Page 75 of Exiles on Earth
Imaya raises an eyebrow at me. “Well, I hope you aren’t from a backwards planet where the males think they rule females. You should be treated with respect in your courting rituals.”
I shake my head, until I think of Terry. “I mean, sometimes. They aren’t all bad, I suppose.”
Imaya nods. “The males here have shown their physical strength and tenacity during the Hunt. Now, we learn about their personalities.”
“And their looks,” one of the other women says from above. “Don’t forget that.”
“And their looks, yes,” Shara echoes with a smile.
A male wearing only a golden loincloth deposits a drink right in front of me. He flashes a smile at me and bows, a long black braid swinging between his buttcheeks as he walks away.
Holy shit, what would the girls think of this? Would they love it, or feel all kinds of squicky rolling in their stomachs like me? I mean, that guy seemed happy with his lot in life, but is he really?
I bring the glass to my lips, inhaling cool mint calmness. The taste hovers between peppermint and jasmine with an alcoholic bite, and very chilly, dry ice swirling above the liquor.
Shara leans close to me. “Now, Ellen, one thing to note: the genetics of the men have been scanned on the way in, and any woman related to that man will not be eligible to participate in the Mating Games. This year, I am disqualified, for obvious reasons.”
She nods to Ilia at the head of the group of guys, all still dripping water onto the floor. Ilia steams to burn it off, swirls of white surrounding him, and his eyes seek mine, holding my gaze.
“You’re kind of his mum,” I point out.
“Yes, I am the woman who donated genetic material to make him,” Shara goes on, sipping her drink. “Mm. Cold.”
“Yeah,” I murmur, not just for the drink. The way Shara said it was very matter-of-fact, no warmth in her tone. She doesn’t think of him as a son, not the way I mean it. Sharp pain prickles my chest for Ilia.
A smooth female voice rings out around the room as if from a speaker. “First to the podium is Aledra Aviensbred,” she announces, and a guy with spiky yellow hair comes to the center of the room, a wide grin on his face. Like all the others, he’s already shirtless and wastes no time in flexing.
The women settle down in their seats, the light dimming to better view the man taking up the middle of the stage. He flexes his biceps, making them bulge, then moves smoothly toshow off the packed mountains of his back. He looks strong enough to lift eight sheep all at once.
Thinking of sheep makes my stomach curl; the setup is rather like an auction house, the buyers sit above occasionally looking but mainly catching up with friends, and the men are the stock parading themselves below.
A drone hovers over the male, a flash of light stroking along his cut physique, and then all our hologram screens bleep. New information scrolls onto it, with a close-up of this male’s face to the right and a 3D model of him turning in place to the left.
I can’t read anything, but Shara says, “These are all his physical attributes. They’ve proven themselves physically fit in the Hunt, and this sets out other statistics which may be of interest.”
The swirl of feminine murmurs surrounds me. “Good, tight thighs.” “Wonder if he’s accomplished at jumping?” “Perhaps fruit picking, with that height.”
This is exactly like a cattle market. Oh dear. I run my fingers through the light in front of me. Little icons zoom up the closer my finger gets to the edge, and tapping one gives me more information I can’t read. Rather than watch the guy strutting around, I poke at the notes, until one opens up by zooming onto his crotch.
A 3D image pops up, pop being the operative word, of the guy’s cock.
I rub my eyes. Cocks. He has two?
“Ah, yes, very important,” the woman behind me says.
I whirl around to find her tapping her head to her shoulder, Ilia’s version of a shrug. “It’s a significant consideration in the choice for a mate.”
I search out Ilia, horrified. These women will be poring over an image of his junk shortly! I can’t find him, but the yellow guy in the middle thinks I’m looking at him, and a crest in the centerof his head rises into an impressive set of spikes. He licks his lips with a lascivious look in his eyes.
I bury my burning face in my hands. I guess this is how it’s done here, and the guys seem to be having fun, but what’s Ilia feeling about this?
“Now, the questions,” the announcer says. “Aledra, describe the qualities that make you a good mate.”
“I have endurance to surpass any other male,” he boasts. “I have achieved level 9 in pleasuring, which I will lavish upon my mate. I give massages described as orgasmic, and my tongue is long and ridged to please.” He pokes it out, and it curls in the air as if it were a snake. A snake with a bumpy back. He meets my eyes again and his tongue twists in the air.
“Interesting,” Imaya says, pressing something on her information screen. Four dashes appear out from her chair and hover above Aledra’s head.
He glances up at them and gives Imaya a bow, turning his attention to her. More dashes float out, probably this guy’s score from the women interested in him.
