Page 123 of Border Control
I’m cut off. Isolated. Not only am I destined to die, but I’ll die alone.
As I’m led out of the dim holding cell of the transport into the open, a galaxy of faces greets me. Clones. Hundreds of them, crowding the exterior of the courtroom where Ilia was sentenced. This is a trial for a new crime, of course they’re here, their expressions a medley of fear and… something that looks a little like hope.
They watch me in silence, eyes tracking my every movement. A few of them look away, as if unable to bear the sight, but most hold their gazes steady. Magirustocks in aprons, Lautustocks with biohazard masks around their necks, Selthiastocks glowing green. The Gerverstocks and Pranastocks are probably all deployed exploring and flying to distant worlds, but Parthiastocks line the streets ready to keep order. I don’trecognize individuals, but we’re connected all the same, bound by the same genetic code and destiny.
For them, I’m more than just a condemned clone—I’m a test. Or an example.
Whatever happens to me today will ripple through every clone’s life outside these walls. Now I know how Ilia felt.
My Parthiastock guards drag me forward, and I lurch, my legs not working properly. They’ve healed, but they’re still sore. Every step aches as they drag me toward the courtroom. Just as Ilia was, I’ll be disposed of, but I can’t rely on the All-Mother to step in for me. Instead, Law-rah’s fighting for me.
Law-rah never treated me like something to be discarded. We negotiated together, my opinion as valuable as hers at shaping our time together.
I square my shoulders as best as I can with my wrists shackled, forcing myself to stand tall despite the weight pulling me down. Each heartbeat takes me closer to my death, but while I can’t control the outcome, I can control how I meet it.
I don’t look back at them as I’m ushered up the wide steps and into the mouth of the courtroom, but I feel their eyes follow me all the way.
Inside, vast walls disappear into shadow, tiered in an amphitheater and filled with luxury seating. Tiers upon tiers of women line the balconies, each one with her True Born mates—all flawless, carefully bred companions, sculpted and perfected. They’re not all watching me, but enough of them are that I can feel their gazes picking over my scales, measuring, judging. Assessing whether I’m dangerous or merely inconvenient.
Murmurs and whispers echo off the walls, conversations layered one on top of another. After the silence of my cell and in my head, it slams into me. I can’t focus on any conversation, the words lashing into me, as stinging as the veralash: murderer. Dangerous. Execution. Acid.
My scales harden. If my fate is to be slowly lowered into acid, I’ll need all my strength to withstand that until the end.
I stare at the floor underneath me. The transparent plasteek glows, the grid pulsing with a soft, electric blue light. Each footfall awakens a glow beneath me, highlighting my path like a beacon. Deeper still is a network of cables, nodes, and conduits, veins pumping data through the court’s body. As the light spreads, the whispers taper off, until I’m left with nothing but the sound of my own and my guards’ footsteps echoing through the chamber, loud in the tense silence.
A single pole rises from the center of the room, gleaming under the harsh white lights. My guards lead me there, holding firm onto my arms. I won’t resist them. I can’t fight this, no clone can.
Only Law-rah is courageous enough to try. Law-rah, who doubts her brilliance, when the very fact she’ll fight for me means everything. Where is she in this courtroom? I try reaching out to the bond only to meet the wall of the collar, empty silence ringing in my mind.
The Parthiastocks holding my arms stop me at the pole, then turn me around. With brisk efficiency, they unlock the chains between my shackles and pull my hands behind me, relocking them in place. The pole is cold against my back, an unyielding surface behind me. I’m pinned, secured, and when I test the chains, they hold firm. My hearts beat louder, the cold metal biting into my wrists.
With a push of a button, a golden hoop spools out from the top and lowers, passing over my face to hover around my neck.
This is where it ends, in a glaringly bright island of silence in the center, put on full display. All those eyes are on me now, their scrutiny boring into me. The light blinds me, making the audience hazy, their intense gaze inspecting every scale, demanding answers.
I clamp down on the surge of panic, latching my fingers together, pretending it’s Law-rah touching my hands. Even though inside is turmoil, I project strength, calm, composure. If this is the last thing I do, I can at least show Law-rah this: the strength she gave me through teaching me another way to find peace.
A door slides open, and the crowd collectively holds its breath. A figure enters—regal, composed, and imposing. The Prif. Her robes are deep indigo, threaded with gold that glints as she moves, as if the galaxy itself drapes around her.
The entire room shifts, every gaze turning toward her. Her eyes land on me, and my chains feel heavier, colder with a single glance.
When she finally speaks, her clear voice rings through the chamber. “Today, a Parthiastock is on trial for the murder of our colleague and companion, Katyen Al Aura. As one of my closest and dearest friends, her loss is a keen wound which will never heal, not only for me, but for our society. Her techniques for genetic manipulation were second only to the All-Mother of the clones themselves, but used to assist us instead of pose an existential threat to it.”
She levels her accusing finger toward me. “This clone will be tested in a new manner. In accordance with the… fashion for humans, I have agreed to try this clone in the manner of the humans from Earth. This will test our laws and prove how robust they are, even when we use a different method to determine guilt.”
The audience murmurs at that, a wave of anticipation rustling through the tiers as they lean forward to hear, eyes gleaming with interest.
The fact the Prif entertains another way of proving me guilty must be Law-rah’s doing, carefully maneuvering the Prif into her own territory. Clever.
But where is Law-rah?
The Prif steps forward, her gaze unflinching, and I brace myself.
She begins, "This clone is guilty, and should be euthanized. Our dear Katyen Al Aura was failed by a crew of clones who did not obtain useful materials to save her. They were sentenced to exile, but this clone returned, a crime punishable under our laws by death.
“Moreover, evidence we have recently recovered points to Katyen being murdered.”
A shocked murmur ripples through the gallery.
