Page 77 of Exiles on Earth
“They have feelings?” Another leans in.
More scores come in, more sevens and eights but two tens to compete with El-len’s.
El-len sits back, smiling broadly, but she doesn’t vote on my response for herself.
Did my answer displease her? My hearts speed up until they pound. What did I do wrong?
The announcer continues. “How would you react if you were asked to leave your mate?”
My chest squeezes painfully as if caught in a Parthiastock’s iron grip. “I wouldn’t obey. I would fight to the death to remain by her side, to love her for all eternity.”
El-len nods, both of her thumbs up, but her fingers stay away from the voting console. More tens sail over my head, circling like hunter birds over a desert.
“What if you were given an order?” the All-Mother asks, and the murmurs in the room halt, all eyes on me.
I have to face her and respond to her, all my training demands it, but while I glance at her, my body faces El-len still.
“Then I’d die,” I answer truthfully. If she orders me to leave now, I won’t.
“How very primal,” one of the females says approvingly.
“Mm, very. And look what hides underneath his shorts!” A woman nudges the other next to her, and they zoom in on a computer representation of my endowments.
El-len gives the screen a covert glance. Is she tempted to look for herself? Oh, how I want to show her!
I go to my knees, prostrating myself before her. “All that I am, I will give.” I swallow hard past the growing lump in my throat.
“A poetic soul, despite his origins.”
“A marvel. How unusual!”
More tens race to the collection above my head, and a single cheer is El-len’s whoop. But her own scores remain reserved.
She doesn’t want me.
I watchEl-len all night as she votes. She votes for those who have fewer scores despite their best efforts. Wherever she casts her ballot, the others add theirs in a flurry of scores, so the males are relieved. But does it mean El-len is voting for a male for herself?
And what does it mean that she bestowed on me only one ten during my interview, and nothing after that?
Yawning, she leaves with the females, giving me a tired wave. I wave back, but get shunted to the side, a yellow-crested True Born snarling, “Out of the way, Tuber. That’s my female you’re waving to.”
“She hasn’t chosen you yet,” I snap.
True Borns around us stare at me, as if shocked I can talk at all, let alone rebuke one of them.
“Watch yourself,” he warns, stalking away. Robots come to guide us to the barracks, through the females’ private jungle garden and deep in the mountainside. Inside stand rows of serviceable bunks, but the males groan.
“I’m so sore after that run, where are the massage bots?”
“Is this all? A thin mattress?”
I keep my mouth closed, claiming a bottom bunk near the door where I can watch for attacks. Given the glares the True Born shoot me, I’m sure at least one will try something.
Despite complaining about conditions, my rivals quickly descend into revelry, eating and drinking the feast laid out for them by more serving robots. I recognize most of the offerings because my crew and I found many of these specimens and brought them back to propagate on Oloria: translucent orbs that burst with citrusy foam, crystalline roots glowing faintly blue, steaming slabs of marbled meat with golden crusts, and spiraling fruits dripping iridescent nectar onto fingers as the True Borns tear into them.
I eat mechanically, fueling myself for the trials ahead. The food tastes nothing like the eggs El-len served me personally.
Cameras pan around from the walls, females tuning in to watch us at leisure. Males preen and flex whenever they see a camera trained on them, smiling into the lens. Underneath each camera sits a short display of the ident of who’s watching. Few lenses tilt in my direction, and I don’t perform for them. There’s only one person I want to impress, and somehow, I didn’t manage it.
