“Bassan, you are not a freak,” said Byron.
Mevine leaned closer and patted the boy’s knee. “You’re not a freak. Remember what I said that day? You and Drent might be the beginning of a new race.”
The words were no sooner out of the science officer’s mouth when he slapped his forehead. “Of course!” he said. Mevine spun back to his computer.
“Now what?” said Byron.
Mevine’s fingers flew over the keypad. A complex string of alien text appeared on the computer screen.
“Sir,” said Mevine, pointing at the strange symbols, “one thing we’d encountered in our translations was the mention of an eleventh race. It only appears in this passage. We originally thought it referred to the race that seeded the Tgrens. Further study revealed that was not the case, however.”
“There’s an eleventh seeded
