Chapter 11

“Not much further, I promise!” Ramona shouter from ahead. She had four plastic bags, filled with groceries, draped around her thin arms, two bags each. Eights hovered in pace beside her with a bag hanging from one of its mandibles. Paul carried a total of twelve bags plus a pack and a sword case strapped to his back, all the while feeling he was in too deep to back out now.

Scenarios like these were ones Paul did not belong in, having dinner with a little girl and her mother? Carrying the groceries for said dinner? Are the secrets of the obelisk so important? Awkward conversation followed by bouts of silence was fully anticipated. Paul typically dined alone. Otherwise, he was among other military leaders where there was much drinking of hard liquors and imported wines, excessive talk of war, and embroidered tales of valor and glory. Tonight would be different. As far as Ramona and her mother knew, he was just an offworlder on some wild treasure hunt.

Night had settled down over Onesto, the last rays of sun glinted off the towering Cathedral on the far side of town. Down by where Paul and Ramona walked was teeming with activity. Miyu street, Ramona had mentioned earlier that day, was the place to buy just about anything anyone could think of. Dozens of shops lit their holographic signs. They were selling things like used drones (the mass-produced kind), flyer spare parts, decorative holo-statues, counterfeits of famous paintings, hooshon spice, cheap toys, and bulbous smelly plants called waships.

Walking down Miyu street was like walking through a narrow canyon of metal and electricity. The buildings were patch quilts of weathered wood, dirty permacrete, chipped painted brick, and every storefront had at least three overgrown potted plants. Overhead the night sky was nearly impossible to see through the light pollution and weaving powerlines.

Steam rose from food stalls that had cropped up since earlier in the day, vending machines that lined the buildings were alive with light, and the street bustled with a myriad of colorful and weird species. A few humans dotted the crowds, but torons, ashans, and moidians were the most prominent.

Ramona navigated the kaleidoscope of chaos with unimpeded grace; Paul, on the other hand, kept bumping his large frame into people. On Tuyet Voi worlds, his footsteps would echo with the frightening authority of a Lord Progenitor, crowds would part at his approach out of compliance and respect, but here he was just another man. Feverishly trying to keep pace with the girl, Paul lost her several times in the mass of aliens but caught enough glimpses of pinkish blond hair to stay on course, and just enough to see her abruptly change that course to inspect a storefront.

When Paul caught up, he found Ramona ogling a strange menagerie of small birdlike toys prominently displayed in glass cases with their own little pedestals as if they were rare antiques. A fat man with squinty eyes and glasses sat cross-legged on a rug in the middle of his collection; he was accepting payment from a few others who left ecstatic with their new prizes.

“Paul, look at this one!” Ramona said, pointing at one of the glass cases.

Hefting the not-so-light bags of groceries, Paul leaned in to have a look. A plump toy bird with shiny red wings, two little black horns, and glazed sideways eyes was the item of Ramona’s interest. The five hundred credit price tag caught Paul off guard.

“I’ve been looking for one of these; they’re called Ovaas! They’re really rare, you see. Normally they’re only sold in the Mosaic Realm, halfway across the galaxy,” Ramona said, staring with sparkling eyes at the thing.

“Yes, well, you’d know better than I,” Paul said, wondering how something so insignificant was apparently so valuable. “If you’re so enamored, purchase it. Fortune has recently smiled upon you after all.”

“Yeah, but that would be a quarter of what you gave me. I’ve got bills and debts to catch up on.” She tore her gaze away to stare right up at Paul. “Could you please get it for me? Oh, please, please?”

“Do you think me a bank young one?” Paul said in complete shock of the girl’s nerve. It would seem she was planning this from the beginning.

“Ah- yes, a fine piece, a real bargain considering you won’t find another like it in any star system near here,” said the squinty-eyed man with glasses who had stealthy crept into the conversation. He fanned his sweaty face. “Sure to make any little girl happy.”

Paul gritted his teeth. Think you can tug at my heartstrings to peddle these overpriced hunks of plastic? Trapping hapless perambulators in this house of ill repute. How dare a commoner try to swindle the great Lord Nefarous!

Ramona held steady with her wide green-eyed gaze into Paul’s soul. “Please…”

Five minutes later, Paul found himself carrying four additional grocery bags while Ramona led the way cradling her bird thing. She stopped in front of another storefront and Paul thought he might just drop everything and go back to the ship. “Alright, here we are!” Ramona shouted cheerfully over the unintelligible amalgamation of alien dialects, passing flyers, and humming drones.

A hand-painted sign that read: Art of Parts, hung across the door. It was the same squat two-story house Paul had walked in earlier that day, but it looked a bit different at night. The chipped paint on the walls was harder to make out, the broken antenna atop the slanted roof turned into a spiny silhouette, and the double windows by the upstairs balcony looked like a shining beacon. Downstairs the windows were dark, but the neighboring lights crept through the glass sparsely revealing the interior. An old flyer, which looked to have been scrapped for parts, and a hover scooter were parked on the curve. A yellow and red banner read: Discount drone parts, in an alien language, fluttered in the light breeze.

“Normally, I’m open this time of night, but I was too busy stalking you.”

She opened the door with a wave of her hand and stepped through, which Paul found odd since the door did not have any electronic locks, but he dismissed it passively and followed close behind, seeking refuge from the crowded street. They walked through the darkness, Paul seemingly unable to steer himself through without knocking over several piles of metal somethings.

“Oh, hmm, not worth cleaning up tonight. I’ll worry about that in the morning,” said Ramona, then She thumped up the stairs towards the lit-up room above, “mother, I’m home!”

Paul wondered if his sudden presence would be frightening. What would her mother say or do even? Reach for a communicator and call the authorities, or maybe go for a knife and attack. It could be just the excuse he needed to leave early. Don’t be foolish…just…smile and be polite.

“Ramona, perhaps you should warn your mother of my arrival.”

She turned her head with a smirk on her face, “What, like announce you in? Hailing from unknown reaches of space, I hereby welcome the glorified and mighty: Paul!” She said sardonically.

Paul grunted, unamused.

Through the threshold, something warm and cozy greeted its new guest. To the left looked like a living room; it had a small monitor with a worn pink couch, an old coffee table, and some wooden and plastic cabinets. Beyond the living room, a hallway that probably led to the bedrooms. To the right, a compact kitchen with shelves cluttered with unevenly stacked pots and pans; assorted glass cups and bottles sat uncategorized on another open shelf. The double windows facing the street were adorned with small potted plants and rainbow glass chimes. What really caught Paul’s attention was what he thought was a very pretty woman not much taller than Ramona, organizing dishes and cutlery.

“Roam, welcome home, oh…” the mother stopped to regard Paul with surprise, which quickly turned into a warm smile, “and I see you brought a guest.”

“I call this one Martha!” Said Ramona, happily waving her hands out as if presenting her latest drone creation, “but I also call her mother.”

“Oh, stop that you,” Martha said with a soft chuckle while setting down a stack of plates.

“It is an honor to make your acquaintance, miss,” said Paul with a respectful bow, a dozen plus four bags still around his forearms. Martha struck Paul as exceptionally attractive, long wavy brown hair, a simple smile, and brown eyes in lieu of glowing green ones. Perhaps Ramona’s plasma-like irises were implants or a trait on her father’s side.

Martha and Ramona just gave Paul strange looks, “uh…he’s an offworlder, probably from Moondy or Havian or one of those other fancy Amani planets.”

“Oh, I see,” said Martha. “You can just set those down on the counter.”

Grateful, Paul set down each bag and reached out for a handshake.

Martha withdrew quickly.

“Oh! Erm…she’s a pretty hardcore germophobe,” Ramona said quickly. “As a general rule, she doesn’t like to be touched. It’s nothing personal though, don’t worry.”

“My sincerest apologies, miss,” said Paul with another polite bow. Bowing was the correct thing to do for a commoner, right? Duchesses of Valon always appreciated a courteous demeanor.

Martha’s face turned an alarming red.

“Paul stop bowing,” Ramona said with a cheeky half-grin and jabbed him in the side before taking the singular bag Eights was holding and setting it on the counter.

Slipping on a pair of gloves, Martha just giggled and began picking through the groceries. “Goodness Roam! How did you afford all of this? You didn’t make our visitor pay did you?” Martha’s gaze pierced at Ramona.

“Er…well no and yes,” Ramona smiled innocently at her mother, who wore a disapproving look. “He bought Eights and gave him back to me because he’s too stubborn to listen to anyone but me. I mean, it’s not like I intentionally create my little minions to only serve me.”

“Right,” Paul said, unconvinced. He also noticed that Ramona had concealed her bird toy.

“Hey, don’t go blaming me if you can’t handle a small probe drone. At least I don’t have to go making death threats to them like some people.”

Paul grunted. I’ll scrap that metal ball.

“Yeah, he told me. He doesn’t really like you.”

Eights hummed angrily at Paul.

“By the way, he has your data from the survey. I would start being nice if you ever want to have a look.” She patted its metal dome and looked at Paul expectantly.

“Apologize to a drone?” Paul asked mockingly. “What’s next? Shall I wash its outer plating and offer it a gift?

Ramona’s lips curled into a delightful smile, “Yes, that would be great actually!”

Paul grimaced at Eights. “Refresher?”

“Last door down the hall,” Martha said.

***

Turning to Martha, Ramona said, “Could you make rupabuga? Everything should be there.”

“Your favorite dish. It’s been a while since we’ve had it.”

Two of Paul’s belongings lay by the threshold, a backpack and a long skinny case. The backpack looked unassuming, but the case was made from an incredibly dense plastic, locked by electromagnetics; a heavily encrypted password and retinal scan sealed it tight. “I must respect his privacy!” Ramona said dramatically to herself quietly enough so that Martha could not hear.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

***

Paul looked into the mirror in the refresher; the creases in his skin marking his forties and his deep green eyes stared back. He felt more foolish than he initially thought possible, and they had not even got to dinner yet.

What am I doing? You will simply ask Martha everything she knows of her daughter’s bracelet and that will be the end of it. I’ll never see these people again. Just a few minutes longer, he thought to himself, then it would be time to go back out there.

An appetizing aroma wafted through the air. Martha stood over the stove stirring a steaming pan of what looked like some sort of pasta mixed with steak drenched in seasoned red sauce.

“Welcome back,” Martha waved with a gloved hand. “Dinner will be ready soon. I hope you like rupabuga. I won’t make it too spicy for you.”

“I’d be delighted to partake in the local cuisine.”

Martha snorted and looked up with pretty brown eyes, “You’re quite the gentleman…oh, you might want to go check on Ramona. She took your belongings into the guest room down the hall.”

Resisting the urge to sprint down the hall and break through the door, Paul walked briskly instead and opened the door. Inside, a horrifying sight to behold. Strewn haphazardly on the floor were all the belongings that he had brought from the ship: spare clothes, hand rags, a communicator, his datatab, compact rations, credit chips, and various toiletries. Worst of all, his sealed case had been opened, its singular content held in Ramona’s hands.

“You’re a Progenitor-“ Ramona began slowly, “-this is your sword.” She held the sheathed blade as if it might break, eyeing it with wonder, admiring the gold inlays on the crimson hilt. “It’s a lot heavier than I thought they’d be. Considering the blade is just projected energy.”

“That weapon is immensely destructive. Return that to me at once,” Paul said, not wanting to lunge for the sword in case she accidentally took it out of its sheath. To his surprise, however, she held it out carefully to let him take it.

“You really must be up to something…I’m guessing you’re not with the Amani either,” said Ramona, looking dazed.

“I suppose you’re going to turn me in now?” She could try. Not that Paul would dare harm a hair on a young girl or her mother. But he would cut down every Amani soldier that would challenge him.

Ramona shrugged, “I told you, the Amani don’t govern us. They just set up shop here with those shipyards…they don’t even do anything about the crime,” she continued gloomily and stared off blankly at nothing.

“You don’t care much for the Amani?”

“No,” Ramona replied flatly while slumping into a chair with arms crossed, still not making eye contact. Her dark expression turned on a dime, she smiled, and her green eyes beamed. “Your secret is safe with me, oooh, but you have to let me in on whatever it is that you’re doing!”

“No.”

She hopped out of the chair. “Needed a vacation? Or maybe you’ve given up the life of a Progenitor to be a traveling salesman! Let’s be honest, you definitely came here to be a salesman,” Ramona continued whimsically, spouting as many theories that came to mind.

“Do not be foolish,” Paul said in the same stern tone he’d use on low-ranking soldiers and officers.

“Hey, c’mon, we could be partners!” Ramona continued unphased. “Yeah, me and Eights solving the mysteries, er…or whatever you’re doing here.” She paced around the room, sat on the bed over in the corner, then hopped up again.

“Skitter around the room all you like; the answer is still no.”

Waving her hands frantically, searching for the words, Ramona continued, “I…I…can help you! You’re an offworlder; you don’t know Kanchi like I do. I could even tell you something else about my bracelet.”

Paul perked up an eyebrow involuntarily, “you said…”

Ramona smiled slyly seeing she had his attention. “What? Like I’m gonna tell a stranger everything about myself right away,” she cast up her arms. “I mean…I still don’t know much about it, my mother can tell you more. But I do know something she doesn’t.”

“Like I’m going to believe that,” Paul said plainly to counter her reasoning. Grasping for straws like that, like she had any business squeezing her way into his plans.

“Just read my mind then. You are a Progenitor after all, or did you just find that sword lying around?” Ramona plopped down into another chair and pulled a thick text from an adjacent bookcase, cracked it open, and began flipping through it. “Yes see, it’s right here: Progenitor telepathy is most well-known for its uses for uncovering the truth from any living being. It is well established that it is actually impossible to lie to one without them knowing.”

“I’m well aware of my own abilities, but I do not violate the minds of women and children. I only make exceptions for women that are trying to kill me,” said Paul, miffed by the author’s ignorance.

“Trouble with the wife?” Said Ramona giggling as she closed the book. “Okay, okay, I’m just kidding, of course. We can come to the whole sidekick thing later.”

“We won’t.”

“At least tell me more about being a Progenitor. Is it true that you all can cut star cruisers in half with those swords, all the while taking on a hundred opponents at once?” Her curiosity burned; the iris of her green eyes glowed brighter than ever. She stared up at Paul, begging him to regale his knowledge and stories of past adventures.

Paul grunted; whoever had told her that story was grossly exaggerating. Maybe too many war holo-films. “No…no, not exactly anyway. Cutting a cruiser in half would take days, especially with a hundred others trying to kill me.” He scratched his chin pensively. Was this really how the galaxy romanticized Progenitors?

“Well, don’t you have any stories about your past adventures?” Ramona asked with bright-eyed enthusiasm.

Paul wondered if the girl would cease her incessant questions. But he found himself more and more conflicted on how to handle them. His underlings in the Tuyet Voi would have never engaged in such meaningless conversation out of fear of terrible punishment. Ignoring the girl or walking out were surely incorrect options as well. He would likely need her cooperation to learn more about that bracelet and to have that confounded drone obey. “You wish to hear the embellished tales of an old veteran? I’m afraid my journeys are fraught with mundane mission reports and habitual training exercises.” There were stories. Paul had a long list of grizzly exploits, not for the ears of a young girl, of course.

“You’re a liar. Figures.” She stood up, “but don’t worry, I’ll get those stories out of you eventually,” she said shrewdly.

“Unlikely.”

Ramona gazed fondly at the cadami sword. “Well, what will you tell me about that?” she asked. “I’ve researched them, but no one really knows how to build them. I hear they’re the most finely crafted objects in the galaxy; I very much want to know more!”

“I don’t actually know.”

“Lies,” Ramona said, rolling her eyes, but Paul very much told the truth. No one knew except the designer himself. And the blade in Paul’s hands was not even his, nor did it reflect most of the conventions all other cadami swords were made from.

He replaced his sword back in the strong case. “How ever did you get this open?”

“Oh, I have my ways,” Ramona winked.

Probably one of her drone contraptions, Paul theorized. But hacking the encryption would be a challenge even for high-grade software, and there were no signs that the locks had been cut or tampered with in any way. The case hung open just as it would if opened normally. He noted that he would just have to keep a closer eye on his belongings in the future and dropped the thought for now.

“Dinner is ready!” Martha’s voice called from down the hallway.

The delicious aroma of the rupabuga wafted about the kitchen, the air slightly hazy with steam and smoke. Martha stood over the stove wearing a white apron blotched here and there with red sauce. Eights had on a miniature apron ideally suited for its head-sized body.

Two steamy plates of rupabuga were set neatly on the coffee table, along with utensils, napkins, and icy drinks.

“Now, I didn’t add as much spice to yours, Paul. Usually, rupabuga is made without any, but Roam here loves her food burning hot,” Martha chirped.

“Will you not be dining with us, miss?” Paul asked, eyeing the two plates.

“Oh!” Ramona cut in, “she eats her own food. It’s just part of her germaphobe thing.”

Martha shrugged innocently and took a seat at the table. Eights set itself down at the other empty space.

“Come sit you two, before it gets cold,” said Martha.

They sat and ate; the meal had been more delectable than it had smelled. Martha was vibrant and all smiles, telling playful stories and teasing Ramona. Ramona mostly talked about her day and how she stalked Paul through the streets of Onesto using Eights’ tracker. She had made special mention that she felt like a secret spy. Even Eights chirped now and then with delight. Paul was perfectly content to sit quietly listening and not being engaged in conversation.

“Oh! Hey mother, Paul wanted to ask you something,” said Ramona, rather abruptly changing topics from drone manifolds.

“I... uh...yes, of course.” Paul began. Was this really the time? He’d probably come off as offensive for bringing up such topics over dinner. He sought refuge in a gulp of his drink.

“Ugh-,” Ramona rolled her eyes and held up her wrist brandishing the shiny silver bracelet, “-he came here looking for this. All I know is that father gave it to me when I was little.”

“You mean littler,” Martha chuckled.

Ramona looked displeased.

“Ah- it’s been years since I even thought about that. You wear it every day; it’s just part of life.”

“But do you know if there’s anything special about it?” Ramona asked. “Maybe it’s made from some highly precious metal, or it’s the key to some special device, oh- maybe it contains the most powerful substance in the universe!”

Martha spared a look of doubt. “Or maybe, daughter, it is nothing more than a family heirloom.” Turning to Paul, changing from eye-rolling to a smile. “It’s been years since I’ve talked about Asahi, that’s Ramona’s father. A man from outer space, far beyond any reaches of the Umlenze galaxy I know of. Love at first sight, so cliché I know, but for hours I could listen to his tales of all the different worlds he had visited...”

“Mom...the bracelet?”

“You get that lip from your father, you know?” Said Martha, not sounding all that annoyed. “Fine, I was getting to that part anyways. When Ramona turned five, he gave her that bracelet, told her how proud he was and how much he loved her, told her that as long as she wore that bracelet, he’d be able to find her no matter where she was in the galaxy.” Martha’s eyes trailed off towards the floor. “And then...he told her you have one life left to leave, and then he was gone.”

Ramona was quiet and wearing a similar look as her mother.

“I’m sorry,” Paul said sincerely. “What called him away?”

Martha’s warm demeanor returned. “I don’t know, actually. Asahi didn’t abandon us though, not truly...I mean. Wherever he had to go, it was life or death. I know it had to be, the look in his eyes.”

Paul pulled the silver map out from his pocket and set it on the table. A holographic arrow sprang up from the device, pointing directly at the bracelet.

Ramona waved her arm around, the arrow followed.

“I found this, and it led me here. I think it must have belonged to Asahi.”

Martha seemed to long desperately to hold the device. “How did you find this? Did you see Asahi? Is he still alive?”

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t say,” Paul said seriously. “All I can remember is waking up in an empty ship; that’s where I found it. But, perhaps he was the one that saved me,” Paul added, seeing Martha’s gloomy eyes.

“So, it’s a beacon,” Ramona cut in, examining her bracelet with intrigue. “Well, now I know; I doubt he would have come back to find me anyways.”

“You mentioned that you knew something else about the bracelet?” A sinking feeling started to set in Paul’s stomach, that he had just traveled across the galaxy to find nothing but a dinner table and an annoying little girl. “I have to say, that wasn’t the revelation I was hoping for.”

A devilish smile crossed Ramona’s face. “Then you’re gonna love this. A while back, I ran an elemental analysis between my bracelet and a certain superstructure in the mountains. Turns out they’re chemically identical.”

Now that was the revelation Paul was hoping for. “So, what are they made out of then?”

“That, I don’t know, doubt anyone does. It doesn’t match any element I could find.”

“I see, well not to worry,” Paul assured. “I appreciate your time, and I am grateful for the exquisite meal tonight.” Now he had a lead, the gargantuan ship, the map, the bracelet, and the Cathedral all made from the same mysterious metal. It was no coincidence.

Sunlight had been long gone; Martha and Ramona insisted their guest stay the night after hearing that he planned to walk back to his ship across town. But Paul insisted even more and took his leave, along with his belongings.

***

Outside, Paul was relieved from the pressures of conversation. He sipped from a canned drink he bought from one of the vendors; sour, a local flavor. The streets were just as crowded and boisterous, if not more so than earlier. Sunlight was replaced by colorful holographic rays and orange streetlamps.

“Oh man…” A voice cut through the cacophonous crowds, “the sour drink?”

Peeking to his side, Paul found a man leaning up against the wall. He was drinking out of a can and wearing a long brown coat, his glazed eyes not making direct contact with Paul.

“You really are an offworlder,“ he continued dryly, “drinking that stuff is bad for your innards, you know.” He paused as if expecting a response, but Paul remained silent. “Word to the wise, if you’re going to try blending in, avoid drinks made special for other species. Right?” He turned rigidly, raising a thick eyebrow.

Paul continued ignoring the man, but he did stop sipping from his beverage, his stomach rumbled in mild protest.

“You really are as stoic as they say, Nefarous.” The mystery man added, just a hint of inflection in his voice. “Sorry, Lord Nefarous, you are, after all, a master Progenitor.”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Paul shot back coolly.

“Of course not.” He shifted slightly, far from ready to concede. His mind stirred, but there were no signs of hostilities. “That girl you’re with, she’s not really who she says she is.” He said, shifting the subject.

Paul turned, careful not to betray his surprise.

“She’s a menace, that’s all there is to it. But maybe we can work together.” The man held out a small red cylinder, a data storage device.

“And who exactly are you?” Paul asked, eyes narrowed. He let the man continue holding the red cylinder out.

“You’re a progenitor; see for yourself.” He tapped his head. “Oh right, you people aren’t mind readers. A common misconception I hear. Well, there’s no hiding it anyways; the name’s Owlen Bek.” He said, took another sip from his drink, and held out the cylinder again.

Paul knew the name, although just barely. He was an instructor at the Tuyet Voi Academy, long after Paul’s time there. But he fled the Empire years ago, going rogue and reduced himself to a common criminal. All Tuyet Voi deserters had outstanding bounties. The ones the bounty hunters couldn’t catch would have Progenitor Knights sent after them. That was no concern of Paul’s, he had his own priorities.

“Playing it close to the chest,” Owlen said slyly. “That tells me you know who I am, so maybe we can reach a mutually beneficial agreement, could be what I do does concern you after all.” He set the red cylinder down on a news-net stand and began to take his leave. “Oh, and one more thing.” He stopped, casting a look over his shoulder. “As far as that girl goes, don’t tell her you talked to me, okay? It’s better for all of us if she doesn’t get too upset.” And with that, he left, disappearing into the crowds of aliens and street vendors.

Grabbing and interrogating Owlen would have been simple enough, but the last thing Paul needed was to attract more attention.

Paul was furious someone had recognized him. This Owlen could prove to be a nuisance, none the less Paul snatched up the red cylinder, examined it closely, and determined it really was nothing more than a data storage device. He’d have a careful look inside once he got back to the Intrepid. He pocketed the device, looked out into the crowd in the direction Owlen went, and wondered why a grown man would be so concerned about crossing a young girl.