Page 5 of Exiles on Earth

I look at each of my crewmates, my scales shivering with pride. Loyal to the end, and they know me well. “I hadn’t considered that yet, but it’s a serviceable idea,” I admit.

Shaking his head, Gara shuffles toward me as far as he can. “I want to examine your neck, but…” He jiggles the chains at the limit of their reach.

“No matter,” I reassure him. “When you have a chance, see to Dom’s shoulder first.”

His nanites should fix a lot of the damage, but if a bone’s broken, our little healing cells can patch those incorrectly.

“Yes, I don’t want to lose it—” Dom’s unwary mouth closes as his eyes widen. “Arture, my life is forfeit.”

Arture’s face barely moves. “I’m not insulted, I don’t want a metal replacement arm, either. Put it behind us.”

Both men glance over their left shoulder, at the wrong being tossed behind them. Arik grins widely again, and my scales soften at the harmony amongst my crew, even in this situation. They can't even bring themselves to hate me.

But I don’t think I could put what’s happened to them behind me. These are my crew, all of them clones, but oh so very unique. I will burn with the shame of failing them forever.

If only I'd never reached for the chance at having a mate. That dream condemned us all.

TWO

ILIA

Siren blaresalways mean bad news.

I catapult awake.Drok na, I’d meant to stay alert, helping Arture with whatever calculations he needed, but I’d fallen asleep.

It’s been five days by his reckoning, five long days and nights in near darkness, eating and drinking from the tubes from the ceiling, our bodies recycling their own wastes. And now this.

“Report!” I order, adrenaline coursing through my body. Gerverstock strength causes my muscles to swell, the betrillium chains cutting into my wrists with sharp agony.

“Autopilot is down,” Arture says, attention firmly toward the cockpit. “I thought it might be malfunctioning, given our exit from Oloria.”

“And you didn’t think to say anything?” Gara cries, flinching as sparks fly from a panel overhead.

The guard bot reacts to his movements, swiveling to aim the muzzle of its blaster at him, but the other bot switches into siege mode. Red lasers train onto my chest and neck.

“Nevare, do a search. Is there life nearby?” I order, voiceneutral despite the alarms slicing across my nerves, each blare a knell of doom for my crew. I have to keep calm for them.

Arik answers, “He’s seeing some backwater solar system, we can’t sense much intelligence out there.”

Despite all the noise, Nevare sits quietly, eyes closed as he stretches his senses further than any of us ever could.

“That alarm means we’re heading on a collision course,” Arture yells over the noise. We hold onto the chains as the transport shudders, and the piercing screech rises in pitch. “Oh.”

“What is it?” I ask.

“That new tone probably means we’re double droked,” Gara supplies.

Arture nods. “Not the technical term, but that will do.”

I glare at the sentry bots. They keep their attention firmly on me, not reacting to the alarms at all, as if they aren’t aware of them.

Or were programmed not to do anything when this happens.

Someone’s trying to kill me, and they don’t care how many others die along with me.

“We have to take over this ship if we’re going to survive,” I say between gritted teeth, looking especially at Dom. But he doesn’t immediately argue, so I press on, “Arture, you have my authority to reactivate your limb.”

“Affirmative.” Arture’s mechanical eye flashes opal, and his right arm whirs to life, green lights flashing along the circuitry. It shifts into a blade, and he swipes through the chains as if they’re made of milagrove food paste.