Chapter Twenty One: Of Father's and Sons

Rhade listened quietly to all of this. He felt week and somewhat flimsy, like he might at any moment melt and simply dribble off the table. His head swam if he turned it too fast. It was getting better, but painfully slowly.

He watched as the others dispersed, leaving only Trance, Trident and that odd blue boy with the tale in his company. Trance kept moving between him and Thompson, checking each patient easily. The constant movement was making Rhade feel sick, so he looked away, to study Trident some more.

The teenager had his elbows wresting on his knees, head bend forward, hands clasped behind his neck. He looked a little pale. Rhade frowned.

"Hey," he managed, making the boy start, "you okay?"
A dry grin passed over Trident's features as he looked up, "sure."

Rhade looked at the tube he realised was channelling blood from one of them to the other and made a guess, "not a blood person?"
Trident grimaced, "it brings back some… unpleasant memories."

"I see," Rhade didn't press him. Instead he attempted to take a better look at the teenager's face. One side was indeed completely obliterated by terrible burns, reducing the skin to a deep red in some parts, and a rust brown in others, almost natural looking in bits. All of it was twisted and creased, like old leather, or prosthetic plastic, almost like it could be pealed off. The left eye seemed to be permanently half closed, the eyebrow completely gone, the ear little more than a lump of flesh. The corner of the left side of his mouth was folded over in a constant downwards quirk, like he was smirking.

"I…" Rhade wanted to say something, but was unsure of what.

Trident looked up again, and Rhade was fairly sure he really was smirking this time, "you want to know how this-" he waved a hand, indicating the burned side of his face, "-happened?"

"Well… I… if you want… I mean…" Rhade would have shrugged awkwardly, but shrugging whilst lying down was surprisingly difficult.

Trident smiled slightly, "it's okay. You can ask. I see people staring sometimes, y'know? I wish they'd just say something, just ask, instead of acting like it matters. We all got marks. Mine's just more obvious than most."

"Okay," Rhade agreed. He could sort of see the boy's point. "So… are you going to tell me about it…?"

Trident shifted a little, pushing his hair out of his eyes, taking a deep breath as he thought about how much to say, "I was young… a small boy… it doesn't matter how old, really, but I was… very young. I was visiting my mother on the drift where her pride were staying… I was raised by my father… the circumstances of my birth were… difficult. Anyway, I was visiting my mother and her pride was attacked by…" he paused, his eyes darkening, fists clenching at the memory. Rhade saw his bone-blades flare reflexively. Then he shook his head, seeming to gather himself, "that… that doesn't matter either. They were attacked by another pride… there was a massive explosion, killed a lot of people… my mother too… I survived because I was hidden under a sheet of metal it… fell from the ceiling, kept me safe… but I was still caught in the blast and well… this is what it cost me." He touched the burns, grimacing.

Rhade raised his eyebrows, "I'm… I'm sorry."

"'s'okay," Trident shrugged. "I'm okay. I survived. I used my head, and stayed still and I lived. My father always told me that made me a true Nietzschean. It's not about the brawl, the muscle, how hard you can head-but the guy across from you to get into bed with his mate. It's about what's up here, the ideas, the dreams. Optimism of the soul tempered by pessimism of the intellect. It's what makes us, it's who the Nietzscheans are."

Rhade smiled, "I think I'd agree with your father there."

Something about this obviously struck Trident as amusing. His scars twisted as that folded corner of his lips managed to curl upwards. "Yeah."

Khayos watched Trident talking to his father, that umbilical tube of flowing blood linking them, then turned away, determined not to be bitter. His mother was scrutinising him over the top of a box of flexi's. "Why so resentful?" She enquired, gently.

Khayos looked up from under his hair, stating simply, "I'm not."

"You're not much of a liar," Trance told him, coming to stand next to where he was still crouched on a work surface, tale hanging between his legs.

"Well," Khayos couldn't help allow a slight sourness to creep into his voice, "I guess that's just one of the many things I have in common with my father."

"Khayos-" But Khayos was already gone, jumping from the work surface to the floor and moving out of the door before Trance could call him back.

The star avatar sighed. She should have seen that coming, she supposed. But, of course, she could see very little when it came to Khayos. That was probably why she had named him so. He represented a kind of chaos that she couldn't see through. Maybe it was better that way.

There was something… cold about Khayos, that Trance couldn't place her finger on. He was cynical in a way that a boy his age shouldn't be. What had happened? What had taken place in the future that had turned the impish, happy, healthy little boy she could already begin to see flashes of in her future-vision into this embittered, resentful teenager?

Did she really want to know?