Page 86 of Invasive Species
Clones in the plaza startle, pointing. They’re used to seeing actual photographs, but not something someone clearly labored over. A caption flashes up and I brace myself for it to read “Eliminated,” like Ilia’s, but it doesn’t.
Remember, it reads.You are one in a thousand.
My jaw aches. I’m probably grinding it just as Arra-bellah’s picture depicts, but I can’t help myself. “Yes, one of many copies, every single one the same,” I mutter.
She used to look at me as if I was unique. Now she knows the truth, and I’ll never see that look in her eyes again.
“No,” E27AH says, pointing insistently. “Read it properly.”
I reread it but the message doesn’t change, the words “one in a thousand” flashing so bright it’ll imprint on my retinas.
But the Selthiastocks are energized, the plaza buzzing withconversation. I remember being shocked to silence by Arra-bellah’s portrait of me, but it seems they’ve gotten over it and are eager to discuss it with their fellow clones. Some are frowning, others jubilant as they move under the shadow of the massive vid screen floating above them, but they’re all reacting in some way. Thousands of different reactions.
“One… in a thousand.” Each one unique, literally one in a thousand.
E27AH’s pointer finger hasn’t left the floating screen. “You see? Good. This is my patient’s, and I recognized you straight away somehow.”
“That’s her art.” Something she’d described as magic, but I saw as her unique ability.
The older clone walks on. “You know my patient, and now you’re going to help me help her.”
We hustleinto E27AH’s gray apartment building. He scans his wrist for entry and I follow close behind, nursing my throbbing arm as well as corralling an increasingly irate Mae. Fortunately, I’ve scaled up considerably, feeling each of her firm pecks as little taps along my ribs.
The elevator in his dormitory is broken, so we walk up eight cramped flights of stairs. E27AH keeps silent, face devoid of emotion. Do I look like that when I’m lost in my own thoughts?
When he opens his door with another wave of his wrist and we spill in, the lights flash on. They illuminate a single bedroll coiled in the corner and a long metal counter for him to prepare his own milapaste meals instead of going down to the restaurants below. Three sets of pants hang along thewall alongside a singular door, which probably leads to the toilet.
The apartment is as gray as the building housing it. The only source of personality in his living quarters are print outs of patient notes pinned on the wall, so he can review them in his off-time. He’s the perfect Selthiastock clone, single-minded and focused, and evidently able to think and move under pressure judging from our encounter with the law keeper.
Except, a perfect clone wouldn't lie to a Parthiastock.
I let Mae go, and after flapping to the floor the ungrateful bird spins around and hisses at me.
“You’re welcome,” I tell her, tired. I stagger to the counter and lean on it. “Thank you, E27AH, but you've tied your fate to mine. I don't think you fully understand what that entails.”
He folds his legs to sit on the bare floor, face severe, but no more so than it was before. “On the contrary. When my patient asked after you, I accessed your files.”
“And?” I ask into his silence.
“I think you know,” he replies quietly. “Exiled along with your crew. A Selthiastock as part of a group exploring alongside a Gerverstock is highly irregular. Usually only pilots accompany them.”
“It was useful, having a Selthiastock to attend to the many injuries they endured.”
He inclines his head. “It certainly made sense, but was out of the norm. As well as you being from the G cohort. Very few Selthiastocks I work with have a G designation.”
I mentally slide into the calm of diagnosing a patient so my scales won't rattle and give away my disquiet.
Mae picks through his cupboards, pulling out a plasteek sachet of dehydrated milapaste. With a tug, she splits the bag and flails her head from side to side, screeching in triumph as she flings powder across the clone's neat kitchen.
“Blasted bird,” I snarl at her, shooing her away. She snapsat my fingers and scours her claws through the mess before she settles onto it, as if it's her nest.
“It's no matter,” the Selthiastock says, stern face softened by a small smile.
But why help me? He said it was for his patient, for Arra-bellah. Unless this is an elaborate trick to reel me in.
The exhaustion of keeping everyone at bay swells over me. I'd gotten used to having a crew, to relying on someone else to have my best interests at heart.
I miss it badly, like a lost limb.
