Chapter Text
“Kay-Kay, where are you going?”
Khaoh left his little sister’s query unanswered as he tugged at her hair, fashioning it in to intricate cornrows as he worked quickly. His colourless, thin fingers contrasted against the girl’s tan complexion that shone brightly against the morning light that filtered through the windows.
“OW! Kay-Kay!”
“Shush Pala, I’m nearly done.”
“You said that 10 minutes ago! I just wanted a bun!”
Khaoh hushed her again and she slapped his hand away. He exclaimed, “You bully! Hitting your big brother like that!”
“I’ll do your hair and see how you like it,” the little girl jumped up, giggling and running away with half a fro. Khaoh darted out his seat and scooped her up.
“Not until I’m finished with your hair!”
Pala wriggled out his grasp like a little worm, still cackling. “Not until you catch me!”
She was so fast, but Khaoh was 6ft tall, and being 6ft meant you had long legs to chase after your bratty sister with. He made a playful roar like a kubrodon, hands out like claws, as he lunged after her. Pala gave a high pitched laugh as she slid under his legs and in to her bedroom, slamming the door after her.
“Hey!” Khaoh’s demeanor switched to a more irritated tone, “Careful with the door!”
The door creaked open and a meek little “Oops,” was heard, and Pala slowly eased the door to close. At that Khaoh muffled an ugly laugh.
He gently knocked and Pala opened up, cornrows completely undone as she brushed her hair into a bun. Khaoh sighed at the loss of his work, and Pala grinned sheepishly at his disappointment.
“Can I do your hair now? You would look nice with little pobber ears.”
“Absolutely not,” Khaoh ran his hands over his blond box braids he tied back away from his face, “I got to go do grown man stuff soon.”
Pala rolled her eyes, the sass almost enough to make Khaoh laugh at her.
“You mean going on a date?”
Khaoh snorted. “No, work.”
“You’re, like, OLD, now. You should have a girlfriend by now, so she can do my hair better.”
Khaoh wasn’t old. He was 16, the age where he would be expected to act like a man, but be still seen as a boy. “And you’re like, seven, why do you even know that stuff?”
“Well actually,” Pala tilted her head, hands on her hips, mimicking a grown up no doubt, “I have a boyfriend!” And at that Khaoh choked.
“Imaginary friends don’t count Pala.”
Pala stomped her foot and Khaoh’s amusement bubbled in to outright laughter again. She cried out, “Stop laughing at me!” but it didn’t spare her from Khaoh’s ridicule. She grumpily shoved her big bully of a brother out her room and, gently, shut the door.
Khaoh’s smile quickly faded away. There was a reason why he didn’t have a girlfriend, despite being hounded by affection by girls his age. He had his eyes set on someone else. Someone who, given the circumstances, most likely would never return his affections.
With a sigh, he packed his and Pala’s lunch for the day, trying to push his feelings aside.
“Khaoh! You’re late!”
A middle aged man, wearing an Ostron headscarf, chided Khaoh as he trudged up the hill. His accent was hard to understand at first but as he continued working with the man Khaoh soon was able to decipher it.
“Sorry Mr. Qamar, Pala didn’t want her hair done today and threw a tantrum when I told her her imaginary boyfriend wasn’t going to show up at class today.”
The man laughed whole heartedly, and slapped Khaoh on the back, “Aren’t I glad I don’t have a daughter, but a son! Well he doesn’t know how to shut up most the time, especially about you.”
At that Khaoh went bright red, and if it wasn’t for the haztech helmet he wore, Qamar would have known it. That was the last thing he wanted.
“You two get up to a lot of mayhem when he’s out of class and we’re out of work huh? Boys will be boys,” and with that Qamar gave a soft sigh, “You shouldn’t be working at this age. Not as hard as I do.”
Khaoh heard this before, the patronising, the pity. He didn’t need it, sure his parents were gone, so he had to step up to the plate. Besides, he didn’t have a knack for academics, it bored him. He preferred sculpting, but the fine arts were reserved for high ranking Orokin, not ‘lowly’ merchants or workers that the Myconians were. What Khaoh would give to be in front of a cool slab of marble and tools of his dream trade, not flamethrowers and scythes.
“We should get started, this Infestation isn’t going to harvest itself.” Khaoh said, mostly to himself. Qamar nodded.
The spores and growths were usually harmless, benign. Even so, the protective gear the men wore wasn’t unwarranted. Their harsh tools seared with a heat that would burn off Khaoh’s eyebrows without his helmet. Qamar seemed more hardy, brow and eyes exposed while his hair and mouth were wrapped in his headscarf.
A thought crossed Khaoh’s mind.
“Mr. Qamar?”
The older man responded with a short affirmative hum.
“Why don’t you wear the armour our colony provides us? You’ve been living here with Ms. Pyakketi for over 20 years, if I’m not mistaken.”
Qamar shrugged, “Same reason I haven’t tattooed my face when I married her. Old traditions.”
Khaoh nodded, “I see.” Khaoh himself had a few tattoos, as a coming of age rite. Pala would too when she was ten. If she could stay still long enough. He didn’t know much about Ostron culture, but he knew he would have to his face tattooed when he got married and had his own children.
If. Khaoh told himself.
“Pipa is up in arms about it, why I wouldn’t let Antaeus get tattooed, why I wouldn’t go under the needle. Thing is, I’m a little squeamish, but don’t tell her or my boy that.”
Khaoh had to clear his throat to rid himself of the twist in his gut over the Qamar boy’s name, “Squeamish? You’re here with me farming for neurodes and nano spores!”
Qamar chuckled as he sliced open a pus filled sac, squelching echoing, “Indeed I am.”
The two chatted and bantered while absent-mindedly working away, containers filling up as they did. As they carried their bounty back, a loud crack sounded.
“Ah. There goes my knee. Khaoh, don’t take your youth for granted!” Qamar’s eyes smiled through the evident pain he was in. Khaoh returned the gesture, despite his face being hidden, and put down his load to help the older man up.
“Come on, I’m not 80 cycles old.”
Khaoh just laughed quietly, and the Ostron hushed him as he let the teenager help him down the slope.
“I can take it from here Mr. Qamar.”
“Ay. I’ll just get started on my lunch then. Just bend your knees when you lift!”
Khaoh gave him a dismissive wave, earning a little Ostron curse his way. He probably deserved it for his snarkiness, something the other colonists often berated him and Pala for.
Khaoh made the trek back to the hoarded harvest he and Qamar had gathered, when he was stalled by a low hiss. A growl. No. A deep rumble. Raising his torch, Khaoh called out.
“Who’s there?”
Foolish. What possible assailant would answer him? Clearly by the sound of it, it would have been an animal, but the only creatures brave (or stupid) enough to roam the infested fields were stray kavats. Those could rip open Khaoh’s armour in a pounce, and the idea made him shudder, he hated those pests. But this clearly was not a kavat.
Khaoh took a wary step back, placing his containers gingerly on the glowing ground. Maybe it would be better if he ran, to live another day to bring in another harvest. Surely Qamar would understand.
But a voice called out. Rather. a thought.
“Help. Master, we are lost.”
“Hello? Do you need help?” Khaoh’s voice cracked, revealing his fear and his youth.
“Please. We are so far away from you.”
Concern filled Khaoh, and it lured him towards the sound. Every fibre in his being told him to turn around, go home, back to Qamar, to Pala.
To Antaeus.
“Here. Here. We are in pain.”
Khaoh broke in to a jog, then a sprint at the desperation in the disembodied voice. It hummed everywhere, but he knew where to go.
“Thank you! Oh we missed you Master.”
Khaoh knew he wasn’t the voice’s master, hell, he couldn’t command a child to get out her room at times. But he just knew they needed him.
He came to a stop, eyes widening in awe at his surroundings. Soft red and pink glowed from dancing tendrils, tall pillars of writhing growths swayed in the non-existent wind. Nothing like the dull grey and brown of the harvest he and Qamar usually brought in.
“Beautiful.” Khaoh barely whispered.
“You are too kind Master. You have created us to be this way. And now you are here.”
Khaoh shook his head, both in disagreement and to shake away his initial surprise, “I- no I’m just a farmer. I don’t think we’ve met.”
The voice hummed in acknowledgment.
“May we gaze upon Master’s perfection?”
Khaoh spluttered, “Uh, I’m not-- ok, I’ll take off my mask so you can... see?”
“Please do, dear Master. You need not shroud your presence around us.”
Khaoh went red at the statement, and the red glow around would mask it as he took of his helmet. He ruffled his braids out of the knots they found themselves in and the voice hummed.
“You are beautiful, more lovely than him, but you are not our Master.”
Khaoh felt his face grow unbearably hot, like he took his flamethrower and doused his face in the heat. He yelped as tendril floated around him, caressing his face.
“I-I-I appreciate it but uh, I’m interested in someone else.”
The tendrils eased away, but the compliments did not cease. “You are extraordinary. Such strange skin, such piercing eyes. Your genome suggest you would have a glorious dark complexion, yet you are like Lua, shining bright.”
Khaoh coughed, confused about how the ominous figure had guessed his ethnicity, but flattered still. “It’s called albinism. A condition where I lack melanin, have shitty eyesight and get sunburnt a lot. Kinda sucks cos I work on the fields a lot.”
“Your beauty ails you?”
“I have a small prosthetic for them, it’s fine--”
The tendrils poked at his eyes curiously, to which Khaoh instinctively flinched from.
“You possess such strength, worthy of a Dax. We can help you see with vision sharper than those soldiers.”
“It’s fine! Uh, do you want me to move you to find your... master?”
The humming stopped, and the tendrils retracted.
“There is only one way we can return to our dear Ballas. It is with you...”
Khaoh nodded, “Okay...”
“Within you.”
Khaoh slowly began shaking his head, but his words said otherwise, “Okay.”
“You needn’t do it, only if it is your wish. In return, we can help you with your eyesight.”
Khaoh rubbed his chin, and shrugged, “It wouldn’t be so bad putting in these lenses every morning. They do grate my eyes a bit.”
Are you serious? This is a talking pile of spores! And you’re trusting them? Khaoh’s subconscious gnawed at him.
With that logical thought, Khaoh mused, then gave a proper response. “I will return, I must bring our harvest to my people, if you may.”
The presence hummed, a comforting sound to Khaoh’s ears, “We will await your return, he who shines like Lua.”
Khaoh blushed again, “Oh, my name is Khaoh.”
“A beautiful name for such a beautiful being. We are Helminth.”
Khaoh gave a slow smile, the tendrils waving goodbye as he spun on his heel, skipping away like a child let out of class early.
“Khaoh! You are very late!”
The usually cheerful Qamar was quaking, and he wasn’t alone, a few other colonists had come to his side too.
Khaoh gave a boyish grin, “Got sidetracked but I’m here now.”
The adults were having none of that. A colonist, a woman, cried out, “Khaoh. Oh Khaoh. It’s Pala.”
Khaoh dropped his containers, “What.”
“The Dax! They took her and other children! They’re taking them to the Yuvan Theatre!”