by Bianca D’Arc
“You understand I’ve been tasked to hunt him?”
Sinclair Prime nodded, turning back to the controls. “I do. I want you to find him, and will assist in that endeavor. What happens after that is up to you. I hope you will find pity among your new emotions. Prime Past deserves whatever happiness he can find in his new life. I miss him and his counsel. We all do. His departure brought echoes of sorrow to all Zxerah and especially to those of us with wings. He was the best of us and whatever his path now, I know he will live with honor. He is a great man.”
“Then why do you want me to find him? I’m ordered to kill him.” Grady Prime was blunt on purpose. He wanted to see how the new Prime would react.
“Several reasons. First, I want him to know what I’ve told you. He deserves to know that the Brotherhood, at least, has not abandoned him. Second, I’d like him to know that others have followed his path and taken the treatment that changed him so radically. It is my hope that you will find some common ground. Perhaps you could help each other.”
“You want us to become friends? Do you suppose sharing the burden of emotions will draw us together?” Grady Prime injected sarcasm into his words, trying to provoke the other man.
“I hope for that. Yes.” Sinclair Prime agreed, surprising him. “If your test group does well, more Alvians will undergo the treatment. It is what the Patriarch wants. My duty is to help Mara 12’s experiment succeed. I believe if you can discuss your condition with Prime Past, you may gain insight about how to move forward.”
The young man had nerve. Grady Prime would give him that.
“I can make no promises. When I find Prime Past, I’ll keep your words in mind, but will have to make my decision when the time comes.”
“I know you to be a fair and honorable man,” Sinclair Prime said after a moment. “I’ll trust your judgment when the time comes. Do not underestimate Prime Past. You may be the Prime of your own talented line, but Prime Past is that and Zxerah too. He has skills beyond your comprehension.”
“Perhaps after this is all over, I could learn some of those skills,” Grady Prime offered, only half joking. He was a soldier who enjoyed learning new methods. If there were truly Zxerah left in the universe, he would be a fool not to seek them out for training.
Sinclair Prime looked at him consideringly. “Perhaps.”
Chapter Two
Deep inside a mountain in what had once been called Colorado, sweat dripped down a man’s face as he spun into a high roundhouse kick. His opponent ducked, blocking the main force of the blow as he delivered a counterstrike. They’d been sparring for hours, but neither one would call a halt. Too many people depended on them and the other members of their elite group. Too many needed them to be in top form at all times—ready for anything.
“She’s coming!”
The scream was repeated down the cavernous hall outside the training area, echoing off cemented rock walls.
By silent agreement, both men stopped, ending their sparring session. One of their people needed them.
A moment later, a ragged woman ran into view. Her hair flew wildly around her ravaged face, her eyes wide with fear and not quite sane.
The leader reached out to her, folding the trembling woman in his arms as he’d done many times before, offering comfort.
“It’s okay, Tory. Everything will be all right.”
He soothed her as his lieutenant watched in sympathy. A flick of his head toward the hall sent Pierre after some of the others who would help settle Tory after the storm had passed. Sometimes it must really suck to be a seer, he thought. Tory suffered from the gift, and at times it drove her back into the madness from which she was only just beginning to emerge.
He murmured nonsense to her, hoping to ease her quaking shudders, but she remained agitated. She kept repeating that someone was coming. At times, he’d learned it was best to help her work through a vision rather than try to stop it. Perhaps this was one of those times.
“Who’s coming, Tory? A friend?”
Her wild gaze turned to him, and he had to stifle the urge to sigh. Tory had made good progress in the past year, but she still hovered on the edge of madness too much of the time.
“A friend?” She paused, seeming to think it over. “She could be, to us. She will also be friend to the angels. She will bring the angels to us.”
“Angels?” He didn’t like the sound of that. “Like the angel of death? Will she bring death to us, Tory?”
“Perhaps.” Tory’s eyes began to dim just slightly, giving him hope this episode was near an end. “The angels aren’t good or bad. They just are. They kill. They also protect. They’ll protect us, if we let them, and she’ll bring them. She’ll bring them. She’ll bring them.” Those three words kept repeating as she quieted, her words fading to a whisper as he tucked her close, stroking her back, offering the comfort of his touch—of his protection.
Poor, fractured Tory was under his protection, as were many other souls in this complex. He wouldn’t let anyone or anything hurt them. Angels, devils, Alvians or otherwise. He would defend his people to his last breath.
Hopefully it wouldn’t come to that. Not yet at least.
Their destination was beyond anything Grady Prime had dreamed. Towering red trees made the people and buildings below look like miniatures. Sinclair Prime wove through the massive trunks of the behemoths with a skill and ease that Grady Prime respected and even envied.
“Are these trees real?” he asked in a hushed tone as he looked at one of the most glorious sites he’d ever beheld.
“Magnificent, aren’t they? The humans call them giant sequoia or redwoods. Some of them are thousands of years old. This area was hard hit by the tsunamis and was unstable for a long time, which is why the Council let us settle here. The trees are massive enough to hide our base and provide cover for our flight—though flying under the canopy is quite an obstacle course. Good for training too.”
Even as they made final approach to a very small landing area, Grady saw a winged man swoop down out of the branches to fly alongside the ship. He turned his head and looked right into the cockpit, raising one hand in salute as Sinclair Prime returned the gesture.
The man’s tawny wingspan was impressive, and the fact that he could keep up with a ship—even one slowing for landing—was shocking. Grady Prime’s eyes sought the place on his shoulders where the man’s wings joined his back. He realized that while the man’s musculature was brawny, the wings themselves were of light construction. Then he realized the man sitting at the controls next to him probably had wings just like this, hidden somewhere under his uniform. Grady Prime took a second look, but found it difficult to discern anything odd about the fit of Sinclair Prime’s uniform, though it was somewhat baggier than the norm.
“Hiding our wings is one of the first things we learn if we ever hope to see other people.” Sinclair Prime sent him a small grin. “The bones of the wings are light and resilient, and our wingspan is shorter than the ancient Avarel. It’s enough to get us aloft and we are good sprinters, but we cannot fly for prolonged periods as true Avarel could. We are only hybrids. Echoes of what they were.”
“Still, those wings are amazing.”
“Thank you. You’re one of the few who know our secret.”
“Frankly, I’m surprised the Council would allow me to know such things, especially considering my involvement in Mara 12’s experiment. Of course, I’ll bet that’s also the reason they allowed me to investigate this matter.”
“Participation in the experiment probably ended your career anyway you mean?” Sinclair Prime’s eyebrow rose in Grady’s direction. The man was quick witted, which Grady Prime appreciated.
“I expected to be put out to pasture and welcomed it if it meant I could discover what it was like to feel. Now that I’m back in the field again, I find that I missed being busy these past weeks. I missed working and interacting with other soldiers. I missed my men. Civilians are not the same.”
Sinclair Prime laughed aloud. “You will not get an argument from me on that point, my friend. I do not understand civilians at all. I do better with soldiers, but among the Zxerah is where I truly belong—even more so if they are winged. The unwinged members of the Brotherhood do not always understand the challenges I and my winged brethren face.”
“I can only imagine,” Grady Prime commiserated. “And yet, I confess I am feeling envy of your ability to fly. What I have just seen of your wings is a thing of great beauty, Sinclair Prime.”
Sinclair looked at him with a kind smile. “It means a great deal to me for you to say that, Grady Prime. I’ve often wondered how the rest of the Alvian population would react if they learned of our existence. Would they think of us as freaks and demand our destruction? Or would they accept us—even admire us?”
“I would bet on admiration and if they could feel it, envy such as I am experiencing. It is a novel feeling.” Grady Prime examined the sensations he was experiencing as Sinclair landed the small ship. “It is envy but not in a bad sense. It’s more wonder and wishing that somehow I could experience the marvel of self-propelled flight.”
“It sounds like you’ve become adept at analyzing the emotions you’ve been facing. To be honest, I was concerned when I realized you’d undergone the treatment so recently. The first weeks for Prime Past were confusing at best, I think. You seem to be making very good progress at integrating emotions into your life. You seem more stable than he was in those first days.” Sinclair Prime attended to the shutdown procedures and unstrapped his safety harness while Grady did the same.
“I’ll confess, I was very confused at first. It was overwhelming at times. The O’Haras were of great help. I believe their assistance made my group of test subjects more successful than we otherwise would have been.”
“Do you think they will proceed with further testing?”
“It’s hard to tell, but if my group’s success is any indication, they should. None of my fellow test subjects have gone mad or had other truly adverse reactions to this point. Most seem to be dealing well with their new status. I think the human influence and advice had a lot to do with our stability.”
They exited the ship, and Grady Prime breathed the clean, fresh scent of the damp forest. He took a look around and marveled at the giant trees that sheltered them as if in some wondrous cathedral of nature.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?” Sinclair Prime asked, undoubtedly noting Grady’s fascinated survey of the huge trees.
“I have rarely seen anything to rival this. You are a lucky man to live and work in such a place.”
“I have long thought so,” a new voice added from over Grady Prime’s left shoulder. Caught off guard, he spun on his heel to see who had managed to sneak up on him, and came face to face with an unknown Alvian.
The man was almost un-Alvian looking, with his shoulder-length brown hair and hazel eyes. He had the darkest hair color Grady Prime had ever seen on an Alvian, yet he was undoubtedly a member of his race. For one thing, he had the pointy ears, though that was not always a foolproof method of identification. He also had the cold feel to him that Grady Prime had recently begun to associate with Alvians.
Now that Grady Prime could feel, he could more easily recognize those who could not. Sinclair Prime, for all that he claimed to feel more than the average Alvian, was still noticeably cold to Grady Prime’s new emotion-enhanced senses. This man was colder still.
“Patriarch, you honor us with your presence.”
Grady Prime was clued in by Sinclair Prime’s respectful tone. This man was most likely the Zxerah Patriarch. A fabled being of immense power and ability. Grady Prime looked him over, surprised the Patriarch was such a young-looking man. He was only an inch shorter than Grady Prime and appeared to be more slender, but Grady knew as well as any soldier that appearances could be deceiving.
“Grady Prime, it is a pleasure to finally meet you.” The Patriarch held out his hand in the way of soldiers. “I am Ronin Prime, Patriarch of the Zxerah Brotherhood.”
Grady Prime took the man’s hand and his measure, as he was measured in return. Power flowed from the Patriarch, tangible yet banked. Like a glowing ember that could be fanned to flame at any moment.
“It is an honor to meet you,” Grady Prime replied politely, holding the man’s gaze as they ended the friendly handclasp.
“Mara Prime is going to want to meet you, of course. I hope you’ll both join me for dinner after.” The Patriarch included Sinclair Prime in his invitation with a nod of his head.
“Of course, Patriarch,” Sinclair Prime answered quickly as the man turned to go.
Grady Prime didn’t get a chance to say much of anything. Ronin Prime moved like the wind. One minute he was there, the next he was gone like a puff of smoke.
“Doesn’t let any grass grow under his feet, does he?” Grady asked with some humor as they resumed walking up the path that led from the landing area.
“The Patriarch marches to the beat of his own drum.”
Grady Prime laughed. “It seems we both have been consorting with humans too long if we have adopted their race’s sayings as our own. As they would say, touché, my friend.”
Sinclair Prime joined in his laughter and as they rounded a final curve in the narrow path, they came face to face with an old Alvian male with hair gone white with age. Grady Prime knew this one. This was Mara Prime, the top geneticist for their race. Grady had dealt with the quiet old man from time to time as he worked with Mara 12 and the O’Haras in the early days, but he hadn’t seen him in many years.
“It is good to see you again, Mara Prime. I hope you are well.” Grady gave the elder a traditional sign of respect. He would have offered his hand, but that was a greeting reserved mostly for soldiers and not one Mara Prime had ever responded well to in the past. He was very reserved, even among Alvians.
“Well enough, thank you, Grady Prime. I would like a report on your progress before you continue with your duties. Follow me.”
The old man turned without another word, clearly expecting to be obeyed. Grady Prime followed behind, knowing he had to get this over with if he was going to be allowed to get on with his work. So different, this greeting of Prime to Prime than the meeting with the Zxerah Patriarch. Grady Prime had liked the Patriarch right off—respected his power and the aura of authority around him—even on such short acquaintance. Grady Prime didn’t much care for Mara Prime’s cold ways and never had.
After a thorough debriefing in Mara Prime’s sparsely decorated office, Grady Prime was finally free to resume his duties. Sinclair Prime met him outside the small building where Mara Prime’s offices and laboratory were located.
“There is little sun left today, especially here under the canopy of trees. Dinner is not far off,” Sinclair Prime explained. “I thought perhaps I could show you a little of the base on our way to meet the Patriarch for dinner.”
Grady thought it an excellent plan and followed eagerly after Sinclair Prime. He’d changed his uniform top for one that had openings in back for his wings. Grady Prime was shocked at first to see the tawny golden feathers of his wings folded along the curves of Sinclair Prime’s back. Although it was probably rude, Grady found he couldn’t stop himself from stealing glances at them.
Finally, Sinclair Prime stopped, a huge grin on his face as he turned to face Grady and very deliberately spread his wings.
“Does this help?” He cocked one eyebrow and grinned. Grady Prime laughed in answer.
“I apologize. I am simply fascinated by your wings.”
Sinclair Prime stood still, his wings outstretched while Grady Prime got a good long look. The tawny color was not uniform. The long feathered shafts had patterns on them of gold, brown, white and rust. The pattern had elements in common with that of other birds of prey Grady Prime had seen both on this planet and on his homeworld of Alvia Prime. Yet somehow, it was different. Chevrons of color danced down each extra-long shaft, interspersed with smaller feathers
here and there.
“Your wings are truly amazing,” Grady said after a long moment. “What happens when you lose feathers? I assume as a soldier you’ve run into injuries from time to time.”
Sinclair Prime folded his right wing along his back, bringing his left wing forward so he could touch the feathers with his hands.
“Look at this one,” he pointed to a particularly thick shaft. “This one broke off a week ago, and I glued it back on as a temporary measure until the new shaft grows into place. It’s not ideal, but it works. Sometimes you can’t save the broken shaft and you just have to fly with a gap until the new plumage grows in. And we molt every once in a while. When we’re young, the new feathers come in every year until we reach adolescence. Then the process slows. We’re out of commission flying-wise every decade for a complete molt. Otherwise we only lose feathers occasionally, never grounded unless we receive very serious injury such as a broken bone.”
“Fascinating,” Grady Prime said, inspecting the broken feather at the other man’s invitation. The whole idea had him captivated.
Sinclair Prime tucked his wing back behind him and resumed the tour. He showed Grady Prime the barracks and the guest room he’d been assigned, where his pack had already been stowed. Sinclair also showed him the mess hall, break room and other facilities, introducing him to a few others as they went through the various public areas. All of the winged soldiers seemed surprised to see non-winged Grady Prime in their sanctuary, but they were welcoming for the most part.
Not all were of the Sinclair bloodline. Grady Prime met a few Hanlons, a Shaugness, a Lear and some Malens as well. Each had wings in varying shades of blond and brown with otherworldly markings along the long shafts of improbable feathers. The men were soldiers, well built and long of limb with varying lengths of wing that would support them in the air. Grady Prime also noted patrols flying or resting in the trees, watching over the compound below.
