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And on my back, there are no wings.
I have disfigured myself and sacrificed everything for this. I will conquer in my father’s name until I am first in his eye instead of last.
I turn away from the looking shell and pull on the last of the strange body coverings over my head. Why the humans find so many coverings necessary is beyond me.
The Draci respect three things: strength, intelligence, and cunning.
So if you have great strength, such as I, you do not hide it beneath coverings. The same is true for those with wit and cunning—they also train daily and try for the biggest muscles possible, so they may be mistaken for only having strength. That way no one will suspect them of weaving their elaborate plots.
That is only for the males, though. Everyone knows females are the most cunning of all, plotting constantly, always ten steps ahead of the rest of us.
It is understandable. It is all they have left, since none of them have given birth to a live child in two hundred and fifty years.
“Good Fortune, my friend,” Ezo calls after me as I exit our barracks chamber.
I ignore him because I do not need Fortune on my side. I need only my skills, my strength, and my wits.
I hold my head high as I walk down the endless interior hallways towards the shuttle bay. The ship is large. She has been our home for a century and a half and in spite of our talented engineers, she shows her age. The pyrthithium-shelled corridors flake and must be re-fired on a routine basis but the metal can only withstand so much manipulation before it breaks down completely.
Our food rations dwindled long ago and it was only by putting the majority of passengers into stasis that we survived this long.
All in hope of reaching this planet.
Earth, we now know it to be called.
It was only a pinpoint in the furthest reaches of our star maps two centuries ago. And now we are here. Our true salvation insight.
But even as I embark on this vital mission, the many Draci I pass in the corridors do not so much as acknowledge my existence other than a few rude, wide-eyed stares at my alienness. I ignore them.
Eventually I round the last corner to the wide open space of the shuttle bay. The bay is busy, both with Draci busy at work and those who have simply come to stare at me, the mutant, as I leave for this venture that many are certain is doomed.
I glare them all down. I will prove them wrong, I swear it on my father’s name.
I square my shoulders and approach the shuttle I have spent many, many hours in, preparing for the short journey down to the surface. My mood only sours when I see First standing at the door to my shuttle.
Thraxahenashuash, The First. Commonly known as First.
“Brother,” I greet him stiffly. My little brother, by two months. But still he is considered firstborn, not me.
First scoffs, not even bothering to meet my gaze. His dark purple scales glint in the lights of the bay. They proclaim him to be his mother’s son, royal purple, of the highest caste.
“Do not insult me by association. You might have Father’s blood but you do not have my royal Queen Mother’s. And now you’re a hybrid mongrel in addition to a bastard.”
He waves a hand dismissively and my jaw clenches.
“Well,” I smile slowly, gesturing down at myself, “this bastard mongrel is the hope and future of our entire race, brother. You better start treating me with respect since one day my son will be born as the Hope and Savior of the Draci.”
First leans in, his tongue flicking out into the air. “That will never happen,” he hisses. “Father will see the foolishness of this quest and then we will kill these humans and take their planet for our own.”
I go toe to toe with him. “And have our entire race die off within a generation?” I scoff. “You would sentence us to extinction. Need I remind you that no Draci child has been borne in two hundred years?”
First’s eyes narrow to slits. “Our scientists were too busy getting us safely off Draci before our sun went dark. And then they were consumed with sustaining us on our long journey. Now that we are safe, they can focus again on the fertility problem and—”
“It was the scientists who led us to this crisis in the first place!” How can he be so blind? “Their genetic splicing and manipulation—”
“Crafted us into the most perfect species we could be,” my half-brother breaks in. “Eradicating disease and controlling the population when resources were scarce—”
“They’ve almost controlled us right out of existence,” I spit. “Now I’m going to go do something about it.”
