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