Page 104 of Exiles on Earth
The Prif is grinning, but her eyes look a little lost, like she’s wondering where I’m going with this.
But I’m just getting started.
“They’re such a great leader, always leading from the front and setting the example. Their crew looks up to them with something bordering on love, and certainly adoration.”
The Prif preens.
I’m practically pulling myself onto the podium, arms shaking. “Their work ethic leaves me floored, but their kindness and consideration takes the biscuit. I’ve never met such a sweetheart. Have I mentioned they always try to take care of me, even though I insist I’m an independent woman who doesn’t need help? Yeah. They find out what I want, and try their hardest to do that.”
Find out what she wants, and give it to her. Isn’t that what Ilia said? My heart thumps harder in my chest.
He’d run to catch up to me in the transport, he’d looked only at me during the interviews. He jerked off with my name on his lips, and he climbed to get me fruit fresh from the tallest boughs and then fed me otherworldly delicacies. His gentle, possessive touch ghosts against my skin. When I fell in the pond, he made sure I was okay but he also pulled me close to him, cradling me against his chest.
As if I was something precious to him.
My chest pulses with heat as awareness floods into every fiber of my body, like my heart’s finally beating again. My skin tingles, muscles trembling.
He was telling me with his whole heart—no, hearts—what he wanted. He was trying to communicate the best way he knew how. And he never, ever deviated from that apart from when he said goodbye on the ship.
He must have done it to protect me. I know Ilia, who he truly is. He’d never leave me if he had the choice.
I swallow past my tears. “I saw the culture he came from. I saw his life,” I say out loud, voice trembling. Because I did, I saw gray buildings he called home, tasted the brown slop they gavehim as food. It took him days before he stopped dropping to his knees whenever he thought I was upset with him.
And I expected him to ask me out? I shake my head at myself, gripping the plinth with white knuckles in case I collapse from the waves of realization breaking over me.
The Prif’s brows knit together, and a few females sit up, interested. Shara’s hand flies to her open mouth, but in shock or horror, I don’t care.
My throat threatens to close up, but I push through. “He took what life dealt him, all the injustices slight or huge, and kept on going. He took so many punches, literal and figurative, but, like an unbowed boxer, he persevered, kept being true to himself. Somehow, his kind heart has survived. Not because of the people who try to snuff it out, whether they realize it or not, but in spite of them.”
“That’s lovely,” the Prif says, but I continue, talking right over her.
“I mentioned he is a great leader, and I mean it. Everything’s better and brighter when he’s around. And lighter, too. He… he helped me work through my worries and taught me how to breathe again, and every task alongside him isn’t just easier, it’s… a highlight.”
The Prif makes a swift cut of her hand, the universal signal for ‘shut it down’. But I’m not done yet. I have to reach him, I need to see him again, even if it’s only one more time.
I talk quickly now, in case they cut me off. “Ilia Gerverstock, if you’re out there, please, just tell me you’re okay. No, better than okay, I need you more than just ‘okay’, okay?” I dash the tears from my eyes, staring into as many drone cams swarming my face as I can, trying to reach him with my words. “Ilia, I love you.”
The crowd erupts.
THIRTY-FOUR
ILIA
El-len’s voiceslides straight into my hearts, cracking my chest open. I can’t stand the pain, but I can’t bear to switch her off either. I’ll cling to this agony, the last time I’m likely to hear her voice. I listen to her cadence rather than her words. She was nervous at first, but now she’s gaining confidence, taking strength from something. Perhaps her new True Born mate.
“I saw the culture he came from. I saw his life,” she says.
I curl into myself. I showed her where clones live, no wonder she wanted something more. What do I have to offer any mate?
“Nothing, nothing. Nothing!” I slam my head against the floor, hard enough to see sparks.
Dazed, I slump to one side. I’m a failure, and now I’m unraveling, insanity eating away at the edges of my mind like acid. The acid vats would have dissolved me slowly, but this? This prolonged agony is worse.
And then El-len’s strong voice surrounds me. I can’t resist; even though it hurts, I listen. “He took what life dealt him, all the injustices slight or huge, and kept on going. He took so many punches, literal and figurative, but, like an unbowed boxer, he persevered, kept being true to himself.”
A smallflare lights, deep inside me. A tiny ember of hope. What injustices has a True Born endured? Perhaps if he’s the fourth mate like me, collected but not cared for. I’m not even a trophy for Imaya, hidden away in this closet like a dark secret. So she can’t be talking about a True Born, I know the depth of El-len’s heart.
She’s talking about a Tuber.
