Page 107 of Border Control
I stumble, clutching my head as pain crashes over me in waves.
An Apex stands just beyond my reach, his gaze cold, wielding psychic power like a chain tightening around my skull. I brace, clenching my teeth, trying to lock the pain toward me, collecting it to myself. I back up into my mental room, carrying it all with me to shield Law-rah from the edges of the scream. The agony swells, overwhelming, forcing me to my knees.
The Parthiastocks seize the opportunity. Cold betrillium metal snaps around my wrists, shackles biting into my skin. They haul me to my feet, dragging me forward while the Apex’s mind crushes down on mine, keeping me pinned. I’m pulled toward the Center, unable to resist, my steps stumbling and weak as we cross the threshold inside.
It’s over; clones who go into the Euthanization Center don't come out.
The Center thrums with mental despair, fear swirling in clouds spiked through with anger, loss, anguish. Lines of clones ahead shuffle forward, chains rattling, their heads bowed, their eyes empty. Blank faces, devoid of life, marching toward the end. The mental torment only increases as the Parthiastocks march me for earlier processing, and two of them near the back are uncoupled to make space for me.
Harsh metal snaps around my neck, pressing tight against my scales, my shackles connected to the collar of the clone in front. My own collar is attached to the fists of the clone behind, so if we struggle, we hurt each other.
Now I’m part of a procession. The line of clones moves in increments, the solemn march broken only by the soft clink of chains. Every eight Earth minutes, we shuffle forward. The rhythm of death—the time it takes to position a clone, check their chip, confirm their fate, and carry out the sentence. Each slow step marks another clone’s death ahead of us, our own marching closer.
Catching my breath is impossible amongst the waves of fear and despair. Harsh-faced Parthiastocks monitor the lines. I know these Parthiastocks are just fulfilling theirroles, carrying out orders, but this is mental torture for them, too. The work wore us down, knowing as each hour passed, many lives had ended. Unless these Parthiastocks have stronger mental rooms than I do, locking themselves away completely, they’re suffering.
I glance to my left, spotting one clone who’s been manacled tighter than the others, his wrists bleeding against the restraints. His face is blank, hollowed out. There’s nothing left in him but obedience to this final, grim order.
I don't want Law-rah to see this. I lock down inside my room, pushing out a shield against the choking clouds threatening to drag me down. I sense her flicker back, a warm spark, but it’s distant, barely there.
I'll protect her.
The clone in front is dragged forward by the inevitable, and I have no choice but to step up. I stop myself from reaching out for Law-rah again. If this is the end, I want her to be free of me at last and not feeling any remorse.
Tears press behind my eyes, burning.
Here, at the end of my life, I can admit to myself I've always wanted her. Deep inside my mental room, I look at my ugly secret: I’ve been tempted to abandon my role as a Base just to have her to myself.
I failed Nevare by allowing myself to become conflicted, torn between love and my duty. Clones aren’t meant to feel love, not give it, let alone receive it. I deserve this end.
Step by step, the chains pull me forward with a slow, inevitable weight. Each inch brings me nearer to the end, the final door waiting at the front.
The clone ahead shuffles forward. I watch as Parthiastocks come from the room ahead, uncouple the collar from his neckand lift it high to loop over a hook just outside the door. The chain stretches my arms up and forward, as if I’m reaching for the cameras at the top of the portal. They lead him inside, and the door blocks close in after them with faint clicks.
I’m next.
The collar around my neck tightens as the clone behind me hangs back. It presses against my scales at my throat, a prelude to what’s coming, a fate I can’t ignore, can’t escape.
We stand there for long, interminable heartbeats. The longest and shortest 480 human seconds of my life.
The door unravels open and a Base unhooks the chain to my wrist shackles, not looking me in the eyes. Another unshackles the clone behind me to separate me and the first pulls me after him, into the euthanization room.
The space inside is small, made of thick metal walls reflecting my purple scales. The Base leads me to the center of the cell to stand over a grate, pushing my back against a single pole, a golden hoop hovering at the top. At least a robot will choke the life out of me, sparing a fellow clone the emotional cost.
The Base unchains my hands only to put them behind me, wrapping betrillium links tightly around my wrists, securing me in place.
I don’t struggle. It's not his fault. He's just fulfilling his orders. Law-rah asked me for time, but we're out of it now.
It's best if I just slip away. I'm a failure of a base to Nevare and Arik, and I failed Law-rah's non-negotiable number one.
I want her for myself.
Above me, a robotic hoop of golden metal descends slowly, a device engineered for one purpose. It circles my neck, humming softly as it prepares to tighten.
Another base steps forward, scanning my arm, his voice monotone as he reads it out. “Batch number 8774-3D0M.”
“Sentenced to exile, recovered today on Olorian soil. Re-sentenced to euthanization,” the first base says out loud.
It’s procedure to them, another day of disposing of clones who failed. Like me.
