The Moon Base Mystery: Part 3
“A clone,” The Other repeated for the twentieth time. “I’m a clone.”
Huddled with Azo’lah in the far corner of the room, staring at The Other, I whispered, “What the hell are we going to do?”
“This must be handled... delicately,” she returned hesitantly.
“Handled delicately,” I repeated. “Define delicately. I can’t tell if you mean the diplomatic kind of delicate or the cloak and dagger type of...Wait, are you suggesting what I think you’re suggesting?”
Azo’lah sighed, her eyes closing. “Myaxi. We cannot have duplicates of us running about the universe. Think of the potential consequences.”
“Who said anything about letting them run around unchecked,” I argued, not wanting to consider the alternative.
“Gretchen, even if we get all of our clones safely back to Destyr, what then? Do we keep them prisoner? What if one got loose? Could you imagine the political chaos of having two Fleetwoods, especially if no one can tell the difference between the real one and her clone? Or worse yet, two of me? These clones are exact replicas. Are you truly willing to take the risk of bringing an untrained Iz’waij with us?”
My stomach twisted in on itself, and I grabbed onto my knees to ground myself as I was consumed with the overwhelming need to vomit. She was right. There was no way we could risk having two duplicate Destyrian royals, one of them the co-possessor of Azo’lah’s most closely guarded secret. The potential damage they could create, or be manipulated to create, was much too great.
She was right. I knew she was right. That didn’t stop me from hating it.
I stood, doing my best to pretend I had regained my composure. From the look on Azo’lah’s face, I don’t think she bought my amateur attempts at acting. I undid my ponytail, hastily piling it into a messy bun. “Azo’lah, we can’t just—”
“No, we can’t,” Azo’lah agreed. “But I can. To protect my planet, its people, and my cousin is what I swore to do as a Myax. Leave this to me.”
I grabbed her sleeve and held on for dear life. “No, Azo’lah. This,” I turned to look at The Other, still tied to the chair, “is too much.”
Azo’lah’s hands settled, firm and grounding on my shoulders. “Myaxi, your concern is appreciated and not misplaced. I will certainly need time and Soul Healing upon our return home. But for now, I can do this, so you all don’t have to.” She released me. “I would order you into the other room, but—”
I shook my head hard. “I’m not going. You’re not doing this alone.”
Azo’lah’s mouth ticked up into a sad but knowing smile like she’d known this would be my choice. “Then, all I ask is that you not watch.”
I turned to face a wall that was as blank as my brain. I felt simultaneously hyper-aware of everything around me and also not quite present. Like a small part of me was cataloging the experience from my corner of the room, but also at Azo’lah’s side.
I heard Azo’lahs footsteps, and then, The Other asked, “Is there a plan, Azo’lah?”
“I am truly sorry,” Azo’lah replied softly.
“For what?” The Other asked.
But there was no reply. In fact, there was no noise at all.
Azo’lah’s footsteps were deafeningly loud as she returned to me. “Come, Myaxi,” she ordered, ensnaring my wrist.
“Azo’lah,” I gasped as she practically carried me toward the door. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught sight of The Other, slumped in the chair as though asleep. A spidery spread of onyx lightning sprouted from the implant in her forehead. Her green eyes had turned vacant, polished, glistening marbles beneath the harsh lights of the room.
It was good that Azo’lah was bearing most of my weight as my knees gave out beneath me. Azo’lah had chosen a painless end for The Other, one that required just a touch of her Iz’waij powered hand and a fatal electric surge to the piece of technology lodged in her brain.
I shut my eyes as Azo’lah—who would never hurt me, who had just easily killed someone with my face—shepherded me from the room. I was beginning to realize how little I understood about her power and what she was truly capable of, and how right she was.
The universe could not survive with two Azo’lah’s in it.
“Azo’lah?” Fleetwood asked tentatively upon seeing her cousin’s face when we returned to the neighboring room. I was grateful that, for once, Fleetwood had obeyed her cousin’s instructions and had managed to gather Possibly-Ryan, Paranoid-Matt, and Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester in the room. I had changed the latter’s designation because this Chester looked utterly unaffected by our haunted expressions, and the real Chester, even with science to distract him, would have spotted our distress right away.
Possibly-Ryan pushed off the wall they’d been leaning against. “What—”
“Jesus Cricket!” Fleetwood shouted as Azo’lah lunged at Possibly-Ryan. She grabbed their wrist and twisted, forcing Possibly-Ryan against her. Azo’lah rested the tip of her zali’thir on the pale skin of their throat.
“Azo’lah, we don’t know that’s not the real Ryan!” I moved to intervene but was knocked into the wall as Paranoid-Matt bolted past me, right into the room with my brain-fried doppelganger.
“Yes, but now I’m certain that’s not the real Matt,” Azo’lah said. She practically threw Possibly-Ryan at Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester. The two crashed to the floor in a flailing tangle, but Azo’lah leapt over them in pursuit of Paranoid-Matt. Fleetwood tried to chase after them, but the door slid shut and refused to open. Azo’lah must have secured it with her powers.
There was the sound of a brief, furious scuffle, a sudden, aborted scream from Paranoid-Matt, and then, deafening silence.
“Fuck,” Possibly-Ryan swore when Azo’lah returned, the door sliding swiftly down behind her, shielding the tragic scene in the other room. Azo’lah met my eyes, and I knew Matt’s clone had suffered the same terrible but swift end as mine had. Azo’lah looked away. The line of her jaw tightened like she was gritting her teeth to hold back tears.
“The real Matt would never let anyone threaten Ryan,” Azo’lah explained. “I figured it was not him but would not act until I was certain. Do not go in there,” Azo’lah said sharply when Fleetwood moved to do just that.
Instead, Fleetwood offered a hand to Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester, helping him off of the floor. Her long-fingered hand, usually steady as a rock on missions, was trembling. Knowing her cousin attacked a friend, even out of sight, was probably even more jarring to her than it was to me. “What do you mean the real Matt?” Fleetwood said carefully. “What did The Other tell you?”
I reported everything we’d been told by the Other, about the report we’d found that confirmed her story, her description of the video she’d been shown.
“Clones?” Possibly-Ryan said. “Fucking dope.” Their head tilted to the side, considering. “Except for you two. I guess we can’t have two duplicate royals running around. Like Destyrian politics aren’t dire enough already.”
Azo’lah nodded. “Fulyiti, I think I already know, but I must ask to be sure. When you were 224 binary cycles of age, what happened at the celebration of your parents’ marriage renewal dinner?”
“We were angry at my sister for abdicating, so you distracted her while I slipped gur’vat onto her food. It was so spicy that she spent the entire meal glistening unattractively in front of her crush. She wouldn’t speak to me until she returned from her first tour that summer.” Azo’lah dove forward, lifting Fleetwood off her feet and locking her into a tight embrace. Fleetwood clung to her cousin like a many-limbed Ynoomian.
Azo’lah returned Fleetwood to the ground, but the cousins stayed connected with their hands clasped and Fleetwood’s head on Azo’lah’s shoulder.
“I think this is not my Chester, but I, too, cannot be certain without finding the other one. Please,” Fleetwood’s voice was smaller than I ever heard it.
Azo’lah nodded, her cheek mussing the space bun it was pressed up against. “Of course. Let us go find him.”
The lights flickered, and Matt’s garbled voice came, along with blessed relief, in a brief broken burst across our Ran’dyl. I took a long, shaking inhale. Matt said, “Guys, where are you? Does anyone copy?”
Then the lights winked, and Azo’lah’s familiar voice overpowered Matt’s hails. “Gretchen, ket’li, answer me now!”
I looked at Azo’lah with dawning horror. In order to survive this nightmare, Azo’lah would have to defeat herself.
“Answer her,” Azo’lah instructed, pointing at my Ran’dyl.
“What?” I hissed.
“We must get this over with, Myaxi,” she said in a low tone as Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester and Possibly-Ryan drew closer to us. “We must eliminate those we know are not true.”
Fleetwood sighed heavily and pulled her cousin into another tight embrace. Fleetwood hooked her chin over Azo’lah’s shoulder as she whispered soothingly into her ear. Azo’lah closed her eyes, nodding at Fleetwood’s words.
I fucking hated this stupid moon station and whatever asshole had lured us here.
I activated my comms and said, “Hey, uh, Azo’lah. What’s up?”
Not-Azo’lah swore. “Where are you? I’ve been worried! Are you well?”
“I’m fine,” I promised, looking into the real Azo’lah’s eyes. “Where, uh, where are you?”
“In a lab, near the entrance.”
“Stay there,” I said, my heart twisting. “I’ll come to you.” I shut off my comms before she could reply. While I understood the stakes of having a Not-Azo’lah gallivanting across the universe, I detested the idea of my Azo’lah having to eliminate someone with her face.
Possibly-Ryan hopped from foot to foot. “This is high-key intense.”
“You can say that again,” I agreed solemnly as Azo’lah secured her zali’thir in its holster.
“Cousin, normally I would not ask, but considering our situation,” Azo’lah said, gesturing to the inside pocket of Fleetwood’s spacesuit, “you’ll need to take the back.”
Fleetwood blade materialized from the folds of her clothing, her eyes gleaming with determination.
“Humans in the middle,” Azo’lah instructed. “Fulyiti, you and I shall change our hair to differentiate ourselves from our clones.” She swiftly unplaited her braid as Fleetwood unwound her space-buns. They both pulled their hair into functional, low buns. Azo’lah spun on her heel and led us into a narrow hall.
Through our technopathic link, I sent to Azo’ah, How are you going to...you know...with Fleetwood and everyone watching?
We will do as we did before, she replied, pulling up a schematic of the moonstation on her Ran’dyl. Once identities are confirmed, I will separate out the clones and deal with them.
As we reached the end of the corridor, Azo’lah pointed at a closed door. “If I’ve read this correctly, she’ll be in here.”
My stomach churned. Two technopaths in one room, one of them untrained, might short circuit this entire quadrant. “Prepare for potential hostility, but do not take any action unless it is to defend yourself.” As though an afterthought, Azo’lah added, “Captain?”
“Flank positions,” Possibly-Ryan instructed us.
Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester grumbled beneath his breath as we took our designated positions, me and Possibly-Ryan to Azo’lah’s left, Pretty-Sure-Not-Chester and Fleetwood to her right. “This is ridiculous,” he said. “If these are our clones, doesn’t it stand to reason they don’t want to hurt us?”
“Logic need not apply in times like these,” Fleetwood said, her eyes on the back of his head.
Azo’lah opened the door before us to reveal yet another white room and three people.
Not-Azo’lah, Wrong-Fleetwood, and a Chester stared at us as we entered the room.
Not-Azo’lah stepped forward, arms outstretched to me. “Gretchen! Get away from them. They’re dangerous!”
The Chester across the room looked at Wrong-Fleetwood at his side and then to the real one to the right of Azo’lah. “Oh, thank the alien gods, FleetMerc. I was starting to think you had been straight-up body-snatched.”
My heart leapt. Chester. Our Chester. It was so easy to know it was him the moment he spoke.
“Nope,” I said, grinning hard at him. “No body snatching. Just a normal, run of the mill, involuntary cloning situation.”
Chester studied Wrong-Fleetwood and Not-Azo’lah. “That makes so much more sense.” He pointed at Not-Azo’lah. “This one was obsessed with finding Gretchen to the point of totally ignoring me and Fleetwood.” His accusatory finger moved to Wrong-Fleetwood. “And this one wouldn’t stop trying to kiss me on the mouth.”
Fleetwood seemed to fill the room with her rage. “She did what?”
“He is my Chester! You cannot have him!” Wrong-Fleetwood shrieked, grabbing Chester and holding him close.
From within Wrong-Fleetwood’s strangling grasp, Chester struggled. Fleetwood, Azo’lah, and I rushed forward, but Not-Azo’lah cut off our path. She wielded a perfect imitation of Azo’lah’s zali’thir. “You can take him, but only if you leave Gretchen with me!”
The lights flickered. Our Ran’dyl’s erupted into a cacophony of malfunctioning sound.
“Hey, listen, we have a Chester. We’re more than happy to trade you,” Possibly-Ryan said, as the lights blinked back into a more stable setting.
Definitely-Not-Chester, who had been curiously silent this whole time, shrugged. “Can we go home now? This has all gotten quite out of hand.”
“Without the whole crew?” Fleetwood asked, aghast.
Definitely-Not-Chester said, “We can just supplement who we’re missing with the clones. We do have quite a skill set overlap.”
“What if you three assholes fuck off?” Chester spat. “We’re not leaving Matt!”
Azo’lah pulled out her zali’thir. “You are correct, Chester. We are not. Fulyiti, round up the humans and once you have them, go to the hall while I handle things in here.”
“Are you sure, cousin?” Fleetwood asked, tearing her attention from Chester for a moment.
“For our crew, I can do this,” Azo’lah answered, tucking me discreetly behind her back.
Azo’lah? I sent across our link.
Go with Fleetwood, Myaxi, please. I will not be able to focus on my task if I am worrying about your safety, came back almost instantaneously.
I despised the idea of Azo’lah dispatching clones wearing Chester’s, Fleetwood’s, and her own face without any emotional support. But I also understood her need for focus. This was already the most difficult thing she’d ever have to do. To split her attention would only make her more vulnerable.
Okay, I agreed, but I hate this for you.
I would’ve sworn I spied a slight grin on Azo’lah’s face as she leapt forward to engage her own clone in combat. At her side, Fleetwood did the same, grabbing at Wrong-Fleetwood’s arms to uncage Chester.
I ducked as a stray punch missed Azo’lah’s ribs and almost found a home in the side of my head. Not-Azo’lah stabbed her zali’thir toward Azo’lah’s abdomen, missing by mere inches, then elbowed her in the chin. Azo’lah kicked her clone in retaliation.
The Fleetwoods wrestled in an awkward dance as they attempted to commit violence against one another but did everything in their power to protect Chester between them.
“Release him!” Fleetwood demanded.
“You will pry him from my fold, shred body!” Wrong-Fleetwood shrieked.
Possibly-Ryan darted across the room. They entered the fray with a flying leap and brought their fist down across Wrong-Fleetwood’s temple. The clone dropped, loose-limbed to the floor, knocked out cold.
The overhead lights strobed, giving the whole encounter a trippy, dream-like quality. Not-Azo’lah, still locked in a scuffle with Azo’lah, shouted, “Fleetwood!” Though I knew it was not actually Fleetwood on the ground, nor was it Azo’lah crying out for her cousin, the noise still cut through my heart.
Fleetwood snatched up Chester, who clung to her as they shuffled away from Wrong-Fleetwood’s prone form and the battling Azo’lah’s. Fleetwood cupped his face as Chester looked her over for injuries.
He turned, reaching for me. “Gretch, you good?” He pulled me close and slung an arm around me. “Ryan, you good? Wait, you are Ryan, right?”
Possibly-Ryan had backed away, they looked sick to their stomach. Their wide eyes were glued to Wrong-Fleetwood’s body. “I know I had to do it, I know I did. But never again. Don’t make me do something like that—”
“Fleetwood, please,” Azo’lah gritted out as she slammed her heel into the knee of Not-Azo’lah and sent her to the floor. “Get them out of here!”
“Right-o,” Fleetwood said.
Chester snagged Ryan by the elbow. “It is okay, Captain,” Fleetwood soothed as she coaxed Ryan out the door. “You did what you had to in order to protect your crew.”
Chester and I were about to cross the threshold when I felt a tug on my ponytail. “Excuse me, are we leaving?”
Definitely-Not-Chester.
In the chaos and his utter detachment from it, I had forgotten about him.
I could not let him get out of this room.
“Uh,” I said. Chester and I were still blocking the doorway.
Definitely-Not-Chester looked between us and the battling Azo’lah’s. His face fell with realization. “You aren’t leaving me here with them!” He dove to push past us.
This was hard on all of us, but the longer this dragged on, the harder it would be for Azo’lah to recover from it. I grabbed Definitely-Not-Chester around the waist and heaved him backward. He hooked his fingers around the doorjamb and dug his feet in.
“Chester, help me!” I cried, pulling with all my might.
“This is so fucked,” Chester said, adding his strength to mine. “We’re all going to need so much therapy.”
“For sure,” I gasped as we both dug in. With our combined strength, we dislodged Definitely-Not-Chester from the doorway and flung him back into the room. Unthinkingly, I shoved Chester out the door, shouting, “Go, go, go!”
“Gret’chen,” Fleetwood called. But I ignored her pleading tone as I waved my hand and the door closed, blocking Definitely-Not-Chester’s path to escape. The last thing I saw as the door lowered was three equally devastated faces.
I sank into a defensive stance, prepared to use all of what Milyna had taught me to keep Definitely-Not-Chester away from the door.
“Let me out! She’s going to kill me!” Definitely-Not-Chester charged toward me. I lowered my center of gravity further and braced for impact. But it never came.
Definitely-Not-Chester gave a strangled cry and dropped to the floor. Azo’lah towered over him. She dipped forward, her fingers flitting across his forehead. She was heaved away by Not-Azo’lah. I would’ve thought Definitely-Not-Chester were unconscious were it not for the tell-tale black lines radiating from his temple implant.
A guttural shout, like that of a wounded animal, drew my attention back to the fighting Azo’lahs—one of which was limping, the other’s zali’thir jammed into her thigh. They were moving so swiftly, their moves so perfectly matched that it took me a moment to figure out that Not-Azo’lah was the injured party.
“Azo’lah, how do I…” I trailed off, wiping tears I hadn’t been aware were falling from my cheek. Not-Azo’lah grabbed Azo’lah by her hair and stilled her long enough to deliver a brutal hit to her ribcage. Azo’lah spun out from her doppelganger, landing a blow to her opponent’s throat.
Our Ran’dyls exploded with garbled static. Like radios attempting to capture frequencies from across the galaxy.
“Myaxi, go,” Azo’lah panted as she reached for her clone’s temple. Not-Azo’lah smacked Azo’lah’s hand away and kneed her in the stomach with her uninjured leg. Unthinkingly, I ran to Azo’lah as she doubled over with a choked-off grunt.
Not-Azo’lah blanched. “Ketli, no—”
“Don’t call her that,” Azo’lah surged upward, latching onto Not-Azo’lah’s arm. She leveraged the clone's arm, trying to immobilize her. Not-Azo’lah tried to kick her way out of the hold, but Azo’lah grabbed the handle of the zali’thir lodged in her clone’s thigh and yanked it free. Yellow blood gushed forth, and Not-Azo’lah howled as Azo’lah stabbed the zali’thir right back into the same injured leg.
Not-Azo’lah lost her footing and crashed to the floor, bringing Azo’lah down with her. The two rolled across the ground. Their hands and elbows flew furiously as they bellowed and grunted in pain.
Stupidly, I darted forward and attempted to grab Not-Azo’lah’s shoulder. “Get off her!”
I got a sharp elbow to my jaw for my trouble. Pain exploded across my face, and my mouth flooded with the hot, coppery taste of blood. I had bit the inside of my cheek.
“Gretchen—”
I spit a glob of bloodied saliva onto the floor, clutching at my face. “I’m fine,” I promised shakily.
“Ketli!” Not-Azo’lah grabbed for me but was intercepted by Azo’lah.
The static of our Ran’dyls crescendoed to a piercing ring that made me clamp my hands over my ears, unsure which hurt worse, my face or my ears. I closed my eyes against the pain. After a few seconds, I removed my hands and noticed that the lights had settled and our Ran’dyls were silent and otherwise functioning.
I looked over to Azo’lah.
Azo’lah who was kneeling over her own prone and bloodied body.
My knees finally gave up the fight, and I collapsed under the weight of the devastation of the day. “Azo’lah.”
“One…” she whispered, not looking at me. “One moment, Myaxi.”
With the grace of a jungle cat, she rose to her feet, crossed to where Wrong-Fleetwood was still unconscious, and placed her hand to the face of the temple of her cousin’s clone. I watched a crackle of electricity pass over Wrong-Fleetwood’s forehead. And though there was no indication that anything had happened, I knew that she would never open her eyes again.
“Azo’lah.” My voice didn’t sound like my own. It was too high-pitched, jagged with hysteria. This was what I sounded like when I was having a panic attack.
Dropping her bloodied zali’thir at her feet, Azo’lah kneeled beside me. “Myaxi? Did she hurt you?”
“I’m fine,” I gasped, inhaling deeply in an attempt to keep my head. “I don’t think anything’s broken. Just bruised, and I bit the inside of my cheek. Are you…” I trailed off before I could ask the stupidest of questions. Of course Azo’lah wasn’t okay. Who would be after the day she’d been having?
Azo’lah placed her hand on my shoulder and squeezed. “Has your darkness come?”
I inhaled deeply, held my breath, then released it slowly. I said, “I’ll be okay in a minute.”
“You do not need to be okay for my sake,” Azo’lah wrapped her arms around me, careful of my face. “I am certainly not okay at the moment.”
My heart swelled at her soothing words. I couldn’t stop the laugh that clawed its way up my throat. What a mess.
My Ran’dyl crackled to life on my wrist. “Captain Thorley, to all parties! I don’t know if you can hear me, but I’m with Majumdar, and we… we have something fucking insane to show you. If any of you can hear me, meet us at the entry bay ASAP! Captain Thorley out.”
I met Azo’lah’s gaze. For a second that spanned infinity, I contemplated just staying in this hug and ignoring the rest of the world forever.
“Come, Myaxi, “Azo’lah said. She hefted herself up and held out her hand to me. “We have one last clone identity to discover.”
“This is fucking wild,” Chester murmured, flicking through the readings projecting from his Ran’dyl. They were so interesting, in fact, that he had unpinned the device from his t-shirt and was cradling it in his hand like a holy relic. “I’ve been trying to figure out why the lights and comms were going haywire, and now everything’s fine. These power fluctuations are ridiculous, but there’s no discernable pattern to them.”
Distract him, Myaxi, please. Azo’lah’s words flared across our connection. I’m fairly certain the power surges were caused by my duplicate—she had all of my power but none of the knowledge on how to control it.
“What do you think Matt and Ryan have to show us?” I asked, grabbing Chester’s hand and squeezing hard. He blinked at me as he flexed his fingers against mine. “Sorry,” I said, loosening my grip slightly, “I’m just glad to have the real you back.” I didn’t even feel guilty for my chosen tactic, I was beyond relieved.
Fleetwood plucked Chester’s Ran’dyl from his hand and reaffixed it to his shirt. At his affronted look, she explained, “Beloved, it is wise to have two hands to toss.”
“You’re inverting the saying, FleetMerc,” Chester grinned. “It’s to catch hands.”
“Here,” Azo’lah stopped outside a door, glancing at the tracker she had pulled up. Matt’s icon, a tiny stylized fighter jet, was practically on top of us. The door slid open before Azo’lah could activate it.
“Oh, thank fuck,” Ryan called. “We could see you coming.” They gestured to Matt’s Ran’dyl, which displayed our jumbled icons.
“What happened?” Matt asked, glancing at our haunted faces as we filed into the entrance bay where our golden helmets glistened on the benches we left them on. Beside the entrance to the control room, Matt stood with Ryan and...Ryan stood. Wait. There were three Ryans?
“Yeah, we’ve been cloned,” Possibly-Ryan shrugged, spotting the look on their doppelganger’s face.
“Way to ruin the announcement for me,” Other-Possible-Ryan tilted their head, considering their duplicates. “This one’s a better copy of me.” They jutted their chin in the direction of Possibly-Ryan. “The one Matt and I found is too quiet.”
“I am not,” the third Ryan retorted. It was a rather lame comeback for our witty Captain.
“How come there’s only one of each of you…” Matt trailed off at the expression on Azo’lah’s face.
“The consequences of having two of us, especially Fleetwood and myself—” Azo’lah began, but Matt shook his head, holding up his hands.
“I understand. You did what you had to.”
Azo’lah shot him a watery, grateful look.
“So, will the real Captain Thorley please sit down?” Fleetwood mused, meandering in a twisting pattern around the three Ryans.
“How the hell are we going to tell them apart?” I asked. “The rest of us, there was some obvious tell, but the Ryans…”
Matt said, “We need to be absolutely sure.”
“They’re exact clones, so doing DNA scans in my lab won’t get us anywhere,” Chester said. “We should think of something only the real Ryan would know. The clones seem to know the weirdest mishmash of information like they got basic data, but nothing of our private lives or memories.”
“Clearly,” I said. “My clone hit on Azo’lah. Which, come on.”
“I feel insulted on Azo’lah’s behalf, and I don’t quite know why,” Other-Possible-Ryan said.
“What is your favorite episode of cosmic conquerors?” Fleetwood asked.
“Erratic Season,” Possibly-Ryan and Other-Possible-Ryan answered immediately, in tandem.
“Come on,” Third-Ryan replied with a characteristic eye roll. “Everyone knows that.”
“They have a point,” I conceded. It wasn’t out of character for the third Ryan not to answer the question we knew the answer to, but if two out of the three…
“I’ve got it,” Matt said, leveling the Ryans with a terrifying stare. “You once told me the first thing you ever wrote. What was it?”
Third-Ryan sighed, their cheeks pinking with embarrassment. “I still can’t believe I told you about my free-verse poetry phase.”
“Wrong,” Possibly-Ryan countered, pointing a finger at Third-Ryan. “The first thing I ever wrote was a FlyCaptain Cosmic Conquers one-shot which was a follow-up to episode five, the Bare Era.”
“No, it wasn’t,” Other-Possible-Ryan said, hiding their face with their hands. “You’re the worst, Majumdar.”
“Sorry, Captain, but I need to hear the answer. I wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t serious.”
Other-Possible-Ryan dragged their hands slowly down their face. “The first thing I ever wrote was a Cosmic Conquerors one-shot, but it was for Bendelholmes.”
“GET OUT!” Chester crowed at this shocking admission. “The Captain and the Ship’s Doctor? The shoehorned hetero couple they force-fed us? They have zero chemistry—”
“I thought I was straight, okay! Jesus, Matt!” Other-Possible-Ryan yelped as Matt grabbed their arm and tugged them behind him.
“This is our Ryan,” Matt said. “I’d stake the ship and our crew on it.”
“I just don’t understand,” Chester said, turning to Third-Ryan, whose expressive face was closed off in a way I’d never seen before. “The rest of us were only cloned once. At least that’s all we encountered. So why was Ryan cloned twice? Maybe something went wrong with the first attempt?” Chester activated his Ran’dyl. “Though I doubt it’ll show anything conclusive, I’ll run a biometric scan and… wait, there’s something here that’s reading—”
Azo’lah, it appeared, didn’t care about whatever was different about Third-Ryan. She darted forward, hauling Third-Ryan’s lithe form against her, one thick arm straining around their neck, but from where I was standing, I could see the gem on the clone’s temple sparking until…
“You would hurt me so, cousin?” Third-Ryan’s voice shifted higher, even as they grew taller, purple seeping rapidly across their pale skin. The pastel pink and blue of their dyed hair darkened to midnight blue, and their hands rippled as a sixth finger sprouted from their palm. Azo’lah’s arm was now wrapped around Fleetwood’s throat.
Azo’lah’s grip faltered. The Fleetwood look-alike craned her head to look at her. “Not so easy to do it a second time, is it?” the look-alike asked with an unapologetically cruel expression that had no business being on Fleetwood’s face. Azo’lah splayed the fingers of her free hand on the side of her face like she was going to snap the lookalike's neck, but I knew better. The lookalike twitched as if shocked and then laughed.
“That won’t work on me. But, thanks for the confirmation. Sadrilla likes to be right.” The Fleetwood lookalike shrank into a smaller, unassuming male form with pale skin, brown hair, and wide-set eyes. Jordan, Sadrilla’s right-hand man, and a Yurdan shapeshifter.
“This motherfucker,” Ryan said, taking a determined step forward. Matt threw a protective arm in front of them, holding them back.
“This was a stick-up by Sadrilla.” Fleetwood twirled her favorite knife in her hand so that it landed point down in her grip. “Azo’lah,” she added sharply. Azo’lah--who clearly had come to the same, terrifying realization that I had, that Sadrilla had been suspicious of Azo’lah’s powers since J’olpri and Azo’lah had, unwittingly, just confirmed her biggest secret to our biggest enemy--stood frozen, her hand still cradling Jordan’s cheek. At Fleetwood’s reprimand, Azo’lah unsheathed her zali’thir.
I said, “It wasn’t Senator Mirshan who sent us here. It was you, wasn’t it?”
Jordan laughed. “Well, the idea was Sadrilla’s once she learned that you were headed to Val. But, yes, it was me. You’re a very trusting crew, aren’t you? Though,” he surveyed our group, “it wasn’t my best work. Clearly, I lacked all of the details.”
“Like our actual personalities?” Matt deadpanned. “Where’d you get your information, social media?”
“For some of it, yes. Especially your Captain there,” he shrugged, backing toward the glass-gated entryway. The difficulty of differentiating the Ryan’s made more sense now. “For the rest of it, you’re all very conspicuous when you travel. There are countless hours of security footage of you all over this galaxy. And your home planet isn’t as secure as you think.”
“What did you think would happen?” Fleetwood demanded, “that we would spin on each other?”
“That’s what I was hoping for,” Jordan dodged the first, testing slash of Fleetwood’s knife. “But it wasn’t a total waste.” He grew a couple of inches, his skin darkening, his form filling out until Jordan was a carbon copy of Chester, his gaze was soft and pitiful as Fleetwood instinctively pulled back from her next attack. “You confirmed all your weak spots. How disgustingly kind you are, how much you care for other people, and each other.” He looked right at me, eyes cold and dark. “And how easy that kindness can be manipulated into the perfect trap.”
Azo’lah dove for him, her zali’thir descending so quickly the blade twhipped through the air. Jordan ducked and spun, his Chester-imitation fading into Matt. His fists flew against Azo’lah’s in deadly, unfamiliar ways I’d never seen. Azo’lah’s blade sliced Jordan’s bicep as he sprang back into Fleetwood. “How’s your crew going to trust you, Myax, now that they’ve seen you kill people wearing their faces?” Jordan panted.
“I’m sure you’ll tell me. I know your boss has killed her crew members before,” Azo’lah snarled.
Jordan slid under Azo’lah’s arm, landing a vicious punch to her knee, which buckled. Azo’lah tucked gracefully into a front roll, rising on the other leg and slashing at Jordan, who somersaulted over her. Mid-leap, his form changed from Matt to Fleetwood, his chuckles morphing into Fleetwood’s adorable giggle.
“More importantly, how’re you going to trust yourself? You still have one left to go,” Jordan taunted, shifting into Ryan. He held his arms out wide in mocking invitation. “I don’t think you have it in you.”
Azo’lah took the invitation, but not the bait. She grabbed his hand, pulling him forward onto her zali’thir. “Ket’li, please!” It was my voice, my green eyes, huge and terrified, my breath catching around the words. My stomach with the knife in it.
“Gretchen,” Azo’lah breathed, reaching for Jordan wearing my body as he stumbled back, clutching a bleeding abdomen.
“It’s not me,” I promised, reaching for Azo’lah.
Jordan’s impersonation of me melted until he was nothing but an amorphous, oozing mist that rose rapidly. All of us attempted to snatch at it, but it passed through our hands, rising to the ceiling. It seeped into the ventilation system and disappeared.
Azo’lahs bloody zali’thir clattered to the pristine white floor of the compound. Azo’lah fell with it.
I nudged Azo’lah’s zali’thir out of the way with my boot. I untied the bandana around my neck and tossed it toward the blade, hoping one of my teammates would get the message. Matt immediately picked up both and began to wipe away Jordan’s blood. I knelt in front of Azo’lah, hesitant to touch her. “It wasn’t me,” I said. “I’m here. I’m fine.”
Ryan ran into the control room. “Chester, help me get us out of here,” they ordered. “Sadrilla’s ship must be nearby, and Jordan’s seriously injured. We could still catch them.”
Azo’lah tipped forward, her forehead pressing into my collarbone. I wrapped my arms around her shaking form. I looked up at Fleetwood, who stood over us, my concern reflected in her eyes.
“Not today, Captain.” Fleetwood crossed to Ryan and tugged them away from the controls. “We’re compromised AF.”
“But—” Ryan protested.
“She didn’t say not ever,” I added. “Just not right this second. We need time to regroup.” They looked at Azo’lah, still hiding in the too-small shelter of my arms, and then turned to Fleetwood.
“Gret’chen is correct, we must formulate a plot,” Fleetwood said softly. “I’m gonna kill and super roast that biatch like a turfucken.”
I stroked my hand through Azo’lah’s hair. Roasting Sadrilla sounded like the least of what I wanted to do to her once I got my hands on her Lisa Frank knock-off ass.
With her fingers threaded through Azo’lah’s, Fleetwood asked, “So what’s the plan, Mediterranean?”
“Get off this stupid moon, go home, and get some therapy,” Chester said from his spot sprawled across Fleetwood’s lap. We were all sitting in a tight circle around where Azo’lah was still resting against me, even Other-Ryan.
“I’ll get us all set up for individual sessions with Soul Healers tomorrow morning and a group session for after dinner,” Ryan said as they tapped against their Ran’dyl. “And we’re all grounded until further notice. No off-Destyr missions until we know how truly fucked up we are from this.”
“Yes, yes,” Fleetwood agreed. “But I meant, Other-Ryan. What’s the plan for them?”
I felt the tension that had been slowly leaking out of us like air from a punctured balloon immediately return. In the chaos of learning about who was behind this spectacularly terrible day, it appeared as though we had all forgotten what fate awaited Other-Ryan.
To my surprise, the cloned teen didn’t cower away from us. Instead, they clenched their jaw and said, “I think we all know what the plan is for me.”
Azo’lah dug her forehead into my shoulder for a long moment before pulling slowly away. “You all should go to the ship. Chester, you have figured out how to get out, yes?”
Chester sat up and pointed over his shoulder to the control room. “Already hacked it. We can be out the door in thirty seconds.”
Azo’lah nodded wearily. “Then you should lead everyone else back to the ship. I will join you once I’m done.”
“Absolutely not,” I said firmly. Azo’lah would be crushed beneath the weight of having to end the life of another clone wearing one of our faces.
Matt said, “I can do it. You’ve already done more than your fair share of protecting us today, Azo’lah.”
Azo’lah inclined her head in gratitude to Matt. “I appreciate the offer, Matt. But ask yourself: what will it do to your soul to end the life of someone with Ryan’s face?”
“If you could do it to the other clones, I think—”
“What if no one has to kill other me?” Ryan asked loudly. “What if there’s a third option?”
I really hoped the third option was a good one. I was desperate for the death portion of the day to be over.
Ryan pulled themself to their feet and began circling us. “Hear me out. What if we send my clone back to Earth and let them live my life there? I know it’s a bit crazy,” Ryan began to bounce around us, as their idea took fuller shape, “but this kills two birds with one stone without killing anyone else! It’s kind of perfect actually. I mean, my parents are already paying an exorbitant amount of money for me to go to UCLA, might as well have Other-Ryan go and get that expensive ass education instead of having Chester run interference with his techno-wizardry.”
“There would have to be rules,” Matt said slowly, his eyes traveling between both Ryans hopefully.
“Obviously,” Ryan agreed, coming to a halt beside Other-Ryan. They plopped down beside their clone and crisscrossed their legs. They nudged Other-Ryan’s shoulder. “We’d have to do check-ins and shit, make sure you aren’t fucking up my good name back home. And you’d have to promise to keep all of this secret! Not just the clone thing, but outer space and aliens and all of that shit, too.”
Other-Ryan nodded quickly. “I can do that.”
Azo’lah sagged minutely beside me. Relief rolled off her in powerful waves. My heart pounded with hope. “This could work.”
“Guys, hold on,” Chester said. “While I am all for a plan that doesn’t involve Azo’lah doing something that will haunt her for the rest of her life, are we sure about this? We can’t guess at the consequences of having two Ryans in the universe. This could spiral out into a clusterfuck that we can’t handle.”
“I’m okay with there being two Ryans in the universe,” I said. “As long as Other-Ryan agrees to stick to the rules, we’ll deal with the potential consequences if they ever come.”
“There can never be too many Captain Thorleys!” Fleetwood said cheerfully.
Matt said, “If both Ryan and Ryan agree, I don’t have a problem with it.”
Chester turned to Azo’lah. “Are you in, Azo’lah?”
Azo’lah nodded.
Chester collapsed back into Fleetwood’s lap. “Then it’s decided. Other-Ryan, looks like you’re going to Earth college!”
Matt hopped to his feet and held his hands out to the Ryans and hauled them to their feet. “Now that’s decided, can we get the fuck off this rock?”
The Gold Dust Wo’man was unnaturally quiet. Despite the fact that the diplomatic cruiser was built for a larger crew and able to house a complement of ambassadors and their aides, our six-man squad always seemed to fill its corridors with cheerful noise. Today, there was no musical soundtrack blaring through the corridors, no bickering drifting from the mess, or Ran’dyl’s chirping with crew members asking others to settle playful arguments. It was mournful. Which, I supposed, made sense.
I hesitated outside the door to Azo’lah’s quarters, feeling foolish.
Myaxi? The question flashed into my mind’s eye.
Can I come in? I sent back.
Azo’lah’s reply was the door dematerializing to admit me. I stepped through the doorway, which rematerialized at my back.
“How’d you know I was outside?” I asked, hugging the weighted blanket I held closer to my chest.
“Forgive me.” Azo’lah was curled in a ball on her bunk, her eyes didn’t lift to mine. But she sounded like she had been crying. The thought of Azo’lah, alone and hurting, did something unpleasant to my heart. “I should not have done so without your permission, but I have been…”
“You’ve been checking on us with your technopathy,” I surmised quietly, “to make sure we’re still here.”
Azo’lah nodded against the pillow, bringing her arm up to hide her face. I moved forward, sitting on the bed beside her without, for once, thinking about it too much. “Hey, it’s okay. For you to check on us. We’re over Earth right now, though, so if you’re looking after Matt and Ryan, they’ll be gone for an hour or so to get clone Ryan situated.”
Azo’lah pushed herself up. “I must go, the Fulyiti—”
“Is onboard,” I said quickly. “She’s with Chester in the lounge. She thought...well, Matt and Ryan said they could handle it. It’s known territory, and Matt’s more than enough for anyone on Earth.”
Azo’lah nodded, sliding back down. “She did not need to stay for me.”
“Yes, she did,” I brushed her hair away from her eyes, their whites faintly yellowed—the Destyrian equivalent of bloodshot. “I think she stayed for herself too. This one hurt.” I left the obvious, that it had hurt Azo’lah the most, unspoken.
I rose and spread the weighted blanket I kept on my bunk over her. I kept it with me on the ship when I was away from Sebastian. It wasn’t the same as a warm, snuggly cat, but it soothed me all the same. She blinked up at me. “Thank you.”
“Of course.” I turned to leave. “Well, whenever you’re—”
Azo’lah’s hand shot out, wrapped around my wrist. “I’m sorry,” she said, withdrawing her hand immediately as I turned. “I didn't mean to frighten you. It’s understandable if you need some time away from me after…”
I reached out for her hand, slowly and deliberately, the answer falling from my lips, so honestly, I’d probably be embarrassed about it later. “Being apart from you is the last thing I want or need right now.”
Azo’lah smiled, small and brittle, but lifted the edge of the blanket in invitation. I sat on the edge of the bed and toed off my boots. I folded myself on the bed, facing her, a foot or so between us. It was odd, but while seeing Azo’lah like this was heartbreaking, it was also reassuring that she was our Azo’lah. That even with all her power and ability, she still abhorred the idea of hurting us, that doing so to poor facsimiles of us still brought her immense grief.
Her hand settled on my side, lightly, like she wasn’t sure it would be welcome. I scooted forward slightly with an encouraging smile. With one swift movement, I was cocooned in Azo’lah’s embrace, her face pressed against my neck. We breathed in silence for long moments, or maybe hours, I wasn’t sure.
“I think,” I said, after a while, my hand running absentmindedly through her undone hair, “that maybe you would feel better, we would all feel better, if the crew wasn’t apart tonight. If we have nightmares, we can check on everyone.”
“No one’s quarters on the ship can accommodate that many,” Azo’lah pointed out, her voice barely above a whisper. I pressed my cheek to her head, hiding my smile at her answer which, while it wasn’t a yes, wasn’t an outright no, either.
“That’s what the lounge is for,” I replied.
Azo’lah’s arms tightened around me, but she lifted her face to meet my gaze. “I know I must face this. We all must. But until we can meet with our Soul Healers, I would appreciate that and...a distraction.”
“Slumber party and dubious Earth Entertainment it is,” I murmured. “I’ll go ask the others.”
Her hand traced briefly over my abdomen where her zali’thir had punctured Jordan when he was impersonating me as if to check that I was still there, that I was unharmed. “In a moment,” she said, resting her forehead on mine.
“Coming through,” Chester announced, entering the lounge. He held his tray even higher out of our reach as Ryan and I, buried in a nest of pillows on the floor, raised our hands demandingly toward him. “Cut it out,” he chastised, “unless you want me to spill hot liquid all over you!”
“Hot choccy?” Fleetwood asked from her blanket cocoon on the chaise.
He slid the tray onto the snack-laden table and winked at Fleetwood. “Of course. Nothing but the best for this crew.”
“These are quite delicious,” Azo’lah agreed as she continued to demolish a bag of Hot Cheetos, where she lounged on my right.
“Maybe we should make snack runs to Earth more often?” Matt suggested, propping his feet, clad in his rocket-ship-themed slippers into Fleetwood’s lap.
“Next time, don’t forget the slushies!” Fleetwood said, accepting a steaming mug proffered by Chester.
“Sorry, FleetMerc,” Ryan apologized, waving their Buggle-tipped hand between themself and Matt. “We only had so many hands between us.”
“And don’t forget,” Matt said, producing a bottle of whisky from behind the chaise, “we had to make a pit stop for the good stuff.”
I held up my mug of hot chocolate. “Oh, share!”
“Me three!” Fleetwood said, shoving her mug under Matt’s nose.
“After the day we had, I think we all deserve a little nip,” Matt uncapped the bottle and generously poured the amber liquid into Fleetwood’s mug, as well as Chester’s. He extended his arm to pass the bottle to me. “Here you go, Gretch.”
I poured whiskey into mine and Azo’lah’s mugs and even a tiny bit into Ryan’s. I returned the bottle to Matt, who topped off his own hot chocolate and raised his mug. “To Sadrilla’s immediate and painful demise!”
“Hear, hear,” I said.
“Bet,” said Ryan.
“Huzzah!” said Fleetwood.
We all took long draws from our mugs.
“At least it wasn't a complete trauma-filled waste of time though,” Ryan said, snagging a bag of Skittles from the table.
“How do you figure?” Chester asked, wedging himself like a puzzle piece beside Fleetwood but beneath Matt’s extended legs. “Because there was a shit ton of trauma and not a whole hell of a lot of anything else.”
Ryan poured Skittles into their palm and began separating them by color into piles. “Think about our clones, what did you notice about them?”
“That every emotion I telegraph with my face is unattractive,” I replied immediately.
Ryan slapped my thigh. “Not true. I meant the gaps in their personalities in comparison to who we really are. It shows that Sadrilla doesn’t really know us. Chester’s clone was just some emotionless genius. Azo’lah’s actively chose to leave Fleetwood. Matt’s was on some darkest timeline conspiracy bullshit.”
“Yeah, what the hell was that all about, man?” Chester asked.
Matt took a gulp from his mug then poured in more whisky. “My first few years in space were interesting.”
“Interesting as in interesting? Or interesting as in dangerous as fuck?” I asked.
Matt smirked sardonically. “You met my clone, you tell me.”
“Matt’s double isn’t the point,” Ryan intervened. “The point is that our clones were fed accessible information on us, but they didn’t get the whole picture because Sadrilla doesn’t have the whole picture on us. She thinks she knows us, but she doesn’t.She’s formed an idea of who we are based on one interaction and a bunch of random footage. She underestimates us.”
I snorted. “That’s what this feeling is? Underestimated?”
Ryan shoved a handful of green Skittles into my mouth for my snark. “Today wasn’t a cake walk.” They nodded to Azo’lah. “It was the farthest thing from it, but we got out. We figured out what was happening and we survived. We assessed the situation, and worked like a team even when we were separated. Sadrilla chose the wrong weak points, well, almost all our weak points. Head’s up, Fleetwood.” Ryan tossed an orange Skittle across the lounge into Fleetwood’s waiting mouth.
“What did Sadrilla get wrong?” I asked, wondering how Ryan had been able to parse all this out in the few hours since we had left Coswir.
“That I would abandon my duty and leave Fleetwood,” Azo’lah said.
“Oh, yeah,” I agreed, snagging the Bugles from Ryan’s lap. “That was a dead giveaway. Also the fact that our clones thought we were dating.” I craned forward to grab a bowl from the table to mix my snacks together while we marathoned movies and caught Matt, Chester, Ryan, and Fleetwood all gaping at me.
I scrubbed at my chin. “What? Do I have hot chocolate on my face?”
None of them answered, instead they sipped pointedly from their mugs.
“Pass the popcorn, Gretch?” Chester asked.
I did as requested. “You guys want anything else?”
“Tasty worms! And the chocolate-butter!” Fleetwood requested.
I smiled. “Gummy worms and nutella coming right up!”
“Nothing better than junk food and animated movies,” Chester said, dimming the lounge lights from his Ran’dyl. “Except maybe for the First Lovers Festival! Which is soon.”
“Three binary cycles from now, right?” Ryan asked eagerly.
Chester nodded. “Best time of the year on Destyr, no contest. It’s like Pride month on steroids.”
“In all these love festivities maybe I’ll be able to find myself a date,” I said off-handedly.
Again, I felt Matt’s, Ryan’s, Chester’s, and Fleetwood’s eyes on me.
“What?” I asked, around the mouthful of Skittles Ryan shoved into my face with a sigh.
“Someone start the movie” they ordered.
Chester pressed play and our little family sank further into the comfort of being safe and together.