Chapter 21

"No, commander, I don't believe that would be possible. He was inebriated, incoherent, and sizzling." Rex stated conversationally, her voice echoed faintly through the large warehouse.

"Sizzling?" Abel asked offhandedly as he examined a crate of miscellaneous drone parts.

"Why yes, by no fault of mine, I regret to say. The man became enraged and thought stabbing my armored chassis was the appropriate response. In his drunken state, he stumbled and somehow jabbed the knife into a nearby power conduit." She paused, humming with satisfaction. "The sounds he made keeps my motivators warm at night."

"This was after you killed his wife." Abel closed the crate and continued down the makeshift hallway of shipping containers, deactivated service drones, decrepit starship parts, rusted air flyers, and amalgamations of scrap metal.

"Assassinated," Rex corrected. "My first one ever,” she added proudly.

Assassination was something Rex loved talking about, the only thing she loved more was boasting how proficient of an assassin she was, and so it was ironic that the attempt on Mabahse’s life had failed. Fortunately, everything worked out in the end. After Rex and Abel made their escape, the whole palace was swarmed by Amani military, and Mabahse was arrested for conspiring with a Tuyet Voi Progenitor. It only took a day for Numar to assume power. Now he was coordinating with the Pulsars and Nova Eclipse mercenary armies to assist Abel in extracting Owlen from the Cathedral.

Recalling a sizable enough force was a lengthy endeavor; they were scattered around the galaxy on other jobs, and only a few could come in at a time as to not raise Amani attention. And so, for months, Abel and Rex had held up in one of Mabahse's safe houses in Onesto. Numar had been kind enough to give them the keys. Quarantining themselves was the best way to avoid Amani detection, but the place wasn't exactly a leisure resort. No, the house was stocked only with basic amenities, a few generic landscape paintings, a bed, a couple of worn-out armchairs, and a holo-monitor that only showed local news and an all-toron cast soap opera which Abel had become heavily invested in.

At night, sleep was even more challenging to come by. Night after night, the hooded man crept into Abel’s dreams more terrifying than ever. The winds in the forest howled more loudly, and the chill in the air stung like needles. Worst of all, the feeling of hate was overpowering, like being caught in white water rapids. Thankfully, those visions had become less extreme within the past week. Sometimes, if Abel was lucky, there would be no visions at all.

All in all, however, it was a decent hideout from Roy, who was no doubt still attempting to track Abel with those survey drones, so it became necessary to start concealing his cadami sword in a specially shielded case. The house also provided convenience while they scouted the Cathedral, and just as importantly, Abel wanted to seek out this mysterious dronesmith who apparently hated Owlen’s guts.

"There's a few privately owned drone shops in the inner city; we could try those." Outside, the air was brisk, the sun screened by thick grey clouds. Rocky white mountains surrounded Onesto's cityscape like protective walls, shields from the greater galactic events that burned the Umlenze galaxy. Imposing as the mountains were, the Cathedral loomed over it all with a dominating presence.

Hodgekin Drone Emporium, Heskil's Parts, Marin-Moody Electronics, Pieces, and Pan Seven. Organization was not a priority for most of those shops; each stop was like hunting for a needle in Kanchi's great plains. Almost six hours of looking, and no one even knew who Owlen was, let alone had a burning hatred for him. Abel rubbed his temples, his stomach growled and his feet ached. "There's one last place," he sighed. "It's called Arts of Parts."

Night had fallen over Onesto, but the streets were bustling with life. Orange and yellow lights illuminated the hive of street vendors, patrons of all species, intergalactic smugglers, six-legged mammals towering two stories high, and probe drones whirling through the air. The commotion of shouts, snarls, growls, overhead flyers, and drones made it impossible to hear anything distinct from more than a foot away.

Abel weaved through the crowds, unconcerned with the sights, using his datatab as a map which was only proving to be marginally helpful. Occasionally he'd glance across his shoulder to make sure he hadn't lost Rex.

After almost an hour of sifting through holographic posters and worn-out signage, they had found it. Arts of Parts looked like a humble place, a two-story building with some colorful banners and a painted sign; a single flyer bike parked out front. Inside had a vastly different feel to it than the previous shops they had visited. This one was more like a museum, a chaotic one, but the Art in the store's name took on a literal meaning. It smelled nicer too, sure there was a hint of oil intertwined with petroleum like the other drone shops, but here there was a sweetness wafting through the air like something fluffy was being freshly baked.

"Is any of this even for sale?" Abel asked no one in particular, his gaze panned around the room of unique and colorful drone parts. Well, he supposed they were parts, but he'd never seen anything like the ones before him. Then his eyes fell to a girl sitting behind the counter at the end of the room. She struck Abel as rather peculiar. She had faded pink blond hair and a glazed look, but her eyes were green, faintly glowing green to be exact. Abel had seen eyes like those before, it had been years, but they stirred old wounds. It’s a big galaxy Abel, anyone could have eyes like that.

Bored seemed to be the girl’s current attitude; she had barely noticed Abel and Rex's entrance. A small probe drone zoomed in, warbling a series of drone-speak, which Abel didn't understand.

"It says: 'what are you buying?'" Rex started. "It also says to hurry up."

"I see..." Abel looked at the drone quizzically. "We're looking for someone; I believe he’s a dronesmith."

The drone chirped something indignant.

"What did I say?" Abel shrugged, glancing at Rex.

"It thinks we are in the wrong place."

"Great," Abel grumbled, "how about I have a word with your master." He brushed past the now protesting probe and stepped up to the counter. The girl’s green eyes looked at him blandly.

"Hurry up, would you. It's nearly closing time, and I'm having dinner with my family.”

"Er," Abel stuttered, glanced to Rex, then back to the girl. "My drone companion and I are looking for someone." He motioned to Rex. “Maybe you can help.”

The girl raised an eyebrow looking Rex up and down. "Your drone?" She asked slowly, sitting up, eyes waking up.

“Yes...but she’s not really the issue here.”

The girl gave a flicker of a smile. "She, huh? I like to refer to my drones like they're people, except..." She trailed off, looking concerned. “Look, just tell me who you’re looking for, or just buy something.”

“I’m looking for a dronesmith. Could I speak to him, please?” Abel asked innocently.

“You’re looking at her,” she said irritably, her eyes looking glarier than a second ago.

"You?" Abel asked. Aching feet, empty stomach; playing games were short on his list.

Suddenly the girl's expression erupted like a fire. "Yes me!"

"But you're just a little girl."

She gritted her teeth. "You're not so old yourself, freak! I happen to be the best dronesmith on this planet." She stood up and shouted up the stairs, "Paul, come down here real quick!"

A moment later, a man dressed in a black and white cooking apron, covered in flour, lumbered down the stairs with a mixing bowl and spoon. "I'm assisting your mother, Ramona. What is it now?"

Abel froze; his lungs didn't move, heartbeat raced. It couldn't possibly be him, could it? There's no way it could, but the resemblance was uncanny. The intense green eyes, the faded black hair. Then the man locked eye contact.

“Abel Reyleonard,” he said coldly.

“Lord Nefarous,” Abel began evenly, “you’re wanted dead by my father.”

Rex took aim at once. “Plasma cells charged and ready, commander.”

“No, Rex, I will deal with this traitor myself,” he said as he drew his sword, its brilliant blue light reflected off all the various drone parts around the store. Nefarous set down his mixing bowl and walked downstairs to join the girl next to the counter. If he was scared, he was not showing it, nor could Abel detect it.

“Ignorant child.”

He was unarmed; cutting him down would be easy. But why was he looking so smug? Even the girl didn’t appear too concerned with what was transpiring. Did they have some sort of trap set up, maybe some battle drones waiting to strike? It didn’t matter; this would be Abel’s only chance. Killing Nefarous was far better than capturing Owlen. Abel sprang forward at near-supernatural speed, sword poised to pierce Nefarous right through the heart. But suddenly, he stopped and dropped to one knee; every muscle in his body felt like they just turned to stone.

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“As much as I’d love to watch you all kill each other, I rather not have blood all over my floors,” said the girl who had one arm raised toward him.

“What have you done to me?” Abel said through gritted teeth, his mouth locked shut. The little probe drone hovered around him, making sputtering laughing noises.

With a flick of the girl’s hand, Abel's sword arm began to move on its own, as if Mabahse grabbed his wrist. With all his might, Abel tried to resist, but he’d sooner be able to tow a starship with his bare hands. For a few heart-pounding moments, Abel thought he might stab himself, but instead, his sword returned to its sheath, and from behind came the clatter of Rex’s rifle falling to the ground. Then the pressure was gone; Abel sucked in an unrestricted breath, hardly daring to make a move. He braved a glance back at Rex, who was looking enraged despite her lifeless skull-like face.

Nefarous took a step forward. “What are you doing here Reyleonard, managed to track me down? I’m surprised someone of your lineage is capable of such a feat.” His green eyes were piercing with dark circles under them.

“No,” Abel said defiantly to the taller man. “I’m here looking for Owlen Bek; he’s a traitor as well.” Just then, he swore a flicker of surprise crossed Nefarous’ face.

“Hey, wait!” The girl’s face lit up as brightly as her eyes. “Why are you looking for him?”

Abel was nonplussed and still hesitant to make any sudden moves, so he stayed knelt on the floor. “Um, well...he’s a deserter and a murderer. I’m to bring him back home so that he may be executed for his crimes.”

The girl sprang to her feet. “We’re looking for him too; maybe we could all work together!”

There was a stillness in the air that only Abel and Nefarous likely understood. Tuyet Voi Progenitors did not work together. At the Academy, students were competitors, only the strongest came out on top while the others were cast aside. Cooperation was seen as a weakness.

“Me, work alongside side Reyleonard’s heir?” Nefarous said, sounding revolted. “I’d sooner slay the boy to send a message to his father, though I doubt he’d care.”

“Hey, c’mon Paul, that’s mean,” the girl chided.

Paul? Abel’s lips twitched, resisting the urge to laugh.

“Ramona, the shame you bring upon me!” Paul growled, face red. “Using my real name in front of a knight, you don’t do that.”

“Sheesh, I haven’t seen you blush this much since you first met my mother.” This seemed to annoy Paul even more than speaking his name. “Anyways, my name is Ramona, and I’m not ashamed of it, and over there is my drone companion and best friend, Eights.”

The little drone warbled cheerfully.

Abel still wondered if he had permission to move. Seeing no violent moves or intentions in the room, he got to his feet, stepped back, and patted Rex on the shoulder. “I have a drone companion too; this is Rex, a Tuyet Voi assassin platform; with her help, I’ve uncovered much about Owlen and I think I know where he’s hiding.” Abel pulled out his datatab, which left his grasp at once, floating over to Ramona. That wasn’t normal.

“Man, you’re weird,” she said with a cheeky grin.

Abel wasn’t sure what he did that was so odd. She was the one being odd and doing odd things. She read over the datatab, then burst into a laughing fit, bent over, and handed it off to Paul, who skimmed it quickly. “Looks like— you two— will be working together after all,” she said in between giggles.

Paul’s eyes narrowed, he definitely wanted to hurt Abel. “So, you’ve gained control of two of three major mercenary factions, the Pulsars and Nova Eclipse,” he said. “And we happen to have similar goals Reyleonard. Perhaps a temporary alliance is in order after all.”

Things were becoming less ordinary by the second. Fighting alongside Lord Nefarous, being an errand man for him, simply meeting him, it’s what most Tuyet Voi Progenitors dreamed of. But he had become a traitor, so it would be wrong, right? Father would despise such an alliance.

“Commander, if I may interject, is it wise to side with the traitor? Mere moments ago, he said he’d much rather kill you. I can only do so much to protect you,” Rex said.

“What, and get frozen again?” Abel got a rather uncomfortable vibe from Ramona, like she was the one that could decide his fate with the flick of a wrist. How did she freeze him anyways, some sort of unique technology? It wasn’t anything he’d ever seen before. “I think we should join forces.”

Rex was silent.

“Then it’s settled-” Paul said, “return in two days after closing time. I shall have my own affairs in order, we shall marshal our forces, and we will formulate our strategy.”

Ramona, positively radiating with excitement, clapped her hands together. “Yes!”

“Ramona, Paul, dinner is ready!” A feminine voice called from upstairs.

Ramona, positively radiating with excitement, clapped her hands together again. “YES!”

“See you in a few days, Reyleonard,” Paul said, and he started upstairs, picked up the mixing bowl still sitting halfway up the steps, and disappeared through the threshold.

Ramona hung around for a moment after Paul was gone. Abel felt awkward, not knowing if he should say anything else. “Er...thank you for stopping me earlier; you may have saved my life. Nefarous is the strongest of our kind; he probably would have killed me,” Abel admitted.

“Yeah, you’re probably right,” Ramona said. She patted him on the shoulder and handed his datatab back over. She was shorter than Abel, just below his shoulders. She looked up at him, eyes no longer glazed but instead wide and brighter than before. She didn’t say anything though. Was she expecting something, more gratitude, praise maybe?

“Your eyes…they remind me of my mother’s.”

Ramona tilted her head.

“She was the Tuyet Voi Empress.”

“Wait, that means…” Ramona cast her eyes up to think about that for a second; she covered her mouth, stifling a laugh. “You’re a prince!”

“Don’t call me prince!” But Abel’s protest fell on deaf ears. Ramona was red with laughter.

“Sorry, sorry,” she said after finally calming down. “I was just picturing you with a little crown and scepter riding on a Dumian pony. Oh, relax, it’s endearing,” she added, seeing the full breadth of Abel’s embarrassment. “Gotta say, not as ravishing as the vids and comics would have us normal people believe.” She said, looking him up and down.

Abel slumped his head. What?

“Yeah, I like your red and blue eyes, but they don’t glisten. And what is wrong with your hair?” Ramona smiled. “Sorry- my mother taught me not to be rude. She’d always say, ‘Roam, be nicer to the kids at school. They may grow up to be really important one day.’”

She’s angry, or maybe she’s forgotten all about my earlier remarks. It was second nature for a Progenitor to use their powers to covertly feel out uncomfortable conversations in order to gain a fix on underlying issues common with passive-aggressive individuals. But doing so on a girl just a couple of years younger would have been improper. So, Abel had no choice but to fall back on his shabby social skills and hope for the best. “I’m sorry I called you ‘little’ earlier.”

“Oh, don’t worry about all that! Actually, worry. Call me ‘little’ again, and I’ll have Eights here zap you.” She said with a wink. “See you later, Abel.

***

As with every evening, the streets were bustling with activity. Roadside vendors were out in full force; humans, torons, ashans, shudians, as well as a myriad of other species flooded the area, causing a cacophonous commotion. Meanwhile, Martha had prepared another delightful dinner.

Orange rays seeped into the living/dining room, and the noise outside was dampened by the walls. Everyone sat on floor cushions around the low table, eating, drinking, and conversing about each other’s day. Well, Martha was skipping eating and drinking. Ramona had already recounted the events of their last visitor, “the heir to the Tuyet Voi throne, a prince,” she mentioned at least five times.

“The gall of that boy, trying to attack me like that,” Paul reminded everyone at least five times. Though, by the third time, he would only say it to see the relieved smile on Martha’s face.

“So...Paul, I know you always say no to stuff like this…” Ramona began.

Paul bristled, already prepared to say no. “More demands, I suppose?”

“One of my customers invited us over for dinner tomorrow, one of my good customers, I mean,” said Ramona after gulping down a cup of red juice. “Mother won’t wanna go, of course, but I was hoping you would be there with me.” She beamed at Paul.

Paul ripped off a piece of bread loaf, eyeing the girl as he chewed. He had already decided that he did not like the idea. “You accept dinner invites from customers?”

“One of the good ones,” she insisted. “He’s actually a family friend I would say.”

“Oh-you must mean Roy and his wife Ann,” Martha put in. “The Morrell family is so lovely. Five children, honestly, I don’t know how they do it.”

“Roy Morrell, the Progenitor,” Paul said, suddenly liking the idea even less. Teaming up with one enemy, now dining with another?

“Er-yeah…” Ramona managed a smile. “I thought it would be a good idea since we…er, you want to know more about the Cathedral. You know, maybe he could tell you a thing or two.”

“Perhaps, but I doubt he would divulge anything of value,” Paul said. “Besides, I’ve learned everything I need to know about the man. I did my research the moment I met him. He is a master Progenitor, but he’s since retired from combat years ago. My skills will be sharper should we meet on the battlefield.”

Ramona frowned. “Wait-you’d kill him?”

“Why, yes.” He said conversationally as he took another bite. “It is the nature of our existence. Should Master Morrell oppose me, then I will allow an honorable engagement, as would he.”

Martha looked stunned, like someone that was just stabbed.

“I apologize; I shall excuse myself.”

“Wait!” Ramona said urgently. “Um, look, just please come to dinner. Get to know him; the man’s pretty talkative, well mostly about his children, but something more important might slip.”

It had been some time since Paul had to argue with Ramona. It was easier to say “yes” to most of her minor requests, and she had learned not to ask anything outrageous. This was well within “outrageous” territory. After all, Roy was out hunting for a Tuyet Voi Progenitor; he was looking for Abel, but the man would still be on high alert for anything unusual. “Do you forget the powers this man possesses, little one?” Paul said pointedly. “A few simple questions and my cover is blown.” He sipped his drink.

“What, like if he asks you if you are a Progenitor?” She argued. Martha began to speak but stopped short as Ramona continued. “Roy is way too polite to ask something like that out of the blue. Besides, even if he did ask, I would cause a big stir and everyone would forget all about it. And don’t call me little!” Ramona’s eyes issued a burning challenge, but they transitioned to watery pearls on a dime.

“Stay the loth pup eyes act; I’ve built up a tolerance. More clever tactics will be required to break my will from here on out. Feigning emotional woe won’t work either,” Paul added to cut off Ramona’s inevitable rebuttal.

“I think you should go, Paul,” Martha said gingerly. “I’ve known Roy and Ann since before Ramona was born. They’re good people.”

And that was it, the definitive nail in the coffin. Paul would sooner fight a giant Morbeast bare-handed than refuse Martha. “Well…” He hesitated, sighed greatly, and dipped his head to signal his defeat, “...I suppose I could join you and the Morrell family for dinner.”

Ramona and Martha cheered, and Eights warbled in celebration.

“Okay good, because I already told him I was bringing you as my guest. Now we’ll need to go buy you some new clothes because these get-ups you’ve been wearing aren’t really appropriate, but...”

Ramona’s words drowned into obscurity. Now he was truly in deep. Hardly able to believe what he had just agreed to, Paul mulled over the various techniques to resist the probing of other Progenitors. For someone like Roy, such mental sensing would be hard to stave off. But, so long as Paul remained inconspicuous, then there wouldn’t be any problems, in an ideal galaxy anyways. One stray question, a single solitary remark, or even a slight slip would be all that it would take to onset devastation. Everything Paul had worked towards would come crumbling down in a single night.

Was it worth the risk? Paul considered the question as he looked into Martha's eyes, they weren’t glowing like Ramona’s, but they might as well have.

There was a secondary benefit to attending such a predicament: insight on a powerful enemy. Battles between Progenitors weren’t always hand to hand; indirect methods could be used on those who have much to lose and have been foolish enough to not hide what or who they covet most.

Degradation of the mind was a powerful tactic against these kinds of Progenitors. Killing their allies or putting them in harm's way was often enough to bring the most powerful warriors to their knees before a fight ever breaks out. But Paul concluded he was above such cowardly tactics. Maybe he really would learn something of value, but that was farfetched. Paul supposed he’d do it just to see Martha smile.