It was that way in all the events, everyone big and lean and hard-muscled— the new species, Maya thought, feeling small and weak and old. Homo martial. Luckily she had good bones and still carried herself well, or else she would have been ashamed to walk among such creatures. As it was she stood unconscious of her own defiant grace, and watched as the woman discus thrower Sax had pointed out to them spun in an accelerating burst that flung the discus as if shot from a skeet-casting device. This Annarita was very tall, with a long torso and wide rangy shoulders, and lats like wings under her arms; neat breasts, squashed by a singlet; narrow hips, but a full strong bottom, over powerful long thighs— yes, a real beauty among the beauties. And so strong; though it was clear that it was the swiftness of her spin that propelled her discus so far. “One hundred eighty meters!” Michel exclaimed, smiling. “What joy for her.”

And the woman was pleased. They all applied themselves intensely in the moment of effort, then stood around relaxing, or trying to relax— stretching muscles, joking with each other. There were no officials, no scoreboard, only some helpers like Sax. People took turns running events other than their own. Races started with a loud bang. Times were clocked by hand, and called out and logged onto a screen. Shot puts still looked heavy, their throwing awkward. Javelins flew forever. High jumpers were only able to clear four meters, to Maya and Michel’s surprise. Long jumpers, twenty meters; which was a most amazing sight, the jumpers flailing their limbs through a leap that lasted four or five seconds, and crossed a big part of the field.

In the late afternoon they held the sprints. As with the rest of the events, men and women competed together, all wearing singlets. “I wonder if sexual dimorphism itself is lessened in these people,” Michel said as he watched a group warm up. “Everything is so much less genderized for them— they do the same work, the women only get pregnant once in their lives, or never— they do the same sports, they build up the same muscles. . . .”

Maya fully believed in the reality of the new species, but at this notion she scoffed: “Why do you always watch the women then?”

Michel grinned. “Oh I can tell the difference, but I come from the old species. I just wonder if they can.”

Maya laughed out loud. “Come on. I mean look there, and there,” pointing. “Proportions, faces. . . .”

“Yeah yeah. But still, it’s not like, you know, Bardot and Atlas, if you know what I mean.”

“I do. These people are prettier.”