Page 22 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

SIXTEEN

GARA

A red car speeds up the track toward me as I make my way back to the farmhouse.

The chores with the animals are complete, so I can head back to the barn and finish up there for the cycle.

I move out of the way of the vehicle containing the blonde female, another of Arra-bellah’s friends.

She barely glances at me, like any other female, her brow furrowed.

Why is she leaving so soon? Is there something amiss with Arra-bellah?

I break into a jog and then a run, my stomach churning as scenarios intrude into my thoughts, preparing me for any eventuality.

Arra-bellah stands in the courtyard, staring off into the distance, and my feet scatter stones as I slide to a halt behind her. “Arra-bellah?”

She flinches. Flinches, merely because I surprised her. “Oh, hi, Gara.”

She offers nothing else.

“The chores are complete. Is there anything I can do for you?”

The tiny human shakes her head and I see a flash of water on her cheeks. Tears. Seeing them is like a hot wire lashed across my heart.

Before I know it, I've turned her shoulders to face me. “You're crying. Arra-bellah, why? Who did this?” My fingers tighten on her shoulders like she might be snatched away from me at any moment. I'll make them pay, even if it's one of my crewmates. Arra-bellah should never be so distraught.

“I did it,” she admits, voice quiet. Arra-bellah is never quiet, she's always moving, optimistic and undefeatable. Seeing her brought low like this is… wrong.

She wipes her tears with the heel of her hand. “I shouldn't have made you do all those changes to the barn, it’s going to cause Ellen more problems.” She chuckles, but it ends in a heart-rending hiccup as she contains a sob. “You can say ‘I told you so’ now.”

“Arra…” I swallow hard. I always thought I'd rejoice to see a female brought low, their superiority stripped away.

But as Arra-bellah's head lowers, grief scours claws into my chest. She needs help.

“This isn't like you. I'm making you a cup of tea.” That seems to be a restorative substance people from Earth need.

I point at the house, a silent order, and she nods, following alongside me as I lead the way.

I hold the door open for her and the murder chicken, who comes in and settles straight into the dog’s basket as if she belongs there, and fill up the Earth invention called the kettle and set it on the hob.

I busy myself preparing the infusion Arra-bellah always makes in the morning, complete with three heaping spoonfuls of white glucose crystals she calls sugar and a splash of milk, which is an imprecise unit of measurement.

That's not important right now though, what matters is Arra-bellah has already perked up.

“You know how I like my tea.” She sounds astounded.

“Yes, I’ve watched you make it many times.” Once the kettle boils, I pour the hot water into a mug. My hands are utterly steady, as if I'm mid operation.

Once she takes a sip she seems to relax, shoulders slumping and arms loose on the table. She picks at a crack in the wood, eyes far away from this room.

I ask, “Do you want to talk about it?”

Her lips tremble briefly. “I ruined Ellen's planning permission.”

I cock my head.

She waves her hands dismissively. “Bits of paper the council give you to let you build things on your own land. Like that's fair.”

“Council. You mean your government?” My hearts lurch imagining ranks of Parthiastock-like humans, law keepers in hardened armor scales.

“Yeah. I deliberately didn't notify them of a change, because I was worried they'd want to come out. They might see you guys.”

That hits me as hard as a backhand slap. She lied to her government, which is an executable offense on Oloria for males, and probably bears a harsh penalty here given by how upset she is. And she lied for us, to keep us safe.

Arra-bellah is a tiny human, with delicate limbs.

She tries hard to make us feel welcome, to respect our culture while challenging it, but I never imagined she’d put herself at risk for us.

She's never been all-knowing, authoritative or harsh; those were my own fears layering over her, distorting the truth.

Outside under the blue-gray skies she seems wild, curls flying untamed and free, but she's boxed in by her world's rules, structures and definitions.

Like me.

She drops her head in her hands. “So yeah, it looks like I fucked the papers up, and Laura and Ellen won't trust me with something like that again. ”

The word fuck rings in my ears. “You did what to a piece of paper?”

She snorts, nearly inhaling her tea, and giggles. Her laughter eases the tension across my shoulders, and I can't help but smile with her, her joy lighting up her face.

“It means… I messed up. Again.” She sets her tea on the table with a sigh, face falling. “I'm trying, I really am, but… sometimes it feels like all I do is fuck up.”

“No. That's not true,” I say, fighting against all my training yet again.

It’s wrong to correct a woman, but she’s so completely mistaken that I can’t let this untruth live for even a moment.

I stand. “Those ideas are beautiful. Your vision is beyond anything I've ever seen before.

Your creativity is unmatched, able to draw forth these designs as if you can see the future, guiding us toward something we mere Tubers cannot see.

It's… amazing, and words fail me to describe it even adequately, so time what I said by a factor of a thousand.”

She stares at me throughout my assertion. “Wow. That's… specific and poetic.”

“And accurate,” I remind her. “I don't exaggerate and I don't lie.”

“Hm. You don't lie, huh.” She gets to her feet with grace, her body a tiny set of curves with oversized feistiness. Perfect curves, and perfect feistiness. They suit her… perfectly.

I gulp. Words fail me as her scent wafts up to me, spice warmed over a stove, sugar sweet and bracing.

She rounds the table, getting closer with each heartbeat. “So. What do you think of…me?”

I stand my ground, my cocks leaping in my pants and, oh, All-Mother, she notices. She looks up at me with surprise, and my mouth dries at the same time as my cocks twitch, the tension between us thrumming.

“What I think of… you. ”

“And you don't lie,” she reminds me, taking another step closer. She's within my reach, nothing between us but a handspan of distance.

“I… I think you're annoyingly willful. Strong minded. Stubborn,” I say. Each word would be a death sentence on Oloria, but I can't stop, as if the airlock has blown open and all my innermost thoughts are hurtling out into space. “You snoop and pry, and you insist until I break.”

She tilts her head. I expect her to be angry but she sounds calm as she says, “Times by a thousand, right?”

“A million.” I grasp the counter behind me, the only thing keeping me upright.

“Tell me more,” she says, tongue darting out to touch her lips. Pink, pretty and perfect, soft and inviting. Thanks to my reading, I can imagine claiming them, kissing them, tasting them, and I ache to do all these things.

Arra-bellah steps closer still, face turned up to mine. She holds her hand out and I do the only thing I can think of.

I take it, sliding her tiny cold hand into mine. It’s like a tether on a spacewalk, keeping me grounded.

“Hey, big grumpy guy,” she breathes, stroking the side of my thick hands.

Who would have thought such a gentle touch would undo me?

But what now? My mind blanks apart from a burning need to have her close, to follow wherever she leads.

“I've got something to show you,” she whispers, and takes me through El-len's private abode and up the stairs.

The risers creak under my weight, reminding me I’m so much bigger than these humans, and Arra-bellah is the smallest female here. It gives me pause. What if my explorations harm her? I couldn’t bear it if they do.

The little human gently tugs my hand. “Don't fret, Gara. It's a nice surprise. ”

She takes me into a room. I expect a bed, and there is one, but it's bare and covered with plain white and cream rectangles, all of different sizes. Dominating the room is a triangle shape with one square resting on it.

She beckons me around to its other side, and I confront myself. A startling likeness indeed, but it's not an image of another Selthiastock clone. It's really, truly me.

Except I’m scowling. Is that how I look at her? I have to stop that.

“It's me,” I offer, painfully aware of how dumb it sounds said aloud. I can't think of anything to say. All my words, including the ones borrowed from the books I've read, have vanished.

“Yes, it is. I made this thinking of you.” She twists her fingers together. “I put in your dark and your light. I can't quite figure you out yet.”

As she says that, I realize she wants to know more about…me. She sees me. As an individual. As if I'm someone special.

And based off the look she's giving me now, she wants me.

She moves into my reach, lips parting. “What do you think?”

“I think…” I can’t think, wiped clear of all sentience, but at last my instincts kick in and the shock is shoved to one side.

“I admire it greatly,” I say, because I do.

“Admire it, huh?” She watches me closely as if feasting on my reaction.

I don't give her much because I've shunted into the Selthiastock mindset of operating through shock. What can I emote to show her how much this means to me?

Before I can think of the words, she's already moving away. “I'm glad. You can take it with you, if you… decide to go. Or, if you stay, I'm sure we can make you guys a house somewhere, reclaim an old building. You put it in there when you get yourselves all settled. ”

More shock piles onto me, running through my veins like meltwater. I haven’t considered the possibility we’ll be staying, as it’s clearly Ilia’s intent that we fix El-len’s barn and then be on our way. The mission focus can’t change, and I certainly can’t be the one to change it.