Page 112 of Border Control
And then everything eases.
I take a huge gulp of air, then another, chest heaving. My stomach twists and I vomit, splattering the grill at my feet to drip down into the tank below.
Parthiastocks massage my throat and upper back, bringing feeling back to my limbs. One unchains me and I fall forward, shaking and staring into the watery abyss below the grate. My fingers curl around the metal.
I'm alive. Alive!
“New instructions,” the Apex intones.
The Base scans my chip. “Batch number 8774-3D0M.”
“Sentenced to exile, recovered today on Olorian soil,” the second base continues. “Re-sentenced to euthanization, now on trial for…”
“On trial for what?” I slowly turn my head, neck aching.
His eyes are cold, burning with righteous fury. “Murder.”
After they beat me,the Parthiastocks in the kill room hand me over to others who take me to a holding cell ready for the trial. These ones use their feet as well as their fists.
Protesting my innocence would be futile. I focus on maintaining the shield against Law-rah, protecting my female. Each time their blows rain down, I harden my scales and curl tighter around my mental room.
It's the only thing I have left.
When I wake up, I'm in a dark room, but as soon as I regain consciousness they're back and start all over again. This time when they're through, they drag me out and hang me by the chains on my wrists, leaving me to dangle above a cold mirrored floor.
I try to ground myself in it. The lashes I used to make Arik give me were nothing like these beatings. They were precise, controlled, a sharp slice to focus me. This abuse isn’t precise, it’s everywhere, and too much to handle.
My reflection is thrown back at me from all sides; a purple, black and blue Parthiastock with cracked scales. Half dead, and deserving to be. Blood drips below my feet until my nanites kick into gear and start to heal me.
I can't fault their anger. I'd be angry too if a clone had murdered a female. It's the first order, one that's ingrained in us.
“So I can't have done it,” I murmur. It's part of my DNA, part of my genetic legacy, I can't physically harm a female. It's impossible. “I'm innocent.”
The Voice won't see the conflict between my coding and my actions. I'll be used to demonstrate clones are dangerous, and then our lives will be placed under even harsher restrictions.
Well, theirs will be. I'll be executed.
The betrillium chains cut into my wrists. My nanites heal the wound when I shift position, but the unyielding metal continues to carve into the new location. Cut, heal, cut, heal, an endless cycle.
I want to sink into it to center me, but it's not Law-rah. I want her. I want her breath on my back, her nails on my chest, her touch running up my scales.
My lungs stretch, my torso tight as I'm pulled apart by my own weight.
I don't want this.
‘Law-rah.’I hate to reach out to her, but as the last thread of golden joy in my life, I need her.
‘Dom! At last, you've been shielding. You're far too good at it.’
‘Thank you.’Just hearing her voice eases the pain of my false accusation.‘Why am I accused of murder?’
‘It was the only way I could get you a trial. I'm sorry, but I'll get you off, I promise.’
‘Get me off? Orgasm?’
A faint ping of amusement rings through her.‘That'll make for an interesting day in court. I meant, get you an acquittal.’
That won't happen, but my determined little female is adamant. I can feel her rifling through a compupad as she speaks to me, her mind busy absorbing information and constructing a case.
