“My arms keep shaking when I’m trying to weld. I can’t do it anymore. And Kepler has a shortage of women and one of the universities accepting emergency applications needs historians. It’s not Earthan history but you know I’ve always been interested. They’ve given me a spot.”

Becky said, eyes down. Hôbi swallowed. “Should I apply there too?” He asked her, at a loss. She patted his hand, but hesitated. “If you want. But I just…need a fresh start. Away from all of this,” she said. It hadn’t taken a genius to know that she’d meant everything that -

- reminded her of Earth - of those she’d lost. Hobi had taken the hint.

After she left a few months passed working on the ship before the loneliness and the physical pain from so much manual labor threatened to overwhelm him. After one really bad day, Hobi found himself sitting across from a matcher at a placement center.

“Where would you like to apply?” Asked his matcher. Hôbi shrugged. “Anywhere that’ll take me.” “Good, that’ll make this a lot easier,” said the man, typing details into the screen.

He glanced at Hobi again. “Skills? Education?” “I don’t have any skills. I’m working on an educational degree in music, or I was before all of…this,” Hobi explained. “Ah, a young one. Okay. And just to clarify, I did get a look through your medical history. You’re a -

- plague survivor?” Asked the man. Hobi nodded. “I take my medication everyday though. The spores have been dormant in my system for nine years,” he said quickly. The man nodded. “That limits your options a little. Of course there’s no way we know of you could spread it but…

- some other planets have their own superstitions. Not to mention the fact that the side effects most survivors experience render them…less than productive,” he said. Hobi swallowed. “I’m aware.”

He muttered. The matcher nodded. “Okay. Here’s what I recommend. Let me access a sample of your DNA - we’ll compare it against various planetary humanoid profiles. If you have any alien DNA it’ll flag and we can use it as an argument for why you should be allowed to move -

- to that planet. If you don’t have any, I’ll just send out a blanket application and see which planet will take you and go from there. Sound good?” “Fine,” said Hobi. “Great. I need you to verbally consent and then I’ll run your DNA. I’ll call you tomorrow with your results.”

🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏 “Tholean? Really?” Asked Hobi the next morning, vision blurry from a headache but aware enough to answer the matcher’s call. “Twenty-two percent - quite a lot for someone born on Earth.” “I have no idea where it comes from,” Hobi mused.

“Infidelity can explain a lot in cases like this. Not to say that’s what happened but…well. Anyhow, Tholea has opened its immigration policy to humans in light of our imminent doom but the fact that you’re nearly a quarter Tholean will work in your favor. I’ve already sent -

- in your application and DNA profile for review. They should have some sort of aid and travel package ready for you in the next few days so I’d sell what you can and start packing.”

“What can you tell me about the culture on Tholea? I don’t actually know anything about it,” Hobi said, headache intensifying. He closed his eyes. “Son, this is a catastrophe - there’s no time for me to research every planet for the people we send there. I’d encourage you to -

- look into it on your own,” said the matcher. Hobi hung up and wondered if getting out of bed to get an ice pack would be worth it. He wondered how Becky was doing. 🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏

🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏 He did look into it on his own, the next day, when his head stopped feeling like it was on fire. And it all seemed okay at first. It’s populace were a little different, humanoids having developed a set of secondary sex characteristics that humans on -

- Earth didn’t have. But it wasn’t until Hobi started skimming the info on biology, laws, and societal structure that he became concerned and called his matcher. “Do I have enough Tholean DNA to have any secondary sex characteristics?” He asked. His matcher snorted.

“I have no idea. And I don’t have time for this. I’m trying to get as many people as possible off this planet before we all go bye-bye kid.” “I respect that but I need you to find out anyway. I know my rights,” Hobi pushed back, not actually sure if he had any rights when it -

- came to that kind of genetic information but hoping against hope that he did. The matcher sighed but typed something into one of his screens. “Let me see here. Okay - it looks like you do. I mean, not in the way a Tholean would but chromosomally you’re closest to…they -

- call them omegas. Huh. Yeah - so that would be your legal designation. Anything else or can I get back to my job?” Asked the man impatiently. “I need you to put me in contact with someone who can explain those legal implications to me,” Hobi pressed firmly.

🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏 “I don’t practice law anymore - my new job is welding on Central Earthan Megastructure Storage Unit 4. But I’m on my lunch break and I’d be willing to discuss some things about Tholea with you. What do you want to know?” Asked the man on the other side -

- of the holocall. Hobi bowed his head respectfully. “Thank you for the time, I really appreciate it. I’m not trying to be picky but I just want to know what I’m walking into. I’m human - not Tholean, but 22% of my DNA is Tholean. My matcher says that makes me what they -

- call an omega. I did some research on my own and the things written about omegas are…confusing. The way they’re portrayed in the Tholean media is even more confusing. So I’m just trying to figure out what it all means,” Hobi appealed.

The ex-lawyer nodded. “Okay. Well, legally that makes it difficult because on the one hand you’re not fully Tholean so you could argue with a good lawyer that your legal designation should be ‘human.’ On the other hand, im guessing your matcher used your Tholean DNA as a -

- way to get a spot on Tholea. So that’s kind of dicey. They’ll argue you’re trying to ‘have it both ways’ and it won’t really fly. My best guess is that you’ll legally be an omega whether you like it or not,” said the lawyer. “Sure. The um…the entertainment programs I watched

- painted a strange picture of omegas. It was almost like they were…,” Hobi’s voice trailed off as though he were searching for the right words. “Like they were cherished pets?” The ex-lawyer posed. Hôbi swallowed and shrugged.

“Yes.” “Legally they’re a protected class on Tholea - rather like children on Earth. You won’t be treated like an adult, I can tell you that much. But you aren’t without legal rights. You’re owed proper nutrition, healthcare, shelter, and a private space where you have the -

- ability to burrow. Yes - I literally mean burrow under blankets. It’s an omega thing - a social thing. I don’t get it either. But yeah, you can’t own property or anything like that. Can’t get a job - it’s actually against the law to make an omega perform labor. Can’t pilot -

- a ship. Can’t consent to your own medical procedures - I can send you a list of rights you’ll lose if you want,” offered the lawyer with a hint of sympathy. Hobi’s head was spinning. “Thanks. Yeah, I…what do omegas do then if they don’t…do anything?” He asked.

“What does a dog do?” Countered the lawyer. “Lay around. Sleep. Play with toys. Go for walks?” Hobi posed, heart sinking. The ex-lawyer gave him a thumbs up. “Got it in one,” he said.

Hôbi swallowed. “What about education? Is that a thing for omegas? Can they get degrees?” He asked. The ex-lawyer sighed. “Look, I’m going to level with you, and then I have to get back to work. I wouldn’t recommend the life of an omega to anyone unless their goal in -

- life was to sleep, get cuddled, have frequent sex, and sit around the house reading or whatever. Because that’s their place in Tholean society. They don’t have the legal position of others. And if you go there, you won’t either. Don’t get me wrong, they wouldn’t physically -

- harm you. I believe spanking is a thing for omegas, but they won’t treat you like an equal. You’ll be a thing that needs looking after. Forever. So think long and hard about that. Once you’re on-planet you’ll be stuck. I have to go,” said the man, hanging up.

🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏🌏 Hobi’s matcher railed, cursed, and raved about Hobi wasting his time when Hobi told him he wasn’t going to Tholea after all. But Hobi was firm. And eventually the man agreed to take him off the list. Hobi sighed in relief when he got the confirmation.

And then he went back to work ship-building for their eventual evacuation, muddling through the back-breaking labor - borne of desperation and a strict schedule - popping pain medication liberally to work through the headaches.