Page 94 of Exiles on Earth

The rebuke stings. My instincts press to cut a good figure as a leader and figurehead, but the only female I want to impress doesn’t even care about the Games. I can’t be responsible for everyone else’s dreams, only El-len’s should matter.

But that’s not true. I am concerned about others, about how they’ll see me. And if I default, and El-len leaves without me, I’ll be euthanized. The message would be clear, resonating for generations of clones: we cannot reach for mates of our own, only serve the females as we were designed to do.

Borela seems to see the conflict in my face. “You don’t understand now, but you are required to complete this task?—”

“And get the most points,” Ysura snarls, kicking an unoffending tree trunk. “Tag as many females as possible. You need to do that at least.”

“But… why do you care how many points I?—”

Ysura grabs my biceps faster than I can see, probably genetically modified for speed. He slams my back against the same trunk, scales turning into spikes on his snarling face.

Red races up my arms and I grab his wrists, but I pause. If Ibreak his limbs, his mate might complain, so I brace myself instead.

“Win,” he spits, then stalks away.

I wipe the droplets off my cheeks, breathing deep to calm the flashes of rage pulsing through me.

Belora’s heavy hand lands on my shoulder, and I flinch. “As I said, you don’t understand yet, but you at least need to complete the Games. Come.”

I follow the calmer male, a rock in the untamed wilderness, and he leads me back to the barracks.

“Do well,” he says as his parting advice, and I’m left to enter alone.

The quarters are quiet, the True Born sons gathered in the center watching a hologram. As it spins it displays a wild jungle, fostered for this trial and filled with the most dangerous plants from across the galaxy.

I should know. My crew and I found most of them.

Grimacing, I lean back against the wall, but the True Born in yellow sidles up to me.

“Where were you, clone?”

I ignore him.

He smirks. “Afraid? You should be. That pretty human female is mine, and if you go anywhere near her, I’ll kill you.”

My nostrils flare, strength flowing through my arms in waves of heat, begging to be used.

He licks his lips, tongue a modified dual fork. “When she belongs to me, I’ll taste every inch of her, claiming her. I’ll wipe her mind clear of anything but me.” He lowers his voice. “And then she’ll happily order your disposal.”

Posturing won’t help, it’ll be a waste of energy. That’s what I tell myself as I slam my hands around his throat.

He kicks me, but I already hardened my scales. His ruff comes up, forcing my fingers open, so I headbutt to stun him. The problem with True Borns is they all have differentstrengths and weaknesses, but I’ve sparred with Dom every day. No True Born can defeat a specially-designed enforcer.

He squeals, nose broken, and the rest of the room whips around to face me.

“Save it for the jungle,” another male grunts.

A robot trundles in, two Parthiastocks with betrillium manacles in their hands behind it. “The final trial is about to start,” it announces. “A reminder that the object is to defend the females, who will be safe behind plasglass. Once a female is reached, her point value will be added to your total. You may reach as many females as you are able to, but safeguard only one.”

Yellow-crest glares at me over his nose. “The human’s not worth many points, but I’ll get to her first, Tuber.”

My hearts stutter with shock. “El-len’s not in this trial, is she?”

I scramble to the front, studying the slow spinning hologram of the jungle layout. And there, right at the back of the arena behind venomous vines and poison grass, is a tiny picture of El-len.

She’s screaming, and even though I can’t hear her, Gerverstock rage rips through me, doubling my size and shoving the other competitors out of the way.

“She’s scared!” I bellow. “El-len’s a human. She doesn’t understand she’s actually safe.”