Outcast

Chapter 1

My name is Dalan.

I had another name once. A name that was my birthright as the first-born son to my father. It was a name he gave to me, and when the time came, I would give it to my first-born son. It was my destiny to be a part of a line that dated back to the age of the Warlords if you believe in that sort of thing.

Of course, were it not for things turning out the way they had, my destiny would have been all nice and laid out for me. However, the fact that I’m writing this should make it obvious that ‘nice and laid out’ no longer apply to me. No; I lost that name of honor, and the name they let me keep is little more than a death sentence if spoken in the right company.

My name is Dalan, and this is my story.

For twelve long, happy years my name was Dalan Ch’ang Kalamar, second heir to the Clan of the Tiger’s Paw, beneath my father, Lucas Ch’ang, and again beneath his father, Won Ch’ang. From the age of three, I trained in the fighting art of Katu, one of the few fighting styles befitting a Bengalan of tiger lineage like myself. Upon my father’s ascension to Elder, the training of future generations of my Clan would fall to me. My siblings, their children, as well as my own would learn our way to fight through me. And when the time came, I would take my rightful place as Clan Elder and would undertake the blessed curse that is family leadership.

Now, those dreams are gone.

It began a mere two months before my birthday. At the time, the Tiger’s Paw Clan was on the verge of making Clan history. You see, my father had become a finalist in the annual Kumal tournament of combat arts. Each year, Clans all over the country of Shonto would gather in Karalla City’s Clan lands to take part. To the winner went the title of Ka’al Shera, and until the next Kumal, would enjoy several privileges thereto. For some, it was money, for others companionship, and for even others, indulgences that no one would ever admit to in decent company. The Ka’al Shera’s very whim was equivalent to a command from the High Elder Himself.

This year, though, the stakes were considerably raised. Lars Rondoki, Elder and Master Trainer of the Clan of the Midnight Fang, wagered his Clan's possession of the Ka’al P’ack in this year's tournament. While the Grand Council applauded such a noble gesture, those not at once awestruck by the Rondoki Clan knew the real reason behind the wager: Intimidation.

Lars was the ten-year Kumal champion and took advantage of the Ka’al Shera’s inherent influence to keep several ancient Clan practices alive, all in the name of building a strong family. This included an uncomfortable tradition in Clan history about how they kept lineage consistency. While the Clan introduced some new blood into the fold on occasion, it didn’t take a genius to figure out the amount of rampant incest going on behind the estate’s walls. No explicit evidence of this existed, but given the size of their Clan, the evidence was overwhelming.

Any new blood taken in was through a very selective process. Given that a ‘black panther’ is a deviation of a leopard, they’re statistically rare if not purposely bred. Even when found, any potential ‘candidates’ had to be perfect; no blemishes in their fur pattern allowed. As a result of this, many who would be perfect for them often purposely dyed parts of their fur to dissuade the Rondoki from taking them. However, once they discover the ruse, the Rondoki take them as fresh genetic material for their line.

It’s said that the moment a Rondoki female comes into heat she has three choices: Mate and conceive, hide, and risk a beating upon discovery, or take their own life. Typically, they merely accept their duty and snag the first male they can find. The mating is constant too; they continue throughout their cycle in hopes of conceiving, lest they become the victims of an even more vicious beating afterward.

As a result of all this behavior, the Midnight Fang Clan has a small standing army composed entirely of family members. To modern society, this may sound sick, but during the Age of Warlords, Clans did what they could to amass a strong army for their masters. If that meant a father would bed his wives, daughters, and granddaughters all in one night, then so be it.

Sorry; I got a little off track. Where was I?

The Ka’al P’ack is an ancient religious icon; a statuette of the war god Ra’Tal. Legend speaks of this icon granting invulnerability to whichever Clan had it. For some that legend made sense, given Lars’ continued victories in the Kumal every year.

For my Clan, there was another reason to celebrate this night. My mother, Kira, was pregnant with her sixth child (by my father, just so you know. The Kalamars haven’t practiced ‘army building’ since before the Ascensions). While my father moved into the final round of the tournament, Mother was in the hospital. Usually, the Clans employed the services of midwives. This time though, everyone agreed that she would be better off under the care of a doctor. My grandmother and two sisters kept vigil at the hospital while my grandfather, two brothers, and I all remained at the Kumal to cheer Father on.

The final contest to decide next year’s Ka’al Shera was to take place between my father and Lars Rondoki, both of whom had all but crushed their opponents on their way to this point. Unlike the training in a War Hall, the Kumal was a First Circle or full-contact contest. Over the years, many of its participants returned home broken, bloody, and in some cases dead. While killing a combatant did not merit a disqualification from the tournament, it most certainly did nothing for one’s honor or reputation. Any deaths in the past century had been the result of an accident and usually resulted in a substantial payment made to the victim’s Clan on the part of the offender.

The fight was long and downright bloody between my father and Lars. The Rondoki fighting art of Saras involved the use of any edged weapon from known history. From a simple kitchen knife to the heaviest of the ancient Rakshi blades, the Midnight Fang soldiers knew how to use it and use it well. For this contest, Lars had armed himself with what appeared to be a Talafna blade. It was a dagger-like weapon with an edge on only one side. It proved effective given the number of bleeding cuts my father was suffering.

I was amazed at how resilient my father was. Despite his blood loss, he barely faltered and gave as good as he got. Lars’ left eye was already swollen shut, and he was spitting out bloody globs of phlegm every few moments, a sign that his muzzle had been severely injured. If nothing else, I would say Lars was beginning to reel from Father’s attacks. He seemed to stagger around like a drunkard after a time, and his attacks were both slow and sloppy. At this point, I was sure even my youngest brother could have finished him off.

There was no need for that, though, for my father had finally had enough. With a last surge of fury, he pummeled Lars into the ground. The image of my father, a bare-chested tiger, both arms raised in roaring triumph over the fallen panther was the single proudest moment of my life. The judges all agreed that it had been a clean battle and that my father had indeed beaten Lars Rondoki fairly.

Finally, the reign of the Midnight Fang as Ka’al Shera was at an end.

It’s funny how things suddenly descend from their highest highs to the lowest lows. My father wavered and he eventually collapsed on the mat due to exhaustion and blood loss. We all rushed to his side to make sure he was all right. The on-site medical teams indicated that he needed transport to the hospital for a much-needed transfusion. Pride turned to guilt as I thought of all my father had done for his Clan, only to nearly die from it.

As he was being loaded onto a stretcher, he turned to me and, with a weakened yet still strong voice, said: My son, I leave it to you to finish the rite. Make me proud.

I-I will, Father, I stammered out. He smiled and I watched as the paramedics loaded him into the aerial ambulance for transport to the hospital. I bid my grandfather and brothers go with him; I would call Nerel (our estate driver) to take me to the hospital after the rite finished.

That one selfless moment turned out to be the worst mistake of my life.

* * *

I contacted Nerel once the rite ended. We agreed that I would wait outside the Great Hall of the Clans for him and we would head for Karalla City with all due haste so I could be there when Mother gave birth. He responded that he would be there shortly.

As I finished my conversation with him, I gazed up at the night sky. It never ceased to amaze me how, even though science and physical evidence have revealed all but the deepest mysteries of the stars, they still enthralled people with wonder. A night sky, filled with millions of violent primordial nuclear reactors was still the perfect setting for an evening stroll, the embrace of a lover, or mere self-reflection. I wondered if the Patrons had been cheering for Father like the rest of us and were celebrating as much as we planned to.

I suddenly heard rustling from some nearby bushes. My whiskers stretched outward, tasting the electricity in the air, and trying to detect what was going on. I could feel my small muscles tense and my fists clench and relax. My claws also flexed out of instinct, but trimmed as they were, they were useless in a fight. Strike one against societal hygiene.

Out of the bushes emerged four beings, each wearing swords on their hips and black masks over their muzzles. In the darkness, I could see no discernible marks to identify them, but the weapons they carried told me volumes about their intent.

Give us the statue, boy, snarled one of them. He stretched his hand out as if by merely uttering this command, I would obey. Hand it over and you may yet live to see another day.

"The Ka’al P’ack is the property of the victor, I said, doing my best to mask my growing fear. It is not for thieves such as you." My threats didn’t faze them. Why would they? Instead of stopping, the four of them drew their swords and charged me.

I turned from them and ran as fast as my legs would carry me. I crashed into the brush and after a few moments began to turn towards the main road. With any luck, I’d reach it and would either intercept Nerel on his way here or possibly flag down someone for help.

As I ran, I could hear them behind me, shouting orders to each other. I felt thankful that in such low light even a tiger such as me could melt easily into the undergrowth and disappear. When I think about it now, were my head not so filled with the images of those blades, I would have found a place and kept covered. Perhaps then they would have given up on their chase and let me be. Ah, the clarity of hindsight.

Instead, I ran through the brush for what felt like an eternity, trying to avoid capture by even one of my four pursuers. The underbrush’s thorns shredded my clothes and covered my body in scratches. They didn’t break the skin, but I felt them through my fur. I’d be feeling them for a few days after if I survived this ordeal.

I could feel my strength beginning to wane far too quickly as I ran. I was only a cub, unused to this kind of exertion. I was fast becoming too winded to continue. My arms and legs burned but I couldn’t stop. There was no way in all Seven Hells that I was going to let those four packlas take from me that which I swore to protect. They’d have to take it from my cold, dead fingers.

Finally, I broke through the bushes and began a flat out run across an open field. I could see the main road just ahead of me. Just a handful of meters separated me from my salvation. Just the thought that I was so close seemed to re-energize my aching muscles and I summoned up every ounce of strength I had. I pumped my arms and let a low growl escape my muzzle as I scrambled for that stretch of road just ahead.

I never heard them crash through the brush mere moments later. I never bothered to look behind me, nor did I even chance to look down and see that depression before me. Suddenly my left leg sunk, and the momentum of my body changed too quickly for my mind to process. I felt my left ankle twist, and with a yowl, I crashed hard to the ground. All at once the adrenaline faded from my young body, and the pain came on in wave after wave of agony. My ankle throbbed violently, and my legs and arms burned from their recent workout. My mind was still racing…still trying to urge me onward, but with a bum ankle and muscles pushed past any sane limit, there was no escape.

I turned and faced my attackers, dropping into the fighting stance my father had taught me. My heart was pounding and my mind screaming to run, but I knew whether I fought or ran, I wasn’t going home this night, or any night for that matter. Better to show the Patrons that I’d sooner die fighting than running from four cowards who fought behind masks.

The four of them caught up to me in mere moments and fell upon me like a plague. I swung and kicked for all I was worth. A few punches even connected, weak as they were. I did manage to land one solid kick to an attacker’s groin, but when his comrade’s sword slashed at me, any measure of satisfaction I’d taken from the kick was gone.

The blade bit deep, scraping against bone and turning my thigh muscle into a useless blob of tissue. A stream of blood spurt from the open wound and entire universes of pain exploded in my head. I think I screamed, or maybe I just roared defiantly and kept swinging, trying in vain to beat back my attackers. I threw a punch at one of them, only to have another slice into my arm, severing my triceps muscle from the tendons that held it to the bone. Again, I can’t remember if I screamed, though I do remember falling when they severed my calf muscles on both legs.

My ears were ringing so much that I couldn’t tell if they were laughing as they rolled me onto my back. Their swords flashed repeatedly, cutting through flesh and muscle, but never severing the bone. By the time they finished with me, my muscles hung off my limbs like mere slabs of Twaro meat. I heard no final words or threats as they took the satchel holding the Ka’al P’ack from me and melted back into the night.

I remember staring up at the sky again, straining to keep my eyes open in the wake of the growing darkness around me. I felt deathly cold, but there was nothing I could do about it. It didn’t matter anyway, though; I was going to die out here. Alone.

I didn’t even have the strength to whisper a plea for forgiveness to my father, or the Patrons. All I could do was to listen to my shallow breathing and my ever-fading heartbeat until finally, that one excruciating moment hit when my mind screamed its last. My vision filled with a white light so intense I thought my eyes would burn away to nothingness. My body tensed and I uttered a final, pathetic whimper.

Then, all was darkness.

Chapter 2

I never gave it much thought back then, but it seems strange to me now that no one came to my aid that night. Many Clansmen — some of them seasoned fighters — were still in that building, yet no one ever came. Had I known then what I know now, it wouldn’t have surprised me so much. But back then, I was far too preoccupied with staying alive to take my surroundings into account.

I should have died that night. Yet my eyes found a reason to open once more. They should have beheld the green fields of the paradise that awaits all Clansmen upon death. I should have been staring into the muzzles of my ancestors, who were to welcome me with open arms. However, when my eyes did open, I saw nothing. Well, nothing in focus, anyway.

I blinked to try and clear the cobwebs out of my head, and after several minutes my surroundings became more recognizable if not familiar. I was in a room; not my bedroom, though; too small. Candles bathed the room in a faint golden glow. I felt thankful for that, as anything brighter would have scarred my retinas for life.

My nose could make out the strong scent of incense in the air. It reminded me of the days our Clan attended services at the temple on our estate grounds. Once per month, the High Priest of Ke’an graced us with his presence and lead us in praise to our adopted Patron. The temple was often thick with the smell of incense, which helped to calm one’s mind and soul. I had to admit, smelling it in that room went a long way to easing my growing curiosity about my situation.

Underneath the calming scents, though, I could also smell the antiseptic and organic scents found only in a medical facility. No other place in the world, or even many worlds, can duplicate an odor like that.

My right ear twitched and instinctively turned towards the sound of the heart monitor, steadily beeping away, telling everyone that somehow, for some reason only a divine being could answer, I’d survived. By the gods…I was alive.

I tried to turn my head, but the muscles in my neck were so stiff it hurt to do so. Not expecting the pain from the effort, I let out a small whimper and shut my eyes tightly to ride it out. However, when I heard the gasp, the pain in my neck faded away, and I forced my eyes back open.

Have you ever been awakened from a sleep so deep, that even though your eyes are open, your ears are working, and you can talk, your brain just doesn’t register who it is you’re talking to? That’s exactly how I felt when her face filled my vision. I could hear her voice. I could see her with absolute clarity, and I could sense the released tension in the way she moved and spoke. Yet I didn’t recognize her. I tried to concentrate, but my mind drew a complete and utter blank.

Dalan? she asked. Don’t you recognize me? It’s me: your mother.

Mother.

It felt like something inside my mind had suddenly burst open. That last mental barrier finally collapsed, and my conscious mind flooded with memories. Yes, I had a mother, a father, grandparents, brothers, and sisters. I had a family. No, it was more than a family, wasn’t it? Yes, it was a Clan, and an important Clan at that. We’d done something just recently too, hadn’t we? Yes, father had won something…something important. Something he entrusted to…

Me?

My mind suddenly flashed to that night. Though my eyes were open I could no longer see Mother or even the hospital room in which I was. All I could see were the four who’d chased me down, who hunted me like I was prey. One of them held their sword high in the air and brought it down on me. I felt the steel tip tear through my skin, and I screamed in pain.

Doctor! Quickly!

I began thrashing about like a fish out of water. I wanted to roll away before the next strike, but I couldn’t. The second blade cut into me and I screamed again. Volcanoes of pain erupted all over my body and despite my best efforts I was helpless to stop their onslaught. They allowed me to survive as a mutilated cripple rather than killing me outright. I screamed and screamed as they continued to hack away at me, reducing me to nothing but carved meat and exposed bone.

Something pressed on my neck, followed by a little pinprick as the sedative entered my bloodstream. All at once, it became harder and harder to fight. My vision grew spotty yet again as the drug worked its way through me, deadening my muscles and encouraging my brain to shut down once more. My breathing returned to normal and the last thing I saw was my mother staring at me with a look of concern and joy on her face.

It’s all right, my son, she choked. Sleep for now. It’s all right.

* * *

I don’t know how much time passed before my eyes opened again, only that this time everything seemed clearer than before. I still had questions—lots of questions—but for now, I knew I was safe, and above all, alive.

I tried to move my head again, this time more slowly than before. The stiffness was still there, but now that I was expecting it, I could work through the pain and make my neck work. Still, it was an effort, and I couldn’t help but let a small moan escape my throat.

At once I felt a gentle hand stroke behind my ears. I saw my mother sitting there, tears streaming down her face, but smiling. It was at the same time the single most heartbreaking — and heartwarming — thing I’d ever seen.

Welcome back, she said softly. I tried to say something, but she put a finger to my lips and then reached for a cup of water. She guided the straw to my mouth, and I sipped at it slowly. Slow as I was, I still couldn’t help but cough violently. She steadied me as best she could until my coughing fit passed, and I could breathe normally again.

Where am I? I finally asked, barely realizing that those were the first words I’d spoken since the attack.

You’re in the hospital, Dalan, she said softly. Her tender hand found its way back to behind my ear. A lot has happened to you, son. It will take time to explain it all.

I could feel a tear come to my eye and I tried to wipe it away. It was then that I realized that I couldn’t move. I tried to move my hand, but it was no use. I could feel my heartbeat grow faster and my breathing grow more panicked. I-I can’t move, I said.

I felt myself starting to shake again, well, the parts of me that would. Instead of calling for the doctor though, Mother merely placed her hand directly on my chest. Calm yourself, she said sternly. The answers will come, son, but you must stay calm.

You know, there’s something about a mother’s snarl that can change your attitude in a heartbeat. I always remembered Mother as someone you could go to with any problem, from a bump or scrape to your older sister pulling out half your whiskers. But gods be with you should you draw her ire. I remember times when even Father backed down from her. So, when she told me to calm down, I did my best to comply, though even her authority nearly paled against the rising panic in me.

Finally, I stopped shaking, and though I was still breathing hard, Mother took her hand from my chest and sat back down. Your limbs were badly damaged, she said. When Nerel found you, he feared you were dead but saw you were still breathing. He bundled you up as best he could and got you here as fast as he dared. She continued to stroke behind my ears, which helped to calm my breathing a bit. None of us will ever forget what he did for you, and neither should you.

Forget? How could I ever forget the man who saved my life? Nerel had always been that voice of clarity to my confused mind when I was a cub. It wasn’t as though he would sit me down and lecture me on things though. It was more like the odd bit of advice here and there; something you’d keep in the back of your mind until the time was right to act on it. Having served our Clan for so long, Nerel knew more about its history than even Grandfather. In truth, it wouldn’t surprise me in the least if, from time to time, our wise Elder consulted his driver on ways to manage the goings-on in the Clans.

As to your limbs, Mother continued. It has taken time to repair them, son, and much still needs to be done before you can leave here.

How much time? I could see Mother struggling with the answer and I could feel my fear beginning to rise once more. Mother?

Dalan, she began. You’ve been here for a year.

A year? At first, I thought she was joking, but when she pulled the covers down to show me my arms it was proof enough. While later I would find dozens of ragged scars underneath my fur, I wore no bandages. Had my attack only occurred mere hours ago, they’d still be a mess of slashed flesh and covered in blood-soaked bandages. No; what she’d said had to be the truth. It was the only logical explanation.

I was about to say something when I noticed two people entering the room. They — one a jaguar and the other a cheetah — were wearing the white coats so synonymous with anyone in the medical profession. From the looks on their muzzles, I could only assume that these two were the ones responsible for keeping me alive all this time.

Ah, said the cheetah. I see the sedative’s finally worn off. I trust this time your wake-up was a little less shocking?

I nodded dumbly. Who are you?

The cheetah bowed slightly. My name is Dr. Karl Sheck, and this is Dr. Harus Tokuru. The jaguar also bowed.

They are the ones who repaired your limbs, said mother, greeting the pair with a smile and a nod.

Repaired? I asked. Then why can’t I…

The tendons that held your muscles to your skeleton were severed, said Dr. Tokuru. He produced a data pad from his coat and activated it. It projected a holographic image of what looked like an arm, showing the muscle and how it connected to the bone. Unfortunately, a significant percentage of your muscles were also damaged beyond repair. He tapped on the pad, and the image changed to what I could only assume my arms must have looked like. The muscle tissue appeared rotted or decayed. Normally, protocol dictates that we amputate the damaged limbs and replace them with prosthetic ones. I tensed. However, Dr. Sheck offered an alternative.

I’ve been studying Earth medicine for years, said the cheetah. And I must say their sense of vanity is most fascinating. Instead of such a barbaric procedure as amputation, I suggested that the damaged portions of your muscles be replaced with cybernetic implants. Dr. Tokuru tapped a few more keys on his pad and the image shifted again, this time to what looked like a white liquid being injected into the arm and the liquid coating the damaged tissue. Nanobots were injected into your arms and legs, Dr. Sheck explained. Once inside they began rebuilding any damaged muscle tissue. When the repairs finished, the implants attached to the muscles, thereby completing the operation. The image finally showed the finished result, which appeared as normal as the first image, except for several muscle striations appearing white instead of red. It’s a very delicate operation but the result far surpasses what limited mobility prosthetic limbs could have given you.

I looked at my mother. I mean it was fine that I was whole, but since when did aesthetics play a part in if a person could move? Was I to be the resident store manikin now, put into different poses by my sisters? Was I now a real-life doll?

You’ve probably noticed that you cannot move, said Dr. Tokuru, to which I nodded. That’s because the implants required you to be conscious to begin calibrating. As we speak, they are synchronizing with your biorhythms and neural pathways. It will take a day or two, but you will be able to move again.

I can’t tell you how relieved I was to hear that. The thought of permanent confinement to a hover-chair, unable to do anything for myself was terrifying. As relieved as I was at this news, I could see that Dr. Tokuru had more to say.

However, he said, You should also be aware that this is only the first step in your recovery. After so long in a comatose state, your muscles have atrophied to the strength of a newborn kitten. I am recommending that you remain here to undergo physical rehabilitation until you’re up and about on your own. He looked at my mother. Family is always invited to attend and participate, of course.

We will, she said. I had to admit at that moment, I thought everything was going to be all right. Any concerns I had about the Kumal, or the Ka’al P’ack, or anything else connected to that night vanished with the thought of seeing my family again. Don’t get me wrong; seeing my mother again was a gift from the Patrons, but I wanted to see the rest of them.

No matter what.

Mother noticed the growing excitement in me and bid the doctors leave us in peace for the time being. When they had left, she turned to me. I can see the questions forming in your mind, son, she said. And I know exactly what you want to ask. But don’t worry; once I’ve let everyone else know you’re awake, you’ll have more attention than you’ll know what to do with.

Her smile was sincere; so much so that I overlooked the pensive look in her eyes. She was hiding something from me, and as happy as she was that I was still alive, her happiness seemed darkened somehow by something. I realized then that my losing the Ka’al P’ack had caused a stir amongst the Clans. I just had no idea how deep that stirring ran, and what it would cost.

* * *

We talked for hours. Mother brought me up to date on the goings-on in our family and I lay there, hanging on her every word. I learned that Genna, my baby sister, had been born the very night both Father and I entered the hospital. Caring for her had helped everyone deal with my situation over the year. Tila, my only older sibling, had done the most to help Mother with Genna, and that didn’t surprise me. Tila always wanted a family of her own, and I imagine taking care of her baby sister was something she considered good practice for when she finally married. Of course, according to Mother, she had yet to be in a relationship.

My two brothers, Richard and Alexander had matured a lot over the year. I suppose having a near-dead brother in the hospital does that to someone. There had been tense times as their frustration over what happened to me got the better of them, but it never lasted. According to Mother, Father was always there to calm their outbursts and reassure them that things would get better.

I only wish he’d been right.

The rest of my family had fared well over this time. Grandfather was still the same wise Elder he’d always been, and my dear Grandmother was constantly by his side. My younger sister, Mkio, was growing up fast as well; she was nearly as tall as Alexander, despite the 3-year age difference in favor of my brother.

I also learned that, when they could, my friends had also come to see me all this time. My non-Clan friends were the most frequent visitors, and that didn’t surprise me. Clan life was nothing if not regimented. Learning that my fellow Clansmen had little time to check up on me was less of a surprise and more of an expectation. Still, any contact they’d made with me was more than appreciated.

We talked long into the night; long past when any sane being was still awake, and I could see Mother beginning to fade. I didn’t want to try and sleep for fear of another year going by, but she assured me that she would wake me in the morning. She leaned down and kissed me on the forehead before bidding me a good night and moving towards one of the more comfortable lounging chairs to sleep.

Though my eyes closed, I wasn’t tired, not mentally, anyway. Tomorrow was going to be the day I returned to life as I knew it. I knew the road ahead was going to be tough, and that it would take equal measures of time, pain, and patience before I could regain even my most basic abilities. At that moment, though, I didn’t care. I’d cheated Death himself, and soon my life could continue just as it had before.

Oh, had I only known what kind of cruel trick the Patrons had in store for me then, I would have ended my own life.

Chapter 3

Is it possible to fight for something, even if you know that the object is either false or unattainable? Can you honestly put your heart into a task, knowing that in the end, it’s nothing more than a futile gesture recognized by only yourself? Can one’s sense of duty override common sense?

Maybe that’s why when soldiers went into battle it was on a need to know basis. Their goals are minor compared to the big picture, but it’s enough to keep them going. It’s enough to drive them to give their all to the task at hand and damn the consequences. All they must worry about is their immediate goal, be it taking a hill, blowing up a bunker, or rescuing a prisoner from the enemy. So long as they believe their actions are worth it, they’ll sacrifice everything in the name of completing their mission.

For that first week in rehabilitation, I was like a soldier. Every day my goal was the same: Do better than the day before. Thoughts of home, of returning to my former life as a Clansman, even thoughts of my friends were all sent into the background of my mind. All I could think of—all I wanted to think of—was going that extra step or moving just that much more than I had the day before.

By the end of that first week, I’d gone from a quadriplegic to someone capable of movement, but too weak to do anything. The implants had finally calibrated themselves to my body, but my movement was still jerky at best. It was as if I had to concentrate to will my limbs to move. They would respond after a time but when they did it was with a burst of movement so pathetic looking, I honestly wondered if I’d been better off as a Class 2 cyborg, rather than a Class 1.

It was frustrating, but everyone around me seemed to think I was improving. The head therapist, a burly white tigress named Dr. Twellin, constantly commented on my progress. She was also always there to pick me up when I fell, both physically and mentally.

She wasn’t the only one who was cheering for me, though. Day after day, one or more of my family members visited and added their voices to hers. It felt good to see them all again and hear about what they’d been up to for the past year. As Mother said, they’d all been worried about me, but I felt relieved to hear that they’d all managed to get on with their lives despite my situation.

While I was more than grateful at those who did visit me, I also noted a couple of exceptions, particularly my father and my youngest sister. When I asked about Genna, Mother would say Tila was taking care of her, or vice versa if Tila was visiting. I didn’t think about it at the time; I mean it must have been insane at home, taking care of the day-to-day things and preparing for my homecoming.

With Father, though, there seemed to be no real excuse. Well, not to me, anyway. Everyone always said that he was occupied with other things, or busy with Clan affairs, but if there were so many Clan-related things to take care of, then why wasn’t Grandfather handling it? Wasn’t he the Elder?

Well, it didn’t take long for me to stop worrying about Father’s absence, or anything else involving the Clans for that matter. Before I knew it, I had far more pressing matters to deal with.

* * *

Come on, Dalan, you can do it.

Gnnnnnnggg!

That’s it. Just one more step. You’ve got this!

AGGGHHHH!

I hit the mat with a thump and rolled over onto my back, panting heavily. I slowly covered my muzzle with my hands and forced myself to breathe normally once more. Sweat soaked my palms and feet, but I didn’t care at that point. I’d kept true to my goal and had made that little bit more progress than I had the day before.

It was the partway through the second week of my rehabilitation, and by then I’d regained enough of my mobility that the therapy changed from simple movement while lying down to actual walking. After a year’s worth of inactivity, walking seemed akin to merely dragging along two logs strapped to my waist.

On top of that, my arms weren’t exactly at 100% either, so while I was trying to command my legs to move, I was also trying to brace myself with a pair of unstable, virtually useless arms. Still, I was determined not to give up, so despite how excruciating each day was, I told myself that in the end, it would all be worth it.

After this ordeal, Dr. Twellin and my sister, Tila, helped me back to my hoverchair and I plopped down in it, exhausted. Tila handed me a drink and the doctor