Page 67 of Exiles on Earth
El-len sighs. “I bet you’re worried about them, same as I’m worried about my girls.”
I nod. “We’re apart now, but I know my crew. Gara’s purpose is to look after their well-being and he’s good at organizing. He’s the best second in command, and he’ll see what needs to be done and arrange for it to be completed to support Arra-bellah.”
That is, if Dom will accept him as the leader. My hearts twist. While Gara will be able to support Arture, Gara isn’t physically imposing, he won’t be able to make Dom feel secure in his place. The Selthiastock healer antagonizes the Parthiastocks sometimes with his outbursts, like the accusation he made against Arra-bellah. I regret striking him, but I reacted out of instinct, to correct him before a female overhears and orders him euthanized. I was so afraid for him, I forgot we were on Earth, with new dynamics between males and females to navigate.
They’ll need me to help, and not being able to help them crushes me. I failed, yet again, and I’ll pay the ultimate price shortly.
El-len stares at the table as if it holds answers. “Being able to do nothing sucks.”
“I… understand that. It’s a little like our purpose is for us.”
She lifts her head up from the table. “Not nearly as bad as that. I’m sorry, you must think I’m being overdramatic.”
“Not at all. I… know what it’s like to have your plans and secret hopes overturned.”
The compassionate look she gives me winds around my hearts. “You won’t lose your dreams. We’re on our way back, so you’ll get to participate and grab yourself a mate.”
I don’t correct her, and she frowns, perhaps thinking I should act more excited than I am. She sighs into the silence between us. “Are there repairs, or cleaning, or something?”
“Cleaning?” I say, aghast. “No female ever needs to do manual labor on our world.”
“Mm, nice. But what else do they do to fill their time?”
“I don’t know.”
“Weighty and important matters, beyond the ken of man?” El-len looks like she is trying to raise a smile from me, another of those Earth jokes, and so I give her one, but shame at not knowing feminine culture eats at me. I know nothing about them, expecting to learn if I were chosen.
A Gerverstock stumbles in from the hold area, looking for me, and his gaze locks onto El-len. I can’t blame him—a female shares his air, and he never expected to have one so close—but the knowledge doesn’t stop my scales from hardening into intense battle-ready red.
“What?” I snap at him.
The male jerks his gaze away from El-len as if burned. “The plants are dying,” he says, forcing the words out in Earth tongue as I’ve commanded. They must speak her language when she’s present, no exceptions. “The captain asks if you know anything that might help.”
El-len stands abruptly, her chair scraping against the floor. The male flinches and takes an instinctive step back. “The plants are sick? Show me. Maybe I can help.”
He hesitates, eyes flicking to me for guidance. Without a word, I gesture for El-len to follow me, leading her to the hydroponics suite. The sterile, white room hums with the faint soundof water cycling through the system. Plants sit in rows of trugs, their leaves stretching toward the artificial light above.
I sample the moisture in the air through my skin, feeling for any imbalance. “The humidity is correct,” I report.
“But look!” El-len says, her voice urgent as she bends over a leafy Halo-world plant, brushing her fingers against its surface. “Dark spots on the leaves.” She gently turns one over, examining the damage with the focus of someone who truly loves what they’re seeing. Her hands, so tender and deliberate, belong here—touching life, coaxing it to thrive. Not locked away in a cold, sterile ship.
“It needs more nitrogen,” she tells the Gerverstock.
He gulps, frozen at being directly addressed by a female, staring at her as if she’s a living goddess descended from the stars.
I clear my throat sharply, and the sound jolts him into action. He scrambles toward the mineral dispenser, but before he can measure anything, El-len steps forward and takes the pan from his fumbling hands. “Don’t worry, I’ll do it,” she says, her tone firm. The male retreats immediately, bowing deeply before scuttling out of the suite, leaving her shaking her head in exasperation.
I suppress a chuckle at his reaction. It does seem overdone, now that I’m aware it makes her uncomfortable. “You know your plants.”
“I know my animals, too,” she replies, her voice softening as she scoops fertilizer into the container. “And my soil, the wind, rivers, and trees. My land is part of me, I’m sure of it.”
“And you’ve shaped it, too.” A small tray of seedlings sits to one side. I begin potting them while she measures and mixes. She stretches on tiptoe to reach the high countertop, her legs taut with the effort, and the sight stirs in me an inappropriate but undeniable admiration for her buttocks. At the same time, I find myself wondering if I could construct a proper workstation for her—a place where she could work comfortably,surrounded by life. If she wants to keep busy, who am I to deny her?
El-len hums as she repots the plants, her melody weaving through the sterile air. Glancing at me, she asks, “Do you like this?”
“Yes,” I reply, pushing my thumb into the cool, grainy soil. “I was bred to seek out and nurture new plants. But even so, I find joy in it.”
“Good. Everyone needs a hobby, Ilia.”
