Now Morgan understood what Sami had been talking about. There had been a few immigrants before, but now they lined the streets, piled up in the alleys and even sat on rooftops. And all of them were staring at him. Most were only curious, others were pleading, but too many of them had a glint of desire in their eyes. Poor men, Morgan knew, never married into poor families when they had a choice, and those families could not afford artificial insemination. Men were valuable to them, to say nothing of men as handsome and healthy as Morgan.
Adrenalin trickled into his system, and he let it. He focused on running, dodging around a few clueless foreign pedestrians until at last, he reached the training ground. He leaped over the knee-high concrete barrier that encircled the premises and shuffled messily to a stop in a cloud of yellow dust.
He opened his mouth to tell Sami that maybe she was right after all, then saw something that stole his breath away.
Someone new had joined the militia. A white girl knelt in front of Sami's open briefcase, looking a rifle up and down. Maya sat across from her, watching silently. Sami stood over the newcomer with folded arms and an expression that was not entirely disapproving.
The new woman turned to face Morgan, her curtain of curly black hair parting to reveal a pleasant but weather-worn face. A silver emblem that Morgan recognized as a cross hung by a thin silver chain around her neck, standing out from her dirty, heavy dress.
Seeing Morgan, her thin eyebrows gave a little hop, and she stood up to face him. "Hello," she said formally. "You're Morgan, yes?"
"Yes," said Morgan, finding his voice at last. "Who are you?"
"I am Otta Brodyaga." She held up a palm. "It's a pleasure."
"You're from outside?" Something deep inside Morgan told him to feel threatened, but Otta's calm voice, even in that bizarre accent, disarmed him.
"That's right," said Otta, unembarrassed. "I arrived here one only week ago."
"What happened to your home?"
"Are you from the west coast?" Zanele came in. "Militants drive you out? Or a land scheme?"
"No, nothing like that." Otta cracked a sly smile. "I'm from Earth."
Morgan's voice failed him a second time, and the rest of the militia looked just as surprised. He saw Otta's sturdy legs and stocky build, both hallmarks of Earth's heavy gravity, and decided he believed her.
"Earth?" said Zanele, raising her voice for the first time in months. "If you're from Earth, then what are you doing here?"
"Tell us!" crowed Mapula.
"Yeah," added Sami, "I want to hear this."
Otta sat delicately on a stone protrusion. "It all started back home in Kazakhstan. It's mostly-"
"Wait," cut in Sami. "Where?"
"Kazakhstan. It's between Europe and Asia. East-Orthodox Christian, mostly. They're even getting converts from West China."
"I think I've heard of China," said Morgan. "Isn't that where they started the Pan-Asian War?"
"Yes and no. That happened a hundred and fifty years ago, and the borders have changed since then." She waved her hand and smiled humbly. "But that is not important. What is important is that my parents were very strict. Under them, I did not choose who to marry. They chose for me. And by the time I was old enough to know what true love is, they had my husband picked out."
"They gave you a husband?" Sami blurted out. "Just like that?"
Otta looked bashful. "It is different on Earth. On Earth, there is a man for every woman. And my man was named Zoltán. It means Sultan, and he definitely acted like one." Her eyes turned wistful. "He was not a bad man. But I never could have loved him, and thank Heaven, he felt the same way about me. We tried to convince our parents, but they would not budge, so we ran away."
