Page 5 of Invasive Species
“He says El-len is in a Lam-Ing Shed, at the pinnacle of her land, and will need retrieval.”
That we can do. I nod.
Then Arik’s gaze turns pitying. “His last order is that you’re in charge, Gara.”
The thunder of my own heartbeats overtakes the hammering of the rain, closing in around me. This is wrong, all wrong. I was made to heal, not to command. My instincts prioritize survival in a crisis, but only when it comes to life and death, to wounds and injuries. Not this.
“I’m no Gerverstock—” I protest, but stop myself.
Ilia chose me. I can’t let him down. Realistically, I am the only choice. Dom and Arik need to be free to support Nevare, and Arture’s struggling enough, let alone under the additional burden of navigating a complex new social relationship with the lifeforms here.
I glance toward the homestead. A very complicated relationship indeed. The human females are so small, so fragile—no scales, no defenses—and so far they’ve only ordered us to replace the barn we destroyed. But no female would give up the power they have over males; they haven’t shown it yet, but their authoritative side is bound to come out.
And without Ilia to negotiate with them, I’m going to have to shield my crewmates from the worst of it.
Nevare touches my arm to bring my attention back to him. “Dom will struggle with this change. With… you being not so physically imposing.”
That might insult anyone else, but I know my own limitations. Dom needs a strong hand to keep him in check; Parthiastocks crave structure, toppling weak leaders to maintain stability. It’s never been an issue with Ilia, who sparred with him to keep his instincts in check, but I’m no fighter.
Sweat creeps over my scales. If I slip up, if I fail them, Dom won’t have a choice. He’ll challenge me. And I would let him—except he’d be a terrible leader, and he also knows it. But instincts don’t care. We were programmed this way, then abandoned to figure it out.
I haul myself to my feet and into the clattering rain. This world spins fast, shortening our rest cycles, but sleep won’t come now. My mind races through everything Ilia would have done. At least that’s something I can do, organize and prioritize actions, and make difficult decisions.
And first and most importantly, I need to tell the females of the change in command.
The wet gravel crunches beneath my feet as I approach the farmhouse. If El-len still needs rescue, then only Arra-bellah is inside. The tiniest yet most inquisitive human, who accused me of sneaking around inside the ship which brought us here. It’s only a matter of time until she condemns me for some crime.
My steps slow as I approach the door. Do they have a camera system? Some kind of alarm? Should I knock? Call out? How does Ilia do this?
“Arra-bellah,” I call, not too loudly in case she’s sleeping. I don’t want to add disrupting her rest to my list of potential crimes.
Nothing. The house remains silent and shut to me.
I turn to leave when a window above flings open. My vision sharpens with a rush as one of the females who holds our lives in her hands leans out, her long red hair unraveling inthe night wind, making her look like a wild maven from Olorian legend.
“Gara,” Arra-bellah hisses toward the lean-to.
“Here,” I reply, smacking my fist to my chest in a salute.
She startles, elbows slipping off the lintel. I lunge forward, ready to catch her, but she rights herself.
“Holy heck—why are you right underneath the frigging window?” Before I can answer, she says, “Never mind. Ellen left with some aliens.” She waves her small lit device, probably how El-len contacted her.
“El-len… left too?” What does it mean?
“‘Too’? Who else went joy riding?”
I bow my head. “Ilia was retrieved by Olorians.”
“Ooh, yes, she said she followed Ilia into a spaceship.”
My hearts beat steadier—if El-len is with Ilia, what does that mean for him? Our Gerverstock desires a mate, a female of his own, for some unfathomable reason. Perhaps he thinks being shackled to one female is better than being beholden to any and all of them. It’s no secret he wanted El-len to choose him, despite them not having Mating Games for him to prove himself to her.
“They left together, then.” Arra-bellah spins the device in her hands, studying me like I’m something new. Which, I suppose, I am to her. An unknown species. But even though she’s human, I know all about the capricious and ruthless nature of females toward clones. Any female could dispose of us as they please.
And I hate it. I shove down the bile creeping up my throat, trying to keep my face clear of my emotions, even though my scales will betray me. El-len probably left her in charge; now she holds our lives in her hands, her true nature will emerge.
She says, “I’m coming down. Let’s talk,” and disappears before I can confirm.
