Page 81 of Invasive Species
He glances around and lowers his voice. “No. I’ve tested for that, but it came back negative.”
Thank the All-Mother. “Separately, has a cure been found yet?”
“We only ever had one case of the Katyen virus.” He frowns at me like this should be common knowledge.
Perhaps it is. Katyen is the name of the victim, and we were banished because we couldn’t find anything to save her in time.
Standing, the older clone pats me on the back. “Thanks for the meal. I’d better rest so I’m at my best to serve tomorrow.”
“Yes, of course. My thanks for the drink.” My hands clench of their own accord. I have to take this chance. “Would you like to meet again, same time here tomorrow?”
He considers this, tipping his head this way and that.
“I’ll buy,” I offer, even though I have no way of securing any credits. I’ll do anything to learn even a little of what Arra-bellah is going through right now.
“Very well. I’ll see you here tomorrow, as long as I am not held at an emergency.” Waving, he walks off toward one of the towering gray dorms.
I walk the opposite way, my scales draining of color at the very thought of Arra-bellah having some kind of emergency.
It was only then I realized I’d jumped ahead to tell him his patient was a “her,” when he hadn’t disclosed his patient was a female.
TWENTY-SEVEN
ARABELLA
Present Day
The ceiling glows green.Not metaphorically—literally. Every breath tastes like mint and lightning, and the soft gel of the nutrient bed cradles me like a cross between a jellyfish and a particularly affectionate marshmallow. I’m not sure if I’m awake or dreaming, but the veins of light running through the Milagrove tree hum with something that feels real. Real and ancient and huge.
My brain’s a carousel. Thoughts spinning too fast, horses leaping off their poles. Gara’s gone—was gone? Is he gone?
My arms float in the nutrient gel, color blooming behind my eyes. Bright oranges and ultramarines, tangled threads of copper and cobalt blue. They're him, somehow. His moods always had color to me—grey-stone when he was grumpy, but gold around the edges, like sun catching metal. And now there’s this color right in the center of my chest, like?—
Like someone tugged a string that’s still attached.
He has to be alive. He has to be. Because otherwise whatis this thing unfurling under my ribcage, fluttering and hot and sharp all at once? It's not panic. I know panic. This is different. Deeper. Like a low note thrumming through me, tuned to him.
“Gara,” I whisper into the green-gold air. The tree seems to answer, its lights pulsing slower, softer. I don't think I'm imagining it. I know I'm not.
If he were gone, the bond between us would be empty, right? But it's not. It’s hurting, yeah, but only because it’s still there.
I blink, wetness trickling down my cheeks. Not ugly sobs like before, just little tears slipping into the nutrient gel like ink in water.
I press both hands to my chest. “You're not gone,” I tell the warm green world, my voice shaking. “You're not.”
But is this wishful thinking? Regardless, the carousel slows just a little. Just enough for hope to climb on.
Pressing the heels of my hands into my face, I take a deep, shuddering breath. Gara wouldn’t want me to slide into a depression over him. He brought me here because I was so seriously ill, he believed only alien technology could save me.
He’d risked himself so I could live, and I have to make that worth it.
Pulling myself to sitting, I draw my scraggly hair back from my face. I will live, for him. “I want a shower, please.”
Ezla’s face brightens up. While it's so similar to Gara’s it hurts, his scales go a different color, shimmering blue like a shiny new car. I don’t think Gara ever went so light blue: he favored brighter, bolder colors, like he wasn't afraid to stand out.
And he shouldn't. I can still make him stand out. I'll treasure every single second I had with that irreplaceable alien.
“After my shower, I want some paints.”
