Page 27 of Exiles on Earth

I clear my throat. “Clearly, these females have very different customs and social norms. We must take care to learn them and adhere to them—” Dom makes a strangled grunt, “—where they do not conflict too much with Olorian law.”

Dom shakes his head, fists flexing. “That’s too broad.”

“We’ll refine it over time,” I try. The rule-bound enforcer struggles with anything new that isn’t binary right or wrong. “For now, take my lead. As your Gerverstock, I will personally take the responsibility for any of your failings, but I ask that you use your excellent judgment to steer your actions.”

“Judgment.” Gara limps to the side of the small open structure, Arik helping him slide to the floor. “You’re the only one who had the extra training, Ilia.”

Leaving the manacles where they are, I hunch down next to our Selthiastock healer clone. “What’s your assessment of your injuries?”

Gara points at his left thigh, more swollen than the other,jaw tight with pain. “Displaced fracture of the femur. My nanites are already taking care of the bone shards spreading through the thigh after the break, but the bones must be realigned, or they will fuse incorrectly.”

He speaks calmly, green scales strobing as he falls into healer mode, but every word is a whip across my hearts.

Any of my crew experiencing discomfort makes me want to trade places with them, but some pain now to offset more later and a longer healing time is an acceptable trade.

“What do you need me to do?”

Gara hesitates only briefly, then holds up his diagnostic tool, hand steady as he scans his own leg. “Place longitudinal traction with internal rotation on the hip… that is, use both hands to shove here and here.”

I grip where he directs me. “How much force?”

“Not full Gerverstock strength, certainly. Build up to it until I say stop.”

At his nod, I wrench the leg. The muffled sounds he makes strike deep into my hearts.

With a gasp, he sinks back to lie on the hard ground, choking out, “There. Done.”

“Good.” I wipe his brow, checking his scale color. The only light in the shelter comes from the steady amber glow from the windows of El-len’s house, but those shut off one by one, leaving one single light in the top left corner of the structure. The Selthiastock’s green scales are usually as rich as starmoss, but he’s pale and cold with shock now.

“Arik, you and Nevare share heat with Gara, shield him from the worst of the climatic conditions here.”

The Parthiastocks nod, and Arik guides Nevare into position back to back with the Selthiastock. Gara protests, “I’m sub-optimal but not critical?—”

“Enough,” I growl, too tired to argue with the stubbornhealer. I don’t like putting command in my voice, but I will when they’re being too obstinate for their own good.

I quickly triage the rest of my crew. Dom picks up the manacles, fixing them on his belt. As Parthiastock enforcers and law-keepers, Dom, Arik and Nevare all have shackles and micro-filament arc whips for containment and correction, and he adds the restraints to his collection.

“How are you coming to terms with our exile, Dom?” I ask outright.

His hands flex into fists, and his eyes glow purple. A quick glance at Arik and Nevare confirms their eye color have shifted to match Dom’s; he’s the dominant in their mind-sync at the moment.

“We must uphold the laws, for the protection of all Olorian females,” they intone.

“But there are no Olorian females here,” Gara snipes.

I shoot him a glare to silence him. His dour comments aren’t going to help right now.

Dom’s arms tremble. “345961LIA, you failed a female, and she died.”

Cold creeps across my scales. “I did. If I could do anything to fix that, even give my life, I would. And I’m sorry you were all implicated with me. The failing lies with me, your leader, not you.”

Purple ripples across Dom’s chest as he squares up to me. “We question whether you’re fit to lead us.”

Gara tuts. “You mean you, Dom.”

Arik shakes his head, yellow creeping back into his eyes. “Right, but you know how he is,” he mutters to Gara.

“So much pain,” Nevare says, gray eyes sad. “Blue-gray spikes of pain and fear and uncertainty.”