by Bianca D'Arc
“As you wish.” Mara Prime was not pleased by the Council’s attitude, but it was not his place to argue. He bowed to their wisdom.
Several hours later, Mara Prime did his best to triangulate Grady Prime’s position as they spoke, to no avail. He didn’t like not knowing exactly where the test subject was located but he had to tread lightly. His role was as medical observer. Even a Prime could be reprimanded if he was seen to be interfering with an ongoing military operation, much less a top-secret mission authorized by the High Council itself. Mara Prime had to be cautious.
“Any headaches, nausea or other signs of illness to report?” Mara Prime worked through the checklist his subordinate had supplied. It was her study, after all. He was only collecting the data because of the test subject’s current location and the need for secrecy about his mission. Otherwise, Mara Prime would not dirty his hands with such a menial task.
“Nothing to report.” Grady Prime’s voice came over the crystal. He answered the questions but did not elaborate. Mara Prime wasn’t entirely certain it was just his soldier’s reticence at work. He had a feeling this test subject was trying to hide something.
“I would like you to come back to base for a full examination.” Mara Prime wanted this test subject under closer observation, but his hands were tied since Grady Prime’s current military mission came first.
“I regret that is not possible at this time.”
“When will you be able to comply with my request?”
“I am uncertain as to the exact date.”
“How close are you? Surely you can take a few hours to come in for a checkup?”
“I am not authorized to disclose my location to you. Furthermore, I am under orders from the Council to complete my mission as soon as possible. Going back to base at this time would interfere with those orders. Regretfully, I cannot comply with your request.”
Everything the soldier Prime had to say was correct, but Mara Prime was still suspicious. He did not like the need for his scientific experiments to be postponed or interfered with by military necessity. They were only warriors, after all. Inferior genetic stock. As far as Mara Prime was concerned, his wishes should come first. Not that of some soldier.
“I see.” Mara Prime did not like this one bit but was powerless at the moment. “I will lodge a formal request with the High Council to allow for field examination of the test subject. Good day.”
“Did that little twerp just hang up on you?” Jim’s amused voice came to Grady from the doorway. He’d sought privacy to make his scheduled report after deciding to keep up with the check-ins he’d been ordered to give.
“That little twerp is the most highly ranked geneticist on this planet.” Grady sighed as he sat back and switched off the communications console through which he’d given his report. Using the console in conjunction with the Zxerah’s untraceable crystal had hopefully confounded any technology Mara Prime might have tried to use to locate his position. “And yes, he cut the connection. To him I’m merely a test subject. A soldier, at that. Not worthy of courtesy, even if I am his equal in rank.”
“The little shit,” Jim muttered in anger as he walked in and took the chair next to Grady. “He’s not your equal, buddy. You’ve got it all over that asshole from what I just heard.”
“Thanks, Jim.”
Grady looked over at the man fate had forced him to share a mate with. He looked so typically human—which was to say, a mix of colors, angles and curves not commonly found among the more homogenous Alvian population. Grady’s people were all tall, blonde, blue eyed and pale skinned. There was some natural variation. Some had darker hair and different shades of blue, grey or green in their irises, but they all had pointed ears and tall frames. And each genetic line shared very similar features and builds. One Grady looked much like another, and they were mostly all called to serve in warrior posts.
These humans though. They came in all shapes and sizes, with marvelous variations in their coloring. Their temperaments were vastly different as well. Each chose what they wanted to do with their lives rather than be guided into a particular role based on their genetic heritage. It was very strange to Grady, who’d been raised in the Alvian collective. It had been difficult at first to understand his new surroundings and the people—the humans—he now called friends. It had been especially hard to understand Jim, the man with whom Grady now shared his mate.
All in all though, the arrangement wasn’t working out too badly. Jim and Gina were teaching him more about his new emotions with each passing day, and he loved Gina with all of his newly discovered heart. Jim was becoming a good friend as well, though Grady would not have expected it just a few short weeks ago. They’d had a rough start on this road to resonance mating with Gina, but things were beginning to work out.
They’d been in Colorado for over a week now, exploring Jim’s facility—a place that had been known as Cheyenne Mountain back before the crystal seeding of the Earth. The humans called the seeding the cataclysm because of what the crystal bombardment from orbit had done to their planet. Coastlines all over the world had been hit by giant tsunamis, and earthquakes had ravaged most fault lines. People and animals had died by the billions.
All so the Alvian race could retune the crystal deposits in the Earth’s crust to resonate at a higher frequency. A frequency at which Alvians could live comfortably. All their technology and even their biological systems functioned at a higher frequency than humans. While they could have lived on Earth the way it had been, it would have been uncomfortable and most of their technology would have required major retuning. By bombarding the planet from orbit, they had made the planet’s resonance comfortable for their race and technology within a matter of months.
“So are you good for another week?” Jim’s question brought Grady back to the matter at hand.
“At least. Mara Prime will no doubt lodge a formal complaint, but I believe the Council is more interested in letting me track down their lost winged assassin than in my participation in the Maras’ little experiment. They talked about adding another soldier to the experiment if I couldn’t finish the task quickly. More than likely, that is what they will do.”
“When do you have to report in next?”
“Ten days. I told the Council I had to track down a lead on the other side of the globe. They seemed content with my progress. They would not expect the man I am after to have left an easy trail. If they thought it would be easy, they would have sent someone else. They only use me for the most difficult cases.”
Grady and Jim both knew the man he’d been sent to locate—and kill—was currently somewhere in the facility with them, making friends and living at ease. The former Sinclair Prime, top assassin for the Council, was now a fugitive. He called himself Bill Sinclair and lived among humans. Grady knew and approved. He and Bill had had a long talk about how gaining emotion had changed them both for all time.
“How long do you think you can play this game with the Council?” Jim’s expression turned serious. “Gina got clearance from her Patriarch to stay here indefinitely, and I need to stay because of my people. You’re the one we’re both concerned about now. I never thought I’d say that, but there it is. Gina would miss you if you had to leave, and dammit, I would too.”
Grady felt a lightness enter his chest that burst forth in laughter. It felt good, this joy that filled him when he realized he had truly formed a family with Gina and this unlikely third. Jim hadn’t been welcoming at first, but both men had quickly realized neither of them wanted to live without Gina. She was the glue that kept their strange little family together, and Grady thanked heaven every day for her and the life he might be able to have with her…and Jim.
It was more complicated than he’d expected, but worth every difficulty. Gina was a member of the secretive Zxerah clan and she had duties to them. Jim led the humans who had sought shelter within this vast underground facility and needed to be here. Grady had obligations in Alvian society. He was a Prime
—the head of his genetic line. He wouldn’t be allowed to simply disappear. Plus, he might still be able to use his influence as a leader of his people to do some good for all beings—human and Alvian.
“I believe I can stretch the search out for several more weeks.”
“All right.” Jim slapped his thighs before standing up decisively. “Then we’ll make sure you keep up your reporting on the regular schedule and learn what we can from your communications. In the meantime, we’ll formulate plans for a couple of different contingencies. Chances are one of the seers might give us a clue about how all this will play out. We’ll hope for the best.”
Grady liked the sound of that. Hope. It was something he’d never experienced before taking the experimental treatment that gave him the ability to feel. Of all the emotions he’d learned since then, hope was one of the most beautiful. It was right up there next to love. As far as he was concerned, love was the best feeling of all, but hope came in a close second.
Roshin 72 joined the new Councilor’s staff unexpectedly. She’d been put in place for just such an opening, but she’d never really believed such a thing would happen. The competition to be on a Councilor’s staff was fierce, and she’d spent many of her early years off the grid, so to speak. She’d been raised in the Zxerah compound, but she wasn’t much of a fighter compared to most of her Brethren.
No, her talents lay in other directions. She did better in support functions and had excelled in her work in the Brotherhood’s enclave, eventually coming to the notice of the Patriarch—the leader of the Zxerah Brotherhood—while she steadily rose in the ranks of her own Alvian bloodline to attain the 72nd placing at a comparatively young age.
She’d impressed the Patriarch with her quiet nature and efficient mind, or so he’d said. He’d had her tested in many ways, both physically and mentally, and after due consideration, he’d made her a part of his secret corps of Alvian operatives who lived ordinary lives out among the Alvian populace.
When Councilor Troyan had been disgraced and kicked off the Council, she’d received orders to apply for one of many open positions on the new Councilor’s staff. She hadn’t expected to win one of the coveted spots, but she had.
And now she was a spy.
Roshin 72 hated to be late. Well, maybe not hate. She was unable to experience such things, but if she could hate, that would be the word to describe the echoes of what she felt when she was running late. Although she wasn’t really sure what hate was. It seemed to have a very broad definition. Perhaps another word would be better, but she didn’t know quite which one. She was still learning the nuances of human language.
Whatever it was she felt in those fleeting echoes, it wasn’t pleasant. Sort of an urgency and annoyance. She’d seen it among the human Zxerah, but her Alvian heart couldn’t really comprehend.
Regardless of her inner conjecture, Roshin 72 was late for a meeting and her superior was going to be displeased. She worked for the new Councilor, but she also reported back all the inner workings of the Council to her Zxerah Brethren.
Council meetings were dull for the most part. Roshin sat in the back, behind her Councilor at the staff table, making notes for her superior. She was ignored for the most part, but she had a great vantage point from which to view all the goings on of the Council.
She admired the new Councilor, although she’d been suspicious of him at first. Her assignment to his support staff was complex in nature—more complex than any Alvian realized except those privileged few of her fellows in the Brotherhood.
One of her first tasks had been to research the new Councilor. Everything she’d seen from him so far indicated he was a good man, concerned only for the betterment of the Alvian race as a whole. She might even go so far as to say he was something of an idealist—as much as any politician could be. Although, to be fair, he hadn’t been a career politician when he’d been tapped to join the Council.
After the disaster with former Councilor Troyan, they’d had to find someone who was unassailable to fill the suspect Councilor’s spot. The best way to do that was to pick someone highly respected by a majority of Alvians who was not part of the political establishment. He’d faced opposition from the political elite but had eventually won the post through popular support. Regular Alvians seemed to think he was the best man for the job, and having learned as much about him and his views in the short time she’d worked for him, Roshin 72 believed it too.
She didn’t want to be late, so she put her head down and hustled as best she could down the corridor. Until she crashed into something.
It made a sound. Not something. Someone.
“Please forgive me—” She looked upward, expecting to see a disapproving Alvian visage above the clean beige robes. What she saw instead stole her breath.
Amusement dancing in blue, human eyes. Sandy hair barely covered the tips of his pointed ears. She was confused. He was Alvian. But those eyes weren’t like any Alvian’s she had ever seen. Those were human eyes. And his features weren’t quite as sharply defined as the regular, angular Alvian visage. He was handsome in the extreme, but not quite one hundred percent Alvian. That meant he could only be…
“Hara,” she breathed, awestruck—or as close as she could come to it—by crashing into such an important person.
“Call me Harry. And you are?” His voice was rich and deep, warm and exuberant in a way she wasn’t used to hearing from someone with pointed ears. She’d learned about such things only from the human Brethren she’d befriended.
“Roshin 72,” she answered automatically.
“Roshin.” He seemed to examine the name, pausing before declaring, “I will call you Ro. Is that all right with you, pretty Ro?” His smile did things to her she didn’t understand, but she recognized playfulness from her interaction with her human friends.
“I am unsure how to respond,” she said honestly, nonplussed.
He chuckled as he bent to pick up some of the papers that had fallen at his feet when she’d bumped into him. He proffered the papers to her as she stood mutely. He was something she had never encountered before and did not know how to deal with.
“Nobody else has to know, Ro. My nickname for you will be our little secret.” He winked at her. That’s what she’d heard the gesture called where one eye closed and the other remained open. She didn’t really know what it meant, but she interpreted the smile that accompanied it as mischievous.
Chapter Two
The Patriarch of the secretive Zxerah Brotherhood had to travel anonymously when he traveled at all. The Council watched him closely, but it was possible to escape their notice from time to time. This was one of those times when he needed absolute anonymity.
The Council used the Zxerah as their private assassins, but kept the ghost squad—and especially the Patriarch—under close surveillance. They liked the skillset his warriors brought to the table, and their ability to move in and out of a situation without being seen, but the Council really didn’t like the fact that their pet assassins answered to their own leader first, before the Council. They used the ghost squadron when it suited their political purposes, but the Council did not trust the Zxerah or the Patriarch.
Only the Patriarch knew for certain that the Council’s fears were well grounded. They didn’t trust him, and if they knew what he planned—and had been actively working toward all his life—they would have cut him down long before now.
Grady Prime had given the Patriarch a recorded message that would help him make contact with a most peculiar Alvian. After that he had to get the Chief Engineer’s cooperation all on his own.
He’d put plans in place over the past week that would help him toward his goal—if all went well. Timing was critical. Things were coming to a head and he and his people had to be ready to act when the time came. The first step was making contact with Davin and his mate, Callie O’Hara. They had a third, a human named Richard St. John. The Patriarch knew all about them now and thought he’d devised the best possible wa
y to approach them. It would start with the introduction Grady Prime had so thoughtfully provided, but how things would proceed from there, only the seers could say.
The Patriarch transmitted his message via a secure crystal. Such things were rare and hard to come by, but this particular crystal had been used by many Patriarchs before him going all the way back to Alvia Prime. It held a special code that the Chief Engineer should be able to decipher if he bothered to look. The Patriarch didn’t know Davin yet, but from his research about the Chief Engineer, the Patriarch was almost certain he would look into the ancient codes. It was a test of sorts. One of many that would allow the Patriarch to divine Davin’s true mettle.
The answer to the Patriarch’s transmission came even faster than he’d expected. He opened the channel for two-way communication and was pleased to find the Chief Engineer himself on the other end.
“Sir,” Davin said respectfully. “I was…surprised to receive your codes.”
One point in favor of Chief Engineer Davin, the Patriarch thought. He’d checked the code. Quickly too. The encryption had alerted Davin to the importance of the message and its bearer, but had not revealed the fact that he was dealing with one of the Zxerah Brotherhood, much less the Patriarch himself. Such confidences would come in time.
“Thank you for taking my call, Chief Engineer. I would like to meet with you, in person. With you and your mate, if possible.”
“I don’t expose my Resonance Mate to casual inspection by anyone, ancient codes or not, but I’ll meet with you and we can take it from there.”
The Patriarch bowed his head in respectful agreement. “I cannot be seen. The Council has eyes everywhere.”
“They do,” Davin agreed. “But few of them are within my facility, and I know just how to divert them. Come in to the south landing platform at sunset. I will meet you there.”