Page 2 of Exiles on Earth
“No,” I grind out, or try to, letting out a strangled, “Nuuuh.” I push against the garrote, hardening my scales against it. Gulping in air, I force out, “My crew… are… utterly loyal to… all females. They had… nothing... to do with my failure.” She can’t dispose of them!
Except, she can.
“Kneel, Tubers,” the Prif commands smoothly, and, being good clones, they obey. They each look straight ahead, anger ticking Dom’s jaw, Arik’s facial scales pale, Arture’s back regulation straight, Gara glancing sideways at Dom’s sluggishly bleeding wound as if itching to tend it. As if that matters any more. The pain of the garrote barely registers against the gaping black hole in my hearts. If I could trade my life for theirs I would, but it seems we’re all to be disposed of here and now.
And it’s wrong. Heat travels up my arms as my body prepares to fight this huge injustice, even though there’s no way I can win.
“Stop!” a gentle voice calls from the tiered audience stands. The wire’s grip tightens, biting deep into my flesh, and blackness swarms my vision.
A blurry figure strides across the stage from the seats, all in white so bright it shines silver like staring into the reverse thrusters of a rocket.
The All-Mother.
I watch in awe as she approaches me. She can't be here for me, can she?
“Enough, I said,” the All-Mother shouts, reaching up to tug at the garrote around my neck. She’s trying to save me. Me, a mere Tuber.
The strap loosens and air floods my tortured throat. I refuse to gasp, taking deep and even breaths that strain my control, chest aching. My eyes fill with tears from the released pressure, and I drop my gaze to the floor. A Tuber like me shouldn't look a female, let alone the All-Mother, in the eyes.
She circles me, steps soft underneath the swishing cloth of her long, layered dress. Her hand is so small and so pale, silver scales delicate, not like the sun-beaten weathered scales of males.
She pulls the gold strand threatening my throat away. “No. This is wrong.”
I chance to raise my gaze. Crystal eyes sharp, the All-Mother turns to the Prif with a slight divot between her eyebrows. “Let them all go.”
The Prif’s golden scales dim. “You’re not in charge of our security, Shara.”
“Is this anything to do with security? He didn’t do anything wrong, he just couldn’t find anything out there to help Katyen!”
“He failed,” the Prif hisses, hands clenched onto the rails of the tiered seating surrounding us. “He was sent out there to get medicines to help her, and he returned empty handed.”
“It’s not his fault there wasn’t anything for him to find,” the All-Mother counters, silver scales flashing in the bright light as her chest heaves. “But this isn’t about resources, is it, Samara? We all miss Katyen and her scientific mind dearly, but that’s not why you have him here, is it?”
I clench my jaw, my neck radiating pain from the lethal compression it endured, and dare to sneak a glance at the Prif.
She’s utterly still, like some off-world predator hiding in long grass. A traitorous thought surfaces before I can suppress it; she may care about the death of her compatriot, but really, she’s punishing me for daring to enter the Mating Games. I’d expected some pushback, mainly snide ridicule, perhaps attempts on my life from irate True Born sons trying to protect females from even considering mating with me.
But not this. And I didn’t see the danger until it was too late.
My selfish, secret hopes caused all this.
After a long silence, the All-Mother nods once. “Gerverstock, you’re authorized to get yourself out of your restraints.”
My scales flare red, strength surging across my chest as hot asfire. Hearts pounding, I tear through the pole, snapping it in half with a scream of machinery. Gerverstock strength is legendary, but it comes with a cost as I gasp for breath, wrists throbbing. If I hadn’t scaled up, I’d have ripped my own hands off. Pushing beyond the body’s limits to find extra strength can result in a Gerverstock dropping dead from accidental overexertion.
The All-Mother meets my eyes, giving me a satisfied smile in response to the destruction. Meeting her gaze makes my breath halt. She’s older than I’d imagined, skin crinkled around her eyes and lips. Her hair flows, long and lustrous, smooth silver strands like star light. I’ve never been so close to a female before, and I can’t help but imagine what a female’s hair might feel like, slipping through my rough fingers.
No. Desires like that got me and my crew into the mess. Now, I have to find a way out.
“What if he withdraws from the Games?” the All-Mother asks the Prif.
My stomach lurches at the twist of fate. Saved from execution to have my dreams of a female to cherish, even perhaps father my own True Born, crushed. Grief chokes me deeper than any garrote. I wish I had died.
The All-Mother leans in close to me, whispering with a soft smile, “You won’t win this one. Not yet.”
“I… I can’t lose.” My throat aches, making me force the words out. “I’ve never lost any challenge set before me. I solve thousands of conundrums every day exploring the farthest reaches of space. That’s why I could pass the tests to enter the Games, I?—”
A single warning shake of her head stops me. I’ve forgotten my station, I can’t argue with a female!
