Page 28 of Exiles on Earth
I expected this. Even though I’m a leader-type clone and designed to operate with other clones, I’ve chosen this varied crew. Parthiastocks have an unique psychic ability, which makethem excellent enforcers, but it comes at a cost. Their function is to keep checks on all clones. Undying loyalty to Olorian females is bred into them, and Dom, as the strongest Base in their partnership, exemplifies all the issues with that.
If we can’t fulfill our purpose, we falter.
“Are you challenging me for leadership, Dom?” I know he doesn’t want to, he’s aware he won’t be effective as a leader, but his instincts push him to establish a hierarchy with the strongest in charge. I’d hoped to delay it until tomorrow, when I have a chance to heal, but I’m aware what mental torture it is for Dom to exist without clarity.
It’s the same agony I experience when my crew need me, and I can’t help them.
In answer to my question, he throws a punch. I dodge, grabbing his wrist and twisting to use his energy against him. He goes down hard and I wince. I didn’t even use Gerverstock strength; he’s also sub-optimal from the crash.
Rolling to his feet, Dom tackles me, wrapping his arms around my midsection. I fall back a pace before I find my feet and shove back, keeping us away from El-len’s esoteric piles of plasteek and wood-bark derivatives. I don’t want to tip those over; it might displease her.
And I don’t want to anger the tiny female with her hidden strength. Her eyes were tired, yes, but also burdened with something that speaks deep inside me, chiming for my own responsibilities as a leader.
Grabbing Dom’s wrists, I force his arms to open out of their death grip. His head and shoulders shove into my gut, but I scaled up, so his head plate clangs against the rock-hard armor. With a twist, I pin his forearms behind him, shove him to the ground, and sink my teeth into the back of his neck.
As soon as he goes still, I sit up, staunching the wound. “Where are you hurt?”
“Everywhere,” Dom says, a dreamy quality to his voicewhich reminds me of their Apex. Arik and Nevare’s eyelids flutter as Dom’s bliss at being dominated spreads across their mind-sync. “My thanks.”
Fortunately, he’ll be fine, and that’s another crisis taken care of. Exhaustion crawls up my limbs, dimming my vision before I push it back. I need to check on one more crewmate.
The Pranastock pilot Arture had remained at the edge of El-len’s lean-to, not even glancing over his shoulder at the fight. The sky continually weeps, beading on his betrillium colored gray-blue scales and seeping into his mechanical right arm and eye. His shoulders hunch against the drizzle while he scans the cloud-choked sky. He’s looking for stars, trying to orient himself, but there’s nothing but clouds, endless gray, a shroud that hides every point of light he needs to feel grounded. His breath fogs the air in small, sharp bursts, tension winding tighter in the rigid line of his back.
I approach quietly, not wanting to startle him. He doesn’t turn, but his head tilts slightly to let me know he hears me.
“You should rest,” I say, though I already know what his response will be.
“I can’t. If I can’t map where we are, I can’t calculate where we need to go. If I can’t calculate, I’m no use to you.”
His words hit like Dom’s blow to my chest. He thinks he’s failing me. If only he knew how deeply I feel the opposite—that I’m failing him. Failing all of them. I chose each of them for the potential I saw inside them, wanting a motley crew rather than sticking to Gerverstocks like myself. They put their fate in my hands. My crew needs direction, guidance, stability, and I’ve given them nothing but blind survival.
“You are not useless,” I say firmly, but he doesn’t even acknowledge my words.
His dark eyes remain locked on the heavens, searching for something that isn’t there. “I’ll stay up and keep watch. There must be a clearing. A break in the clouds. If I can estimate howlong we’ve been here and cross-reference that with potential star systems…”
The strain in his voice, the fraying threads in his composure, rip at me. Arture was bred for precision, for answers, for direction. His mind is a machine fine-tuned to find solutions, and without the coordinates he craves, he’ll unravel. It’s not just a mental burden; it’s in his genes, etched into the very core of who he is. If I can’t help him ground himself, he’ll fracture under the weight of his own programming.
I can’t let that happen.
“Arture, you’re no good to us if you burn yourself out. Do I have to order you to rest?” I shift closer, lowering my voice. “Listen to me. You’re not just a pilot. You’re not just coordinates and star maps. You’re a member of this crew. If I can trust you with my life, then you can trust me with yours. Get some rest.”
His head drops slightly, though he still doesn’t meet my gaze. It’s not enough. He’s spiraling, and I need to pull him out of it. Desperation claws at me, and I grasp for anything that might cut through the haze in his mind.
“We’ll find them,” I swear to him. “Not tonight, maybe not tomorrow, but we’ll find the stars again. Until then, focus on what we can do. We have to earn the trust of the females. It’s the most important directive, not where we are in relation to the planet that exiled us.”
Arture snorts softly. “You’re saying I should focus on building trust with females, when I’ve never spoken with one in my life, instead of mapping the stars as I’m built to?”
“Yes, because that’s what we need right now, Arture. Not coordinates. Not a perfect map of the galaxy. We need to earn their trust so we can survive long enough to figure out where we are.”
He looks back out into the rain, but this time at the house. “You think they’ll come to trust us?” he asks after a long pause.
“If I can stop scaring them half to death every time I move,maybe. But trust doesn’t come all at once. It’s built. Like a map—one piece at a time.”
Arture’s lips twitch, the faintest ghost of a smile. “You’re terrible with metaphors.”
“Correct as always,” I say, clapping him lightly on the back. “Come up with a better one, but not tonight. Tonight, you’re going to rest, if not for yourself, then for the crew.”
And silently, I add, for me.
