Chapter 30 #2
The plants press in around us, suffocating, alive.
Every vine, every rustling leaf feels like a threat, a silent predator waiting to strike.
Nic-coal’s just a few steps behind me, her breathing heavy but steady.
I glance back briefly to make sure she’s still there.
Juran brings up the rear, scanning for threats like a good Gerverstock.
“Stay close,” I tell Nic-coal, my voice low but firm.
Her eyes meet mine, a flicker of determination cutting through her fear. “I’m not planning on going anywhere. You abducted me, you're stuck with me.”
I grin in response.
“What's the plan?”
“Uh… yeah. The plan. Right.” I swat a thorned Bilberry out of my way, holding it aloft for Nic-coal and Juran.
“Escape the jungle and get hoverbikes,” Juran interjects. “I have an idea where we can go, but I can't say here, where there's cameras.”
“Excellent.”
The ground starts to give, soft and unstable. I press forward, scanning the twisted foliage for traps or hidden threats. I’m not just protecting Ni-coal from the plants.
Above us, the booming voice of an announcer echoes through the jungle canopy.
“A new clone type has been uncovered in the trials,” the voice declares.
It’s distant but loud enough to carry, a warning wrapped in excitement.
“Prif Samara herself is asking Shara, the so-called All-Mother, what this new clone type is and what its purpose might be.”
Nic-coal slows, turning her face upward as if she can see the speakers through the trees. “They’re getting it all wrong.” Wrapping her hands around her mouth, she shouts, “But he’s Samara’s clone!”
I don’t stop. I force my feet to move faster, ignoring the ache in my leg. Samara’s twisting the narrative already, and no amount of yelling will change that.
“I should have belted her when I had the chance,” she fumes, making Ezla and Juran flinch.
Normally that would also make me flinch, but while the urge to correct her flares up, I don't react to turn the thought into action. I don't have to give my thoughts power.
I chuckle, but quickly smother the sound. “We need to be quiet. They’ll hear us.”
“Who?” she whispers now, glancing around.
“Anything,” I say.
A low hiss pulls my attention to the left. I freeze, signaling for Nic-coal to do the same. My mechanical arm hums faintly as I flex it, readying myself. A cluster of crimson vines slithers toward us, their edges serrated and glistening with dew. Not dew—venom.
I step between her and the vines.
“Arture—”
The vines snap forward, lightning fast. I slash out with my mechanical arm, the blade attachment slicing clean through the first tendril.
It recoils, spraying droplets of venom onto the ground, where it sizzles and smokes.
Another vine darts toward my face, but I duck, driving my blade into its base.
“Move!” I order, grabbing Nic-coal’s arm and pulling her forward.
We break into a run, dodging roots and low-hanging branches.
The announcer’s voice follows us, relentless.
“Is this new clone type a threat to our safety? The All-Mother will be called in for questioning by the Voices immediately. Our Prif Samara insists the truth will come out by the end of the trials.”
I grit my teeth. Every word is another chain Samara’s wrapping around the clones. She doesn’t need to capture me to control me; she just needs to control how they see me.
The ground ahead dips suddenly into a ravine toward the service areas, its edges smooth metal. I don't know how deep it goes. I halt, pulling Nic-coal back before she can step over the edge.
“What now?” Ezla asks, voice tight.
I scan the ravine, my mind racing. A thick tree trunk spans the gap like a natural bridge, but it’s slick with moss and clearly unstable. It’s a risk, but we don’t have time to find another way.
“We cross,” I say, stepping onto the trunk.
Nic-coal gapes. “You can’t be serious.”
I look back at her. “Do you trust me?”
“Yes.” She doesn't even hesitate.
It's a balm healing the past. She trusts me, even though all my secrets have been laid bare.
I can't lose this woman.
“Follow me.”
I move carefully, my mechanical arm outstretched for balance. The trunk creaks under my weight, but it holds. Behind me, Nic-coal follows, her steps hesitant but steady.
Halfway across, a shadow flickers in the corner of my vision. I stop, my hearts pounding.
“Arture?” Nic-coal’s voice is barely a whisper.
From the jungle’s edge, a figure steps into view—a Parthiastock. His eyes lock onto us, and for a moment, I think he’s here to help. But then his eyes slide to the log.
“For the All-Mother,” he says, but it's a lie. He's a Samarastock, sacrificing his life to support Samara's story. He bends down to push the log back and tumble us into the ravine. He'll be punished with execution for killing a female, but Samara doesn't care.
“Stop, please,” Nic-coal begs.
And the clone does, frozen as he grasps the log to push. He looks up at her, then scowls when he sees me. “You again, Alpha.”
Alpha. Where have I heard that before? “You again, Asshole,” I greet him with a grim smile. “If you make one more move, I’ll—”
Nic-coal’s hand slices in front of my face, and I startle into silence. “I’ve got this,” she murmurs, advancing with her hands wide for balance. Everything in me screams to hold her close, but I also trust she knows what she's doing. Especially taming Samarastocks.
She spreads her fingers as she tiptoes closer. “You've got Samara's orders in your head. It must be painful. She didn't treat you very well at all, did she?”
Asshole presses his lips together. Nic-coal is spouting serious treason, so this is going to go to shit very quickly.
Nic-coal raises her hands. “I'm going to help you all, okay? But to do that, we need to get out of here. I came up through a tube. Do you know where the exit is?”
Her words wrap around me as well, because she means every word.
She’s not as selfish as me, she actually cares, even about the Asshole Samarastocks with orders to hurt her.
I follow slowly behind Nic-coal, trying not to look threatening and tip him into an attack, but he's not looking at me, he's entranced with her.
How she approaches him so fearlessly is throwing him; I know, because it amazed me, too.
It's not her words reaching through to him, it's everything about her. Her trust is new, intoxicating. Samarastocks aren't used to being trusted.
She gets to the other side of the impasse and I follow quick-step, motioning Ezla and Juran to cross. As they do, I spot the vine heading for Asshole.
I shout, “Watch out!”
He darts to the side as the vine whips out. It lashes his chest, but would have wrapped around his arm and yanked him into the jungle.
Nic-coal immediately rushes to him and Asshole flinches back as she approaches, as if she’s ten feet tall instead of five and change.
"You're hurt," she says, pointing to the jagged tear on his side. Her voice is soft, sincere, completely devoid of fear even though I can see the tension in her shoulders. "Let us help you."
He doesn’t answer right away, staring at her as if she’s a new species.
I keep my stance neutral, but I’m ready to strike if he tries anything.
“You’d help me?” His voice comes out uneven, and I have to remind myself that no matter how convincing the disguise is, Asshole isn’t a Parthiastock. Samarastocks are master manipulators; this could be a ploy.
“Yes,” Nic-coal says simply, like it’s obvious.
The Samarastock blinks, the Parthiastock form flickering slightly at the edges. It’s subtle, but I see it. His guard is dropping, if only just. "You don’t even know me.”
“No, I don’t,” Nic-coal replies, her voice steady. “But that doesn’t mean I won’t try to help. Please.”
His eyes waver, and then drop. “There’s no time to stop and tend to me, you have to go.” He pulls at the tree trunk behind him, wincing from his wound but revealing a hidden door. “There’s a service area ahead,” he says, voice quieter now.
Juran and Ezla exchange a look, clearly suspicious, but I nod.
“Thank you,” I say, though I keep my tone guarded. It’s hard to break old habits and trust anyone.
The Samarastock lingers, his disguise still intact but his demeanor different. As we pass, he locks eyes with Nic-coal, and for a moment, I see something new in his expression. Not loyalty, not submission, but something new.
“You’re different,” he murmurs, almost to himself, before turning away.
I don’t stop to dwell on it, there’s no time for reflection, but I always have time to marvel at Nic-coal and how she's changed me for the better, improving on perfection.
In the service area there are flyers, short hoppers for getting supplies from the nearby hydroponics farms.
Nic-coal taps one. “Can we use these to get to the All-Mother's house and grab her ship?”
I shake my head but motion her to get on one.
She slides her leg over and I tuck in behind, squeezing her and the seat with my thighs to keep us in place.
“They won't go far. The All-Mother’s ship will be under guard, we can’t try it.
There's a small, small chance we can escape if we wait out the hunt somewhere in the Olorian wastes before circling back.
We'll have to remove the flyer's tracking chips and hide them somewhere near water so we can refuel.”
Juran nods. “I know a place.”
“Then you’ll have to come. Ezla?”
“Yes,” the Selthiastock says.
“Well, you’re both honorary exiles now.” I grab a helmet and put it on Nic-coal’s tiny head. Blood Feather peeks out from her pocket, making a horsy spluttering sound.
Juran’s scales shiver and Ezla's drop so dark they're nearly brown, but neither argues or backs down. They saw what happened with Nic-coal, and they aren't going to stand for it.
Giving them a grateful nod, I guide the flyer out of the hanger and up into the night sky. Nic-coal presses against my chest from the acceleration, and I wrap one arm around her to keep her secure.
But wherever we go, we’re ultimately doomed unless we can find some way off the planet.