Page 1 of Bred By Fafnir

Prologue

They warned us, well, warned the generations before us anyway. Ones who made the laws and ignored the signs, knowing they’d never live long enough to see the fallout of the decisions they did and didnotmake. By the time someone decided to listen, it was far too late. Too late for humanity and definitely too late for Earth. Our planet was dead, a husk of flooded, crisp land, storms that would decimate settlements and wipe out family lines. Now? We’re scattered among the stars, beggars to planets that will have us, and parasites to planets that won’t. Safe to say humans are at an all-time low. We found Terra2, sure, but where we were once eight billion two hundred fifty million four hundred twenty-three thousand six hundred thirteen strong… now? Humanity is in the millions,lowmillions and dwindling rapidly. Poverty, disease and hunger, and desperation keep the slightly heavierair of Terra2 tainted with the type of smell that makes you wrinkle your nose and breathe through your mouth. Our only real entertainment comes in the form of hazy old Earth media or when one of us is lucky enough to get off-world.

We’re desperate, outnumbered, objectively kind of dumb, and valuable.

The trillions of highly advanced alien races know this.

Weknow this.

Moms, dads, sons, but especially…daughtersknow this.

You see, for all our rapid fall from grace, humans are still good for a few things, things that keep us danglingjustoff the edge of extinction. Easy labor, entertainment, occasionally, horrifically food, but most of allbreeding.

Aliens of various kinds have long established breeding agencies, some accredited by the Intergalactic Alliance, others not so much. But humans, we turned the industry on its head. Overpopulation was just one of the many nails in our planet’s proverbial coffin, but now? Now it’s that very ability topopulatethat just might save us.

one

Lenora

The holo pager has been buzzing, gripped in my hand for so long that my palm is numb. Tingling like it does when I sleep on it, shoved under my pillow at an odd angle. My chest rising and plunging, but not as fast as I thought it would be. They’d said there was a wait, a backlog of applicants ahead of me. They said I had plenty of time. I even remember the building sense of dread I felt when the Oozarian woman and her husband had assured me as much. It wasn’t even the slightest bit reassuring.

How long would it take? Months? Years? Weeks?

I needed a placementnow; my family needed the creditsnow.

How many more months would my sisters and I have to watch Mom scrape more food onto our plates than hers?

I needed this, had even prayed for it despite not being a believer in anything or anyone in particular. I’d taken the shuttle back down to Terra2 with my hands wringing in my lap, eyes screwed shut, sending up shapeless pleas to the stars.

It had only been a few days later when the package had arrived, along with a note:

Human Lorena Morales of Terra2, congratulations on your entry to the Solar Breeding Agency! Inside, you’ll find your uniform and fertility injections. Once paged, you have twenty-four zentics to arrive at the Vortara Space Station office. Come dressed, medicated, and clean. You will meet your match, sign your agreements, and be on your way. Failure to arrive in a timely manner can result in penalties warded against you. You may bring a small bag for personal effects, no clothing or personal care items are necessary as the matching party will provide anything you may require.

There was a stark bud of anticipation, fear, and… curiosity?

What species would I be paired with?

Would they be kind?

Are they advanced enough to use artificial insemination, or would I have to lie with them? Will it hurt? What if they are too large, if their reproductive organs are too, well,alienfor me? Can I dissociate long enough to get the job done?

It is something the older Oozarian woman had seemed to emphasize a lot, reveled in, much to her husband’s annoyance. Those who do not agree to being bred thenatural wayoften sit on the roster for years.

My family doesn’t have years.

Our credits are gone. My sisters are too young to work according to the Intergalactic Alliance. Mom already has two jobs where so many have none, and my shifts at the butcher pay closeto nothing.

He left us with nothing.

My fist clenches the buzzing pager so hard my knuckles whiten, my eyes dead and on the unopened package as I absently lift it, answering the com.

I barely look when the lumpy humanoid holo message of the Oozarian man fills the space above the device. “Report to The Solar Breeding Agency office within the next twenty-four zentics. You’ve been matched.”

That’s it.

And it only tookdays,six days.

His unseeing black deep-set eyes stare back at me from their gelatinous pickle colored skin, lumpy and folded behind the oddly human-looking clothing they wear. It’s a suit, one with a tasseled tie, but it’s the fabric that throws you off. Where you expect softness, it looks closer to plastic. From what I’ve heard, they use some kind of magnetic pulse to keep their…bodiesin the desired shape. I bite back a shudder at the idea of being matched to one of them, although I doubt we’ll be compatible.

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