Page 4 of Invasive Species
By the time I’ve dug one out of the machine shed and dragged it to the back garden, two of the triplets are awake. “Hey, you’re okay. I’m so glad.”
They immediately duck their heads to press them on the soggy ground. “We’re sorry we were taken by surprise,” they say in complete unison. “It won’t happen again.”
“It’s okay, it’s fine,” I try to reassure them as they heave the third brother to dangle limp between them. Gara lifts the pilot into his arms and strides off, gaze fixed ahead as he leads them to the lean to where Ellen usually parks her dad’s Land Rover, and where they've been sleeping for the past few weeks.
I kind of hover after them, like a lost balloon. A soggy, distractible balloon. It’s not much of a shelter at all inside, certainly not for February, the chill wind whistling through the metal joints and corrugated roof. A pile of cardboard and wooden recycling forms one wall, and there are these kinds of bays where they’ve been bedding down. They haven’t complained and they warm their bodies by themselves, like boilers, but my lips still twist seeing where they’re trying to shelter.
Gara sets Arture down on the concretefloor, cushioning his head, and then runs his hands up and down his scales, eyes half closing like he’s meditating.
“I’m going to go inside—” I begin, but the green alien jumps, as if he forgot I was near. “I, uh, I need to put the hot water on for Ellen, she’ll want a shower when she gets back.”
Gara turns those accusing eyes to me, but I can’t face him anymore. I scuttle into the house and wait up for her.
She’ll be back any minute now. Watching the aliens settle to sleep outside, I pace in the bedroom she lets me have when I stay.
Any minute now.
TWO
GARA
I’m onlyhalf asleep when someone shakes me awake. As soon as their hand touches my shoulder, I know it’s one of the Parthiastocks from the hard grip. His temperature’s within normal range, breathing rate acceptable if a little accelerated.
“Who’s in trouble?” I demand, sitting upright. I’d let myself rest at the foot of the bay where I’d put Dom and Arture side by side, and their chests rise and fall evenly, so they aren't the emergency. Taking a deep breath with my mouth partly open, I taste the air with my tongue: a copper-iron tang of dried blood and the rich sulfur of their nanites as they work overtime to heal the superficial blast from the war bot. They're fine.
I swing round to face my crewmate. Judging from the yellow tint to their eyes, it’s Arik.
I ask him, “Is it Nevare?” I lift my head to search for the powerful psychic, the Apex of their trio. The gray-eyed Parthiastock stands outside our shelter in the rain, face lifted to the darkness.
I jump to my feet. “Is he coping with Dom’s injury? Are you able to control him?”
“Of course. He’s fine,” Arik says, voice as firm as Dom’s. Usually Arik’s the more light-hearted of the trio, but with Dom knocked out, he’s stepped up as primary Base. As the Apex Parthiastock, Nevare reads brainwaves directly, but Dom and Arik keep him grounded. Without them, he’d be dangerous—so dangerous he’d have to be euthanized.
“Then what is it?” Arik wouldn’t wake me like that unless faced with a crisis. I spin to face the house. “Is it the females?”
“It’s Ilia, Gara. He’s gone.”
“Wh…what?”
“He was retrieved. Taken away.” Nevare speaks slowly, like wading through clouds.
Rain patters around us, enclosing us in our shelter.
“Away?” I croak, tendrils of cold sliding down my scales. “Surely not.”
“Back to Oloria,” Arik confirms grimly. “He sent Nevare a message, I helped direct him to intercept it but couldn’t respond myself. He… he lied to the retrieval Gerverstocks and said we all perished in the crash.”
My head swims but my thoughts quickly sharpen as adrenaline spikes, focusing my reactions as if I’m facing a medical emergency.
But this isn’t an emergency I can deal with if he’s already gone. “Why has Oloria taken him? What do they want with him?”
Arik shakes his head. “All Nevare could see was they had orders from a female.”
The tightness in my jaw increases to unbearable. “The Prif. She wanted Ilia—all of us—killed.” As soon as she had him back, Ilia would be disposed of like any other inconvenient clone.
His last action, lying to the retrieval team, was to save us all. My breath turns shallow, too fast, like I’m choking on nothing. A tremor shudders through my fingers, and Iclench them into fists, but it doesn’t stop the shudders spreading up my arms, squeezing my ribs. Arik winces, the mild psychic no doubt feeling my emotions.
The air around me feels too thick, pressing in, pressing down, but I breathe deeply. I have to shove my feelings aside and focus on what I can do to help. Triage the situation. “Did he leave any orders?”
