Page 98 of Exiles on Earth

“Yeah.” I can see that flying well on Earth, too. “She mentioned points.”

“Yes, well. Your tube was an early one, worth… how you say, fifty points. Later on are other females worth ten fifties.”

“And the stupid Tuber stayed near an empty pod to rant,” Samara chimes in, taking a big swig of her drink.

“He’s protesting. Good,” I say fiercely.

Samara slowly looks up at me. I really don’t like the dangerous glint in her eye. “We cannot have Tubers protesting.”

Shara’s scales go pale. “He’s not, he is being short-sighted, as you said?—”

I say, “He’s never protested for himself, but he needs to.”

Shara makes the same cutting motion she made with me earlier, this time more urgently.

Her face a mask of indifference, Samara says, “Regardless, he scored the lowest in the Games. He won’t be chosen by a female.”

The words slam into me like a physical blow. Ilia’s dreams, gone in an instant. And I contributed, screaming his name so he felt he had to stay.

He probably hates me right now.

The Prif surveys the scoreboards, which show the colorful aliens with the highest scores. Her fingers lazily trace the rim of her glass. “And so, as per our agreement, Shara, he’ll be euthanized before the day ends.”

Cold floods through me, freezing me in place. “He’ll be… killed?” I choke out, barely able to form the words.

“Of course.” The Prif doesn’t even look at me.

“No,” I gasp, panic clawing at my throat. My voice rises, shaking with desperation. “No, you can’t! Don’t! I—I’ll choose him. I claim him!” The words tumble out of me in a frantic rush.

The room goes silent, females staring at me, but the cold glares of the Prif and All-Mother don’t relent.

“Take me to him!” I beg Shara, clutching her arm. “Please, I’ll claim him. I’ll take him right now. Just take me to him!”

But Shara’s face is as icy as the Prif’s, her expression an unyielding wall as she shakes her head. “It’s too late.”

The ground seems to fall away beneath me. My knees threaten to give out as a sob rises in my throat. Too late. The words echo in my skull, hammering against my temples.

Too late.

THIRTY

ILIA

The Euthanization Centeris another gray building, one I won’t come out of. Parthiastocks hold onto my betrillium shackles as if I’m going to leap out of the heli-transport. Perhaps it’ll be over quicker if I do plunge from a height rather than wait for them to strangle me to death.

I keep my head high, but only from long practice. I might not have won the Games and my own female, but perhaps clones the world over will take something from my small act of defiance, protesting at El-len’s treatment at the hands of the Prif. It shines light on her methods, that she’d use a female in this way.

And I knew as soon as I opened my mouth, I might as well have tightened the garrote myself.

As the transport lowers to the dusty, cracked platform outside the Center, I close my eyes. Hopefully, El-len won’t see. She’ll be escorted home by the All-Mother, her adventures in space a mere footnote to the life I know she’ll make for herself on Earth.

Dragging me out, the Parthiastocks who arrested me hand me over to Euthanization Center Parthiastocks, then leave as quickly as they can. I wouldn’t want to stay on this plazaeither, in the shadow of the bland, blank building where hundreds of clones are disposed of every day.

The Apex pokes through my mind, confirming my crime. “Questioning the Prif. Protesting.”

His Base scans my chip. “345961LIA, convicted of causing the death of a female, exiled. Exile suspended for three days, now elapsed.” He looks me in the eyes. “For returning from exile, your sentence is euthanization. For protesting against the Prif, your punishment is to be dissolved in the acid vats.”

Acid vats. I can’t suppress the shudder that rocks through me. The most painful death Oloria can subject a clone to. Acid will slowly eat through my scales before biting into my raw flesh, all while still alive.