A/N: At some point I'm considering doing a sort of sequel to this. I don't think I'll add it to Contravene simply because of a very large - and by that I mean more than ten years - time skip. In other news, I seem to have once again written a story such that most people can't get past the first chapter. I think it's one of my writing talents, the other being the ability to turn a very little bit of information into a nice long essay.

Other stuffs: First of all, I'd like to direct you all to a fanfiction that has not been posted up on FFN but instead on DeviantArt. Entitled "The Proof" it is written by invader-mandy. The first chapter has been well-received and I'd like to say it's happily error free; I was one of the betas.

Second, whilst you're on DeviantArt, you can also go poke at my own account, Moga, and see both old art I won't claim to be proud of anymore and some new work. Although it's not the most impressive of work, for the sheer lazy simplicity of it, I've posted up two images related to Contravene. I say they're lazy pieces because all they show is one eye of each character with a notable role in the chapter. I've got one for the first chapter depicting Zee, Cinsiyet, Mimar, and Gnaven; and one for the second chapter with Trenzi and Cinsiyet. And yes, I did the blood around Trenzi's eye and attempted to make both of the boys partially transparent, though the effect doesn't work very well since there isn't much behind them. I've also got two more pieces lined up to post after I get this chapter up. It would have been one but I couldn't really work five people into the grid without shrinking or overlapping anyone. So I pulled out Felix and gave him a separate head and shoulders image, complete with background. I've also posted up a good-lengthed journal entry on my DA account with RHETI personality tests for everyone who appeared in chapters one and two – again substantial roles only, so basically if they're in one of the aforementioned pictures I did the test for them.

Last note, for anyone who has heard of it, and those of you who haven't, there is in existence a site that I find to be quite a lot of fun: NationStates. Basically, you create your own fictitious country and set about governing. I guess it's something of an RP but it it's text-based, no images really. Just because I could, I set one up for Trenzi. Called it Asphodel Meadows, if anyone is interested in it. Trenzi is supposed to speak well, so I figured it would be amusing to set him up as head of a country and see what happens.

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Wikitiki99: Thanks for the watch in addition to the fave! But this might be the last chapter to this story. There was another chapter planned, but I might cut it and make it the first chapter of a sequel story.

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loalaa: Thanks for the watch! Again, this might be the last chapter.

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Parse

Felix scowled, disapproval clear in his cold red eyes. In his bare hands he held a piece of pale grey stationary, silver trim unseen in the near nonexistent light of the ship's belly. He didn't need anymore than the stray bits of light filtering down from above the canopy of wires that hid the ceiling to read the missive written in thin, neat lettering. His fingers tightened around the paper, crushing the declaration that had been so meticulously packaged.

His mind was in nasty place, stuck between the want to hate and the inability to do so. This… This was his fault. His face twisted in rage, antennae almost hearing the other at that moment, likely dozing happily in a nest of wires. But no, he forced himself to relax. He couldn't hate the other, not truly hate him. Only a façade of anger, a lie to which he refused to subscribe. He was above such subterfuge; above all of it. Heck, he could honestly say he was above most of the universe. It was true, after all; it wasn't just him telling that to himself to improve his mood.

He sighed, dark red eyes closing as he forced himself to relax, loosening his chokehold on the letter. His antennae lowered, resting, as his body slumped slightly in the darkness. There was no one else there, so he found no reason not to allow himself a moment of peace and comparative relaxation. Things had been busy lately. He hadn't needed this on top of everything else. He knew he should have stopped Zee sooner, should have called him out and dragged him in for trial. However, he knew he'd be under the knife instead of Zee; the other had too much on him.

There were soft footsteps approaching, irregular and lacking the usually clumping of boots. Just the soft padding of flesh against metal, drawing steadily closer. Felix kept his eyes closed, feeling peace within the immediate area. From the edges of his perception field, worry sparked. It grew, drawing closer on gentle feet. But he stayed right were he was. There was no ill intent present and even if there was, he knew it would not really be directed at his person, but at some other, a new one every time and the same name at every outburst.

"Myyur?" A light weight rested on each of his shoulders, the soft voice cooing to him and him alone. Just as it always had. Just as it always would. There was warmth on his face; gentle, nonsensical cooing washing over his antennae as a soft cheek rubbed against his own. It was a sort of comfort unknown to any other Irken, something so ancient that it had been forgotten, swept away by the sands of time and lost from the annals of history. At the same time, it was so familiar that he would have leaned in to the touch, would have been relaxed instantly, if it were not for his modern brains.

It was odd, he mused, how used to them he had become. They were just another part of his life now, even though he had sworn to hate them up to and after he died and decomposed past the point of recognition. They had been so awkward in the beginning, a pulling weight that wasn't in the least bit natural. He could remember stumbling around the first day, forced to move continuously or else fall over backwards from the new weight on his back. Then there was the second one, the one he had hated even more. The first hadn't been so bad, because at least everyone had one. But the second one had caused so much pain, had ripped away who he once was. He still couldn't really remember who he had been, only that he had been vastly different from his present self. It had hurt, ripping away his heritage to conform him, bowing him to the omnipresent hand of the empire. He became someone, was given a name amongst the masses, but only at the expense of killing off who he had been.

He hadn't been able to walk properly after the second one was fused to him either. Actually, he hadn't even been able to stand up. He had been so inundated with pain killers, antibiotics, and other drugs that he couldn't even remember the names of, that he hadn't even been able to roll over in bed if he had wanted to. He was quite sure that the second procedure should have killed him. It wasn't natural, hadn't even existed until it was used on him. The first time he stood after the operation, he was sure that the PAK was going to fall right off, rip away from his body, and take his stomach with it. It was horrible, the constant tugging at his belly. If he stood, gravity drew it to the floor. If he sat, it still tried to slid downwards. If he lay down, it pressed against him, a constant strain on his stomach.

He was also positive that the operation had left a hole in him. He wasn't sure what was once there or why whatever had been there had been removed, but he could feel it. It was a small space just above his stomach but underneath his heart, where, if he pressed his finger against it, he could press inwards until his flesh refused to give anymore or his finger couldn't make the dent any deeper due to its small size.

The other exhaled, licking at his cheek in lieu of a kiss. Not that the other didn't want such a close relationship, osculation was just an awkward gesture for the other on an anatomical level. He let out his own breath, allowing the other to continue unabated. Neither helped nor hindered, the other would continue on until he got tired, hungry, thirsty, or just plain bored. Felix would admit that the other was dedicated, but he was also notoriously scatter-brained. Which, Felix knew, was not in the least bit his fault.

Tied to the other by half of his genetic information, Felix had to take on the task of managing both his own pride and that of his father, who was in no state to take care of himself. Well, he could, but not very well. And he therefore made a point to tell everyone who had any actual importance that his father wasn't born that way.

Mentally shaking his head, Felix shrugged his father off, the ancient, almost alien, progenitor releasing him without fuss. That was the wonderful thing about his father, he supposed. He managed to be doting and protective without being truly overbearing. He supposed it had something to do with the mental fetters that made his father so childish. Or he could have just had the sort of personality that was easy to tolerate.

Felix closed his eyes for a moment, breathing deeply before putting his mask back in place. His eyes opened again, cold, dark, and emotionless. Face set into a mask that was not quite blank but bearing more than a slight hint of censure, he swept from the dark room. He entered a hallway that was only slightly better lit than the room he had just exited, the long bars of overhead lights kept purposely dim. The dark lighting and barren metal hallway produced an ominous feeling, which was exactly the desired effect. Head held high and scorn lurking behind his eyes, Felix marched down the hallway, his father in tow. While Felix's confidence would make most believe that he did indeed belong in the bowels of the ship - though why he would want to be there would elude them - his father looked entirely out of place. With wide, bright eyes and a bounce in each trotting step, he looked more like a smeet who had set off to have an adventure than in possession of the stoicism that was practically required for admittance to the depths of the ship. However, he had roamed these hallways at least as many times as Felix had, perhaps even more times than had the petite male.

Moving rather quickly, but with purpose in his stride, Felix entered his element. It was an enormous room, once again hardly lit at all, so massive that neither the edges of the walls - for the room was circular and therefore had no corners - nor the ceiling could be discerned but by perhaps the very keenest of Irken eyes. The farthest wall was completely covered with blinking lights in soft blues, gentle greens, and yellows so pale they were almost white. They winked out from the darkness, flickering from place to place as continuous streams of data were processed. He strode through the thick darkness towards the middle of the room. There, from behind the inky blackness, a soft cone of light appeared, falling downwards from a light somewhere above, illuminating a dais. The platform was modest, not fit for a king but certainly implying that those on it held some sort of importance. It was a tiered platform, with another raised section in the center of the first. It was this pinnacle that he walked up to, his father trotting at his heels.

He stood motionless on the platform for only a second before spinning around sharply, purple cloak flowing with his movement. The garment was so heavy, however, that nothing that might have been beneath it was revealed. He stood tall on the platform, back stiff and straight, head held high with pride and power, and eyes demanding that his authority be recognized and unchallenged.

Which it was. From out of the ubiquitous darkness appeared his loyal subjects; his council. There were only two of them, many times his size and much older than he himself was. The first one to appear, as always, was Smidge. She was the oldest of the three of them, a female with yellow-green eyes set into a Tyrian red hull. Her eyes were alert, intelligence wisely dimmed to hide an agenda of duplicity. He knew all about this, of course, and couldn't exactly say he disapproved of her plans. History - the entirety of which he could access on any given whim - supported her purported changes and he didn't feel the need to argue with the past.

The second was smaller than Smidge by a several inches of circumference. Con was also younger, but, for Controllers, age didn't have much to do with size. His eyes were just a shade or two lighter than the standard red, and hard to tell if he wasn't next to someone with such cut-and-dried eyes. He had a shy, nervous personality and an aversion to arguments that seemed nothing like what a Control Brain should be.

They were his council because their personalities allowed him peace of mind. He knew they would not use his weaknesses against him, for he had no choice but to let the other two find them out. Head Control Brain Felix had put a lot of time and effort in to not forming attachments to anyone or anything. However, it was impossible not to at least extend lenience and tolerance to his father, who had raised him from smeethood on his own. He didn't really know his mother, although he had met her on occasion. She was his Irken half and had only gotten involved with his father out of curiosity and the belief that they weren't genetically compatible. When he had met her, he queried on how, exactly, a sterile Irken had produced a child. Apparently she hadn't actually given birth to him; something about his father extracting something or other from her without her permission and somehow turning genetic information in to an egg, which he had incubated and hatched alone after she left him, feeling confused and betrayed.

His second and last weakness was in Con's tentacles. Fyla was a small creature of his subconscious's creation, born of his mind, made of fire, and in the form of a young Irken. Despite the fact that she was, technically, a part of him, she had too much of a personality to be contained. He could recall her in to her true form and absorb her back in to his body, but the effort required to force her to transform and than keep her contained just wasn't worth it. So he kept her down in the bowels of the ship, where she still wasn't really happy but understood the fact that she wouldn't blend in with real Irkens. It wasn't her size, since she was in the form of a young Irken, but her individualism and lack of dress code conformity.

Her eyes were bright with energy, a shining red-orange color reminiscent of the flames she was made of. Her shirt was a slightly burnt salmon color with short sleeves and a loose collar. She wore a short, sharply ruffled white skirt that didn't even reach her knees but did cover all the necessities. Flat-soled boots of the same color came up to just below her knees, shaped rather like standard issue boots except that they flared outward beginning at the ankles and widened as the boots rose higher. Her gloves, also white, were short and reached only to just above her wrists. They were fingerless, ending in neat holes around the first joint of each finger. The gloves were really slightly longer than they appeared, but had been folded over to make a double layer of fabric around the wrist and to add a bit more style to the gloves. Not that many other Irkens would wear gloves like hers, but that seemed to be besides the point.

Smidge gazed at him, an expectant look in her eyes that said without words: "You called us and we came. We are ready." He returned her look with one of his one, a non-visual nod of acknowledgment to the unspoken statement.
"I don't think I need to remind any of you about the questionable work of Head Director Zee. It seems he has once again taken it upon himself to pursue the call of science, in a sense of the word. It appears that a smeet at Irk's core Hatchery was decanted intersexed – neither entirely male or female. Of course it was promptly disposed of, although in an improper manner that, due to the severity of the violation of protocol, will also need to be dealt with, albeit as a separate issue and at a later time. First and foremost we will need to deal with the smeet. Although it was destroyed, Zee was able to salvage the body and has sent me a letter of intent to revive the smeet for research purposes."

"For just a gender defect?" Smidge interjected. "I honestly don't see much in the way of valuable information to be gleaned. It wasn't fertile was it? … Did have a full set of both male and female reproductive organs, because that could be useful during an epidemic or some such."

"No, the smeet was supposed to be male but was decanted with almost all the signs of being female. He wants it for the physiological research; there are few defects capable of physiological study comparable to those preformed on normal Irkens because most defects have mental abnormalities. This smeet has a physical defect sever enough to warrant destroying it, yet could be easily blended in with the masses; given someone willing to provide cover of some sort. However, in order to keep such an Irken hidden, it would need to be educated on the fact that it is indeed defective. That would seem to most to be the antithesis of progress, but it is required that the smeet understand its deficiency in order for it to properly carry out its social duties as either entirely male or entirely female."

Con nodded slightly, understanding from experience. Smidge, however, had to consider what she had just heard. Her tentacles twitched, two near the front of the subtly writhing mass of silvery grey cables moving into a 'thinking' position, with one tentacle supporting a second that rested at her mouth.

"I don't think it's so much a foray into the science of sexuality as an experiment on social roles," she said after a moment's pause. "By taking an individual of unidentifiable gender and placing it into a consummate male-female society where all anatomical and psychological faults are eliminated, the individual is forced into choosing one of the established gender roles, potentially at the expense of its own mental wellbeing, or being forever ostracized from society, perhaps to the point of being killed or pushed to suicide."

Con let out a soft whimper as Felix nodded, mulling over what Smidge had said. Fyla patted one of Con's tentacles before speaking up. "But wouldn't the smeet have at least one friend?"

Smidge shook her head, her entire shell in essence. "Highly unlikely," she said gently. "To have a real 'friend' would require honesty the smeet cannot afford: to admit to its deformity and likely be turned in as a defect. Perhaps it could have an illusion of companionship, but whether or not it will understand that it lacks true comradery would be hinged on personality and insight. If it were to truly believe that it had found amity than there would be no problem and it would happily live in only partial truth."

"Yeah, I know," Fyla said, exasperation detectable in her tone, "but what about Deek or something? He's a really friendly guy and he wouldn't care about defects 'cause he's one too, kinda sorta."

Smidge frowned slightly. "I don't think Deek has the most advanced of socialization skills. He has also been ostracized, albeit by Zee and not by his own fault. A fair point however," she added a bit hastily, "since he is quite socially outgoing."

"I don't think Zee's really going to allow them to socialize much," Con put in softly, a hint of nervousness in his voice. "I mean, he doesn't even really let Deek spend time with Died and their partner experiments, aren't they?" His tentacles fidgeted nervously as he spoke, hefting Fyla closer to himself as though she were a familiar stuffed animal or a security blanket. Fyla didn't see to mind the shift, only putting one hand bracingly on his hull as both an act of comfort and an effort to steady herself.

Felix nodded as he pulled his gaze away from Con and Fyla, his lips pursed in otherwise well concealed anger. Behind him, he heard his father snicker softly. 'Entirely unhelpful,' he thought dryly. "Throughout the course of Zee's experiments there has been a large dearth in regards to socialization. Though it is to be noted that he created his second experiment with the entire purpose of socializing his first experiment. Although it is also noteworthy that through that… mixing he gained two more subjects to study. His fifth experiment was entirely too dangerous and unstable to be allowed into the company of others. Deek does have a very social personality, but Died doesn't. When he made them, Zee didn't put time into giving them set personalities, although he should have since the entire experiment would have fallen apart if Died disliked Deek just a little more."

Con let out an almost inaudible whine, hugging Fyla closer to his hull. A hot flash of rage washed over Felix's senses for a moment, the savage aspect of his personality wanting very much to rip Con's shell open and do something he wasn't quite sure of to his innards. Maybe tear them out and use his empty casing as a house or something, he really didn't know. Maybe he could settle for gouging out an eye or two with his bear hands; that would teach him. The dark snarls continued as he focused once more on the topic of their convergence.

"N'aw sem…" his father cooed from behind him. Felix restrained himself from noticeably frowning, resolutely ignoring him.

Smidge did visibly frown. "An undertaking of an experiment that is both psychological, sexual, and behavioral when he has never done work in any of those areas before? It seems like an awful lot to take on, very high risk of failure due to inexperience, chance of experiment getting out of hand and his work being discovered. No real risk of deactivation since he internalized all the necessary functions of his PAK, not to mention he has those codes… He always seemed so much more conservative, taking risks, yes, but never to this degree. More of a testing-the-envelope closet scientist, just seeing if he really could do something but never wanting to do anything he was likely to fail at."

"But he hasn't done anything recently," said Con in a tone that almost managed to be a whimper. "I mean, I guess all that pushing-the-envelope and scientist stuff has just sorta been building up an' now he's dealing with it all at once in one big experiment."

The Savage grumbled inside Felix's head, entirely unhappy that the other actually raised a good point. Felix wished very much for the Savage to shut up, preferably forever by crawling in to a corner of his mind and dieing, if at all possible in a painfully but silent manner. Maybe with severed vocal cords; that would stop all moaning, groaning, and screaming in its tracks. Perchance he could create within his mind some sort of soundproof killing dome and be rid of the Savage.

But no, that would be letting them win, wouldn't it? So he ignored the other's kvetching and put a pensive frown on his face, eyes narrowed slightly in consideration. "It is possible," he said in a voice that he passed off as contemplative instead of an unwilling admittance that the other was likely correct.

Smidge shot him a nasty look that clearly said "Of course it is; stop being a prat." If either Con or Fyla noticed this nonverbal exchange, they either didn't understand what was being communicated or were wise enough to not comment. Although the parts of Felix that comprised the Savage-hating taskforce and brutal honesty components of his personality were very happy to inform him that they had every right to agree with Smidge and that he was, in fact, being a prick.

To Con, Smidge said: "Very likely. In fact, since he has lain quiet for so long, that's probably exactly what's causing the sudden increase in risk-taking."

Despite the fact that Con rarely spoke and didn't even use his mouth to emote, it was obvious that he would be blushing if he were capable of doing so. It was in his eyes, always extraordinarily expressive, cast away from the group, and the way his tentacles moved, his whole form actually moving, just slightly, around in the air, as though squirming. It wasn't often that he spoke or took any sort of real action, and therefore he was rarely praised. Not that he hadn't been correct, but that didn't stop the Savage from rising up inside his chest when Fyla giggled, good-naturedly, at his broken reticence and incurred sheepishness.

A heavy thump sounded from behind them. Felix glanced over his shoulder, not showing the least bit of surprise because he wasn't caught off guard in the least. Sure enough, there was his father, now lying on the floor, staring at them with slightly glazed eyes. His red gazed cleared somewhat, head lifting and antennae perking as the rest of the room's occupants stared at him. "Meef!" he offered, with an unnecessary hangdog expression, head and antennae lowered in submission and apology. Then he laughed, lightly and happily as though a close friend had made a joke about him, and smiled benignly, if a bit vapidly, up at them.

Smidge was the first to speak after the interruption, drawing attention back to their meeting. "Not to move too hastily, but I believe that we have covered the agenda by this point in time?" She spoke to the entire party, but all present knew that the question was directed to Felix, who, as Head Control Brain, was the only one who could officially dismiss the meeting.

So it was he who mused for a moment, sorting his thoughts, reactions, and what he had taken away from the deliberations, before nodding his head decisively. "Yes, I think we've covered all that we need to. We will convene again at a later time to discuss the fate of Control Brain Gnaven, the one who improperly disposed of the defective smeet."

Smidge nodded. "Shall I send a message to Zee, informing him of our decision?" Felix eyed her for a moment, noticing Con slowly edging away from them with Fyla in his tentacles.

"I suppose you may as well, although I don't doubt that Head Director Zee puts little, if any, stock in what we think. But under the pretense of procedure he should be informed."

Smidge nodded, floating out of the room so that she could compose her epistle in peace. Now a fair distance away from the podium, Felix saw Fyla talking quietly to Con. There were times when she stopped talking, clearly points where Con was meant to respond or interject, yet not a sound reached him from either of them. Fyla because she was talking so quietly and Con because Fyla had learned to understand what he meant to say almost solely by reading his facial expressions. For whatever good it did anyone, Felix was quite sure that there was no Irken with eyes as impossibly expressive as Con's.

With a soft grunt and a whine, his father rolled on to his back, arms and legs above his torso, pulled close but with belly still exposed. He didn't whine again, but he looked at Felix hopefully, wiggling slightly and arcing just a bit so that his stomach was more prominent. Felix gave him a sharp frown and dashed his hopes of a much-wanted belly rub by turning on his heel and marching off the dais and out of the room, robes billowing around him and red eyes blazing with poorly concealed rage. Off in their own little world, Con twirled Fyla around with one tentacle before dipping her, one tentacle behind her back to support her and another clasped within one of her hands as they danced with a grace indecent of a smeet and a Control Brain. Felix's father sulked and scowled at the pair of them from his compromising position before rolling to his feet and skulking after his son, sending on last petulant look over his shoulder before he exited the room.

It didn't take long for father to catch up to and overtake son. The elder of the pair scampered in front of the other, body low to the ground as he skittered backwards to avoid the possibility of being trodden on. Although Felix wouldn't put his feet, bare, booted, or otherwise, upon his father – at least not in anger, he did make for a rather nice foot rest at times – that didn't mean stopping in front of him when he was moving was the best of ideas. If he had walked in to or tripped over him, it wouldn't be the first time inertia caused an accident.

The elder was peering in to his eyes with aberrant intensity, intelligence momentarily discernable in his usually vacant red eyes. The scrutiny actually made Felix stop moving, caught off guard by this seldom seen side of his father. And, to be honest, he felt rather guilty, although he wouldn't admit it, to be the cause of this rare show of lucidity. Why, when clarity was so rare for his father, did it have to be squandered on a childish problem that he shouldn't even be having, let alone need his mentally handicapped father's help with. Jealousy, he fumed, really was a monster; a nonexistent entity that caused more fear and discord than he could ever hope to spread, however pure or corrupt he was, had been, or would become. Almost awe-inspiring, if terror and chaos were what one angled for in life.

While he had been scolding himself for being immature, his father had apparently reached some sort of conclusion on whatever it was that he had been looking for. Rearing up on to his hind legs, he reached forward and pulled Felix in to a hug. He didn't lunge forward, but he did move a bit fast. However, Felix recognized that this wasn't one of his spur-of-the-moment shows of affection, but a calculated act of comfort and reassurance. That and the fact that if his father had moved much slower he would have ducked away from the embrace. He still didn't really return the hug, but ever since he had gotten the second PAK he'd stopped using his arms anyway; the tentacles were so much more effective and useful than the flesh-and-blood limbs he had been born with, now hidden beneath the heavy purple cloak that had no sleeves through which his arms could be seen or be used even if he were so inclined. He did, however, allow his head to rest on his father's shoulder and, with a defeated weariness, resigned himself, if only momentarily, to the fact that he was only three years old and should not have all – any, really – of the responsibility and expectations that he did. He should, in fact, be huffy and irritated over the childish fact that his best friend had, as far as he was concerned, replaced him with someone he didn't particularly like and had no desire whatsoever to talk to outside of the course of his work.

His father cooed softly in his ear, reassuring and loving words, carefully and thoughtfully chosen; not just empty words thrown together at random in a pitiful attempt to string together a sentence. They weren't in Irken and he didn't recognize all the words, but he got the gist of the message in its entirety and the general gist of the individual words themselves. However, Felix still did not hug his father back. First of all, his arms were quite thoroughly trapped by both the cloak and the tight embrace, likely atrophied and frozen shouldered after such a long period of disuse anyway. Secondly, using his metal tentacles would likely break the fragile connections within his father's mind, plunging him back in to oblivion. Lastly, it was perfectly acceptable in this day and age for children of age equal to his mental prowess to wish to not hug their parents. Not that that last one was a particularly good reason, but he felt the first two were justification enough even if the third was a poor argument.

He stayed in his father's embrace for several long minutes, wanting to both continue on his way and stay right were he was until one of them died or the world ended and they both died. The PAKs wanted to continue on with life, toss aside the foolhardy affection and put a stop to all this emotional business. Another part longed to have never gotten the PAKs and be nothing more than a child with a child's problems. A fourth part of him wanted to end the hug but knew that doing so would end his father's cognizance.

Ultimately he stayed standing to one side of the hall, safe within his father's arms, until the other ran out of words and began to repeat himself. It wasn't in the same order he had said them in before, but he was out of comfort and could only reword what he had already said. This was as far as his father's mental clarity could take either of them in this situation. He knew it was imprudent to believe that they could somehow continue through life like this: forever hugging as they went on to surmount any obstacle life threw their way. With a sigh, Felix gave the crook of his father's neck one last nuzzle, tensing oddly, as though tightening his arms around his father in one last squeeze, before pulling gently out of the embrace.

His father smiled gently, understanding still in his features as he allowed his son to pull away, remaining upright for another moment before sinking slowly to the ground, returning to his familiar four-legged stance. He continued to smile benignly up at him, but gradually, disturbingly, the understanding faded in to a look of innocent inscience; a full grown adult with the mental capacity of a young child.

Felix couldn't hold the vacant gaze. It was friendly, but his father would befriend anyone who had not, at least according to his memory, done him harm. This was the disturbing part of his father's imbalance: the affection for all those who he did not believe had hurt him and the attempts to kill those who had hurt him. While his father thankfully could tell the difference between not getting his way and actually being wronged, the extent to which he pursued justice was frightening, especially to see the way the adorable, smeet-like qualities disappeared from his person. He didn't transform in to any being of great intelligence, but a creature that existed only to fulfill the dark deed he wanted done.

None, however, dared to kill him. It was not a matter of failing and, consequently, dieing during the attempt, but the shear wrath of powers beyond the understanding of regular mortals. His father was supposed to be dead; had already died once. But his life was not entirely his own, because somewhere along the line he had picked up a powerful parasite and became a host body. He was therefore protected by his guest, kept alive so that they could both continue to coexist. The damages wrought upon his body millennia before did not hamper this power, for it was not his to control, merely to channel at the whims of the other.

Felix had never met this mysterious creature and knew only that she meant no harm and that she was not truly inside of his father but using his body as a portal to enter the plane on which they lived. She did not mind his shortcomings and was patient with him, choosing to befriend rather than enslave. And so Felix lifted no hand either flesh or metal against her and made no move to expel her from his father's body.

His father's mind was swamped with fog once more, his attention span too short to remain standing in the hallway. His smile faded and he was no longer looking at his son, instead peering about for something interesting to cast his gaze upon. Nothing of the sort presented itself to his childish interests, so he turned his gaze forward, eyes half lidded with boredom, and leaned against his son's robe-covered legs.

Sensing the weight, Felix chanced a glance down. His father was no longer looking at him with those disturbingly blank eyes, choosing instead to stare straight ahead, even if there was nothing but more hallway, identical to the place they stood. Knowing that his father wasn't putting enough weight on him to fall over when he continued moving, he strode forward, forcing confidence in to each step. The hallways were empty for now, as they usually were, but there was always the chance of someone venturing down in to the ship's belly and coming upon them. The hug had been a risk; such outward gestures of affection, especially in an open area, were heavily frowned upon. And there he had been, Head Control Brain, not only hugging but embracing a member of another species.

The scandal such a thing could cause would put him at odds with the rest of the Empire. Although he trusted Smidge and Con to support him and not try to oust him, should such information ever get out, he did not have the same faith in the rest of the Control Brains, who, combined, would be able to overthrow the three of them and establish a new Head Control Brain and Controller Council. Not that that was such a horrible thing in and of itself, if he ignored the fact that 'ousting' was a very pleasant way to say he'd be killed in the takeover.

There were few rooms off of these corridors, and what rooms there were were vast in size. It was in to one room that, by comparison, was actually rather small that he turned. This was where Smidge had gone, easily spotted near the back of the room. She wasn't facing him, but that didn't mean that she didn't know he was there. He had been making his movements confident, not quiet. She did not turn to face him, however, merely continued with her work. Due to the relatively small size of the room, she was taking up just under a third of the space left available after assorted machinery had been put into the room. She was hovering before a large, slightly unusual computer set at the back of the room. The machine worked just like any other of its sort, but was modified to accommodate a Control Brain, with a rather high, curved counsel. It was set at a height several inches below the bottom most set of eyes on most Control Brains and arched neatly inwards to provide a comfortable place for a Control Brain's spherical hull. Dotted along the counsel, amongst the standard function keys, were sealed ports for a Control Brain to connect to in order to either retrieve information or enter commands to the computer.

Smidge had one of her computer connection cables attached to one of these ports. They were slightly different from the cables used to extract data from an Irken PAK in that they were thicker than the slim metal cords used at trials. As he padded further in to the room, she still did not acknowledge his presence or that of his father, who had followed him. He stood there, a silent specter, as his father walked a bit further, climbed on top of some boxy machine and settled down. This is how the next few minutes stretched past: Smidge working, Felix standing behind her, and his father giving himself a small bath before laying down, looking about ready for a siesta. At last, however, Smidge disconnected herself from the computer, her work completed, and turned to face Felix. She gave a short, curt nod to him, apparently ready to leave the room but unable to move around the small male.

"What did you think of the smeet?" he asked her in earnest, using his mouth to speak instead of sending out electronic pulses like he usually did.

"Fascinatingly useful; a defect that is, by and large, a perfectly capable member of society, yet unable to fill a social role and forced from existence in order to, as Gnaven put it, protect those of the population who are, to a T, normal."

"Yes, I though you would find it an interesting specimen. Any plans for it?"

Smidge took his words in stride, not the least bit disconcerted that the other knew of her second agenda. "Not at the moment, no. More something to keep tabs on than to actually use. I would say I would keep a closer watch, but the particular nature of the defect falls a bit short of what I would find truly useful. Not," she added, "that I would purposely go forth and create a defect to suit my own curiosity or desires, but this is close enough to what would be ideal to warrant monitoring."

Felix nodded as he listened. "If I may ask," and here he allowed her the option of not answering, for this was as friendly a conversation as they ever had, "what your ideal for this sort of defect is?"

"A simultaneous hermaphrodite, with fully formed and functional genitalia of both male and female genders."

Felix pondered for a moment, not in the least bit disturbed by the answer Smidge had given him. "This… hermaphrodite," he said slowly, testing the word, "would it be able to impregnate itself?"

Smidge's response was prompt; clearly she had researched the topic thoroughly. "Entirely possible. The individual could also have a mechanism within its body to prevent self-fertilization."

"But which would you prefer to have as a subject to examine?"

"For research purposes? One that can't impregnate itself; it's a fascinating idea, but I would prefer to see the specimen interact and possibly produce offspring with other males and females instead of having it potentially fail with or give up on having a partner or partners and fertilizing itself."

Felix nodded in understanding, glancing over at his father, who was practically the embodiment of the failure to get a partner, considering the fact that he could care less if said partner was male, female, young, old, animate, inanimate, living, dead, moving, or not moving; he had completely transcended all known realms of pansexuality. In other words, he really could care less about who or what he had sex with.

"So you're just watching from a distance, more out of curiosity than the possibility of gain?" It was nothing more than a curious question. He had not made moves against Smidge in the past and had no intent to do so now.

"Yes, yes I think that would be best…"

---

End notes:

1. Yes, Felix is a flesh-and-blood Control Brain, he just has two PAKs.

2. My Control Brains break canon; I designed them to be capable of free movement, unlike the ones in the show that appeared to be tethered to machinery.

3. I completely failed to properly show Con and Fyla's personalities, and for that I apologize for the disservice.

4. Yes, Felix's father does actually have a name. It just wasn't added because Felix has enough respect/gratitude to not call think of him by his given name.