Page 40 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)
He folds his legs to sit on the bare floor, face severe, but no more so than it was before. “On the contrary. When my patient asked after you, I accessed your files.”
“And?” I ask into his silence.
“I think you know,” he replies quietly. “Exiled along with your crew. A Selthiastock as part of a group exploring alongside a Gerverstock is highly irregular. Usually only pilots accompany them.”
“It was useful, having a Selthiastock to attend to the many injuries they endured.”
He inclines his head. “It certainly made sense, but was out of the norm. As well as you being from the G cohort. Very few Selthiastocks I work with have a G designation.”
I mentally slide into the calm of diagnosing a patient so my scales won't rattle and give away my disquiet.
Mae picks through his cupboards, pulling out a plasteek sachet of dehydrated milapaste. With a tug, she splits the bag and flails her head from side to side, screeching in triumph as she flings powder across the clone's neat kitchen.
“Blasted bird,” I snarl at her, shooing her away. She snaps at my fingers and scours her claws through the mess before she settles onto it, as if it's her nest.
“It's no matter,” the Selthiastock says, stern face softened by a small smile.
But why help me? He said it was for his patient, for Arra-bellah. Unless this is an elaborate trick to reel me in.
The exhaustion of keeping everyone at bay swells over me. I'd gotten used to having a crew, to relying on someone else to have my best interests at heart.
I miss it badly, like a lost limb.
Sometimes we need to trust, a voice that sounds like Arra-bellah reminds me.
I admit, “I know you're treating a human, from a planet called Earth. She fell ill and I didn't have access to equipment and scanners or anything like what we have at Selthia’s Oasis. I… I feared it's an Olorian pathogen, perhaps even the disease which killed a female.”
He looks at me sharply, scales hardening. “There's never been a recurring case of that disease, as I said, and we tested for it. What do you know about it?”
“Nothing, and certainly not enough to treat it.”
His frown deepens, and I can see his support wavering. If he thinks I had something to do with a disease which killed a female, he'll turn me in, no question.
I hang my head. “I just want her to be well. I can't… I can't lose her.”
The silence stretches between us, the clone likely weighing up the risk of turning me over now. I won't fight him, only beg for a chance to run with Mae.
But he continues, “The human asked after you and I enquired about any clones being with her at admission. The Parthiastocks explained they were looking for an exile who had returned, a criminal, and that if you hadn’t been apprehended already, you would be soon.
I assumed the commotion and alarms I'd heard earlier were related, and that you were likely captured and euthanized.
“I reported that to her.”
My head jerks up. “And?”
“It… deeply affected her physical status. More than I ever expected, especially for a… clone.” He studies me, long fingers drumming on his shin.
“Grief may not be measured, but it is certainly powerful. She was able to draw you and, even though you look like me, like hundreds of other Selthiastocks, I could recognize you as the clone I had dinner with last night. She captured a lot of your essence.”
“Her name is Arra-bellah,” I tell him quietly.
“Ah, a strong name,” he replies politely. “She has named me Ezla, and I have to practice responding to it.”
“Ezla, very well.” Keeping an eye on his reaction, I approach the print outs stuck to the wall.
He doesn't move to stop me, and sure enough I recognize Arra-bellah’s stats from her petite measurements in Selthias units to the damning vital signs.
I point to the readout for her pulse. “The rate seems to be normal for Earth females, given that they only have one heart, but why is its strength so irregular?”
“I wish I knew,” Ezla says, eyelids drooping. He’s tired too, probably pulling double shifts to work on Arra-bellah.
“You should tell her I'm alive immediately, if her grief is impacting her ability to rest and recuperate.”
Ezla shakes his head. “Better if you come with me tomorrow, so she can see you with her own senses.”
My heart rates accelerate, leaping like a rocket blast at the idea of seeing Arra-bellah again. Perhaps even holding her in my arms.
Ezla continues calmly, “We’ll go at mid-cycle, there will be less Parthiastocks prowling the district. ”
Less, but it won't be a non-zero number. If I'm caught, we'll both be killed.
But if the alternative is Arra-bellah in pain or worse, I'll do it.
I take up position in front of the printouts, determined to learn everything I can tonight. “Have you been able to isolate the pathogen at least?”
“Perhaps.” Ezla heaves himself up from the floor, pulling a small screen from his pockets and leaning close to show me a four-dimensional model of the pathogen.
I glare at it for daring to cause my mate pain and suffering.
“This molecule here seems unusual…” Ezla frowns, trailing off. He sniffs me deeply.
“What is it?” I ask warily.
“Hm. Perhaps it's nothing. I thought I smelled… her.”
Selthiastock scenting is the strongest among all clones. “Perhaps you smell her on me, or me on her.”
“That must be it.” He cocks his head, blue gaze pinning mine. “Tell me truthfully. She reacted as if she'd lost a mate. I'd think it was preposterous if I hadn't seen her misery for myself. Are you her… mate?”
There's a note of cautious incredulity in his voice. A female choosing a clone seems so unlikely, especially with how they're spinning Ilia's story.
“I am,” I say simply.
His eyes flash. “How interesting.”
Putting a hand over my chest, I confess, “And, despite all evidence saying formation of a bond is psychosomatic, I… I've come to believe it's real.”
Now true doubt settles on his face, one eyebrow rising in subtle interrogation.
“I feel it.” I tap my chest, two fingers against my sternum. “Like a shift in gravity. Toward her. I… I used to be able to feel when she experienced strong emotions.” Such as he r pain, fear and loss when she'd been disoriented in the field.
“And now?” Ezla inquires, voice low. Reserving judgement.
I rub my chest. I feel nothing now. Nothing except… the tiny spark of hope, like a single organism, fighting for life.
“She's not giving up. Even though she thinks I'm gone, she's fighting.”
“There's no basis for the bond’s existence, no physio-chemical markers—” Ezla begins reciting.
“I know, Ezla. I was fed the same training.”
He holds up a hand to forestall me. “But as I said earlier, I've seen the effect the psychosomatic can have. What if this whatever it is eludes measurement because it can't be measured? What if this is her body's reaction to the bond? This could be a neuroimmune synapse response.”
He sounds delighted to find an avenue of investigation, and I understand the impulse.
But he's talking about something deep, something precious between me and my mate.
“What?” I choke out. “No. No, that can't be. I know of another human who has one with no ill effects…” Cruel logic intercedes. I blow out my cheeks. “But that's a sample size of one.”
I glance at the print outs on the wall. All of them the same as before, full of knowledge but empty of understanding.
My scales tremble. What if he's right? Putting my hand over the warmth pulsing in my chest, I close my eyes.
It seems benign, and…I want to believe in the bond.
I want to be connected to my mate, constantly feel the warmth of her joy seeping across a bond.
I want her to know without words how much I admire and adore her.
“The bond… could be what's killing her,” Ezla suggests, and my eyes pop open .
He frowns, rubbing his chin as if this is an interesting problem and not devastating to me. “But how do we test that?”
How indeed. “And if it is hurting her, how do we break something with no physical presence?” I screw my hands into fists. As romantic a notion as a bond is, if it's real and it's hurting her, it must be destroyed.
Whatever it takes.