by Luna Voss
“I’m afraid that is not within my power,” Pullman responds. “I have told you what I can do.”
The bearded chief looks like he wants to argue, but instead he nods, controlling himself. “Talk to your City Council, then. I will remain near Human Territory with my men and await your decision.”
Chapter Three
“I always think it’s funny the way they introduce themselves,” Pullman chuckles once the Kyrzons have left the room. “Did you notice that? It’s totally redundant. Chief Nerkesh of Clan Nerkesh. All the Kyrzon clans are named after their chiefs. I think they just like the opportunity to say their own names twice.”
I force a laugh, but I’m distracted. I’m still thinking about Chief Rukkarr and the bold, open desire he displayed for me at the meeting. My thoughts are ablaze with sudden, vivid images of what he might do to me if he had the chance to act on that desire. The whole idea feels so naughty. He’s this dominant, stern authority figure, the leader of an alien tribe, and although it’s hard to tell with Kyrzons, he looks like he could easily be twice my age. What could a powerful war chief like him possibly want with a young human like me?
I feel myself blushing as I realize that I know exactly what Chief Rukkarr wants with me. He wants to get me pregnant. That’s the reason every Kyrzon wants a human woman. Rukkarr basically said it himself. What he wants is to take me back to his home and breed me.
“Don’t worry about Chief Rukkar,” says Pullman, noticing my rosy cheeks. “I’m sorry about that. I should have known better than to bring you with me. You’re free to go home now, of course. Have a great night, and thank you so much for staying.”
I say goodnight to Governor Pullman and start to walk back home, still distracted. It isn’t until I’m almost there that I realize I’ve forgotten my credit chip back at City Hall. I sigh, turn around, and make the same trip in reverse.
From the outside, I can see that most of the lights in the building are off. The only room where they seem to still be on is the Governor’s office, where I imagine that Pullman is sitting at his desk. I use my key to unlock the front door and slip inside, trying not to make a sound. I really don’t feel like running into Pullman and getting drawn into a conversation.
I make my way into the City Council meeting room, and sure enough, I see that my credit chip is on the floor under the table where I was sitting. As I bend down to pick it up, I hear footsteps coming in my direction. Great. More awkward small talk with the governor. I sigh, resigned to it.
But, I quickly realize, these footsteps don’t belong to the governor at all. They’re much, much heavier, shaking the room slightly with every impact. It hits me suddenly that it must be a Kyrzon, and not a human, that is walking down the hall.
I stay crouched down under the table in the City Council room and do my best to watch through the open door as whoever it is walks past. The hallway is dark, and all I can see from under the table is a pair of enormous boots going by the doorway. Definitely a Kyrzon. I wait, holding my breath, until I hear the alien exit the building.
Wanting to be safe, I give it another 30 seconds. Something about this whole situation just feels off. Why would a Kyrzon be here after hours? Finally, I pick myself up from the floor and creep into the hallway, my credit chip in my pocket.
I’m about to slip out the back door when the light in the hall flicks on. I blink, surprised, my eyes adjusting. I hear someone behind me, and turn to see Governor Pullman standing next to the light switch.
“I thought I heard someone moving around back there. Is there anything I can help you with, Christy?”
“N-no,” I stammer, caught off guard. “I just forgot my credit chip in the meeting room. I’m going home now.” I pull the chip out of my pocket and show it to him, feeling the weird need to prove myself.
“Ah, well, you wouldn’t want to forget that,” says the governor. “You have a good night now, Christy.”
I hesitate. Part of me wants to ask him about the Kyrzon who was just here, but another part of me doesn’t dare. For some reason, my gut tells me that I shouldn’t reveal to him what I just saw. Pullman keeps watching me, as though waiting for me to say something else.
I decide to go with my gut. “Good night, Governor Pullman,” I say, and I slip out the door.
Chapter Four
The next day, throngs of people crowd into town square for the drawing of the Replacement Lottery. The greatest number of them, of course, are women between the ages of 19 and 21 whose names are at risk of being drawn. Then come their friends and family members, there to offer support. I see one woman maybe a year older than me who is clearly there with her boyfriend. Both of them look pale and worried. I don’t blame them.
The reason I’m here is because of my role in the governor’s office. Technically, my attendance isn’t mandatory, but I really feel like I should be at the lottery, considering I was at the meeting that decided to do it in the first place. Besides, it’s always possible that someone I know will get chosen. Although most of my social group is my own age or younger, I do have some older friends. I would want to be there to give support if one of their names came out of the Replacement Lottery.
Unfortunately, support is all I would be able to give. Although my position does lend me some small amount of authority, it doesn’t mean I can just pull strings for the people I like. These are the rules of our society, and it is up to all of us to abide by them. I intern in city government because I believe in it, not because I want to cheat the system. My job is very serious to me.
And part of that job includes knowing exactly how the auction process works, including the protocol for a Replacement Lottery. So I know that in this case, we will be drawing four names to replace the four missing Brides. And, since one of the slain Brides was scheduled to be sold this week, there will then be a secondary lottery to determine which of the Replacement Brides will take her place at the upcoming auction.
I stand in the crowd, watching as Governor Pullman and the sheriff of New Byzantium take the stage in the center of the town square. The governor addresses the audience: “People of New Byzantium, we are gathered here for an unfortunate purpose: today, we must replace the four brides who were lost in last week’s raptor attack. I will now read their names, and we will have a moment of silence in their memory.”
Everyone is quiet as Pullman reads the names of the four dead Brides, and then the names of the others who were killed in the attack. Eight out of the 10 of them were women. What a blow to New Byzantium’s female population.
And now the tribes from the Far Territories want to take even more.
Pullman finishes reading the names, and for another 30 seconds or so, everyone stands in respectful silence. Then he clears his throat and resumes speaking:
“Before we begin drawing the names of our new Replacement Brides, I must announce that a slight change has been made to the process. Previously, the age range for the Replacement Lottery was 19 to 21. Since today, we are replacing not one Bride, but four, it has been decided to extend the age range a year in both directions. All women between the ages of 18 and 22 will now qualify for the Replacement Lottery.”
There comes a collective gasp from the crowd, and then a lot of murmuring. This is a big deal. The rules for the Replacement Lottery have been set in stone for as long as I can remember. I notice, unsurprisingly, that many of the young women around me suddenly look skittish. How many of them, I wonder, are either 18 or 22 years old, and were just blindsided by the sudden, very real risk of being auctioned off to a Kyrzon?
I myself am not particularly worried. There are a lot of women in New Byzantium. I know what the numbers look like, and it’s extremely unlikely that my name will come out of the lottery. And even putting the odds aside, that’s just not the track my life is on. I’m part of the system, blazing an ambitious path forward in city government. I really can’t imagine that they would choose an intern in the governor’s office to be a Replacement Bride.
I am, ho
wever, confused and a little bit miffed by this sudden change in protocol. We didn’t discuss this in the City Council meeting. Pullman clearly made the decision unilaterally, without anyone else’s input. That is, unless he called a secret meeting of the City Council without inviting me, which I highly doubt.
So the point is, even though I’m not really concerned about being chosen by the Replacement Lottery, the fact that Pullman just extended the age range like that without telling anybody is weird. Definitely something I’m going to bring up in our next meeting.
Right now, though, it’s time for the drawing of names. The murmuring of the crowd ceases as the sheriff steps forward and reaches into a basket that I know is filled with tickets bearing the names of all the eligible women in the settlement. The sheriff pulls out a ticket, and the entire audience waits with baited breath for him to read the name printed on it.
“Christina Torres,” the sheriff reads.
What the fucking fuck?
Instantly, I feel like someone has dumped a bucket of ice water over my head. Freezing cold panic washes over me, trickling from the top of my scalp to the tips of my toes. I feel the hair on the back of my neck stand up, prickling, as my stomach sinks, suddenly made of lead.
This wasn’t supposed to happen. This must be some kind of mistake.
“Christina Torres, if you will please join us on stage,” says the sheriff.
I move as though in a trance, my whole body starting to tremble with shock. Around me, the other members of the crowd step aside, making a path toward the stage where the sheriff and the governor stand. I hear people murmuring, whispering about me. They must find it quite the spectacle: me, the goody two-shoes, the teacher’s pet, the intern in the governor’s office, now reduced to a Kyrzon Bride, to be purchased by an alien and used for breeding.
I reach the stage, and Pullman doesn’t look at my face as I step up onto it. If anything, I find this to be a relief. I don’t know how I could bear to meet his eyes.
Just a day ago, I was in intern in his office, eager for the chance to impress him. Now, in an instant, thanks to a stupid lottery, all of that is gone. Now I am fated to become the property of a muscular, seven-foot-tall warrior. This warrior will buy me, take me to his homeland, and then his rough, alien hands will touch me, undress me, and claim access to my most intimate places. I will give him my virginity, and after that I will give him babies.
Uncalled for and unexpected, I’m hit by a surge of arousal as my body reacts to the thought of what my future Kyrzon mate might want to do to me when he has me alone. I imagine I would feel so small, so utterly tiny and feminine, underneath one of those huge, masculine creatures. For a moment, I imagine a Kyrzon pinning me down, grinning as his big hands explore my little body. And then, to embarrass me even further, my stupid brain decides that the Kyrzon I’m imagining is Chief Rukkarr, smirking at me just the way he did in the meeting yesterday, his eyes burning with clear desire.
It’s a good thing I’m a girl, because I’m pretty sure if I were a guy, I’d be standing up here in front of everyone trying to hide a boner.
I try to calm my mind and think of unsexy things as the sheriff draws the next three names. I’m barely listening. I can’t even think. Everything about my entire world just got turned upside down. My head is a blur of shock and fear and horniness and confusion.
The other three Replacement Brides’ names are called, and they file up to the stage to stand next to me, each one looking more nervous than the last. I recognize all of them from school, but I don’t know any of them well.
“It is time for our final drawing,” says Pullman, placing the four “winning” tickets with our names on them in a second, smaller basket. “This drawing will determine which of our four Replacement Brides will be sold at the auction that takes place tomorrow.”
All four women on the stage, myself included, hold their breath. I can hear my own heart pounding as Pullman’s hand scrambles around in the second basket.
The governor pulls out a ticket, and pauses for a moment before he reads the name: “Christina Torres.”
I close my eyes, my face burning with embarrassment, as every single person in the crowd turns to look at me. I hear their murmurs, their whispers, and I wish I could just fade away into nothingness.
Tomorrow, I will be sold to a Kyrzon warrior.
Chapter Five
“This is your dressing room,” says the tall woman as she leads me down the hall. She stops, gesturing at a doorway to my left. I step into a small room with a big mirror on one wall and a counter underneath it.
For the first time in my life, I’m actually inside New Byzantium’s auction house. Growing up in this settlement, I’ve walked past it more times than I can count, but it never occurred to me that I would ever have a reason to go inside. Even since I started my internship, which has meant being involved somewhat closely with the auction process, there’s never been any mention of me visiting the auction house. The only people who go there are auction workers, and Brides who are being sold.
Well, and Kyrzons. Lots of Kyrzons.
And when they leave, the Brides leave with them.
“Your auction outfit is in that bag on the counter,” says the tall auction worker, pointing to it. “Take a moment to get changed and prepare yourself. When I return, I will lead you to the auction block, where the bidding will commence.”
She stays in the doorway a moment longer, as though waiting to see if I have any questions. I don’t. I know exactly what every step of this process looks like. Finally, she turns to leave, and I’m insulted to hear the click of the lock as she closes the door behind her.
Does she seriously think there’s a chance of me running away? I intern in the governor’s office, for fuck’s sake. What a bitch.
With the door to my dressing room shut, I have no choice but to turn my attention to the auction outfit that I am now expected to put on. I flip over the bag and dump its contents out on the counter. Out falls a tiny scrap of light-colored fabric.
Huh? This can’t be my entire auction outfit. Where’s the rest of it?
I stare in disbelief at the itty-bitty little bodysuit sitting in front of me on the counter. It’s not any less revealing than a one-piece bathing suit, and with much, much thinner fabric. It’s so thin that I imagine it would be practically transparent on me.
Is this really what an auction outfit looks like?
I think back to the City Council meeting the day before, and how I defended the policy of dressing the Brides in extremely revealing auction clothes. What was I thinking? Did I not realize how skimpy these outfits really were? Or did I know, and just not care because it didn’t affect me?
I strip off my shirt, pants, and underwear, and place them in the bag. My hands trembling, I slip on the little bodysuit and examine myself in the mirror.
I hardly feel like I’m wearing anything at all. I hardly look like it, either. Every curve, every dimple, every little crease of my body is revealed by the thin, almost see-through fabric. It hugs my figure tightly, stretching over my breasts and my behind. I turn around in front of the mirror, looking at my reflection over my shoulder, and a part of me is pleased to note that my ass looks wonderfully round and enticing.
As I turn back around, my cheeks begin to redden as I notice that the dark color of my areolas is clearly detectable through the light-colored material. Every Kyrzon bidding on me will be able to see the outline of my nipples. The thought brings a flash of excitement that surprises me. The idea of these jacked, powerful warriors drooling over me, devouring me with their eyes, competing for the right to own me, is suddenly more arousing to me than I ever would have expected.
I keep staring at myself in the mirror, unable to pull my eyes away. I can’t stop thinking about how a Kyrzon would perceive my young, fertile body, practically naked and on display for him. I think about how his eyes might take in my curves, finding my nipples, and then perhaps move lower, hoping to discover a suggestive fold in
the tight fabric between my legs. Even just standing there in the dressing room, I feel myself blushing scarlet as I consider the full, scandalous view of me he would have.
A knock on the door pulls me out of my thoughts. The auction worker’s voice comes from the hallway: “Christy? It’s time for me to lead you to the auction block.”
Chapter Six
“Are you ready?” the auction worker asks me as she leads me down the hall.
I nod numbly, walking behind her.
“What’s that?” she says, her tone businesslike. “I didn’t hear you.”
“Yes, I’m ready,” I mumble. Now that I’m out of the dressing room, I feel even more self-conscious in my little bodysuit. I feel the cool, slightly stale air of the auction house caressing my bare skin, covering me in goosebumps.
The worker leads me to a curtain at the end of the hallway and gestures to it. “The auction block is on the other side of this curtain,” she tells me. “The Kyrzons who will be bidding to purchase you are already assembled. All you have to do is go through the curtain, step onto the block, and then follow the auctioneer’s instructions. Got it?”
I nod, looking at my feet.
“What’s that?” she says again, raising her eyebrows.
“I’ve got it,” I say, resisting the urge to roll my eyes. I feel so demeaned to be treated like this. This auction worker is acting like I’m just some stupid girl, as though she doesn’t even know that I’m an intern in the governor’s office.
Or, that I used to be an intern in the governor’s office, I think, the realization hitting me like a ton of bricks.
That life is over.
Today, I begin a new one as an alien’s purchased breeder.
