Authors: Evanne Lorraine
Bon Sorority Compound, Earth
Thirty years later, 4402 SG
The small examination room—tinted an unfortunate shade of lime, furnished in syn-steel and shabby wood and covered in too many layers of paint—did nothing to ease Camille’s fear. Nor did the sterile setting cushion the bad news written all over Doctor Elspeth’s face.
“I’m
so sorry, little one.” The doctor reached out to her with an awkward pat on her chilled shoulder.
Perched on a tipsy stool, Camille wrapped her arms tight
er around her waist in futile protection of her empty womb. She nodded, and then because she needed to hear the words, she asked, “The insemination didn’t take? There’s no babe?”
“No babe, child. I’m afraid fertilization did not happen. I wish
—” The doctor cleared her throat before rattling on, “What I meant to say is that we all wish the artificial insemination process worked better. I’m so, so sorry. The warriors’ specimens degrade with distressing rapidity.”
Elspeth
kept talking, but the only phrase penetrating Camille’s misery was an endless echo of “
no babe
.” She stared at her scuffed sandals.
The sorority practiced strict frugality. Like
every other breeders, she had no need of sturdy boots or flexible slippers. After all, she didn’t toil in the hydroponic gardens, practice fighting skills, or wield magic.
Her regular kitchen detail aside, she had only one function
—breeding. A simple task. One she’d been genetically engineered, nurtured, and trained to perform. A task at which she’d failed. Again.
The doctor chattered adding meaningless statistics about conception
doubtless intended to reassure her.
N
umbers gave no comfort.
“So you see the failure to breed is nothing you did wrong. You are not at fault.” Doctor Elspeth peered at her with an anxious expression.
Camille tried for a smile and failed in this too. She stood and smoothed the wrinkles from her plain robe. The stubborn creases resisted her efforts. She hated the coarse syn-cotton. The material, dyed a putrid pink, announced her status as an unproven breeder.
Out of nowhere, an image of a babe in her arms, smiling up at her and kicking his sturdy legs, enchanted her. Camille watched
while she cuddled his small body close to her face and leaned in to inhale the exquisite scent of clean youngling. The image glowed vibrant and palpable—far more real than the shabby examining room in which she sat. Then as fast as it had arrived, the illusion vanished. Her empty arms came back into focus still covered in the ugly syn-cotton.
For a blissful moment, the babe had seemed so real
—almost like a future flash. Tears for the loss of the youngling pooled in her eyes and spilled down her cheeks. She swiped them away and shook her newly pounding head at her own foolishness. Special talents manifested at puberty or before. She had none, certainly not the rarest of all gifts—future sight. The vision was nothing but a cruel fantasy, a by-product of her disappointment over another insemination failure.
The loss of even an imaginary babe hit her hard, rounding her shoulders. She swallowed the knot rising in her throat, bowed, and murmured, “May the
Goddess keep and protect you until we meet next month.”
“No, little one, we won’t
meet again. This was your final insemination.” The doctor’s voice was filled with sympathy.
“Last?” Dizzy, she sank
back onto the stool.
“I thought you knew, child. Twelve attempts is the current maximum. May the
Goddess grant you ease and comfort in this hour of your disappointment.”
Although
still sitting, Camille grew colder, the examination room swayed and fuzzed around the edges.
“Put your head between your knees.” The doctor guided her with a firm hand on her back and then added, “You could apply for immigration to New Eden.”
“I’m not—I don’t—” Camille’s voice broke.
“There’s no shame in choosing immigration. You’re a breeder.
Artificial insemination hasn’t worked for you. Many strong warriors eager for mates wait in New Eden.” Doctor Elspeth’s weighty silence urged her to agree. She didn’t say,
You and your precious eggs aren’t getting any younger.
She didn’t need to.
Painful awareness of the situation tightened Camille’s flat belly. Though only twenty-eight, she was already halfway through her optimum breeding years.
A frown creased her brow. “Why would artificial insemination work any better on New Eden?”
Elspeth
pinched the bridge of her nose. “The warrior’s seed is fresher, thus eliminating the loss of motility.” She blinked several times then focused on the unadorned wall behind Camille. “Although sperm degradation is not the real issue. There is no artificial insemination program on New Eden. The stubborn warriors won’t allow it.”
“
Then how would I achieve fertilization?”
T
he doctor bobbed her gray head, punctuating her deliberate speech. “They breed in person. We have an instruction program.” She muttered under her breath, “The practice is antiquated,” then continued in a brisk, clinical tone, “Be that as it may. This is a part of warrior culture. Many of our disciples have undergone the procedure without any lasting damage.”
“I
ndeed, I have no doubt you speak the truth,” Camille murmured. Though
no lasting damage
sounded worrisome, and she wasn’t at all certain about anything to do with the distant barbarians. Her idea of
anything
definitely included in-person breeding.
Still, whatever their alien customs entailed, it couldn’t be worse than month after month of hours of lying still, her hips elevated by a pillow after the injection of frozen s
emen into her sex.
“’Tis a
n honor to be selected for this opportunity. The sorority needs males to serve as sperm donors. Here on Earth, the warriors’ seed reverts to female dominance all too fast. On New Eden their semen remains predominately male. Once conception and the sex of fetus has been confirmed and you’re deemed fit to travel, you can come home.” The doctor smiled brightly.
Camille sighed in relief. Of course she could home again.
Thank the Goddess.
Her fear was of an unknown.
Whatever discomfort might be involved, the chance, her only chance, to breed was worth a brief encounter with a man. Other disciples had survived the experience, so it couldn’t be all that horrible. No matter what indignities the procedure entailed, she would finally fulfill her destiny.
* * * * *
Bon Sorority Embassy, New Eden
Six weeks later, 4402 SG
Honeyed scents drifted through the open windows from the barely tamed jungle of exotic plants bordering the embassy grounds. Until this past week, the closest Camille had come to such lush vegetation were holo-simulations of Earth’s tropic zone, pre
-apocalypse, of course.
The
indulgent ambience on New Eden permeated even the air. This was especially true here in her opulent private suite. Meters of syn-silk in shades of butter and cream covered the furnishings, and cool syn-marble paved the floor. Bouquets of fresh blossoms wafting more of the honeyed scent graced every flat surface. She even had a replicator dedicated for her personal use.
On any other day, the tropical paradise would’ve seduced her senses. At the moment, she was much too nervous to appreciate the wonders of this new world. The beautiful planet belonged to violent warriors.
Soon, so would she.
They’d already marked her left arm with the tattoo every New Eden resident bore. The indelible ink testified to her breeding status, lineage, place of origin, and
Goddess knew what else. The delicate gold scroll marks looked pretty, but they itched something fierce. Scratching meant risking infection, or worse, staining her elegant robes.
A holocast of the day’s news played highlights from the endless war with nearby Baldor. Jarring blaster bursts accompanied the graphic action of the killing of a cell of Baldorean fighters caught storming the council chambers. Camille gripped the
edge of the bench to keep from flinching at the weapons fire, which looked and sounded as if it were happening inside the room.
Back home on Earth, only the shield of the dome kept out the icy dust storms,
still raging millennia after WWIII, and allowed them to breathe clean air. There were no men, no blasters, and no war. A longing for peaceful Earth and her old life bloomed into a sharp and bittersweet physical ache in her chest.
No sooner had she quelled
the bout of homesickness than a new queasy fear grew. She’d never found the right moment to confess that she’d been so space-sick during the trip to New Eden from Earth that she had missed the entire class on in-person breeding. The shuttle had arrived amid the Summer Fete. All but a handful of the intergalactic crew were granted leave. In the excitement of feast days, her absence from the requisite instruction went unrecorded. Her first week on the warriors’ planet passed like a shooting star in the night sky.
Now w
ith the mating ceremony less than an hour away, she wished she’d caught at least a few minutes of the breeding instructions. Her stomach lurched with the shame of yet another failure, and she shifted on the seat.
“Sit still, child.”
Though Ambassador Moria’s voice stayed even, Camille sensed the woman’s patience fraying. She sat quite still. “My hair doesn’t have to be perfect. I’m going to wear a veil.”
“Th
at will come off at some point.” Moria speared another pin, stepped back, and sighed with satisfaction. “Take a look.”
Camille
accepted the hand mirror the ambassador offered. Instead of checking the intricate style, she scanned Moria. The woman was scarcely taller than Camille. With a whip-thin body, a shiny cap of black hair, and dark eyes, she should have been ordinary, but she radiated sufficient energy to more than make up for her lack of size. As if the sheer force of her personality wasn’t enough, the Goddess had granted her the gift of truth sensing.
Fortunately Camille
didn’t need to disguise her reaction to the enchanting coiffure. Her unruly blonde mane had been transformed into intricate braids woven with flowers and small pearls. “How lucky I am to have your help. You have a magic touch.”
“Hardly magic.
Though this”—Moria waved toward the elaborate style she’d just finished—“turned out better than I’d hoped, truly worthy of our first double-match breeder. The Goddess’s grace is strong in you, child.”
Sudden tears welled at the undeserved praise, especially when she was so scared. Camille blinked rapidly. She was a Bon Sorority
sister. She would not disgrace the sisterhood by showing her silly fears. After all, how much different could warrior breeding be from artificial insemination? Goddess knew she’d experienced plenty of
that
. Twelve attempts, twelve heartbreaks.
She reassured herself once more that the basic biology of reproduction didn’t vary.
Oh, she’d heard the other disciples talking about the warriors’ intimate customs, but even a clueless breeder wouldn’t fall for such silliness.
Shaft insertion, indeed
. She’d laughed at the time. She shouldn’t have encouraged them. Their joke was too pathetic to qualify as humor.
“Now
we really must leave.” The ambassador bowed.
Dear
Goddess, already
? Camille stood and tried to smile. Since her lips wouldn’t cooperate, she gave up projecting cheer and settled for just not throwing up on her beaded slippers. “Thank you for everything.”
Squaring her shoulders, she followed Moria to the embassy’s luxurious surface skimmer. Her long white robes, heavy with gems and embroidery, proclaimed her fitness to breed and made walking an endurance event.
The trip to the New Eden celebration chamber passed in a blur of nervous excitement as the vehicle zoomed through the sprawling mass of buildings, traffic, and warriors. Too soon they arrived.
Moria adjusted the traditional headpiece to cover Camille’s face. “I’m not allowed to enter the chambers, so I wish you good fortune, little one.”
Numb from lack of sleep and dread of her unknown mates, Camille nodded, stepped out of the skimmer, and climbed the wide stairs. At the top she faced evenly spaced columns rising six meters or more. Between the two center pillars, massive carved doors guarded the interior.
Before she had a chance to lose her nerve, a shiny bronze android rolled out to greet her. “This way, miss.” The mechanical voice directed her to a scanner inside the cool foyer. The ornate entry was even grander than the embassy’s.
As soon as her right iris was scanned and passed inspection, the droid herded her along, ushering her into a vast inner chamber. The room was big enough to house an intergalactic ship, perhaps more than one.
The walls
were formed from seamless white rock. The distant ceiling, at least five times the height of a towering warrior, framed an elaborate scene depicting the Sirius Galaxy. Mythical gods of war glowered at her from the each of the four corners. Gold script in an ancient tongue bordered the edge of the giant mural.