Omega Society Auction [One]

by Eileen Glass

  “You’re young. You’re stupid. I can tie them up in the courts.”

  Rourke rubs his forehead. He shouldn’t have called. He should have emailed her from the moon instead. That was the original plan, but the amount and saving his mother’s life diverted him from it. Now he needs to steer her from the rocks.

  “Mom, think about the future. You’re going to live a long time. You’re going to have little blue-haired grandbabies.”

  Those are his secret weapon, locked and ready to get her approval—or at least her cooperation. He’d never get it on his own beforehand, if he had tried to obtain her consent as required. But now that the deed is done, she has three very valuable ‘loser’ trophies. Money, life, and cute babies.

  That’s why she’s been so adamant about him getting a girlfriend this year. She doesn’t want to leave him alone.

  “B… blue hair, huh?” she stammers after a long while.

  “Yeah. They’ll be adorable.”

  Someone walks past the door.

  I’ve spent way too much time in the bathroom.

  “H… have they already…” She forces the next word out. “Impregnated you then? What’s the due date?”

  “No! No, don’t be crazy! I just sold.” And he’s not going to be artificially inseminated anyway. That’d be too convenient. Explaining such to his mom won’t happen though.

  “There’s time to back out—” she starts, but Rourke hears another set of footsteps in the hall.

  “I have to go. But read the rest of the letter. A nurse is to come visit you, and a lot of other stuff is going to happen. You’re going to have interviews and appointments to go to…”

  “Bullshit. You better stay here and make sure I reach them, because I can’t do it on my own.”

  She’s just digging in her heels now, trying to guilt trip him. Rourke hates knowing it, but she’s probably going to walk to the corner store and buy some booze after this. Even though she’s not supposed to with her medications.

  “Mom. We have the rest of our lives to argue. You’re welcome. Just keep your phone charged, alright? I’m going to be calling and emailing you.”

  “When can I say goodbye?”

  Her question catches him off guard. Suddenly Rourke feels lower than his shoe.

  “I…” There’s no good way to say it. “We can’t. The time has already passed. I’m getting on a shuttle in a few hours.”

  “I’ll be there.”

  “I don’t think you can, Mom. It’s a done deal already. I… should’ve said goodbye this morning, but I knew you wouldn’t let me go through with it. I’m sorry.”

  “How can you do this to me?!”

  Very quietly, because there’s definitely a shadow under the door now, he says, “I’m sorry. But you’re going to live a long time now…”

  “How?! I don’t get the money for a year!”

  “I’m working on it. I have a plan.” He hangs up as someone knocks softly.

  “Ready to take your picture for new ID?” asks Stephanie on the other side.

  Rourke hits silent just as his mother’s incoming call comes up. He holds the power button as he opens the door. “Yeah. How do I look?”

  “Amazing, you big faker.”

  He’s been caught.

  But Stephanie wears the usual smile as she grabs him by the elbow.

  “Thanks for the promotion by the way,” she says with a wink, guiding him forward.

  “Heh. Anything I can do to help…”

  Three months later…

  He texted her. Don’t worry, Mom. I’ll see you soon. Then, so it wouldn’t sound final, This is fun! He snapped a quick picture before the pilot caught him and told him to put his phone away.

  That was launch. Traveling through space is quite boring, like being on a bus that never moves, that you can never get off. Rourke just sits in his room all the time. The process of becoming an omega makes him so sick and weak, he’s like his mother, only moving when he needs the bathroom.

  They travel to the hidden side of the moon, where the alpha aliens have kept their ship since Earth’s uprising. Rourke has always known it as ‘the space castle’, and Rourke has seen pictures of it in history books, floating in the sky beside the moon. The doctor tells him that it’s alive with an AI or something. That it found Earth and brought the alphas here to take over.

  It emits a signal that messes with his DNA—a gene found in one-fifth of the men in his city, where the ship wreaked havoc when it first landed.

  The shuttle doubles as a clinic to help him and four others go through the process. But they’ve all left and started life on the moon with their new mates. Rourke is the only one to remain. Just him and the staff, for six weeks.

  Rourke still feels like shit, but he’s gotten better at hiding it. If they can’t make him an omega, if the process fails? His mom dies and the future he promised her goes too.

  So, for ten days he’s flushed most of his food. He’s stopped requesting painkillers. He doesn’t throw up as often, and he makes small talk when the doctor checks on him.

  Everything’s worked. He’s going to the moon. Today.

  “Nervous?” Stephanie asks. They sent her up here at the eight-week mark. It was at his alpha’s insistence. His name is Zachri. She had to tell him that since Rourke still hasn’t read the binder of portfolios.

  “Yeah. Very.” He’s trying to smile and keep smiling. He can’t stand living in this little white toaster box, and his mother needs him so she can get better. Her medical care is free, but her cost of living isn’t. Without Rourke’s paycheck, the rent on their apartment nearly cuts her dry. She doesn’t get the money from his auction until he’s married, which can only happen after a mandatory eight month courting period or if he gets pregnant.

  Stephanie pulls a little container from her pocket. “This is for you. A little extra dose since we’re meeting your alpha today. It’ll help with your nerves.”

  They’re giving him the suppression pills four times daily because they think his sickness is from an immediate onset of omega heat. It’s rare, but the doctor says it makes sense. His body is already exhausted from the transformation, so the heat is overwhelming him.

  Rourke brings his hand to his mouth in convincing, quick action. He follows it up with a sip of bottled water, which she carries for him. But the pills go into his pocket, and Rourke’s stomach is worse off for water.

  “Let’s go buckle up,” Stephanie says, taking his hand.

  They may have become great friends, but it’s hard to tell since she technically gets a paycheck for looking after him. And he doesn’t say much due to feeling ill all the time. She has listened to him talk a little bit about his mother though, and that has helped a lot.

  Rourke has barely had the energy to fill out all those forms he promised his mom, much less hold long conversations and text on his phone. They don’t contact each other much since there’s nothing new to say. They’re both sick every day. They sleep a lot. And that’s about it.

  But today that’s going to change.

  While they walk to the pilot deck, Stephanie’s tablet dings. She hooks her thumb in the corner to hold it with one hand, and her fingers on the other side operate the interface. The familiar profile pic of his alpha appears on the screen.

  “He’s anxious too,” she says, squeezing his hand. “He’s asking about how you feel.”

  The alphas strongly believe in love at first real sight—and first smell—and they believe that conversation before meeting can muddle one’s instincts. So, Stephanie has been talking to Zachri about Rourke.

  “Tell him I’m great. Excited. Can’t wait.” I want to hurl.

  Rourke swallows and focuses on maintaining his steady breath. He hopes part of his sickness is the claustrophobia from living in this space toaster. Regardless of physical health, he’ll feel better getting his feet on solid ground with a sky above him.

  Stephanie finishes tapping on the screen and puts it away as they come on t
he pilot deck. There’s a row of seats along the wall, and the attendant helps them both secure the straps over their shoulders and waist. The moon’s docking station is up on the huge window monitor.

  “Your new home…” Stephanie says with a little sigh, taking up his hand in both of hers. Rourke is grateful for the comfort.

  What if the worst thing imaginable happens? What if I smell wrong and he rejects me?

  Maybe not taking his pills wasn’t such a smart thing…

  The seats start shaking with turbulence and Rourke closes his eyes. He has to fight very hard for mental peace and the inner stability not to hurl.

  What if my mother dies and this is all for nothing?

  Stephanie hasn’t let go of him. Which is good because Rourke could keel over at any moment. His insides are shaky and hollow, ready to spew out of his mouth. Stephanie takes his pallor and trembling for nerves and she’s full of soothing words.

  “He’s going to love you, I just know it. Even if he doesn’t—which would never happen—he won’t be rude to you, you know. That’s, like, unthinkable to them. They haven’t handled omegas well in the past, with regards to free will and all…” She chuckles. “But they are reverent. I promise. You have nothing to worry about.”

  All he can manage is, “Yeah. Uh huh. Okay,” while he’s thinking about retching in the corner of their pristine cargo deck. But if he did that, they’d haul him back into the clinic. They’d declare him unhealthy and revoke the whole deal. He underwent several physical examinations and a genetic history evaluation just to qualify. Health is of the utmost importance for producing alien offspring.

  So, he can’t fuck this up. He has to keep it down and maintain a handle on it somehow.

  The door makes a squeegee sound as it parts. The boarding bridge is a red carpeted hallway at a downward slant and another pair of doors waits at the end of that.

  “You ready?”

  Rourke nods.

  “Poor thing. You’ll laugh about this memory later, alright? Let’s go meet your dream man!”

  She starts off, but quickly discovers that Rourke’s pace won’t match hers. Fortunately, she’s patient and doesn’t let go. Rourke has to lean into her a bit too to stay standing, and she doesn’t say anything. Good ol’ Stephanie.

  The downhill slope isn’t helping. The hallway wobbles, but actually it’s him swaying.

  “Are you alright, sweetheart?” she asks, and Rourke rights himself quickly. He’s so close to getting off this space toaster and starting a new life for his mother and him.

  “What if he doesn’t like me?” he whispers, to throw off her suspicions.

  “He will, sweetie,” she says, and frees one hand to brush the hair back from his forehead. But Rourke’s stomach makes a dangerous lurch, and there’s no pulling through now. His breakfast is coming up, immediately.

  “Oh god.”

  He lets her go and runs for it, hitting the door fast, scanning the room for a toilet or a trashcan. He sees a smear of chairs and a big window with the shuttle visible outside. There’s a few people standing next to him, but time has run out and Rourke hones in on the one useful object. A potted plant.

  He’s feels bad inside and out for more than physical reasons. But it’s better than puking on Stephanie’s nice high heels, or the glossy marble floor. Despite his misery, he’s well aware that the building is nice.

  “I’m sorry,” he tells Stephanie, or whoever is listening.

  “It’s alright,” he hears, but it’s a man’s voice, soft and smooth.

  Oh no. This is a disaster.

  He looks up before he can stop himself—and before he can wipe away a wet spot under his lips. But another lurch seizes him and he has his head in the plant before he can even begin to stammer out a second apology. Or whatever he’s supposed to say to fix this.

  Zachri touches his back. Rourke feels disgusting and ashamed, but there’s nothing he can do about it.

  When his stomach seems to be done, he just hangs over the mess, wishing he could disappear instead of face the man.

  “What’s wrong with him?” that smooth voice asks.

  It’s over. Rourke isn’t in perfect physical health, not nearly. Love at first sight is certainly impossible now.

  He drags himself out of the plant, but he can’t bring himself to look at his alpha. He keeps his gaze fixed on his feet. Stephanie’s high heels are clacking somewhere, and she arrives with a paper towel. The masculine hands take it from her and pass it over. Her water bottle arrives the same way. Zachri holds onto it for him until he’s ready.

  Rourke rinses his mouth and spits it into the plant. He figures he can’t make it any worse. And he can’t save this situation, so he just waits.

  The alien alpha still has a hand on his back. And the other is cautiously touching his arm. He’s standing entirely too close for someone who should worry about getting puked on. So, Rourke slowly brings his gaze up to the alpha’s face.

  His eyes are narrowed at Stephanie.

  “You and your society are in charge of his care. You’ve had him for three months in your clinic, and you did not make him well?”

  Stephanie clutches the tablet in front of her chest as if she wishes she could shrink behind it.

  “Uh. Well… I… I think it’s just nerves. He was very anxious about meeting you.”

  The alpha looks at him, and Rourke can’t hold his gaze. Not even for a moment. His eyes are a lovely brown, but there seems to be subtle hint of inner golden light. As far as his body, alphas are exactly like humans, with wildly dyed hair. But looking in their eyes reveals them to be creature-ish and otherworldly. Not human at all.

  His hands are perfect though. Big and neat, every nail trimmed.

  Maybe he had a recent manicure.

  That thought goes quiet as the alpha steps closer. One hand touches the back of his head. The other goes around his back as the alpha pulls him gently toward him. Rourke’s cheek touches the smooth, silky fabric of his shirt, feeling his warmth and chest underneath.

  Rourke’s face is hot from blushing.

  “Is that all?” the alpha asks Stephanie. “Should you not examine him again?”

  “Well…”

  The thought of walking back into the clinic fills Rourke with dread. He just knows that If he goes back, they’re going to find something wrong. They’re going to send him home, and the alpha won’t want him anymore.

  “I was just scared, I’m sorry,” he says quickly and quietly. Somehow, he must fix this. But he doesn’t see a way. So, he goes to his last resort, clutching the alpha’s shirt carefully—he would never do anything uncarefully regarding these beings, which are above the law and rule over Earth as royalty.

  “Please keep me,” he pleads. Again, he can’t meet his eyes. The alpha’s expression is displeased. He settles for looking at his shirt collar instead. “I’m not sick. I won’t puke again. Don’t send me away. Please.”

  For a long time, he does nothing, which makes Rourke slowly let go of his shirt. But after a while, the alpha’s arms become firmer around him. The alpha inclines his body forward a little. It takes a moment, but Rourke realizes he might be getting hugged.

  “Your organization is responsible for his wellbeing,” the alpha says over him to Stephanie, and his tone is not nice. “Either your procedures were insufficient or you—personally—have failed.”

  “I… I mean, we—”

  “Your excuse is inconsequential. A review will be made.”

  Rourke can hear her gulp from here. He feels bad for her, but the important thing is that he might not be out of the running yet. He subtly wipes his mouth on the back of his hand, just in case there’s any gross flecks.

  This has to be alright. First sight, first smell… God, he’s bombed them both.

  He tries again to meet the alpha’s eyes. He’s tall, the top of Rourke’s head only meeting his chin. Rourke lasts a whole two seconds before he drops his gaze.

  “Shall we go?”

/>   “Yeah.” Rourke can’t talk too loudly either. It feels wrong to do so. “Uh, I just have to wait for my things.”

  He has a small suitcase of personal items that someone was supposed to bring off the ship for him. The alpha stares at Stephanie again, and she snaps into action in an instant, running as fast as she can in her heels toward the sign that reads Baggage Claim.

  “There is a courtyard that’s open to the sky,” says the alpha, stepping away from Rourke and taking his hand. “Let’s go there. Restrooms are on the way.”

  Zachri walks straight and regal. He’s taller and broader than the humans, who are mostly security guards. They pass a janitor pushing a cart and Rourke feels bad, knowing it’s because of him.

  Zachri doesn’t walk quickly, but he also doesn’t slow down or falter in pace. Rourke has to push himself to keep up. The restroom is a thankful pit stop.

  “Do you prefer if I wait or follow?” he asks. He’s exactly like Rourke expected an alpha to be. Aloof. Perfect too, as in above everything. Humans like to sneer about alpha superiority, but never to their face.

  They’re ruthless.

  But Rourke didn’t sell himself for fancy dinners and roses. He knows that he’s chattel and only necessary for babies.

  “Wait, please. I’ll only be a minute.”

  And in his head, he counts the literal seconds. He washes his face and brushes his teeth with his finger. He’d shank a guy for a stick of gum right now. He can’t be disgusting, he has to pass this first impression thing.

  Squaring up his shoulders with twenty seconds to spare, Rourke puts together everything he knows about alphas. They like omegas to seem meek and vulnerable but also healthy and capable of bearing children.

  He needs to be a damsel in distress, essentially, and not barf anymore. Simple.

  “Ready,” he says when he returns to Zachri. By the man’s calm expression, Rourke expects him to pronounce his ‘grade’ at any moment and give his decision to Stephanie.

  Take this one back. He’s unfit.

  But he presents his crooked elbow, and Rourke slips his hand into it. Then it’s back to walking down an escalator. Stepping on in sync with him is the greatest test to Rourke’s reaction timing he’s experienced in a while. He tries to hold back his emotions too, and be serious and calm.