Page 76 of Invasive Species
“Gara? I know not what this is.”
I screw my fingers into the squishy bed. “Gara is another one of you guys, a clone, he looks like you.”
“A Selthiastock, I see.” He cocks his head. “Do you know his batch number and designation?”
“N… no, all I know is he's called Gara.” Why am I getting so nervous? I just know Gara wouldn't be too far away from me. He’s clearly brought me to Oloria, probably because of my illness. Ellen said it took her two weeks to reach Oloria, so I must have slept through the entire flight, because I can't remember a thing about space travel. But Gara must have come with me, so he has to be here somewhere nearby.
Right?
Inclining his head, the alien says, “I will ask questions of others, female, so I can better serve.”
He heads to a wall, steps measured like he’s trying his best not to make any sound whatsoever. When he gets close, the wall slides away to reveal a dimly lit corridor outside, and he heads out without a backward glance.
Without anything else to occupy me, I go back to staring at the ceiling, mind looping. Gara would be close if he had any say in the matter, I know he would be.
Shit. He said he’d been thrown away. What does that mean here? My fists clench inside the jello bed, squeezing a warm paste out between my fingers. Maybe he's in a pickle, or perhaps some trouble. Maybe jail. I'll get out of here as soon as possible and find him straight away.
The door slides open, the clone approaching with a downcast face. “Female, you do not need to worry about the Selthiastock you call Gara.”
Relief buoys my chest, so much so I let out a little laugh. “I don't? Okay, great. Where is he?”
He shakes his head once, eyes not meeting mine. “The Selthiastock who delivered you here to us was reported as an exile. He had broken our laws to return. It is likely he has been apprehended by the Parthiastocks?—”
I wince. Fuck, he’s in a prison or some shit.
“—and euthanized.”
The word doesn't compute for several seconds, and then, suddenly, horribly, it does.
TWENTY-FIVE
ARABELLA
It’s all a blur.A suffocating, dark blur that presses in from all sides, a blur I don’t want to bring into focus because of what it means.
He's dead.
He died, trying to get me here.
The Selthiastock tries his best. He’s careful, considerate, but it doesn’t matter. My chest feels like I've been hollowed out.
Gara knew he’d be killed if he came back here, and he did it anyway—for me.
He’s gone. Forever.
The clone—this alien that looks like him but isn’t him—keeps trying to interact with me. He’s gentle, moving me, helping me sit up, carefully arranging my arms and legs, bringing me food I can’t stomach. He wipes my forehead with warm, sweet-smelling cloths, doing everything right in a clinical, detached way. But I'm too numb to respond.
Then, he hands me my old e-reader. The moment my fingers brush the worn, battered surface, something inside me breaks, and the dam finally bursts. My grief, my fury, mydespair—all of it comes out in a storm of screams and sobs. I throw the e-reader across the room, letting out a guttural howl at the unfairness, the cruelty of it all. How can his kind heart be gone, just like that?
The rage is red-hot, scouring through me, burning every nerve raw. I cry and scream until my throat is shredded and my voice cracks.
The clone just stands there, his head bowed, his face expressionless as he watches. He doesn’t stop me. He doesn’t say a word, just stands silent witness to the hurricane inside me.
When it’s over, I collapse back into the jelly bed, utterly spent. My chest heaves as I struggle to breathe, my body trembling. I'm still sick, and I find it hard to care.
The clone moves closer on silent steps. For the first time, I force myself to look at him. His face is the same as Gara’s, features that are at once so familiar but there’s nothing the same about his eyes. There’s no warmth there for me.
He passes me a set of earphones, and I put them on so I can understand him.
