Randy VI squinted at him. "What about Eight?" He glanced over his shoulder as though to be sure that their father wasn't listening nearby. "You mean the way he fights?"

Seven gave a nod, "Daddy said it's nothing to worry about," he said.

Six pulled him in the direction of his room for a more private talk. "I know what it is," he said.

"You do?" asked Seven, his interest piqued.

Six nodded. "Did you know there's a fourth class?"

Seven shook his head, "No, I thought there were only three," he said.

"There's three main ones, but warrior class has another subclass that's just called special class since it's so rare," Randy VI explained. "If our kind lives secretly on another planet like the people from Dad's ship did, they have to study and watch the natives before they make the decision on how to come out. When everybody starts to agree it's about time to start considering that decision, it's almost like the nervous tension makes some people give birth to special-class." He held up a finger to indicate that his explanation wasn't finished as he rummaged through a set of files on his computer and pulled up an image on the screen. It was a historical photo of a green-skinned Schickelgruber pinning down a creature of similar size and appearance, save for the opponent's full head of hair and more needle-like teeth. Both of them were covered in blood and various wounds, and the Schickelgruber's mismatched eyes gleamed with a mix of glee and malicious intent. Six tapped at the image. "That's a special-class. Way, way, long time ago, they were important and happened a little more often because communication wasn't as good, weapons weren't as advanced, and most of the races we met were a lot more hostile. What they did was look for the natives who looked like they'd give them the toughest challenge, and fight them. Most of the special-class don't just stop at beating them, though; they like to try to humiliate them and really rub it in if they can, supposedly to keep 'em nice and mad. Then they leave and watch to see how the other guy handles it. We used that to gauge how violent or unpredictable the natives were, what their mental state was like, and how their society reacted when things like that happened, all in case coming out led to a war or something. There was never very many special-class, but there's been less and less of them over the centuries. We're evolved to the point that they're not necessary any more, but it takes time for things to just stop happening completely, so sometimes they still show up. They're like other warrior-class, but a lot meaner. Supposedly they settle down a little after a few years like a sort of built-in safety mechanism, but they're still pretty vicious their whole lives."

"You think Eight is one of those?" Seven asked, peering at the special classes mismatched eyes and recalling his brother's.

"Probably," said Six. "He doesn't just fight a lot. He loves it."

Seven's shoulders sagged, "I noticed....I'm scared something bad will happen to him some day,"

"It might," Six replied honestly. "I've been looking it up; a lot of them get killed not long after they finish training. What they do is really dangerous, and they don't stop sometimes until it's too late."

Seven's lip trembled, "But....but he's my baby brother..."

"I know." Six put an arm around him. "He's mine, too, and I don't want any of my brothers to get hurt." He gave Seven a gentle kiss. "But if that's what he is, then that's what he is. We'll just have to hope he's careful."

Seven gave a dejected nod, "Ok,"

Six rubbed a hand through his hair. "Don't worry about it. We don't even know for sure yet; he's still little."

"I hope he's not special class! It's bad enough he's warrior class," said Seven furiously wiping frustrated tears from his face.