by Casey Lea
Bushes rustled in the breeze, but a heavier bough swayed too and something scraped behind him, the faintest hint of a foot brushing gravel off the top stair. Nik’s fronds bristled, but the rocks and steps were reflecting the last of the sun's heat and he could sense nothing more. He moved forward anyway and felt a hint of thought for the first time. A sense of triumph and delight made him pause at the edge of the pool.
Nik looked down just as something launched itself from those cool depths. Water and slime engulfed the Beserk, along with a scrawny body. He swiveled instinctively, far faster than conscious thought and his attacker sailed past him. More forms appeared around the garden and on the steps above. They boiled from the underbrush and foliage, launching themselves together. It was the perfect ambush.
The new assailants had distracted Nik from the first attacker and a wet body slammed into the back of his neck. He laughed delightedly and ducked his head to throw someone two thirds his size forward and back into the pool. That assault finished with a splash, but the other ambushers launched themselves in turn. He twisted and dived, laughing all the time, while he threw small bodies across the garden. A knife flashed by his ear, but his fronds tracked it and he flicked his head aside at the last second. He lifted the blade's owner into a somersault that took him through a bush and into the pool.
The first attacker was standing there in waist deep water, watching the fight and had to throw himself sideways to avoid being hit. He rose sputtering stagnant water and swear-words in equal amounts.
“Hold. We surrender.”
The dim figures around Nik stopped, then started picking themselves from the undergrowth and undraping themselves from garden furniture. Instead of returning to the attack they slumped, or dropped to the ground. Nik straightened and stretched, frowning when something twinged in his shoulder. He couldn't afford to get old. Not yet. Not while his children were still so young.
“Victory is mine?”
“Sure,” a youthful voice agreed. “We drakking concede.”
“Good. Form up.” The snapped command brought an instant response and Nik watched with satisfaction while his battered offspring ran to make a line in front of him. They slipped into their places, tallest to shortest, quickly and quietly. All twenty were standing at attention in a matter of seconds. The only sound was the scuff of bare feet and the occasional rustle of folded wings.
Nik smiled at that. It had been unfair to order them not to fly when they attacked him, but they needed to know that life would never be fair. They also had to know how to fight on the ground if necessary.
Nikareon strolled along the row of children and struggled to hide his pride. The Maker had done all Nik had asked and more when he modified the Beserk's offspring. They were fine, fearless children and the foundation of a new species that would live free of the Harvesters. No-one would order them into battle and treat them as mindless slaves. If anyone tried, his little birds would simply fly away.
Nik stopped beside Daxeon and frowned at the pain the boy's fronds betrayed. “You're hurt.”
The eleven-year-old's face creased. “A little, Patri. My wing tangled in a bough-”
“You were ordered to furl your crappy, little wings,” Zakareon, the oldest, said and Daxeon scowled. He opened his mouth, but Nik spoke instead.
“We've no time to argue. Show me.” The children stirred uneasily at the implication of a lack of time and exchanged glances, while Nikareon studied Daxeon's wing. It unfolded in his hands, the softest blue-green leather that was now caked in blood. “You can't photosynthesis when your algal layer is covered. This needs cleansing as well as healing.”
The boy straightened further. A slight frown between his eyes was his only concession to the pain of a ripped wing. “I can clean it, Patri.”
Nik released the clawed tip without hesitation. “Actions, soldier. Show me.”
The child was instantly moving. He leapt past his father, but Nik stopped him with a call. “Dax.” The youngster skidded to a halt and turned back. “You attacked well, with total commitment. Your blade almost touched me. You now hold the title of Closest.”
Daxeon beamed, while his chest puffed out like a squillik accepting a fare. He began to turn away, but spun back to launch himself at his father. Nik let him come and the boy threw his arms around the Beserk's waist in a delighted hug. “Thanks, Patri.”
“Whoa, any tighter and I'd be crippled in more than mind. Now hurry. We needs must leave.”
Dax sprinted away, while his brothers and sister clustered closer. The children had suspected as much, but there was still consternation among them.
“Again?”
“Already?”
“So soon?”
Zak, their usual leader, lifted a fist for silence and quiet returned. “Is it time to go?”
Nik studied his oldest son gravely. The twelve-year-old had paled suspiciously and silver frosted the whites of his eyes. “Yes.”
“Already?” Karrie, the next oldest after Zak and the only girl, twisted her lips in distress. “For good? I met someone-”
“For now,” her father answered with a warning look.
“How close is the enemy?” Zakareon asked and his father tousled his blonde hair.
“The IceFlights are landing. An Alliance ship made passage five minutes past.” There was further consternation and one of the toddlers whimpered, until Nik snapped his fingers. The children calmed at once and there was a rustle of wing against wing as they flowed back into line. He noticed with satisfaction that his oldest son was already the height of most adult kres, although he was only twelve. The boy kept his gaze on the ground, but the evening was now too dark to hide the gleam of his eyes.
“Go pack,” Nikareon ordered with a wave of dismissal. “Be as quick as a virgin in a brothel. Not you, Zak. You're on clean up.”
His son looked up and his eyes glowed brighter still, shining icy blue at the unexpected punishment. “Patri-”
“Yes?” his father asked softly and Zakareon hesitated.
He slowed his breathing and then his pulse, until Nik’s fronds could hear the twelve-year-old counting each beat. The steely light in his eyes faded and a flush reddened his cheeks instead. “Apologies, Father. I lost control and have no excuse.”
Nik placed a warm hand on the boy's shoulder and steered him toward the steps. They settled on them together, with Nikareon choosing a lower stair to put their faces at the same level. “You have every excuse for loss of control. You're a Beserk. But that's the point. If we ever wish to be free, to be a people in our own right, without com tethers and drugs and masters to control us, we have to learn to control ourselves. That's why I hired the Maker to change you. Every one of you.”
The youngster nodded solemnly. “Wings with jets to attack hard from any direction. Wings that photosynthesize so we don't need to eat.” Zak’s shoulders flexed automatically and the teal cloak resting over his shoulders unclasped. Each side sprang upward as soon as it was released. Two wing tips rose above Zak's golden head, while blue-green wings spread wide on either side of the boy, making his father grin. The small hook on the crest of one wing stabbed forward, but it was a feint and Nikareon ignored it. He concentrated instead on the main claws.
Each wing was tipped at its outer point with a curve of dull green fullerene. They glinted in the faint light, one held high above Nikareon's head and the other angling lower, toward his ankles. That was the one that moved first, slashing in, but Nikareon raised a booted foot to block it. He flicked his head back at the same moment and felt a tug as the other talon sailed past his face. He was grinning ferociously when he lifted his fists, ready to knock further blows aside, but the attack had stopped.
Zak stared at his father from ice-blue eyes as wide as asteroids. His honey complexion paled until he was almost as white as his father. His finger rose very slowly to point at Nik's head. “You're bleeding.”
The Beserk stopped too, before lifting his hand just as slowly to his cheek. He
felt blood running down his face, but already slowing to a trickle as his com field sealed the shallow cut. He jerked his fingers away to stare at the red streaked across them and his smile returned. He gazed at the smeared blood, while his mouth curved further in amazed delight.
“No one gets through your defenses,” Zak protested. “Not the kres, not pirates. Not anyone.”
A wild cry broke from Nik and he swept his son into his arms to scrub his fingers through the boy's hair in unrestrained joy. “You did it. You committed to battle, drew blood, but never went Beserk.”
Zak scowled and wriggled, but his attempts to escape were half-hearted. Nik chuckled and released his son back to the step. However, once the boy was settled Nikareon assumed his most solemn expression, which meant hardly any smile at all. “You still have a weakness.”
Zak screwed up his face in return. “Yeah, I'm drakking twelve.”
“Not that. I'd rather fight beside you than many an adult I know. Think, Zak. What is our true weakness?”
“The fury.”
“Indeed. Blind, unthinking and not the source of our strength as they tried to make us believe. So, what causes your rage?”
Zak looked away for the first time and shrugged. “Daxeon taking my title of Closest.”
Nik growled quietly, a low vibration that rumbled through his suddenly very still son. “Which you just claimed back. Be grateful for your brother. He challenges you where the others can't. No. What lights up your eyes despite every effort at control?”
Zak kicked at the steps and shrugged. “Them.”
“Them who?”
This time Zak pushed angrily to his feet and stamped away from his father. When he turned back his eyes glowed in the dark like those of a feral beast. “IceFlights,” he snarled and his pupils were lost in a silver sheen.
“IceFlights.” Well, that was no surprise. “Why?”
Zak's anger was diverted by thought and the glow faded, to drop the garden into true darkness. “Why? They've hounded us all my life. They've chased you for years and they're still coming. Why do you think?”
“I know why they're my enemies. Why are they yours?”
Zak paused again, pushed beyond his assumptions into unfamiliar territory. “Well, they’re cowards and I hate such.”
“Ha. I’ve called the IceFlights many things, but never cowards. Why judge them so?”
“They send whole fleets just to chase one Beserk and some kids. Blightwing’s the worst. He gives orders he’s too scared to follow himself. He has to send drakking Freefart to chase us all over. So, I hate them.”
“Guano.”
His son’s eyes blazed, but Nik raised a warning hand. “Don’t go feral now, Zak. Be honest instead. Tweets and other cowards exist for our entertainment. Why do you truly hate my enemy?”
Zak’s eyes faded and he was quiet for a minute, before moving to stand next to his father and in the dark he reached for Nik's shoulder. “They take you away from us. All the time. And they want to kill you. One day, you might not come back.”
“Ah.” Nik very gently ruffled his son's hair. “Now that is a weakness, but an unavoidable one. Come.” He drew Zak back to the steps and they sat down together again. He leaned close to his son in the dark, until their fronds almost touched. I've a secret that I'm ready to share with you, but only you. Understood?
Yes, Patri.
Good. The IceFlights will never kill me. They can't. They don't know it, but I stole something from them over a decade past. I can tell them that at any time and they won't dare hurt me. Do you understand? I can lead them by the ear whenever I wish.
There was a moment of mental silence while Zak digested that. What did you steal?
“Nothing important, but their culture is odd and they’ll want it back. So you don't need to fear them.”
Zak frowned and studied his feet. “Then why do we run?”
“Perhaps I don't wish to give them back their oddment yet.” He slapped his son's thigh and rose swiftly, rearranging his face to its usual expression of cynical amusement. “But more likely I'm bored and enjoy the novelty of moving on. I want the garden and house swept clean of DNA. Completely clean. Do a thorough job and I'll see to your packing.” He launched himself from the garden, taking all three steps in a single stride and disappeared into the house before Zak could ask any more questions.
Nik had to duck his head to enter the bedroom wing. The rooms were cool and dark, with his children flitting between them in disciplined precision, each lit by a dim glow from their coms. He smiled at Karrie when she bustled past, but she frowned back. She was only just twelve, but adolescence was certain-sure knocking.
Nik reached the second-to-last bedroom, the one next to his and opened the real, wooden door. It swung halfway and stuck. He had to lean into it with his shoulder to push it fully open. A soft pile that rustled loudly was swept back against the wall, announcing his entrance to Zak's room. He grinned at the basic warning system, but then frowned at the state of the floor. It was lost in layers of clothes and home-made weapons.
Nik sighed, then grabbed handfuls of both from the ground and threw them at the compression strip where they should have been stored. He cleared the bed and carpet, then ripped the strip off the wall, checking that its emergency supplies were full. He cleared Zak's table more carefully, which was easy because it was remarkably tidy. Sitting on a plinth in the middle was a replica of an ancient rocket, the first ship that had lifted mermaridians into space. It was only half finished, with one side still nothing more than a skeleton.
Nik paused, holding it in both hands. He had started it with Zak four years ago, but the Alliance had forced them to flee and no planet since had sold the same kit. He smiled wryly and promised himself again to go back for the rest of the parts someday.
“Everything's better done by hand,” he mused, “except sex.” He weighed the model in his palms, gently hefting it, while a memory tried to surface.
Something about that raid four years ago... he remembered, the Grace had been easy to spot. He'd picked up Freefall's ship as soon as it made passage, but it had simply been a decoy. Cloaked strike slivers had already reached the planet and he'd been lucky to escape. The first part of that pattern had been repeated half a dozen times over the next four years. The ship had appeared at passage and been easy to spot. The first time he'd moved his family at once, watching for slivers all the way, before realizing there weren't any. The second and third time he'd been nearly as vigilant. However, by the fourth attack from the Grace alone, without backup he'd started to assume that Freefall's resources had been cut.
The last two appearances of the Grace on its own had left plenty of time to escape and this time... this time he'd been stopping for dinner and a movie. Nik's pulse jumped and he dropped the model rocket. His frond sent an urgent signal to his com and the spy flecks he had in orbit around Paradise reported straight away. There was no sign of intruders. Every overlapping circle was unbroken, but his heart continued to thud at combat pace.
“Check for any reflected signals and refresh.” Nikareon glared at the hologram and willed it not to change. In response the planet floated above his wrist, still snug within a shield of golden discs- no. Drakking luckless kres. There was a gap. Over the southern pole.
“Stop packing,” Nik barked into his com. “Grab what you have and get to the garden now. That's now-” His orders were lost in the roar of multiple explosions. He ducked and something crunched under his knees. The roof sagged overhead to spray the room with split ceiling planks and dirt. He huddled over splinters of the half-built toy, until bits of roof stopped falling on him.
Nik was on his feet as soon as he could stay upright. He hurdled debris and skidded on clods of earth, but kept going. A crack above the doors to the garden lengthened as he approached and the lintel split. The doorframe sagged in two, but he threw himself under it. He took the weight across his shoulders and put all of his com power into holding up the roof. Where were his chil
dren?
Coughing sounded from the far end of the room and Nik peered through the dust. He braced himself more firmly, while the weight of the house pressed down on him. “Hurry.”
Zak and Dax appeared with Karrie. The trio were carrying their three smallest brothers. They ducked past Nikareon, whose legs were starting to shake. Grit sifted from the ceiling every time he trembled and he locked his knees.
“That's everyone,” Zak grunted when he pushed past.
Another explosion sounded from the front door and Nik leapt and rolled, out into the garden. The wall collapsed behind him and he kept on rolling. He was hit by a hail of plaster, but nothing worse. He rose to a knee and checked the house. The dining room was gone, nothing more than a pile of rubble. It should take them a minute to blast their way through. A minute, but no more.
Nik came upright and sprinted to the edge of the pool. Its usually calm surface was ruffled and greener than ever with slime and weed bobbing across it. However, the children had almost all vanished, diving for the hidden exit he had carefully crafted when they first arrived. Only Zak and Dax remained, waist deep in the warm water. He took a long, last look at them, before waving a hand in the order to advance.
“Go. I'll lay a trap to slow pursuit. Get to the ship. I'll catch up.”
His sons dropped under the murky surface without hesitation. Behind Nik something cracked and dirt flew down the garden to strike his back. He ignored it, striding to the edge of the pool to stare into the water. It was as opaque as jade. His children were safely gone.
Nik turned to face the house and dropped to his knees. He let his com fall from his wrist and shuddered at the sudden loss of energy. He placed his hands behind his head, fingers laced together and stared straight ahead. It was tempting to look at the sky. The stars were coming out and on Paradise the local nebula was always stunning, but no. It was better to face the enemy. He'd been running for long enough and, more importantly, this was the only way to be sure his children would escape.
