Page 11 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

Back at the barn, I try to focus on reprioritizing the amendments Arra-bellah wanted, but my head pulses in time with my heavy heartbeats. I can’t stop being who and what I am: a slave to all those who made me, a slave to my programming, and now a slave to Arra-bellah.

The evening passes, with no food. Perhaps she doesn’t feel we deserve any.

I ration out the milanutrient paste packets we have left and curl my hands into fists, trying not to analyze the condition of my crewmates…

no, my direct reports. Dom and Nevare stay close; perhaps the new situation is affecting Nevare, or perhaps it's just Dom. Either way, the Base takes good care of his Apex. We’re all struggling but, rather than help them with their mental health needs, I have to focus on being a leader .

And it’s not what I was made for.

So when Arra-bellah bounces into the half-built barn the next morning, my stomach knots with dread. What now?

She shoves more wood-based substrate into my hands, grinning like this is some grand revelation. “Ta-da! I added some more details.”

No. No, this can’t be happening. My hands tighten around the material, knuckles aching. “I just finished reprogramming the other?—”

“These aren’t big amendments,” she chirps, like that changes anything.

“It’s not what we agreed.” I know that without even looking. If I’m to lead, I need to hold the line.

“It’s not a change?—”

I snap. The weight of exhaustion, the endless back-and-forth, the gnawing pressure of keeping everything from collapsing—it all boils over.

"This is a change!" I thrust a finger at the 3D model, my voice a snarl. “Stick with one thing, stop changing your mind. Do you know how much time you’re wasting? How much extra work you’re dumping on me?”

The teasing light in her eyes snuffs out. She takes a step back, shoulders stiff, pressing herself against the crumbling wall.

“If you want to help, then help. Don’t—” My voice cracks, and I turn away, pressing a hand to my temple. I should stop. I should take a breath.

She doesn’t say anything. Just watches me, her hands twisting in her oversized sleeves.

Her scent—warm cinnamon—lingers in the heavy silence, but it does nothing to calm me.

It only reminds me of how different she is.

How she doesn't understand what it’s like to live every moment knowing failure means death.

Arik approaches her tentatively. "Everything… okay?" he asks, using their word, shooting me a glare over her shoulder .

She shakes her head once, her eyes even redder, a shade that pulls at my hearts. She's frightened.

I look down at my fist. At the crumpled paper crushed within. Drok na . I’ve made her afraid of me. Guilt slams into me like a hammer to the ribs. Stars help me, I hate myself for that.

"Oh. My deepest apologies?—"

"Just stop it!" she blurts, pushing herself from the wall. "You keep acting like you're afraid I'll bite your head off, and anytime you do speak up, you backtrack immediately. So don't tell me to stick to one thing and stop changing my mind, when you’re doing the same thing."

She exits the barn sharply, steps pounding on the gravel getting quieter as she gets further away.

I keep my head high but my shoulders strum with tension. "Arik, I…" I don't know what to tell him.

“Are you trying to get us killed?” he fumes.

I hang my head. “I couldn’t help my tongue.”

“She could have ordered you executed. She still can. Where does that put us when we’re forced to garrote you?”

I slide a glance at him. We’re on another planet but our programming, our genetics, persists. “She wouldn’t do that. The females aren’t an upper caste on this planet.”

“Are you sure?” Arik snorts. “I suppose you’re sure enough to bet your life on it. You’re lucky I’m not Dom; he’s raging right now at what you did. I’ll try to calm him down.”

“My thanks.” I sink to sit on the floor. “You know, we have opportunities here to be something different. They seem to have a different culture?—”

Arik cuts me off. “Whatever treasonous thing you’re about to say, don’t.

I can barely hold onto Dom as it is. Females cannot make clones do anything through physical force, so they need law keepers to uphold their orders.

The rules are burned into us, Gara, and without them, we’ll fall apart. If we destabilize, we’ll lose Nevare.”

His fists clench on open air, but I know his wave brother would be closing his fingers around my throat.

I have to fix this. “I'll be more careful?—”

“I’ll go calm Dom down before he sprints back here and challenges you for leadership. You know we can’t help it, Gara, so don’t provoke us, and don’t provoke her. ” He storms out without a backward glance, needing to focus on his link with his wave brothers.

Two people storming away from me. What a record for a rainy Earth morning.

I smooth out Ara's sketches, taking the time to look at them closely. The lines for the lintels are more flowing than I’d thought to put in place.

They'd look pleasing with the window designs, so much as I understand these things. They remind me of El-len: strong and determined. How could these sketches bring to mind the essence of a human female in them? That must be Arra-bellah’s gift, her purpose.

And I’d screwed it up in my fist. Even if we are equals, as El-len and the other females imply, it’s a grave discourtesy on any planet.

I’ll fix this, I have to. I begin tapping the designs into my pad so I can bring some of it to life, to show I understand.

I aim the replicator on the stone so it can sample it, then load the device with raw materials. It aims a targeting laser at the top corner ready to layer on the lintel.

I start the machine just as a flurry of chickens come squawking in. Their building blocks are that of cold-blooded creatures, and it shows in their dark, murderous eyes. I won’t flinch away from the egg-layers but I won’t stay here while they inflict death on me by a thousand pecks.

“Get out,” I order them, but the oldest struts up to me, swelling her breast like a challenge from a Parthiastock .

Right into the beam.

“Watch out!” I warn, useless as the chicken can’t understand me. The replicator bathes her in lurid purple light, and blasts her up to the roof. She drops, limp, to the cobbled floor, and I push the flurry of her feathers aside to check for vital signs.

What have I done?

“Arra-bellah!” I bellow.