We looked to each other and we saw the same expression reflected back and I answered, "I think that seventy five percent chance of living is better than no chance at all."
"Exactly the way we see things," she replied, "any other questions?"
"Yes," I said, "just one. What is your name?"
Port Conway was a sleepy little town on the coast with about two thousand people in it. The surrounding jungle seemed ready to swallow it up at any moment. The only industries in town was fishing and smuggling. Fishing obviously took a back seat to the money making industry of contraband smuggling. Moored in the mouth of the bay were seven cruse ships that were there at the behest of the government. The government could not prevent its own people from extracting violence among its own and felt a conscience about the people intended as victims. It supplied the transportation, but it was up to the individuals to get on board any way they could. The people had two weeks to do so and this was the last week. Every boat the village owned was used in transporting people and children to the ships. A steep price per head provided a windfall profit for the good residents of Port Conway. No one had time to pack any valuables and opted to take with them just what they needed for the trip. The town was busting at the seams and people were everywhere. There was no place to stay and we ended up on the beach with about two thousand women and children waiting their turn to board. Some five thousand had already been ferried aboard the boats and there was an estimated five thousand yet to come. This was the last three days of the grace period left and people were getting anxious. Tents and lean-to's sprang up on the beach and small cooking pots of foods boiled away as children cried and played with each other. As promised, we obtained a pair of sandals upon arrival and assigned a boarding number for the fist available spot on the next boat in. It was decided that we were to split up and go our separate ways as a better than average chance of survival. We had at least twenty hours to kill before our numbers came up and I spent it observing the mother's with their children.
It is here for the first time that I saw the results of my efforts with these women. I could not recognize any of them, yet, they all seemed familiar. All the children were under seven years of age, some still in diapers. Occasionally I saw a woman who was pregnant with child and she had the worried look of a hunted beast. One thing the women all had in common was their mutual hate for the men that abandoned them in their time of need. They had a tendency to look at me like I was the enemy. I felt that it was not the time to confide in any of them that I was one of the breeders that was responsible for them being here. I helped Irma, our scientist driver, erect a makeshift lean-to and we seated ourselves under it. After a while, we were joined by several of her scientist friends who, like herself, were thick of body and older women. They brought with them food and we enjoyed a potluck stew, which we shared with several of the younger children who were constantly wondering around the beach. There was a vast communal effort going on between all the mothers and their children. No one was left out, all were accepted openly, with the possible exception of us men and the odd looks the scientists got.
Night came and we slept in the sand of the beach. The crashing of the waves lulled me to sleep but only barley. Camp fires lit the beach for miles around and at the docks there was a constant crowd of people boarding boats of all types. Every hour or so, someone would come through the throng of people and call out the current number they were boarding at the moment, so those close to the number could stand and wait for their number to be called. Throughout the day and night, more people poured in and the beach was swarming with humanity. By morning I guessed that the number waiting on the beach was somewhere near five thousand and the air of excitement was heavy.
Tales of atrocities passed from person to person. A public shooting happened in one place and the local officials just congratulated the perpetrator and sent him home with a slap on the back. In another instance, a woman was brutally raped to death by a gang of men who though she was less than human for spawning a half bred. This was done in public in front of the women's child and condoned by her husband. Things were getting ugly out there and people wanted to get out before things got way out of control. Talk of bands of military types searching homes and butchering the "mestizo" began to take hold of the crowd and all of us waited anxiously for our numbers to be called.
The call came for me at around three in the afternoon the following day. I piled into a small dingy with twenty two other people. The dingy was severely overloaded and sat deep in the water. Mother's clung to their children and hoped the stillness of the water would be constant for the entire trip out to the cruse ship. I was alone. The others had been shipped off to other vessels and I was the last to board a boat. I looked at the beach and it seemed to swell and heave with thousands yet to board. Next to me was a petite woman of light green skin and silvery blonde hair. She clutched at her son of five who kept asking if we were there yet. She was crying silently, tears rolling down her cheeks and dropping onto her clothing. I felt for her and put an arm around her to comfort her and she buried her head into my shoulder and wept. By five thirty we were climbing the stair ladder that sat in place for on-boarding passengers. Already the small cruse ship was filled to capacity and there was only room on the decks for us. I took her and her child with me as we gazed at the shore line.
"I'll never see home again," she said. I knew how she felt. When I first came here I went through a similar experience, knowing that my chances of seeing earth again were non-existent. I had a terrible time letting go of the thought that somehow, someway, I would be rescued from this planet. Gradually, the pleasure of my "work" succeeded in diminishing the want to see home again. Now, with this women crying on my shoulder, it brought it all back again ten fold.
I found a place on the deck where we had a relatively quiet and she took out a blanket from her possessions and covered us in it. This was to be our only home until we set anchor again, somewhere in the southern hemisphere of the planet. She told me that where we were going was near the polar cap and it would be very cold there in the winters. Very different than the tropical zone we were about to leave. Even when it was inhabited, it was sparsely inhabited. Less than a hundred people per square mile. Very little was known about the area, except that the war effort was stalled there and staggered in the hell of sub zero temperatures in the winter and summers filled with mosquitoes as thick as smoke.
As we watched the sun go down I learned that her name was Pilar. Her sons name was Jason, after her husband. The boy had extremely light skin and he had a slightly different bone structure than his mother, yet, you could tell they were mother and child. Pilar's husband had driven her and Jason to the beach early yesterday morning and left them there. He never said a word nor did he ever look back once as he walked away from them and drove away. She seemed so frail and helpless, I just wanted to comfort her and make her pain go away. Jason found several other boys his age and he went off to play with them.
All around us people watched the camp fires on the beach. It was very quiet and no one talked loudly, only in whispers. Some dried food was shared but even this was at a minimum. Pilar huddled close to me and I held her in my arms as we lay on the deck under her thin blanket. Even though she was fully clothed, I felt the familiar stirring of my forced profession. It was not lost on her for she felt my hardness against her thigh. She took a kind of solace in it and idly began to rock herself along my thigh. I let her rock herself into a sort of quiet intensity. I could tell that she was well aroused and wanted to continue, but, with several hundred people in the immediate area she felt a little shy. As we watched the fires on the beach, she reached a hand down and rubbed my stiff dick through the fabric of my jump suit, while I found her breast and stroked her nipples through the satin fabric of her blouse. I could feel the nipple respond and harden as I touched her and she moved even closer to me. We kissed deeply and with out sound and I let my hand caress between her legs and she let out a near silent moan. She was wearing a pair of light cotton paints and I could feel the labia of her vulva through the thin fabric and traced its outline with my fingers.
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