Alpha X

The Tale of Two Proud Fathers

"Call Mzimu," Herod said, weariness seeping into his cells.

His faulty ticker drained his energy and zest for life. Yet he had one more job to do before he left to get his heart replaced. As the third organ replacement recipient and the first to get a new heart, he did not have much faith in Doctors Uriana and Xia's experimental surgery. Shifter DNA did not react the same way humans' physiology, and this might just kill him.

The voice recognition dialed the number. But his SOS went unheeded. For an hour, he tried until he got through.

"What?"

The bite of impatience in the curt question warned Herod to tread with care. He had such great expectations for this individual. Though a failure and a treasure of untapped potential, the speaker wasn't to be trifled with.

"Mzimu—"

"Wrong number."

"Son, I need you."

"Haven't you heard, you blind, doddering fool? Mzimu is dead, and Ghost retired. As the younglings say—fuck off," responded an accented drawl.

Retirement—another luxury Herod couldn't afford.

"I hear rumors whisper of mental decay... dementia, is it?" asked the speaker.

Herod chuckled at the deadpan insult punctuated by a vibratory baritone. Mzimu, a feared myth in his former homeland, translated into a ghost. He'd reached out to Herod once, in a dire emergency. They usually talked when Herod hankered to hear a familiar voice without a hidden agenda. Uninterested in politics, he rarely critiqued Herod's policies or even mentioned them.

"How is the little one doing?" Herod asked instead.

"Not so little anymore. She's tall as a beanpole, and she slouches; such terrible posture. And working for your people. You know that." Ghost's guttural growl softened.

"Yes, and words can't express how proud we are of her. The Big Brain can't stop mentioning she's sharp as a tack. Has she shared what she does?"

Wilford, the Minister of Sciences, had recruited Ghost's daughter. Few knew the identities of the Wilford Six. To Herod's delight, his goddaughter was on that list. But he wasn't surprised. She was proof his plans had come to fruition.

"She's why Roma's invisible. Rather, she is the eyes in the sky, blinding our enemies," Ghost replied.

"Is she speaking yet?" Herod inquired, trying not to laugh at Ghost's outrageous description of his daughter's job profile.

For a decade, he had sent specialists to cure the kid's selective mutism. And witnessed Ghost, the most unflappable male he'd ever met, lose his wits. The so-called experts came up short. But a parent's and sister's love helped her spread her wings. He suspected she was just quiet and reclusive.

"Only when she has anything to say, which isn't often," Ghost grumbled but his voice faded as a din filtered in through the speakers. Herod winced and pressed his temples. As he'd redirected the call via Bluetooth, he escaped most of the brutal assault on his ears. His soundproofed office, swept daily for bugs, allowed him such small freedoms.

"Hold on." Ghost groaned and the racket dimmed. "She's gone and hired a cleaner, who is on leave. So, she is bringing down the roof because it's her turn to clean the kitchen. I'd prefer she rebelled by yelling at me or picking fights, but not by banging those damned drums. Here is some parenting advice. Do not give in to the tiny terrors. They turn into brats if they sense they can break you."

A fraction of Herod's age, Ghost was his equal. They forged a brotherhood during the simpler days when a kinder version of him existed.

"Why the questions? Your interest in my kit worries me. Mind your pups, Herod, and keep your paws off mine. You have a habit of raiding others' cradles." Suspicion hardened Ghost's voice. "She will not move to Roma. Is that clear?"