Nasferas: The Begotten

7

"Is your leg better, Cousin?"

Davidar took a quick inventory of his moving parts. Legs and feet are fine. Toes wiggling, check. He twisted side to side and sat up. "Yeah, I think I'm good."

"Very well."

Davidar caught her arm before she could turn and leave. "Thank you for saving my life."

"You owe me now." She gave him a graceful bow as she had his mother. "Oh ... and ... Davidar."

"Yes."

"Do not forget to feed Rauz before you slumber. This should do." She handed him a small handful of mellow fluff, turned, and returned to work.

How does she do that? She always knows things about me no one else does, unless Alek lets out my secret. No. Alek would never tell anyone, it wasn't in his nature.

Rauz received a beak full. The fruit substitute would have to do as they didn't have any vermin for him to eat. Davidar lifted Rauz from the cubby hole Alek had hidden him in. The small furry animal cuddled tight against the warm suit.

Chills ran in places other than his spine as Ralia slid into the settle directly across from his. Her presence comforted and confused him. She stared at him from across the room.

Moroo's voice echoed from the com box on the wall next to the door. "We are closing in on what appears to be a stranded ship. It's one of our elite fighters."

"Not possible," Ranloo argued.

Moroo had left the com box on.

Ranloo continued his rant. "Only one pilot can jump through the planes without destroying their ship. And we know it cannot be him."

To Davidar's knowledge, his father was the only pilot able to jump the Third Plane's barrier in a fighter.

Aleese frantically pushed buttons to release the bindings holding her. One by one the belts popped from their respective ports in the side of the obtuse canister. She sprang out as if being pushed by some magical force and sprinted down the hall.

"There is another pilot!" she yelled bursting through the command room's door.

Dram's voice came over as he gave an eyewitness account. "We are slowing and can see the ship through the debris. It's one of our elite fighters."

Aleese interrupted. "Look there ... in the blast marks."

Dram said, "The ship has letters written on it. We can see an A ... L ... and an E ... but nothing else."

"Dim wit," Aleese scoffed. "It's the Aleese."

The Aleese, Davidar thought and immediately his heart sank. The love of his sister's life could be on that ship.

Dram continued his narration. "The ship is spinning clockwise. Here and there we can see scattered bursts of electricity. It must have some power."

"Is life support working?" Moroo asked.

Davidar imagined Ranloo sitting at the science screen. "We're not detecting any life and it appears life support is not functional."

"Are you sure?" Aleese asked.

"I'm sure," Ranloo answered.

Moroo spoke only to Aleese but everyone could hear. "Treylor can match almost every maneuver your father ever made in a fighter. It's why he chose him to be his wingman. I think it is possible that he could have engineered some makeshift life support."

"Please let him be alive," Aleese whispered as if she would wake the person who slumbered in the dead vessel.

"Try not to get your hopes up," Moroo said. "His ship is very severely damaged. But there are ways to make a self-contained life support system. And Treylor is a brilliant engineer."

"Okay. I'll try." Aleese sobbed.

Ranloo argued again. "Father, we don't have time. If another party of warships makes it through, we will be their prime target."

"Take us closer, son. I'll be taking a walk."

The two didn't have a particularly healthy relationship. At least they could still have a father-and-son bond. And they did because of their unfettered love of flying and building engines for flying. Davidar thought this would end as usual ... Moroo's voice of reason.

Their ship slowed.

"We are making our final approach," Dram announced. 

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