Page 125 of Border Control

A murmur stirs through the room, uncertainty flickering in the eyes of some of the onlookers. But doubt remains heavy in others, stubborn and unyielding. A deep-seated prejudice that no evidence seems capable of erasing.

The Voice speaks. “All women, please vote. Do you believe this clone to be innocent?”

A shimmering projection appears above the court, the votes tallying in real time as each woman casts her decision. My heart clenches as the numbers tick upward, a slow and painful climb. The initial count is grim: 40% for my innocence, the rest against. Despite everything Law-rah has shown them, the females are reluctant to believe.

My human stands still. Behind her eyes, I can guess at what’s happening: her secret room, shaking, crumbling, tumbling at her feet. I hope she can rebuild. I want her to. She has to live on.

The Voice says, “Any final words from the defense before sentence is passed?”

Law-rah steps forward, her voice ringing with conviction. “I will only say this. I’m not appealing to your hearts, but to your minds. Any system, any decision, needs to be based on facts.The fear over clones may be just that—fear. Do you really want to cause upheaval to your comfortable lives on the basis of a supposition? Have you truly examined the evidence, or are you letting bias cloud your judgment? The truth is here, right in front of you. What if this were you on trial? Or one of your True Born? Would you rather be sentenced on facts, or suspicion?”

She sets her hands on my arm, and my scales flow, softening for her. Warmth seeps from her to me.

“You did what you could, Law-rah. Thank you for?—”

“We’re not done.”Law-rah scowls.“Don’t you dare give up! It’s not over yet, Dom. Look.”

Females in the crowd exchange uncertain glances. It must be Law-rah’s words, sinking in.

Then, slowly, the numbers begin to change.

One by one, their votes shift, the balance tipping.

51%. Innocent.

My chest floods with a swell of relief. It’s enough… barely enough.

Then Prif Samara says, “Wait.”

THIRTY-ONE

LAURA

We were so close.Dom was nearly voted innocent, and then Samara opened her mouth. I want to scream at her to shut up before she ruins it, before whatever she says causes the females to rethink.

The vaulted ceiling above us pulses with low ambient light, the kind that’s supposed to calm nerves. It does the opposite. The air tastes recycled, tinged with metal and tension.

Dom stands bound to the execution pole, arms shackled behind him, scales dulled with exhaustion, sweat glinting at his temples. He’s silent, breathing shallow. I can’t feel him through the mind-sync, only a blank fuzzy sound, muted like a broadcast under water. Shade wriggles in my pocket, my emotional support plant reaching out for him too.

Samara turns to me, hands folded, her voice smooth as polished glass. “Since you like evidence so much, Law-rah,” she purrs, “I hope you'll enjoy this.”

Raising her voice, she says to the assembled females, “These clones were meant to be mindless servants, little more than robots and less valuable. They are compliant, for now. The human helped me to enshrine in our laws that dangerousclones should be euthanized. We came up with a definition: a dangerous clone is one who does not willingly submit… or whose abilities are not understood or unstable.”

Where’s she going with this? I fight the urge to back up, to put myself in front of Dom. Whatever she’s up to, it feels like a serious threat.

Wait. Abilities.

Samara gestures into the air. Holographic data streams rise from the dais at the center of the courtroom, faster than I can follow. My chest tightens like a rachet, as if each line of data wraps around my own throat.

“These are charts and records of this clone’s brainwave signatures and psychic responses all measured via Sanitatum. All show 3D0M’s past test results: well within Base tolerance. Average. Unremarkable.”

A murmur rustles through the tribunal, females peering at the data and also looking non-plussed.

“Well within tolerance,” Samara repeats. “Until now.”

More Shade plants are wheeled in by purple Parthiastocks, three thin living walls full of them. Each plant rests in the wall itself, light moving smoothly in slow trickles surrounding them. Their tendrils wave, twirling toward the Parthiastocks bringing them in.

The clones set the walls around Dom, and the plants turn to him as if he’s the sun, fronds flaring like sea anemones struck by current. They surge, growing new vines, some even blooming bright pink flowers.