Phoenix Rising (Dragon Legacy)

by Previn Hudetz

  “Hey, mister, wanna buy some time in a pleasure-suite? Can't hardly tell the difference from the real thing!” Quinn waved the slimy pitchman off and kept on toward where he remembered the pub had been.

  It was coming back to him now, and he hoped he'd run into that woman again. What was her name? He'd been unable to forget it for five years. Why couldn't he remember it now? Quinn huffed in frustration, startling some children next to him who ran off. He chuckled and turned down a side street that looked familiar. There it was! People were coming and going. Still busy. Good. Maybe that meant she'd be down here after all. At least there was a chance.

  As he walked into the pub, memories came rushing back, eliciting a smile as he bellied up to the bar. Then Quinn heard a voice that caused his heart to skip a beat.

  “Well, kark me three ways from Sunday,” a sharp alto spat from behind him. “I'll shave my head if that isn't Mr. Quinn Deston himself. I'd recognize those shoulders anywhere, even if you did go gray around the ears. This is just perfect.” He turned around and saw her, definitely older but still beautiful. He got up from his stool and started toward her with a broad smile.

  “Kai,” he began, finally remembering her name, but before he could finish, her palm shot out and smacked him across the face. Wow, that actually hurt! She stood there defiantly, eyes filled with fire, hands on her hips. Then a muscled youth of about sixteen walked into the room and saw them.

  He walked over and stepped up beside Kai. “What's going on here?” he asked protectively, crossing his powerful arms across a broad chest. “Who's this guy?” he jerked his thumb at Quinn.

  Uh-oh. That rugged jaw line looked awfully familiar, Quinn noted with a shock.

  “Quincy, that...man...is your father. Talk to him. I can't deal with this right now.” With that, she nudged her son toward Quinn and stormed out of the room.

  “Oh,” they said in unison.

  9

  Unexpected Guest

  Mtumba didn't like how things were going right now. Ever since Commander Tobias had arrived, Old John had grown increasingly distant. He was always working on something, and never seemed to have time to talk anymore. Mtumba missed that. He needed to talk with someone, and it couldn't be Stella or Rok, since it was sort of about them.

  Rok. What a dumb name, he thought. As in, dumb as a Rok. He snickered, imagining the golden boy looking at something with that quizzical expression he always seemed to have plastered across his face.

  That might be a little unfair, but he was frustrated and didn't know what to do. He sighed as he gathered up the radishes into the bin to carry them in for stew. Their last meal together, Old John had informed them with something like regret in his eyes. Sometimes Mtumba didn't understand people. If you didn't want it to be the last meal, then don't leave. Simple.

  However, with grown-ups out here, things were never simple. Always seemed like ten times more things to do than there should be. That's not how it was with his tribe, no sir. Well, at least not usually. He had to admit there were times...

  “Mtumba,” Stella called from the cottage door. He didn't look up. “Hey, Mtumba.” She walked over to him and stood in front of him. “You hear me?”

  “I hear you,” he muttered.

  Stella knelt down beside him. “Look, I told you I was sorry about that whole thing with the egg, so if you're mad about that, then-”

  He threw the trowel on the ground, then forced himself to take a deep breath before asking her what was on his mind. “Are we still friends?” There. It was out.

  Stella looked at him, concern on her face. “Of course we are.”

  “Really? Because ever since Rok popped out of that mountain it hasn't seemed like it.” He felt a sharp welling up in his eyes, and he felt his face trying to twitch. Dang it, he didn't want to cry. Crying was for girls. He looked away and took a deep breath, pushing those emotions down as deep as he could.

  Stella put her hand on his arm, searching his eyes. “I'll always be your friend.”

  He didn't know what possessed him, but he pushed her off and ran for the lake. He could hear her following him as fast as she could, yelling for him to stop, but he used to run the mountain trails with his brothers and fathers back on Kaj, and he was fast.

  He felt his legs carrying him like they used to before everything had fallen apart, and for a moment he let himself forget where he was and felt free. He was breathing heavily and looking up at the sky when Mtumba felt the water of the lake up to his waist, hands uplifted, and head tilted back. He was praying his birth song again, and his wimbaji mawe was thrumming strong against his chest, the echo to his broken heart.

  He felt the tears now, unable to stop them anymore, but closed his eyes and kept praying anyway. Finally, he came to the end, and let his hands fall to the cool water. He turned around, and Stella was standing on the shore in silence.

  “That's beautiful,” she whispered. “What was it?”

  Mtumba looked at her and blinked. “My song.” Seeing her confusion, he continued. “My mother gave it to me at birth, and sang it to me every night until I learned it for myself.”

  “I wish I had a song,” she said wistfully, “but my mom...I never really got to know her. Basically just been me and my dad since then, but he...” She sat on a stone by the water's edge, her feet getting wet.

  “I'm sorry, Stella. I'm sure you'll find him.”

  She nodded to herself, then looked up at him and asked, “Can you teach me that song?”

  “I...not that one,” he apologized, “but maybe another,” he offered quickly. “One of the running songs?” He nodded to himself, and they shared a laugh. “Yeah, you could probably use one of those.”

  “Yeah, I noticed,” she snorted. “Where'd you learn to run like that anyway, mister Fasty McFasterton?”

  Mtumba shrugged, laughing. “You can do it, too. Just takes practice.” He walked over to sit down beside her, and she scooted over to make space for him. “Okay, listen closely” he said, “then sing it back to me. This song has three parts...”

  After a while, Stella felt she had most of the song in her ear. Mtumba had told her there were still some rhythms she wasn't getting right, but she decided to refrain from telling him that she was doing exactly what he had demonstrated, and kept working at it anyway.

  Why had he thought they weren't friends anymore? She needed to figure out what was going on with him. Just because Rok was with them now didn't mean she didn't care about Mtumba anymore. Surely, he understood that. She put those thoughts aside and focused back on learning the song. She almost had it when Rok showed up. She sighed. Perfect timing. She gave Mtumba an apologetic smile, shrugging. He nodded.

  “Commander Tobias and John are leaving soon,” Rok said. “John asked me to find you so he could say goodbye.” Rok looked up at the sky. “Oh, and he has something he wanted to tell you. But he wants to tell you himself.”

  “Okay,” Stella said, standing up, feeling rushing back into her legs. Kind of sharp and tingly, she noticed. “Lead the way.”

  Rok took them to the ship where Commander Tobias and John were preparing to leave. Stella's jaw dropped when she saw Old John. He was resplendent in his armor. It was similar to that of a Brigadier Knight's, but was a lustrous royal blue with gold trim instead of Tobias's black and silver. He shone like an ancient hero in the setting sun, his white hair flowing behind him over a billowing red cape. He smiled at them and beckoned them over.

  When they were close enough, he knelt down and put his powerful-gloved hands on her and Mtumba's shoulders, looking them square in the eyes, each in turn. There was intensity in that gaze that she was unprepared for when it focused in on her. Then he spoke to them softly, just loud enough for Stella and her friends to hear.

  “I have to go,” he began solemnly, quelling their vocal protests with a raised hand. “I wish things were different, but sometimes this life places demands on us that we can't in good conscience avoid.” He paused, regret etched on his face. �
��I don't know when I'll be able to come back. I'd bring you along, but where I'm headed will be fraught with danger, and you've had more than enough of that recently.” He looked again into their eyes, clearly wishing he had another option than to leave them. Old John sighed, and continued.

  “I've had Commander Tobias order a dispatch shuttle to pick you up at dawn and take you to the Garden Citadel. He assures me you'll find some people you know there, and more importantly, if I'm right, it'll be safe from what's coming.” He stood up, and gave them a gentle smile. “Before I go, I'd like to thank you for reminding me about what's important. You've done more than you know, and I will remember. Grace be with you.”

  With that, he turned and followed the commander up into the ship. The ramp closed behind them, lifted into the star-speckled sky, and then suddenly disappeared in a flash of rippling light.

  Mtumba put his hand on Stella's shoulder and spoke. “We'll see him again.”

  “You really think so?” she asked without much hope, but he nodded.

  “Yeah, I do,” he answered softly, hoping he was right about that.

  She smiled and walked inside, Mtumba following behind her.

  Rok continued to stare at the warp's wake in awe.

  “Wow,” he whispered, both fascinated and horrified. To him, it looked like the heavens had just been horribly broken, but beautifully. He wasn't sure if he should cry or cheer, but the feeling of disharmony resonated deeply within him. So he settled on following his friends into the cottage that had been their home for nearly a month. The scent of dinner set his stomach growling, and he needed to eat. The stargazing could wait.

  10

  High Noon

  Captain Eli Hawk ducked to avoid being knocked in the head by a worker passing by with a long ladder. His helmet-sized mech-buddy wasn't so lucky though, and got swatted out of the air into the red and white awning of a fruit stand. The airbot tumbled off; his fall broken by a sack of oranges. Eli rushed over and knelt down to check on him, apologizing to the busy fruit vendor who just waved it off, returning to his customers.

  “You okay, Skippy?” Eli whispered, focusing on the little floating airbot. It beeped its distress at him, and then let out a dash of beeps and buzzes, clearly irritated at the worker's insensitivity. Yeah, Skippy was fine.

  Eli stood and took of his cap, running his fingers over his short blonde hair as he took in the sights, sounds, and smells of the busy market street. The short adobe, metal and concrete buildings were offset by the quaintly colorful vendors lining the street, and the gleaming banners and signs littering the spaces on the buildings above.

  Ships passing overhead reminded everyone they were close to the docks, and his clean clothes marked him as an obvious visitor. An older woman shot a scowl at him, but he just smiled and waved, not really concerned with what she thought. He did put his hat back on, though. “C'mere, Skippy. I think you got an antennae twisted there.”

  Skippy sulked in a dip pattern through the air, letting out a small scratchy sound that slid down in pitch. Eli reached over and gritted his teeth, grunting as he bent the antenna back into place. Skippy wobbled backwards, and Eli squinted. It didn't quite look right, and Skippy knew it. He beeped in accusation, and Eli raised his hands defensively.

  “How am I supposed to know how it goes?” Because he built him. Eli laughed. Ever since he'd been a kid he'd always had a knack for machines, and Skippy had been his pet project, so to speak. “Hold on,” he said, opening his bag to search for his tool kit. “It's in here somewhere...”

  “Ahem,” a patrol officer interrupted, scratching a small nose almost lost in his large round face. “Havin' trouble with your bot?” he asked in a full-blown Mayberry, obviously a local.

  Eli smiled at him. “Hello, officer...” he squinted, looking at the holotag on the front of the patrol officer's dusty blue jacket, “...Huckleberry?” The officer's paunch rested over his utility belt, and his left hand sat on his pulse-gun. Eli pursed his lips, looking Huckleberry in the eye. “Just taking care of my buddy, here, sir.”

  “Maybe I can help,” Huckleberry offered with a grin, taking his hand off his gun and stepping forward. “Used to be a bit of a mechanic 'fore they threw me in this uniform.”

  “....Sure,” Eli agreed reluctantly, taking a step back. “But just so you know, he's kinda fussy about who fixes him. Just a head's-up, there.”

  “Tha's okay,” the patrol officer said, his pudgy face spreading into a toothy grin. Well, toothy minus one of the front ones. With dexterity that took Eli off-guard, Huckleberry grabbed Skippy by the undercarriage and flipped him. Skippy let out a squeal of protest, but Huckleberry had the entanglement ring out in the open faster than you could snap a pea.

  Whistling, the patrol officer took out a probe from his utility belt and fiddled with the connector between the ring and the vibro-chassis that powered the little guy. Eli winced, not wanting to watch his dear old friend being manhandled by this deputy, but held his tongue, smiling reassuringly whenever Huckleberry would look in his direction with a helpful grin.

  “Almost there,” Huckleberry said, and grunted, making one final adjustment. Then he closed the entanglement ring back up, tapping Skippy on the bottom to get him aloft. The sturdy little airbot wobbled once, and then zipped right up into the air. Doing a loop, he made a happy buzz and zipped around them. Showoff, Eli thought.

  “What about his antenna?”

  “Oh, that weren't no broken antenna.” Huckleberry grinned. “Little fella was just a bit over-entangled and mixed-up's all.”

  Eli felt his eye twitch, but just sighed. Well, Skippy seemed happy, at least. He was zipping around the fruit stand now, over the head of the vendor who didn't even seem to notice the airbot as he haggled with a fussy woman about a basket of apples.

  “Thanks, officer,” Eli said, offering his hand.

  “Name's Huckleberry,” the patrol officer said, taking Eli's hand into his meaty fists and pumping it vigorously. That was awkward. “So what brings you to this neck of the woods?”

  “Well, officer-”

  “Huckleberry.”

  “Well, officer Huckleberry-”

  “You can just call me Huckleberry,” he said, grinning.

  Eli waited to see if Huckleberry was going to add anything else, and then answered. “I'm here to visit my Aunt Willie. She's pretty old, and I check in on her whenever I'm in this sector. Maybe you know her? She lives at the home next to the water-park.”

  Huckleberry seemed to consider that, but shook his head. “Can't say as that name rings a bell, but that's mighty kind of you. I had an aunt once, and she was like a second mother to me. Passed away years ago, though. Got into a fight with some waiter, had an asthma attack what triggered a heart attack, and poor ol' bird tumbled backwards out the second-story window onto the street...”

  “I'm sorry,” Eli offered. “I'm sure she was a wonderful person.”

  “Never heard that word used to describe her afore,” Huckleberry laughed. “Woman was one part badger and two parts banshee.”

  Before officer Huckleberry left to continue making his rounds, he recommended a good mechanic shop down the street that might have some parts Eli could use for upgrading Skippy. Eli watched him go; smiling and waving every now and again, just to make sure he was actually leaving. Once Huckleberry rounded the corner, Eli turned and half-walked half-ran in the opposite direction, rounding another corner, only to run into whom other than...officer Huckleberry, apparently relaxing in an overburdened chair outside a concrete building that looked like a patrol station.

  “That was fast,” Eli said in surprise.

  The officer glared at him. “What're you on about, boy?”

  Now Eli was completely confused. “Don't you remember me? We just talked.” Eli jerked his thumb over his shoulder. “You helped fix Skippy,” he smiled. “Thanks, by the way.” As if to corroborate the story, Skippy bobbed over Eli's shoulder with a happy beep.

  Officer Huckleberry squ
inted up at the airbot, his lip curled in a sneer. “I don't remember you, and I don't remember fixin' no bots. You here for a drug test or somethin'?” he drawled, standing up and peering at Eli suspiciously, arms crossed over his doughy torso.

  Eli reflexively took a step back, holding up his hands. “Sorry, my mistake,” he said, and walked away, shaking his head. Skippy bobbed along behind him, buzzing a cheerful tuneless melody, all beeps and buzzes. Maybe someone had slipped something into the water around here, after all!

  Sneaking a peek from around the corner, Alex Fox laughed at the exchange before turning back to her task. That had been fun, but she'd have to be more careful in the future. She didn't really have time to stop and chat on a mission, but something about Eli had captured her interest. She turned around and walked down the street to the pawnshop specified in her job file.

  Stepping inside caused the door to jingle and she walked over to the scrawny man behind the counter. He looked nervous to see officer Huckleberry in his empty store. Fox had never seen so many knickknacks and pieces of useless junk all in one place before. She whistled.

  “You have something I need,” she said, emulating Huckleberry's drawl.

  “But I already pay you earlier this month,” the man complained in a thick accent of his own. “Is too much for me right now, please.”

  Time to move on it, she decided. “Then just give me that meta-chip ring you have in the back,” she said with a smile. The man's face went white, and he shook his head. “I know you got it back there.”

  “No, Huckleberry. Cannot ask for that, please. You don't know who am holding it for. Is very dangerous for me talking about it, even.” His hand inched toward the back of the counter, and Fox had her pulse-gun trained on him right away.