Chapter 26 #2
Words boil up inside me as I storm back to my seat and hunker down in my comfy chair, words I want to scream, to throw at Shara and Samara and this whole mess.
But they won’t make a difference: I took my shot and blew it.
I wish I had Laura’s way with words, or Arabella's attitude against authority. Anything.
My eyes blur with tears. I can barely focus as the plenary begins again, the sea of competitors and questions blending into noise. Arture’s out there somewhere, but where? And is he still hurt?
There he is.
The moment he steps forward into the center of the atrium, my chest tightens. He’s still in the form of a Gerverstock, solid, broad, and muscular, but it’s him. It's in the way he moves, the determination in his stance even with a slight limp.
The crowd of females quiet down, then all start murmuring at once.
They're calling up information on their pads, scrolling through data.
A blonde female with pale gold scales on the row below me zooms into 3D images of his…
intimate anatomy, like I'd study an animal textbook. Except Arture’s cocks really don't look like that.
“Next, a Gerverstock.” The smooth voice of the announcer cuts through the crowd.
“Another one,” a pale gold female in front of me says, prompting a laugh around the room.
The announcer doggedly continues, “Perhaps someone would like to ask about his recent adventures?”
The females turn to their friends and continue their conversations, bored. What if they knew he’d been to Earth and abducted me?
I push the headphones Shara gave me against my head, as if I can squeeze myself into them and disappear. Fuck, I hate this, but it's a chance for him to back me up.
Rocketing from my seat, I shoot my hand into the air. “I’d like to ask a question.”
A hush falls, and all eyes turn toward me. My cheeks start to flame until I see Samara’s cold gaze. I keep my focus on the stage. She won't fucking get away with this.
The announcer nods. “The human female’s request is granted. Proceed.”
All eyes turn on me. Fuck, this is hard, and now I know exactly how the poor clones feel.
This is Arture’s chance to communicate what he needs to, as long as I feed him the right question. My words can't trigger his orders to protect and obey the Prif with slavish obedience, and they need to open a crack of doubt in Shara and the other women.
I can't mess this up.
Arture’s face turns to me, blank and flat. His shoulders, though, stand stark, bracing himself as if expecting an attack.
My heart aches for him. I clear my throat, my voice trembling, but steady enough to carry. “Hello,” I begin.
His leg trembles. He’s holding himself together as best he can, with spit and defiance. Even his right eye is dim. He’s being ridden hard with spurs toward some unknown purpose.
I know what to ask.
“If you could decide your own purpose… what would it be?”
My words ring around the atrium, and my heart pounds in the silence that follows. How much will he be able to say?
Tension ripples through him, starting at his hands clenching into tight fists, and traveling up to his shoulders and jaw. His chest rises and falls too quickly, like he’s gasping for air.
I wait. Come on, Arture. Challenge those thoughts.
“I…” His voice cracks. He exhales sharply, his right arm trembling at his side. “If I could decide… I would want to protect. Not because I was ordered to, but because it would be my choice.”
My chest tightens, my nails digging into my palms. “And are you free to protect now?”
There’s a collective murmur in the auditorium. The announcer says, “One question only, please, human female.”
I barely register her words, focused on Arture. The tension in his body is palpable, like he’s caught between worlds, torn in two.
His eye—his real one—meets mine. Everything else in the atrium fades. It’s just him and me.
“No,” he says, his voice low. “I’m not free.”
The room is silent, save for the rustle of robes and hushed murmurs. The announcer clears her throat. “Thank you, competitor. Please step back.”
Arture turns and limps away, and I can’t tear my eyes away from him. My chest aches with everything buried beneath his answer.
His words echo in my head, over and over, especially the way he said it. He doesn't think he can win this fight. I hate that he's shackled to his trauma. He dug alongside me, opening up, starting to work through it, but now he believes he's going to lose.
A surge of anger burns through me. He deserves better. He deserves to choose his own purpose, to be free, to decide what he wants for himself. I’m not just falling for him; I want to help him. He deserves a chance to live.
Here, on this alien planet, I need to do what I do best—champion those who don't have a voice.
That night, I find Shara in her study. She’s seated on a bench, her hands busy with her alien compupad, swiping in the air with her long silver fingers. She looks serene, rested. Triumphant. She thinks she's won the fight she’s spent years waging.
“Shara,” I greet her, trying to keep my voice even.
She glances up at me, smiling. “Nic-coal, did you need something? I have to step out to make arrangements for the jungle trial. Would you like to be involved?” Her smile fades at the look on my face. “What is it? What's happened?”
“It’s about… Arture.”
She places the screen on the bench beside her and folds her hands in her lap. “We haven't found him yet, I'm sorry, but I have clones looking everywhere they can think of.”
I sit down, though I don’t feel comfortable. My body is too tense. “No, I know where he is. He's a shapeshifter, remember? He came to the plenary as a Gerverstock.”
Shara's eyes harden. “That's not possible, Nic-coal.”
“But it is. I asked him his question during the plenary, I asked him if he’s free to protect now. He said no, he’s not free, and that's because Samara has orders burned into him, and he can't disobey.”
There’s no shock on her face. No alarm, no anger. Only a faint, weary sigh.
“Nic-coal,” she says gently. “No clone is truly free and, frankly… I can’t see how they'll ever truly be free.”
Her words hit me like a slap. “What?”
“They’re designed to obey orders,” Shara explains, her tone calm, as though she’s talking to a child. “Despite all the progress we’ve made with women allowing clones into society, perhaps even choosing them as mates, that part of them can’t be changed. It’s not just programming—it’s their nature.
“First, there's an inbuilt rule for safety. No clone can ever hurt a female. They just can't, it's like… flying, or breathing underwater for them. Then, they need to fulfil their purpose. Without it, they flounder. They need it.”
I stare at her, my stomach sinking. “You mean they’re still slaves.”
She shakes her head quickly. “No, they’re partners. They have more autonomy now than ever before. They can build relationships, find fulfillment in their fields and related ones. But… they’ll always have that framework of orders inside them. It’s how they were made.”
I clench my fists, trying to keep my voice steady. “And that’s enough for you?”
The warmth in her face fades, and I see Samara’s coldness mirrored in Shara's silver scales. “I’ve fought harder than you can ever imagine to get them this far. If you think I don’t care about them, then you don’t understand.
This is the best it can be. The alternative is far worse.
” She goes back to her pad, swipes sharper.
But I'm Nutty Nicole. I keep going. “So, that's it? You'll get them mates, but you won't help them with their mental shackles?”
“A compulsion to be useful and a good moral compass not to kill aren't shackles.”
“What about the exiles?” I counter. “Are they really chasing what they want? Ilia fought for so much.”
She shakes her head. “Trying to change them completely, to move beyond their conditioning, is going to hurt them. They'll be reaching for something that isn’t possible, and I won’t let that happen. I care about them too much to let them destroy themselves against the impossible.”
I stare at her. She and Arture agree it's impossible for him to break his conditioning, and Shara isn't going to help me even if he did come to her asking for help.
Shara’s convinced herself she’s protecting the clones, that a picket fence family is the best she can give them. But a fence is still a cage, no matter how beautiful it looks from the outside.
I stand abruptly, my chest tight. “You’re wrong. You don’t understand the clones, not really.”
She looks up at me, pity flickering in her expression, and I can't stand anymore.
I turn and walk away, homesickness pulling at me. I’m adrift in a system much bigger than me, so alien that I’m powerless. Samara is untouchable, Shara’s unwilling to see or properly help, and I don’t even know where Arture is right now. But I need to find him. I need to get him out of here.
And as I walk, my resolve hardens. I don’t know how yet, but I’ll find a way. I need to speak for them all. Arture deserves more than this, they all do, and I won’t stop until I figure out how to get it for them.
Wait. Yes.
Just as Samara said, I have to let the clones show their true scales.