Good day to everyone; I hope you are doing well. I'm learning how to become a writer and would appreciate your help.
Could anyone please read this chapter and let me know:
Could anyone please read this chapter and let me know:
- Are the descriptions detailed enough?
- Do the dialogue, characters' motivations, and behaviors feel natural?
- Do I overuse certain words, or is everything fine?
Holes opened in the sides of the flying objects, and a swarm of green-blue spheres flew out. Each was the size of a Softskin’s torso; their smooth surfaces were crossed by many lines. Five descended toward Draa while Artificer spoke with the Malformed, leaving the heavily breathing Dad on the sand. Silently, the lines parted, allowing individual sections of the spheres to open and extend long, flexible tendrils.
They wrapped around Draa, lifting him into the air; a pair of spheres descended on Tigfy, scaring off the man sitting beside her with an electric discharge when he hesitated. Worst of all was the helplessness. Cold spread through his body from the strip on his mangled arm, stealing his last strength and not even allowing him to groan. Silvery tentacles closed around his father, creating a cocoon around him and the long hoses connecting the parts of his body. The same fate befell Raoul.
But the spheres weren’t only taking the Malformed. Some flew toward the ranks of Softskins, carefully plucking out the girls, who squealed in terror. Several projectiles ricocheted off the spheres, failing to damage the paint; the armed leader of the Softskins shouted, stopping the stone giant and the people.
This scene calmed Draa somewhat. It didn’t seem like they were going to be killed and eaten. But why were they taken then? A piercing green beam focused on the boy as he was lifted close to the right flying mountain. Up close, it turned out that numerous tubes—like those Artificer had used to release energy—covered the hide of the flying beast. He was brought closer to its side; the surface rippled, sinking inward and opening a path into a corridor.
He remembered the rest poorly. He was carried past guards in smooth blue armor, finally lowered into a viscous liquid inside a large rectangle with an open top and transparent walls—the liquid threatened to clog his airways. A mask descended from above, pressing tightly to his face and supplying fresh oxygen. Two other tentacles placed something in his earholes, and only then did the spheres release him, allowing the boy to sink headfirst into the colorless depths.
This resembled neither toxic waste nor water. His body met resistance, sinking smoothly. The strip and the parasite-like patches detached, floating away with sparse red streaks. He had expected more, much more. A Softskin in a white coat and woolen clothing underneath approached the wall, tapped two fingers to get his attention. The sound passed through his plugged ears. The male smiled, formed an “O” with his fingers, and picked up a faintly glowing sheet.
Two curved metal arms descended from above, plunging into the liquid. Draa groaned in terror, weakly thrashing as the fingers ending in sharp needles approached. Another tap came; the Softskin male wagged his finger, grabbed his own tooth, and mimed pulling it out. Draa’s bony eyebrows rose in embarrassment. Long needles plunged into his wounds, beginning to move at tremendous speed. A smaller limb, resembling a pincer, extended from the curved arm. It began collecting broken bone growths from the boy’s jaw, often breaking off parts that might have healed on their own.
They’re skinning me alive! Draa panicked. There was no pain. He felt his flesh shifting and his organs twitching—this frightened him more than agony. A tingling charge ran through his fingers; a female in glasses ran up to the male. Dressed similarly, she opened her mouth, saying something and nodding at Draa’s hands. A white haze flashed around his fingers, disintegrating the liquid.
The first Softskin nodded; Draa was pricked in the neck, and divine bliss descended upon him. His eyelids grew heavy, and he fell asleep. His dreams brought no peace. He saw his family without Dad, uncomprehending Euka, silent Akrn, and his mother’s accusing gaze, reproaching him for choosing Softskins over his own.
It would have been so simple. To do as Raoul wanted, to save Dad. He had known William wouldn’t stand aside, had felt it, which was why he had crawled away. Now… no one could survive being cut in half.
In his dream, Draa reached out his hand, but instead of touching, he inflicted ragged wounds, forever marring his mother’s face. Rushing to the exit, Draa ran into the chieftain entering, licking his lips carnivorously at the sight of the family.
Daddy’s home. Come to me.
He screamed, waking up as needles worked on his shoulder, and was horrified by the crimson color of the water around him. Hoops tightened on his body, trying to hold him. The Softskin on the other side of the wall tapped, but his tingling fingers reached toward the mechanical hand pinching his flesh. I won’t be butchered like a carcass!
The rays of light in the room intertwined, weaving the figure of a woman in an unusual, flowing garment. He remembered the name: dress. White skin flowed into long skirts reaching the floor, and into hair, leaving only blazing bright red eyes as the second color in the image. She passed through the panel, not getting wet in the liquid, and freely extended her hand, touching the Malformed’s cheek. With that touch came sensitivity and tenderness, contrasting with the inhuman gaze.
Brave boy, don’t you fret,
Once healed, you’ll soon be on your way,
A myriad and two discoveries await,
With friendship leading, so just stay asleep.
Evil and fear have no place here,
Cast your worries far aside,
Rest is helpful, sleep is safe,
Laugh within it, deep inside,
And I’ll stand guard, your dreams to keep.
Draa didn’t know this language. But as it reached him, the stranger’s voice changed, taking on Mom’s intonations, transforming into understandable words of a song promising safety. Unnoticed, he closed his eyes again, no longer resisting.
****
“….”
Draa jerked his head, hearing unfamiliar speech. He was in the grip of a metal arm, lifting him out of the pool. With a soft hiss, other manipulators injected streams of gas into the water, and it cleared of his remnants and blood. The male who had tapped on the wall now sat comfortably on a floating disk with a black cushion, and beside him stood… a mouse.
Intellectually, he understood it was a mutant, but the sight of a rodent standing next to a human shocked him. The size of a Softskin, clad in a neat, smooth blue uniform with the familiar tree symbol on his chest, he swayed on the toes of his black boots, his tail wrapped from his right thigh to his left shoulder. His long, rounded ears bore no torn marks; his beady eyes sat deep in eye sockets framed by brown fur; his black nose twitched, catching Draa’s scent. A shooting tube hung on his belt.
The male spoke again in an incomprehensible language. Draa showed his palms; the mouse turned his head, too large for his neck, hidden by a high collar of his uniform. The Softskin in white slapped his forehead, ran his hand through his dark hair, which harmonized with his pale, scarless skin, smelling pleasantly of sugar.
The mouse approached, holding a black bead in his hand. He showed Draa his own ear, in which a similar one sat, and the boy understood, accepting the small object from a paw with trimmed claws. What madness. Why mutilate claws? He placed the thing in his ear and felt it firmly attach to his skin.
“Wake up and sing!” The male clapped his hands.
Draa blinked. The Softskin’s speech reached him with a delay, transforming into familiar words by the time they reached his face.
“Dizziness? Hunger?” The lighthearted expression shifted to concern.
“A little, yes,” Draa admitted. “You understand me?”
“Thanks to the translator, yeah,” the male replied. “Don’t worry about food, we’ll find…”
“Dad!” Draa cried out, looking around. There were other Softskins in the hall; the male in white raised his hand, calming three in steel armor. “My dad’s name is William! He was badly wounded, please…”
“His life is not in danger,” the male assured him, jumping off his unusual seat. He fearlessly approached Draa, smiling without showing his teeth.
“Fangs isn’t a challenge,” the boy said, understanding why. “And I won’t bite. Honestly. Where’s Dad? My family left following Artificer’s instructions…”
“We are aware, citizen,” the mouse replied dryly. “The refugees are safe on the Star Link.”
“Let’s take things in order. Our young guest undoubtedly has many questions.” The male flashed a snow-white smile. “Lucius Cetegus, pleased to meet you.”
“Draa. There was a girl with me, is she alive?”
“Sleeping in the medical bay, just had a liver replacement.” Lucius sat back on his floating chair. “My sister is supposed to wake her for an examination in a few minutes. William sustained impressive damage, but nothing irreparable.”
“He was cut in two!”
“Three parts, including the hand.” Lucius scratched his ear. “A week-long task, and that long only out of caution—to avoid the risk of necrosis, allergies, and so on. In my time working as a volunteer, I’ve treated far more interesting cases.”
“Necrosis… you mean rotting?” Draa asked anxiously.
“Look at your former wounds,” the mouse suggested.
Raising his arm, Draa saw a white film—thin skin connecting the edges of what had once been a terrible wound. Even the stump of his elbow had regained lost centimeters, moving indistinguishably from old bones. The boy carefully extended his arm, afraid of tearing the strange covering, but it held. He touched the pale skin with his finger and sniffed, not catching any familiar smells.
His jaw had been cleared of fragments. He couldn’t bend to see the puncture wound from the claw. Noticing this, Lucius tapped his fingers on the glowing sheet and held out a mirror, showing Draa the whiteness in the hollow of his bony growth and pale spots on his chin.
“Sorry we made you look like a zebra…”
“An animal with two colors on its hide,” the mouse explained in response to Draa’s surprised look.
“But the surgery was urgent, I didn’t experiment with pigment. Anyway, your body will soon absorb it all, returning to its original color,” Lucius finished.
“As you can see, we treat serious wounds. There are no risks. Thomas Honigsmann, specialist in interaction with the local population,” the mutant introduced himself. “On behalf of the government of Iterna and with all my heart, I offer sincere apologies for what happened.”
“What are you talking about? The boy’s a hero!”
“The need for heroism arises from someone else’s incompetence.” Thomas clicked his sharp fangs. “If Draa wasn’t mistaken about his reported age…”
“He’s ten. I conducted basic research first,” Lucius assured him.
“That glorified toaster dared to involve a child in a state matter of the highest danger…”
“I got involved myself.” Draa frowned. “Artificer tried to stop me. But I couldn’t abandon the girls. They would have been… devoured. I refused to hide. Artificer saved me and Dad.”
“To begin with, you shouldn’t have been in such a position at all. Tried? Hmm, perhaps I’m just projecting my own encounter with the Elite,” said Thomas. “Let’s put it all aside for now.”
“Right. You’re due for an examination. Why nature gifted you with two…”
“Doctor!” Thomas raised his voice. “Draa, please spread your arms.”
He obeyed; two Softskins—humans—hosed him down with water, washing off the sticky liquid. The cold streams were invigorating; the washing gave Draa time to gather his thoughts. His family was alive; Dad was somewhere here. He had to find him without offending his saviors. And find out what awaited them and who these strange visitors were.
Thomas stepped aside, making way for a rack rising from the floor with a single one-piece silver suit. A zipper ran down the center; Draa took the clothing without asking, sure it was meant for him. With some difficulty, he managed to get his legs into the pants, but the joking Lucius had to assist him with the sleeves. The doctor asked him to raise his arms and clicked his tongue, tapping on the colored sheet. Up close, Draa made out pictures on it that changed with touch and unfamiliar letters.
“Question. How do I understand you?” Draa asked while Lucius fastened the zipper and stuck a sticker on the left side of his chest.
“An automatic translator picks up vibrations and converts them into speech you understand, sending it directly to your eardrum,” Thomas explained. “That’s why you hear with one ear at first. You’ll get used to it in a couple of hours. Artificer awaits you.”
“Examination and food first!”
“Of course.” Thomas tilted his head—to Draa, it seemed too quickly.
He doesn’t really like his leader.
“So… I lack the qualifications for the next operation. Wonderful, I’ll call in the retirement home,” Lucius muttered, turning some object in his hands.
The mechanical arms moved, retracting into the open ceiling. Draa swallowed, clenched his fists, and felt Thomas’s hand on his shoulder. The manipulators brought the worst—an elastic teardrop-shaped crystal, inside which was the beaten-to-pulp Raoul. Scales were peeling off. The immobilized chieftain was conscious; his mocking eyes found Draa as the room filled with guards aiming their tubes at the predator being submerged in the liquid.
More people in white entered through the doors, taking over from Lucius, who rose into the air on his seat.
“Use your legs, lazybones,” Thomas advised.
“No way! Technological gifts are everything!” the doctor shouted, flying through an opening.
The mutant shook his head: “Let’s go, Draa. That filth won’t escape, but we have no right to be here.”
Even more incomprehensible devices unfolded from the ceiling, aiming tubes at Raoul. Two massive machines—robots, as Thomas called them—stomped inside, shaking the floor, and joined the guards. Round spheres flew above, ready to provide support. This didn’t particularly reassure Draa. Once the chieftain is restored, he’ll find a way to break free.
Thomas laughed at this warning, reminded him of Artificer, and declared the personnel could handle any maniac.
“Who are you?” Draa asked. “You’re not like ordinary Softskins. The ones living near the Nest’s borders, I mean. They got rid of those like you.”
They entered a narrowing corridor—wide enough to walk shoulder to shoulder. The clean, untouched surface easily supported the boy’s weight as his guide headed for a door.
“Prejudices are persistent,” Thomas sighed. “We’re all human; appearance doesn’t matter. A social worker will tell you in detail, but here’s the short version. We are Iterna, and now you are too. Our country tries to persuade various tribes to abandon cruel customs through teachers and embassies. When a certain level of tolerance is achieved, gradual integration follows.”
“The locals didn’t look particularly tolerant,” Draa noted. “Us neither. How do Malformed fit into your picture?”
“Did your leader ever have rivals?” Thomas asked, pressing a button. “I thought so. Imagine that it does. Two or three Malformed whom a decent part of the herd obeys. That’s how it is with the locals. They were accepted earlier than usual as an emergency exception. One ruler decided she didn’t want to join and kidnapped the girls. Allegedly. Your chieftain caught the kidnappers. As for Malformed, small peoples incapable of diplomacy and living in territories that have agreed to Unification are sent to adaptation centers for successful integration into society. Sometimes it’s forced.”
Thomas entered a small room. The fur on his head descended down his back, tapering into a braid; the tip of his tail with a claw hooked onto his belt. Draa joined him; the door closed, the floor moved down.
“Were you from such a people?” Draa asked. “Is that why you don’t like Artificer?”
“We were integrated by a different Elite. Imagine a village trapped in the depths of broken ships, the size of ours.” Thomas tapped the wall. “Then, with one hand, she lifted the north of our world and brought a crowd to negotiate about a missing child.” He briefly bared his fangs. “We aren’t cannibals. There were problems that could have been avoided if that pretty doll had followed protocols and listened to the ambassador.”
“But Artificer was right,” Draa insisted. “Raoul killed any outsider, tortured prisoners. Artificer’s intervention saved lives.”
“Then what do you call the murdered settler?” Thomas twitched his ears. “Don’t answer. Not your concern. We can’t know how it would have been otherwise. It’s just… the Elites aren’t like us. They’re like cataclysms; each one can pose an incredible threat to civilization. Their willfulness…”
A beep came from his clothes. Thomas pulled out a rectangle, raised a finger asking for silence, and put it to his ear.
“Yes? No, no taekwondo all week. Because you broke your promise. We agreed I’d take you to the tournament, and you’d focus on your studies. What do you mean, ‘math isn’t working’? Then why weren’t you at school twice this month? I just checked the electronic diary,” Thomas spoke into the rectangle.
Draa caught familiar paternal intonations and smiled secretly. He didn’t know what taekwondo was, but William sometimes forbade hunting for unacceptable behavior. Probably the same thing here. All fathers are somewhat alike.
Not all. You know at least one monster, a treacherous inner voice whispered. So what? William is my father, period.
The doors slid open, revealing Vyfka and Eshtu heading toward a passage at the end of the corridor. Both wore suits similar to the one given to Draa, but modified for their bodies and without stickers. On either side of the teenagers stood guards in blue, who quickly nodded to the newcomers. The kids had strange devices wrapped around their chests in thin rings.
“You’re here too?” Draa ran toward them.
The guards tensed. The kids turned, unnaturally slowly, lifting and moving their limbs as if in glue. Vyfka’s face was covered up to the eyes by a black mask, smoothly conforming to her skin.
“Draa…” Eshtu said slowly. “You’re alive. The Softskins took everyone from the Nest. A swarm descended on us, swept through every lair and corner. There’s no one there. They separated my little sis, took her for an exam. She’s nervous without me.”
“It’ll be fine,” said a soldier.
“Give me a couple of hours, I’ve got unadapted ones here, okay?” Thomas said, joining the group. “Is this really necessary? They’re children.”
“Dangerous children, sir,” the soldier replied. “For their own safety, standard protocol until delivery to the juvenile center.”
“Our safety?!” The mask didn’t distort Vyfka’s speech. “You put collars on us! They won’t let me be free, slow me down, make me look stupid. I can’t even defend myself!”
“That’s why we’re here,” the soldier assured her. “It won’t be long. Be a good girl and I’ll treat you to chocolate.”
“They saved your people!” Draa looked at the guards’ faceless visors, wondering what was hidden behind them. Contempt? Disgust? “Without them, we wouldn’t have gotten the girls out. Are you going to put a collar on me too? And my family?”
“An exception was made for you and the refugees because of your voluntary assistance.” The soldier didn’t flinch as Draa reached out and grabbed the collars. “We don’t have the codes to deactivate the restraining field,” annoyance crept into his voice.
“Off.”
He grabbed the collars, remembering how Eshtu hated being touched. Steel straps wrapped around his friend’s front legs, ran under his arms and over his shoulder. Vyfka had the same. The metal didn’t bend or tear under his fingers; the swollen mechanical pod with a blue light in the center seemed to mock him, and Draa bared his teeth.
White haze rose above his fingers, spreading to his hands. He clenched his fists—calm, resolute, confident in his control. He wouldn’t be a burden, a useless crybaby unable to protect his friends.
The devices fell from the Malformed as his fingers cut through the straps, meeting no resistance.
“See? We don’t lunge at others,” Draa told the soldiers.
One shrugged, the other said something into his helmet. Thomas picked up the fragments and tossed them aside.
“No!” Vyfka jumped back, landing on the soldier’s feet, not letting Draa reach the mask. “Don’t touch my gift.”
“You’re in a muzzle!”
“Idiot. This thing lets me breathe without choking. My throat is clear, my nose isn’t blocked. Didn’t the absence of poisonous spits bother you?”
“I thought you just stopped being a bitch,” said Eshtu.
“Poisonous snot,” Draa coughed into his fist.
“Go fuck yourself!”
The soldiers chuckled.
“Language, young people,” said Thomas.
“Explain the chaos!” a commanding voice barked, and the soldiers snapped to attention.
They wrapped around Draa, lifting him into the air; a pair of spheres descended on Tigfy, scaring off the man sitting beside her with an electric discharge when he hesitated. Worst of all was the helplessness. Cold spread through his body from the strip on his mangled arm, stealing his last strength and not even allowing him to groan. Silvery tentacles closed around his father, creating a cocoon around him and the long hoses connecting the parts of his body. The same fate befell Raoul.
But the spheres weren’t only taking the Malformed. Some flew toward the ranks of Softskins, carefully plucking out the girls, who squealed in terror. Several projectiles ricocheted off the spheres, failing to damage the paint; the armed leader of the Softskins shouted, stopping the stone giant and the people.
This scene calmed Draa somewhat. It didn’t seem like they were going to be killed and eaten. But why were they taken then? A piercing green beam focused on the boy as he was lifted close to the right flying mountain. Up close, it turned out that numerous tubes—like those Artificer had used to release energy—covered the hide of the flying beast. He was brought closer to its side; the surface rippled, sinking inward and opening a path into a corridor.
He remembered the rest poorly. He was carried past guards in smooth blue armor, finally lowered into a viscous liquid inside a large rectangle with an open top and transparent walls—the liquid threatened to clog his airways. A mask descended from above, pressing tightly to his face and supplying fresh oxygen. Two other tentacles placed something in his earholes, and only then did the spheres release him, allowing the boy to sink headfirst into the colorless depths.
This resembled neither toxic waste nor water. His body met resistance, sinking smoothly. The strip and the parasite-like patches detached, floating away with sparse red streaks. He had expected more, much more. A Softskin in a white coat and woolen clothing underneath approached the wall, tapped two fingers to get his attention. The sound passed through his plugged ears. The male smiled, formed an “O” with his fingers, and picked up a faintly glowing sheet.
Two curved metal arms descended from above, plunging into the liquid. Draa groaned in terror, weakly thrashing as the fingers ending in sharp needles approached. Another tap came; the Softskin male wagged his finger, grabbed his own tooth, and mimed pulling it out. Draa’s bony eyebrows rose in embarrassment. Long needles plunged into his wounds, beginning to move at tremendous speed. A smaller limb, resembling a pincer, extended from the curved arm. It began collecting broken bone growths from the boy’s jaw, often breaking off parts that might have healed on their own.
They’re skinning me alive! Draa panicked. There was no pain. He felt his flesh shifting and his organs twitching—this frightened him more than agony. A tingling charge ran through his fingers; a female in glasses ran up to the male. Dressed similarly, she opened her mouth, saying something and nodding at Draa’s hands. A white haze flashed around his fingers, disintegrating the liquid.
The first Softskin nodded; Draa was pricked in the neck, and divine bliss descended upon him. His eyelids grew heavy, and he fell asleep. His dreams brought no peace. He saw his family without Dad, uncomprehending Euka, silent Akrn, and his mother’s accusing gaze, reproaching him for choosing Softskins over his own.
It would have been so simple. To do as Raoul wanted, to save Dad. He had known William wouldn’t stand aside, had felt it, which was why he had crawled away. Now… no one could survive being cut in half.
In his dream, Draa reached out his hand, but instead of touching, he inflicted ragged wounds, forever marring his mother’s face. Rushing to the exit, Draa ran into the chieftain entering, licking his lips carnivorously at the sight of the family.
Daddy’s home. Come to me.
He screamed, waking up as needles worked on his shoulder, and was horrified by the crimson color of the water around him. Hoops tightened on his body, trying to hold him. The Softskin on the other side of the wall tapped, but his tingling fingers reached toward the mechanical hand pinching his flesh. I won’t be butchered like a carcass!
The rays of light in the room intertwined, weaving the figure of a woman in an unusual, flowing garment. He remembered the name: dress. White skin flowed into long skirts reaching the floor, and into hair, leaving only blazing bright red eyes as the second color in the image. She passed through the panel, not getting wet in the liquid, and freely extended her hand, touching the Malformed’s cheek. With that touch came sensitivity and tenderness, contrasting with the inhuman gaze.
Brave boy, don’t you fret,
Once healed, you’ll soon be on your way,
A myriad and two discoveries await,
With friendship leading, so just stay asleep.
Evil and fear have no place here,
Cast your worries far aside,
Rest is helpful, sleep is safe,
Laugh within it, deep inside,
And I’ll stand guard, your dreams to keep.
Draa didn’t know this language. But as it reached him, the stranger’s voice changed, taking on Mom’s intonations, transforming into understandable words of a song promising safety. Unnoticed, he closed his eyes again, no longer resisting.
****
“….”
Draa jerked his head, hearing unfamiliar speech. He was in the grip of a metal arm, lifting him out of the pool. With a soft hiss, other manipulators injected streams of gas into the water, and it cleared of his remnants and blood. The male who had tapped on the wall now sat comfortably on a floating disk with a black cushion, and beside him stood… a mouse.
Intellectually, he understood it was a mutant, but the sight of a rodent standing next to a human shocked him. The size of a Softskin, clad in a neat, smooth blue uniform with the familiar tree symbol on his chest, he swayed on the toes of his black boots, his tail wrapped from his right thigh to his left shoulder. His long, rounded ears bore no torn marks; his beady eyes sat deep in eye sockets framed by brown fur; his black nose twitched, catching Draa’s scent. A shooting tube hung on his belt.
The male spoke again in an incomprehensible language. Draa showed his palms; the mouse turned his head, too large for his neck, hidden by a high collar of his uniform. The Softskin in white slapped his forehead, ran his hand through his dark hair, which harmonized with his pale, scarless skin, smelling pleasantly of sugar.
The mouse approached, holding a black bead in his hand. He showed Draa his own ear, in which a similar one sat, and the boy understood, accepting the small object from a paw with trimmed claws. What madness. Why mutilate claws? He placed the thing in his ear and felt it firmly attach to his skin.
“Wake up and sing!” The male clapped his hands.
Draa blinked. The Softskin’s speech reached him with a delay, transforming into familiar words by the time they reached his face.
“Dizziness? Hunger?” The lighthearted expression shifted to concern.
“A little, yes,” Draa admitted. “You understand me?”
“Thanks to the translator, yeah,” the male replied. “Don’t worry about food, we’ll find…”
“Dad!” Draa cried out, looking around. There were other Softskins in the hall; the male in white raised his hand, calming three in steel armor. “My dad’s name is William! He was badly wounded, please…”
“His life is not in danger,” the male assured him, jumping off his unusual seat. He fearlessly approached Draa, smiling without showing his teeth.
“Fangs isn’t a challenge,” the boy said, understanding why. “And I won’t bite. Honestly. Where’s Dad? My family left following Artificer’s instructions…”
“We are aware, citizen,” the mouse replied dryly. “The refugees are safe on the Star Link.”
“Let’s take things in order. Our young guest undoubtedly has many questions.” The male flashed a snow-white smile. “Lucius Cetegus, pleased to meet you.”
“Draa. There was a girl with me, is she alive?”
“Sleeping in the medical bay, just had a liver replacement.” Lucius sat back on his floating chair. “My sister is supposed to wake her for an examination in a few minutes. William sustained impressive damage, but nothing irreparable.”
“He was cut in two!”
“Three parts, including the hand.” Lucius scratched his ear. “A week-long task, and that long only out of caution—to avoid the risk of necrosis, allergies, and so on. In my time working as a volunteer, I’ve treated far more interesting cases.”
“Necrosis… you mean rotting?” Draa asked anxiously.
“Look at your former wounds,” the mouse suggested.
Raising his arm, Draa saw a white film—thin skin connecting the edges of what had once been a terrible wound. Even the stump of his elbow had regained lost centimeters, moving indistinguishably from old bones. The boy carefully extended his arm, afraid of tearing the strange covering, but it held. He touched the pale skin with his finger and sniffed, not catching any familiar smells.
His jaw had been cleared of fragments. He couldn’t bend to see the puncture wound from the claw. Noticing this, Lucius tapped his fingers on the glowing sheet and held out a mirror, showing Draa the whiteness in the hollow of his bony growth and pale spots on his chin.
“Sorry we made you look like a zebra…”
“An animal with two colors on its hide,” the mouse explained in response to Draa’s surprised look.
“But the surgery was urgent, I didn’t experiment with pigment. Anyway, your body will soon absorb it all, returning to its original color,” Lucius finished.
“As you can see, we treat serious wounds. There are no risks. Thomas Honigsmann, specialist in interaction with the local population,” the mutant introduced himself. “On behalf of the government of Iterna and with all my heart, I offer sincere apologies for what happened.”
“What are you talking about? The boy’s a hero!”
“The need for heroism arises from someone else’s incompetence.” Thomas clicked his sharp fangs. “If Draa wasn’t mistaken about his reported age…”
“He’s ten. I conducted basic research first,” Lucius assured him.
“That glorified toaster dared to involve a child in a state matter of the highest danger…”
“I got involved myself.” Draa frowned. “Artificer tried to stop me. But I couldn’t abandon the girls. They would have been… devoured. I refused to hide. Artificer saved me and Dad.”
“To begin with, you shouldn’t have been in such a position at all. Tried? Hmm, perhaps I’m just projecting my own encounter with the Elite,” said Thomas. “Let’s put it all aside for now.”
“Right. You’re due for an examination. Why nature gifted you with two…”
“Doctor!” Thomas raised his voice. “Draa, please spread your arms.”
He obeyed; two Softskins—humans—hosed him down with water, washing off the sticky liquid. The cold streams were invigorating; the washing gave Draa time to gather his thoughts. His family was alive; Dad was somewhere here. He had to find him without offending his saviors. And find out what awaited them and who these strange visitors were.
Thomas stepped aside, making way for a rack rising from the floor with a single one-piece silver suit. A zipper ran down the center; Draa took the clothing without asking, sure it was meant for him. With some difficulty, he managed to get his legs into the pants, but the joking Lucius had to assist him with the sleeves. The doctor asked him to raise his arms and clicked his tongue, tapping on the colored sheet. Up close, Draa made out pictures on it that changed with touch and unfamiliar letters.
“Question. How do I understand you?” Draa asked while Lucius fastened the zipper and stuck a sticker on the left side of his chest.
“An automatic translator picks up vibrations and converts them into speech you understand, sending it directly to your eardrum,” Thomas explained. “That’s why you hear with one ear at first. You’ll get used to it in a couple of hours. Artificer awaits you.”
“Examination and food first!”
“Of course.” Thomas tilted his head—to Draa, it seemed too quickly.
He doesn’t really like his leader.
“So… I lack the qualifications for the next operation. Wonderful, I’ll call in the retirement home,” Lucius muttered, turning some object in his hands.
The mechanical arms moved, retracting into the open ceiling. Draa swallowed, clenched his fists, and felt Thomas’s hand on his shoulder. The manipulators brought the worst—an elastic teardrop-shaped crystal, inside which was the beaten-to-pulp Raoul. Scales were peeling off. The immobilized chieftain was conscious; his mocking eyes found Draa as the room filled with guards aiming their tubes at the predator being submerged in the liquid.
More people in white entered through the doors, taking over from Lucius, who rose into the air on his seat.
“Use your legs, lazybones,” Thomas advised.
“No way! Technological gifts are everything!” the doctor shouted, flying through an opening.
The mutant shook his head: “Let’s go, Draa. That filth won’t escape, but we have no right to be here.”
Even more incomprehensible devices unfolded from the ceiling, aiming tubes at Raoul. Two massive machines—robots, as Thomas called them—stomped inside, shaking the floor, and joined the guards. Round spheres flew above, ready to provide support. This didn’t particularly reassure Draa. Once the chieftain is restored, he’ll find a way to break free.
Thomas laughed at this warning, reminded him of Artificer, and declared the personnel could handle any maniac.
“Who are you?” Draa asked. “You’re not like ordinary Softskins. The ones living near the Nest’s borders, I mean. They got rid of those like you.”
They entered a narrowing corridor—wide enough to walk shoulder to shoulder. The clean, untouched surface easily supported the boy’s weight as his guide headed for a door.
“Prejudices are persistent,” Thomas sighed. “We’re all human; appearance doesn’t matter. A social worker will tell you in detail, but here’s the short version. We are Iterna, and now you are too. Our country tries to persuade various tribes to abandon cruel customs through teachers and embassies. When a certain level of tolerance is achieved, gradual integration follows.”
“The locals didn’t look particularly tolerant,” Draa noted. “Us neither. How do Malformed fit into your picture?”
“Did your leader ever have rivals?” Thomas asked, pressing a button. “I thought so. Imagine that it does. Two or three Malformed whom a decent part of the herd obeys. That’s how it is with the locals. They were accepted earlier than usual as an emergency exception. One ruler decided she didn’t want to join and kidnapped the girls. Allegedly. Your chieftain caught the kidnappers. As for Malformed, small peoples incapable of diplomacy and living in territories that have agreed to Unification are sent to adaptation centers for successful integration into society. Sometimes it’s forced.”
Thomas entered a small room. The fur on his head descended down his back, tapering into a braid; the tip of his tail with a claw hooked onto his belt. Draa joined him; the door closed, the floor moved down.
“Were you from such a people?” Draa asked. “Is that why you don’t like Artificer?”
“We were integrated by a different Elite. Imagine a village trapped in the depths of broken ships, the size of ours.” Thomas tapped the wall. “Then, with one hand, she lifted the north of our world and brought a crowd to negotiate about a missing child.” He briefly bared his fangs. “We aren’t cannibals. There were problems that could have been avoided if that pretty doll had followed protocols and listened to the ambassador.”
“But Artificer was right,” Draa insisted. “Raoul killed any outsider, tortured prisoners. Artificer’s intervention saved lives.”
“Then what do you call the murdered settler?” Thomas twitched his ears. “Don’t answer. Not your concern. We can’t know how it would have been otherwise. It’s just… the Elites aren’t like us. They’re like cataclysms; each one can pose an incredible threat to civilization. Their willfulness…”
A beep came from his clothes. Thomas pulled out a rectangle, raised a finger asking for silence, and put it to his ear.
“Yes? No, no taekwondo all week. Because you broke your promise. We agreed I’d take you to the tournament, and you’d focus on your studies. What do you mean, ‘math isn’t working’? Then why weren’t you at school twice this month? I just checked the electronic diary,” Thomas spoke into the rectangle.
Draa caught familiar paternal intonations and smiled secretly. He didn’t know what taekwondo was, but William sometimes forbade hunting for unacceptable behavior. Probably the same thing here. All fathers are somewhat alike.
Not all. You know at least one monster, a treacherous inner voice whispered. So what? William is my father, period.
The doors slid open, revealing Vyfka and Eshtu heading toward a passage at the end of the corridor. Both wore suits similar to the one given to Draa, but modified for their bodies and without stickers. On either side of the teenagers stood guards in blue, who quickly nodded to the newcomers. The kids had strange devices wrapped around their chests in thin rings.
“You’re here too?” Draa ran toward them.
The guards tensed. The kids turned, unnaturally slowly, lifting and moving their limbs as if in glue. Vyfka’s face was covered up to the eyes by a black mask, smoothly conforming to her skin.
“Draa…” Eshtu said slowly. “You’re alive. The Softskins took everyone from the Nest. A swarm descended on us, swept through every lair and corner. There’s no one there. They separated my little sis, took her for an exam. She’s nervous without me.”
“It’ll be fine,” said a soldier.
“Give me a couple of hours, I’ve got unadapted ones here, okay?” Thomas said, joining the group. “Is this really necessary? They’re children.”
“Dangerous children, sir,” the soldier replied. “For their own safety, standard protocol until delivery to the juvenile center.”
“Our safety?!” The mask didn’t distort Vyfka’s speech. “You put collars on us! They won’t let me be free, slow me down, make me look stupid. I can’t even defend myself!”
“That’s why we’re here,” the soldier assured her. “It won’t be long. Be a good girl and I’ll treat you to chocolate.”
“They saved your people!” Draa looked at the guards’ faceless visors, wondering what was hidden behind them. Contempt? Disgust? “Without them, we wouldn’t have gotten the girls out. Are you going to put a collar on me too? And my family?”
“An exception was made for you and the refugees because of your voluntary assistance.” The soldier didn’t flinch as Draa reached out and grabbed the collars. “We don’t have the codes to deactivate the restraining field,” annoyance crept into his voice.
“Off.”
He grabbed the collars, remembering how Eshtu hated being touched. Steel straps wrapped around his friend’s front legs, ran under his arms and over his shoulder. Vyfka had the same. The metal didn’t bend or tear under his fingers; the swollen mechanical pod with a blue light in the center seemed to mock him, and Draa bared his teeth.
White haze rose above his fingers, spreading to his hands. He clenched his fists—calm, resolute, confident in his control. He wouldn’t be a burden, a useless crybaby unable to protect his friends.
The devices fell from the Malformed as his fingers cut through the straps, meeting no resistance.
“See? We don’t lunge at others,” Draa told the soldiers.
One shrugged, the other said something into his helmet. Thomas picked up the fragments and tossed them aside.
“No!” Vyfka jumped back, landing on the soldier’s feet, not letting Draa reach the mask. “Don’t touch my gift.”
“You’re in a muzzle!”
“Idiot. This thing lets me breathe without choking. My throat is clear, my nose isn’t blocked. Didn’t the absence of poisonous spits bother you?”
“I thought you just stopped being a bitch,” said Eshtu.
“Poisonous snot,” Draa coughed into his fist.
“Go fuck yourself!”
The soldiers chuckled.
“Language, young people,” said Thomas.
“Explain the chaos!” a commanding voice barked, and the soldiers snapped to attention.
