Page 1 of Exiles on Earth
ONE
ILIA
“Gerverstock,batch number 345961LIA, you are sentenced to euthanization.”
I bow my head to the Voice speaking on behalf of all females. The enclosed space of the courtroom bears down on me, pipes and wires shining underneath my feet in time with the racing pulses of my hearts. A spotlight pins me in place, the harsh, glaring beam reflecting off my hardening scales leaving the surrounding tiers for seating in darkness, so I can’t tell if there’s any audience to my sentence. My arms ache from being chained behind me with pure betrillium metal, the strongest material Oloria has, and from the tight grip of the two Parthiastock clones next to me digging into my biceps. But I won’t fight the will of the females.
I did fail my mission, after all.
The Voice continues, her words reverberating around the cold plasteek walls of the courtroom. “345961LIA, you were entrusted with a mission of utmost importance—to scour four planets and find compounds that could save a life far beyond your rank or comprehension. And yet, despite the resources poured into your crew and the trust placed in your abilities, youreturned empty-handed. Because you failed to find a cure, the eminent scientist Katyen Al Aura is dead, the first female to die in decades, and her blood stains your hands.”
I grit my teeth, the words cutting through me like blades, but I stay silent as she continues. I deserve every condemnation.
“Do you grasp the gravity of this failure?” the Voice demands. “Clones are discarded by the thousands, their lives worth little more than the labor they provide. But females? Females are irreplaceable. Each of us is the backbone of our society, the hope for our future. And through your dallying, you let one perish.”
The accusation twists my insides, but I can’t look up, can’t meet the shadowed face glaring down at me. The silence stretches for a moment before the Voice leans forward. “You tested the plants and deemed them insufficient. What arrogance, to think you knew better than the female scientists waiting here. What hubris, to think your failure would go unnoticed.”
Her words descend like hammers and, piece by piece, I break under them. My healer and I had examined all kinds of flora with mounting desperation as we streaked across the stars, but we found them lacking any crucial chemical that could combat the mysterious disease I’d been given a sample of. My breath catches in my throat, and I clench my fists, forcing myself to remain still as the Voice delivers the final blow.
“Every female is to be protected, revered, obeyed without question. All clones have this bred into them. Yet here you stand, a clone with delusions of competence, responsible for the greatest tragedy in recent history. Tell me, 345961LIA—do you have anything to say for yourself?”
I shake my head. There’s nothing to say, nothing that won’t sound like a weak excuse. My twin hearts beat fast and strong, but I keep my composure as a single pole rises behind me. The Parthiastocks secure the metal shackles on my wrists to it,locking me in place on the courtroom floor. The site of my summary execution.
I raise my chin as the Parthiastock clones release me and step away. Above my head, a golden wire blooms out in a single, thin hoop. A simple but effective euthanization method, the garrote lowers past my eyes, heading for my neck.
A clatter makes my eyes dart to the left of the Voice’s platform, and my scales go cold. My crew files in from one side of the clinical courtroom, their lit faces stoic but gazes darting around; at the Voice dressed in red with a golden mask, sitting high on her pedestal; at the shadowed seats surrounding us; at the Parthiastock clones closing in behind them, making any unwary movement on their part unwise.
Why are they here?
I mouth to them, “I’m sorry, Gara. You’re in charge.”
Gara opens his lips as if to speak to me, but I shake my head. He can’t stop this, none of them can.
I speak for the first time since I was dragged up here by the enforcer clones. “My crew are entirely innocent, they only followed my orders. They will serve you well.”
The Voice says nothing to that. The golden hoop glints with red and black as it lowers below my chin, reflecting my current scale color. Drone cams turn on, swooping close to my face, recording.
Why am I being made an example of? No male, whether tube-grown clones or True Born sons, would ever hurt a female, let alone cause her death, so it can’t be because of my crime.
Another difference between me and any other clone is I’ve entered the Mating Games. My fists clench. That has to be why I am to die, and why the whole world has to watch. I overreached my station, and I’m going to be splashed across the evening notifications, a warning to all Tubers daring to harbor a secret desire for a mate of their own.
The Voice’s icy mask turns to confront me. Like all those inpositions of power, she’s a female and one of the few I’ve ever seen, but she’s concealed behind a golden protective covering. We’re not worthy of seeing her face. “Begin the execution.”
As the thin garrote tightens slowly, torturously, so I can fully appreciate my fate, my eyes slide from the Voice to those around her. Standing beside her is the Prif, the chief executive voted in complete command of Oloria, chosen by all females. Now, at the end of my life when I can’t fall any lower, and with little else to see apart from the grief in the faces of my crew, I stare at her far more boldly than I ever would have before.
She’s dressed in sheer, blood-red silk layers, her scales shining a burnished gold, and the matching golden circlet of her authority resting on her full head of brown curls with streaks of iron gray.
What makes me finally crack and let out a gasp is the look in her eyes. Burning hatred flares on her face, turning to smug satisfaction as the garrote finally bites into my neck.
It pulls steadily, locking off my air, and unconsciously I react to the threat, my arms flashing red with Gerverstock strength ready to rip my chains. I force myself to relax as pain builds across my throat.
Dom darts forward, a misplaced instinct to save me, and another Parthiastock shoots him in the shoulder. He goes down, jaw tight.
“No!” I cry, pulling up against the wire. They shouldn’t die with me. Grabbing a handful of air, I order them, “Stand down.”
Dom gets to his feet slowly, pressing a hand to the wound. His wave brothers snap to the defensive, dragging him back to them, and Gara darts into action to treat him.
The Prif looks between me and the knot of my crew, her eyes far colder than the chill of death. “I think not,” she says smoothly. “They will be executed as well. We should not hesitate in stamping out any threats.”
