Favored Son

1.

He is twenty-two years old, even though he doesn't know it. He has been here since he was seven, and he has been a model patient. The only thing that ever caused a problem was the emergence of his mutant ability at thirteen, DNA knowing nothing of mental illness. He had unleashed a blast of energy strong enough to demolish the entire wing of the hospital that had been his home since he fled from reality.

Now, he wears a slim black suit beneath his pajamas, equipped with a device at the collar that calculates his power levels. When they near the maximum, the attendants are trained to use a special machine to siphon his powers back to a manageable level. That happens infrequently though, once a month, unless a traumatic event has occurred. A thunderstorm that blew a branch through his window, nearly decapitating him one winter, was enough to overload his powers three times in a single night.

But that is rare, and he is hardly the worst patient here. Mutants are no less prone to mental illess than normal humans, and there are many of them here, some who have hurt others with their powers, some who have hurt themselves, even one who claims maggots the size of er spaniels live in his gut.

Patient 9-012-0F-3, Alexander Summers, more often called Alex by the doctors, and 'Lexxy by the female nurses and interns, is not insane, however. He is technically "traumatically disassociative" catatonic in a way that resembles autistic. Tested at above average in one of the more lucid moments that only occurred in his earliest years here, he nevertheless spends his life in a semi-dreamlike stare, reacting to the stimuli of the world only as much as is required to keep himself fed, cleaned and rested.

He has been like this since the plane crash that nearly killed him, his brother and his mother.

The plane crash that took his father's life.

He travels with the royal entourage, the thin golden chain around his throat really the only sign that he is not exactly a guest. He has been with Majestor D'Ken and his Sister/Wife Lady Deathbird, for about a month now, ever since the plane was taken by the ship, rescued from certain doom. He is grateful to his new master for saving his life, but he is too little to know how to express it. They speak in their complex language and ignore him for the time being.

D'Ken looks over and smiles at the little human, who is proving to be more entertaining that he expected. He is a charming little child, and the Majestor has amused himself teaching him little dances and how to sing the national ode in a sweet slightly accented voice Even by human standards he is quite young, and that makes him eager to please his new masters.

The boy stands at the rail of the royal barge, watching with interest as the unfamiliar planet passes beneath him. "My daddy flies much higher." He chirps.

"Your daddy is a naughty man, Little Hatchling." D'Ken says, speaking the boy's language flawlessly. He is Majestor, he knows all things.

"Naughty?" the boy frowns.

D'Ken beckons him close, "We rescue his damaged plane, we bring him to the comforts of our home, we treat him as a welcomed guest and he turns against us. I ask very little of him and he fights me, he hurts me. That is not a good thing, is it?"

The boy thinks for a moment and then shakes his head, "No, it is not nice. Why doesn't my daddy like you?"

"Because he thinks I will hurt you." D'Ken says, "Have I hurt you?"

"No, Master." The boy says, earnestly, saying the last word in perfect Shi'ar as he was taught to. "Can I see my daddy and mommy? I'll tell them you are nice and they will listen. Is my brother with them?"

"Your mother and your brother are dead, Hatchling." Lady Deathbird says, cruelly, "Your father killed them. He killed them with his stubbornness."

The boy frowns at her, too little to really understand, "When will I see them again?"

"Sooner than you think if you don't shut your yammering." Deathbird growls, ruffling her feathered wings.

His face falls and his lower lip trembles. He doesn't understand what she just said, since she spoke her own language, but the tone is very clear. His eyes fill up with tears.

"Deathbird, you are unkind." D'Ken scolds, extending a hand to the child. "Come, Alex, and sit with me and be still. Our lady is in bad temper. She doesn't like to travel under the power of anyone's wings but her own."

Little Alex comes and let's the Majestor pull him up onto his lap. He leans against the man and says, mournfully, "I wish I could fly."

"That is my sister's talent." Says D'Ken, stroking the hatchling's yellow head fur. "Your talent will be something different."

"What will it be?" Alex says, eagerly, forgetting his tears for the moment.

"We will see soon." D'Ken promises Alex, "And, I am certain it will be something great."

Alex gets a far off look in his eyes and says, "No. Its something awful."