Chapter 19 #2
“Only a lot, but I’ve contained the pain for now.” I give her a reassuring smile. Passengers like to be reassured. “We need to go.”
“Go? Go where?”
“Why, Oloria, of course.” Cocking my head, I assess the chances of her interfering with the mission to be extremely high. She’s alluring, and I’ve slipped into entertaining the idea of setting aside my mission for her once, but the Prif’s command presses into me, overriding any whisper of longing.
I step outside her room and, with a flick of my wrist, shut her door.
As it slides down, she tumbles from the bed, unbound hair trailing behind her. “Wait. Stop–”
The door slams into place, silencing her, and I lock it by scanning my chip. There. One passenger, ready for transport.
I have to do this. There’s no questioning anymore, no chance of resisting. I got Ilia arrested. I sabotaged the ship. Pain lances into me just thinking about it. Nic-coal will be safe, at least, and I cling to that belief as I betray her too.
The ship hums with potential as I make my way through the lounge to the cockpit, almost as if I can feel the energy in its veins as it refuels.
The central pillar flashes in time with my rapidly beating hearts as I press my hand against it and sense how ready the ship is.
It would be a deep connection that goes beyond mathematics and gauges, if I allowed myself to entertain such a thing.
Real Pranastocks get so mentally tangled with their ship, it’s almost as strong as a mating bond.
This ship feels ready to fly, but it’s still protocol to check the read outs to calibrate them against my unreliable feelings.
I punch up the computer’s central processor, absorbing a wealth of information in one blink.
She’ll fly and fly well and, even though she’s not completely full, fuel levels are enough to reach Oloria.
Enough to follow the orders hammering against my skull.
Best of all, I drink in the information relating to our orientation on this tiny planet, and its place in this solar system.
Finally, I can run properly calibrated scenarios about my position relative to Oloria, particularly as my home planet moves in its elliptical arc.
If I’ve tracked time correctly, southern Oloria will be closest to our sun in the axial tilt, and it’ll be nearly perihelion.
I soak in more data about this planet and its current positioning to its star, but I’ll need more information about relative distance and trajectory to Oloria, information I can get from more advanced scanners.
And, because I’m a Pranastock, I can access and process that information while we’re taking off. Good.
I shut the ship doors, sealing us in, and run diagnostics, a quiet hum filling the empty hallways. Essential systems function within tolerance limits. Excellent.
Making my way to the cockpit at a pace of five human minutes a klick, I run my fingers along the smooth, warm wall. The ship’s systems are like its own metabolism, one running with computerized predictability and precision. Not like clones. Not like humans, even pretty ones.
Flying down the corridor at a steady 15 knots is the tiny horse Blood Feather, maintaining a height just under 5 feet and wings beating in a controlled rhythm as it adjusts its heading slightly starboard to avoid the bulkhead.
He tosses his pale sandy head in my direction.
This is a conundrum. “All lifeforms are to be secured for takeoff,” I tell him severely, lunging at just the right moment to intercept him, pulling the horse into a controlled stop and bringing his velocity to zero without disturbing his fragile wings.
“If you got hurt, Nic-coal would be very angry.”
She probably is very angry right now.
I stop dead. Constant calculations can’t suppress the ache in my chest; there are cracks there, widening with every passing second.
I can’t do it.
I have to do it. I have no choice.
Before I can second guess myself, I run to the cockpit, Blood Feather in hand.
I set the coordinates and initiate the takeoff sequence.
The engines rumble to life, a low, steady sound that fills the silence.
I don’t even need to touch the yoke; the autopilot can handle everything in this basic atmosphere.
The ship lifts smoothly, water fountaining from the pipework we worked so hard to put together as we rip free.
The craft rises in the air a mere two feet before flooding across the flattened space our ship occupied for the last few weeks, drowning the pool I made for Nic-coal.
What a waste of time that was, which could have been better spent maintaining the ship.
Blood Feather nickers in my hands. I’m trembling. How strange. And as the ship rises away, there’s something cold on the scales of my cheek. A tear.
Nic-coal’s face flickers in my mind, her smile, her laughter, her warmth. All of it slipping away as the ship ascends toward the stars.
And for a moment, just one moment, I wonder if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life. But the Prif’s commands are relentless, to be obeyed without question. Take a female from another planet. Bring her to Oloria. See the Prif.
All I can do is obey.
Six hours in, a sharp chime cuts through the silence of space.
The reminder I set echoes in the cockpit, signaling Nic-coal will need food soon.
I suppress a sigh and stand, heading toward the small galley to prepare her something simple.
Seedcake will do. It requires minimal effort; I can put it on a plate and go, although I spend time perfecting the placement so it’s in the center, equidistant from all the edges.
Blood Feather investigates the plate and I shoo him away gently.
He follows me down the corridor, the tray heavier than it should be as I walk the eighteen steps to her quarters.
I don’t bother to hide my approach; I don’t want my passenger startled.
Part of me expects her to lash out, and I can’t blame her if she does.
If she attacks, I’ll endure it—her anger, her fists, anything. I deserve it, after all.
But I can’t let her interfere with the mission.
When I wave my forearm at the scanner and the door slides open, she’s waiting, perched on the edge of the bed. Her expression is calm, but her fingers toy with a small vial, passing it from one hand to the other.
A sedative. She’s ready to knock me out if she has to.
I put her food on the counter and lock the door behind me. The autopilot knows what to do for now and, really, a ten-hour nap would be a relief.
It would mean I wouldn’t have to keep feeling the twist of shame and regret.
“You have one opportunity to explain yourself,” she says, voice edged with steely resolve.
“It’s one more than I deserve,” I reply quietly, unable to meet her gaze.
“Are we going to Oloria?”
“Of course.”
“Why?”
“I can’t disobey my orders.”
She hisses out of her bared teeth. “But why? What do they want with me there?”
I shake my head. “I don’t know. You’ll be safe.”
“How do you know that?”
“Women are treasured there. Revered. You’ll be protected, praised, pampered.”
“But I don’t want to go. I want to go home.” Her voice hitches. “Arture, what’s going on? What hurt you when we… we were together?”
She can’t be trying to help me, not after this. Yet here she is, open and willing to understand.
I need to answer her, but the words clog up my throat. How can I explain to her the pull of orders when she’ll never experience something twisting her thoughts and causing her pain like this?
Except… she has.
“I can’t disobey my orders,” I explain. “When we made love, I let myself… imagine. A new future.” My head thumps, and I shove my traitorous thoughts back. “I cannot do that. I have orders to fulfil, and they come from the highest authority on our planet. To disobey is… unfathomable.”
“I’ve seen how your orders affect you. It looks horrible, Arture.
Talk to me, perhaps we can work something out.
” She approaches, and when Blood Feather flies over to her she holds out her hands for the tiny horse as if they’ve been together all their lives.
She puts him down on her bed, where the horse trots into the center, nosing for crumbs, while she keeps coming toward me, her arms as open as her heart.
This woman is impossibly generous, impossibly forgiving, but she can’t help me. No one can. I can’t let her close, not when I’m bound to something I can’t fight, so I have to push her away.
I shake my head. “There’s nothing anyone can do. Enjoy the ride. I’m at your disposal to service all your needs, from basic to carnal.”
Nic-coal’s near and getting closer, coming into the range of my arms. She’s so small, so helpless. No wonder she’s worried about being taken somewhere against her will, no matter how wonderful it will be for her.
She needs to know she’s safe, but I can’t play that role.
I’m no hero.
She points at me. “There. That face. What have you just thought about?”
“I had another awakening, but it’s nothing you need to worry about.” I’ll protect her from me, as well as from any other threat. “Do you want me to service you?”
Shock flickers across her face, a mixture of disbelief and hurt. The sting of it settles deep under my scales, but I distract myself with calculating the likely trajectories of the sedative should she choose to paste me in the face with it.
Her fingers graze my chest. Previously my scales would have shimmered and all my nerves would light up, but I clamp down on the impulse.
“Arture, are you in there?”
“I am the clone known as Arture, designation ALPH41-dash-S, and I have a mission.”
Frowning, she peers up into my face. Searching. “So you’ve unlocked something else, something new. That’s okay, it’s just another part of you. Our memories shape who we are, but they aren’t all we are. We can break free of the past, Arture. Let me help. Just keep talking to me.”
She tips her head back, her soft lips an invitation. She bares her throat to me far too easily.
I stroke a finger along her neck muscles, hovering over her fluttering pulse. She’s beautiful and she’s eager.
And if I let her hold on, she’ll try to save me when it’s impossible. So I have to sever her connection to me.
Ears ringing, I say, “Thank you for granting me your body. I enjoyed it immensely. But I belong to Samara, and I can’t disobey her. My life is hers to do with what she will.”
Her nails dig into my scales. “You aren’t thinking clearly. She threw you away. You’re worth more than that. Tell me you don’t want me to help, and I won’t.”
“I don’t want your help, female. I don’t want anything from you. Certainly not your care, attention, or… love.”
There. I said it, even as my chest twists painfully, guilt and self-loathing coiling tight within me. This isn’t optimal. I chose this body to escape from my emotions, but they’re coming in strong. The ringing in my ears sounds like screaming.
I’ll have to redouble my calculations to drown it out.
Her gaze sharpens. “You’re lying.”
Inwardly, I marvel at her perceptiveness. Nic-coal presses against my chest, and I brace myself, waiting for her to lash out. I want her to. Given the strength I’ve seen her exhibit, I start calculating what kind of impact force I can expect when she throws a punch.
But instead, her fingers grasp my chin, soft and warm. Her touch is gentle, unbearably so.
She looks up at me, eyes steady and full of compassion I don’t deserve, her voice shattering through the cold calculations “Arture, come back to me.”
Nic-coal. Nic-coal! I waver, hand reaching for her.
Blazing pain erupts in the right side of my head, radiating from my right temple, fierce and merciless, forcing every thought into oblivion.
I can’t breathe. I can’t even tell her how much I want to stay by her side, to find a way to be free with her.
Even thinking it causes my mechanical eye to throb.
“We’re going to Oloria,” I manage, my voice hollow and empty through the agony. It's what I deserve for rejecting her. She’s better off without me.
I push her an arm’s length away from me and leave the room, just as the last pieces of my hearts crumble.