Chapter 15

They’re coordinates, Paul thought to himself as he scrolled through the contents of the red data cylinder Owlen had left. Coordinates to a meeting location probably, but the real question was: why did this Owlen reach out to him in the first place? He was a known deserter, those that fled the Tuyet Voi had great incentive to remain hidden for the rest of their days. Reaching out to Nefarous, a lord of the Tuyet Voi, was akin to suicide. Could he have heard that Paul was ostracized from the Empire? News traveled fast in the Umlenze galaxy, but Kanchi was fairly disconnected from most galactic events. How Owlen was so connected was an intriguing question, but Paul was confident he could extract the answer diplomatically or by force.

Footsteps came from behind. Paul slipped the cylinder into his pocket and cast a look over his shoulder to find Ramona. Her pinkish hair was messy with greasy drone oil splotches, her face looked like smudges had just been wiped off her cheek with a dry rag, and her clothes had clearly seen daily use for work over the past several years.

“Comfortable are we? Sitting out on the porch, make yourself at home, why don’t you,” she said.

“Martha said that exactly,” Paul said as he leaned back in his seat, breathing in the cool air, the skies were overcast with light grey clouds that blocked the sun. The city’s murmur was quiet during the mornings and afternoons, relative silence broken only occasionally by passing flyers and probe drones. “I find your planet to be tranquil.”

“Where are you from anyways?” Ramona rested her arms on the railings and leaned out to watch the street below; a slight breeze caught her pinkish hair.

Paul didn’t much like talking about his homeworld, not that he had any explicitly bad memories of the place; it was just a time of weakness before he was knighted as a Progenitor. Refusing to indulge the girl, however, would surely bring upon an onslaught of incessant questions.

“Nateerie. It is a dark world of storms and monsters. Most people from the inner worlds would consider it inhospitable. Seasonal cosmic lightning storms devastate towns, and the rakatari are vicious pack hunters with beastly strength and are cunning enough to set traps for larger prey.” Paul rubbed a large scar across his left bicep, reminiscing. “It was a rite of passage for our warriors to kill one.”

Ramona broke her gaze from the city, took a seat beside Paul and cast her legs up on the railings. It was worth noting that she was much more pleasant when her questions were answered. “I’ve never heard of Nateerie before.”

“You wouldn’t have,” Paul stretched his arms with a yawn. “And neither has most of our galaxy,” he nodded. “It resides just beyond the everlasting Havy maelstrom and borders the Darkside. Even the most wayward explorers think twice before venturing our waters.”

For a while, Ramona fell silent. At long last, was she content? A flyer buzzed by, birds chirped and sang, the breeze continued gently. Sandbags weighed on Paul’s eyelids. Blackness began to envelop his vision when two glowing eyes caught his peripherals.

“What about your family?” Those words hung in the air for a minute or two.

Paul surged to his feet; that was enough of that.

“A little melodramatic, don’t you think?” Ramona said, frowning. “Fine, I won’t pry about your family, yeesh. Anyways, are you off somewhere? If you’re going to the store, pick me up some of those sour drinks.”

“I’m not going to the store,” Paul said as he donned his plain brown cloak. “I’m going to look for Owlen.”

“Oh, great! I’ll get my things…”

“Come eat!” A voice called from the other room.

Ramona perked up and said, “but first let’s get some food!”

Sunlight broke through the grey clouds and through the living room windows. Wispy smoke wafted faintly about. The scent of seared hespy ham and freshly baked bread went straight to the back of Paul’s nose. Ramona sat at the coffee table with her plate of breakfast and a cup of pink juice, her gaze fixed on some cliché’ action movie playing on the monitor while she shoveled bits of ham down her mouth. Eights hovered beside her watching the movie intently, sputtering in excitement whenever a character said some corny one-liner.

Martha glided around the kitchen cleaning dishes. Paul offered to help, but both Ramona and Martha insisted fervently for him to sit and relax. Ordinarily, he would be eating ration bars in his pilot seat or addressing his crew on the tasks at hand, but his stay at Onesto had proved to be anything but ordinary so far. Now, he was eating a home-cooked meal while watching a movie with a girl who possessed an extraordinary affinity for dronesmithing. She also had a strange fixation on Owlen Bek. But whatever violent history they apparently had was of no concern to Paul. And then, of course, there was Martha, who seemed to be fabricated from kindness, dead set on nurturing and providing. Ramona could take notes from her mother.

Ramona poured herself another glass of juice from a pitcher sitting on the table, then flicked something off her hand by the looks of it, or it was a hand gesture. Paul paid no mind, but Martha sure did.

“I saw that!” Martha exclaimed.

Ramona took a sip of juice, her green eyes stayed fixed on the monitor.

“Roam you-“ Martha started hands on hips, “-are you listening? You really shouldn’t do that in front of our guest. Not everyone is comfortable when you do things like that. Remember how Lucy freaked out?”

“It’s okay mother,” Ramona murmured.

“No it is not! You will stand up and walk over here as long as we have guests over. Fail to do so, and I’m taking that monitor out.” Martha said with a sternness only a parent could possess.

“But mother!” Ramona shot back, finally peeling away from her movie. “Paul is perfectly fine with it.” She whipped around. “Right Paul?”

“I…”

“Ramona, you leave Mr. Paul out of this!”

For several more minutes, the mother and daughter argument continued. Meanwhile, Paul was rigid without a clue what they were on about as they continued vehemently about their guest who happened to be sitting in plain view. Paul wished he had a stealth coat on hand to make a hasty exit. Even Eights knew to keep quiet. Eventually, Ramona conceded, knowing her mother would not back down. She turned to Paul with a biscuit crammed in her mouth, a look of mischievous glee plastered on her face.

All morning Ramona did all she could to delay Paul’s departure by laying out her plans to get in contact with Owlen.

Why even argue?

Besides, Paul’s curiosity to see the girl’s childish schemes got the better of him. Surprisingly, the myriad of charts, maps, and notes were elegant and complicated, though they severely lacked consistent tones. Fonts and colors were all over the place, like something that had been worked on over the course of several years. Ramona’s penmanship had improved considerably from the first page to last.

“What do these symbols mean?” Paul pointed at hand-drawn pictures of an eye, hand, and a butterfly. Ramona’s smile faded to confusion; she had no idea what they meant.

“So, do you think this would work?” Ramona asked, her joy returned in an instant.

Ultimately, Paul simply obliged the girl for the fun of it; he even made a suggestion or two. Developing strategy was something he was good at, positioning town-sized starships with living crews as if they were game pieces, duping overly confident foes, beating odds that conventional thinkers would presume to be impossible. Helping the girl with her plans was enjoyable considering thousands of lives were not at stake. Ramona was exceptionally bright, that much was clear; Paul thought her plan would be a good idea had he not already obtained specific coordinates to Owlen.

He’d reserve that information for himself, for now.

All the planning and collaboration had been a good distraction from the nightmarish vision earlier that morning, though it was still fresh in his mind. Merely considering revisiting and analyzing was a revolting thought, but it would have to be done sooner or later. He vowed to discover the source of the fiendish imaginings. Owlen would be a start.

“I do think it would work, Ramona. Your moxie would surely send your foes fleeing in terror,” Paul admitted. “But you will not accompany me,” he said, trying to simulate Martha’s parental sternness. Surely she’d understand that this was not a journey for young girls. There would be danger after all.

“You can’t just take my idea!”

She did not understand at all. Convinced there would be no convincing her, Paul got to his feet, slipped on his pack and gathered his sword case, double-checking for its contents. A thin hand grasped his sleeve.

“Roam!” Martha exclaimed. “Let go of him this instant! I’ve told you before to stop chasing after that Owlen man. Whatever business Paul has with him is his business now.”

“But…”

“No!” Martha snapped, voice hushing menacingly. “You will not risk your life again.” Tears were on the brink of flowing. “You have one life, Ramona…one life left to leave. Now go to your room,” Martha concluded with barely more than a whisper.

“Mom…” Ramona’s face welled up red, tears ready to trickle down at any moment. She brushed past Paul, stomped down the hallway, and slammed her bedroom door.

Paul stood fixed to the ground. “I apologize for the discord I’ve caused,” he said earnestly to Martha, who was taking a deep breath and waving to fan air.

“Oh no no, Mr. Paul.”

The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.

“Just Paul, if you will,” He cut in politely. At that point, he thought it best to take his leave. He had pried into this family’s life long enough. “Thank you for breakfast, Martha,” Paul said with a courteous bow. It was never his intention to get caught up with the locals, nor was it in his nature to do so. Discovering the meaning behind the visions was the only priority.

An hour later, Paul boarded the Intrepid. Being back in a pilot seat was comforting, familiar. Nothing like the buzz of the main controls as they warmed up or the check signals beeping approvingly; the ship came alive like a waking beast. He keyed in the coordinates from the red cylinder into the navigation computer. An orange topographic map sprang up from the holo-terminal. The destination was well on the other side of the planet, at least a four-hour flight. He would have plenty of time to eat the box lunch Martha had insisted he take.

***

“She really is a terror,” Owlen said aloud to the towering ashan standing next to him. A wall-sized monitor showed a satellite image of Arts of Parts. “Trying to wrap that Progenitor up into her clutches for her own personal gain.” He leaned forward in his chair, keying in a series of commands into his desk computer.

The control center was a large, dark room, but mostly featureless aside from the wall-sized monitor and the dozens of smaller ones handled by data analyzers. Here, Owlen kept track of all his operations: dust deals, smuggled weapon shipments, and most importantly, his network of spy cameras. It was a point of pride and necessity that Owlen knew everything that happened on Kanchi.

“As if Mabahse and the Reyleonard kid weren’t enough trouble already. Now we have Ramona with a renewed spirit, and possibly a new ally, to come to kill me. I’ll really have to spin my words on this one,” said Owlen.

“The boy won’t be a problem for much longer,” Rougar snorted. “By my Numian clan, I will have his head.”

“Right,” Owlen said passively, not looking up from his desk. Not that there was anything critically important in front of him, but not making eye contact with the ashan would shame him. “I heard you got picked up by the Amani…” He raised an eyebrow, hearing a low growl. “Didn’t want me knowing about that, huh? Rumor has it, you had Abel in your grasp, but you got shot down and arrested. It’s come to my attention that you and the other bounty hunters are no match for these Progenitors. Consider this your resignation.”

A louder vicious growl emanated from the hulking lizard, but he said nothing. Silence lingered in the room, broken up only by the taps of the computer keys.

“You don’t like it, fine. But I’m retracting the bounty anyway.” Owlen said dryly, not a pang of fear for upsetting the deadly hunter over him.

“I have ventured the void lands, confronted the Algorotha in its own lair. I drew its blood and triumphed with one of its razor teeth lodged in my shoulder. I am honor-bound to fulfill my duty or die trying.”

“Then you’re honor-bound for free. My men and my resources are no longer at your disposal. From now on, you work alone.” He tore away from his work to look Rougar dead in his yellow eyes. “And do me a favor, don’t add to my mountain of headaches. I’d hate to have you blasted in the courtyard.”

Rougar glowered menacingly at the much smaller man but made no hostilities. He gritted his large sharp teeth and left the inner sanctum without another word.

The bounty hunters were a necessary detachment; they ultimately did more harm than good. Owlen chided himself for giving said hunters so much information, and now the Amani knew more than he’d prefer. Fortunately, the military still took a neutral stance when it came to Kanchi’s local affairs, so long as no one made a move on Amani targets. He did suppose, however, that some good came out of Rougar’s capture. Now local hero, Roy Morrell, would be out looking for Abel Reyleonard.

Regardless, Owlen still felt it wise to take up the opportunity to enlist the personal help of another Progenitor. A preemptive measure to foster some goodwill towards their latest visitor to discourage him from kicking down the base doors. Siding with Nefarous was an incredible risk, he wasn’t exactly known for his kindness and forgiving nature, but he had just been expunged from the Tuyet Voi and would likely need new allies.

“Sir,” A voice chimed at the intercom sitting on the desk. “Nefarous has just arrived. Should I let him pass through the gates?”

“Yes, let him through without any trouble and escort him to the meeting room,” Owlen said urgently. “Don’t so much as give him an ugly look,” he added. Standing up, he headed for the elevator that would take him to the upper levels. He straightened his formal suit, which he always wore for his more dangerous meetings. Arakorian black silk jacket, check. Matching cuff links, check. Shoes un-shined with a scuff along one edge...check.

He’d swap those shoes out for new ones.

Vast desert stretched as far as the eye could see. Clear blue skies illuminated the red crags and orange cliffs. Owlen always appreciated the view from the observatory perched atop his mountain fortress, and it was here he felt like the ruler of the entire galaxy. His shining jewel, his seat of power, the observatory was adorned with rare original paintings from long-dead artists. One-of-a-kind holo-statues depicting ancient philosophers lined the walkway to Owlen’s desk, which was a slab of black slate carved from a world lost to time.

He clasped his sweating palms behind his back. His initial visit with Nefarous had been out in public, in plain view of hundreds. There, he had been safe. But this would be a private meeting with no guarantee of survival. It was a risk, but a calculated one. Showing reverence to a Tuyet Voi Progenitor was the only way to even hope of getting on their good side. Not that it had worked out so well all those years ago with the last Progenitor, but Owlen was desperate.

From behind, a hiss of two bulk doors opened, a clatter of footsteps followed. Owlen hesitated to turn, but he did once the footsteps stopped. Before him, a tall man clad in a brown cloak and regular civilian clothes, he’d look just like an ordinary citizen were it not for his green-eyed gaze, which blazed with intensity, and the fading black hair suggested long years of experience. To the untrained eye, the man appeared to be relaxed, but years at the Tuyet Voi Academy taught Owlen that a Progenitor was always ready to strike at a split moment. It was also very likely a cadami sword was concealed beneath his cloak.

“Lord Nefarous,” Owlen said with a bow. “I’m pleased to see you could make it. Please, have a seat.”

Without a word, Nefarous remained standing.

Owlen waved his guards out, who were meandering by the elevator door. Like they would be much help anyway. “Cautious, smart. Rest assured, I won’t try anything funny. I like my head right where it is.” He sat down behind his desk, thumping his fingers. “I suppose you’re wondering why I called you here. Well, I’ll cut to the chase: another Tuyet Voi Progenitor is out looking to put me in electro-cuffs. I need your help to prevent that.”

The blazing green-eyed stare narrowed to focus its potency, Nefarous continued to remain silent.

Owlen began to feel that this was a very bad idea. The trappings of regret crept in around him. There was no backing out now. He had to think quickly; it wasn’t easy smooth-talking a rock, not impossible, however. “We’ll come back to that later,” Owlen waved the notion away with his hands. “Listen, we both stand to gain. A mutually beneficial partnership, I assure you. See, I know the Emperor wants you dead. Myself, along with my extensive resources, could become your allies. Not even you could go it alone forever.”

Nefarous leaned forward, his eyes bored straight through Owlen’s soul. “I sense terrible fear in you, not just from a quick death by my hand, or imprisonment by this other Progenitor you speak of. No, you fear a far worse fate from another.”

Relief washed over Owlen; he had managed to get a few words out of the man, even if some of those words mentioned a quick death. Still, getting the conversation rolling was all he needed. “You see right through me, not surprising from a man of your reputation. It’s true, years ago I was hired to do a job by another Progenitor, and if she doesn’t get what she wants, she’ll see to it I spend the rest of my life as a torture drone’s plaything.”

“Who?”

“She called herself Omega-“ A flash of violet light interrupted him. As if the cadami sword willed it, Owlen got to his feet in an instant. Afraid to even gulp less his throat scrapes the tip of the blade. “Whoa, whoa, wait!” Owlen gasped, wincing, his hands raised in surrender. “I can see you two must not like each other. Listen, the enemy of my enemy is my friend, so that makes us friends, right? Besides, I’m not exactly her ally, more like an indentured servant. As I said, I’m doing what she says, or she’ll kill me!” Owlen babbled, tripping on his words.

“You will tell me everything you know or die.”

Olwen nodded vigorously.

Nefarous withdrew his blade and returned it to its sheath. “According to my sources, Omega is an astrobeing, not any normal living being.”

Trying to hush the heart beating out of his chest, Owlen tried easing himself back into his chair despite the quakes in his legs. “Listen, she said she was Omega, and she threatened me with one of those things too,” he gestured at the sword as if it might leap out and chop off his finger. “Long story short, I have to break into the Cathedral. Any means necessary. To get me started, she gave me more credits than I could have dreamed of. At the end of the day, it was an offer I couldn’t refuse, literally.”

Whatever he said clearly intrigued Nefarous vastly. Owlen took that as a good sign, conceivably good enough to preserve his life even.

“So…” Nefarous began, eyes cast aside in deep thought, “…Omega is connected to the Cathedral after all,” he said to himself. “What is inside the Cathedral? Is Omega here on this planet now?”

Owlen shrugged. “How should I know? I’m sure the woman tries to keep a close eye on me,” he said, comforted that Progenitors could read truths and lies like a book. If his last encounter taught him anything, it was to be completely honest or suffer.

“Is that why you hide in the mountains?” Nefarous scanned the range of red rocks and the desert beyond the windows.

Negative memories bubbled up to the surface; a spark of anger ignited in Owlen’s chest. “No, I actually had to move here out of necessity for another reason. That little girl you’ve been hanging around with, Rahmaru. Oh right, you probably know her as Ramona. She’s a deceiver above all others. Word to the wise, stay far away from her.”

Nefarous went back to a state of silence, just as well; talking about Rahmaru was shameful, unpleasant business. There was nothing Owlen wanted more than just to be away from her, far away.

Seconds ticked by in silence, but they were more like minutes. Is he considering whether or not I’m worth keeping alive? Owlen searched for something to sweeten the deal. “Okay, you don’t like Omega; maybe after we get everything from the Cathedral, she’ll resurface again.” He added finally. The towering Progenitor before him seemed to consider the prospect of meeting Omega, though Owlen had no real way of knowing she’d show.

“And you’re sure your army, a band of thugs, I assume, is enough to contend with the Cathedral’s defenses?” Nefarous asked, making no effort to conceal his lack of confidence in Owlen’s resources.

“They’re a collective, kept in balance by me and my partner Mabahse,” Owlen said hastily. “They’re part of some of the most violent and well-trained mercenary factions in the galaxy: Nova Eclipse, Superwind, and Pulsar. But-” he winced; “-it will take time to gather enough troops to take on the Cathedral. Most of their best fighters and equipment are scattered around the galaxy on other jobs.”

Nefarous considered that for a long time, his eyes betrayed nothing of his inner thoughts. “Very well, Owlen Bek,” he said finally. “I think that we have come to a mutual agreement. I will help you get into the Cathedral, but all contents of value will be turned over to me once you have drawn Omega out of hiding.”

“Deal,” Owlen said more hastily than he meant to. “Guess I was lucky you decided to drop by Kanchi at the right time.”

“Lucky, right.” He turned to leave without another word.

Finally, leaning back in his chair and releasing a huge sigh of relief, Owlen could relax. He had made a deal with one of the most powerful Progenitors in the entire galaxy. Finally, finally, finally, finally, I can leave this rock. I’ll be free of Omega and Rahmaru. Finally, I’m going straight to Novar after this and building my house, far away from these pseudo-human freaks.

***

Once aboard the Intrepid, once it lifted off and the mountain fortress became a speck on the horizon, Paul retrieved the silver map from a compartment. Luck had nothing to do with it. Someone wants me to get inside the Cathedral, someone knew Owlen is in a position of power all along. Could it all be an elaborate trap set by Omega? Was Olasqy in on this as well?

A beep on the center console interrupted Paul’s thoughts. He pressed it and the hologram of a familiar womanly figure appeared, Martha with a look of terrible worry.

“What’s wrong?”

“Oh, Paul, I’m so glad you answered,” Martha said, on the verge of total panic. “Ramona stormed off after you left, and she hasn’t returned, and she’s not answering my calls. Eights can’t even find her. Please, I need your help. I’m so scared something has happened to her.”

“I shall return at once,” said Paul more urgently than he realized.

“Thank you, Paul,” Martha said as earnestly as anyone possibly could. Then, the hologram vanished.

What am I doing? These people are not my concern. Paul cupped his head, grunted, and slammed his fist against the console. “Damn it!” Great, looks like I’m getting tangled up with the locals again. He thought to himself as he thrust the ship into full throttle.