Invaded

by Melissa Landers

  The bed jiggled when David took a seat on the other side, but instead of initiating dialogue, the boy picked at his cuticles.

  “You okay?” Aelyx asked. Bitterness aside, he hoped there wasn’t trouble in paradise. He wanted to see his friends happy, even if they had abandoned him in favor of each other.

  “Yeah, it’s no big deal. I just wanted to talk. You know, guy-to-guy.”

  “Is something the matter with you and Syrine?”

  “No. Maybe. I don’t know.” David bowed over, cradling his blond head in both hands. “I need to process what’s going on, but I can’t talk to any of my buddies about this or it might get back to my CO. He’d have my balls for paperweights if he found out about Syrine and me.”

  “Talk about ugly paperweights,” Aelyx said.

  David gave a throaty chuckle, but his shoulders remained clenched. “The worst.”

  “So talk.” Aelyx sat back against his pillows and folded both hands behind his head. “But you’d better make it quick. Syrine takes short showers.”

  David nodded as if to get down to business. “I’m all mixed up.”

  “About what?”

  “How I feel. Where this is going.” David pointed toward the hall bathroom, where Syrine hummed off-key over the spray of running water. “I thought I was in love once before—senior year with this girl named Beth. I wanted her all the time and I couldn’t stand to see her talk to other guys. But this is different.” He grimaced. “This is painful.”

  Aelyx didn’t quite follow, and it must have shown because David gave a sad shake of his head. “Syrine’s all I think about. And when I imagine her leaving in a few weeks,” David said, palming his chest, “it hurts. Like it really hurts, right here under my ribs.”

  Aelyx understood now. His own chest had perpetually ached since he’d left Cara’s side. David may have thought he was in love before, but this sounded like his first experience with the real thing.

  “And when we’re together,” David said, “you know…alone…I feel like I’m a living puzzle, and she takes a piece of me every time. The more I’m with her, the more I lose of myself. It’s like I only feel whole when we’re together because she’s got all of me.” He smacked his own forehead in disgust. “God, that sounds cheesy.”

  “No, it doesn’t.” Aelyx hadn’t been physically intimate with Cara, so he didn’t know with any degree of certainty, but it made sense that consummation would lead to a greater level of attachment. “I think what you felt for Beth was infatuation. But this time, it’s love. And yes,” he said with a sympathetic nod, “it’s equal parts excruciating and wonderful.”

  “That’s what I was afraid of.”

  “Don’t worry. The crushing despair won’t actually kill you.” Aelyx laughed without humor. “Though occasionally you’ll wish it had.”

  “Sometimes I think she loves me, too,” David said. “But then she’ll push me away or say something mean, and I second-guess myself.” He thrust forward an index finger. “Like last night—we were getting ready to go to sleep, and everything was fine. Then I tossed out the idea of joining the colony.”

  Uh-oh. Aelyx imagined that hadn’t gone over well.

  “She shot me down so fast my head spun,” David said in a wounded voice. “What am I supposed to think when she sends me mixed messages like that?”

  Aelyx was torn between keeping Syrine’s confidence and helping his heartsick friend. He wanted to give them both the push they needed to find happiness. “Remember when I told you why Syrine hates humans?” he asked. “How her negative experience during the exchange colored her view of all mankind?”

  David nodded.

  “One of her observations was that human love is fleeting. That your kind is never satisfied with a single mate.”

  “Not everyone is like that,” David argued. “I’m always getting dumped, not the other way around.”

  “Then show her.”

  “That I’m different?” David pondered the advice for several long seconds. “I can do different.”

  “It worked last time.”

  “I have to find out if she loves me,” David said, staring at his hands. “Or it’s not worth it.”

  “What’s not worth it?”

  For a long time, David didn’t answer. “You know, going to the colony.”

  “What about your health issues?” Aelyx asked. It was none of his business, but Syrine deserved to know, if the relationship went any further. “Have you told her?”

  “Not yet, but soon.”

  “Why wait?” Aelyx asked. “Even if the experimental drug you’re taking doesn’t work, something else will.” L’eihrs had the technology to keep David alive. He wouldn’t be allowed to pass on his genetic material, though. Maybe that was the problem. “Do you think Syrine will be upset when she finds out she can’t breed with you?”

  “No, nothing like that. I just don’t want her to see me as weak.”

  “There’s nothing weak about—”

  A sudden buzzing alerted Aelyx to an incoming com-sphere transmission in Cara’s unique frequency. A jolt of excitement ricocheted up and down the length of Aelyx’s torso as he dug in his pocket and retrieved his sphere. He whispered his passkey and set it on the bed between David and himself.

  Cara’s image appeared, this time standing in front of the communal washroom mirror as she combed her dripping-wet locks. When her blue gaze found his, her entire face broke into a smile so radiant it sucked the breath from his lungs and made him tingle all over.

  To hell with the pains of love. This was worth it.

  “Sorry for the lack of ambiance,” she said, gesturing at the lavatory stalls in the background. “I’m running late.”

  “Your timing is perfect,” Aelyx told her. “I’m leaving in a few minutes for another promo piece.” He recalled what she’d told him about Professor Helm’s bizarre confession. “Are you all right? Any more attacks?”

  “I’m fine. It’s business as usual around here.” She shrugged. “I didn’t think Helm was guilty, but maybe I was wrong. Nothing weird has happened since they locked him up.”

  Aelyx had some lingering doubt, but he was glad to hear that she was safe, at least for now. He motioned for David to move into view. “I want you to meet someone. Say hello to David.”

  David stood from the bed and circled around to kneel on the floor. “Hi, mini-Cara.”

  She gripped one hip and pointed at him with her comb. “So you’re the guy bromancing my clone.”

  “Huh?” David asked.

  “Nothing,” Aelyx said. “She thinks she’s funny.”

  “Yeah?” she taunted. “Well, guess what this funny girl is getting ready to do.”

  “Lose your breakfast on the intermediate course?” he supplied with a grin.

  “Good guess, but no.” She turned her hand into an imaginary gun and fired it at him, then blew pretend smoke from her index finger. “Target practice. They’ve added a new class to the curriculum—advanced weaponry. Sounds kind of fun. Midtown used to offer enrichment classes in archery, and I always…”

  Her words flew to the periphery of Aelyx’s mind as he reeled with fear. “They’re training the clones to fight?”

  “No, it’s just target practice.” She furrowed her ivory forehead. “That’s not something they teach most L’eihrs?”

  No. It most certainly was not.

  The majority of his people lived and died without ever touching an iphal. Weapons were carefully controlled and wielded only by members of the guard. If The Way had decided to train the clones in combat, it meant they were preparing for war.

  Suddenly all the loose pieces clicked into place—the probe, the weapons class, Alona’s refusal to end negotiations despite repeated attempts on Aelyx’s life. He now understood the true purpose behind the alliance: L’eihr possessed the technology, and Earth, the numbers. Put them together, and you had a formidable fighting force.

  Aelyx asked David to give them some privacy. Once h
e and Cara were alone, he told her, “Take the sphere back to your room and make sure no one can hear us. There’s something you need to know.”

  Target practice wasn’t as fun now that Cara understood the real reason for these impromptu lessons. She glanced at the mock iphal in her palm, satiny-smooth and feather-light. When she studied its metal form closely, she noticed a slight difference from the model the guards wore on their hips. This version was smaller, sleeker, fitted to a magnetic holster on her forearm so she could snap it in place and run for cover. She might not have made the connection before, but now that she knew the truth, she realized this model was designed for combat.

  Which terrified her.

  She glanced over the class to the targets in the distance, no longer seeing the bags as marks but as beings—living, breathing creatures with families and goals and challenges, just like her. Cara didn’t think she could kill anyone. As much as she’d enjoyed archery at Midtown High, she felt sick at the idea of honing her aim for the sake of taking lives.

  “Sweeeeeney,” Satan called, waving her to the head of the group. “Help me demonstrate.”

  Cara shouldered her way to the front of the class, dragging her boots. She wanted no part of this, but the logical side of her brain—the survivor within her—whispered, This might save you someday. Her inner soldier was probably right. She should at least pay attention to the lesson, even if she disagreed with it in principle.

  Satan spoke to the class in L’eihr and used Cara as his personal mannequin. He lifted her hand, palm up, to show how she cradled the iphal with her fingers. “It should feel like a natural extension of your arm. Think of the iphal as part of you. You need to mentally connect with it in order to fire. When you identify your target”—he raised her arm toward the first mark—“squeeze your weapon, tell it to fire, and the synapses in your brain will trigger the required biological reaction to discharge the energy burst.”

  Instead of gawking at the incredible technology in her hand, Cara marveled at how intelligent Satan sounded in his native language.

  “You must lock your eyes on your target,” Satan said. “This will direct the energy beam to the right spot and avoid collateral damage.” In other words, they wouldn’t fill the air with a heart-stopping electrical pulse and cause dead birds to rain from the sky. “Go ahead and try it,” he told Cara. “You can’t miss. Just visualize your target, lift your weapon, squeeze, and will it to fire.”

  Cara nodded, then drew a fortifying breath and reminded herself she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She peered at her target, contracted her hand around the iphal, and thought, Fire.

  But nothing happened.

  “How hard do I have to squeeze it?” she asked.

  “Not hard at all. But it won’t fire unless you want it to,” Satan explained. “It’s a safety feature.”

  Impressive safety mechanism. Cara tried again, but the iphal lay powerless in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m nervous, so it’s probably picking up on that.”

  Satan clapped her on the back, sending her stumbling forward. “Not to worry. It takes practice.”

  It didn’t take practice for anyone else.

  One by one, each clone in her class stepped forward, extended an arm, and fired a burst of energy as naturally as a kid squirting a water pistol. Cara glared at her arm holster and the uncooperative weapon nestled within.

  Whatever. She didn’t need this class anyway.

  Cara’s day didn’t improve once she joined the colony development panel later that morning. She was beginning to sympathize with the senators and congressmen she’d once disdained in Washington, because bickering with bureaucrats all day was a real downer.

  “With all due respect,” Cara said to the six geriatric faces staring blankly at her from their seats, “even some of the most oppressed humans on Earth have more freedom than you’re offering. Can we at least give colonists some input on choosing their own jobs?”

  They’d argued this point for days. As state debate champion, Cara never expected to feel so mentally exhausted defending a position, but L’eihrs really knew how to wear a girl down. If stubbornness were an Olympic event, they’d win the gold. Each time she broached the subject, they countered with the same statement…

  “Our methods have served us well for several millennia,” said the lead councilman.

  Yep, that one.

  Their reliance on the age-old credence “If it ain’t broke, don’t fix it” made Cara want to give herself a concussion by way of rubber mallet. She pressed her lips together and counted backward from ten to one, then offered a placid smile. “I understand. But if I’m not mistaken, The Way wants to emulate a more humanistic lifestyle on the colony.”

  A chorus of disagreeable grunts said she was right, but the group didn’t like it. No surprise there.

  “And in order for that to happen,” she continued, “we have to let go of the old ways.”

  “But what rational human wouldn’t want to be matched with his ideal occupation?” asked one man. “Our functional job assessment ensures the greatest measure of success for each citizen. And success leads to contentment.”

  “How about a compromise?” Cara said, smooth as cashmere. She’d catch more flies with honey than vinegar, and even more with manure, which was the very essence of politics. “Let’s keep the skills inventory to identify everyone’s strengths, but allow colonists to choose a specific job based on the findings. Like multiple choice.”

  There. They couldn’t say no to that.

  With pursed lips and furrowed brows, the members peered at one another in silent conversation. Cara cleared her throat and said, “Excuse me.” When they glanced at her, she reminded them of the Sweeney Rule. “Out loud, please, so I can follow the discussion. It’s only fair.”

  The head councilmember set his jaw, looking even more constipated than usual. “We cannot agree,” he said. “I was about to suggest seeking guidance from The Way.”

  Of course they couldn’t agree. Politicians. How did anything get done around here? Maybe these Elders were so accustomed to The Way dictating their every move that they’d never learned to make decisions for themselves.

  “I’ll do it,” Cara volunteered. “I already requested an audience with Alona, so I’ll discuss the matter with her while I’m there.”

  She didn’t share the reason behind the request—that she’d decided to come clean about her knowledge of the Aribol threat. This wasn’t an Aelyx-sanctioned act, but Cara couldn’t stand another moment in limbo, wondering whether her dual citizenship would result in her deployment to an alien planet for a battle she stood no chance of surviving.

  She checked the digital clock above the door, a series of dots and dashes she’d finally begun to decipher, and figured she might as well leave now.

  Two guards stood outside Alona’s chamber door. One scanned Cara’s wrist while the other stepped inside to confirm the appointment. They allowed her to enter, and Cara took her place on the stool in front of the Elder. Once alone, they opened the connection between their minds.

  Right away, Cara felt Alona’s irritation, which stunned her for a beat and caused her cheeks to grow warm. Apparently, requesting an audience with The Way was intended for emergencies, something most citizens never exercised. Alona believed Cara had abused her privilege by returning so soon.

  I wouldn’t have come unless it was urgent, Cara insisted.

  Alona wasn’t convinced. She nodded, her expression blank. State your grievance.

  I know about the Aribol probes, Cara said. L’eihr is preparing for an attack, and that’s why you want an alliance with Earth. You have the technology but not enough soldiers for a solid defense. You want to arm humans with iphals and use them in battle in exchange for decontaminating our water supply.

  Alona’s irritation morphed into surprise and eventually resignation. Instead of blocking her thoughts, she widened the mental stream and revealed the truth.

  In the span of a few seco
nds, Cara learned that the Aribol had sent probes—dozens of them landing all over the planet. Linguists had been studying the orbs for weeks, first deciphering their requests, then feeding false information to the foreign database. The Way hoped to stave off further interest by inflating their numbers and exaggerating the scope of their weaponry systems. The Aribol had made no direct threat or done anything to warn of an invasion, but despite that, The Way was nervous. But not nervous enough to blindly agree to an alliance with Earth. If negotiations failed, they’d press humans into service.

  We’re taking precautions, Alona assured her. Nothing more than that. There’s no need to panic.

  But Alona’s fear betrayed her. Cara felt the knot in the woman’s chest as if it were her own. It was Cara’s concern for the future of L’eihr that had her sharing her suspicions of Jaxen and Aisly, specifically her fear that the pair might belong to an outside race.

  The subject caught Alona off guard, and she surprised Cara by quickly scrambling to block her thoughts. Not quickly enough, though. In the nanosecond she’d left her mind open, Cara saw an image—a memory—in which younger versions of Jaxen and Aisly blinked up at Alona with blue eyes. Vivid blue eyes. Before Cara had time to grasp the significance behind that juicy tidbit, Alona opened her mouth to chastise her.

  “I assure you the pair is very much L’eihr. And members of The Way, which, if you’ve forgotten, you have vowed to obey in all matters.”

  Cara blushed more deeply at the reproach. “Yes, ma’am.”

  “Do not tell anyone what you know of the Aribol,” Alona ordered. “And instruct Aelyx to do the same.”

  “I will.”

  “And don’t worry.” Alona’s gaze seemed to warm by a few degrees. “I have no intention of deploying you to the front lines of battle, should that day ever come.”

  Cara offered a hesitant smile. “Good, because I’d shoot the wrong person.”