“It will take the whole night at least,” he said, “to implant all my eggs.”
The colony planet is a death trap. Only the tiniest fraction of humanity survives the gruesome rejection virus.
Excerpt from Nepenthe
“You must choose from among us,” said the Ptolarch, with a wide gesture. “We are the last of our kind. There is no one of our number who would not be honored to have you as their host.”
The Magistrand saw what his leader was doing. A calculated move to diffuse some of the woman’s mistrust: allowing her the choice when he’d given his Ptolara none. Even as the High One spoke, many of the Nepenthe crew ringing the hold’s walls were either shifting their appearance to imitate the humans, or refining the mimicry they’d already begun, all in hopes of attracting the favor of their first volunteer host. The one, it seemed, who would decide whether there would be more.
Yesmín did not bother to scan the room.
“Him,” she said to the Ptolarch while keeping her eyes locked with Dae Keth. “He’s going to do it.”
Rich waves of satisfaction spread out from Io Rae. “You choose to be the Magistrand’s host?”
“That’s what I said.”
The Ptolarch smiled. “Excellent.”
Dae Keth stared back at the woman, and she folded her arms across her chest. What her plan was in choosing him over any of the others, he didn’t know. But it seemed he would be filling her with eggs, after all. And from what he’d seen of her mettle thus far, she might just be worthy.
