Page 102 of Exiles on Earth
Ysura twists free and blocks my doorway. “It means, Tuber, that you’re to go nowhere near our pleasure areas.”
I swallow hard. If she doesn’t want my skills, doesn’t want my pleasure, doesn’t want my genes to give to her offspring… what does she want?
Why did she choose me?
A few days later,Belora sets up a vidscreen in my room. No one’s managed to find the keystone for my chains, nor does it seem to be a priority. He has to step carefully around the meals he’s prepared for me, meals I haven’t touched. As he projects the view onto one of my walls, I stare at the sores rubbing into my scales from the betrillium, at the damage constantly being repaired by my indefatigable nanites.
I wish they wouldn’t. I wish I could override them, the way Gara or Arture can, except I’d get them to switch off. What’s the point of healing me? For what?
I’m a failure.
I’m unraveling, the edges of my mind slipping hour by hour. No mate; no crew. No purpose. The ache in my chest feels like someone’s chipping away at me, hollowing me out. Not even removing natural emissions brings any relief, my cocks either tooflaccid to do anything, or so hard touching them brings nothing but pain.
And my thoughts always turn to El-len. Of her soft scent tickling my nose, her delicious taste making my mouth water. I’m drooling now, but I find it hard to care.
The vidscreen flashes on and Belora grunts, “Look.”
I don’t have the will to lift my head.
“Look, Gerverstock. It’s you.”
My eyes slide to the display. There I am, bravely shouting my defiance against the way El-len was treated by the other females.
None of that fire flickers in me now.
It cuts to a report on how the Tuber was chosen by a high ranking female, who wishes to remain anonymous, and then the All-Mother, who looks delighted, shining silver in the sun.
“I knew one day clones would prove worthy of a mate,” she says in a sound bite. “I know he’s proud of himself, but I’m also proud of how far we’ve been able to prove that they have thoughts, feelings, and now a drive to achieve higher callings.”
My gaze slips back down to the floor between my feet, and I slump against the wall. A higher calling which led to my crew nearly being executed. Instead we were exiled, but the robots were programmed to kill us all, just to stamp out my insolence.
Everyone thinks I’ve succeeded, but all I’ve ever done is lost.
Belora taps my shoulder. “What do you need? Water? Food?”
I shake my head, mute. I got everything I ever wanted: a mate to call my own. But I never dreamed she’d keep me locked away and never touch me, never ask me for anything.
As Belora leaves, I bury my face in my hands. Crash landing on Earth seemed a disaster, but exile quickly led to elation when I met El-len. But even she didn’t want me, and now my life’s reduced to these four walls and painful memories.
And then I hear her voice.
“Well, it’s warmer here, for one. Also the culture is very different.”
I snap to my feet, facing the vidscreen wall. El-len stands on a plinth marked with the Prif’s insignia of hands cupping the planet, drone cams circling her from all angles.
She looks beautiful, hair shining as it dances loose in the breeze. Even wide eyed with uncertainty, she’s stunning. The two starhounds flank her, panting into the vidfeed whenever the operators cut to them.
I press my side against the wall, a keening noise ripping from my throat before I can suppress it. El-len, El-len, my double hearts beat.
But she didn’t choose me. She didn’t want me. Was that the reason Imaya had to save me? Because El-len didn’t care to? My gut rejects it, but the stark truth surrounds me within these blank walls. I’m locked away here, not by El-len’s side.
She doesn’t want me.
Behind her, a yellow crest rises from the crowd. Did she claim that True Born son instead? My jaw locks together in a snarl, but if she wants him, she should have him. She deserves as much.
Slowly, I sink to my knees, then bend down over them to press my forehead to the over-warm floor. I’m not worthy to even look at her. My bound hands lie in my lap, trembling. If the connection between the manacles was a little longer, I could try to strangle myself.
El-len’s voice wraps around me, chasing me into despair.
