by Luna Voss
Auctioned to the Babymaker
Luna Voss
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Epilogue
Author’s Note
Also by Luna Voss
Chapter One
I love City Council meetings. Most of the time, our sessions are basically social occasions, where we all laugh and munch on snacks as we go over our business. As an intern in the governor’s office, I get to attend every meeting. Technically, my role doesn’t actually allow me to participate, but the councilmembers all seem to like me, and so I’m always included. It’s like a big family. I absolutely love what I do, and at 18 years old, I’m excited about the track in life it puts me on. I already know that I want to make my career working in city government.
“The next item we have to discuss is the matter of the outfits worn by the Kyrzon Brides when they are sold,” says Governor Pullman, reading off his agenda. “Some have raised concerns that the current auction clothes are too revealing.” He turns to me. “Christy, you’re almost the same age as our Brides when they go to auction, and you’ve seen what the auction outfits look like. What say you?”
I let out a chuckle. “Too revealing? I thought they were supposed to be revealing. Isn’t that the whole point? The more skin a Bride shows on the auction block, the more excited the Kyrzons get about her, and the higher they’ll be willing to bid.”
Several of the councilmembers sitting around me smile appreciatively. They’ve always seemed to enjoy having a young woman on the Council who is plain and realistic about the realities facing those chosen to be Brides. Ever since I started attending City Council meetings a year ago, I’ve taken on that identity with pride. I like being taken more seriously than the other members of my peer group. Being mature feels cool.
“You don’t consider it to be demeaning?” a woman sitting across the table from me asks. “I’m not disagreeing with you, but it’s true that those auction outfits really don’t leave much to the imagination. I understand why some Brides would object.”
“It’s just a matter of duty,” I say, pleased to have the entire Council listening to me and taking my opinion seriously. “We all have a job to do. My job is to intern here. A Kyrzon Bride’s job is very different, but her duty isn’t any less important. It’s just the way things are. And wearing the auction outfit is part of it. I’d be saying the same thing if my name had come out of the lottery when I was 13.”
Most of the councilmembers around me nod, and some of them look impressed. I try not to seem too proud.
“Well, then, I suppose we’ll vote,” says the governor. “Is anyone in favor of changing the auction outfits?”
No one raises their hand.
“Okay,” he continues, “the matter is settled. And that, I’m afraid, brings us to the final item on our agenda.”
The mood in the Council chamber suddenly turns somber. This has been lingering over us ever since tonight’s meeting started. The last item we have to discuss deals with a tragedy.
“We must now turn to the unfortunate business of replacing the lost Brides,” says Governor Pullman, sighing as he straightens out the paper agenda in his hands.
For a moment, everyone on the Council is respectfully silent. The horrible incident in which ten people, including four women who had been designated Kyrzon Brides, were recently slaughtered by raptors, is still fresh in all of our minds.
“Protocol would be to have a Replacement Lottery,” says the councilmember to my left. “There’s no reason to do anything different, right?”
“With four Brides at once?” says the woman who spoke to me earlier. “That would cause a panic. Every woman between the ages of 19 and 21 would worry that her name would come out of the lottery. Those are much higher odds than usual.”
“Replacement Lotteries are always scary,” another councilmember responds. “We can’t help that we have four Brides to replace. What else are we going to do? We can’t just not replace them.”
I pipe up. “Speaking as someone who, in a year, will be old enough to qualify for the Replacement Lottery, I can tell you that every woman my age in New Byzantium is very aware of the situation. If a Kyrzon Bride dies, any of our names can come out of the Replacement Lottery. Believe me, we are very aware. You would be too, if it affected you.” The councilmembers, none of whom are anywhere near the age range to qualify for a Replacement Lottery, all stare at me. I continue: “Like I was saying earlier, it’s a matter of duty. My generation isn’t stupid. We know the way the world works. Announcing a Replacement Lottery won’t start a panic, even if the odds of being chosen are greater than usual. Four women between the ages of 19 and 21 will be selected as Replacement Brides, and that’s just the way it is. They may not like it, but they’ll do their duty.”
Governor Pullman cracks a smile. “More wisdom from the young,” he says to the group, nodding. “I agree with Christy. We should announce a Replacement Lottery as soon as possible. Does anyone oppose?”
Nobody does.
He slaps his agenda down on the table in front of him. “Then it is settled. Meeting adjourned.”
* * *
I wait with Pullman in the meeting room after the rest of the councilmembers leave. Normally, I would be leaving with them, but today, I’m accompanying the governor to a meeting with two Kyrzon chiefs from the Far Territories.
The Far Territories are what we call the parts of Kyrzon far from the border of Human Territory. It isn’t a very technical designation, but it accurately describes the fact that tribes from these areas have very little contact with humans. The truth is, we know little about the geography of our planet outside the boundaries of where we live. My hometown of New Byzantium is right on the border, and so it is our little city government that interacts most closely with tribes from the Far Territories, making Governor Pullman their de facto human liaison.
I’m a little bit nervous to meet these two Kyrzon chiefs, even though I know I don’t have any good reason to be. I am not a Kyrzon Bride, and I’m a year too young for the Replacement Lottery, so for the most part, there’s no reason for my life to ever include much direct contact with the aliens. I will never have the experience of being sold to one of the savage warriors. I’ll never know what it’s like to surrender my body to such big, strong alien hands.
Maybe that’s why I’m nervous. Because frankly, it just annoys the heck out of me how attractive the Kyrzons are. They’re such dumb, violent brutes. Why is it that they also have to be these jacked, handsome paragons of masculinity? Sometimes, a part of me even thinks that being a Kyrzon Bride would be the best life I could have on this planet. Especially if I got mated to a chief. I wouldn’t have to work, or stress, or worry about anything. I could just lie back and let my powerful, ridiculously muscular hunk of a husband have his way with me as often as he pleased. I’d be his little human toy, and he could pamper me, and I would have his babies.
But of course, the more adult, mature part of me knows th
at that’s just a ridiculous fantasy. I’m sure it wouldn’t really be like that. The Kyrzon world outside of Human Territory is terrifying and brutal, with tribes constantly warring over land and resources. And besides, I’m still a virgin. I’m nervous at the whole idea of having sex, much less doing it with a Kyrzon.
So while I may not be able to help the fact that I’m nervous, I can at least look at it in its proper context. And that proper context is that it does not matter what these two powerful chiefs think of me, or if they approve of me. There’s literally no good reason at all for me to be getting all angsty about this.
Just stupid teenage hormones.
“Are you nervous for the meeting?” asks Governor Pullman, as though he’s reading my mind.
“A little bit,” I admit. “I’ve never even spoken to a Kyrzon before. I’ve only ever seen them from a distance.”
He nods, his expression understanding. “They’re certainly imposing. And the ones from the Far Territories especially so. I get the impression it’s a whole different world out there.” He smiles. “You’ll be fine. There’s no pressure on you. You aren’t there to say anything, just listen and observe.”
“Thanks,” I say, looking down. “I know I’m being silly.”
“Not silly,” says the governor. “I wouldn’t have asked you to accompany me if I didn’t know you could handle it.”
There’s a knock on the door of the room, and a man’s voice comes from the other side: “Governor Pullman? The representatives from the Far Territories are here.”
Pullman makes eye contact with me. “Are you ready?” he asks quietly.
I take a deep breath. “Ready,” I confirm.
“Send them in,” the governor orders.
Chapter Two
The door opens, and two enormous, hulking Kyrzons enter the room. The first one is like my worst nightmare of what a warrior from the Far Territories would look like: decked in full plate mail armor, with an intimidating, spiked helmet that covers his entire face. The only thing missing to complete the ensemble is a sword or a battle-ax, as Kyrzons are not permitted to bring weapons into Human Territory.
The warrior that follows him does not have his face covered, although his appearance is no less fierce. This Kyrzon has short, dark hair, and a full, masculine beard. As with most Kyrzons, he has a powerful brow line, and his eyes are piercing and intense. My stomach lurches slightly as I notice that, despite myself, I find his face to be very handsome. Distractingly handsome. And it doesn’t help that, unlike his armored compatriot, this warrior’s leather cuirass is cut to reveal his arms, showing off his bulging biceps and broad, impressive shoulders.
Distracting. Just plain distracting.
I try not to let my nervousness show as the two gigantic aliens walk toward us. Both of them are at least seven feet tall, and appear to be made of pure, unadulterated muscle. They stop in front of us, their body language exuding confidence and authority. The bearded chief’s eyes land on me, and the corners of his mouth crease into a predatory grin. I shiver and look down at the table in front of me, unable to match the intensity of his gaze. In that moment, I feel almost naked, as though he’s already undressed me with his eyes. Without even speaking a word to me, this powerful Kyrzon has made it abundantly clear that he wants me, and that he wants me to know it.
I keep my eyes glued to a spot on the table as Governor Pullman greets the Kyrzons. It’s an effort to keep my face from going red. I feel embarrassed by the bearded chief’s attention, and I hope badly that the governor didn’t notice the way he looked at me. And then, of course, I start to second guess myself. Did I even read that moment correctly? Maybe I completely misinterpreted it. Maybe Kyrzon body language is just really different from human body language.
“I trust that your travels were uneventful?” says Pullman, standing up form his chair and extending his hand.
Neither Kyrzon reaches out to shake.
“They were,” says the masked chief. “I, Chief Nerkesh of Clan Nerkesh, greet you.”
“Greetings, Chief Nerkesh,” Pullman responds. He turns to the other Kyrzon. “And to you as well, Chief Rukkarr.”
Chief Rukkarr nods. “To business, then.”
Pullman lets out a short laugh. “Kyrzons really don’t like to make small talk, do they?”
“Not with humans,” Nerkesh growls ominously.
Pullman takes the slight in stride. “Okay, gentlemen, what business have you come here to discuss?”
“Women,” Nerkesh barks. “We need more women.”
Rukkarr shoots him a look, a momentary glare, as if to say have some fucking tact. His expression is not hard for me to interpret. The gesture is very human.
Okay, maybe Kyrzon body language isn’t that different.
“What Chief Nerkesh says is true,” says Rukkarr. “Female Kyrzons are far more scarce today than they were even a generation ago. For them to be fertile is even more rare. And it is the tribes that live far from Human Territory that feel it the most. For us, transporting a Bride back to our homeland means a journey of a week or more through hostile territory. Many never return, or have their Bride stripped from them. We can’t sustain this.”
I can practically see the cogs moving in Governor Pullman’s brain as he considers his response. He takes a moment before he answers.
“Our two peoples have had agreement for many years,” he says, “and we continue to abide by it. While I understand your concerns, what you are describing are Kyrzon problems. They are not human problems. With respect, Chief Rukkarr, Chief Nerkesh, I do not believe that in this regard, I am able to be of any help to you. I am, of course, at your service to discuss other matters. If you desire women, there will be an auction in New Byzantium in two days time.”
Oh, Pullman. Always the politician. But I can already tell that his words, although diplomatic, are not going to be well received.
Nerkesh hisses, his nostrils flaring. Rukkarr clenches his jaw, his own show of anger much more well-controlled. “What I need you to understand,” the bearded Kyrzon growls, his voice low and deadly serious, “is that soon, this will become a human problem. Already there is violence among Kyrzons as tribes compete for the territory close to your borders. Soon, I believe you will see raiding parties with the intention of capturing human women.”
“We have already had women captured by raiding parties,” says Pullman, drawing himself up.
“You will have raiding parties inside Human Territory,” says Rukkarr. “Right now, you have slavers who troll the borders. But imagine a band of Kyrzon warriors right now, in New Byzantium, rounding up women at sword point. Not just one out of every ten. As many as they can fit on their tusk-oxen and take back home with them.”
Pullman doesn’t say anything, but I swear I see his face go ever so slightly pale. I don’t blame him. The scenario described by Chief Rukkarr is a horror story.
“You would break the agreement that has bound our peoples for so long?” the governor replies finally, not able to avoid sounding taken aback.
“I would not, no,” says Rukkarr. It’s hard for me not to notice that his masked companion does nothing to cosign that statement. The bearded alien continues: “But I cannot promise that all Kyrzons will share my principles. In fact, I can promise the opposite.”
Pullman lets out a frustrated sigh. “So what do you suggest?”
“Half,” rumbles Nerkesh through his spiked helmet.
“Half?” Pullman repeats, confused.
“An increase in the number of women provided,” says Rukkarr. “Currently, it is one out of every ten who are sent to the breeding auctions. We would ask for five.”
“Five?” I sputter, unable to stop myself. “You want five out of ten women to be auctioned off? Do you have any idea what it would do to human society to lose half our women?”
Rukkarr glances at me, his eyes flashing, and it’s like he can’t keep the smirk off his face. “This one’s cute,” he says to Pullman. “Is her Auction Day
soon? I’ll buy her from you right now.”
My eyes go wide with disbelief. “Ex-fucking-scuse me?”
Rukkarr grins, as though he finds my fury charming. “25,000 power units,” he says, again to Pullman. He nudges Nerkesh. “Look how fucking cute she is. I want her.”
“Christy is an intern in my office, and she is not for sale,” says Pullman calmly, giving me a stern look that plainly says don’t say another word.
I stew in silence, my cheeks burning. I can’t believe Chief Rukkarr just spoke about me like that, right in front of my face. The absolute nerve of him. What an asshole. What a handsome, muscular asshole. Also tall.
He watches me, smirking, and I feel myself melting under his gaze. My face is on fire, but another part of me is getting hot as well. Unbidden, I feel my body responding to the knowledge that this jacked, powerful alien chief wants me. That if he had me all to himself, he would probably be…
I make a conscious effort to push the thought out of my mind. A desperate attempt to quell my raging hormones. This is neither the time, nor the place.
“50,000 power units,” growls Rukkarr, his eyes still fixed on me. “I have the power cells with me. I can get them for you right now.”
“As I said, Christy is not for sale,” says Pullman, doing a good job of not showing his discomfort. “Now, to the matter at hand: I will bring your concerns to the City Council, and we will discuss what you have told me. For now, that is the best I can offer you.”
Rukkarr’s eyes linger on me for a moment longer, and then he pulls them back to the governor. “We need more than just your City Council,” he says. “This must apply to all of Human Territory.”
