229. Cargo Bay Melee
229
Cargo Bay Melee
M aya
It’s bizarre watching in real-time as the males encounter the heady scent of the females’ pheromones. Their heads pop back at the initial whiff of scent and then swivel, their dreads swaying as they seek the source of the pheromones that set them off.
It’s mayhem in the cargo bay. Although the room is cavernous, it’s crammed full of almost three thousand people as they mingle, do-si-do’ing as the males search for the missing piece of their souls.
One by one, the males find the female who has inflamed them. Instinctively, my hands cover my mouth, as if my body is readying for a scream to tear from my throat when the room devolves into rape and bloodsucking.
“Computer, do all the males have the latest language download that includes Earther?” A’Dar asks.
“English,” I correct.
“Yes,” the computer responds.
Instead of pandemonium and terror, I see the males pull their females aside and converse with them. Couples are breaking off, moving to the edges of the room as respectful conversations spring up.
I don’t know what’s more compelling to watch. There are the males who sense their mate. They’ve waited their whole lives, barely daring to dream of seeing a female, much less meeting their mate and experiencing machta . They’re enthralled, and although I see the beginnings of panting, and their golden eyes becoming lighter, they appear thrilled as they find their female and begin the courtship process.
Then there are the females. Is there a word that signals a fear more terrified than terrified? These women have been pulled from their homes, thrown into the scary waiting tent, and are now crammed into an area where they’re only a few feet away from two thousand scary aliens.
Wooing is one thing when you’re being pursued by a human with movie-star good looks, and quite another when it’s being performed by an alien whose appearance would make you lose your shit not only in a dark-alley encounter, but in the clear light of day.
Perhaps the most poignant of the three groups are the males who are watching their friends pair off with possible mates, seeing the pool of single females dwindle, and knowing they aren’t going to be one of the lucky ones.
As the minutes tick by, their sadness is palpable.
“I’ve never been prouder,” A’Dar says. “Look at those males. More than one out of every two is brokenhearted, but not one of those thousand males has murmured a word of protest or made even a growl of complaint.”
“It looks like machta has pinpoint accuracy,” I say. “One male for one female. I don’t quite understand it, but by the looks of some of those couples, things seem to be going okay.”
Not nearly all the women are being approached. Perhaps machta has different timetables for different people. It sure hit hard and fast for me, Emily, and Anna.
“Captain,” Ran’Kin breaks in on our wrist-comms. “The overhead announcement system and wrist comms are working.”
“Good. Mel’Kan, status report.”
“Good news, Captain. I can definitively say we are going to get all systems back online.”
“When?”
“I have no definitive answer, Sir.”
“Use private wrist-comms to contact any crew you need to help you. If they have a female, tell them to bring her with them.”
We watch through the TGN feed as males, some singly, some with their female in tow, leave the cargo hold and move into action.
I’ve made my decision to leave Earth with A’Dar. I won’t miss my craptastic job at the insurance office, and I barely saw my family as it was. I’ve been at the other end of the country from them since I went to college.
But this is going too fast for all the women I’m watching on the screen. They’re going to be brokenhearted when they’re whisked off Earth with no free choice.