Page 32 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

TWENTY-TWO

GARA

I race out of the tent, Arra-bellah bouncing against my chest. She’s too limp, the energy that makes her spark with every breath gone. Tightening my grip on her, I head straight for the new ship and the advanced—and importantly, not broken—systems on board.

Ilia doesn’t question my actions, sprinting silently alongside me and helping to wake the ship, Arture following.

The central pillar glows gold as the ship's systems wake, couches circling the outside.

This is a female's pleasure ship, so the health station is through the door next to the galley kitchen.

Once the door slides open, I lay Arra-bellah down on the ship’s comfortable couch. This is a luxury interstellar private craft, with no expenses spared on its features. Including, I hope, it's med scanners.

"AI medic, wake up. Full scans, full panels, now!" My voice cracks in a way I hate, but I have no time for that.

The ship responds immediately, red lights flickering to life as diagnostic panels unfold around her.

“She collapsed,” I force out, keeping my focus on the task at hand. “She said she felt cold, but she’s far too hot for a human. If her proteins denature, if her organs shut down… she’ll—” My chest tightens.

No. No. I am a medic. She won’t get anywhere close to perishing. I will save her.

My senses narrow to her and the diagnostics panels that slide out to give me the scans, honing in on every detail, the sound of her ragged breaths, the rapid flashes of the diagnostic screens as each result comes in. The numbers don’t make sense.

“Her parameters are… way off,” I murmur. “I need a control.”

“I’ll help,” Ellen says quickly. Her face is drawn, hand clutching Ilia’s, but determination burns behind her eyes. Of course she followed her friend.

“Lie down, El-len. Now.” I don’t even look up, my eyes glued to the screens. My hands clench as I direct the AI to take the other human’s samples. It works efficiently, displaying her readings alongside Arra-bellah’s. I sift through them, scanning each system, comparing, calculating.

Mental activity: similar. Digestive function: within parameters. Skeletal markers: negligible differences. But then I reach results that set my pulse racing.

Arra-bellah’s endocrine system is in chaos, her hormone levels spiking off the charts. Her immune system is in overdrive, attacking something I can’t see. Something she can’t fight off.

“ Drok na ,” I hiss under my breath.

“What’s wrong with her?” El-len’s voice cracks, but I don’t have answers.

“She’s having an extreme immune response to something, but I can’t see it.” My mind races through every possibility.

“Um, so, I have to bring it up… have you had sex?”

“Carnal relations,” Ilia translates.

“We have completed intercourse, yes. ”

“Then could she be… pregnant?”

“The particular anatomy we used does not contain material for reproduction. It's not possible.”

“Ah, okay,” El-len says, tugging at her rope of hair and staring at her slack friend.

First, I have to continue eliminating the most likely. I turn to the AI, my voice hard. “Download all available medical data from this planet.”

There’s a heartbeat of silence before the AI chimes, “Download complete.”

“Do the symptoms match anything in the planet’s database?” Hopefully it's something from Earth. Something they're used to. Something commonplace and easy to treat. Please, All-Mother.

Time drags in the silence that follows. Please. I'll give anything.

“No.” The AI responds cheerfully. Cheerfully .

The dread that’s been crawling up my spine finally settles in. Not a disease from this planet. It has to be something from Oloria. My scales flash a violent green as my mind leaps to the next diagnosis potential. If it's not from here, then it’s something we brought with us.

There was a sickness, unexplained, in a female's compound. One lost to it before we could find a cure, and we were banished for the failure.

But what if we never escaped it? What if it followed us across the stars?

What if we brought death to this world?

“Isolate the pathogen,” I order the ship.

The AI medic chirps at me. “Unable to isolate pathogen.”

“What?” I snarl at it. “Try again.”

I pace as it scans her, this time with infrared, which glows darkly in my vision in time with my pounding heartbeats .

“Unable to isolate pathogen,” the robotic voice says happily once more.

“Why not?” I growl.

“Pathogen has already bound to key receptors.”

“Then take a sample!”

“Pathogen has already?—”

I slam my fist into the wall, the expensive burnished metal not even ringing out in a gong. This ship is too well built to clatter like the inter-planet probe we crash landed in.

A fit of rage won’t help Arra-bellah. Only cold logic.

“I need to get a sample,” I say, my voice low. I’m a Selthiastock, we perform best under pressure, but Arra-bellah is also becoming my mate and panic for her clouds my inherent instinct to keep calm.

Fortunately, it’s not clouding my ability to reason. “I need the tools back on Oloria, the full diagnostic sampling capability we have there.”

“Wait, what?” El-len sits up from the couch, hands to her mouth. “We might have what you need here, on Earth.”

“Can you get to an NMRE machine?”

“A… sorry, a what?”

“Nano-magnetic refractory extraction.” As I spell it out for her, I know it’s hopeless. Earth tech is primitive compared to ours. Olorians perfected cloning, terraforming and manipulation of the weather, we’re best placed to investigate new diseases.

I stand rigid, shoulders knotted with the tension pulling through every fiber of my being. The idea of having no cure for her is almost too much to bear.

I shake my head. No, it’s more likely that this is an ordinary Olorian pathogen—one our immune systems handle easily—but it's wreaking havoc on Arra-bellah’s human body. If I can just get her to Oloria, get her the right treatment, she’ll be cured. She has to be .

That decides it.

“I’m taking her to Oloria,” I say firmly.

Ilia’s mouth opens, and I know he’s about to protest, but I meet his eyes, cutting him off. “You’d do the same if it was El-len,” I tell him. There’s no space for argument here.

He knows as well as I do that going back to Oloria means facing our banishment.

Ilia barely made it back. If I return, I risk a death sentence, swift and without hesitation.

The All-Mother won’t have any reason to intervene; I’ll be choked by a bot long before an Earth hour has passed, the moment I breathe Olorian air.

But this is for Arra-bellah. Nothing else matters.

Ilia exhales slowly. “Go,” he says heavily, stepping toward the ship's console, his hands flying over the systems to boot them up. The sooner we leave, the better.

Arture's already beside me, his metallic and organic fingers moving in harmony as he programs coordinates and codes directions for me. He’s laser-focused, but his tension mirrors mine. I’m no pilot, not like Arture, but I can work with the ship’s systems and get us there once he inputs the route.

When he’s done, he backs off a step. His prosthetic right eye flashes blue before his gaze cuts away. “Farewell, Gara.”

“Oh, shit,” El-len mutters, looking from me to Arra-bellah, then back again. “This is really serious, isn’t it? I’ll pack our bags, I’ll come with you?—”

“No, this disease could easily spread to you.” My voice is rough as I herd them down the gangplank. Ilia pulls El-len into the safety of his arms, and I wish bitterly I could do the same to Arra-bellah.

Taking my last breath of fresh, grass-scented air, I say, "Tell the Parthiastocks I would have been honored to die by their side, and know the same is true for you both."

Ilia and Arture's faces harden as they salute, the raps of their fists against their chests a silent farewell. The door seals with a sharp hiss behind them, and the ship's boosters roar to life.

We lift off into Earth's atmosphere, gray clouds streaking past as we gather speed. The luxury of the craft—the polished consoles, the sleek design—feels meaningless. All I care about is sitting by Arra-bellah’s side, keeping her alive until we reach Oloria.

The hiss of the door doesn't stop, though. It’s too loud, too constant. Has it broken?

I whirl around, expecting a malfunction, but instead I’m met with a wall of shimmering purple feathers, flared in full warning mode.

“Mae,” I groan. “What are you doing here?”

The murder bird hisses at me, her feathers smoothing along her neck as she steps toward me, her clawed feet clicking ominously on the floor. Her beady eyes meet mine, and there’s a glint of...something—murder, curiosity, mischief? I can’t tell. All I know is I don’t have time for this.

“Don’t touch anything,” I warn, as if she can actually understand me.

Mae lets out a soft gargle, the threatening rumble beneath it more like a strange purr as she inspects the ship. Every so often, she flicks her small wings, adding another hiss to the mix, like she’s found a new toy to conquer.

Shaking my head, I turn back to focus on stabilizing Arra-bellah. There's no time to worry about Mae. This is going to be a long trip, and I have to be ready for whatever we face when we reach Oloria.

Because if I get caught, I’m not going to make it back.