XY-N 4 : Cries in the Night

--‘AI’, Kubrick/Spielberg 2001-

The Ruins did not actually end at the flats, Xyn recalled, as they all gathered and set out to await the soft-landing of the transport ship that Shar and her friends had sabotaged. The remnants of a collapsed civilization gradually crumbled into the relentless onslaught of Nature’s reclamation; it was Nature, however, that abruptly ended at the place that the Mutants knew as the Flats. As they climbed up various ladders, some of them coming up out of what had once been sewers, Xyn remembered crossing the barren wastelands with Jayk on their long return trip from the forest. He knew that had it not been for his suit which protected his pure Bio body, that he would not have made it. He also marveled at how Jayk, without such protection, could survive it. And on a regular basis at that. His own bare face had been scorched by the time they had crossed it, with Jayk leading him back to shelter in the Ruins, but the suit had healed it quickly. So quickly in fact, that no one had paid it much attention. And it had healed one of them, bringing Xyn into their confidence. So it was with great curiosity that he followed his friend Jayk up the ladder, out of the small hole in what once had been a busy street, and waited for directions. He watched as others emerged from various exit apertures, here and there, and thought of the ghosts in the scarey stories he had read in some old books Mr. Rick had given him back at the Facility. Ghosts, the restless spirits of the dead, rising up from the graves to wander the Earth. He watched as they came out of hidden entryways here and there, like secrets finally let loose. Several of them looked around in wonder. So many were so little.

He shivered.

Jayk, standing close as he was, caught it. “What’s wrong?” he asked, remembering that Xyn was a Psion like Shar.

Xyn shook his stubbly head and smiled. “I was remembering a stupid story, is all,” he replied, but then, sensing Jayk’s intent, he nodded and let his Psi wander out beyond the group that he knew to be theirs. He hadn’t had much time to “meet” the ones that Shar had hidden from him at first, but the brief time had been enough. He ran a mental inventory of their own group, and satisfied, moved on. He expanded his range, unsure of how far he could go. He reached and reached, his eyes distant He ignored their expectations, their fears, their awe; his Psi passed over Kefe the Nightstalker, who was sleeping back at the place they called home. Jayk waited, as the others clustered about. Shar brought up the rear, her own Psi probing, closer, letting Xyn try the hard work.

She watched calmly as sweat formed up on his brow. Shar knew the effort that he was exerting, but better to find out how far he could reach and tire him a bit now than to exhaust him later. “Look for vertigo,” she suggested softly, “many will have to cross a bridge. A large bridge. It is very old, and there will be fear and feelings of being dizzy. They’ll be tired as well.”

Xyn nodded. “Relief,” he finally breathed, when his Psi found them, as they all watched him, “everyone made it across, but the bridge isn’t in that bad a shape. It scared a lot of them. A lot of them are little ones! And there’s so many of them! It’s new to them, isn’t it? I mean, being above ground?”

Shar nodded, but Xyn’s brows creased as if in great thought. His eyes went distant again. From that group, and it was a large group, he felt something. He carefully filtered out vertigo, fear, weariness. They would naturally be expectant, and jumpy. He ignored that as well. But there was something else, he FELT it. Somehow, he could ‘see’ a vision of the huge crowd of them crossing the bridge, but the viewpoint was all wrong. He bent all of his will towards it, following it back, and his knees buckled. Had it not been for Jayk’s quick reflexes, he would have fallen. Several of their gang gasped, but Shar was moving even as Jayk was. As Xyn’s legs failed and Jayk caught him, she herself grabbed the young Psion from behind. One arm caught him under the armpits, and her slender and long-fingered free hand encircled his rough scalp, the stubble of new hair growth tickling her palms, as her Psi joined his and took flight over the miles to ‘see’ what he ‘saw.’

She quickly ran through Xyn’s mind, deftly skipping over the recent memories of the boys’ sexual escapades. For some reason, those memories loomed large in Xyn’s mind. Shar allowed herself a brief moment to store these memories, mainly Jayk’s happiness, for later analysis and moved on. She read what Xyn had already ‘seen,’ and she probed further. Xyn had filtered out several emotions, and she knew why. “He’s good,” she thought to herself, so that the boy would not know it, “very good, but he’s no match for this!” She carefully hid her own shock at her discovery. Someone was missing. That’s why they were late coming. Only at the bridge so far? They had not traveled at night. Their Nightstalker, a Mutant who could see in the dark and who was almost inexhaustible, like Jayk - almost - or Kefe, certainly, was not with them. Nightstalkers were valuable, but Jayk’s eyes lacked the cyan/blue glow of Kefe’s. And they knew that someone had taken him - a Hunter. And that same Hunter was hiding, watching them through his computer assisted visor, on the opposite side of the bridge. He was shielding his thoughts, carefully, knowing that some of them were Psions. And HE was a Psion as well.

Carefully, she ‘felt’ him.

The rumors had been true. The other gang leaders had been right. An Agency HAD captured and trained one of them to hunt down his own kind. THAT was what Xyn had felt, how he had ‘seen’ the wrong angled view, but had not been strong enough to identify it. Without trying, for there was no time to protect Xyn from it, Shar locked onto this Hunter’s mind and struck with only a fraction of her Will.

The Hunter’s Psi went down like a tree before a whirlwind.

Their contact broke.

Xyn whimpered as Jayk held him.

She gasped, and the group watched her.

She berated herself for showing it. Stupid! Now they all knew that something was wrong. She had to cover it. A part of her groaned inwardly, and she drew herself up to lie to them. They loved her, they trusted her. They depended on her for their survival.

And she was about to lie to them.

Carefully, they eased Xyn to the ground. Jayk uncorked an old canteen that he was carrying in his pack and got the trembling boy to take a drink. After a few moments, he shook his head and looked around. His Psi had shut down, and he groaned as his eyes slowly focused.

“What was it, Shar?” one of the little ones asked in a quavering voice.

Then it came. So easily it came.

“Xyn over-exerted himself, that’s all, dear,” she lied, “Everyone is across the bridge, running late, but they’ll arrive in time to help. Let’s go meet the other gangs and head for the Flats.”

He didn’t face her. He left his eyes staying intentionally unfocused, wandering. Tired as he was, Xyn knew better.

He slammed his visor up and cursed, dropping his scanning device. His head throbbed with the pain of the onslaught. “Idiot!” he screamed at himself, kicking at an unoffending orange lily at his feet. He hated flowers. Damn weeds were everywhere. Someone should level this stinking place once for all. Abandoned buildings, everything relatively intact - it wasn’t like a war where the bombs had blasted everything into rubble. Instead, everyone had just died of a hundred different diseases at once. The city itself was still there, but Nature wanted it back. It had had a long time to reclaim it, and it was doing a good job. He kicked at the flowers again.

He had been caught off guard, he realized. He had been watching the readouts in his visor, flashing in front of his eyes as the display zoomed in on the gang of Mutants and various other Unapproveds crossing the old bridge. He had hoped that some of them would fall from it, fall through it, but the ancient structure had been built well and it was still strong. He had watched with his technology, not probing them with his Psi, shielding his thoughts. They weren’t traveling at night, and as he had watched, he realized that the little Nightstalker that he had just sold to a Dealer the night before had probably been theirs - and the only one they had. He had imagined that by now the little freak was gelded, if not dead or resold even, and that he himself had gotten careless. The thoughts had aroused him, futile as that was, but that he could not help. His suit kept his hormones levels high, and he cursed it.

But someone had felt him, of that he was sure. The touch of that Psi was somehow familiar. He thought back, back to when he had discovered his talent (or curse) as a young boy. With a gasp he realized that it felt like that. A little one, an XY, with a Psi had sensed him, but he was weak - weak or too far away. He thought about it for a moment longer, a hand subconsciously going to his empty crotch and absently scratching a non-existent itch. He thought of the men taking him, his parents cries in vain for their son, the tests, the imprisonment at the “school,” and finally, the ultimatum and the castration surgery. He sighed heavily and sat in the midst of the orange lilies.

His head still throbbed, and he realized that the little one couldn’t have done it. He wasn’t with this group, the bridge group, as he thought of them. He was further away, watching the bridge crossing group. Very far away. The very notion of it told him that the little XY was strong, stronger than he had ever been when HE was that little. And he knew that it faded with age. In twenty Cycles, his Psi would probably be so weak that it would be useless, or gone. But in the past few Cycles, he had noticed that is wasn’t the same. It took longer to ‘fire it up,’ longer to clear it up, and it tired him out easier than before. And although he tried not to think about it, he realized that since the Agency had gelded him and put him in the damn Suit, that it had grown steadily weaker. He had some ideas about that, but he didn’t want to deal with them. He tried not to think about it, but his head hurt too bad. He couldn’t have done it, this far off little one. Someone else had, and whoever it was had been powerful beyond belief.

He sighed again, his mind racing. He wasn’t alone, this little Psion. He felt like eleven, maybe thirteen Cycles at most. His own Suit pumped painkillers into him, and he breathed easier. When his head began to clear a bit from the pain of the psychic slap, he scanned his own memory. They were crossing the bridge, afraid, dizzy, but full of ambition. They were going somewhere. Somewhere important. He’d never seen so many all together at once, and out above ground! It would be the biggest strike of his career, hell, the biggest ever! This would have to be enough for him to be able to retire, and retire well. A golden close to his career.

“That’s IF they let me retire,” he grumbled. But deep down, he knew that they probably wouldn’t. They’d just repair him, replace parts, send him back out. He didn’t want to think about that.

Still, the thought of so many gnawed at him. WHY are there so many of them here?

And then he had felt him again. That little mind, brushing over them, ignoring them, reporting to someone else, moving on ... and then finding him. ‘I was shielding,’ he muttered to no one but the trampled lilies, ‘how in hell did he FEEL me?’

Because he’s good, the thought came to him, he’s young and he’s good and he’s got nothing to lose and he’s having a good time. He’s got his friends, he’s got HER, and he knows it.

The Hunter sighed and returned to his hidden vehicle. Some weeds and brush DID have uses, after all. He climbed inside and closed the hatch. Looking over the control panels, he realized that he had pushed his craft a bit too far, and that no one had ever gone this far out. Hell, no one could. No one without a Suit - or who wasn’t a Mutant - could survive here. He’d have to start running emergency power soon enough. He filed a routine report - tracking, times, etc., but made no mention of how MANY he was tracking at once. He wanted this one to be a big surprise. But Suit or not, it couldn’t heal or treat his Psi, and his Psi hurt. It hurt bad. SHE had hurt it bad, as if in warning, he felt it as it had hit him - “STAY AWAY FROM ME AND MY CHILDREN!”

The transport ship was heard long before it was ever seen. When the soft roar filled their ears, the little ones, Mutants, and everyone else along for the trip disappeared into the allies and small places like frightened mice. Xyn felt a hand on his upper arm and knew that something was wrong. He let himself be pulled, still a bit stunned from his encounter, into a deep doorway of some building that rose up into the very clouds. Xyn felt all bemused at the sight and his mind wandered back to how this place must have looked when it was alive and full of life ... until a small, soft hand touched his chin and guided his gaze down to a smiling face. A face that had not, for the longest time, even remembered how to smile. “Earth to Xyn!” the child’s voice said. Xyn focused on the mouth, the thin and ruby red lips that framed a very white set of evil looking fangs. But this was no child. This was a slow Mutant, an unbelievably old soul trapped almost forever in the body of a little one. The gelded body of a little one ... a former slave ... what was the word? He couldn’t focus.

“Hello?” the voice said again.

Slowly it came to him. “Jayk!” he whispered.

Jayk nodded. “You OK?” he asked softly, his hand not moving from Xyn’s cheek.

Xyn reached up and took that hand in his own. His mind cleared. For a brief instant, they were Xyn/Jayk once again, as the other’s eyes widened and his smile broadened. It lasted only an instant.

“I-I’m not sure,” Xyn replied, “I think I hurt myself.” He was also becoming aware of the stirring between his legs as he looked at Jayk. His memory raced, but he put it out of his mind. He was no shape to deal with THOSE feelings.

Jayk nodded. “Then don’t do it again,” he advised, as the roaring grew louder.

Xyn seemed to notice it for the first time. “What IS that noise ?”

Jayk scanned the skyline, and pointed. A black speck was moving closer to them. “It’s the transport!” he cried.

Then Shar’s voice echoed in his mind, and he knew that Jayk and all the others heard it as well. “The ship approaches! There is nothing to fear. Down this street to the two tall buildings near where the water once was, that is where it will land. Make haste, the others are still coming.”

From their nooks and crannies they emerged, a small army of them, Xyn thought. There were more than before, it seemed, but he couldn’t be sure. He was in no shape to power up his Psi again, and the roar of the ship’s engines was deafening. They formed up in a ragged formation, and following Shar, headed off down the street. They had to stop several times for the smaller ones to rest, but by almost noon they could see the two buildings that she had spoken of. But seeing them wasn’t the end of the journey - they were so big that they continued to only SEE them for the rest of the morning and early afternoon.

By the hot time of the day, they were all standing in the shadows of those buildings staring at the transport as it vented drive gasses and continued to shut down. Its lights had gone off, and as they approached, several hatches opened with a loud hiss. Many of the younger ones jumped and a few ran. Shar, however, eased their minds with air of calm and dignity that she exuded. To Xyn, she was like a commander in charge of an army, waiting to give the orders that would bring victory. Unafraid, and as if she knew what to find inside, Shar entered the ship with Jayk and Xyn close behind her.

The rest of her gang followed, reassured by her lead. Shar went immediately to the command center, making sure that the ship was indeed shutting down. Even robot transports had stations for manual flight controls and real pilots. Jayk and Xyn watched over her shoulder as she nodded and smiled at the controls. She punched in a few commands, then turned to face them. “Get some of the older ones in here and start passing out supplies. Make sure no one touches the green panels on the crates or they’ll open and be ruined. Open only what we need to eat now. There should be anti-grav handles in boxes in the cargo holds for the larger containers. Use them. Show them how, Jayk. Speed if of the essence!”

They relayed their orders and soon the ship was crawling with people that Xyn had never seen. Word traveled fast amongst them, and now and again he caught bits and pieces of voices in his head, Shar’s and some strange others. They were amazingly organized as Xyn began to understand, finally, how they proposed to get all of this cargo back underground to where they had come from. They had traveled all morning and into the heat of the day, and would have to carry it all back. It would probably take all night to unload it as well, and night was not that far off. The anti-gravs made it all make sense, as did the small vehicles they found in the holds. Xyn soon realized as well that the resident Psions of the other groups were working in concert, like a hive mind to coordinate the project. It was a strange sensation as he touched on it, and Xyn was not at all unhappy about having not been invited.

It was late the next morning by the time the ship had been emptied, counting the few times that some man, a very large man with a frightening artificial eye, had called for lunch and dinner breaks. Xyn had also found his scheduling of napping cycles to be remarkably arranged.

Feeding was the worst, though. Arranging rest was nothing compared to that. All of them were hungry. It wrenched at Xyn’s heart to see them eating as they broke a few small crates open. His Psi was functioning again, although he kept it under rigid control. Once he had the excited anticipation of food filtered out, it was much easier. After all, having starving workers handling food wasn’t really an ideal work situation. Xyn was fatigued as well, having been unable to sleep on his allotted time, as well as being sore from working. Instead of sleeping, he had lain awake, watching as a few other smaller groups arrived in the night. In each of these groups, there was a small boy with glowing cyan eyes leading the way. Xyn had analyzed them all, making mental notes so that he could ‘scan’ over them if need be. All in all, since Jayk was seemingly tireless, as were Shar and many of the others, it was a rough night for him. Despite his Suit, he wasn’t used to hard labor.

He finally lost that precious control when he saw the huge man hand a small box to a bone-thin child, who, despite looking sick and starved, had no outward Mutations. The box popped open as the child laid a small and nail-bitten hand on the green panel, revealing what looked to Xyn like a pleasant smelling but nasty looking mess. The child’s eyes filled, and he attacked the stuff like an animal. ‘It’s more food than I’ve seen in a month!’ came the thought to Xyn’s mind, along with scattered images of shivering in the rain and eating garbage. He ‘saw’ this ravenous child huddled in a dumpster, burning up with a fever, so afraid that he was going to die. The pressing thought on his mind was live, don’t vomit - there’s nothing to waste. To Xyn, it seemed that death would be preferable to such a horrible existence, but he ‘felt’ the child’s will to live. He so wanted to stay alive. Xyn ‘saw’ the adults, ‘heard’ their cries of “Begone!”. He ‘felt’ the various items thrown at the child strike him, and he was running ... he was so tired, exhausted from not only hunger and sickness but from rejection; yet he ran.

He had to run.

Numbed to the center of his soul, Xyn stood there, his eyes clenched shut and his body wracked by tremors as he tried to hold it back. He had never in his life been hungry. He had never been cold and frightened. In fact, he had never been alone in his life. Even the long night of walking through the forest after the fire had not been bad - it had been fun. He had always had Mr. Rick and his Suit and the Facility to protect him. And the forest was ever a curiosity, and so full of things to see and eat and experience for the first time. Things that weren’t artificial or bland tasted so good. Being out on his own and exploring had been exciting! This child had had none of that, and Xyn couldn’t understand it. Try as he did, he couldn’t regain his control.

Xyn felt as if he were losing himself.

Then Jayk was there, his hands taking Xyn by the shoulders and turning him away from the frail child. Xyn buried his face in Jayk’s shoulder and sobbed as Jayk eased him down onto the floor to lean on the wall and cry it out. Eventually, he managed to do that and sat there, letting Jayk hold him tightly. “Welcome to the real world, Bio-boy,” Jayk finally whispered in his ear, his lips brushing over the lobe and his cheek pressing against Xyn’s. Xyn said nothing. He knew that Jayk could explain it, surely would explain it, and that he wouldn’t like what he was going to hear.

“The ones who survived the Wars,” Jayk began, “put their lives back together as best they could. Eventually, they found out that the only way to continue surviving was to replace the parts that failed with mechanical ones. The used to call them cyborgs, now they call them Approveds. But later on, they found out that Implants weren’t just for survival. When mankind began to recoup his losses, he realized that the next step in human evolution was upon him. That step also included weeding out the weak. When Kadens the Unifier came to power, the ones who rejected the plan were cast out. Some went to the old cities, some were rounded up and forced, others were executed. Those that didn’t conform didn’t have much choice. It took them years of realizing their dream, though, to also see that some of mankind had survived, mutated, and adapted naturally. They called us Unapproveds. They decided it would be easier to let us go our own way, live in the old cities and have little to no contact. They didn’t think we’d make it.

“But then they started seeing the more powerful Mutations. The Approveds didn’t like that, or the increase in our numbers. It was a threat to Kaden’s perfect world order, some said. While more and more Approveds got sick and their Implants failed, and maintenance got to be more of a problem, they decided to do something. After all, they had all these Others living apart from their “perfect world,” so why not use them? Guidelines were set, and those who didn’t meet them weren’t allowed to reproduce or were cast out. The Eugenics Laws that they came up with were ridiculous. Many called for a full-scale slaughter, but there were enough outcries to prevent it. Some just didn’t like it and ran away. Over the Cycles, it only got worse. “Anyone unfortunate enough to get left alone in the world, like that boy you just saw, were considered no better than animals. Sort of the “this is our space, over there is yours” mentality. Eventually, business sprang up. Hunters came into being to keep Society clean, Facilities for medical research opened to help the Approveds, and of course Dealers were there through it all to make money. And it was us, the Unapproveds, the castoffs, who paid for it. In the end, it all boils down to who you are and where you were born and how lucky your family is. Now it’s them or us, and we ain’t goin’ out without a bang.”

Jayk fell silent as Xyn pondered his words. One word, “Facility,” struck at his heart. He thought back to the other little ones, and he remembered. ‘Only Mr. Rick knew I was a Mutant, and he didn’t tell. Did he really love me? But I was really only a part of his job; I was an inmate. Stock. Maybe it wasn’t me he loved, it was what I did for him. How I made him feel. He didn’t love ME, he loved the Mutation - the Psi. If I hadn’t run away, would they have done to me what they did to the other XY’s? Would I have scars on my belly or back, or be missing an eye, or worse yet, my XY parts?’ Xyn remembered some of the others all too well, especially the little one who had begged to be killed and hadn’t come back. Then he remembered his introduction to physical pleasure with Jayk, and he shuddered. Having THOSE cut off didn’t sit too well in his mind, but yet he knew. He knew how Jayk felt. He knew how the other ones at the Facility must have felt, at least those that knew then what was being taken from them. He hadn’t known.

He also felt arousal again, as he had with Jayk, and he was ashamed of it.

He glanced back at the frail child, who had fallen asleep against the bulkhead. He was in danger of being stepped on. It was evident that the trip had worn him out, and he’d been trying to help with the unloading as well. He couldn’t weigh that much. Very carefully Xyn picked him up and, despite his screaming muscles, carried him out of the ship to the soft grass in the lee of the ship’s wing. Jayk nodded and went back to helping with the last bits of unloading as Xyn held the helpless little Unapproved in his arms. His Psi went to work, expanding his education via the sleeping child’s mind. He worked softly, so as not to wake the little one, and since his Psi could download data faster than any Approved Implant could ever hope to, he became painfully aware of so much cruelty in a matter of seconds.

Jayk watched him, not knowing this, and turned so that his friend would not see the bitter tears rolling down his own face as he remembered Scot.

He went, instead, in search of Shar, who was busy with the ship’s computers. Her processor was fighting with the ship’s programming, and the ship was losing.

“I think you better tell what’s-his-name to take Xyn off of unload duty. It’s too much for him,” he said flatly. But she could see that his almond-shaped eyes were red, and she could ‘feel’ that his heart was heavy once again. Her Psi swept over Xyn, and she sighed.

Shar glanced back to her control panel, back in the pilot’s seat, and smiled. “Learn well, Xyn Psion,” she murmured to herself, accessing the auto-destruct sequencer and checking the virus program that they had planted. Nothing was amiss, and as she worked, a stanza from an ancient piece of poetry came unbidden to her. She projected it to Xyn, who was holding the sleeping little one and rocking him softly back and forth. The little one was fast asleep in Xyn’s arms, and near totally exhausted, Xyn wasn’t far behind him. She could feel his pain, and not only from his screaming muscles as his Suit struggled to keep up with the strain. ”For the world’s more full of weeping than you can understand.” she thought.

I don’t care where you are, or what you’re doing, get back here now! Leave a marker beacon if you have to, but this is a Class One order from a Facility Director. If you don’t have enough fuel to make it back in, send out a distress beacon when you land somewhere else. Of course, we’ll respect the rules of your Hunt and not infringe, but whatever it is, it can wait. The Director of 32 wants YOU, the Hunter with the best record, to find his little missing Bio-stock kid ASAP!

He glared at the message, his rage inflaming his Psi. He carefully pulled it back in. Here he was, right on the heels of a huge group of Unapproveds, ripe for the picking, and they were calling him back! He smacked the screen and started his vehicle in stealth mode. It made no sound as it hovered above the lilies and took off, back from where he had come. “Damn Director, big-shot desk-bound prick. I outta kick HIS ass is what I should do.” But then he realized that striking a higher-up in the endless chain of bureaucracy would only get him punished. He thought for a moment as the craft skimmed along over the ground. There were so many of them, they couldn’t travel THAT fast. They would be there, and he could find them again. He’d use the Psi if he had to, but he’d find them, he’d get them, and he’d be even more famous. He smiled. “I might even rate some replacement Bio-work when this is all over,” he murmured, a grim smile crossing his face.

Satisfied for the moment that he could handle both assignments, he called up the encoded file on his screen and set the craft for auto-pilot. On the screen was an image of a little one, an XY. He was bald, his skin very white, and he was wearing a white Suit. It had a black N on the front and back, as the image rotated. He looked to somewhere around 13 or 14 Cycles. It also projected the image of the boy with some hair, the ‘N’ gone from his Suit, and then the Suit being dirty. It also projected how he might appear dressed in cast off clothing. “Cute,” he grumbled, “but what’s so damn important about YOU?”

The Hunter then pulled up the data profile. Runaway, or kidnaped. Unknown. Disappeared after fire at Facility 32, designated XY-n, room #, floor #, ID# ... the usual boring bullshit ... nothing interesting. It was the flashing ALERT line that got his full attention, however. After all, all Facility parts-brats looked the same to him. They were just stock for Approved repairs, after all. A lurid thought crossed his mind as he opened the file. He smiled.

”ENTER PASSWORD” the screen demanded. He did that, and drew a sharp, whistling breath. He read it again. “Son of a bitch!” he exclaimed. It wasn’t often that a simple intercept order was encrypted and requiring the password.

The file identified Bio XY-n, Facility 32, missing. Pure Bio, 13.46 Cycles. Health - 100%. Implants - 0. Slated Implants - 0. Parts used - None. Adoptive Status - Approved pending, all requests denied. Legal Status - Ward of State, minor. History - abandoned. Mutant status - positive, type - Psion/Intelligence. Overall classification - recover at ALL costs. Threat assessment - Extreme High. Other Data - classified.

“From THIS little kid?!” the Hunter questioned the terminal, as he watched the holo of the small XY moving in front of him. Suit, no suit, dirty suit, plain ragged clothes, naked ... the display shifted. Hair, short hair, bald, average hair ... the Hunter fixed all of the holos in his mind. He clenched his teeth and groaned.

”AFFIRMATIVE,” the console replied, showing him Xyn with darker sun-tanned skin.

Then it hit him. Psion. Missing. Age. Again, he smiled, and turned the craft towards a refueling center where he could check in. “Two birds, one stone,” he whispered to himself. “I’ll get them all, and little Mr. Xy-n too with his big reward bonus!”

Abrams sat at his desk that morning listening to his assistant babbling on and on about the latest inventory reports and parts acquisitions as if he were trading hovercar parts. “Yes, a liver for an XY @ 11 Cycles if you please, low mileage ...” “How about some genitalia for a congenital eunuch Approved brat who doesn’t deserve them?” “One good deep blue eye for a blind XX on the North coast? Ship it right out! We at Facility 32 have got a part for YOU!” Abrams belched and exhaled harshly, letting the fumes of his somewhat offensive breakfast/lunch carry towards his chattering underling. He paused.

“‘scuse me,” Abrams offered in a dead tone. Lately, he had taken no joy in his work and left most of it to the ass-kissers and hopefuls. What was the point? He was alone, he was always going to be alone, and the better part of his own Soul was missing. ’Peddlers of flesh, he thought to himself, ’that’s all we are. Dealers in agony and death. Liars to ourselves. Killers of children.’

His assistant recovered himself and continued. “Now about this XY-n of ours,” he began.

Abrams glanced up sharply. “What about HIM?” he demanded.

“The Hunter may have a clue as to his whereabouts.”

“Which Hunter?”

The assistant looked abashed. “THE Hunter, sir,” he replied, “He checked in not long ago, refueling. Thinks he’s onto something big.”

“Xyn is his top priority!” Abrams thundered with uncharacteristic heat. “I don’t give a fuck about the other scum he brings in or the ones he hands over to the Dealers. I don’t care about his jaded amusements, whatever they may be, or how rich he’s getting. He’s only a payroll to keep him in line, easier to manage. Works better that way, actually. Just remind him not to try and rise above himself. We DO own him, you know. After all, he IS one of THEM, not US. I’m not after damaged goods here, do you get me? If he brings in XY-n with so much as one hair on his head with a split end or even a hangnail, I’ll have his head on a plate on THIS desk!”

The Assistant looked at Abrams oddly. “I’m sorry, sir, what did you call him?”

“Never mind.”

There was an awkward silence.

“It is reasonable to assume that the Runaway has grown some hair by now, yes,” the assistant noted clinically, trying to evade his obvious slip. “And of course his Suit will keep him maintained for approximately another 5 years if all goes well and he doesn’t injure himself seriously.” Yet Abrams had let something slip. It wasn’t ‘X’- ‘Y’- ‘dash’- ‘N’. He had said the one word, it sounded like “ZIN”. And he instantly recognized the anagram pronounced. Abrams was attached to this one.

“Get out of my office,” Abrams said in a dangerously quiet voice.

He stared at his boss for a moment, then left. Quickly. He had to think about his discovery.

Abrams let his head fall onto his desk with a ‘thunk’ and sighed. “If anyone can find my boy, I know he can,” he reassured himself. The ache in his heart was still there. Yet he went back to his Network connection, searching, inquiring ... calling in old debts and favors. Someone somewhere in his own past and out there in his vast array of connections had to know something.

By noon the next day, the transport was emptied of everything they could use. Shar broke her Network connection to the ship’s computers and made sure, with a quick sweep of her Psi, that everyone was off the ship. The ship’s sensors also showed no one else in the vicinity, and the last expected group had arrived. There were now more than ten times the number with which they had begun. Despite those numbers, the anti-grav platforms had helped immensely, and once everyone was headed back to the Underground, she informed them that the ship would blow in approximately one hour. The locator beacon was offline, so no one would find it. In fact, the false records would still how it on course. It was a great haul, and the supplied would feed and clothe her small army for nearly a year. She watched as the group moved on, with anti-gravs, boxes, cases of all sorts and descriptions. She merged her Psi with a few others of the group - all but Xyn - and between them they ‘encouraged’ everyone to hurry. A soft alert in her own Processor told her it was almost time.

They hurried them as far away from the doomed vessel as they could. The minutes passed slowly, painfully. Finally it was time.

“Take cover!” they all announced, both verbally and mentally. Once again, like vermin scattering before a predator, they began to disappear into the myriad hiding places of the Ruins.

A few minutes later, after everyone had dived into those hiding places, there came a huge explosion from behind them and a gigantic cloud of black smoke reaching up to the sky from between the two towers. Many of the smaller ones screamed in fright, and everyone covered their ears in moans of pain. The shockwave scattered small bits of debris over the entire area. Shar would have liked to have been farther away, but it was too risky. The ship had to be done away with as quickly as possible. Slowly, they reemerged and watched the smoke. There was an unexpected second noise, however, and they all stared in wonder as the crumbling old tower on the left began to teeter and lean dangerously out towards the empty basin of the Flats that had once been the sea. Amazed, they all watched with mouths agape as it fell. Clouds of dust and ash billowed up towards the sky, and the noise was unbelievable. When it was over, an eerie silence fell.

“Wicked!” remarked a little one from somewhere behind her.

Shar nodded.

“My friends,” she announced, “I think we should leave here as quickly as we can. Someone somewhere HAD to see that!”

Jayk set off to find Xyn, the thrill of the pure destruction still coursing in his veins. It had, as someone had said, been ‘wicked.’ It didn’t take him long to find him. At some point during the morning, Xyn had awakened and gotten the little one something else to eat and moved him far away from the ship. The frail youngster had been exploring a long-dry fountain, staring at the ornate sculptures, when the ship had blown. When Jayk found them, he was clinging to the young Psion, trembling. Both of them were huddled just inside of what once had been a furniture shop of some kind. It wasn’t the little one that bothered Jayk, however - it was the blank look in Xyn’s eyes as he held the small XY close to him. They were sunken down in an oversized chair that had been raided by mice many times, but still had some stuffing left in it. They both looked so small, yet comfortable. Jayk felt a familiar pain in his heart. They only needed a book.

“Xyn?” he asked softly.

Xyn didn’t react, but the little one turned to face him. He was basically an unremarkable child. He was thin and pale, his long hair was tangled, and he was very dirty. Jayk noticed that he didn’t show any outward signs of Mutation or mutilation, but that meant nothing. The rags he was wearing could well have hidden a plethora of other sins. Jayk knew of those all too well, suddenly realizing, as it sometimes overtook him by surprise, that no one knew that he was a eunuch. No one could know that he was incredibly old either, not by just looking at him. The little one stared back at him, looked him over, and seemed to be staring through him. Then he grinned.

“Pointy ears!” he piped in an angelic voice, his grin broadening.

Jayk nodded carefully, his long braids rustling.

“You’re one of US, you won’t hurt us. Xyn said so last night.”

“Is he OK?” Jayk asked softly.

The little one shook his head. “He cries when he’s asleep, you know. He doesn’t talk anymore, either. I know he’s not muted, cause he talked to me before. What’s wrong with him? I swear, I didn’t hurt him. He said you were his friend, honest, I didn’t ...”

“No,” Jayk replied, “It’s not you. Not directly.”

“I tried to get him to eat, too, but he wouldn’t. He made me eat his stuff.”

Jayk nodded his head, about to speak, then suddenly fell into a crouch, ready to attack, as he noticed someone at the very periphery of his sight. He spun with a snarl, placing himself in between his friend and his tag-along. His long-fingered hands suddenly became like claws, and his fangs lengthened and shone in the light.

“Relax,” said the newcomer, his voice a mix of cracking alto and hoarseness, “You would be Jayk. Hi. I’m Chriss.” He extended a thin, long-fingered hand. Jayk relaxed a bit. “Shar sent me to hurry you up. Well, actually my group’s Psion said that she said to find you ... anyway ... we need to move out. It’s getting hot and it’s a long hike back to your place.”

Carefully, Jayk took his hand. It was unusually warm to the touch, and Jayk saw that it was built like his own hands. Chriss smiled, his normal-looking teeth gleaming white. Jayk looked him over. His shoulder-length hair was white, and his skin had a very faint green tint to it. His eyes were gray, almost colorless, and somewhat almond shaped as his own were. He wore only a ragged pair of short pants that had frayed out to above just above the knees. Jayk noted that his body wasn’t very muscular, but it wasn’t the build of a boy either. He wasn’t fat by any means - none of them were - but he also looked to have a bit stored up here and there. He took in the length of the arms and legs, listened to him speak, and noted the lack of bodily hair. Jayk judged him at about 14 or 15 Cycles if he wasn’t a Slow Mutant. Jayk looked closer, noticing that even his eyebrows and lashes were white and that his face was smooth and flawless. Given that much data, he guessed that Chriss was at least castrated.

He didn’t give much more thought to Chriss, however; he would remember his face forever. It was one of his gifts. Xyn still hadn’t moved, or even blinked for that matter. He was as still as a piece of the antique furniture. Jayk gently slapped his cheek a few times, but got no response. Carefully, he and Chriss lifted him to his feet, and although he seemed to be able to walk, he stopped if they let go of him. Chriss passed a hand in front of his eyes. Jayk pinched his arm. Nothing.

He then turned to the little one. “Do you feel good enough to go get someone?”

The little one nodded. “My name’s Tym,” he offered. It sounded to Jayk like “TIME.”

“Nice to meet you, Tym. Can you go find your group’s Psion for us?” Jayk asked.

He nodded and started off, then turned back to ask, “Is Xyn gonna be OK?”

“He’ll be fine, Tym,” Chriss answered, gently stepping on Jayk’s foot. Tym ran, his spindly legs carrying him at a remarkable rate.

“What was that for?” Jayk demanded.

Chriss stared him in the face. “I already know what’s wrong with him, Jayk. Seen it before. Let me hold him closer to me, so he doesn’t chill before it gets hot out here. Hard telling how long he’s been like this. I’m a Pyro, so I can keep him warm. I’m also a weak Psion, and let me tell ya, buddy, your friend’s lights are on, but no one’s home. Right now, he’s in some kind of shock and that isn’t good. You know how this Facility Suit of his comes off ?”

“You know he’s a Psion then?” Jayk asked in shock, nodding. It was, after all, just a bit rude.

Chriss nodded. “I met Shar just not long ago, and I know all about your group. I’m sorta the second in command for mine since I’m the next biggest XY ... well ... sorta that too. And yea, I’m a eunuch, too. I knew you were wondering about it. I didn’t mean to pry.”

Jayk nodded. “Sorry. No offense taken. Let’s get him back.”

“Not yet,” Chriss stated, motioning for Jayk to help him. He didn’t understand why, but once they had Xyn out of his Suit, which didn’t even rate a blink from the young Psion, he realized that Chriss was looking over Xyn’s body for damage. Even though the Suit wasn’t torn, he was still looking, looking for signs of blunt force injury or bruises - anything. Jayk watched Chriss’ eyes sweep over Xyn naked body, rolling him over and over and doing it again. Xyn didn’t even whimper. “I see he’s still intact down there,” Chriss noted clinically, as his yes passed over Xyn’s groin. Again he motioned Jayk to help him put Xyn back into his Suit.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Jayk demanded with sudden heat. He also realized, amazingly, that he was feeling jealous. He flushed.

“Oh, sorry,” Chriss offered, a small flash of their intimacy coming to his mind. “Anyway, it has to do with power, ability, Mutation, whatever you wanna call it. Some of us have a theory. One of our gang is an e-XY, a eunuch. No balls. He got caught by a Dealer when he was pretty little and they castrated him. He got away though, because when he was supposed to be old enough for puberty to start, his powers went wild! We don’t even have a name for it, but we did make some guesses. We’re positive on it now, you probably guessed, since I’m a eunuch too...”

Jayk felt a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach as they picked up Xyn and began carrying him. Chriss continued to explain.

“...see what happens is if you don’t hit puberty, or you lose the hormone flow of puberty somehow, like by being cut - or getting sick or something, your powers make up for it. It’s almost like the testosterone limits and eventually kills what you can do,” Chriss continued, “so I volunteered. I had a constant pain in one of my balls anyway, so I let our leader do it to me. That and my voice was breaking and there were these feelings ... anyway ...,” he coughed and flushed a bit, embarrassed. “I couldn’t deal with it. That, and I’d started getting headaches when I would heat up. You know what? About a month after my balls were gone, the headaches stopped and I was setting fire to things that don’t even burn naturally! You know you can torch a rock if you can get it hot enough?”

It was soaking into Jayk’s head slowly, and it was stunning. Being a Mutant, an Outcast, was bad enough. Having been caught and sold as a slave, gelded even - that had been worse. But to volunteer? This Pyro has WANTED his balls cut off, to prove a theory ?!

“Do tell,” Jayk whispered, his sinking feeling becoming nausea. He tightened his grip on Xyn. More than anything, he wanted to go home, to get Xyn home - and get him away from Chriss.