Page 72 of Exiles on Earth
The same wonder I saw on Ilia’s.
“What’s going on?” I ask her.
“The first challenge,” Shara explains. “It’s the opening ceremony of the Mating Games. The contenders race after the females through the city, keeping them within view. It’s called The Hunt.”
“But… it’s not really a hunt, is it? We aren’t going to be taken down?” Hells, I hope not.
Shara’s gaze sparkles. “It seems there are many meanings to that phrase in your language.” She taps on the roof and we lower, smooth and secure, the thin walls vibrating with a light hum.
I swivel in my seat. A whole load of guys have piled up behind us, jostling at a starting line and shooting hopeful looks into the transport we sit in. These are probably True Born males.
And then we speed down the road.
I gape at the men rocketing off from the start line. Theysprint after our flying car, which is going around twenty miles an hour judging by how we pass the city blocks.
“How long do they have to run for?” I ask.
“As long as it takes for us to reach the site of the games. Although we usually take a… circuitous route.”
Men run after us as we leave the spaceship landing area and slide into a city of tall skyscrapers. Everything is clean and neat, with open spaces where guys spar with one another, open-air cafes and food stalls, and shops with holographic displays of men’s fashion. The models are all male, of course, and all different: men with chiseled chests, a guy with spines down his back, one with several tails or tentacles. None look like any of the guys who landed on Earth.
We pass a park with a silver fountain in the center, water flowing from a depiction of a female who looks a little like Shara, but in gold.
“Who’s that?” I point.
“Ah, the Prif, our leader and decision-maker. Samara is her name.” Shara tugs her wrap over her thighs. “I’m sure you’ll meet her at some point.”
More men crowd the street to watch the procession pass. Or skip by, really, our transport easing through the thoroughfare as the guys chase after us. They sprint, jostling and shoving each other, scales flashing different colors. Is that helping in some way?
As if in answer to my unspoken question, the All-Mother explains, “See them all using their unique physical advantages? The ones behind us may be True Born, but females will tinker with male embryo genetics to bestow on them their desired traits. We have the Mercurial speed, the Medicus determination, and of course, the Gerverstock power.”
Green and blue hues race up thighs as pumping legs keep a blistering pace. “So the True Born aren’t natural either?”
“If you mean left to chance, no. Something I sense you don’t approve of.”
I shift uncomfortably, not because the seats are in any way rough. “Farmers use selective breeding techniques, but we’re worried about unintended consequences or effects we didn’t anticipate.”
Shara nods slowly, as if choosing her words. “Understandable, if your models and projections are immature.”
Well, we can’t all be space-faring races. “Also, doesn’t it seem horribly unfair if Tubers are second class citizens because they’re grown, but genetically modified males are okay?”
Her enigmatic silver eyes gleam. “Precisely.”
The horde of breathless men gasp and pant behind us, scales turning red and purple with exertion. There’s the odd shove between them, but they largely seem civil with the other competitors.
Where’s Ilia in this crowd? I scan them all, not seeing his familiar face.
Shara leans forward and taps the window of the transport right next to my ear, making me jump. I frown at her but eyes bright, she toasts me with her glass, looking at something alongside me. I glance, then do a double-take.
Ilia runs level with the transport, far ahead of any of the others. He sucks air through his parted lips, legs pumping furiously and the scales on his thighs and taut stomach flickering between purple and blue while his legs and arms glow red as lava. He keeps pace as the car turns, staying within arm’s length of my window.
I press my hand to the cool glass. Sweat makes his figure shine, with shimmering reflections from his scales. He can sweat, which means we aren’t too far removed as a species… Except he wants a mate from this planet.
I set my hands in my lap. “That’s definitely impressive.”
“Ilia is. He is fascinating.” Shara presses a buttonand a screen projects between us. It’s a picture of Ilia, stern and standing tall.
Shara flicks through the information and I squint to catch any of it, but it’s all rolling fast in alien script.
