A gift for Kev. . .
by Kathy Couture

Kev stared at the door. "I don't want to."

His father kept back a barely restrained sigh. "It's been nearly a season. It's time to move on. You can't keep yourself in the house for the rest of your life. She wouldn't have wanted that."

"But I *have* servants. What's so special about this one?"

"We've been over this. He came from Miena. He's been specially designed. "

"Just for me?" Kev asked.

"Just for you."

"How old is he?"

"Two years older than yourself. Fourteen."

"I know how to add, Dad."

Tarrant Ahn Tar ruffled his hair. "I know you do, son. So, are you ready?"

Kev took one more look at the door and nodded. His father walked him across the floor. "Remember what I said-- after you wake him you must make eye contact and speak his name immediately. This will bond him to you."

"And he'll obey me like you said? In everything?"

His father nodded. "There are certain acts that his conditioning will not allow. The rest is up to you." They paused at the door. "But always remember-- a kind hand nurtures, a hard hand is the fuel of hatred."

Kev pushed open the door and entered alone. The room was silent and sterile; white walls, white floor, white ceiling. It smelled like the med center on Voori and he did not like it. He took a trembling step, walking slowly to where the boy reclined. This bed was made of gray metal. There was no mattress. Hanging from the ceiling over his head was a machine covered with blinking buttons and gauges. A soft glow bathed the boy in white light. He was pale, as though his skin had never seen full sun. His hair was brown and he was slender, but no taller than Kev himself. He was dressed in a white tunic and baggy pants. His feet were bare. His eyes were closed.

Kev reached out a hand then paused, glancing back over his shoulder. There was a window set high in the wall, close to the ceiling, and he knew he was being watched. He quickly pressed the red button as he'd been instructed. There was a whir of noise as a panel opened in the ceiling and the machine retreated. The boy lay exposed. Kev was suddenly afraid for him.

Then he opened his eyes.

Kev took a startled step back, waiting as the other stared up at the ceiling. His hand twitched at his side and he held it up, examined it closely, then raised the other. He blinked and sat up. His head swiveled slowly and his gaze focused on Kev's face.

This was it then-- the moment that would bond them. Kev thrust out his chin and spoke loudly. "Sulis."

Sulis blinked and emotion flooded his face. He drew a breath of wonder, smiled.

Kev did not like the smile. He did not like the boy's eyes either. They were light-- lighter than the shallow sea flowing over white sand. "My mother is dead," he said suddenly and his eyes filled with tears. He grew angry. He had promised himself he would not cry and now he stood here in front of this staring stranger, his cheeks wet.

"Get up!" Kev ordered. Sulis stood, watching curiously. "You're supposed to say you're sorry!"

"I'm sorry," Sulis said.

"No you're not! You didn't even know my mother! And you don't know me! Sorry means nothing! Everyone says they're sorry but they don't mean it! I'll never say it!" he yelled. "I will never ever say I'm sorry to anyone!"

Sulis did not respond and all of Kev's anger went out of him. "Come on," he said. "We're going home now."

The boy followed on his heels.