But I'm not. Or rather, I'm not the only one. Because the woman staring at me with wide eyes has the same face, the same dark, moonlit eyes. She has the same narrow chin I do and square face. My breath quickens, and I feel as if I'm going to faint. There's another me walking around. Another me out in the universe. She doesn't have the red skin that the a'ani do—I suspect that under all that dirt, she's got the same pale skin with the golden cast to it like I do. So is she the original and I'm the clone?
Or is she the clone?
My stomach churns and I bolt away from the passage, retreating back to our quarters.
"Ruth, sweetheart," Straik calls after me, and I can hear his heavy footsteps down the hall as I run desperately away.
This is my worst nightmare. That something awful happened while I was in that pod and I didn't know about it. Or was I created in a lab and the memories I have from before are just fragments left over from her mind? I run toward the rooms I share with Straik. Is it even legal for him to marry me? Or is he married to that dirty waif that stood behind him with my face?
I barely make it to the lavatory before I'm puking. My head in the can, I vomit up the contents of my stomach as Straik kneels next to me.
"Ruth, Ruth, Ruth," my husband soothes as he brushes my hair back from my face. "Calm down, sweetheart. It's going to be all right."
"It's not all right," I choke, spitting the taste of bile out of my mouth into the toilet. "I'm a goddamn clone."
"Not necessarily. And it doesn't change anything. I brought her here because her life was in danger back on the station. I can send her back if it makes you this upset." His hands rub my shoulders and stroke my hair, and I know he'll say anything in this moment to ease my misery, because he loves me.
But maybe it's not me he loves. Maybe I'm just a bad photocopy.
My stomach heaves again and I puke once more.
Straik doesn't leave my side. He murmurs soothing words as I retch, patting me and comforting me. When I'm exhausted, he gets a cool drink and feeds me small sips from a metal straw as I cling to the toilet. Once my stomach calms, the waterworks begin. "I don't want to be a clone, Straik."
"You're not necessarily a clone, love." He pulls a sweaty strand of hair off my face. "She might be the clone."
"Then someone cloned me while I was under. That's just as bad. What if it's not just her?" I ask. "What if there are twenty other Ruths out there? Forty? A hundred?" My stomach wrenches. "What else did they do while I was under?"
"I don't know." He strokes my cheek gently.
I sniff, letting the tears fall down my cheeks. "Her name is Ruth?"
"Ruthie, she says."
"Fuck, I would never let myself be called Ruthie." I grimace. "That's just sad."
"You're not the same person," says a new voice, and I look up from the toilet I'm clinging to and see Dopekh's calm expression. "Just because you share a face doesn't mean you're not your own person. Just ask any of us on the crew. I'm not the same as Zaemen, or Kazex, or Aithar, but we come from the same genetic material. Zaemen and I were born in the same lab. It doesn't make us the same."
Oh god, I'm such an ass. I sniff, wiping at my face. "I didn't mean…"
"I know you didn't. I know it's a shock." Dopekh gives me an understanding smile. "You're allowed to panic. But don't let it destroy you."
He's right. I take a deep, shuddering breath and look at my wonderful, amazing alien husband, who's held my hand and reassured me. "What do I do?" I ask him.
Straik's expression is stoic. "What do you want to do?"
That's the question, isn't it?
80
RUTH
Once my stomach settles and I stop sweating, I lean against Straik, feeling wrung-out and exhausted.
I have a clone.
Or…I am a clone.
I might not be me. The realization is as terrifying as it is confusing. The only thing that feels safe right now is Straik, so I cling to him, burying my face against his soft tunic and letting him hold me tight. "What do I do?"
"What do you want to do?" He repeats the same answer he gave me before, making it very clear that I'm in charge. Whatever I decide, he's going to support me. It helps me relax a little to know there are no wrong answers.
So I think and think. Dopekh hovers in the doorway, ready to offer advice on being a clone, I imagine. I appreciate his steady presence—he's a good friend to me. I stare at his familiar red face, and something new occurs to me. "How come she's not red? Or I'm not?"