Page 65 of Exiles on Earth
“Well, Floss,” I mumble as I step out of the shower stall, moisture clinging to my hair. “We’re in a bit of a pickle?—”
I choke off.
Floss lies collapsed on her side in the corner of the bathroom, her breathing shallow and labored. Dark red blood pools on the metal floor beneath her, and a weak whimper escapes her muzzle.
“Floss?” My voice wavers, panic spinning in my chest like a Land Rover turning over and over on a hill, getting faster and faster as it crashes. “Floss!”
I drop to my knees beside her, hands trembling as I skim over her body, trying to find the wound. Her fur is slick with blood, warm and sticky beneath myfingers.
“Ilia!” I scream. “Ilia, help! Please!”
The door slams open with a deafening clang. He takes in my nakedness with flared nostrils, then focuses on Floss. He kneels at my side in a heartbeat, scanning her with his diagnostic tool. “What happened?”
“I don’t know!” I sob, clutching Floss’s fur as if that’ll keep her with me. “She was fine when I went into the shower.”
His face settles into a mask of grim focus, jaw tight at the readout. “I don’t know what’s wrong, but all shuttles have deep stasis for samples. We can hold her there until we get to Oloria.”
“Do it! Please, don’t let her die.”
He doesn’t hesitate, scooping her up. His eyes flash as he looks at me, determination shining through. “I won’t let her.” Then he’s gone, bolting so fast his steps thunder down the corridor.
His certainty eases my chest a little. He won’t fail me. Whoever he ends up with better realize she’s a fucking lucky lady.
TWENTY
ILIA
The next Earthweek drags on, every moment a razor-edged eternity, and yet they speed by too quickly. I want to soak in my last seconds with El-len, but with time relentlessly passing, the hours with her leaves me craving more.
I stand outside her door while she sleeps. El-len needs rest twice as often as I do, and when she rests, I guard her. The other males won’t dare approach without her consent, but the thought of them near her at all churns my gut. She is everything—my anchor, my torment, my fleeting taste of bliss. She’s not my subordinate but she’s the only crew I have left, and all my protective instincts wrap around her as I countdown to my end.
A standard Olorian day remains—nearly three Earth days—but each hour is a bitter gift. I want her entirely, wholly, yet the reality claws at me: I won’t have her for long.
The ship hurtles toward Oloria and my inescapable fate. Exile wouldn’t satisfy the Prif; she needs something final, something public—a lesson for the other Tubers. Why she hates us I don’t know, but it’s clear she does if she’ll go to these lengths to retrieve me. And while I’ll be forced to watch the ship turn and carry El-len safely back to Earth, I know theagony of losing her will be short-lived before my execution ends it all.
I clamp down my emotions, silencing the primal urge to claim what can never be mine. A mate bond ties a male to his female, but I don’t know what it would mean for El-len. If she felt even a modicum of pain through my death, I’d never forgive myself. No, it’s better that I disappear from her life, leaving no loss—only the echo of the time we shared.
“Morning,” she yawns to me, shocking me out of my morbid thoughts. Her plaited hair escapes the neat rope to feather around her blush pink cheeks, eyes sparkling with interest. She’s beautiful.
“Good morning, El-len,” I greet her. Really, it’s the middle of my wake cycle.
“Having a good day-night-whatever this is?” She rubs her eyes.
All the better for seeing her. “It’s within tolerance limits.”
She smiles at that, and we head to the kitchen. On the way, two Gerverstocks and a Parthiastock turn the corner. These ones are a Delta Gerverstock, an older cohort than mine the same age as Dom’s, and an Iota Parthiastock, probably on their first mission with their Apex. Being among other Gerverstocks drives home a brutal truth: I’m not unique. My strength, intelligence—everything that made me worthy in El-len’s eyes—isn’t mine alone. I am a template, mass-produced, one of thousands. What right do I have to hold her gaze, much less her heart?
They immediately pale to pastel purples and pinks, and bend so low all we can see are their backs, faces hidden.
“I hate it when they do that,” she whispers to me.
“You are a marvel to them. A miracle,” I say, mixing up her milapaste protein meal. She’s certainly a wonder to me.
“I don’t feel like a miracle.” She takes the bowl with slumped shoulders, not seeing how my scales ripple with indignation at her false belief. “And this food is horrific.”
Deep shame wells up like the molten core of Oloria, searing my stomach. “We would never usually offer milanutrient paste to a woman, you should be fed the finest foods we can harvest from the planets we explore. This is subsistence for Tubers, but there’s nothing else aboard. I checked.”
Her face crumples, and I know her well enough to tell she’s concerned. “That just makes it worse. You expect this, and only this?”
