Page 108 of Border Control
And it feels wrong.
The base’s Apex scans my mind, brushing against the edges of my thoughts with cold detachment. I can't hide anything from him, but I try, locking down on the connection with Law-rah, shoving it inside my mental room and standing in front of the door.
‘What are you hiding?’He blasts inside, forcing me back easily, but I still hold on with the mental edges of my fingertips.
He stiffens.‘An… anomaly.’
Law-rah. He's seen her.Drok na,she's mine. I clench my teeth, but it's no use.
I lean into the garrote, thrumming against my pulse. “If you euthanize me, there's a chance it might affect the human female who's become tangled in my mind sync. If my shields fail, please, put one up for me. Guard her from any backlash.”
His hardened eyes narrow slightly. For a moment I see what Nevare could have become. If I hadn't been injured, he'd be the one reading the minds of condemned criminals as the final failsafe, learning if they know anything of use at the last moments of their life. Nevare could be here now, me beside him, supporting him in this horrible work.
He inclines his head. “I'll protect her,” he croaks, as if he hasn't used his voice in cycles.
“Thank you.” There’s no use in begging, no point in fighting anymore. Even though I want to live, it's not right. I've broken too many laws, been too selfish. I've failed my purpose, and I deserve to be disposed of.
I steady my breath, the silence around me profound, and I do the only thing I can. I wrap myself close to the connection withLaw-rah, then throw it into my room and lock it. If I press hard, I should be able to shield her from the pain that’s about to hit me. My last action as a Base will be to protect her from what comes next.
The hoop begins to whir, tightening inch by inch.
I close my eyes.
TWENTY-SEVEN
LAURA
The grand hallof Samara’s fortress gleams with smooth cream-colored walls, lined with bright Olorian flora glistening under golden-hued lights like a perpetual sunset. Dozens of women gather, laughter and chatter filling the room like the scent of their perfume.
And all I can think about is Dom. He's awake and fighting, but he keeps blocking me out. I can't reach him no matter how much I try. Dom, silent as he stands next to me. Dom, keeping all my secrets. Dom, tirelessly helping me try to learn how to modulate my mental voice, enduring my frustrations. Dom, working so hard for everyone else around him, taking their pain. Taking my discomfort, small and large. Taking me as I am and accepting me, all of me, the workaholic along with the wreck.
I can’t lose him.
Holding myself back from marching over to Samara and giving her the Morgan treatment is the hardest thing I've ever done. I've got to leash my anger and use it like a scalpel, not a sledgehammer.
Samara glides through the crowd, regal and self-assured in her bastion. The cluster of friends around her erupt in laughterat something she’s said. They definitely look at Samara as a leader.
But I know a leader can be swayed. People like her, like Morgan, have power because others allow them to have it. So, I need to make Samara give in to their demands.
The only way I'm going to save Dom is the only way I know how: attacking from the legal standpoint.
I make my way over, plastering a calm smile on my face as I join the circle of women. Samara acknowledges me with a slight tilt of her head, amusement glimmering in her eyes as if she knows exactly why I’m here.
“Prif Samara,” I say, “it seems Dom is on his way to the Euthanization Center.”
Chatter halts briefly, but then resumes. Perhaps this is normal dinner party conversation: the weather, latest scientific advances, and a nightly bulletin on how safe they are based on the kill count of clones.
Samara’s small, condescending smile looks absolutely slappable. “Of course. When a clone is guilty, we don’t waste time.”
“Interesting. On our world, we have a principle of proving guilt beyond a reasonable doubt. Evidence, witnesses, a fair process. I’m sure Oloria values fairness as well?”
A ripple of interest passes through the women listening, and a few of them nod.
Samara’s smile tightens. “He is guilty. Returning from exile is a crime, and the punishment is clear. There’s no need for ‘reasonable doubt’ in this case, either. He’s just a clone.”
I press my lips together, biting back a retort. Dom has proven to me, over and over, that he’s more than they give him credit for. Samara knows that, and she's so desperate to protect the status quo she'll ignore it. Maybe some of these women know theclones are capable of more, but now isn’t the time to argue that particular fight. I have to dismantle her step by step.
“I think it's a waste.”
