Page 35 of Exiles on Earth
“We did, but only a few remain. Our planet suffered many problems, as our forefathers took too much too quickly. Hundreds of cycles ago, many died in war, disease or famine. With the males hastening the population extinct, females stepped in, scientists making breakthroughs in space travel to source what we need from elsewhere. But somehow, females are rare, hardly ever born, and none can ever be made synthetically.
“With the population crashing, the All-Mother, a geneticist with extraordinary vision, gave everything to produce clones. Wehave myriad purposes, all for the glory of Oloria.” At the mention of the All-Mother, Ilia touches a knuckle to his forehead, as do all the others.
“What a stirring advert in a travel mag,” Arabella drawls, chin in her hand.
“Arabella,” I chide her gently.
“Seriously, he sounds like he’s drumming up business. Is that what the All-Mother makes you say to people you meet on other planets?”
Ilia shakes his head slowly. “We’re not supposed to interact with other sentient lifeforms. We only take from those planets which can sustain it, and never from a culture which could rise up in war against us.”
I sit back in my seat. Their society sounds balanced on a knife edge, nothing at home and constantly exploring outward. Meanwhile, females are put on a pedestal. “So, you’re the worker bees, in a way,” I muse.
He doesn’t answer, probably because he has no idea what a bee is.
Waving my hand, I try to explain. “You leave the hive to get resources and bring them back, and meanwhile the queen stays there, tending to the next generation.”
Frowning slightly, Ilia says, “Nearly. Our females stay making extraordinary contributions to society, tended to by their True Born son mates. There are other types of clones, some of which don’t need to explore as a core function.” He points to the guys around the table. “Selthiastocks heal, Parthiastocks keep the law, and Pranastocks?—”
“Know how to get back to Oloria,” Arture cuts in, voice monotone. He hasn’t touched anything on his plate, nor has he picked up his fork.
Concern races across Ilia’s face, but whether he’s aghast at the interruption or the fact his crewmate’s not eating, I can’t tell yet. He pushes the plate closer to the pilot, and he startsmunching listlessly, mechanical arm flexing back and forth in a ruthless rhythm.
Nicole’s also watching Arture. “Is it only because females are rare you revere them, or because of the work they do?”
“Both,” Ilia declares. His gaze meets mine, that burning intensity back. “We’re in service to you. Whatever you desire, we will deliver.”
The words send a shiver straight to my core. Oh, man, give me a delicious guy saying that any day, let alone one sitting in my house right this second. Even the disorganization of my kitchen fades into the background.
Ilia shifts his seat to rise to standing. He’s so tall, his bristly hair strokes the wooden beams of the ceiling. Looking down at me, he asks, “Can we begin serving you now?”
Serving me? Sure! My heart leaps like an excited lamb.
Laura sets her knife and fork down with a click. “Nicole and I have to get to our places of work, but I’m warning you gentlemen…” She steeples her fingers, fixing them with her patented scary lawyer glare. “Ellen and Arabella have direct contact with us at all times. If at any point that goes dark, I’ll call the army, and they’re going to blow your asses into the next solar system. Understand?”
The clear ball of his Adam’s apple slides down Ilia’s throat as he swallows hard. “Yes, Ohlaura.”
“It’s just Laura,” she says with a sigh, standing up.
The guys all stand up too, the scrape of wooden chairs against tile overly loud in the kitchen as it suddenly becomes filled by muscles flashing with vibrant color. Lavender purples, metal grays, bamboo greens, and Ilia’s brilliant ocean blue fills the kitchen, glinting on the unwashed crockery and containers of sheep dip.
“We will not fail you,” Ilia promises. “Do you need one of us to accompany you as a hostage?”
“You mean follow me to my meeting? Absolutely not.”Laura leads the way out blowing air kisses, Nicole in tow. “Ellen, Arabella, mwah. Keep us informed.”
“Absolutely.” Although we’ve agreed to this, dizzying shock rocks me. There really are aliens in my kitchen, and they’ll be staying for a bit, and now Arabella and I will be alone with them.
And, somehow, that doesn’t completely derail me.
With a bow of his head, Ilia says, “We will begin. Once again, thank you for the anegg breakfast.”
“You’re welcome. You’ll have to give me marks out of ten, and maybe one day a review on Trip Advisor.”
“I will do all of these things,” he says gravely. “Simply teach me how to do it. I’ll do anything, El-len.” His eyes meet mine, sending a lance of pure desire into me. “Anything.”
Before I can recover, the guys file out like they’re marching, all smooth and in line apart from Gara, who leans on one of the triplets. Once outside, Ilia organizes them all, and then they start work.
I peer around the mudroom doorway, pulling at my plait absently listening to the guys lifting the rubble out of the way. Hopefully nothing will fall on them, but Ilia seems like the type to be aware of the weaker areas, keeping them away from areas where the roof’s broken overhead. He knows what he’s doing.
