Page 72 of Invasive Species
“A… sorry, a what?”
“Nano-magnetic refractory extraction.” As I spell it out for her, I know it’s hopeless. Earth tech is primitive compared to ours. Olorians perfected cloning, terraforming and manipulation of the weather, we’re best placed to investigate new diseases.
I stand rigid, shoulders knotted with the tension pulling through every fiber of my being. The idea of having no cure for her is almost too much to bear.
I shake my head. No, it’s more likely that this is an ordinary Olorian pathogen—one our immune systems handle easily—but it's wreaking havoc on Arra-bellah’s human body. If I can just get her to Oloria, get her the right treatment, she’ll be cured. Shehasto be.
That decides it.
“I’m taking her to Oloria,” I say firmly.
Ilia’s mouth opens, and I know he’s about to protest, but I meet his eyes, cutting him off. “You’d do the same if it was El-len,” I tell him. There’s no space for argument here.
He knows as well as I do that going back to Oloria means facing our banishment. Ilia barely made it back. If I return, I risk a death sentence, swift and without hesitation. The All-Mother won’t have any reason to intervene; I’ll be choked by a bot long before an Earth hour has passed, the moment I breathe Olorian air.
But this is for Arra-bellah. Nothing else matters.
Ilia exhales slowly. “Go,” he says heavily, stepping toward the ship's console, his hands flying over the systems to boot them up. The sooner we leave, the better.
Arture's already beside me, his metallic and organic fingers moving in harmony as he programs coordinates and codes directions for me. He’s laser-focused, but his tension mirrors mine. I’m no pilot, not like Arture, but I can work with the ship’s systems and get us there once he inputs the route.
When he’s done, he backs off a step. His prosthetic right eye flashes blue before his gaze cuts away. “Farewell, Gara.”
“Oh, shit,” El-len mutters, looking from me to Arra-bellah, then back again. “This is really serious, isn’t it? I’ll pack our bags, I’ll come with you?—”
“No, this disease could easily spread to you.” My voice is rough as I herd them down the gangplank. Ilia pulls El-len into the safety of his arms, and I wish bitterly I could do the same to Arra-bellah.
Taking my last breath of fresh, grass-scented air, I say, "Tell the Parthiastocks I would have been honored to die by their side, and know the same is true for you both."
Ilia and Arture's faces harden as they salute, the raps of their fists against their chests a silent farewell. The door sealswith a sharp hiss behind them, and the ship's boosters roar to life.
We lift off into Earth's atmosphere, gray clouds streaking past as we gather speed. The luxury of the craft—the polished consoles, the sleek design—feels meaningless. All I care about is sitting by Arra-bellah’s side, keeping her alive until we reach Oloria.
The hiss of the door doesn't stop, though. It’s too loud, too constant. Has it broken?
I whirl around, expecting a malfunction, but instead I’m met with a wall of shimmering purple feathers, flared in full warning mode.
“Mae,” I groan. “What are you doing here?”
The murder bird hisses at me, her feathers smoothing along her neck as she steps toward me, her clawed feet clicking ominously on the floor. Her beady eyes meet mine, and there’s a glint of...something—murder, curiosity, mischief? I can’t tell. All I know is I don’t have time for this.
“Don’t touch anything,” I warn, as if she can actually understand me.
Mae lets out a soft gargle, the threatening rumble beneath it more like a strange purr as she inspects the ship. Every so often, she flicks her small wings, adding another hiss to the mix, like she’s found a new toy to conquer.
Shaking my head, I turn back to focus on stabilizing Arra-bellah. There's no time to worry about Mae. This is going to be a long trip, and I have to be ready for whatever we face when we reach Oloria.
Because if I get caught, I’m not going to make it back.
TWENTY-THREE
GARA
The red-orange planetwhere I was grown looms in the viewscreen of our sleek craft. It’s a scorched scar hanging in the vast belt of this solar system, glowing like an infected wound. My breath catches in my throat every time I glance at it, but I force myself to focus on the one thing that matters: her. Arra-bellah’s hand lies limp in mine, cold despite the warmth in the shuttle.
“We’re nearly there,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, more for myself than for her.
She doesn’t stir.
