CHAPTER 1

"He's a disgrace! An abomination to Allah! I will have no part of him! You're men have taken in worse and made productive citizens out of them, I demand that you take Quatre as well!"

They were in the Great Hall, massive in its beautiful marble inlays, high vaulted ceilings, frescos, and ornate gold workings. A path of red sulfur oxidized marble acted as a red carpet that led to the end of the hall and a massive chair of gold, silver, and rubies. In the chair sat a man, in his early nineties. The man was feeble and old, and Raberba Winner, owner of the largest mining firm in outer space and the second richest man in all the universe, must not have seen the defiant strength of the man as he tried to bully his son into their care.

For the last hour, Raberba had been arguing his son's case to the leader of the Muslim Jihad army, the Maguanacs. This elite band of men, sworn to protect the Muslim faith and its people were at once mysterious and legendary. For thousands of years these men protected those that believed in Allah, and for thousands of years, Allah had in turn, remembered His people. They were only a hundred men strong, but rumored to house the best assassins, strategists, and thieves the world had ever seen. Over the last five years they had lost two of their numbers to illness and now, as dictated by New Islamic law, it was time for them to replace those who had gone on to the Great One.

Men of all stations brought their best sons forward. From all of the Islamic nations and colonies came the best and brightest. No boy over the age of 21 was allowable, so the anti-chamber was lined with thousands of children and teenagers—boys of all skin tones and breeding—all for the two coveted spots in the Maguanacs.

For most, it was a proud moment. Fathers would stand tall and proud, proclaiming loudly the attributes of their particular sons, but this was only to the other fathers in the anti-chamber, for no one was allowed into the Great Hall, except the father and the son.

Up the red marble carpet they'd travel, up, up, what seemed like miles as hearts raced and sweat beaded on brows. Then, when finally they reached their destination they were told simply, in a clear voice--"State your son's case."

Some would talk for hours, others only minutes. Over the years, it had become clear that there was no real pattern to the boys chosen to enter the Maguanacs. Some were tall while others were short, some fat and some skinny, some fathers had talked for hours, while others only seconds. No one knew how to please the Maguanacs's leader so fathers tried everything, and Quatre's father was no exception.

His father had forbidden him from speaking to anyone in the anti-chamber. A small boy of only fifteen years, Quatre was delicate, with pale skin that had seen neither true nor artificial sun in almost five years.

Science had long ago discovered the particular gene in the human construct that produced homosexuals and heterosexuals. Colonial tube babies that possessed the "Homo" gene were terminated; their tubes simply turned off to protect society.

But Quatre's mother had defied colonial mandates and had conceived Quatre in her own womb. Far from medical surveillance equipment that monitored for such things as the "Homo" gene, she'd protected her son within her body for as long as she could; until Quatre, two months premature, was born. Overwhelmed with his wife's death in childbirth, Raberba thought nothing of testing Quatre for the feared gene until he was older, some wayward comment by the boy causing him to wonder. After only ten seconds the gene was discovered and Quatre, then only five, was shut away from the world; shut away, to begin his "reprogramming."

At ten years old, Raberba had brought Quatre to the Great Hall, the "reprogramming" having done nothing to ease Raberba's fears about his son. But the leader of the Maguanacs had listened intently to Raberba Winner's twenty minute listing of his son's exaggerated strengths before kindly dismissing them. Quatre had not been chosen. The abuse Quatre suffered for that, was not unlike the abuse he was usually subjected too, only this was infinitely more painful.

For five years his father had abandoned him to a remote colony devoid of all life. Twice a month rations were flown in, and on the same day food arrived for Quatre to consume, his father came to consume him. Hours of his father's hateful words pounded against him as Raberba ranted at how Quatre was ruining everything!

As the years progressed and Quatre grew more and more quiet and isolated, he began to yearn for the end. It seemed it was about to come.

Only a day before, Raberba had made an unscheduled arrival on Quatre's satellite. And once again Raberba had come and brought Quatre to this magnificent place of majesty and beauty. Deprived for so long of so much, Quatre had found himself simply staring at the wonders the hall held, instead of listening to his father's half veiled threats and monetary promises as they stood in the Great Hall, in audience to the Leader of the Maguanacs. But now, the eldest Winner was desperate, pulling forth the secret that was Quatre's great shame.

Quatre focused his attention on the floor by his feet, long since used to his father's hateful words. He didn't look up, otherwise he would have seen his father oblivious to everyone; and seen the Maguanac leader's eyes furrow slightly in rage.

"Do you have any idea what I've sacrificed to bring him here?! I've told everyone he's away studying to take my place as head of the company, but I'll die and take my company with me before I hand it over to this worthless piece of meat!

"The world has seen Quatre now, and if you don't take him, I'll simply have to take him back and…dispose of him properly." The threat could never have been considered veiled, and the old man on the ornate chair was perceptive indeed.

"So," the old man spoke for the first time since admitting them. "He possessed the gene of One." It was a statement, but Raberba answered anyway.

"If you mean the "Homo" gene, then to my own disgrace he does."

Hearing a guttural sound, Quatre looked up from his newly tailored and unbroken in shoes, to see a man of about twenty-five years come to stand behind the throne like chair of the leader. Tall and thin he wore a strange hat on his head and a pair of dark mirror sunglasses. Knowing little about human behavior—and disregarding his natural but hidden empathic talents—Quatre assumed the man was guarding the leader from the disturbance his father was creating. He remembered his sisters had not liked it when his father had yelled, telling their father to take his worthless son into the other room if he meant to make such a racket. Quatre never questioned, that while his sisters hated him for his genetic defect, he couldn't help but love them still.

"Quatre?" Startled, the boy looked up and into the eyes of the leader. They were old eyes but spoke of many things, most of which Quatre couldn't begin to understand.

Seclusion and his father's painful counter to anything he said, had taught Quatre to hold his tongue, in fact, he spoke less often than he dreamed.

He nodded his head.

"The Leader is talking to you, boy! Answer him!" His father shouted, grabbing him by the back of his well tailored and new suit, shaking him. Quatre said nothing, experience had taught him to fear voices, words of condemnation, even his own. "Damnit, boy!"

"Quatre?" The old man spoke again, and again Quatre nodded, not looking up. "Quatre, would you like to join the Maguanacs, to protect the people of Islam, and honor the Great One?"

Quatre again said nothing and again incurred his father's wrath.

Strong hands yanked him around until he was face to face with the hate filled gaze of his father's eyes. "Tell. Him Yes." There was a deadly calm to his voice, and Quatre knew, knew without a doubt, that should he not be accepted into the ranks of the Maguanacs, he would not have much longer to live.

And that was all he really wanted anyway.

Turning his head away from his father, turning to look back at the old man, and the young one who was now at the bottom of the stairs leading up to the chair, only five feet away, Quatre spoke.

"No. I just want to die."

He heard the ragging cry from his father only seconds before the fist connected with his beautiful if not hollow face. The force pushed him back and away, towards the leader of the Maguanacs. He didn't bother to brace himself for the impact with the marble floor, if he hit, perhaps it would finally be over.

But to his surprise, strong arms caught him mid-flight, and in a sound of thunderous footsteps, the doors behind the great chair were thrown open and ninety-seven men in various sizes, shapes and colors came flooding into the room. Dully he saw his father shrink away in fear, but for the most part, he watched the line where the red marble met the white, watched as hundreds of feet fell across it, listened as pistols and riffles cocked. He assumed they were pointed at him, if he'd been in any position to look, he would have seen them pointed at his father.

"Rashid." Again the old man's voice, and this time Quatre did look up, and up, and up, but not into the face of the leader, but the face of a gigantic man of nearly seven feet. The juggernaut stepped towards his leader and accepted a cloth bag before following the leader's instructions. "Give Mr. Winner these forty pieces of silver and send him away. He no longer has a son, and we no longer have any vacancies in the ranks. Send the others away."

Quatre watched helplessly as the giant man threw the bag of silver at his father before roughly shoving him towards the door, following after him to shove Raberba through and to deliver the message to those not chosen.

Silent in the way circumstance had taught him, Quatre watched as the men around him began to look at him, pity and something more in their eyes. Behind him the man holding him up tried to right him.

"Hey, it's alright. Try to get you're footing, that's right. He sure clocked you good, I think a couple of us would have actually gone down after a blow like that." That could hardly be true. At fifteen Quatre was barely a hundred pounds, and hardly five feet, if any would have fallen, it would have been him.

He got his feet under him in time to witness the giant return to the fold. His face was hard and cold, steel in his eye as his gaze locked with Quatre's for the split second before Quatre ducked and turned away.

He wanted to know why? Why him? Those in the hall had been so much more qualified, so much braver and stronger. He was nothing, he was worthless, he was an abomination, he was an evil child.

"Quatre." Again the old man was speaking to him, and out of fear and terror, Quatre turned to look at the man. "Abandon all that you knew before this moment, it was all lies. We will teach you the truth, the way. Forget all that you've been told, Allah will set you free."

Silence reigned then, and Quatre felt it like a pressure around his heart. He'd always had his abilities, and though he couldn't remember it well, he still caught glimpses of his mother's emotions as she'd died bringing him into the world. But he'd been without human contact for so long, living contact at all, that he could not decipher the feelings that swirled around his heart. If he could have, he would have felt rage and death towards his father.

Not knowing what else to do, Quatre nodded his head and refused to look anywhere but his aching feet. The Maguanac that had caught him still stood close by, and Quatre felt terrifyingly crowded in by his presence.

He heard the old man shift in his chair of red velvet and gold, heard him sit up straight and tall to address his subordinates.

"The boy has been chosen, who will be his Teacher?" A murmur went up amongst the people and Quatre heard a few voices call out that they would before the man behind him—the one who had caught him before his fall—spoke in a cheery but final tone.

"Rashid will take him as Recruit." Another murmur, this one more questioning than the one before it.

"Rashid," and now Quatre looked up and again saw the mighty man before him look towards the leader. "Will you take the boy as Recruit?"

There was a pause, and in that second of time Quatre's heart cheered. Finally, it'd be over. No one wanted an evil child, none would take him, and then he'd be sent back out, back to his father. And his father would make good on his promise, and Quatre would disappear, silently forgotten in time and space.

"Yes, Master Habsaba, I will take the boy as Recruit." The voice was large, filling the room, but soft at the same time; and once again Quatre had to look at the man whom he now feared and in some ways, hated.

"And Abdule?" The question was directed to Rashid.

"It would seem, he has accepted the circumstances."

Again his name was spoken, and again Quatre turned to the old man. "From this moment on, there are no surnames. You will be known throughout history as Quatre, nothing more and nothing less. Do you understand?"

Perplexed and stunned, Quatre looked up into old and withered eyes. Could he say yes? What would he really be giving up? When was the last time he was considered a Winner anyway? But it was his last ties to his family, the ones he still loved despite their lack of care for him. Quietly, he shook his head, 'no.'

A gentle hand came to rest on his shoulder, and it startled him to gasp out loud. He tried to step back, but when he did, he ran into the man—Abdule. He followed the beefy hand to attach it to Rashid, the older man was smiling down at him ever so slightly.

"Do not be afraid. You will lose nothing with the lose of the name, I give you my word."

Awed by his presence so close to him, Quatre stared at him a moment before catching himself, and ducking his head before nodding his consent. What was in a name anyway?

Habsaba spoke. "Our family is complete. Close the gates." He stood then and Quatre saw that when he had been young Habsaba must have been very tall indeed. "Quatre of the Maguanacs, Trowa of the Maguanacs, welcome to your destiny."

Feeling sick, Quatre closed his eyes against the disappointment of his still beating heart.

"Do not fret, Quatre. Nothing you have known before has much bearing on the world you now belong to." The leader said as he slowly walked down the stairs, one of the men helping him at the end. "You have many talents and gifts that are unknown to you and the rest, and I fear that Rashid has excepted quite a formidable Recruit." There was gentleness in Habsaba's words and tones, but having so little human contact, Quatre had no basis with which to compare the kind man's statements.

Fear clouded his thoughts, as once again all he could think about was that he was nothing but a problem to someone. His head remained downcast, and he tried as hard as he could to make himself as small as his already emaciated body would allow.

His thoughts were racing, had been racing since he'd been taken off the satellite he called prison and brought to this region of space. The Maguanac colony was separated from the others in L-4, and small in comparison; but for only a hundred men, the colony built for ten thousand was a lavish expanse of territory and room.

But he had no defenses against the onslaught of feelings he'd encountered as his father had brought the shuttle down onto this place. Even now, surrounded by feelings he couldn't comprehend, he felt overwhelmed to the point of passing out. He closed his eyes against the rolling of the ground beneath him, as ninety-nine men turned their attentions and their emotions on him.

Things were happening so fast, threatening to overturn the isolated world that was all Quatre had known for so long. Just the sounds of voices around him threatened to make him think himself mad with delirium instead of safe with people who would protect him.

The floor lurched again as he heard his name spoken from a distance, and with no defenses against the rolling terrain, he felt his precarious balance lost as his knees buckled beneath him.

He heard his name in a slight panic before he again felt the same arms as before wrap about him in support. But different this time, the man called Abdule's hand brushed against his own, and with it came a tidal wave of emotions he couldn't hope to stop.

Skin on skin, a touch, something Quatre was denied unless it was for punishment. He'd learned to hate it, to fear touch almost as much as voice and sound. When his father touched him, it was with such anger and rage, that it was worse than the physical blows themselves. But this, as Arabian skin touched Arabian skin, Quatre felt his world shift at the emotions exposed.

Fear.

Worry.

Possession.

With a strangled sob and all the energy he could support, Quatre flung his body away once again from this man. Bangs pushed out of the way by the force of his movements, Quatre spun around to face the man he felt with all he was, he needed to defend himself against.

Wild blue eyes, the color of moonlight through Topaz stones, were wide and terrified as he spun to watch his enemy face-first. But his stand was not aggressive. He stood with hands about his upper arms, locking himself in tightly, praying that no one could get through the shields he'd been forced to create.

Abdule himself was quite taken aback by the look of terror in the boy's eyes. Retracing his steps, he couldn't figure out why his actions had been any different then the first time Quatre had almost fallen. Almost fallen—more like been beaten down! Hatred flared in him towards the man that had brought this boy in, demanding he be accepted to lessen his own burden. He was grateful for the sunglasses he perpetually wore, as they blocked Quatre from seeing the hate in his eyes as he thought of the boy's father.

But Quatre's talents were undeveloped, and as he stared at Abdule, all he could feel was the unabashed hatred as the man looked at him. Shuddering against the onslaught of more emotions, he again nearly buckled but caught himself at the last moment before hitting the ground.

He was scared, tired, hurt and in such despair he could barley see. Abandoned yet again, this time to warriors who were known to follow the Qur'an to the letter. His father had told them about his gene, they knew he was destined to be an abomination. His father was no Muslim leader, but these men followed the strict codes of Mohammed's teachings and Allah's words. The "reprogramming" his father had put him through for five years had been some of the most painful times of his life. Tortures no boy needed to know, were placed upon him, only to be told later he was incurable. He'd tried to convince his father he was no danger, but the man hadn't listened, and Quatre had been sent away, away to be alone forever.

Or not forever. And these men, men of size and strength far outweighing that of his "reprogrammer," Quatre feared the hatred rolling off the man before him was only the beginning of a life's worth of hard and torturous years to come.

"No, no, no, hush child. Be calm. Rashid…" Habsaba was speaking gently behind Quatre, but Quatre was used to kind words with double meanings. He spun again to guard himself against the older man only to find two great arms wrapped tightly around him as Rashid moved to restrain the boy from hurting himself.

Thankfully there was no skin on skin contact to strengthen the emotions, but being this close, feeling trapped and restrained, Quatre again panicked. He threw everything that he was into his struggles, fighting for all that he was or could be. Thin skin and brittle bones pushed against pillars of strength to be released, as his voice—long unused—spoke for only the second time that month.

"Let go!"

Habsaba's voice rose over his own, and the others as they watched the struggling youth.

"School you're thoughts, Rashid! He is an empath!"

His mind screamed at the declaration! Empaths were hunted down and killed for the amusement of the colonies. Illegal but ignored, newscasters ran vids of beaten to death empaths who were unlucky enough to be discovered. Considered cheats and unethical thieves, empaths were thought to steal emotions from those around them, or to get whatever they wanted by reading the emotions of those they encountered. In the one room shack he'd been given to live in for the last five years, Quatre had sought out the vids, absorbing the truths of mankind, even if he couldn't be there himself to feel them.

But all these men, legends able to rip him apart for the sanctity of Allah's people, they'd kill him! Torture him until there was even less of him then there was now!

His struggles continued as did his begging and half-broken sobs to be released.

He heard the baritone and soothing voice of the giant man over his left ear as Rashid bent over to softly speak to him. "Calm down, Quatre. You are safe here. No one will hurt you. You are safe here. I give you my word, no one will hurt you."

But Quatre didn't know this man, or the value of his word, and so he struggled, tiring out quickly as he had little energy to burn as it was, but still fighting as much as he could.

Then suddenly, Rashid shifted, holding Quatre with one arm instead of two. The boy had a split second to think clearly before a beefy hand closed lightly against his injured cheek. At the contact, his world fell away once again.

Instantly his struggles ceased, but a horrible trembling gripped his limbs so that Rashid had to literally hold the boy up. But Quatre knew none of this, instead he was surrounded by feelings that rushed up like a gentle tide only to recede for his contemplation before returning to lap softly against his consciousness.

On the outside, his eyes were wide in a mixture of fascination and halted panic. His chest heaved as he drew in deep sporadic breaths that were slowly becoming more and more even and regular. Inside, Quatre felt the gentle presence of the man supporting him.

Rashid's emotions were organized and concise. He felt the worry the large man had for him, the concern directed towards his small frame and emaciated appearance. The giant's sense of duty came next, to protect his comrades from the strange and frightened boy before them. Rashid sensed strength in Quatre, strength and something more… Then there was the duty that centered around protecting Quatre from himself. Such a profound emotion, and Quatre felt the acceptance and desire to protect this fragile boy that was himself.

With a whimper, he dropped his head as the emotions coming from Rashid slowly drifted away from his consciousness. He'd been frightened by the feelings that had come over him, but so immensely intrigued and grateful for those directed towards him that did not involve hate. There was no hate in Rashid towards him, and Quatre felt relief wash over him at the realization.

Quatre's knees again slipped as he tried to straighten his legs, but Rashid supported him before lifting him up against a solid and broad chest. Exhausted from his struggles, and still frightened beyond his remembrance of ever being frightened, Quatre bowed his head into the warm chest and simply lay there, spent and fearful.

A new voice spoke, and it took Quatre's tired mind a moment to realize the question was directed towards Habsaba.

"The boy is a empath you say? But that can only mean one thing—"

Habsaba's voice was light and he brushed the question aside. "Now is not the time. Quatre is weak from his past life, and his current fears of us. He harbors teachings of his old life he has not yet removed from his thoughts.

"Rashid, take your Recruit inside. The boy is exhausted and needs caring for. That man did the boy no favors, and it will take all of your skills to calm him enough so that he may learn not to be afraid. His incorrect knowledge is vast and painfully ingrained, he is a wounded animal as much as a broken child. As your Recruit, you must heal him before anything else can begin. Do you understand?"

Quatre felt the muscles in the man's chest tighten against his cheek before he heard the deep rumbling as he spoke.

"The boy is my responsibility. I will not fail him, Master Habsaba."

In the minutes that followed, Quatre closed his eyes against the fast moving images as Rashid carried him through the Great Hall and the door behind the throne like chair. The space behind was dark, lit by flame instead of energy efficient, colony issued bulbs. The man's size made his stride long and quick, and Quatre shut his mind down rather than absorb the blurry images in front of his eyes; he simply no longer had the strength.

A soft hand brushed his white blond bangs from his face and he looked once again into a pair of sunglasses that seemed to be hopping just to keep up with the gait of the taller man.

"Don't worry, Quatre. Rest now, everything's going to ok. We'll get you warmed up, stop the shivers, and give you a chance to breathe a little before we explain things further. Try not to worry, everything you knew before has no bearings in this place. We'll take care of you, won't we Rashid?"

Above him, the man nodded but when he noticed that Quatre wasn't looking at him, he replied with voice.

"Yes. Abdule is correct young Quatre. You are safe. Now try to rest, the walk is long back to the camps. Sleep if you can. I will watch over you."

There was surety in the tone, a promise of being safe when they arrived, and Quatre felt it with every desperate part of himself. Too exhausted to block or analyze anything more, he surrendered to Rashid's quietly spoken words and the light airy touch of his hair across his forehead as Abdule barely touched the coarse strands.

He slept the rest of the way.