Chapter 31 Laura
THIRTY-ONE
LAURA
We were so close. Dom was nearly voted innocent, and then Samara opened her mouth. I want to scream at her to shut up before she ruins it, before whatever she says causes the females to rethink.
The vaulted ceiling above us pulses with low ambient light, the kind that’s supposed to calm nerves. It does the opposite. The air tastes recycled, tinged with metal and tension.
Dom stands bound to the execution pole, arms shackled behind him, scales dulled with exhaustion, sweat glinting at his temples.
He’s silent, breathing shallow. I can’t feel him through the mind-sync, only a blank fuzzy sound, muted like a broadcast under water.
Shade wriggles in my pocket, my emotional support plant reaching out for him too.
Samara turns to me, hands folded, her voice smooth as polished glass. “Since you like evidence so much, Law-rah,” she purrs, “I hope you'll enjoy this.”
Raising her voice, she says to the assembled females, “These clones were meant to be mindless servants, little more than robots and less valuable. They are compliant, for now. The human helped me to enshrine in our laws that dangerous clones should be euthanized. We came up with a definition: a dangerous clone is one who does not willingly submit… or whose abilities are not understood or unstable.”
Where’s she going with this? I fight the urge to back up, to put myself in front of Dom. Whatever she’s up to, it feels like a serious threat.
Wait. Abilities.
Samara gestures into the air. Holographic data streams rise from the dais at the center of the courtroom, faster than I can follow. My chest tightens like a rachet, as if each line of data wraps around my own throat.
“These are charts and records of this clone’s brainwave signatures and psychic responses all measured via Sanitatum. All show 3D0M’s past test results: well within Base tolerance. Average. Unremarkable.”
A murmur rustles through the tribunal, females peering at the data and also looking non-plussed.
“Well within tolerance,” Samara repeats. “Until now.”
More Shade plants are wheeled in by purple Parthiastocks, three thin living walls full of them. Each plant rests in the wall itself, light moving smoothly in slow trickles surrounding them. Their tendrils wave, twirling toward the Parthiastocks bringing them in.
The clones set the walls around Dom, and the plants turn to him as if he’s the sun, fronds flaring like sea anemones struck by current. They surge, growing new vines, some even blooming bright pink flowers.
And Dom’s scales drain of color as he stares at them.
“What’s happening?” I ask him.
He doesn’t answer.
“What are you doing to him?” I fume at the Prif.
“Collecting data,” Samara says with a smirk.
New lines leap onto her graphs, way higher than before. Gasps echo around the courtroom.
Samara raises her voice. “This unremarkable Base is unstable. That is Apex-level psychic radiation. No Base has ever done that. He’s becoming something else. Something dangerous. And as the human has kindly defined for us, dangerous clones must be euthanized.”
Shit. She played me. I thought I’d been winning, but all I did was score tiny, insignificant victories. Samara had this nuclear bomb in her pocket this whole time, and I helped her fire it.
It’s happening again. No. Just like with Dad, the system turns, crushing an innocent underneath its heavy wheels.
And I can’t do anything against it.
“Law-rah.” Dom’s voice, a quiet croak, hardly audible under the furor of the crowd.
I turn to face him. I said I’d keep him safe. Instead, I handed the Prif the means to destroy him. I look into his eyes, prepared to absorb his shock, his disgust, his hatred. It would be a pale shadow of how much I hate myself right now.
When I meet his eyes, all I see is pride. “I am a Base, Law-rah. That’s all I am. Leave me behind, and know you did everything you could.”
I protest, “You’re not just a—” Ah. Ah!
Pulling the wriggling Shade out of my pocket, I hold them up. The females’ attention swings to me. “Observe this,” I say, walking away from Dom. ‘Bitch,’ I add to Samara, shoving the mental message across as hard as I can.
Shade reacts to me, feasting on my anger, fear and shame. He writhes just as much as the Sanitatums surrounding Dom, tendrils flaring, drinking in the ambient storm.
I look directly at the Prif. “This plant is still feeding, and it’s not near Dom anymore.
It’s not him alone, it’s us. Our connection.
And I do recall, as I’m sure you do, we clarified that a clone who willingly submits, whose abilities we understand, is not dangerous.
I understand his—our—abilities. And he submits to me. ”
Prif Samara’s face tightens. She wasn’t expecting that, but now we’re both on shaky ground trying to win over the whole society.
Whispers reach me across the bare platform. “A female in a mind-sync?” “Fascinating!” “I wonder what it feels like?”
I press my lips together. Right now, without his voice inside my head, his steady reassuring presence, it feels horribly empty. Just me, and my endless cycle of anxiety.
Looking over at him, tied to a stake, head held high with a garrote above the metal collar encircling his throat, my thoughts spin. But seeing his soft smile, just for me, steadies me.
He really is my Base. I thought I was helping him out; turns out, all this time, even before the mind-sync, he was helping me.
I move back to Dom and the surrounding Sanitatums, forcing my fingers to stay still. If only I could take his hand; it would help us both.
“Nevertheless.” Samara’s voice booms over the excited murmur of the crowd. Bitch can project like a Shakespearean actress. “This is unprecedented, yes. An exiled clone who has caught a female in the mind-sync, a condition she wants reversed. The remedy is simple—”
“You’re not killing Dom just to get me free!” The objection fires from my trembling lips, clear despite how much I’m shaking. I can’t get overwhelmed now, I can’t have a panic attack. I can’t fail him.
Dom glances at me, eyes warming as he whispers, “Law-rah. It’s alright.”
“No, it’s not alright. I don’t want to be free if that’s the only way.”
His eyes flash, a small frown dipping his brows. “Truly?”
That does the trick, pushing me from panic to exasperation. “Dom, I regret ever coming here. I want you in my head. We’ll work on the mind-sync, we’ll figure it out.”
He slowly shakes his head as much as he’s able with a collar and loop keeping him pinned to the pole. “It was hurting you, Law-rah.”
He’s cool and calm except for how tense his arm muscles are, biceps, triceps and forearms standing firm. Inside, he’s probably a mess.
Like me.
“We have a stipulation,” another female voice rings out.
A light glows on the speaker, glinting on the ruby scales of the redhead, Samara’s frenemy, the Voice.
“Prif Samara, you are correct that a risk-averse approach is the safest, and murder must be punished most severely. Especially if a clone is the perpetrator.”
No. Screw all court decorum: I snatch Dom’s arm, holding on tight. A soft murmur leaves his lips, scales flowing under my hand.
“However, Human Laura is also correct, pointing out that this clone in particular has not been implicated in any murder. Moreover, his abilities are interesting. What is the mind-sync doing for the female?”
“He is likely mind controlling her,” Samara says cooly.
“I’m not being mentally coerced or controlled, I’m in control,” I snap.
“Are you?” Samara looks me up and down.
I am. I am. Shade lashes the air, feeding on the storm seeping from me, telegraphing the lie. I’m about to lose it and go full Morgan on this bitch.
The Prif’s eyes never leave mine, boring into me.
I point at my own face. “I’ve got blue eyes, Dom’s are purple. I’ve seen when one of them takes over, and their eyes change color.” The way Dom’s went blue when he came to hurt Morgan.
That really was me. I made him do that.
The Voice nods. “We wish to test the Parthiastock’s control, confirm he is still able to do what he needs to do to protect us. Let us administer the Base loyalty test.”
Dom stiffens all over, scales hardening.
“Dom? What is that?”
He doesn’t answer.
The double doors at the end of the courtroom groan open.
Six Parthiastocks enter, a hush settling over the room like a held breath.
Just like Dom, Nevare and Arik, they’re in threes, but two of each trio physically support the middle ones to walk.
The ones between are thin, frames hunched over.
Their scales flake, dull instead of Dom’s iridescent sheen, shedding in patches like brittle leaves in the fall.
One of them drools as he’s made to walk toward us.
Their eyes, though, are the worst: clouded, twitching, wide-eyed in terror. Nothing like Nevare’s.
My heart twists at the sight of them. They look broken, faded and worn down to the bone. I ache for them, these clones who were once like gods—and now shuffle forward like ghosts.
One of them stops in front of Dom, head bowed. A Parthiastock Base stands behind him, directing gently with a touch to the back of his neck. “You are to administer the Base loyalty test,” the Base says softly.
The Apex nods once and reaches out to Dom.
Dom presses his lips shut, but this close, I can see he’s biting down on them. As if trapping in a scream.
“What’s this test? What are you going to do to him?” I demand.
The Voice answers me. “This is a psychic simulation to test 3D0M’s ability to do what needs to be done, should it be required.”
“That answered nothing.” I storm in front of him. “Don’t touch him.”
The other Parthiastock Bases level steady looks at me. “Regrettably, female, we cannot comply. We will each administer ten veralashes to one another as punishment.”