with the bottle. "Won't you?" she insisted.
        "Y-Y-Yes," he agreed.
        "Get up," she said.
        He obeyed.
        "Get the Furnace ready."
        He did this too.
        "Wissa first," she said.
        He fed the disc to the machine.
        He worked the nobs, formed a whole and lovely villainness.
        "She'll… hurt… y-you," he said mournfully.
        "The prince," Bitty Belina said. The spiders were still in evidence.
        The prince was born.
        Wissa had already begun to stir. She sat up, groggy, and brushed at her skin as if she were dusty.
        As the body of the first unsuccessful suitor jelled inside the womb, Belina stood on