Chapter 29 Laura #2
Samara may have won this round, but I’ll win the next. “I have exonerating evidence that's very compelling. Here's a copy, so we can work from the same source of truth.”
Samara takes the disc and boots it up, but doesn't look at the screen. She couldn’t care less.
I stay ramrod straight in my chair. “This was never about evidence, was it? You've all decided he's guilty.”
“Not all,” Shara says, tapping her desk. “These data might convince some.”
I fix Samara in the eye. What's this really about?
Choosing my words carefully, I say, “I read up on your legal system. It’s tough to learn an entire planet’s way of doing things, but I made a good college try at it.
One thing I noticed is that the laws surrounding clones seem to have developed rapidly, and only in recent years.
Almost as if… there was an urgent need for them. ”
Samara’s lips press into a thin line, her gaze hardening.
“That’s because there was an urgent need.
We developed the clones because we needed workers.
They were meant to be mindless, cheaper than robots but more versatile, needing less resources.
Automatons, if you will. Safe, controllable, without any capacity for independent thought.
” Her voice sharpens, edged with bitterness.
“When I ordered their creation, that’s what I expected. ”
I blink. “You ordered their creation?”
“Yes. But my sister,” she gestures toward Shara with a flicker of irritation, “decided to… do her own thing.”
I glance over at Shara and take in the resemblance I hadn’t noticed before—the similar set of their jaws, the unmistakable strength in their gazes.
Shara’s warmth and easy smiles had masked it, but now that I see them side by side, the connection’s obvious.
They both have that same core of steely resolve, though Shara hides it beneath her calm exterior, while Samara wears it openly.
“It wasn’t intentional, Samara,” Shara says, her tone gentle but resigned.
As if she's said this many times before.
“The clones… well, they were developing physically, exactly as planned. But somewhere along the line, sentience started to emerge. By the time I noticed it, by the time it became clear what was happening, it was too late. I already had hundreds of thousands of… sentient males on my hands.”
Her words sink in. This has to be the reason for that flicker of sadness aging her face. Shara doesn’t want to harm the clones. They’re more than just creations to her. They’re her legacy, her only chance at family.
Her only children.
Shara catches my look, pain creasing her face. “They’re beyond workers, Laura. They were supposed to be, yes, but they’re not, and we can't ignore that.”
Samara’s mouth twists, her gaze shifting between the two of us. “This wasn’t what I agreed to. I needed an army we control, not a… a brood of men wandering around with minds of their own.”
Shara’s expression softens. “And yet, here they are. We can’t unmake them, Samara. We can’t take back what’s already been done.”
Samara’s eyes narrow, but she doesn’t respond. I can see the conflict in her, the war between her desire for control and the reality Shara forces her to confront.
I take another sip of my drink, the weight of the room’s tension settling around us like a shroud. “So… these laws you created are a reaction to this change, because the clones developed beyond what you expected?”
“Yes,” Samara says, her voice clipped. “We had to adapt quickly to the circumstances and develop control measures, regulations to keep them in check.”
I nod slowly. They didn’t expect this, any of it.
The clones weren’t supposed to be more than tools, but they're here and they have thoughts and feelings and choices.
And Samara can't accept it. Men ruined the planet, and she thinks it'll happen again.
Meanwhile Shara… Shara is grieving, in her own way.
Grieving for what they could have been, what they might mean to her if only the circumstances were different.
Shara glances at me. “They’re my responsibility, Laura. Whether or not they were created with intent, they’re still mine. And I’ll do whatever it takes to protect them. They deserve that much, at least.”
Samara snorts, folding her arms. “Protect them? They’re not children, Shara.
They’re fully-grown males with abilities.
Rage-induced strength, the ability to manufacture drugs inside their own bodies, mathematical genius minds.
It’s only a matter of time before they revolt.
They’re dangerous, especially in the numbers we have. And we need to remember that.”
But Shara shakes her head, her gaze steady. “Perhaps. But they’re also part of our culture now, Samara. Whether you like it or not.”
Here's my opening. “And societies need rules to follow. They have to be clear–”
“They are,” Samara interjects.
“And written down and tested,” I finish. “That's how a functioning legal system gets improved. We need to carefully define what's meant by each term.”
Samara’s lips purse. “That will take too long. The current system is effective.”
“But it's too harsh,” Shara protests. At least she's finally putting her cards on the table.
“What does it matter, when there's thousands of them?” Samara mutters.
“Would you think that way about your own?” Shara shoots back.
I can tell this argument isn't going to get us anywhere. They've been stuck like this for a while now, going round and round the same points.
“I think we should write into law ‘dangerous clones are euthanized’,” I say.
Shara’s eyebrows rise at me, but I ignore her, focusing on her sister.
“That is the spirit of the law in place, to use your term,” Samara says, guarded that I seem to be giving her a concession.
I lean back in my chair. “But what does ‘dangerous’ really mean here?"
The Prif echoes my body language, staring into her drink as she swirls it slowly. "It means exactly that. A threat. Someone, or something, that could destabilize what we’ve worked so hard to build."
I nod, keeping my voice steady. Don’t get too excited. "Right. But… if we’re going to use ‘dangerous’ as a reason to make life-or-death decisions, we need to be sure we’re defining it accurately. It can’t just be a feeling, right? We’re talking about facts, evidence—a clear standard."
Shara gives a small, almost imperceptible nod. "That would provide clarity, I suppose.”
“So, Samara, what makes one of the clones dangerous? Is it their strength? Their… skills? Or is it something deeper than that?"
Samara pauses, tapping her fingers on the table. Her gaze sharpens, and I can tell she’s carefully choosing her words. "Well, obviously, it’s different to strength or skill. We wouldn’t call a tool dangerous just because it's capable. It’s about control of the tool.”
There it is. I edge forward on my seat. "Control, yes. That makes sense. But control in what sense? Physical, mental…? Are we talking about obedience here, or…?"
Samara’s fingers tap a little faster. "All of it. A clone who refuses to listen, who defies authority or doesn’t respond to commands… that’s dangerous."
“Right. Okay. We can write that down.” I would, but I can't figure out their typing system.
Samara doesn't move either, so it's up to the All-Mother to fire up her pad and tap away. Then she flicks her wrist and symbols float in front of me and Samara, even though I can't understand them.
“So, control is the key.”
Samara nods. “If they cannot be controlled, they’re unpredictable. And unpredictability is a risk we cannot afford."
Shara nods as well, glancing at me with a flicker of understanding. "So… it’s not the clone’s strength, or even their abilities, that make them dangerous. It’s purely a matter of control. If a clone is controlled, then they’re safe. Correct?"
"Yes. If they’re controlled, they’re not dangerous." Samara’s expression tightens, her voice a little sharper.
“Controlled, okay. We'll need a definition of that, too,” I say.
Samara huffs. “How long is this going to go on, defining every single word?”
“As long as it takes. But I can work on some definitions if you like.”
“Yes, whatever.”
Got you. I keep my expression neutral, but my heart beats a little faster.
Shara glances at me, a subtle hint of approval in her gaze.
"So, to finish off ‘dangerous’ together, would you agree that as long as a clone willingly remains under control, they’re no threat? And there’s no reason to punish or exile them?"
Samara’s lips press into a thin line, realizing where this is going. But she’s already too deep to back out now. "…Yes. Technically. If they’re willingly compliant, and their abilities are understood and stable, then yes, they wouldn’t be considered dangerous."
I dip my head, maintaining my calm, diplomatic smile. "Thank you, Samara. I just wanted to ensure we’re all on the same page. This gives us a clear definition. Dangerous, in this context, means out of control."
"Fine. But don’t mistake this clarity for leniency, Laura."
I hold her gaze, my voice steady. "Of course not, Samara. But now we have something concrete to work with. Thank you for helping define it."
A tense silence settles between us, but the thrill of a small victory buzzes under my skin. Samara committed to a definition—something I can use to protect Dom. Her face tightens with barely concealed annoyance; she realizes it too.
Her manicured nails stop their tap. “Oh, now that's done. I forgot to mention earlier, Laura, that some of our best scientists would be delighted to study the mind-sync you've gotten tangled in. Perhaps related to the sync-cancelling technology we’re currently… testing.”
I swallow. Hard. “That's nice, but we can put a pin in that for now.”
“I'm sure they can come up with some kind of solution. Give you back the sanctity of your mind.” She gives me a sharp look.
“If I hadn't already seen how your fellow humans are, desperate to secure mates with clones, I might have thought you were being influenced by the Parthiastock’s mind control.”
“That's definitely not what's happening. All thoughts and opinions here are my own.”
“Hm. Still, makes me wonder. I think it will make the Voice in court wonder, too.”
“Are they who I have to convince in Dom's trial?” I ask.
“You'll need to convince all females that it's safe for a Parthiastock linked to a murder to walk around. This case will be broadcast far and wide.”
“Okay. No biggie. I can do that.” Zounds, I'm not a barrister, I do my best work here, behind the scenes, ironing out definitions and painting people into a corner with words, not presenting. I'm going to forget my own name when I'm up there.
I take a steadying breath. It'll be fine.
“Murder?” Shara’s mouth gapes. “Do you mean Katyen?”
“Unless you know of another murder,” Samara replies.
“But the clones were nowhere near her! Katyen was your staunch anti-clone ally, she wouldn’t have entertained clones within the same air-space as her.”
I hold up a hand to Shara. We’ve come so far, we can’t risk Samara lashing out and destroying what I so carefully built.
“I’ll see you in court. I’ll be bringing up the fact that Parthiastocks read his mind and uncovered his innocence in the trial, of course.
As well as the fact that he was interrogated last night. ”
“Yes. And I can supply records of the team’s movements, and Dom’s in particular,” Shara chimes in. “Circumstantial evidence will exonerate him.”
Yay for team Laura-Shara, but Samara looks like she’s going to blow.
“He might not have committed murder, but he allowed her death by not fulfilling their orders, and could be linked to her fate. She died of poison, Shara. A newly discovered poison from a planet these clones had visited, so there would be no chance of a cure.”
If I thought she was frustrated and bubbling before, now she’s boiling over.
“Now we've defined ‘dangerous’,” Samara says, eyes sliding to Shade crawling into my hands.
She stands, golden robes sweeping as she moves away.
“I’ve entertained this for long enough. This is a matter of national security, and I am the elected official here.
Shara may have her popularity and you might be fashionable, human, but I'm the only one with true power here.”
Her voice rings around the room, echoing. I cling to the arms of my seat so hard the metal creaks.
She’s bluffing. If she was the only one with power, she wouldn't entertain this trial at all.
But now’s not the time to call her on it. I keep my tone light. “We’ll let the data speak for itself. For what it’s worth, I’ve enjoyed our conversation.” My pants are probably engulfed in flames right now for the flagrant lie.
Samara’s face hardens, and Shara watches her intently, waiting.
“Good,” Samara finally says, leaning back, her smile icy.
I won’t let him down.
Samara smirks. “I hope you’re ready, human.”
Meeting her gaze without flinching. A flicker of warmth brushes my mind: the faintest connection to Dom through the mind-sync. He’s waiting for me, relying on me, trusting me.
“Don’t worry. I will be.”