A Forest of Stars - Kevin J. Anderson [126]
She closed her eyes as the medical kithmen prodded with their intrusive implements. Tears stung behind her eyelids, and her jaws ached from clenching her teeth so hard. She knew it had been long enough since her last delivery, a strong and silent baby bred from a burly, bestial-looking soldier kithman.
The only hopes she allowed herself were terrible ones: Perhaps the last birth had caused complications, or maybe she had developed ovarian cysts or some sort of Fallopian blockage that would prevent her from having more babies. Then she would be valuable only as a laborer—an unpleasant enough fate, but preferable to what she had already survived.
But the doctor spoke the hateful words: “She is fertile.” Nira winced, letting out a quiet moan, which she consciously bit back. “Check the records and find which kith pairing interests the Designate next.”
Nira dragged her feet as the guards marched her off to the breeding barracks. She would get hurt if she fought them, but they would not damage her…at least not her reproductive system. They could, however, cut her in other places, scar her, make her feel searing pain. They would win if she fought them on terms they could understand.
Right now, the best Nira could pray for would be to get pregnant right away. Years ago, with the reluctant military commander Adar Kori’nh, she had needed to submit to only one round of intercourse—and at least he’d had the grace to seem ashamed.
The others had been…worse.
Now the medical kithmen locked her in a bright room with only some food and personal hygiene apparatus. And a bed. It was a clinical place, a room where chosen Ildirans came to do an assigned task, just like chipping fossil opal from sedimentary canyon walls. She remained alert for any faint sound in the corridors, the approaching footsteps of her next tormentor.
To defend herself from the living nightmares, she thought of the cushion-filled chambers in the PrismPalace where she had made love to Jora’h. Those times had been warm and romantic, and she had clung to him, feeling his skin against hers, touching his muscles, looking into his star-sapphire eyes.
This was the same physical act…in a sense.
Nira sat with her back against the wall and stared at the door. Every unpleasant second dragged on. Outside in the camp, the other humans went about their daily chores; many of them were assigned to breeding duties as well, and they would all return to the communal sleeping barracks when they were done. All alone, she tried to remain strong, thinking of Jora’h, thinking of her daughter Osira’h. My Princess.
When the door finally opened and the guards escorted in her new assigned mate, dismay struck her like a hammer blow. This time, her chosen breeder was a member of the scaly kith, a reptile-skinned desert Ildiran with lean and angular features, a pinched expression, slitted eyes. This male looked even less human than most Ildirans did.
“Call if you need assistance,” said one of the guards as they sealed the door. They were speaking to the scaly male, not to her.
The reptilian man began to remove his tan garment. Nira could not hide from him. He looked at her with a ripple of distaste as he saw her naked body. He cast his garment aside and gestured brusquely toward the bed.
Nira knew it was useless to scream. Instead, she thought with all her heart of Jora’h, trying to keep his image in front of her mind. But it was very, very difficult.
64
OSIRA’H
Osira’h sat on the floor in a small room, by herself. The walls and ceiling were well lit by embedded blazers, perfectly white. She couldn’t hear anything or see outside. She grinned at the challenge.
Every day for as long as she could remember, Osira’h had undergone this training. Other half-breed children were raised and trained elsewhere in the city, grouped together by their skills, periodically tested and inspected. But she was special. Her instructors were all medical kithmen, scientists, theoreticians, lens kithmen, and the Dobro Designate himself. She knew what they wanted, and she was pleased to rise to the occasion.