Page 25 of Invasive Species
It seems as though Dom in particular knows this, glaring at me with fists bunched at his sides. Arik touches his bicep but Dom shrugs his wave brother off, a sickly purple stealing across the scales of his knuckles. He’s hardened up his main weapons.
“That’s all for tonight,” I say quickly to Arra-bellah. She needs to get inside where it’s safe, away from any violence Dom might need to get out of his blood. But I don’t raise my voice in a question, and Dom’s nostrils flare at my lack of subservience to a female.
“Okay, cool,” she says, unperturbed. “I’m going to go in and get changed and sort out some dinner. I can do burned pasta, I haven't got the ingredients for burned pizza or burned toast.”
She grins at me, as if there’s another of her jokes lying inwait for me. Are these traps, or invitations? “Anything would suit us, female.”
The little human frowns. “Call me Arabella.”
I glance at Dom. If I follow her order, would that calm him, or should I stick to law keeper protocol and keep calling her female in his earshot? Parthiastocks are exhausting.
“Well, see you for dinner.” Hopping down from the fence, Arra-bellah waves. Her steps are light across the gravel and the drying strands of her hair toss in the breeze.
Dom’s glare never wavers from me. His shoulders bunch, but whether he'll leap at my throat or hold himself back, I’m not sure yet. My scales harden just in case, the stiff sensation spreading across my chest and stomach.
As soon as the door shuts, Dom wastes no time in squaring up to me, the physically bigger clone blocking out what remains of the sunlight as he looms over me.
“Where were you? We did nothing today. We’re supposed to rebuild this structure before we fix our ship, and we’re falling far behind schedule.”
That’s the problem with Parthiastocks, unable to adjust outside their orders. A binary view was bred into Olorian law keepers who managed and maintained order in the ranks of clones, but out here, it’s a disadvantage, especially when the interim leader—me—isn’t as physically imposing and able to soothe Dom’s instincts.
“We’re meant to be exiled,” I remind him calmly. The Selthiastock strength is thinking clearly even in crisis, and although my hearts accelerate in response to the tension, I can still argue my case calmly. “Fixing the ship is irrelevant.”
His nostrils flare. “It’s not irrelevant. The females here might order us to get extra resources. What if we need to go to a local system?”
“They have everything they need on this planet,” I pointout. “This isn’t a ruined world turned into a desert with no more natural resources. This is a rich?—”
“We still have to be ready,” Dom snarls. “You could have us all executed for failing to follow orders.”
I sigh. “I will explain to Arra-bellah that there will be delay, she herself is introducing delay?—”
Dom’s arm shoots out, hand wrapping around my throat.
My scales stiffen to protect me, but I don’t use one of the eight ways I know to disable his hand because it would be futile and fire him further into a leadership challenge. I have to de-escalate, not excite his instincts.
Through clenched teeth, Dom says, “You don’t use the proper deference around the tiniest female.”
“We’re on a new planet, with distinct life forms with their own customs. We need to fit in with her culture, not impose our own,” I croak.
His fingers squeeze slowly, eyes now fully purple, and Arik and Nevare’s irises flood to match. Perhaps Arik and Nevare are trying to influence him, but right now Dom is the more dominant in the mind sync.
“G43RA, you are charged with dereliction of duty,” Dom, Arik and Nevare intone in unison. “For a first offense, the punishment is lashes.”
I grit my teeth. I can fly mental loops around other clones, not physical ones, but it can’t hurt to try. I slam my fist into Dom’s elbow, causing his arm to buckle.
Unfortunately, his grip around my throat doesn’t waver and all I succeed in doing is getting thrown onto the chicken-shit strewn yard, birds clucking and fluttering around me.
Dom hauls me to my feet, black spreading across his forearms. “Resisting arrest will only increase the lashes,” he grunts, looking away from my gaze. “For what it’s worth, I’m sorry.”
“I’m trying, but…” I shake my head. “You can’t fight your nature, and I can’t change mine. I’m sorry that Selthiastocks aren't leaders.”
“I empathize with the mental strain, having to be something you aren't," Dom says quietly.
We’re both stuck. A Tuber can't be anything except what they are built for. I’m sorry for that, yes, but also angry. Angry we can't change our genetics, angry our DNA was droked with so badly, and angry at the females who thoughtlessly threw our bodies together designed solely to meet their needs, not ours.
Dom hangs his head. In that spirit of camaraderie, he takes my wrists behind my back as if to bind them. “The whipping begins now.”
NINE
