Page 6 of Invasive Species (Outcasts of Oloria #2)

FOUR

GARA

I eye the pile of papers Arra-bellah holds out to me. I can barely see behind the copious amount of wood-based substrate, but what I do see is red-eyed and disheveled. Her red hair foams around her face, curling in the morning rain which is also spotting the new plans.

“Please confirm what these represent,” I say, dread tracking up my stomach. I know exactly what these are.

“New designs,” she says with a yawn, covering it with her other hand.

I take the stack of papers from her, leafing through the primitive wood-based substrate humans use to communicate ideas.

There’s a cargo load of them: a lintel frame design, a corner detail, a mural idea for a whole wall.

None of it is connected or labeled, just pages and pages of random elements all together, some even on the same page.

“More design changes, you mean.” I set my pad on the floor and tap ‘display.’ The current design for the barn hangs in the air between us, spinning slowly. “We agreed on this. These look very different. ”

“We agreed on this, yes, as the superstructure.” She waves her fingers at the outer edges of my hologram, then points triumphantly to her papers. “These are the detailed designs.”

I snatch at my patience, which is rapidly rocketing away from me as if blasting into orbit. “You’re changing things again.”

Her tired eyes widen, the picture of innocence. “No, I’m just adding the details.”

Now my patience escapes. She’s lying, just like any other female, and my scales harden in defense.

She continues, "They’ll make the bed and breakfast really stand out. And you can do them on your fancy machine. It's not like you're doing it by hand."

"I'd need to reprogram the computer images—" I bite back the rest of my objection. It doesn't matter to a female how much work it means for a male. They just order it anyway, unthinking and uncaring.

“Is that hard?” she asks.

“It is when the changes are all mixed up like this.”

Her gaze slides away, down my chest and arms to my hands. Is she even paying attention?

"I'll help sort them out,” she says, before her mouth gapes open in a huge yawn, as if the conversation bores her. I might think she hasn’t gotten enough rest, but while the nights are short on this planet, she’s surely used to them.

"Never mind. Just…" My fingers coil. "If you could stop amending the agreed design?—"

"But I haven't. I'm just adding the details," she presses. A swipe of wind blows her hair into a wild storm, sending her scent straight at me. Cinnamon, warm and sharp, curling across my tongue like an irritant and a lure all at once. It’s distracting. She’s distracting.

And that gives me an idea. “Perhaps while we’re completing the barn, you have more important priorities which need your attention. What are your research areas, or pursuits?”

Her pulse speeds up, jumping in her throat as she swallows hard. “Uh, I… I don’t…”

I gesture to the courtyard cradled by the farm buildings. “Which is your office?”

“Oh, I don’t have a studio yet. Ellen’s going to make me one, in the, uh, Road House area.

Although I’d prefer to be near the farmhouse.

Maybe in the garden? It’s really lovely in summer, has a great view of all the fields around it, not far from the lake where I like to go swimming.

Maybe we can go swimming later? That would help. ”

Even though I listened to every word, I have no idea how we got from her office to swimming. “We will take our exercise later today?—”

“Great. Count me in. I actually really love cold swimming, and while it’s a bit early in the year, I… I really need it.” She’s speaking almost too fast to follow, but then she slows down. “I find it helps, you know, wake me up a bit.”

“Is that a typical human thing?” I ask before I can stop myself. Drok na , I’m trying to redirect her away from making amendments to the barn design, not engage her in conversation.

She chuckles, catching hold of the stray curl obscuring her eyes and winding it around her small fingers. “Probably not. I have a wetsuit and stuff, I brought it just in case, I’ll dig it out later.” Her gaze wanders back to the papers in my hand. “Right, so, I thought you could just?—”

“I’ll handle it,” I say quickly. “You should be free to return to your typical day.”

A crooked smile crosses her face. “Nothing’s typical with me. Especially because Ellen’s not here—Oh, fuck.” She slaps her forehead. “The animals. ”

And she turns around and runs headlong toward the chicken compound.

I take a deep, steadying breath. That was like navigating through the shifting sandstorms of Aliani Four.

I watch her vault over the metal barred gate and flick open the lock on the chicken’s door, then stand there while they surround her.

She pushes the door back and forth, frowning at the hinges as if they’re something she needs to memorize.

She leaps back over, but this time over the low wire fence, and heads into what Ellen called the machine shed.

Inside are huge hulking mechanical machines, all silent and covered with dust. She immediately comes back out with a small tin.

Then she spots an escaped chicken, one of the bigger ones, and sets down her find to chase after it.

Partway through she halts, turning in place, a lock of hair trapped between her teeth again.

She sees something in the piles of cardboard substrate forming a wall of the lean-to we rest in, and darts over to it.

What is she doing? Her erratic movements don’t form an efficient path. But I’m not supposed to be silently judging her work; I should go back inside the barn before she spots me and returns.

I unroll the papers in my hand, smoothing out the parts I creased in my fists. The myriad designs piece together to form a structure at the back, facing the garden she spoke about. From what I can tell, the walls are meant to be transparent to let in what little light this planet offers.

The next is a small sketch of the garden in full bloom around the barn, the little additional structure in the center.

Despite being monochrome in color, it will make the entrance atrium of the barn bright and airy.

I quickly run a simulation in my model for natural light and stare at the results; without something like this, the barn vestibule would have no access to natural light, and it’ll be as dark as clone barracks .

She somehow improved it without access to any advanced building programs, just charcoal derivatives.

“Ah!” Her shriek cuts across the courtyard, accompanied by a rumble as the wood substrate wall topples over her.

Adrenaline surges through my system in response to her cry.

I bolt to her side, pulling light boxes and flattened sheets of cardboard away and throwing them behind me.

Fortunately, these are neither sharp nor heavy.

My hand touches her arm, then her back, and I lean in to scoop her out of the wreckage.

I pull her to my chest effortlessly, turning her over in my arms. I can’t smell any blood, nor can I see any swellings or punctures.

She clings to me, face reddening as she looks at the carnage surrounding us. “Oops.”

My shoulders relax. She’s not hurt at least. She weighs nothing in my arms, an insubstantial mass, but as a female, she pulls everything into her gravity. “What were you trying to achieve?”

“I spotted the wooden pallets. They’d make a good start for giving you guys a bit of privacy, and they’d block out the wind. If we find some tarp or something, we can make you little tents.”

I blink at her slowly. She gestures while she talks, but the rest of her body lies still in my arms. She swings her gaze up to meet mine, intense green eyes sparkling. “I’ve got so many ideas.”

She overflows with them. As I set her back on her feet, I say, “Perhaps exercise a little more caution. Try not to get crushed next time.”

Nodding eagerly, she says, “I’ll be careful.

I’ll tidy this up right now—oh. The sheep.

I need to feed the sheep.” She runs away while talking, gesturing wildly.

I track her movements, trying to predict where she’ll go next, but she’s erratic, bouncing between the lean-to and the farmhouse like an untethered starship.

I should leave her to it, except she’s already nearly hurt herself once. What if that had been the heavy machinery in the shed? I’m not sure how careful she can be, despite her promise.

Sighing, I step toward her, holding up my hand to interrupt her path. She skids to a halt, watching me.

“You are concerned about the wellbeing of the animals, yes?”

Arra-bellah nods, shifting from foot to foot, adjusting her clothes, bouncing on her toes. This female cannot—will not—be still. She blurts, “Can you help me?”

I try not to let my shoulders slump, droning, “Of course, female. What are your first orders?”

She frowns at that. “Not, like, do it. I need help…” Fingers wave in the air, then pull out her communication device. “I need to make a list. Help me put stuff on it, and in the right order.”

Prioritizing tasks? That I can do. “Very well. First, activities vital for life. I assume apart from oxygen, they need nutrition and hydration.”

“Um… feeding.” She types away at her device, loose curls sliding over her forehead as she concentrates.

“Where is food for the creatures kept?”

Closing her eyes, her lips move. She’s silent for such a long time I wonder if she’s even concerned with doing the task anymore.

Then she blurts, “There’s another lean-to filled with sweet-smelling dry stuff and pellets.

Out by the sheep.” She points toward the house, possibly indicating the fields beyond.

The smile she turns on me is dazzling. Paired with her bright eyes, it makes my breath catch in my throat.

As if she’s looped a collar on me, tightening it under her command .

I shake off the feeling, folding my arms tight. “Next is water.”

“There should be water troughs, but I’ll check they’re working.

” Her fingers fly across her tiny device now.

Her nails are torn and shredded down to the skin.

Casting my gaze over her, I see healing sores on her bottom lip, old bruises dotting her arms. Her bare arms, with small bumps raising all along her skin.

Isn’t she cold in this chill wind? I lean closer and hear her teeth chattering: a typical thermoregulation activity.

My healer instincts kick in. I inform her, “You need a covering.”

“Cover…ing…” she murmurs, writing that down. She squints up at me. “What, for the sheep?”

“No, for yourself.” I gesture toward the house. “El-len has many coverings near to the front door. Perhaps you can avail yourself of one?”

“In a minute.” She tugs her hair out of her face. “What else do sheep need?”

“I don’t know about sheep in particular, but I presume they need a safe habitat.”

“Oh yeah. Check the fences, look for escapees.”

I glance toward the house. “I’ll get you a covering.”

“Uh huh.” She nods.

I stride over, open the door and grab a thick coat which looks small enough for Arra-bellah. I drape it over her shoulders, and she startles, then slides her arms through. “Thanks.”

A female, thanking a clone? Only True Borns can expect any kind of consideration. I grunt back, unsure how to respond. “Next is shelter, if they don’t have it already.”

She looks toward our lean-to.

I wave my hand in front of her face. “Not our shelter, shelter for the animals. Do they need one and, if so, do they have one?”

“Check the little sheds in the fields, got it.” She notes that down too. Her breathing comes more easily, as if I’ve lifted a weight from her.

Seeing her relax into the warmth of the coat and her smile widening as the list grows cracks something open deep inside me. Something that should remain buried. I shove it back. All I’m doing is what’s expected of me, so we can survive on this world. Nothing more, nothing less.