Page 51 of Exiles on Earth
She scowls. “That’s not a preference.”
“Genuinely, I’ll answer to anything. When we first met, you kept asking if I was okay. You can call me that. I’ve been called by my number, 345961LIA, by the shortener I designed, Ilia. I’m referred to as a Gerverstock clone, bred to be intelligent and hardy for space travel, with emergency strength to rescue my crew if I need to. I’ve been ridiculed as a Tuber. Call me any of those and more. Call me guy, if you want. Just call me, and I’ll answer.”
I’ve never spoken my preferences aloud for so long, and especially never with a female.
But El-len still frowns, as if I’ve said something offensive. My gut churns. Did I read the situation incorrectly? What did I say wrong?
“Ilia, you’ve got all this… training in you. An in-built subservience to women.” She takes a deep breath, bracing a hand against the stone of her walls as if to steady herself. “Are you able to say no to me?”
I think about that. I don’t want to refuse her. Whatever she wants, I’ll deliver. “No.”
She gasps, hand to her face. “You didn’t have a say when I… I nearly kissed you. I’m so sorry, Ilia, I didn’t mean to force myself on you.”
“You’re not forcing me.” I have to fix her misunderstanding before the devastation in her eyes consumes her. “Earlier, you asked what I need. I need to be a good leader. Even though I’m failing my crew, I won’t give up on them.”
“You haven’t failed. They adore you.”
I shake my head. Her praise feels like a lie I can’t bear. “Arture almost died today because of me.”
“No,” she says firmly. “Because of the limits forced on you.”
Her words pierce me, cracking open something buried deep, like shattering the plasteek shell of the tube I was grown in.
“That’s still your purpose,” she presses. “But what about you, Ilia? If you could choose, what would you do with your life?”
My secret longings surge through me, tangling my tongue. They’re so hard to say out loud, too dangerous, not just because I was exiled for them, but because they’re such a core part of me, to have them ridiculed would be torture.
But I will bear myself to El-len. I admit quietly, “I want a mate of my own.”
Her eyes brighten. “Oh?”
“Yes. I entered the Mating Games—before I understood I might not receive encouragement. In the Mating Games, males compete to win the interest of females looking to add to their selection of mates. I’d show all my qualities, all the ones advertised in the standard Gerverstock but also others. How I serve, how I seek to understand my mate and give her exactly what she needs. How I’ll build her dreams as my own.
“And perhaps one day, she’ll choose me to father her True Born son. Females pick the qualities they want to balance withtheir own, and they’re conceived in a mate bond, not in a… a tube. Like me.”
Fear laps at me as I search her face. There’s nowhere left to hide, my secret desires outside my scales, no way to claw them back if I need to. My longing for a mate lies revealed, spread out before her as she shared her dreams with me.
Her face takes on a look I’ve never seen before. Warm, yes, understanding, but also strangely brittle. As if I’ve uncovered one of her own secrets.
“You want… a mate. Right. A female who can give you a… a True Born son.” Her face takes on a look she gives her friend Arra-bellah occasionally. It’s an expression I want to smooth off her face and yet warms my hearts to see directed at me: concern. “And it sounds like you go through two rounds of choosing, one at the Mating Games, and then after that when she’s picking who’ll be daddy. That doesn’t seem fair.”
“It is how it’s done.” I don’t mean the words to ring harshly against these old walls, especially when El-len’s frown returns with a red sting of ire in her cheeks. But she’s awakened something in me. Deep inside, down so deep I’ve never let this rest in my thoughts in case Dom hears and euthanizes me: I agree with her. It isn’t fair.
If El-len were ever to choose me, I wouldn’t want to share her with anyone, and the very idea sets my scales to harden with anger.
But protesting my station won’t change it. I can only survive in the world I was born into. “I was close to being a contender in the Mating Games, the first Tuber to compete in the same trials as the True Born males. I passed all the preliminary tests of endurance, empathy and experience.”
“I’m sorry that dream was snatched from you,” El-len murmurs, a faraway look entering her eyes. She’s physically next to me, but she feels very far away. “It must feel awful, being stranded here.”
I stare at her, dumbfounded. I can see us, working hard on this beautiful green land together, bringing her dreams to life. I have no doubt it would play out as she said, and I’d do my part to defend my family against these banks and problems with developers.
Moving close enough to touch, I say, “I want to be worthy of a mate, and I would make her dreams come true.”
She smiles at the admission of my deepest desires, but her eyes swim with moisture. Tears? “Sounds lovely. I… I’m sorry you can’t enter these games.”
El-len’s upset, and it tears my hearts apart. My hands drop uselessly to my sides. Why can’t I speak plainly? I wouldn’t care about the games if El-len wanted me, but she’s not claiming me.
Then a blast tears the air behind her, and I launch for her.
