“Where are all the females?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, I never see any females.”

“Of course you do. You have seen dozens down here, and probably hundreds on the surface.”

She looks at me, entirely, adorably confused. “I really don’t think I do,” she says. “I’ve not seen….”

Looking down at that soft cleavage displayed at the top of her suit, it occurs to me where the confusion might lie. These humans truly came to this world without the slightest bit of sense or thought, then threw themselves into the midst of a society they very much do not understand. I suppose I cannot judge them, given their presence here is entirely due to a rescue mission, but at times like this, the ignorance is quite jarring.

“Saurians do not look as different as male and female humans. We do not lactate. You have seen many female saurians, but might have mistaken them for male, as they are not smaller. Quite often, they are larger. Also, pregnancy does not take place the same way it does for humans. Eggs are laid and then incubated. A female saurian need only copulate once every few years in order to fertilize her egg when she sees fit. When she is ready, she fertilizes the egg using the seed stored in her body, and she lays it before leaving it to be incubated by nursemaids.”

“Wow,” Lettie breathes. “That sounds amazing.”

“Does it?”

“Well, the part about being able to… I don’t know, store sperm and then decide when you’re going to have a baby. Human women almost never get the choice unless we do all sorts of things to go out of our way to artificially block it, or just don’t have sex or whatever — and sometimes that’s…” Her expression darkens a fraction. “It is hard to be a human woman.”

“Yes,” I say, looking at her frame. “Human women seem almost entirely built around reproduction. It is not the same for saurians.”

“It is not even the same for human men,” she complains. “We’re constantly cycling. Every damn month, we have to spend internal resources on replenishing a lining we usually don’t even want to use. There’s no control over it at all. Instead, you dance like a fucking puppet to the tune of surges of hormones that then fade away and leave you….”

I am not sure I have ever seen her quite so animated as she is right now, talking about the failings of the human reproductive system.

“I hate it,” she says. “I hate bleeding. It’s stupid. And I hate that every few weeks I want to cry because of a sad bird or for no reason at all. And I hate that everything I am, and everything I’ve ever been is constantly churned up by this imperative for me to be available for a fucking breeding…”

She is right, in a sense. The human female body does seem to be obsessed with breeding. They are quite literally made to be fucked and to be impregnated, and to try again if they are not. I can see it takes a toll, because Lettie has not complained about anything the way she just complained about that.

“A lot of the girls on the Mare have had their uteruses removed,” she says.

“Oh?”

“Yes. It doesn’t change the hormonal cycles, but it stops the bleeding, because some of them bleed so much regardless of what else they do, and when you’re a pirate, you can’t ask the evil police or soldiers of whatever planet to stop pursuing you and let you have a lie down with a hot water bottle for a few days. For some of us, it’s a matter of survival.”

“But you have yours?”

“For now,” she says.

Lettie

I’m asking questions about saurians and sex because I’m trying to distract myself from the disturbing fact that I am wearing evidence that something very, very bad has happened. With every step, the fabric grips me, and the faint scent of a favorite perfume wafts up. This is not my suit. I know who this suit belongs to, and I know it should not be down here on this planet.

Shan just told me how saurian females not only don’t have to deal with periods or being noticeably smaller and weaker than their male counterparts, and how they get to choose when they use the seed they are inseminated with. I definitely do not have that choice. I can feel it sliding out of me, creating a wet patch against the crotch of the suit. I’m not going to be able to give this back now that I’ve worn it in such a ravaged state, and I’m probably stretching it out.

Shan takes me to a clearing in the tunnels. A cave, I suppose you’d call it. Though garage would be an equally apt moniker, because there’s a bunch of what I have to call vans down here. Traffic is odd on this saurian world. They like to make good and ample use of the wheel, though I am sure they are aware that there are better, cleaner technologies. These all run on ancient tech, the combustion of rich oils in controlled explosions that allow for propulsion. In terms of efficient travel, it’s like deciding to walk on your hands instead of your feet.

I worry less about the transport options when I see Wrath, flanked by two generals. They look like twins, great predatory, scaled beasts with red and black scales that make them look almost volcanic in nature. A minute ago, I would have assumed they were male, but now I wonder if they’re actually female. It’s an interesting shift in perspective, though I suppose it doesn’t really matter.

The Mare has always been about girl power. Everybody on the Mare is a girl, even if they’re a guy. It’s just how it works. Down here, I realize I’ve been mentally assigning everybody male. But I wonder if we can’t find some kind of help from the other half of the population. Assuming females do even make up half…

“How are you enjoying captivity?”

Wrath’s question interrupts my demographic pondering.

“Lovely, thank you,” I respond, choosing automated politeness. Shan will approve, I am sure.

Wrath lets out a barking laugh. “Been fucked into submission, I see.”

Source: www.seynovel.com