Page 33 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

TWENTY-THREE

GARA

The red-orange planet where I was grown looms in the viewscreen of our sleek craft.

It’s a scorched scar hanging in the vast belt of this solar system, glowing like an infected wound.

My breath catches in my throat every time I glance at it, but I force myself to focus on the one thing that matters: her.

Arra-bellah’s hand lies limp in mine, cold despite the warmth in the shuttle.

“We’re nearly there,” I whisper, my voice hoarse, more for myself than for her.

She doesn’t stir.

Her stillness gnaws at my soul. I’ve put her in a deep hibernation state for the last two Earth weeks, hoping—praying to the absent All-Mother—that it will slow the damage being done by the unidentified pathogen ravaging her body.

I squeeze her hand as if the pressure will somehow anchor her to me and this world.

But she doesn’t respond, and the emptiness is suffocating.

The silence inside the craft presses down on me as much as the vastness of space outside.

I’ve spent every moment since we left Earth reading to her, whispering stories of our time together, hoping that somehow, she can hear me.

That she’s still there, beneath the surface of her skin, fighting.

But despite all my efforts, all I could do was stabilize her.

Her condition is an enigma with a potentially horrific ending, and I don’t know how much time she has left before I lose her.

Only advanced Olorian technology and the experts here can help her now, no matter the personal cost to me.

I stare at her pale face, her features so familiar yet so strange without her inherent energy animating them. “Just hold on a little longer. We’re almost there.”

My pulse thrums in my ears, matching the rhythm of the ship’s engines as we make our final approach.

The red glow of Oloria reflects in her skin, but I force the fear down.

I have to believe she’ll survive this, even if I won’t.

It’s worth it to have her smile again, even if I won’t be around to see it.

A bleep from the console is Olorian air traffic drones trying to understand my trajectory.

I have to hope the ship won’t be questioned immediately because it’s the All-Mother’s, but as soon as we land it’ll be flagged and investigated.

I can’t prevent that, so I’ll have to deliver her quickly and try to return so I can escape, even though the thought of leaving her with strangers makes me feel physically sick.

The Oasis appears on the horizon as we break through the atmosphere, the lush green canopy of the Milagrove tree an island of life in the scorched desert that now defines Oloria.

It towers above the wasteland, the last breath of green left on this forsaken planet.

The circular structure of the Oasis spirals around the massive trunk of the tree like a delicate ribbon, each room designed to catch the healing breezes that pass through, and the Milagrove’s vines, heavy with vibrant blooms, crawl along the exterior like they’re cradling the entire building.

Females and True Born sons are brought to heal here. It’s the only hope for those on the brink of death, where Selthiastock clones use their considerable skills and instincts to isolate pathogens and heal diseases.

Waterfalls cascade down from the top of the tree. It’s a symbiotic relationship at this point—the Olorians keep the tree watered, and in return, it provides the essential sap used in our stabilizing nutrient beds. It’s the closest thing we have to a miracle.

Arra-bellah needs that miracle now more than ever.

The moment we land on the Selthias’ Oasis pad, I don’t waste a second.

I lift Arra-bellah in my arms before the ship even powers down, and I’m sprinting toward the acute clinic.

My hearts pound in time with my footsteps, my breath ragged as I bark out her symptoms over and over to the duty medics who rush to meet us.

“Her immune system, it’s far too active, she’s fighting something. She’s crashing. Do something!”

They try to take her from me, but my body resists letting her go. My arms tremble with the effort of releasing her as if they know what my mind refuses to accept—that I might never hold her again.

I force myself to let her go, and the clones whisk her away from me. Once the door slides shut against me, I’m faced with the harsh reality. I’ve done everything I can. Now, if I want to survive long enough to see her again, to keep fighting for her, I have to run.

I stand there for a moment, my chest tight, watching through the glass as they start their scans. My feet feel glued to the floor, every muscle in my body screaming to stay, but logic wins out. The medics here are the best. They’ll do everything possible for her. Now it’s up to them.

I turn and walk away.

Slipping into the chaos of the Oasis is easy.

The very thing I’ve hated all my life—blending in with the masses of other Selthiastock clones—is now my salvation.

I avert my eyes, keeping them trained on the ground as I join the crowd moving down toward the lower levels, my hearts a frantic staccato against my ribs.

I peel off to head back toward the ship. Perhaps I’ll get lucky and it hasn’t been flagged yet.

But then I see them— Parthiastocks like Dom, Arik, and Nevare, working together silently through their mind sync. Huge purple clones crawl over the ship taking samples from it.

I’ll have to abandon it and head down into the city underneath the healing tree. All I need is to blend in with the others.

“Everyone, halt,” a Parthiastock’s voice booms.

The clones do, turning to face the bigger law keeper.

He slaps his chip scanner in the palm of his other hand. “Emergency chip check.”

My scales harden all over. The second my chip is scanned, they’ll get my batch number and realize I’ve returned from exile. I’ll be euthanized on the spot for breaking the law.

“Identity chip scan,” the purple clone repeats to a Selthiastock trying to get past him.

“I’m late for an appointment, I—” The Selthiastock doesn’t get to finish his sentence.

With a blank expression on his face, the Parthiastock grabs his arm and twists it, a sickening crack ringing in the corridor. As the clone screams, the Parthiastock runs his scanner over his forearm.

“Clear,” he grunts, dropping the luckless clone’s arm and letting him stagger away. “Next.”

Bile tracks up my throat. I force myself to keep walking along the corridor as if nothing’s wrong, my mind racing. I need to hide, out of view. They’ve blocked the way back to the All-Mother’s ship and now they’re probably cutting off escape routes into the Undercity.

I’m trapped, soon to be killed. It's only a matter of time.

Arra-bellah's smile flashes in my mind. I can’t give up. I have to fight to return to her one day. I need to use my brain. I haven’t exhausted all avenues yet.

To my left branches another corridor, this one pure metal rather than the xylem-plasteek hybrid.

It might lead somewhere, or at worst case, allow me to hide out in the Oasis until the Parthiastocks start searching elsewhere.

As long as an Apex doesn’t come to start combing through everyone’s minds, I should be fine.

I break out of the river of Selthiastocks heading to be scanned and slip into the corridor.

The Parthiastock doesn’t seem to notice, or at least I don’t hear him call for me to halt.

Metal rings under my boots as I stride purposefully down it, locked glass doors either side of me.

The rooms inside are the experimental suites, suitable for conducting research.

A red light flashes overhead. “Scanning,” a smooth computer voice informs me.

Drok na.

The red light intensifies to crimson, drenching the walls and floors. “Anomaly detected. Alert, alert!”

Through the drench of adrenaline spiking my system, my focus narrows to the few remaining options. Stay put, run, try to fight, or die.

A shout rings out behind me, followed by the unmistakable clatter of claws on metal. “Stop that… thing!” the Parthiastock from the corridor orders.

I turn to face it and, with clinical detachment, I make my choice.