Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85553 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 428(@200wpm)___ 342(@250wpm)___ 285(@300wpm)
I’m…
I’m…
Shit. I guess I’m Vivian, because I’ve got nothing. I glance down at my hands, because I have a mental image of a tiny finger tattoo in my mind. A quotation mark, to remind myself to speak up. I got it once because I was always looking at my hands when I should be saying something…didn’t I?
Because my hands are blurry, but there’s no black ink anywhere on them.
I turn my palms over, studying my hands again in case I missed something, and that’s when I notice the slender silver bracelet on my wrist. Even though my vision is horrid, I can still make out what looks like a red button on the underside. Curious, I run my fingers over it, and as I do, it flashes. I hold it closer to my nose, and then push the button firmly.
The air crackles, like a speaker with feedback, and then an image appears, projected from the bracelet itself.
I gasp in shock, holding my arm out as if getting the image away from me will somehow help. The picture looks three-dimensional and features an older-looking woman with the same blue skin as the alien and a wealth of tattoos on one side of her face.
“Lucky you,” the image says, clapping her hands once. “Turns out, you’re a clone. And not just any clone, but an illegally made one. Normally an illegally made clone is immediately euthanized, but someone with a lot of credits paid to have you dropped off somewhere safe and hidden away. So, here you are.” The recording spreads her hands wide. “It’s a little chilly here, but the locals are nice and they’ll take care of you. Tell Daisy and Mardok I said hello, and that I hope they’re getting keffed hard and regularly by their respective mates. As for you, my little clone, I left you some supplies. Play nice with your new buddies and have a great life.”
Clone? Who’s a clone?
Me?
Frowning, I hit the button again, and the loop starts to play once more. At my side, Sabrina touches her wrist and the same communication pops up, with the same recording.
“Lucky you. Turns out, you’re a clone. And not just any clone—”
“—but an illegally made one.”
A chorus of recordings hits the air, the message layering over and over again.
“Normally an illegally made clone is euthanized—”
I slap at my bracelet, trying to get it to turn off. If this is some sort of joke, it isn’t funny.
“Is a clone what I think it is?” someone asks in a small voice. “Like a duplicate person? Are we all duplicate people?”
“But…that doesn’t make any sense,” says another woman.
“Does any of this make sense?” asks another. She’s got a thicker accent, either Spanish or Portuguese, and dark hair. “Because I can’t think of a reason why my ass is naked in the snow next to a blue guy. There’s either some really good drugs involved or this is legit.”
“Drugs would be nice,” Sabrina says wistfully. She reaches over and pinches me.
“Ow!”
“I think we’re awake. Do you feel drugged?”
I shake my head, rubbing my arm. “Just cold.”
“I don’t feel like a clone,” someone else says. “What does a clone feel like exactly?”
My stomach churns. I don’t feel like a clone, either. I feel normal. But I can’t help but think of Flor and her question to me earlier. What’s your name? And I still don’t have an answer.
“So what happens now?” I whisper to Sabrina.
She just shakes her head, her eyes wide. If there’s answers, she doesn’t have them, either.
Chapter
Two
SKARR
Just like with every new environment I find myself in, I assess the situation.
Cold.
Cold is not ideal, as my ssethri biology doesn’t do well with cold. It’s one reason that I was spliced with mesakkah genes—a stiff and slow gladiator benefits no one. I’ll have to be extra careful, push a little harder, just because I’m handicapped with the frigid temperatures. Even now, my joints ache and my tail feels like an icy log and I’ve only been out here a matter of minutes.
But I’ll deal with it. It’s just another challenge, and I’ve dealt with challenges before.
I crouch low near the fire, watching the others. I’m trying not to make my discomfort obvious, and failing. New plan, then. I let them think I’m more affected than I am, so when I fight, they don’t use their full power. I can make this half-frozen state work to my advantage. Lifting my hands toward the fire, I surreptitiously eye the others.
There’s both males and females mingling together. That’s…new. I skim through my memories, looking for implanted fights that aren’t gender-based and find none. Hmm. Perhaps this is a survival game of some kind, then? Whoever succeeds in staying alive the longest wins? This makes more sense to me.
“We’re clones?” one female sobs, as if the idea horrifies her.