But the mission had to come first. How he would deal with Sinclair Prime Past, Grady didn’t yet know. He had ideas about how to convince the Council that Prime Past would no longer be a problem to them. Nothing was certain yet, but he didn’t like the idea of assassination. He’d never been an assassin even before he had emotions, and he couldn’t stomach the idea of it now. He couldn’t kill Prime Past in cold blood and any fair fight between them would be evenly matched. Grady hoped it wouldn’t come to that. If Prime Past was at all reasonable, Grady would be willing to strike a deal with the rogue Zxerah—a deal his superiors need never know about.
It all depended on what Prime Past was up to and how sane he was.
“Prime Past especially liked this forest, you say?” Grady Prime returned to his questioning of one of the young Fallons. Fallon 41, if he remembered correctly. The young man had bright blue eyes, golden hair and brown wings with patterns of gold and red in striking shades. He was one of the more talkative and had been a keen observer of his former leader, having been assigned as one of his personal attendants for one cycle.
“Prime Past told me many times that he preferred colder weather. He also loved tall trees. Pine trees, especially. And snow. I can’t stand the stuff myself, but he loved it. High wilderness with snowy pines.”
“He didn’t take well to warm weather? Were you ever assigned to work in the tropics?”
“I traveled with him and the squad to a small island to the south once, near the equator. I liked it, but the heat was tough on all of us. Our feathers make us very warm, you see. Prime Past couldn’t wait to leave. He hated it. That’s when he first relayed his liking of snow and pine forests, and he restated it several times over the year I served as his assistant.”
“I assume you’ve all had the standard field survival training,” Grady Prime said offhandedly. “Do Zxerah do extra training that would account for extended periods of survival in the wild?”
The youngster nodded, and the pieces started to fall into place for Grady Prime. “We do long-term survival training in different climates throughout the year. That’s part of the reason we went to that tropical island. We survived on coconuts and other indigenous plants for nearly a month and were graded on things like muscle mass, strength measurements and weight loss when we got back. Anyone who scores low on such a test has to repeat the exercise until they can survive without significant deterioration in their physical abilities for a sufficient length of time.”
Grady Prime was impressed by the strict regimen. He had to keep reminding himself that these winged men were not only soldiers, they were Zxerah. They had superior abilities because they could fly. They also had superior training and discipline because they were members of that fabled sect.
He thanked the young soldier after a few more minutes of discussion and headed for the mess hall. It was nearly night, and he had a few more interviews to conduct that evening and the following day. The puzzle was coming clearer, but he was still missing a few vital pieces.
The Patriarch sent for one of the winged brethren. The soldier who answered his summons moments later was one of their fastest flyers. A young man, he had great stamina and a calm personality that would serve him well on this special mission. He was also of sufficient rank to neither threaten nor insult the prey he would stalk.
The Patriarch gave him the coordinates, a map the Patriarch had prepared on the long flight back from the Southern Engineering Facility, and a plan of attack for the search he would conduct. The young soldier left shortly thereafter, hot on the trail of his newest quest.
Chapter Eight
Bill Sinclair felt a tingle in the shafts of his feathers that meant another of his kind was near. They hadn’t understood why, but of the battalion of men created with wings, all had the ability to sense when another of their kind was close by.
Now that Bill had spent time living among humans and their special abilities, he almost thought it might be a manifestation of some kind of rudimentary psychic ability, but he was no expert. Still, there was no doubt that if he was aware of the other winged warrior, that same warrior was most certainly aware of Bill’s presence.
He’d dreaded this moment.
There was no way to hide and if he ran, the other warrior would see him and know that Bill—former Sinclair Prime—wasn’t dead. Either way, he was in trouble. He’d been found out. And all this time, he’d worried about the humans figuring out what he was. He should have worried more about his former brethren.
There was nothing for it but to confront the danger head on. Bill would not be shot in the back or captured fleeing.
Bill launched himself into the air, rising above the tree line with powerful strokes of his wings. He knew his brother waited for him up there, in the air that was their domain alone. There were so few of them. He knew every single one of the men who used to fly at his command. They were his brothers, his friends, his sons. He missed them more than he ever would have imagined before gaining emotions, though he doubted any of them would ever understand the depth of his loss when he’d had to cut himself off from them and all he had ever known.
He’d forged a new life for himself among the humans. He was needed here. He helped keep them safe. He was useful. That’s all he could ask for in life—what life was left to him now that he faced the daily specter of insanity. But he wouldn’t trade the freedom and revelations of the past few months for the world. He lived a full, rich life. He knew what it was to feel—really feel. Nothing could compare with that and even if he ended in madness, it had all been worth it.
He rose above the uppermost branches and did his best to hover on wings that were meant to glide. He looked around as he circled, trying to spot his brother of the skies. The other winged warrior wasn’t far away.
Bill signaled to the man he recognized as one of the young Dougals. He was a fast flyer and possessed a steady temperament. All in all, Bill could have done worse. If anyone had to find him, Dougal 17 was a good choice. The young man was smart enough to listen and might still be impressed enough with his former rank to be susceptible to persuasion.
The best of all possible worlds would be if Bill could convince the younger soldier to turn around and forget he’d ever seen him. Although he knew that outcome wasn’t very likely, it was within the realm of possibility. More likely was the prospect of convincing Dougal 17 to temper his report to his superiors. Bill might be able to get him to alter the record of his exact location if he could get Dougal 17 to believe he would be protecting innocents by doing so. The winged brethren never harmed innocents. It was part of their creed.
Flying closer, the two winged men circled as they descended through the canopy of trees. They’d have to land if they wanted to have any meaningful conversation. Bill took it as a good sign that Dougal 17 was willing to talk.
They landed and faced each other. Bill felt the pull on his heart, seeing one of his brethren for the first time since his emotions had become fully active. He missed his men. Missed them to the point of heartache.
“You’re looking well, Dougal 17.”
“As are you, Prime Past. I was sent to look for you.”
“Just to look for me? Not to eliminate me?”