Chapter 24
“So, today’s the day, huh?” Ramona said lazily from her white-sheeted hospital bed. She looked tired, which was unusual for her, but after the ordeal she had just gone through, Paul was surprised the girl could even lift a finger.
Onesto’s singular hospital was adequate, though Paul would have preferred his own doctors looking after Ramona. Eights must have had similar feelings because it hovered nearby making sure the medical drones were doing their jobs properly of keeping track of Ramona’s heartbeat, stress levels, fluids, and other vitals. The stress levels were exceptionally high.
A team of doctors found themselves in a conundrum when it came time to prescribing painkillers; not even their strongest drugs had any effect on the girl. Their foremost expert even suggested using tranquilizers used on bistot cattle. Worse yet, anesthesia proved less than adequate when it came time to amputate her right hand. Fortunately, the surgery was quick, and Ramona was doing okay as she lay there in bed.
“Today is the day,” Paul said.
“So, I was giving you those horrible visions all along, huh? I’m sorry,” Ramona said genuinely. “But if the visions weren't coming from the Cathedral, why even go?”
Paul sat down and put a hand on her shoulder, thinking that might comfort her. “The Cathedral is built from the same metal as the map and your bracelet; I can’t ignore it,” said Paul. He raised an eyebrow, his mouth twitched, resisting a smile. “Showing concern for me? Never thought I’d see the day.”
Ramona snorted. “Last time you were in a fight, I had to bail you out, remember?”
“You mean the fight you lured me into,” Paul pointed out. “And I had it well under control.”
Ramona smirked in acceptance and leaned back, nestling her head on a big fluffy pillow. She reached out to pet Eights, who hovered to her side at once. “Martha was a good drone,” she sighed while caressing Eights’ little round body. “Her personality matrix melted. I could replace it, but it wouldn’t be the same Martha.”
“I tried to get her to power down,” Paul said with a pang of regret. Maybe there had been an emergency off switch behind Martha’s neck or a verbal override. There was so little time to think.
Ramona smiled weakly, then turned her gaze to Paul. “You finally said her. I’ve converted you,” she said triumphantly. “Doubt there was anything you could have done anyways; she was stubborn like me, like my real mother. Martha recognized I’d never grow as long as she masqueraded as my parent, and she knew I’d never let her go on my own. She took care of me until the day I allowed someone else to step in, someone real. Think she saw that in you.”
Paul’s heart swelled with great pride, it reminded him of the first time his fleet won a battle, or when he triumphed over his class at the Academy, only this moment far outweighed any victory he’d achieved. But, a pit in his stomach reminded him of his failure. “If I had not lied to you, you would still have your hand.”
Ramona lifted her bandaged stub. “Nothing some new cybernetics can’t fix, plus I’ve always wanted to try building a new hand. And besides, if I knew Owlen was still alive out there, I don’t think I would ever want to leave. But, now I am pleased to announce I’ve made my decision: I want to go with you.”
Joy hit Paul like a trodarian haymaker. It felt strange. He wasn’t sure if he was supposed to do or say something specific. So, instead, he simply fell back into the comforting militaristic speech. “And so you shall,” he vowed. “My army is strong, and my resolve is stronger still. I shall ransack the Cathedral of all its secrets and return to you promptly. Together we will soar away from this planet, blazing a path into the galaxy unknown. Under my tutelage, you will become greater than you ever dreamt, and together we will be unstoppable!”
“I bet that sounds more inspiring behind a podium versus sitting at my bedside,” Ramona chuckled. “Oh, I’m only kidding. I like it when you talk like that,” she added, seeing a flicker of agitation on Paul’s face.
“Wait for me on the hospital roof. I will retrieve you up after I leave the Cathedral.”
Ramona nodded in acceptance, but her eyes still looked heavy with worry. “Are you sure you’re up for this?”
“I am,” Paul said. “For twenty years I’ve fought in a war I no longer believe in. The blood of thousands are on my hands. If I find the answers I seek, perhaps I can finally do something good.”
A low hum emanated from Ramona’s favorite floating companion. “Eights, go with him. You may come in handy,” Ramona said, and to Paul’s great surprise, the little drone gave no protest, it simply hovered over to his side. “Take good care of him, please.”
Paul held her left hand. “You have one life, one life left to leave.” Ramona’s bright green eyes stared up at Paul, and she smiled.
***
Leaving Ramona alone in a hospital had not been easy; Paul would have wished to stay in her company. “She’ll be fine,” the doctors assured over and over again. Getting back after sacking the Cathedral wouldn’t be easy, the skies and streets would be swarming with Amani military. Paul would cut every single one of them down if he had to.
Before leaving, Paul thought it best to leave Ramona the Star Map that spurred his journey to Kanchi in the first place; it was likely it belonged to her anyway. And in the event he was unable to return, he hoped it would serve as a reminder of him. Those thoughts would have to be dwelt upon later; the assault on the Cathedral was close at hand.
In the greasy underbelly of Owlen’s fortress, far below the catastrophic damage Ramona wrought, Paul stood on a stage watching his new army go to work while Eights hovered quietly beside him. All the mercenaries had finally rallied; what was left of them. Losing Owlen had turned out to be a massive headache. Many from his army dispersed; most fled the planet fearing for their lives in case Ramona returned. Without their additional support, an already uphill battle would be a climb. Those that remained were a motley bunch, not as well trained as Tuyet Voi military, of course, but they were deadly enough and hungry for a fight.
Each faction was easy to pick out thanks to their distinctly colored uniforms and armor. Super Winds preferred gold and white with rough weave-like patterns, Pulsars mostly wore yellow flight suits, and Nova Eclipse favored deep blacks, which proudly displayed their eclipsed sun crest. They all traveled in their own packs, careful not to intermingle with another faction less a brawl was to break out.
They went on back and forth running system checks on the armored vehicles and flyers, stockpiling and loading weapons, and many were still suiting up in their combat armor, or at least what passed for such. Mundane was the general mood, especially among the veterans; to them, this was just another job. Others were excited to finally get out and fight, and twangs of fear echoed from the youngest.
In order to remain more inconspicuous on the battlefield, Paul had discarded his regular clothes in favor of a lightly armored black flight suit that would offer some basic plasma deflection. He would have preferred his hand-forged armor that he wore into battle so many times before, but the flight suit would have to do.
A sizeable hairy trodarian came trotting up to Paul, looking reluctant. “Lord Nefarous, name’s Numar. I’m coordinatin the mercs seeing as both of our employers are dead or sitting in a cell now,” he said conversationally. “Nova Eclipse are awaiting further instructions. Superwinds are goin over their briefing one last time, and them Pulsars are already loading up. Owlen’s personal recruits are nearly ready too.”
“How many showed?”
“I’m thinkin over two thousand,” Numar said while reading over a datatab. “Lot of em came back thanks to a generous credit offer by Abel. Easy to offer big rewards to dead men walkin, but we’re still shorthanded, that’s for sure.” He sat the datatab aside to overlook the small army. “We’ve still got the numbers, but they’ve got them fortifications and whatnot, it'll be a close fight, I imagin. Oh, but they’re all professional, yah know, no worries. They’ve got the plan down, they know what they gettin into.”
“Very well, Numar,” said Paul as he glanced over to see the boy with the red and blue eys and his assassin drone, Rex, approach.
“Nefarous, I see everyone’s here. Where is here?” Abel asked. Owlen’s death had to be kept a strict secret, and orders had already gone out to his troops not to breathe a word of it. If the boy knew his sole reason for being here was dead, he might just back out, along with his army. Paul explained that their gathering location was just the remains of some unknown abandoned fortress. Lying to a less experienced Knight wasn’t much trouble, he seemed to believe the story, but his drone just stared with menacing orange eye slits that somehow carried hostile suspicion.
“Eights, bring up the plans,” Paul commanded. A holo projection of the Cathedral’s layout sprang forth from one of the drone’s camera eyes. Paul began to explain the strategy of attack he and Numar had put together: An expert remoter would bring down the disruptor field, giving the Pulsars enough time to swoop in with their sonic bombers to level most of their heavy cannon emplacements. Superwinds and Nova Eclipse would break down the main gates using tanks; the rest of their troops, including Paul and Abel, would ride in armored transports to blitz right into the heart of the Amani’s forces to catch them off guard. “With Roy Morrell out of the equation, myself and Reyleonard should have no trouble cutting our way into the Cathedral. Eights, you will accompany us; I may require your assistance to download any data we might find,” Paul said.
“Rex-,” Abel began, “-will be scouring the perimeter in case Owlen tries to make an escape.”
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“Again, I must protest, commander. Asking me to sit out of this battle is most cruel.”
Annoyed, Paul continued with the battle plan. He pointed to a large platform atop the highest point on the Cathedral. “Scans, provided by Eights here, indicate that there’s an elevator that leads up to this point, a shuttle will be there for us, and we shall make our extraction. Are there any questions?” There were none, everyone was content with the plan.
“Good. Load the transports Numar. We make for the Cathedral at once.”
“Yes, my lord,” Numar gave a curt bow and hurried off, twirling his finger to signal the others.
Shuttles, heavy vehicle transports, and attack fighters hummed to life, filling the large hanger with a cacophony of powerful engines. Everyone filed into their respective ships, many running to catch up. The faint echoes of fear from the youngest exploded with a mix of adrenaline, excitement, and terror, even the seasoned fighters who thought they were ready, now felt second thoughts creep in, yet all followed their orders. The hanger doors opened, and they zoomed off one by one bound for Onesto.
Paul, Eights, and Abel all boarded the Intrepid. Paul was reminded of when he first set foot inside to meet his rescuer Olasqy, of when he set down on Kanchi, the time when Ramona broke inside the ship just to have a word with him, when Martha revealed who it truly was, when Ramona sat quietly in the copilot chair next to him with her right hand covered by bloody bandages.
Eights chirped a short series of beeps.
“No, not concerned with the mission,” Paul said as he flicked switches activating the ship’s engines.
The little drone gave another quick chirp.
“I am most certainly not scared either,” Paul regarded the drone blankly.
Again, the drone chirped.
“Sad? No, of course not.”
Eights had a lengthy angry rebuttal.
“Do I miss Martha and Ramona? Where do you get such imaginings?”
A gleeful series of beeps and whistles followed. Paul scoffed. Abel entered the bridge a moment later, wearing lightly armored robes common among Progenitor knights, and took the co-pilot seat.
“Nice ship,” he remarked.
“Where is your drone?” Paul asked as he keyed in the rally point coordinates.
“Rex is taking her own shuttle, she was pretty upset with her assignment, but drones do as they’re told.”
Eights blurted out grating beeps to signal its offence.
Paul pulled the yoke lifting the ship out of the hanger bound for the Cathedral. A four-hour flight was ahead of them, but Paul had no intentions of letting his guard down, not even for a second. Working with a Reyleonard was just as bad as siding with the Amani, if not worse, and Abel likely felt the same towards Paul. If there was ever a time for one or the other to strike each other down, it would be on the battlefield, though Paul could detect no intention of violence from the boy. Naive.
***
“We’re close,” Abel said, breaking the four hours of silence.
Black columns of smoke and the three gargantuan towers making up the Cathedral rose on the horizon. The battle had already begun. Pulsar fighters and bombers swooped down in arrow formations, firing their laser cannons and dropping ion bombs which created blinding flashes of blue light. Yellow bolts of plasma showered into the sky like a deadly garden sprinkler, but the fighters were nimble and dodged the flak.
Below, the Superwinds charged in on foot, rifles in hand, inching their way forward using man-sized chunks of rubble, for cover, that had been blasted off from nearby buildings and parts of the Cathedral’s outer walls. A bunker, entrenched in a cliff face, spewed out plasma bolts on the infantry below, but a Nova Eclipse tank reduced it to an explosive cloud of dust. Even from the Intrepid, Paul could see that the Amani guards were in complete disarray; they never expected an actual attack. It was a welcoming sight; too much time had passed since he could savor the sight of battle.
Abandoned flyers littered the streets below, a few civilians were running as far away from the battle as they could, but most must had already found shelter indoors. Arts of Parts was untouched, plenty far from the action.
Paul brought the Intrepid in for a landing at a park where a column of six-wheeled armored transports, filled with some of the best fighters the mercenaries had to offer, were waiting.
With the autopilot keyed in to take the ship to a safe location, Paul disembarked along with Abel and Eights. A rush of wind billowed from behind as the Intrepid lifted off and sped off into the sky. One of the mercenary soldiers, human, trotted up to Paul. “My lord, the initial attack is going according to plan, but we should hurry before Amani reinforcements arrive.”
Inside, the transport was packed with armored soldiers who, Paul suspected, probably hadn’t showered in weeks. There weren't enough seats for everyone, so Paul and Abel had to stand. The engines revved and the transport lurched forward. The sounds of battle thumped loudly beyond the few inches trasteel, and then there was a great crash that rocked the whole vehicle.
“Front gates are down!” yelled the driver. A couple of the mercenaries gave a quick “whoop!”
Fear crept from Abel’s mind, and his eyes made no attempt to conceal the fact; it was a look Paul had seen on so many before him, the boy had never fought in a true battle before. “Stick with me,” Paul said deeply, falling back into the role of commander as if it never left him. “Your Progenitor gifts make you a stronger fighter than all others, let those powers flow freely, and you’ll make it out alive.”
Determination replaced the fear in Abel’s red and blue eyes; he readied his sword, hand itching to unleash it. Satisfied, Paul slipped on his helmet. His confined breath and the beat of his heart filled his ears. Adrenaline coursed through his whole body, readying every muscle for battle. It had been too long since he had charged in on foot; he relished the chance to prove his skills were still sharp.
Outside, the thunder of battle grew louder, bolts struck their transport like metal rain, and then WHAM! Paul was jostled off balance. The back door fell open, and the mercenaries stormed out with a unified and beastly war cry. At once, Paul got back to his feet and ran outside. They were nowhere near the Cathedral’s front gate. Instead, they were out in a large courtyard being pelted by a flurry of yellow plasma; Paul nimbly dodged a few as he found cover behind a large piece of overturned permacrete; Abel wasn’t far behind.
The mercenaries were doing their jobs, hundreds of them were out in the courtyard making a steady advance towards the Cathedral’s superstructure. Several bunkers spit out round after round, thick envelopes of energy rapidly chipped away at Paul’s cover, shards of permacrete bounced off his helmet. Ducking low and hoping not a single shot made it through was all that could be hoped for, not even a Progenitor could take on a steady stream of assured death. Fortunately, they could plan for it.
Pulsar fighters flew in, engines howling like wild animals, overpowering, reduced the bunkers to ash and smoke with a couple of well-placed missiles.
“C’MON!” Paul yelled, drawing his violet cadami sword, and Abel drew his blue one. Together they charged up the hill with everyone else where they ran into a contingent of war drones. One after another, Paul cut them down and danced between the bolts whizzing past him. The cadami blades sliced through the drones’ armor like warm butter, and soon, the ground was nearly indistinguishable from the amalgamation of drone parts piling up.
Something fell from the sky and crashed into the ground carving a trench in its fiery wake. Black smoke spewed out of the heap of jagged metal, a wing with yellow stripes and the Pulsar’s emblem was the only discernable piece of the wreck. Above, Amani fighters screamed in from space picking apart the Pulsars with ease.
Numar’s voice came over Paul’s helmet communicator. “Air support is bein annihilated, best hurry or they won’t be able to cover your escape!”
Paul spun around to signal Abel to hurry, but he was still fighting a small group of battle drones, slicing through them with the finesse only a Progenitor could possess. One drone, wielding a great sword, charged from behind. Paul tried shouting, but the roar of battle was too great, and he was too far away. The drone raised its sword arm high, poised to deal a killing blow, but a quick crimson bolt knocked its head clean from its body.
A red ashan, who wasn’t wearing any of the mercenary colors, strolled up to Abel. “Rougar?” Abel shouted. “Going to try stabbing me in the back?
Rougar drew his sidearm and blasted an Amani soldier peeking behind a barrier. “HA! Not my style Abel, when I kill you, it will be one on one!” A bolt smashed into his shield sending a blue cascading aura around him. He returned fire in the same direction, killing another enemy. “In the meantime, I can’t let you die.”
Abel, with Rougar close behind, rejoined Paul. The way to the Cathedral was mostly clear, just a little further. Inside would be safe.
A few swings of his sword later, and Paul had made it to the great gates of the Cathedral itself. He looked up at the towering structure and imagined the most immense starships would look like that if they stood vertically. He ran his hand across the door, feeling warm electricity reminiscent of the obelisk on Movaj and the same silvery smoothness of the star map. Looking back out onto the battlefield, Paul could see that the Amani forces had been routed, the Pulsar and Amani starfighters twirled through the air like an elaborate ballet, and the mercenaries on the ground were covered in blood and dust, their numbers thinned considerably, but victory had been achieved.
Those around Paul breathed a sigh of relief, setting themselves down on piles of rubble to admire their handy work. A few Nova Eclipse soldiers howled and fired their rifles into the air.
“A good fight,” Rougar snarled. “Next time, you can pay me.” His lips curled into a pointy smile. “Granted, I haven’t already killed you, Abel.”
Cheers died out a moment later; static filled the air, prickling Paul’s skin. Everyone understood what was happening as they frantically took cover in the very fortifications they had just destroyed, ready to continue the fight. Rougar growled in the back of his throat. “I’ll hold them off. We’ll meet again Abel, you are easy to track down after all,” Rougar said, then trotted down to find some cover.
A booming clap of thunder rang out, above an Amani capital ship had just warped in over the city, blocking the sun, casting the whole battlefield in its great shadow. Troop transports poured out of its hangers; they’d be landing in the courtyard in a matter of minutes.
“Time for us to go, Reyleonard,” Paul said as he turned back to the gates.
“Agreed.”
There were no discernable ways to open the perfectly smooth doors. This was fully anticipated. “Eights, come in! I need this door opened.” A moment later, Eights floated down from the skies chirping happily. It zoomed up and down, back and forth, then back to Paul humming gloomily. No matter, nothing a cadami sword can’t cut through. Paul plunged the violet blade right into the metal, but it was deflected. Taken aback, he tried again, but it bounced off like a stick against stone.
“Impossible,” Paul hissed. He tried again, this time taking a slower approach, there were lots of sparks and furious hissing, but there was nothing more than small scorches on the door. The life drained from Paul. He had come all this way just to be stopped by a door. The Amani were fighting their way up, the distant crackle of gunfire grew louder, they’d retake the Cathedral in no time.
“You’ve got a plan, right?” Abel asked.
Paul searched for answers, but there were none. He cursed under his breath for his negligence. How could he have possibly known that his sword would fail him? If only he had been able to test his blade against the Cathedral’s metal. The map, that’s it!
At once, Paul fell into a light meditative trance.
“What are you doing, Nefarous?” Abel shouted in a panic. “This can’t possibly be the time for that!”
Paul ignored him knowing any moment he’d hear the gates parting just as the map did so many times. A minute passed, then another. The sound of battle inched ever closer, a few bolts whizzed by striking the Cathedral, some of the mercenaries screamed in agony, but the Cathedral remained silent.
Paul’s eyes snapped open, and he wound around only to find the Cathedral still sealed up tight. Defeat was inevitable now, Paul ran through several exit strategies in his head that he’d prepared. More transports descended into the courtyard; they'd be overwhelmed. It was now or never, Paul tuned into his communicator to call for a retreat. They could still punch a hole through enemy lines before more showed up.
Resigned to giving up, Abel leaned against the Cathedral, but instantly the gates parted to leave enough room for a person to enter. Without hesitation, Paul ducked inside with Abel and Eights right behind him and the doors snapped shut. Both Paul and Abel just stared at the gates.
“It’s a sure bet they won’t be getting through there,” said Abel with wide eyes and a big grin.