Page 4 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

Which is probably what she did on our ship. "Wait, wait," I caution, then bite my tongue. I’ve just told a female to wait. She’ll probably have me whipped.

Stomach clenching, I go to one knee as I’m supposed to. "My deepest apologies," I grate out, keeping my head lowered as endless silence rolls out around us.

I risk a glance to see her looking down at me. Her gaze passes over me, measuring me, memorizing me, judging me.

As if she can see everything I try to keep hidden.

"It's fine,” she says, as if it's nothing.

But I know it isn't. What weakness will she discover to hold over my head? I can't afford to show her anything less than a perfect clone, or she'll use it as an excuse to punish us all.

She perches at the well-worn kitchen table, still facing me, picking her nails. “I probably broke the system poking at it, anyway. Like that robot."

The unsaid hangs between us. A shiver runs through my limbs, reliving the desperate dash to snatch Arra-bellah out of range of laser fire as the sleeper bot activated. I shake the memory out of my head so my healer’s instincts don’t kick in.

I clench my fists. Females always expect clones to fix their mistakes, even at the cost of our lives. Still, its target had been me, as one of the escaped exiles, and robots don’t care about collateral damage. Perhaps it hadn’t recognized her as female.

“Level with me. Will she be safe?” the tiny female asks, green eyes wide.

For a moment, I don’t know who she’s talking about. “Oh, El-len? Of course she will. On Oloria, females are prized and treasured by all.” Somehow, I manage to say that with my voice flattened out and emotionless, so I don’t give away my true feelings.

She slides one leg over the top of the other, bouncing her foot in midair. “I don’t mean to offend, but… none of us are intrepid international explorers, let alone interstellar ones. An d, like, she’s going to a whole new planet, that’s scary as fuck.”

“Of course.” Never mind we’d experienced the same thing.

I fall into a reporting cadence, staring above her head.

“We explore many planets. That’s Ilia’s role, his purpose, and he selected us as his crew rather than other Gerverstocks because he needed our skills.

Pilot, psychics, medic.” I point to myself as the last one.

“Other planets, huh? You’ll have to tell me more sometime, but, right now…” She sighs. “I just want Ellen to be safe, you know?”

A churning maelstrom twists my stomach thinking of my brave and kind leader being dragged to an ignoble death he doesn’t deserve. Drok na , these females. They’re the same the galaxy over: selfish and uncaring.

“Any female will be treated to Oloria’s finest,” I reassure Arra-bellah automatically. “Food, lodging, entertainment, whatever she desires will be given to her.” Not so for Ilia.

A smile tugs the edges of her lips. “You’ve sold it to me. All this is… so alien. The tech, the… the way you act. The ship.”

She glances out the window to El-len’s garden, where the crashed ship rests in pieces, and then back at me. Taking a deep breath, she blurts out, "Are the two guys okay?"

I didn’t expect her to even ask, but she might want their status to know how quickly they’ll be useful again.

I report, "They hardened their scales in time, and the bot’s blast was far enough away to be weaker by the time it struck them.

They will be fully operational by Earth midday tomorrow, but I overclocked their nanites so they'll heal faster and be able to return to work at sunrise. "

"I’m glad they’re okay." Her foot stops its maddening bounce. “But they can have tomorrow off if they need to recover.”

This is a trap. It has to be. “They do not need any allowances. They will be fully functional in a few Earth hours.”

“What about you? You got hit in the back, right?”

I didn't expect her to notice. “Yes, but my internal healing abilities along with my nanites are superior among all clone types. My scales will repair in less than two Earth hours.”

Her lips twist as if I’ve said something unsavory.

Keeping my stance even, I curb my questions.

I want to ask why she was in the dead ship in the first place.

She accused me of wrong-doing, of constantly sneaking in.

I could never sneak, I’m too bulky for that, and medics are designed to be visible, favoring a bright green tint to our scales.

Definitely not built for stealth. But of course she suspects me; she’s a female, and they can see inefficiency in all actions clones take.

I stare above her head. “Tomorrow, one of the Parthiastocks and I will retest the shuttle, uncover if there are any other robots aboard.”

Her foot resumes bouncing. “How will you do that?”

I glance at the dial on the wall. “Pressing things. That seemed fairly effective.”

Her cheeks flush. She has very pale skin so every change is obvious, but she only seems to turn shades of red. I don’t know what her coloration means yet, so my senses focus in on the rest of her body.

Quickened breathing. Slower heartbeats—perhaps from a singular heart? No wonder humans are smaller.

She shakes her head, red curls cascading down her back, and scowls. “Don’t do that. I don’t want anyone else getting hurt.”

It sounds like… concern. But she could be trying to trick me, make me think she’s not like other females. “Clones are expendable,” I remind her, keeping my voice flat.

Now she goes pale, warmth leaving her face as her blood supply diverts to key organs. A mild shock response, not something I’d think a living being could fake. “We really have come from different worlds, haven't we?"

I have to answer her question, but it’s a ridiculous one. "We have."

She chuckles. "That's called a rhetorical question. If you ever go to the Valleys, people are full of them."

I venture to ask, "Valleys?"

"Yes. Valleys of Wales, the land of my fathers."

"Your father owns Wales?"

Now she really does laugh, and my scales harden in defense. I’ve said nothing funny. But her cackle isn’t cruel; Arra-bellah's laugh soars high and free. My scales still bristle; somehow, I’ve made a fool of myself and likely lowered my worth in her estimation.

She chuckles as she wipes her eyes. "I needed that. Hey, get off the floor, you’ll wear your knees out."

“My knees won’t wear out. I’ll replace them with tech printed from the ship when they do.”

She beckons me up and I rise smoothly. Now I tower over her, and her attention travels up my bare torso, wandering across my pectorals and to my face. Her pupils dilate even though she doesn’t stand in my shadow, breathing speeding up yet again in a physical reaction to my proximity.

She shakes herself. "So, yeah, I’m from Wales. You might have noticed I’ve got a slightly different accent."

"I had noticed, yes." The cadence of her voice is more musical than the other humans’. Throaty and lilting, as if she sings her words rather than says them. I press my lips together. Dare I ask? "So this place is… not-Wales, then." There. A statement, not a question.

"England, yeah." She leans forward on the seat, eyes narrowing at me as if trying to focus on the smallest of my scales around my eyelids. "You’ve got a different accent to the others, too. "

My hearts beat faster. I can’t lie, not directly to a female. "I… I do, yes." My words typically flow, my vocabulary more vast than theirs. Ilia and Dom speak as if they're chewing words.

"So, where are you from?"

She cannot know how much that question cuts me. "Still from Oloria," I say, managing to control my voice so it doesn't tremble. "I’m no different from them. A clone."

Again that searching look, the stare that leaves me bare. "You're not quite like them." She slips off her seat and stalks toward me, her scent unrolling around me. It’s warm, spicy, edged with sweetness.

And dangerously distracting. I barely resist the urge to step back as the tiny human approaches.

She murmurs, "You talk back to me. You make snide remarks. You even accused me of snooping."

Drok na , I did.

I wrench my gaze from her green eyes and stare above her head. "Ilia left me in charge. If you have complaints, address them to me directly."

She puts her hands on her hips. "Cool. I guess I'm point of contact while Ellen’s on her little jolly."

Jolly? I want to know but cannot ask.

She amends, "Trip. Vacation."

I swallow hard, letting my gaze dart down to her.

“Am I your assistant now? Your… servant?” The closest word in Earth language to a Tuber is slave.

I don’t want to even say the word to her in case it gives her ideas, but in reality, there’s little difference.

Tubers were built to serve specific purposes, and the word of a female is a direct order, no matter what.

She blinks at me. “What? No, nothing like that. Except…” she amends, as I anticipated, “we'll have to finish the barn while she's away."

So, am I under her command or not? I grit my teeth. Vague orders might seem like leniency, but the blame will still fall to us if we fail her expectations.

“Apart from the barn, what are your priorities?” I press.

The tiny human stares blankly at me, gaze darting to the door.

She shakes her hair out into her hands, the red glinting like banked embers of a fire.

“Uh… Jeez. I can’t plan beyond the next painting.

You… You can do what you like, as long as you stay hidden.

I can barely organize my own life, let alone yours. ”

“Stay hidden. Understood.” As for letting us have our autonomy, I know that’s bait. She’ll pretend she never said that and punish us if we dare to think for ourselves.

I let my gaze rake over the small human. Physically inferior to clones, and yet I still can’t bring myself to plot mutiny, even though it would be simple. I could pick her up with one arm, lock her safely in El-len’s house, and we could leave.

Except we’d have nowhere to go, and as soon as they found out what I’d done, the Parthiastocks would snap my neck.

"What are you thinking, I wonder?" she murmurs, shocking me out of my treasonous thoughts.

Are humans psychic? “I need to get back to my crewmates… direct reports. I've informed you of the change. We’ll continue the work restoring the barn at first light, and we will not fail you."

"Awesome." Arra-bellah moves to the door, motioning the way out.

I leave, walking stiffly from all the adrenaline surging through my system.

Talking to Arra-bellah is somehow worse than a hundred field surgeries, piecing together a hundred different angles under pressure.

She’s acting friendly for now, but that will change.

It always does. Females act all-knowing, but truly their dominance is only matched by their ruthlessness.

I need to fly carefully around the tiny human. I have to navigate us through this, and she already suspects me, even though she has no real cause to.

I swallow hard. The only secret I have is one I’ll take to my grave, but if she spots a mystery, she might pry and pull me out into the open. Then I’d be exposed to the others. Cast out and hated. Perhaps even killed.

After all, it’s my fault they’re exiled on this wet planet in the first place.