Ruins of the Galaxy Box Set: Books 1-6

by Chaney, J. N.

  “This place is what you’ve been looking for, isn’t it?”

  Rohoar nodded. “Yes. For generations.”

  “I… I don’t understand.” Piper looked between Awen and Rohoar. “What do you mean? This is kinda confusing.”

  “I think we’d better let Rohoar tell his story,” Awen said. “Don’t you think so, Jujari?”

  28

  Rohoar sat quietly in a chair beside a campfire within base camp. Everyone had rearranged chairs to form a loose semicircle around the fire. They were all bathed in the fire’s bright light. The other eight Jujari Rohoar had brought with him sat closest, while the Marines and Marauders filled out the remaining seats. Valerie, Sootriman, Ezo, Azelon, and TO-96 had also arrived from the Spire for the special meeting. The only person not present was Saasarr, as Magnus and Awen still hadn’t figured out a suitable way for the Reptalon to be around any Jujari. Piper sat on her mother’s lap, but Awen could tell the little girl just wanted to be with Rohoar.

  “You’ve got to give him some space right now,” Valerie said. Piper looked at Awen, presumably for confirmation.

  “She’s right,” Awen said. “You can spend more time with him tomorrow, I imagine.”

  Rohoar cleared his throat, silencing the room. He had the most captive audience Awen had ever seen. “Every mwadim inherits the legacy of our people, passed from one mwadim to the next. In it, there are a great many secrets, things that are known to mwadims and no others. What I share with you today, I do so breaking my solemn vow. However, it seems to me that we are in a unique situation, one that justifies the betrayal of my promise to my people. For in fact, it seems I have returned to our origins among the stars after all. I wasn’t certain, thus my silence. But I am certain now. The legends were not merely made-up fantasies shared with our offspring to put them to sleep. It seems the legends are true after all. And I, Rohoar of the Tawnhack, have lived to see it. My only hope is that I will survive long enough to tell of it and restore that which we have lost.

  “It has long been told that our ancestors were birthed among the nebula, traveling through the void as wayward starfarers, ever searching for a land to call our own…”

  Awen moved her lips in time with Rohoar as he recited the ancient manuscripts of his people—manuscripts she’d memorized during her first few years of observances. She’d become enthralled with Jujari culture and took to learning everything she could about their history. However, she’d never heard a real Jujari recite the ancient texts like this. It almost made her feel like she was back in school—as if all the fighting and horror had never been, and she was with her data pads and archives, poring over them until the early hours of the morning.

  “When at last our ancestors came upon a desert planet,” Rohoar said, “they named it Oosafar—Gift of the Gods. They were given the nomadic life and instructed to keep the lands cleansed of all things impure, lest a seed of corruption impregnate itself in the tribes and bring them to ruin just as it did with those who’d gone before us. When the Jujari tribes became too great in number, we began city building. However, our nomadic mandate still reigned, so we could not live within any walled room. Therefore, white fabric enclosed every private space, even the skyscraper’s peaks, where the pack leaders and mwadims lived.”

  Rohoar paused to take a deep breath. His massive shoulders rose and fell as he studied his warriors. Then he looked to Awen. She was surprised by his sudden attention on her and felt small under his commanding gaze. Is he going to ask me a question or demand something of me? Why the long stare?

  “What our people have never known, however, is the story of the mwadims, of the protectors of our people. The history was deemed so sad that it would break the heart and crush the soul were it ever known. Thus, it was kept solely by those whom the gods had chosen as carriers—as stewards of the histories—and hidden from the tribes for fear that it would bring the packs to ruin. The true story of our people would be all but forgotten were it not for the lineage of the mwadims and the stardrives that they pass to their successors.”

  Awen’s heart rate spiked as she heard Rohoar mention the device. Her face flushed, and beads of sweat formed on her brow.

  “Our ancestors were indeed starfarers, but not always. We left the land of our forebearers—a different world from Oorajee—because we were unable to see eye to eye, tribe to tribe. Where once we were esteemed protectors, we soon became enemies. We were unwanted by the pack, deemed unfit to serve and resistant to the winds of change that blew across our people.

  “We were once the chosen Gladio Umbra, sworn protectors of our brothers and sisters—we were once Novia Minoosh.” Rohoar looked at his kinsmen, staring each of them in the eye. The room was utterly still for almost a minute before he continued. “What we did not expect, however, was that we would be called to protect our people from themselves. The larger pack’s lust for power, for oneness, for the singularity of the consciousness was something the Gladio Umbra chieftains regarded as a threat. Their warnings to the pack were met with resistance—so strong that eventually, our ancestors decided to leave. But not before bitter words and hostile vows were exchanged. In the end, our ancestors decided it would be better to distance themselves from their kin than risk the pain of watching them trade their sentient individuality for a life of supposed immortality.

  “It was from this very place—this planet—that my forebears departed the system in search of a new home. They boarded their starships, taking only what they could carry, and buried the shame of their people’s choices. They set their eyes to a new horizon, never to return again. So severe was the separation that they created a new tongue and committed themselves to a lifestyle of austerity such that they would never be tempted by the lusts that had doomed their kin.

  “Thus, they endeavored to travel as far away as they could, choosing to leave the star system indefinitely. For hundreds of years, they wandered, stopping in systems that provided safe haven and nourishment but never finding a new home. But no matter how far they voyaged, they only ever encountered memories of their former society, as the reach of the great Novia Minoosh had spread throughout the galaxy.

  “With their souls torn asunder, our ancestors finally decided to use a quantum tunnel to leave their universe behind altogether. It was then that they found Oorajee, embracing its hostile environment as the penance that would keep them from falling prey to the comforts that had swallowed their ancestors.”

  Rohoar went silent, his words haunting Awen, as they surely haunted everyone who heard them. Even Rohoar’s warriors seemed awestruck by what he’d shared. His claim that this was a closely guarded narrative was evidently quite true.

  “For hundreds of years, our people spread across Oorajee, building alliances with outcast species in our part of the galaxy—with those who seemed similarly averse to the trappings that unbridled technology offered. We remained content on our planet. But without knowing it, we also had paid a high price for our separation.

  “When people run from a fight, they invariably discover a stronger one within. So strict had our ancestors been—so hostile to the temptations they thought would corrupt them—that they embodied a visceral resistance to anything outside of their beliefs. It produced in us violence—toward others and toward ourselves—that went far deeper than we could have imagined. We were, in fact, lost without our larger tribe. The ages had created a hostility born from sorrow and separation that only one thing could heal.”

  “Reuniting with your people,” Awen said, more to herself than anyone else.

  But Rohoar had heard her. “That’s correct,” he replied. Again, he stared at her, taking a deep breath. “That’s why Mwadim Rawmut chose you, Awen.”

  “Me?” Awen gasped. She placed both hands against her chest, eyes wide. “Whatever do you mean?” But she felt she already knew the answer—or at least felt the start of it forming.

  “Rawmut the Great had tired of fighting—had tired of seeing the tribes turn upon one another in endles
s confrontation. He also tired of Oorajee and longed to see our homeland. So he began planning to do something that no other mwadim had dared to do before him.”

  “Reconcile,” Awen said.

  Rohoar nodded. “He wanted to reunite with our ancestors. To make things right. He thought that perhaps, after so many thousands of years, the old offenses would be forgotten and new relationships could be forged.”

  “Then why not make it happen yourselves?” Awen asked. “I still don’t understand how I fit into all this.”

  “Rawmut feared that the Jujari could not be trusted with an encounter with the Novia Minoosh—with our ancestors. We were not the same as those we left behind. Long ages spent roaming the cosmos and living in the sand had made us hard. Ruthless. Rawmut feared that a reunion would result in bloodshed. And I believe he was right. So he formed a plan with three of his closest advisors, myself as one of them.”

  “And what was this plan?” Awen asked, now on the edge of her seat. This was it. This was what she’d been waiting for, at long last.

  “Your reputation preceded you, Awen of the Luma.”

  Awen winced at the use of the term.

  “It was believed you were a true advocate for the Jujari,” Rohoar continued. “A kithrill—a true friend. And it was believed that if anyone could figure out a way to reunite our peoples, it would be you.”

  “I still don’t understand,” Awen said. “Why not just ask me? I would have—”

  Rohoar waved her off. “And what would have happened when the Republic discovered a Luma ship entering our star system without Senate approval?”

  “But there are ways—”

  “There are spies, Awen of the Luma. You may be a gifted emissary, but I do not suppose you are also skilled in espionage.”

  Awen frowned, her head tilted. She wasn’t sure if Rohoar’s remark was a compliment or an insult. Still, she mulled the scenario over in her head, trying to find the angle. “So… Rawmut asked for a meeting with the Republic and the Luma to discuss a peace accord.”

  Rohoar nodded.

  Suddenly, the truth of it all was coming to bear on Awen. Such a meeting was brash, brazen, and ballsy—typical Jujari. But if anyone could pull it off, it was the Jujari. “Rawmut had no intention of making peace with the Republic, did he?”

  “And once again, your skills of perception are equal to your reputation.”

  “He went through all of that just to… hand me the stardrive?”

  Rohoar inclined his head.

  So it wasn’t some incoherent act of a dying mwadim. It was intentional. He was going to hand me that stardrive all along.

  “And he expected me to… what? Figure out where your people came from and arrange a meeting? That seems outlandish!”

  Rohoar waited as Awen’s exclamation died. When he had her full attention again, he said, “But it worked, did it not?”

  Awen froze. What? “I… I don’t…”

  “I am Rohoar, former mwadim of the Jujari, son of Rawmut, descendent of the Tawnhack, and I now rest on the land of my ancestors—all thanks to one Awen dau Lothlinium.”

  Awen blinked several times, trying to connect the dots. How can any of this be good? There had been so much bloodshed, so much loss. And even more, the Novia Minoosh were extinct—at least in terms of being a physical species. She doubted Rohoar would thank her once he found out they were a glorified computer program. How is any of this justifiable? How is any of it right?

  Worse still, she had the feeling that she’d been taken advantage of—flattering though it was—as if she’d been duped into doing the Jujari’s bidding. And all for what? So they could have a family reunion around a meat pile and howl at the moon?

  But isn’t that your job? Awen argued. Mystics, she hated fighting with herself.

  “Rohoar, this entire proposition—if it’s true—”

  “It’s true,” he insisted.

  “This proposition is hard to accept. It has been… so costly.”

  “Imagine the pain we have felt at losing the connection with our ancestors.”

  She couldn’t argue that. Still, so many lives had been lost. Surely there was another way. “The explosion,” she said. “What about the explosion?”

  “Yeah,” Magnus said, speaking up for the first time. “I’d like to know about that too.”

  “I’m afraid I have less to tell there.”

  Magnus sat up straight. That was his posture that said, I’m pissed, and I want answers now! But before he could speak, Rohoar continued.

  “Suffice to say, we do not believe the ambush was the result of any Republic meddling nor any act of the Luma. Nor was it Jujari retaliation.”

  “Who do you suspect, then?” Magnus asked.

  “Admiral Kane,” Awen offered before anyone else could say anything. “That’s who Rawmut warned me about.”

  “Could you elaborate, please?” Rohoar asked.

  Awen sat back, letting the chair cradle her body. Everything was coming together for the first time in a long time. She felt overwhelmed by all the information, by all the loose ends coming together. But it was good. She’d needed this—needed to move forward.

  “As he was dying…” Her thoughts went back to his bloodied body on the dais. She felt him press the stardrive into her hand. Her ears rang. And then there was a sting in her thumb. The needle. “He told me not to let him have it. I don’t see how he would have expected me to keep anything from a Jujari—he would have saved that for one of his own. And he knew I would not know the ways of the military, so this was no soldier he was warning me about. It had to be someone I could face myself, someone who would be coming after me now that I possessed what he wanted.”

  “And he’s been chasing you all along,” Magnus added.

  “Yes.” Awen turned back to Rohoar. “So how did Kane know about all of this?”

  “That I do not know,” Rohoar replied. “My suspicions are that one of the other counselors betrayed Rawmut and sold the information for their own personal gain.”

  “Do you have proof of this?” Magnus asked. “Anything we can track?”

  Rohoar shook his head. “I’m sorry. But this is only my foostrath speaking.”

  “Your footstrap?” Magnus asked.

  “Foostrath, foostrath,” Rohoar stressed.

  “Foostrath means gut,” Awen said. “Intuition.”

  “Copy that.”

  “All I can tell you is that Kane came to Rawmut and offered him anything he wanted for the stardrive. But Rawmut refused. Kane became enraged, and our mwadim had to have the man removed forcibly.” Rohoar paused, considering something. He raised his jowls in a sneer. “There was something not right about that man. Something that I saw in the Unity about him which did not settle well.”

  “So you saw it too?” Awen asked, shocked. Not only had someone else seen the evil in Kane that she had seen, but—hold on—Rohoar had some sort of abilities in the Unity too. That’s why the temple glowed when he chanted in it with Piper. Of course! Awen’s mind went wild with thoughts, connecting the Gladio Umbra to the Unity to the Jujari and now back to Rohoar. She had more questions than could fill an entire data pad if given enough time.

  “I saw great darkness in the creature we know as Kane, yes. And so did Rawmut. Somehow, that being tracked Rawmut down. Tracked us down. It longed for the stardrive because, I believe, it longed for my people… longed for us from ancient times. I sensed hatred in the creature. A dark desire for vengeance that I cannot explain. As if it was driven by a need for recompense, to settle old grievances with us, and with…”

  “The Novia Minoosh,” Magnus suggested. “Splick. What the hell are we talking about here, people? Are you saying that there’s some ancient species that has a vendetta against the Jujari’s ancestors or some splick?”

  No one answered right away. Finally, Awen said, “I’m not sure any of us can draw any real conclusions right now. This is… well, it’s a lot. Let’s just sit on it, shall we?”
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br />   “I’m uncertain how sitting on this will help us determine viable paths forward, Awen,” Rohoar said.

  “Sorry,” Awen replied, rubbing her hand over her face. She was tired and needed some fresh air. “It’s just an expression that means we need time to think all this through. Sort it out, you know?”

  “Ah, very well. I do understand. I’m sure my own kinsmen and kinswomen—our whatever I am to call them in their current state—have their own questions for me.”

  “On that point,” Awen said, “have you spoken to Azelon about all this? And, if not, why didn’t she bring it up from the moment she saw you?”

  “Those are fair questions, and ones I assume only Azelon can answer. I suspect that she—that all the Novia—were waiting for me to return home first… to figure this out for myself. Without knowing that we Jujari carried on the legends of our ancestors, would Azelon not fear that such news might be too much for a stranger to bear?”

  “I guess I hadn’t thought about that,” Awen replied. “But you do plan on speaking to her, correct?”

  Rohoar nodded. “I do, yes. Eagerly so. And yet… also fearfully. Perhaps when all this fighting is done.”

  Awen wanted to insist that Rohaor take a shuttle up to the Spire this moment. But she understood his position, probably more than most. Pride, honor, and respect were values that the Juajri and—she assumed—the Novia took very seriously.

  “Mwadim Rohoar,” TO-96 said, raising his hand. “I have a question.”

  “It’s just Rohoar,” replied the Jujari. “Now my son is the mwadim.”

  “Ah, I understand. I have a question about time.”

  “You are a bot. Don’t you already know the time?”

  “Forgive me. Not the time of the day. This is more a matter of personal inquiry. You mentioned roaming the metaverse for several hundred years and then being on Oorajee for another several hundred years. However, given the time dilation that we discovered—that is, an algorithmic time discrepancy between our two universes—even three hundred years in the protoverse would represent more than six thousand years here. And you’ve spent at least that long, if not more, on Oorajee. Yet my sensors do not indicate that much degradation among the ruins of Itheliana or here on Ni No.”