Invaded (11 page)

“It’s all right,” Aelyx said, handing Syrine his pillow. “We’re safe—no harm done.”
He spoke extra loud for the ambassador’s benefit. “Why
not close your eyes and practice your
K’imsha
?” The meditative art had often helped her cope with emotional upheaval. If she’d
made greater use of it on Earth, she might
have avoided her breakdown last month.

In an unusual move, she glanced at David as if seeking his input.

“Definitely,” David said with a nod that nearly dislodged his camouflage hat. “Do
that kismet thing.”

“
K’imsha
,” she corrected.

“Right. You should do that.”

“Okay. I’ll try.” But as soon as she placed a pillow beneath her knees and lay back
on the bed, she sat up and announced, “I can’t. My mind is spinning.”

David hung his head while Aelyx turned to Stepha, who sat on the other side of the
room brooding in his fluffy robe.

“Ambassador,” Aelyx said cautiously. “As Syrine has pointed out, Private Sharpe saved
both our lives, at great risk to himself.”

“Indeed.” Stepha pulled his lapels together, covering his spotted pajamas. “And as
I pointed out in the car, Private Sharpe has my gratitude.” He lowered his brows and
asked,
What is it you wish to say to me, brother?

Since Aelyx couldn’t lie, he figured he should get to the point.
I’m concerned that The Way will misinterpret tonight’s events and prematurely call
us home.

There’s nothing to misinterpret
, Stepha said.
This marks the third attempt on your life.

Actually, the fourth, but who was counting?
We’re safe…because of a human. Would The Way leave him to die?

Perhaps
, Stepha said.
Or they may recruit him for the colony and let the rest of his kind face a well-deserved
extinction. Regardless, they will hear of this, and soon.

Aelyx sensed the ambassador’s resolve and knew he couldn’t dissuade him. It was time
to change strategies.
Then I request an audience with The Way to plead my case. It’s my
right as a citizen.

Absolutely.
Stepha’s certainty was clear—he didn’t believe Aelyx’s petition would sway the Elders.
We can summon them now if you like. We’ll speak in
our native tongue—the human soldiers won’t understand. Do you have your sphere?

Aelyx kept his sphere in his pocket at all times, and the ambassador knew it. He produced
the object and held it up, giving his answer.

Initiate contact
, Stepha ordered.
Enter priority code One to ensure they assemble right away.

Aelyx did as instructed, then set his sphere on the bedside table and leaned back
against the headboard he shared with Syrine. Of the six people in the room—three L’eihrs
and three
human soldiers—she was the only one whose anxiety matched his own. Her chest rose
and fell far too quickly, the restless jiggle of her feet shaking the bed. He took
her wrist and pressed two
fingers against the pulse racing through her veins.

“Look at me,” he whispered. When she did, he asked,
Are you all right?

Instead of speaking, she bared her consciousness to him. It didn’t take long to identify
the problem. The bomb scare had done more than frighten Syrine; it had dredged up
memories of the
day Eron died, when she’d escaped the French guard and fled to her shuttle. Aelyx
visualized her actions as if he were there, feeling the pounding of fear in her heart
as she ran into the
woods, the sting of tears behind her eyes, the suffocating grief of losing Eron, the
only boy she’d ever loved. In the weeks that had passed, she’d grown more secure on
Earth.
Tonight’s attack had shattered all that.

We’ll never be safe here
, she told him.
I want to go home.

Close your eyes
, he said.
Practice your
K’imsha.

He helped her lie flat and watched as she steadied her breathing. She must have succeeded
in her mental exercise, because minutes later, her pulse slowed and she fell into
a sleeplike
trance.

“Is she okay?” David whispered.

Aelyx shrugged. “For now.” He wasn’t sure about the next time.

Soon after, his com-sphere called to him in the signature high-pitched frequency that
announced a message from The Way. Aelyx moved off the bed and whispered his passkey
while walking to the
other side of the room. He sat in the vacant chair beside Stepha and placed the sphere
on the desk in front of them.

Ten bodies flickered to life in miniature form—Jaxen and Aisly sitting in youthful
contrast against eight withered Elders. Alona held up two fingers in the standard
greeting and spoke for
the group. “How can we assist you, brothers?”

Stepha returned the greeting. “When last we spoke, you informed me that an additional
attack on our youth would terminate alliance negotiations. It grieves me to report
yet another
attempted murder.”

“Attempted?” Alona asked. “Are you saying the assassins were unsuccessful?”

“Thankfully, yes.” Stepha indicated the soldiers standing guard by the door. “Aelyx
and Syrine are unharmed. A young guardsman—”

Alona cut him off with a flash of her palm. “Then we shall overlook it.”

Stepha’s jaw went slack, mirroring Aelyx’s shock.

Alona hadn’t conferred with her fellow Elders—she’d made up her mind in an instant,
without hearing Aelyx’s pleas for mercy. This was the response he’d hoped for,
but it made no sense. In his eighteen years on L’eihr, The Way had never overlooked
a crime.

“I beg your pardon?” Stepha said.

“The young ones are safe,” Alona replied. “Negotiations shall continue.” She effectively
dismissed them by asking, “Do you require further assistance?”

“Uh…uh,” Stepha stammered. “No.”

“May the Sacred Mother watch over and protect you.” She lifted two fingers and ended
the transmission.

Aelyx and the ambassador shared a look of utter confusion.

Much like his close call with the letter bomb, Aelyx wondered if he’d imagined the
entire exchange. Not that he was complaining, but why would L’eihr continue to tolerate
acts of
terrorism, especially if all they wanted was fresh genetic material? Human DNA was
easily acquired, as were colonists.

Aelyx couldn’t help wondering if The Way wanted more from mankind than they’d originally
claimed. And if that were the case, what did his people truly stand to gain from this
alliance?

B
abies weren’t as stinky as Cara remembered. From the top end, they smelled halfway
decent.

She buried her nose in a toddler’s honey-brown curls and pulled in a sweet breath.
The little guy gripped his bedrail and bounced in place, flashing a gummy smile while
reaching out to her
with his eyes. His thoughts were jumbled, but Cara felt his fascination with her bright
orange hair, which he desperately wanted to capture between his fingers. The tiny
clone was heart-meltingly
cute, not to mention bright. This nursery assignment wasn’t so bad. Maybe Cara could
handle kids of her own someday…like in a couple of decades.

“
Cah
-ra,” Elle called from the next crib. “Stop smelling that boy and come help me. This
one’s sick.” She peered down the back of the child’s pants
and recoiled in disgust. “From both ends.”

Cara covered her nose as the stench wafted in her direction. Never mind about the
hypothetical kids. She’d let Troy carry on the Sweeney line. She glanced at the head
caretaker for
guidance and received an encouraging nod from the old woman.

“Poor little guy.” Cara pressed a hand to the boy’s forehead. No fever. “Do we need
to quarantine him?” The Aegis had strict policies regarding contagious bugs,
which made sense, considering the number of kids who lived in close quarters here.

“If it’s viral, yes. If it’s bacterial or food-borne, no.” Elle plucked something
from her pocket that looked like a long white spoon wrapped in plastic. “I
won’t know until I analyze his stool.”

Oh, gross. Cara did
not
need that visual.

Poor Elle looked ready to hurl, despite her medical background. Her new position as
Constant Alibi meant she accompanied Cara everywhere, even to the bathroom for midnight
pit stops. But diaper
inspection was above and beyond the call of duty.

“Sorry to get you dragged into this,” Cara said, stripping the baby’s clothes.

“Not a problem.” Elle dipped the collector tool into the baby’s diaper. “I needed
a rotation in the nursery to complete my medical training.” She grimaced while
sliding a cap over her sample. “I couldn’t avoid it forever.”

“Not a fan of kids, huh?”

Elle lifted the baby to the nearby basin and tapped a foot pedal to fill the sink
with warm water. “I don’t dislike younglings. I simply have no experience with them.”

“None?” Cara removed the boy’s dirty sheets and dropped them in the sonic purifier
bin. “You never had to babysit?”

Elle laughed, though Cara didn’t see what was funny. “Not everyone is suited to work
with small children.”

Well, sure. Kids were annoying, but if L’eihrs wanted to imitate the human method
of reproduction, they needed to learn to care for their young. “Aren’t they shutting
down the
artificial wombs?” Cara asked.

“Our geneticists disabled the wombs months ago.” Elle dodged splashes while she washed
the baby with all the confidence of a pig at a bacon festival. “Haven’t you noticed
the absence of newborns?”

“Here, let me.” Using her hip, Cara nudged Elle aside and finished the job. “So there
won’t be any more babies soon? Won’t that create a weird generation
gap?”

“Not really.” Elle opened her medic bag and inserted the spoon tool into a testing
device, then sanitized her hands. “The oldest clones are nearly twenty. Next year
they’ll leave the Aegis for their designated work dormitories, and when they find
approved
l’ihans
, we’ll deactivate their fertility suppressants.”

Cara grabbed a towel from beneath the sink. “What suppressants?”

“The nano-chip beneath your wrist,” Elle explained, “also halts your ovulation. When
you’re approved to breed, I’ll scan your wrist and reverse the
settings.”

Approved to breed? What was she, a prize heifer? “What if I don’t want kids?”

Elle handed over a cloth diaper and wrinkled her brow. “Why wouldn’t you want to pass
on your gifts? Once the child is born, you won’t be burdened with it.”

Cara had to focus on diapering the baby before he got sick again, but as soon as she
secured his hind end, she held him close and whirled to face Elle. “Are you telling
me nothing will
change—you’ll pop out your spawn, then hand them over to the Aegis?”

Elle drew back, lips parting in offense. “You make it sound so sinister. I enjoyed
growing up in this Aegis with my peers. I never felt deprived of anything.” She patted
the baby
clutched in Cara’s arms. “If you wish to house your offspring, perhaps you’ll be permitted
to do so on the colony. I’ve heard they hope to model a more humanistic lifestyle
there.”

Cara relaxed her death grip on the infant and shuffled to the changing station to
dress him. So, assuming she decided to have kids, and assuming The Way approved her
request to
“breed,” she
might
be allowed to keep her children? That was twisted, no matter how Elle tried to spin
it.

A small voice whispered,
Maybe Troy’s right. Maybe you don’t belong here
, but she shook that thought out of her head. It didn’t matter—she probably wasn’t
having kids anyway.

Elle read the results of her test sample and smiled. “Excellent news, it’s a food-borne
illness.” She ruffled the infant’s hair and told Cara, “You dress him and
replenish his electrolytes while I alert the nursery kitchen staff.” Then she violated
the Constant Alibi rule by leaving the room.

“That’s all right,” Cara said to the nearly naked bundle in her arms. “I can go ten
minutes without getting in trouble.” She stroked his soft, chubby cheek with one
finger. “Can’t I, little guy?”

He responded by vomiting down the front of her tunic.

Soft laughter sounded from nearby, and the head caretaker hurried over to take the
baby. The woman’s face was heavily lined but gentle, her smile a beacon of sunshine
in an otherwise bleak
afternoon. Unlike most of the older generation, she had life in her eyes, that spark
the others had lost. She reminded Cara of her late Grammy O’Shea, so from that moment,
Cara dubbed the
woman
Gram
.

“You’re not a real caretaker until you’ve been christened in this way,” Gram said
in a thick accent. With a gentle hand, she pushed Cara toward the hall.
“You’ll find clean tunics in the washroom.”

When Cara had wiped down her chest with a damp cloth and changed clothes, she returned
to the nursery. She scanned the vast room for Gram, beginning with the transparent
cribs, pressed flush
against one another with see-through dividers so the babies could socialize. From
there, she turned her gaze to the various stations—specialized places for feeding,
changing, bathing,
intellectual stimulation, open play, and even physical contact. Centuries of research
had taught L’eihrs the precise amount of touch a child needed to maximize brain development,
and
caretakers didn’t dole out a minute longer than necessary.

Cara noted the absence of swings, cradles, and rocking chairs. L’eihrs were big on
“self-soothing” and didn’t want the babies to grow dependent on motion for comfort.
There were no newborns here at the moment, but according to rumor, they cried a lot
for the first two months, then kind of gave up the fight. Thinking about it made Cara’s
heart ache. It
wasn’t right, breaking a person’s spirit fresh out of the package like that.

“Here, Miss Sweeney.” Gram waved her over to the front window, where the afternoon
sun filtered inside and bathed a pair of infants lying face-up on a floor mat.