Page 1 of Bred By Sor'en

Prologue

Theywarnedus,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 did not make. 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 planetsthat 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, low millions and dwindling rapidly. Poverty, disease and hunger, and desperation keep the slightly heavier air 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.

We know this.

Moms, dads, sons, but especially…daughters know this.

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

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 to populate that just might save us.

one

Hue

My eyes remain locked on the tops of my old shoes, pursing my lips at the scuffed sight of them as they contrast against the pretty white dress the agency gave me only just an hour ago. It feels wrong to wear it. I’ve never owned anything so nice, like I’m an imposter, and if anyone looks close enough, they’ll see it too. My heart pounds in my chest like a runaway port cart. This isn’t one of those wonderinghow the hell did I get heretype of moments. I know exactlyhow, the what, when, and even thewhy.

“Come, females, do not drag your feet and remember to smile!”

My attention finally slips from my shoes, a deep flush making my skin look splotchy and diseased as it spreads from my cheeks to my chest. The huge Oozarian male slips to the side, revealing an already growing crowd of curious species in the hall of thebustling port of Vortara. The fringe on the end of his tasseled tie pokes in and out of his vividly green, gooey body as he ushers us higher onto the platform.

I’d agreed to be a breeder, signed the paperwork, and read the information packets. Never, at any point, did any of them say a single thing aboutauctions. Not even one letter dedicated to letting us know there was a possibility of being dressed up in the agency’s signature white gowns so aliens of every make and manner could gawk and study us to see if we were breedable or not.

Desperate times I suppose.

Beggars really shouldn’t be choosy and all that.

I am both things. Desperate and a beggar. By no fault of my own. The sheer misfortune of it all, the continued plight of dwindling humanity, doesn’t care one bit if it’s my fault. If I truly had a choice. So, I decided long ago I’d forcemychoice. By whatever means, regardless of who I hurt or the laws I broke. I had somewhere important to be, somewhere expensive for a human to travel. It outweighed any sense of morality or obligation years ago.

As a child born aboard a drifting Alliance freighter, I’ve never evenseena planet’s surface, not even the reportedly smelly crust of Terra2, only steel corridors, recycled air, and the cold bureaucracy of the unhoused system set up by the Intergalactic Alliance. A way to take care of children nobody wants, even us humans. Much to their displeasure.

It’s either this or ship myself off to be some kind of test subject for the Kalzaits and hope there is still enough of me left by the end to make it to the haven that is Lunareth.

Fuck that.

They are a pretty species, the Kalzaits. Their iridescent wings and pale colors remind me of Easter on Old Earth. An odd but cute religious holiday where they worshipped chocolate and agiant bunny who’d hide eggs in their fireplaces. The Kalzaits are beautiful and smart, but it’s their eyes… It’s always the eyes. Cold and unfeeling, clinical. It makes me queasy. It must show on my face because where my attention had been unfocused on the growing crowd, it’s now filled with a slimy, bright green slime. The headstrong Oozarian woman who runs this breeding agency with her tassel-tie-sporting mate points a scowl at me, keeping her voice low. “It is bad for business if you look like we forced you up here at blaster point.”

I give her barely a nod in response, plastering a fake smile on my face.

Get chosen, get my dowry, and run like fucking hell before anyone can get me pregnant.

Easy enough.

My smile falters as soon as she pivots, slipping over to the microphone set up just to the side of the hover platform we’re standing on. My fingers absently brush the necklace tucked underneath my dress, the fang warm from my skin. I don’t look at the women beside me; we shared no placations for one another when we were all crammed inside the same yellowish waiting room. Nohey, what brought you here? No excitement, no smiles, no assurances. Just bitter, muted resignation. Nobody herewantsto be a breeder, yet here we are of our own free will. Perhaps some out of spite. The system isn’t rigged per se, but it was never designed with humans in mind, and since humans stepped onto the intergalactic scene, nobody has bothered to adapt it. Why would they? We are slowly repaying our debt, a debt we incurred the moment they saved us generations ago from our dying planet. In terms of servitude, as pets, sometimes snacks, outright slaves, breeders, laborers, andentertainment. I am lucky to have been born in what’s considered human-safe territory. There are others in deeper, wider space who continue to fare far worse.

We’re either going to repay our debt or die out soon enough not to be a problem anymore. Either way, we get governing rights to Terra2, or the Alliance takes full control after we’re gone and turns it into something more lucrative.

“Greetings, patrons of Vortara, and thank you for joining us at The Solar Breeding Agency’s first breeder auction! You may inspect our top-of-the-line female humans, butnotouching. Humans are a skittish species and require a tactful hand. They frighten easily and heightened stresscanaffect fertility. Each platform is equipped with a data slate listing its vitals, fertility scores, and genetic markers. Bidding will commence now, and viewing will close in one zentic!”

A large holographic clock descends overhead, marking the passing of the next zentic of discomfort for added effect.

The Oozarian woman breezes away with far more fluidity than you’d expect from a slime species as her mate takes up her spot at the mic,reluctantly. His tassel tie is now fully caught in the soft flesh of his neck. “A quick reminder that we are an intergalactic sanctionedbreedingagency. Bids for sustenance or ownership will not be accepted. Standard one-year contract.”

Several species in the crowd bristle at that, hurling curses in their varying languages, some universal, at the male glowering down at them from the mic as they turn and leave. A chill runs down my spine as it takes a sizeable chunk out of the crowd. Over half of the patrons who attend this little auction have not done so for a breeder but are hoping to buy one of us.Permanently.