Page 7 of Breedable Boys from Outer Space
“You know this is insane!”
“Yes, but…” I took a deep breath. “They said we could back out at any point, and part of me wants… this.”
He threw his hands up in the air. “You know what? Fine! Ruin your life for some pastel-tinted ass and kids. It’s not as if I care. But me? I’m going home. I’m going to drink at our favorite shitty gay bar and stick my dick in one hundred percent human men who won’t get pregnant when I come.”
He stomped off before I could say anything, and I didn’t follow that time, though I did hear a murmur of agreement from those nearby.
I looked around and saw the majority of the men heading in the same direction: back toward the busses. Were they leaving because they agreed with Edwards about the whole thing being bullshit? Or were they leaving because what we’d been offered didn’t align with their life goals?
I swallowed. Was staying a mistake?
I stood there for several minutes, even as the stream of men walking past me dwindled.
I turned and spotted the signs for those willing to participate. Leaving then meant abandoning the opportunity, and I wasn’t ready to do that yet. Maybe it was all bullshit, but I’d determine that based on more than a brief presentation.
I strode toward the men directing volunteers away from the busses and into the unknown—not for my country, not for hot aliens, but because something in me needed this.
I just had to hope I wasn’t making a mistake.
Chapter 5
Iblew out a deep breath and stared at the ceiling as a technician drew yet another vial of blood.
It had been ten days since the briefing, and I’d been undergoing medical tests since—me and the approximately three hundred other men who’d decided to stay.
Three hundred out of two thousand or so in the meeting. I wasn’t sure what that said about us, or their calculations for participation. Did they expect more volunteers? Fewer?
Every question led to more questions.
About the only answer I received was from one of the technicians, who’d let it slip that ours was not the first such briefing, nor would it be the last. There was no way the logistics worked to securely brief almost twenty thousand gay servicemen simultaneously, then start testing on the volunteers. So the briefings were staggered.
Call in people with no notice so nobody had time to ask questions, get the volunteers into testing, then repeat two months later. It was all disturbingly efficient.
“What are you testing for today?” I asked, not shifting my gaze from the ceiling.
“We’re looking for genetic markers of hereditary diseases,” he replied absentmindedly as I heard the distinctive tap as he switched vials.
“Would I be disqualified if I had one and didn’t know?” I asked.
“Not necessarily. It would be discussed between various teams. But we’re to note everything and create as complete a medical profile as possible. It would be just as relevant if you had the genes for a disease, and they were not inherited. Scientists would want to investigate that as well.”
“Why?”
“To develop inoculants,” he stated. “If researchers can use the data to create safe ways to prevent children from inheriting the genes that cause those diseases, then mankind as a whole will benefit.”
“I see.”
The press of a cotton ball against my skin, then the needle being withdrawn. “Hold this, please.”
I reached over on autopilot and held the cotton ball against the crook of my elbow while he wrapped it.
“All done. You can take it off in about half an hour.”
“What next?” I asked. “Jerking off into a cup again?”
He laughed. “No more jerking it into cups. Your sperm count looks good. No, next is lunch, then another brain scan this afternoon. If everything checks out, you’ll proceed to psychological assessment tomorrow.”
I chuckled. “Not sure I’ll pass that. Don’t we have to be crazy for agreeing to this?”
