“Sort of. Yes. When I asked if there was anything I should order for her from off-world, she talked of her per-oid.”
“I can explain.” Roan puffs out his chest. “When a Human female’s body is ready to make a youngling, it releases an egg into her worm?—"
“Womb,” Harlee corrects, her face flushing.
“—where it stays for a sennight?—”
“A day or two,” interrupts Harlee.
“And,” Roan continues confidently, “if there is no procreation or if her virile male partner uses contraception during procreation, then her womb releases the unfertilized egg. It falls from her body, and that is her per-oid.”
“Period, Babe. It’s pronouncedperiod.”
Not to be discouraged, Roan hurries on, “There is a little blood, too, which the female ceremoniously collects in a cup?—”
“It’s not a ceremony,” inserts Harlee. “I never said anything about a ceremony.”
“And then…” he finally falters. “You keep the blood?”
“No.” The color in Harlee’s cheeks darkens. “We throw it into the trash.”
“So…” I try to decipher what is happening. “I need to buy Lydia…a ceremonial cup?”
“Yes,” says Roan, giving me a Human smile.
“No!” says Harlee, furiously shaking her head. “Do Ril’os women not have periods?”
Roan and I share a glance, neither of us experts when it comes to procreation. Before LOVE GALAXY, we had little contact with females.
“No?” Roan says, although it sounds more like a question than an answer.
“No,” I conclude. An egg is surely something our parents would have mentioned if it was part of Ril’os biology. We might have little formal education, but our parents made sure we completed basic classes between tasks on the farm.
“Okay…” Harlee glances between us again, eyes slightly narrowed in…suspicion? Confusion? If she were Briar, she would surely be asking a lot of embarrassing questions now, likehow does a thirty-eight-year-old male not know the answers to these simple questions?Likeare you so naive?Likeis this why you have so much trouble communicating with Lydia—because you have no experience with females?
Yes,I want to shout. I constantly feel as though I have been thrown into the deep end of a lake and am floundering, well beyond my depth. Instead, I scowl. “We have taken far too long away from our work, when we have a schedule to keep.”
Chapter Eleven
Eight days later
Lydia
From the safety of Killan’s mudroom, I watch the transport Freighter arrive. Killan, Harlee, Briar, Roan, and Sorin are all outside, braving the dust. At least they’re partially protected from the wind by what little of Killan’s house is above ground.
The Freighter is somehow both larger than I’d imagined and smaller, considering the distances it must travel through outer space, jumping from galaxy to galaxy. A hatch at the back opens and a ramp is lowered to the ground. I expect the crew to disembark, but instead Killan strides inside, his tablet in hand. He has to bend as he crosses the threshold to keep from scraping his horns against the doorframe.
Neither Roan nor Sorin appear worried, although Harlee and Briar exchange a confused look.
I press closer to the window as the minutes tick by. I barely hear Chloe walk up behind me until she’s nudging me out of the way, trying to get a look for herself.
“Mr. Smith’s ship was a piece of junk in comparison,” she says, as if either of us knows what we’re looking at. The Freighter could be the best spaceship ever built or the worst, and we wouldn’t have a clue.
“Bitter, much?” I nudge her back, reclaiming my place. The dust and my asthma might have me trapped inside, but there’s no way I’m going to miss this opportunity.
When Chloe doesn’t respond, I glance at her over my shoulder. There are dark circles under her eyes, as though she’s not been sleeping well, and the smudges on her Chanel glasses are even grimier than the last time we spoke. That must have been the first day of the harvest; I’ve been avoiding her ever since.
“You’re not still thinking of hitchhiking, are you?” I ask.
