She was built to clean. To serve. To fade quietly into the background.
But the stars have other plans for her.
*****
In the Gaian Empire, there are twelve kinds of clones. Hirayas are the lowest - built to clean, to obey, to fade into the backgroun...
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I help the Gaian woman into the wellness room, supporting her carefully by the elbow. Inside, Irene is already waiting with a big cup of optimeal.
"Thank you. Wait, what's your name again, dear?" the woman asks, smiling faintly as she lowers herself onto the bed. "Sylvia?"
"It's Sylvie, ma'am," I correct politely.
"Sylvie with the silver hair. How fitting," she murmurs. "I didn't expect a Hiraya with this kind of mutation to be so. . . pretty." She accepts the drink from Irene, still watching me. "I'm Mikela. But everyone calls me Miki." Her voice is just as gentle as her face.
Mikela Carozza is the chief exogeologist of Solstice18. Her hair falls in a perfect, dark waterfall, so straight it seems combed by the wind itself. Her doe eyes give her an almost childlike kindness.
Yet earlier, when Dylan leaned over before we woke her, he'd muttered to no one in particular: "Time to wake up the viper." Jon shot him a look sharp enough to cut steel.
"Something's off with this formula," Miki suddenly coughs, pushing the glass back toward Irene. "It tastes. . . wrong, like something's coating my tongue. Who mixed this?"
"I did, ma'am. Sorry." I match the calmness in her tone, though my stomach tightens. "Shall I make you another?"
She studies me for a beat, then smiles wider. "Do I really need to say it? Of course I need a new one, you dumb little thing."
The way she says it—soft, almost affectionate—leaves me unsure if I should be hurt, ashamed, or terrified.
"I'll bring you a fresh one right away," I say, lowering my head, already regretting that good first impression.
Stepping into the kitchen, I find Jon Gavelan, his presence filling the small space. He stands at the counter, shoulders squared, his broad back to me as he works. Steam curls up from the cups in front of him. They're surely for the men gathered in Ayaz's room.
For a moment, I stop in the doorway, hesitating. But I don't have the luxury of time, so I force myself forward.
"Sir," I say, "let me take care of that for you—"
"Don't mind me," he cuts in, still focused on his task. "Just do yours."
I nod, swallowing my nerves, and turn to mix a new formula for Miki.
The kitchen counter is barely four meters long, and standing here next to Jon, I can feel the faint heat from his body and catch the faint musk of his cologne. It's distracting, and I can't help wondering if it's the reason I miscalculated Miki's drink earlier.
