The selection took place in Sector 4, a minor solar system with two small agricultural planets near the border with Omia.  Being so close, it was doubtful the sector's provincial government dared deny their powerful neighbor any request, no matter how repellent.  A high school gymnasium was given the honor of hosting the event and, as a further sign of Omia's reputation, school was canceled to allow the Omians to conduct their business without the inconvenience of curious locals.

Follow up:

Mags walked into the echoing gymnasium with the other applicants, one of a long line of white-robed women, barefoot and naked beneath the robes.  The number 23 was embroidered on her right shoulder in red.  The woman behind her, a pretty blonde scarcely out of her teens, wore the number eight.

In contrast to the noisy locker room behind them, no one spoke.  Their instructions had been to find the number on the floor matching the one on they wore.  As a result, most of the women walked with their heads down, casting only covert looks at the small line of uniformed men standing at the edge of the gym.  To Mags, their humble, shuffling gait reminded her of images she'd seen in history books of captured women at a slave auction.  It gave her chills.

Think about your goals. Think about the higher purpose.

Twenty-three.  She found her number marked out with tape on the scuffed gymnasium floor.  Taking her place, she lifted her head and, defiant, scanned the watching men.

There were nine of them - all officers, she supposed, wearing Omian black and red.  Their clans would be distinguished only by the insignia embroidered on their right shoulder -- in the same place she wore her number - but she was in the second row and too far away to make out such small detail.  They waited, emotionless, while the women settled into four long lines facing them.

Behind the uniformed males were other men, smaller, less imposing and in ordinary business suits. There were more of them and most carried computer tablets.  Personal assistants, she thought and, with a little twist of her stomach, slaves.

When everything became still, the officers broke their line and spread out across the gymnasium floor.  Their assistants hurried after them.   Mags saw one of the officers stop in front of a tall red-head.  After a moment, he gestured briefly.  The woman fumbled at her throat.  A moment later, the white robe dropped to the floor.

The project.  Think about the project.

It had been a long, difficult and stressful process to get to this point and Mags wasn't home free yet.  The men could simply not find her appealing.  There were nearly four dozen women here, culled from over a million applicants.  A million!  Gods, but there were a lot of desperate females.

One of the officers approached Mags from the left.  He paused beside the voluptuous brunette next to her.  Number 22 stared silently at his feet.  After a moment, he walked on, giving Mags only a cursory look.  It was a while before the next officer passed. He, too, only glanced at her.

It was the third who lifted her flagging hopes.  Like the other two, he also stopped to consider the brunette.  No doubt he was taking in her obvious child-bearing capabilities.  Then he looked over at Mags and Mags, in spite of an overwhelming impulse to look down, returned his cool stare with one of her own.

He came over and put himself in front of her.  After a moment, he said, "Disrobe."

Mags had to fight her automatic response.  Deliberately, as if it mattered not one bit to her, she unzipped the robe and let it fall.  All the while, she looked him up and down with the same considering, judging expression he wore.  His mouth curved slowly into a small smile.  He leaned over and, without taking his eyes from her, murmured something to his personal assistant.  The young man quickly consulted his tablet.

If they were looking up her stats, Mags knew what they would find: a clean genetic record tilted heavily toward aggressive males. It was perfect for their purposes and a lot of time and money had been spent to make it that way.

"Thank you," he said, nodding toward the robe pooled at her feet, and walked on.

She gritted her teeth and got dressed again.   Her face was hot with rage and humiliation.

Then it was over.  The officers returned to the side of the gymnasium.  From the corner of her eye, Mags saw several other women getting dressed again.  One of the PAs stepped out and, in a clear, carrying voice, announced:

"Thank you.  Except for the following numbers, you may all leave and we thank you for your time and trouble.  Numbers two, eight, nineteen, twenty-two, twenty-three..."

Mags didn't hear the rest, her relief was so great.  It was unlikely she could have moved if she wanted to.  She's made it!  She was in!

There were instructions, of course.  These were Omians, after all.  The nine remaining women were thanked and congratulated.

"You will be the mothers of the future of Omia," the young PA said importantly.  "It is a great honor and one for which you will be revered by our people."

We'll be bearing the sons of the elite.  What about the others?

"Naturally, we will expect that you will conduct yourself with the utmost dignity from now until you formally begin your contract.  Chastity is not only expected, it is required, and you will be tested before being taken to Omi for the presence of any sexual activity.  I need not remind you that a positive finding will result in the immediate cancellation of the contract?"
Silence.  The man smiled.  "Excellent," he said.  "Please go to the locker room on your right.  Your clothing and belongings have been taken there.  Once you have dressed, please stop at the desk outside to sign the final contract."

Mags did as she was told.  She changed back into her street clothes while all around her the excited Future Mothers of Omia speculated about which of the "handsome warriors" had chosen her and the life of luxury she would live during her stay on Omia.

But Mags saod nothing.  Naturally, now that victory was at hand, second thoughts assailed her.  Even when one of the women asked her which officer she found most handsome, Mags couldn't bring herself to answer.  She was at her limit for dissembling. What she wanted was to get back to her apartment and brace herself for the next six years.

The trip back to Sector Five and Lambert City was a blur. Her mind worried at the situation, shuffling through all the things she needed to do before disappearing into Omia's Women's City.  The knot in her stomach would only grow in the next few days; she was resigned to it.  Again she thought about backing out and again she took herself to task.  She had worked too hard for this!

It was ten hours before she reached the sanctuary of her rented rooms in Lambert City.  Like everything else, the apartment was a façade, a disguise carefully assumed to achieve her goal.  She moved through it like a ghost, pulling out a suitcase, making a list.

What the hell was she doing?

Her doorbell chimed softly, but she nearly jumped out of her skin.  Taking a deep breath, she wiped her clammy palms on her trousers and went to open the door.

"Alan!"  She was simultaneously happy and annoyed.  "What are you doing here? I thought..."

"What happened?"  He stood in the hallway outside, hands in his pockets, shoulders tight.

"I was picked."

"Of course you were."  Bitter.  "Are you going to let me in?"

"You can't stay.  I - I can't let you stay."

"Yes, I know.  Vow of chastity."  He sneered.  She felt her face heat.

"If you came to give me hell, forget it.  You've done enough of that and I'm not changing my mind!"

"I know."  For a moment, he looked sad.

"Can't you understand?" For a moment, looking into his handsome, familiar face, she nearly wavered again.  "This will make my career, Alan!  More importantly, it will provide insight into a part of Omian society nobody has!"

"And the non-disclosure agreement?"

She shrugged.  "It doesn't matter. I'll give them back the money."

He was silent.

"This is important," she said, a note of pleading creeping into her voice.  "Don't you see?"

"What about the boy?"

She was silent a moment, then, "He'll be the son of an officer.  He'll be all right."

"You're sure?  Some of the information says it doesn't matter.  Officer's son or not, if they fail the damned Ascension, they're doomed to a life of slavery."

"That's only a rumor," she whispered.  Then, rallying, "And why it's so important that we get past their defenses and find out what really goes on there.  Alan, please!  Please understand!"

He sighed and shook his head.

"You'll wait for me?"

His blue eyes rested on her, unreadable.  "Six years is a long time," he said quietly.  "I won't go looking, but I won't promise anything, either.  This is your decision and it has consequences."

"I - I know."  She took a deep breath.  "I'm sorry."

"Me, too," said Alan.  He leaned forward, his lips brushing hers. "Goodbye, Mags."

She watched him walk away down the hall.  When he rounded the corner, she stayed until she heard the elevator bell. Then she closed her door and went to have a good cry.