Invaded (Alienated, #2)(70)

“I’m fine. It’s business as usual around here.” She shrugged. “I didn’t think Helm was guilty, but maybe I was wrong. Nothing weird has happened since they locked him up.”

Aelyx had some lingering doubt, but he was glad to hear that she was safe, at least for now. He motioned for David to move into view. “I want you to meet someone. Say hello to David.”

David stood from the bed and circled around to kneel on the floor. “Hi, mini-Cara.”

She gripped one hip and pointed at him with her comb. “So you’re the guy bromancing my clone.”

“Huh?” David asked.

“Nothing,” Aelyx said. “She thinks she’s funny.”

“Yeah?” she taunted. “Well, guess what this funny girl is getting ready to do.”

“Lose your breakfast on the intermediate course?” he supplied with a grin.

“Good guess, but no.” She turned her hand into an imaginary gun and fired it at him, then blew pretend smoke from her index finger. “Target practice. They’ve added a new class to the curriculum—advanced weaponry. Sounds kind of fun. Midtown used to offer enrichment classes in archery, and I always…”

Her words flew to the periphery of Aelyx’s mind as he reeled with fear. “They’re training the clones to fight?”

“No, it’s just target practice.” She furrowed her ivory forehead. “That’s not something they teach most L’eihrs?”

No. It most certainly was not.

The majority of his people lived and died without ever touching an iphal. Weapons were carefully controlled and wielded only by members of the guard. If The Way had decided to train the clones in combat, it meant they were preparing for war.

Suddenly all the loose pieces clicked into place—the probe, the weapons class, Alona’s refusal to end negotiations despite repeated attempts on Aelyx’s life. He now understood the true purpose behind the alliance: L’eihr possessed the technology, and Earth, the numbers. Put them together, and you had a formidable fighting force.

Aelyx asked David to give them some privacy. Once he and Cara were alone, he told her, “Take the sphere back to your room and make sure no one can hear us. There’s something you need to know.”


Target practice wasn’t as fun now that Cara understood the real reason for these impromptu lessons. She glanced at the mock iphal in her palm, satiny-smooth and feather-light. When she studied its metal form closely, she noticed a slight difference from the model the guards wore on their hips. This version was smaller, sleeker, fitted to a magnetic holster on her forearm so she could snap it in place and run for cover. She might not have made the connection before, but now that she knew the truth, she realized this model was designed for combat.

Which terrified her.

She glanced over the class to the targets in the distance, no longer seeing the bags as marks but as beings—living, breathing creatures with families and goals and challenges, just like her. Cara didn’t think she could kill anyone. As much as she’d enjoyed archery at Midtown High, she felt sick at the idea of honing her aim for the sake of taking lives.

“Sweeeeeney,” Satan called, waving her to the head of the group. “Help me demonstrate.”

Cara shouldered her way to the front of the class, dragging her boots. She wanted no part of this, but the logical side of her brain—the survivor within her—whispered, This might save you someday. Her inner soldier was probably right. She should at least pay attention to the lesson, even if she disagreed with it in principle.

Satan spoke to the class in L’eihr and used Cara as his personal mannequin. He lifted her hand, palm up, to show how she cradled the iphal with her fingers. “It should feel like a natural extension of your arm. Think of the iphal as part of you. You need to mentally connect with it in order to fire. When you identify your target”—he raised her arm toward the first mark—“squeeze your weapon, tell it to fire, and the synapses in your brain will trigger the required biological reaction to discharge the energy burst.”

Instead of gawking at the incredible technology in her hand, Cara marveled at how intelligent Satan sounded in his native language.

“You must lock your eyes on your target,” Satan said. “This will direct the energy beam to the right spot and avoid collateral damage.” In other words, they wouldn’t fill the air with a heart-stopping electrical pulse and cause dead birds to rain from the sky. “Go ahead and try it,” he told Cara. “You can’t miss. Just visualize your target, lift your weapon, squeeze, and will it to fire.”

Cara nodded, then drew a fortifying breath and reminded herself she wasn’t doing anything wrong. She peered at her target, contracted her hand around the iphal, and thought, Fire.

But nothing happened.

“How hard do I have to squeeze it?” she asked.

“Not hard at all. But it won’t fire unless you want it to,” Satan explained. “It’s a safety feature.”

Impressive safety mechanism. Cara tried again, but the iphal lay powerless in her hand. “I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m nervous, so it’s probably picking up on that.”

Satan clapped her on the back, sending her stumbling forward. “Not to worry. It takes practice.”

It didn’t take practice for anyone else.