Lorran

Chapter 1-3

“Fine, fine. I’ll set my expectations low.” Lies. Her expectations were already sky-high. Orbiting the planet, even.

Wyn picked up the discarded page of color swatches. She held the back of her hand to the paper and compared. “Oh my stars! Am I Mummy Brown? Maybe more of a walnut.”

Sonia huffed and rolled her eyes. She spoke to the ceiling, “Lord help me, I’m going to miss your sunshine so damn much.”

Lorran“Uncle Lorran! Look how high I can jump.” Gavran squatted down and hopped.

“Very impressive. Show me again.”

Lorran crouched to better admire the young warrior’s demonstration. The comm unit chimed with incoming messages. The communication array had sustained damage in a recent skirmish. Back online, messages from the past few days continued to arrive.

Gavran hopped around the room, crashing into the chair by the dining table. He and the chairs landed in a heap on the floor. He blinked, as if uncertain of his injuries, and looked to his uncle.

Lorran studied the comm unit’s screen as if he missed the collision. He scrolled through the unread messages, most from his mother.

“Pretty good, huh?” Gavran sprang to his feet, resilient only the way a child could be.

“I am impressed by your speed, but your control requires practice.”

The child pulled a face, scrunching up his nose. It was a look Lorran had often seen on Gavran’s father’s face. Gavran looked remarkably like his Terran mother, beige skin, light brown hair, and brown eyes, but there was no mistaking the Mahdfel in his build. Gavran was nearly three, already tall and strong.

No doubt Seeran would want his son to begin training as soon as possible. Today, Gavran jumped around their cabin and crashed into furniture. Soon he would be breaking bones if he did not have an outlet.

It was a shame. Lorran wanted the child to enjoy what he could before being burdened with lectures on duty and responsibility.

The youngest of three sons, Lorran felt as if his entire life had been a long lecture on his family’s expectations and how he disappointed them. He did not have as prestigious a position as his brother Mene. He did not have the responsibilities his brother Seeran did. He did not have a mate and a child, unlike both his brothers.

The list varied from day to day, depending on his mother’s moods, but those were the core complaints.

Lorran might not be the oldest or the son with the most honors, but no one loved his nephews more than him. He was the favorite uncle. Mene and Seeran were no competition.

“Your mother asked me to feed you. What sustenance do you require?” Lorran righted the chair and entered the food preparation area.

“Ice cream!”

“Tempting, but I question the nutritional value.”

His brother’s mate, Hazel, deposited Gavran at Lorran’s cabin an hour ago, begging for time to pack. They planned a family trip to Sangrin for the holiday. He did not understand the need to pack more than a single change of clothing but agreed when she promised cookies for his labors.

“Uncle Mene would let me have ice cream.” Gavran hauled himself onto the chair, grinning wildly.

“It is dishonorable to lie,” he said, because he was a responsible adult. After a pause, he then added, “And to lie so poorly is an insult. You need to strengthen your creativity,” because he was the fun uncle.

Lorran opened the cooling unit and withdrew the containers he selected from the cafeteria the previous night. As a single male, he did not prepare his own food. On good nights, he had an invitation from his brother’s mate to dine with them. Other nights, he dined with his fellow warriors in the cafeteria.

“Gross.” Gavran flicked a chunk of green vegetable off the plate.

“Apologies. I have misunderstood. I thought you desired ice cream?”

Gavran’s eyes went wide. “Yes! Ice cream.”

“Eat your protein and vegetables, then you may have ice cream.”

Gavran looked skeptically at the greenery on the plate. “With whipped cream and sprinkles?”

Lorran leaned in, as if to disclose a secret. “Better. We will go to the training arena.”

Gavran’s eyes went wide, and he shoved a piece of breaded protein in his mouth. “Can we shoot? I want to shoot.”

“Negative. You are too small yet for such weapons. There are other activities suitable for a young warrior.” Despite Gavran’s moaning about everyone saying he was too little, Lorran was pleased that his nephew took an interest in weaponry. He could not wait until the day he could introduce Gavran to his favorite weapon, an antique plasma rifle.

Yes, it was wrong to have a favorite weapon—all weapons were useful and had their place—but this plasma rifle belonged to his father’s father. Lorran felt a connection to the relic.

Being a responsible adult was easy. He did not understand why his brother constantly complained that Lorran lacked focus.

“I can carry it. I’m not little,” Gavran insisted. He dragged the equipment bag along the floor.

Lorran resisted the urge to snatch the bag from the child, but the look of utter joy on Gavran’s face made him pause. A few more scuffs would not impair the functionality. Instead, he stooped to carry one end.

The training arena was a series of specialized rooms. Some were nothing more than a sandy floor and benches for spectators. Others had equipment for building muscles, drones for sparring, and targets for shooting.

Lorran particularly enjoyed spending his time in the training arena because of the facility’s solitary nature. He only competed with himself and his physical limits. No one compared him to his brothers. When he sparred with a drone or ran under simulated heavy gravity, his achievements and failures were his and his alone.

He loved his brothers, but his entire life had been a competition for his parents’ attention. Whenever it fell on him, it was only to compare his accomplishments to those of his brothers, Seeran and Mene.

Lorran dropped the equipment at the base of a rock-climbing wall. Gavran tilted his head back to get an eyeful. “It’s so tall.”

The rock wall stretched far overhead, the handholds growing progressively smaller and farther apart. Some sections were smooth with no means for grip at all. Other sections had simulated rockslides or trap doors which released drones that attacked like avian predators. Panels shifted and changed texture. Occasionally, handholds vanished into the rock face. The wall was never the same challenge twice.

Lorran pointed to a cluster of boulders and a wall with a wide ledge designed for youths. “We will start there.”

“That’s for babies,” Gavran said.

“Then you will demonstrate your mastery and we will move on to the next level. A warrior does not skip steps in his training.”

Gavran’s lower lip stuck out in a near pout, but he nodded. Lorran suited up the youth in protective gear.

“Ugh, I can’t breathe,” he complained.

“Your mother will be displeased if I return you damaged.”

“I can’t move. I’ll fall and damage myself and then Mommy won’t let you have cookies.” Gavran stuck out his arms and flailed them about, demonstrating how his range of motion was impaired.

“Your range of motion is acceptable. Now, tell me more about your mother making cookies.”

Gavran’s eyes went wide. “It is a surprise.”

“I will not tell.” Lorran adjusted the straps to the helmet, but no matter how he tugged, the helmet was too large for Gavran’s head.

“I don’t need it. I promise. I’ll be careful.”

Lorran doubted that the youth could keep such a promise, but he acquiesced. “We will be cautious. Now, allow me to demonstrate.”

He stood at the foot of the wall. “Start easy. You will use your feet, thighs, and back, as well as your shoulders and arms. Be aware of where you put your feet and how you balance.”

Lorran climbed onto the first ledge, hauling himself up with exaggerated care. He reached a flat platform and crouched down to peer over the edge. “Now you. Join me.”

“I wanna do it.” Gavran bounced in place. “I’m gonna climb to the top!”

Lorran doubted the youth could reach more than the summit of the beginner’s wall, but he felt compelled to indulge his nephew’s ego. “That would be most impressive. Come on up. Mind your horns,” he called down.

Gavran giggled. “Silly Uncle Lorran. I don’t have horns.”

The youth pulled himself up to the first ledge, huffing with the effort. Lorran called down with words of encouragement.

Gavran grasped a handhold, his foot kicking at the wall for purchase, and he pulled himself up. Pride surged in Lorran’s chest. His nephew was tall for his age and strong. Lorran had heard cautionary tales about males who damaged their horns and walked in circles for hours, unable to orient themselves.

What nonsense. Gavran had never had horns, so the lack of horn would not hinder his balance. He did worry about the lack of protection for Gavran’s skull; his precious head seemed so vulnerable without horns to take the force of a blow.

Gavran reached for the second ledge, rather than the handhold.

“Do not overreach,” Lorran cautioned.

“I can reach.” He stretched, and his foot slipped. For a heart-wrenching moment, he clung to the handhold.

Lorran threw himself down, the uneven simulated stone digging into his stomach. Too slow. His hand brushed Gavran’s tiny fingers, and the youth fell.

The fall took forever, as if time broke and gravity reversed. Gavran hung in the air, his eyes wide with fear. Lorran’s name tore from his lips.

Time and gravity resumed their proper function. Lorran jumped down, landing roughly and scraping his hands.

Gavran lay there, unmoving and staring blankly up. The force of the fall had knocked the protective vest open. Supine, Gavran looked so human and fragile.

No helmet. Why hadn’t he insisted on a helmet?

Lorran broke the child.

Had Gavran been blinded? Had the equipment failed to absorb the fall? Cracked his skull on the floor? The flooring had absorption for such events. Clearly this was a design flaw. He would seek retribution from the engineer responsible for this vile contraption.

Worse, the situation proved Lorran failed at being a good uncle. He behaved irresponsibly. His brother’s mate had been wrong to entrust him with the care of someone so precious and irreplaceable.

“Gavran, speak,” he croaked.

Seeran was going to kill him.

Gavran clutched his belly and laughed. His little legs kicked, and his head rolled from side to side. “I wanna do it again!”

“Perhaps not.” He breathed a sigh of relief.

“I went whoosh! Did you see?”

“I witnessed it.”

“Again! Oh, please, Uncle Lorran.” Gavran bounced to his feet, the vest askew on his slim frame but otherwise in place. A quick check ensured that the equipment had absorbed the impact. The child was undamaged.

Lorran breathed a sigh of relief. “We must re-secure our protective gear.”

Caught up in refastening and checking all the buckles, Lorran did not sense the presence standing over him.

“What are you doing?”