Invaded (Alienated, #2)(28)

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.

Cara strode across the nursery, still searching for her sick baby. She eventually found him at one of the feeding stations, suckling clear fluid from a plastic sack attached to the wall. She motioned toward him. “I can feed him his electrolytes.”

Gram appeared confused at first, but then understanding dawned on her face. “Oh, no, Miss Sweeney.” She shook her head as if Cara had proposed a blood sacrifice. “We never hold the children while they feed. It’s important they don’t associate food with comfort.”

Just add this to the list of Top Ten Reasons Why L’eihr Is Whack-a-Doodle. “But food is comforting,” Cara said. The scent of Mom’s gingerbread still had the power to transport Cara to her happy place. And nothing took the edge off an awful day like a few squares of dark chocolate.

“That may be true on Earth,” Gram said, “but here, food is fuel for our bodies. Nothing more. Our meals nourish us, and while we might enjoy the experience, it’s not meant as a form of pleasure or a means of finding solace.”

Maybe if L’eihr food weren’t so tasteless, Gram would feel differently.

But the woman was wrong about L’eihrs not finding solace through familiar foods. During the exchange, Aelyx had lit up every time Mom made roast for supper—not because of its nutrients, but because it tasted like l’ina. Each bite had nourished him in a way that had nothing to do with protein. That’s why Cara had flipped out when Syrine waltzed into Aelyx’s bedroom to announce she’d cooked his favorite supper. There was love in a good meal—not that Cara had ever produced what she’d call a good meal, but still.

Cara kept those observations to herself while turning toward her sick baby. “But he’s not feeling well. He could use an extra cuddle, don’t you think?”

The smile on Gram’s face said, Silly human, but she conceded the battle. “You may hold him once he’s drained the supplement bag.”

While Cara waited, she knelt on the mat and smiled at the pair of infants, their tiny legs kicking out, fists balled, eyes wide and peering at the dust motes dancing in the sunlight. She noticed they shared identical features—their lips slightly asymmetrical, the same cleft dimpling both their chins.

“Are these twins?” Cara asked. She hadn’t met a pair of identical clones until now. Aelyx had said the geneticists never used the same archive twice in a generation.

“You’re very observant,” Gram answered. “These were the last younglings incubated in the artificial wombs.”

“But why two? Are they gifted?”

“You could say that.” Gram stared into empty air and zoned out, the ghost of a grin on her lips. “I remember the last clone from that archive. He grew up in this Aegis. Such a gentle boy, always smiling. The others gravitated toward him—he was a friend to everyone. Empathy was his gift.”

From the way Gram spoke about the boy in past tense, Cara wasn’t sure whether he’d moved to the work dormitories or if he’d died.

“I believe you met him briefly during his stay on Earth,” Gram continued. “His name was Eron.”

The hair on the back of Cara’s neck prickled, and she glanced around the room to make sure Elle hadn’t returned. The last thing her roommate needed right now was to meet the double reincarnation of her dead l’ihan. Cara tried to imagine how she’d feel in the same situation, but she couldn’t wrap her mind around it.

Cara gazed at the baby nearest to her. “I can’t believe this is Eron.”

“He’s not,” Gram said, her chrome eyes lingering on the child. “This is Mica.” She stroked the other infant’s arm. “And this is Ilar.” She delivered a pointed look. “Eron is dead. We can generate new offspring from that archive, but they will be shaped by their own experiences. Each clone’s path is distinctive. The young man you and I knew as Eron is gone forever.”

Naturally, Elle chose that moment to rejoin them. The word Eron moved silently on her lips while she blinked in confusion. Moments later, the pieces must have clicked into place, because she glanced back and forth between the twins, the color gone from her face. Her throat worked as she swallowed, her eyes welling, her grief forcing its way to the surface. But in true Elle fashion, she stuffed down her emotions and stubbornly set her jaw.

“Elle and I should go,” Cara said to Gram. “Maybe tomorrow we can work with the older children.” Away from the nursery and reminders of Eron’s crooked smile. “I’d like to learn some basics of science with them.”

“Of course,” Gram said. She might have been talking to Cara, but she regarded Elle when she spoke. “You can’t move ahead until you face what impedes you.”

Definitely a message for Elle—but one best pondered from the privacy of their room. Cara pushed off the mat and gave her roommate a gentle tug. Elle stiffened at the bodily contact, but she didn’t complain when Cara linked their arms and led the way out of the nursery. Instead of the main elevators, they took the secondary stairwell on the far end of the Aegis and made their way down to the first floor.