Page 17 of Invasive Species
“Gerverstocks are the only clones who can make decisions without a female present. Selthiastocks aren't built to perform that function, therefore, they are prohibited from doing so,” Dom barks.
I ball my fists, fine fingers made for complex operations pressed tight. “Not true. Selthiastocks perform surgeries, making life or death determinations all the time. It's why Ilia chose me to lead in his absence.”
“Those are choices in your function, within your area of expertise, your purpose. Our function is to keep all the other clones to the laws and rules laid out by the females. And I say, you're straying dangerously close to disobedience when you question the tiny female.” His nostrils flare. “Not just the questions, but the way you deliver them. I'm not apowerful psychic, but I can see your aura when you're close. When you speak to the humans, it changes.”
“Changes how?”
He bares his teeth, curved incisors glinting in the moonlight. “Badly, G43RA. It's not just your life at risk here. It's all of ours.” Looming over me, the big Parthiastock growls, “Fix it.”
After that,rest is as impossible as us blasting off this rainy planet.
When the sun comes up, we work on the barn, Arik glaring at Dom as they silently argue over their psychic connection. But Dom's right. My personal feelings should not, cannot, must not, interfere with me being able to lead the exiles in Ilia's absence.
Arra-bellah shoots out of the farmhouse at midmorning, consulting her phone as she whirls around the yard. I deliberately don't approach her, but I try to appear ready to talk to her even though my stomach turns like a centrifuge. One misstep and she could call her authorities. I can't ignore her. At the same time, the idea of debasing myself makes my scales crawl. Though I'll do it, for my crew.
But there's also an insidious thought lurking. Dangerous with its lure. She's different in how she treats us. Perhaps she's not like Olorian females at all, and we can forge a new path here. Perhaps Arra-bellah doesn't mind that I'm not fawning over her.
There's no denying that whenever she's near, I lose my carefully cultivated control. Gone is the strict surgeon, and I'memoting like the emergency lights on a ship’s panel as it crashes, flashing all shades of colors. She does something to me, something I don't understand.
And that scares me.
So I continue working in the barn, half my attention on the door, bracing myself for the tiny human whirlwind to come in and ping all my emotions all over again.
When the sun hits its zenith and she still hasn’t spoken to me, I peer out. Did something else fall on her? I can’t hear any cries of distress. Or, indeed, anything apart from the chickens picking contentedly in the yard.
Where is she?
I search the machine shed, the coop, and survey the lands nearby. White and gray shapes dot the hillside, the sheep Arra-bellah cares for while El-len is away. But no tiny pale human, who would shine like a flare against the green swells of the land.
She’s either inside the house, or at the swimming lake. She mentioned wanting to swim yesterday, but from what I’ve observed, humans can’t insulate well against the cold.
She’s in danger.
I bolt up the track leading to the lake, mind sharpening as I run through my treatment plan. If she’s in the water, she’s probably suffering extreme hypothermia. I’ll have to remove her from the water, take off her wet covering, dry and warm her. Using myself as a heat pad, I’ll run her back to the farmhouse.
But if she’s really ill, she’ll need advanced medicine, and I’m not an expert on humans. I need resources, data, models, analysis. Why haven’t I requested those things? My lack of preparation could mean the death of a female, who’s supposed to be under our protection.
“Please, All-Mother, don’t let her be in the water,” Ihuff as I reach the top of the hill and look down at the water lake. But, like all pleas to our genetic material donor, it goes unanswered.
A shape cuts through the plasglass-blue water, sleek as a dart, black with a red tip. I stare; where I’d expected flailing, she’s swimming faster than me.
She’s well. My stomach unwinds, adrenaline pounding through my veins. Taking a deep breath to slow my hearts, I continue to steal glimpses of the human. What strange creatures they are.
“Gara, my internal clock indicates it’s exercise time,” Arture says behind me.
I turn to face my fellow crewmates. “I was… Arra-bellah was missing, I went to find her. She’s fine. She’s… swimming.”
Dom looks over, then away. “We wait until she’s completed.”
“I should keep watch. For her safety, she shouldn’t swim alone.”
He levels a glare at me, and my chest tightens as if bracing for a blow. I scowl at him. Would he rather leave her at the mercy of an accident?
“Hey.” Arra-bellah’s cry floats up to us, and I break into a headlong sprint down the hill, back to cataloguing the assistance she might need.
She’s pulled up to the side, waving, a huge smile across her face for the others. Even more pale than usual, her hair contrasts sharply with her face, as dark ruby as the sun scorched rocks of the Olorian desert.
Her smile dies as I hit the bottom of the hill and accelerate toward her. Oh, no, cold might be setting in. I don't slow, leaping into the water next to her, and she flinches away, gasping. “Really want a swim, do you—urp!”
