Page 81 of Exiles on Earth
“El-len,” I whisper, watching her camera.
It flicks off, dead, leaving me utterly alone in a steamy shower room. My hearts quickly drain of desire, as empty as my cocks.
Was that even her? She’d nodded, an Earth gesture, but perhaps a female looked me up and down. I’d performed for a stranger, and the thought makes my stomach churn so badly I nearly vomit.
I can’t getto sleep. The bed is too soft, and the neck brace, meant to support my spine and assist with good posture, is both a luxury and droking annoying.
Not only am I on edge waiting for an assault, but shame sears red hot betrillium spikes into me. I performed for a female, someone who wasn’t El-len.
Punching the neck brace onto the floor, I turn my back to the room. I’d welcome an attack right now, anything to bleed off the longing eating away at me. I have no crew, no mission, no one to support but myself. And no El-len.
The All-Mother’s words burn into me. If I can’t get a female to claim me, I’ll be sent to the Euthanization Center at the end of the Games. But the threat of death pales in comparison to seeing El-len choose another. I’d rip my hearts out there and then if she did.
Rolling to the other side, I let my thoughts run free, and they keep going toward her. Where’s El-len? Is she awake and eager to explore? Perhaps she’s worn out from traveling, or experiencing the luxuries of this compound. I want her to sample everything, all the good things we males have been able to procure for the females. Once, I brought back fine sea salts; is El-len even now rubbing them along her skin? I twist in my bed sheets, an ache flaring across my scales where she last touched me, on my hand. Running my fingers over it does nothing to quell the pain deep within, so I give up and roll to my feet.
The door slides open. Tensing, I watch as the figure steps inside. Tall with broad shoulders, the silhouette is a Lautostock, a cleaner clone with a fastidious nature.
He peers at me, then gestures me to follow him. “Gerverstock, you’re wanted.”
I pull my shorts on, buckling them quickly, and pace out after him. “What is it?”
“I’m following orders,” he replies, wringing his hands nervously. Lautostocks aren’t used to a lot of social interaction, and he keeps peering into my face as we walk down the corridor toward the jungle exit. “Are you really competing in the Games?”
“Yes,” I reply, all my exhaustion in my voice. “I am.”
His eyes shine. “I hope you do well and a female chooses you, because, then, well, perhaps one will want to choose me someday.”
I’m used to the look he gives me, something between awe and solidarity. My crew shoot me the same when I make a decision, when my certainty helps them cut through their indecision, when I lead them to all work together.
If I can’t secure a mate and I face my fate, all those hopeful clones outside the Sanctuary will see their aspirations die before they’ve dared to take the first step.
It shouldn’t be my responsibility to bear all those dreams. I’ve never raged against my station in life, not even when El-len pointed out the deep-rooted unfairness of it, but having to carry the hopes of millions of Tubers makes something burn inside me.
I can’t lead them all. I’ve proved I’m a terrible leader, condemning my crew to exile by pursuing my selfish desire. I’ll fail them.
But I have to try. I mentally square my shoulders to prepare for whatever challenge the clone leads me to.
The Lautostock opens the door ahead of me and into the garden for rare specimens. I recognize the climber we obtained from a jungle planet where we nearly lost Arture’s other arm, the thick bushes with the sweet-smelling blooms from the forest planet that nearly claimed Dom, and the cacti from a desert belt on an otherwise verdant planet, which made us all sick and Gara made a compound to cure us. The plants all seem to be doingwell here, throwing out lush boughs that I have to push through, each one a memento of the trials my crew and I have been through together.
“Does someone want me to do something in this garden?” I ask.
“I do not know. I will deliver you and resume my tasks.” He steps lightly alongside an artfully carved stream. I move across the stones over the clear water lit by dim glow lights, watching my step. Moving aside a trail of perry-leaves with the rich scent of calmberries, I finally see who called me here.
At a table, illuminated by the three moons, sits El-len. She has her back to me, hair left long and flowing over her shoulders. As she sips from a chai bowl, her brown locks part to slip over her shoulder, revealing a strap of her gown. She wears layers of bright white robes wrapping her muscular, trim form.
I halt, staring, drinking in this image. She’s the most beautiful otherworldly being here, shining beyond all the other exotic plants from other planets.
I clear my throat. “El-len. Good Earth morning.”
She looks over her shoulder, her eyes sparkling. “Hi, Ilia! You’re up too. I asked the cleaner to check.”
“Yes, it seems I have acclimated to an Earth cycle.”
The Lautostock moves next to her, then bows, not meeting her eyes. “I bring him, hu-man female.”
“Thank you so much, I really appreciate it.”
“Can I get you someone else? Something else?” he tries.
