Page 36 of Border Control
I ask, “Is this a problem? Will it invade the countryside?” Invasive species are no joke, but I do like this little succulent-spider plant hybrid.
“It won't spread, it cannot reproduce without another,” Ilia explains. “Unless you've brought more?”
Dom’s face remains stoic, void of betraying any of his inner thoughts. Funny how I had him expressive and panting just ten minutes ago, and now he acts utterly emotionless with his superior. “This is the sole sample. I only–” He stops himself, catching his breath and screwing his hands into fists. He’s pushing his nails into his palms, grounding himself on the pain. “I know we’re not supposed to have it. If you order me to destroy it, I will.”
I put my hand protectively over the plant’s, uh, ‘head.’ “If it's not a threat to life here, and if it doesn't eat anything except vibes, then I don’t see any problem,” I say.
“Correct, female.” Ilia’s lowered brows twitch. “If you are happy, it can stay.”
Dom’s jaw loosens with a click, fists relaxing.
Ilia folds his arms. “Now, have you got anything else hidden back there?”
“No, Ilia,” Dom rattles off.
I swear the edges of a smile tug at Ilia’s severe face. “Any more secrets?”
The back of my neck goes cold, but Dom doesn’t even falter. “No, Ilia.”
He just lied to his superior for me.
“Good.” Ilia turns to face me. “Oh-Law-rah, my mate El-len wishes to arrange a social event for the humans and the Olorian clones. All of you, gather round,” he addresses the others.
Arik gets up from the lean to, bringing a dreamy-looking Nevare with him to stand next to Dom by my car. The latter smiles softly at the plant in my hands, but when I offer it to him, he shakes his head. “Shade is content where they are,” he explains.
“Shade?” The spider-plant waves its tendrils. It knows its name. Right.
The pilot slinks behind the triplets, coming to stand beside Dom, but he doesn’t look happy about it. His face is covered with a beard now, and I’m sure he got more muscled since they crash landed. Manual work seems to agree with him.
I keep hold of the moving plant as Ilia hands out orders. “El-len is arranging a pete-za part-tay, and we will watch documentaries projected from Gara’s wand inside a tent. It must be the most perfect event for her,” he says sternly. “Dom, Arik and Nevare are in charge of erecting the tent. Arture, you will assist Gara with the projection technology.”
The triplets thump their fists to their chests, and Arture gives him a neat salute.
“I’ll leave you to it,” I say, trying to pass Shade back to Dom.
Dom’s purple hands rise to cup mine, stopping just short of brushing my knuckles. “If it’s not inconvenient for you, Law-rah, would you keep them with you? I don’t want them to go missing again.” His gaze slides to Nevare, his responsibility as well as his brother. It’s clear there’s love underneath the gruff concern.
“Just this once,” I caution.
His face lights up like I gave him a million pounds. “Thank you, truly. I’ll repay my debt.”
I find myself smiling in return, but as I grab my laptop bag, I shake these warm thoughts away. Playtime is over. It's back to work.
I hunchover the kitchen table, laptop open, papers spread like a storm surge, trying to pin my focus on the screen. The inquest looms over me, a literal mountain we need to climb to win, and “being prepared for everything” doesn’t come with neat instructions. Do I read through the witness statements again? Draft additional opening arguments? Memorize more precedents? All of it feels essential, so I flick from one document to another, heart stuttering every time I realize how little progress I’ve made.
A crash echoes from the garden. My head jerks up, pulse spiking, fingers tightening around my pen until it threatens to snap. Ellen’s probably got them setting up her tent to protect against the risk of showers at the party tonight. Rationally, I know that, but my body’s already braced as if the noise means disaster. My stomach knots, mouth dry, palms slick.
Another thump. My mind betrays me, painting Dom out there in the yard, hauling ropes, muscles straining, sweat glistening down his scales. I shake my head hard, pushing my hair back out of my face.Not now. Focus.But the thought sticks, a burr under my skin.
I chew at the inside of my cheek, dragging my eyes back to the screen. I’ve already wasted the morning. That means double effort this afternoon. No, triple. If I don’t, the victims pay for it. Two hundred and eight carers branded criminals. If I screw this up, they lose everything, all because I couldn’t concentrate.
My chest tightens, breath shallow as I scroll too fast, trying to absorb every line, every detail at once. Another bang from outside rattles the windowpane, and my pen scratches across the page, underlining words that blur together. The ink smudges under my palm as if mocking me. Focus. Work harder. Work faster. Be ready. Whatever “ready” even means.
Shade sits quietly next to my travel mouse, little fronds gently reaching out, prodding the screen, tapping the rim of my coffee mug, nudging at the rollerball with patient curiosity. I brush them back once, twice. On the third time, they fold their fronds in tight.
Are they sulking?
After another maddening call with Morgan, I shove my headphones off with a grunt. My eyes sting. My stomach flips as if it’s swallowed too much acid. Beside me, Shade waves their legs in jerky little motions, almost agitated. The green of their foliage looks darker now, less soft.
