The Simpleton QUEST

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  Cheers erupted around the quadzone, bringing Lorgue Prime Eminence Norsh back to the present moment. With the battle now over, the pain returned with a vengeance. A medic, appearing suddenly at his side, placed something cool—an ointment of some sort—on his back that quickly anesthetized the pain down to a near bearable level.

  Irritated with himself, he shoved the medic away, growling, “Leave me be!”

  He wondered if he was losing his edge. Which one had gotten the best of him—had nearly killed him? He glanced around the quadzone—noting the carnage. Eventually, he was able to separate one form from the other three—fucking Gramal.

  “Prime Eminence…a magnificent exposition, sire.”

  Norsh looked up to see Sub-Forgue Molth standing nearby just off the edge of the mat.

  “You have returned…I trust your mission was a success. Another heritage pod eviscerated?”

  Sub-Forgue Molth held his tongue for a moment then said, “I apologize. We were too late. The Pashier vessel was already leaving the planet.”

  “Leaving the planet…along with the heritage pod?” Norsh asked, barely containing his growing fury. Just seeing Molth’s disgusting face, always enough to irritate Norsh, was now exacerbated by this show of total incompetence. Norsh tried not to look at it, there—between his brows—but his eyes were drawn to the mole, or wart, or whatever the disgusting thing was. It had grown in size—girth—since the last time he’d seen the officer.

  “The Evermore returned to Primara. And, as you are more than aware…our warships cannot approach anywhere near that world…not without them being transported away, through their use of telekinesis, into far distant space.”

  Norsh rubbed his eyes as Molth droned on and on. He tried to ignore the growing pain in his back when it occurred to him that if it hadn’t been for Sub-Forgue Molth’s ineptitude in the first place, by not properly dealing with that foul band of humans, the Pashier could not have found refuge on Primara. He’d been deceived by the one called Cuddy Perkins…almost lost his command because of that one. Norsh had to mentally check his growing fury. No, if Sub-Forgue Molth had done his fucking job, the few remaining of that nearly eradicated race of Pashier would have been properly exterminated. Because he was doing his job so wretchedly, heritage pods were now being safely delivered to Primara from all corners of the galaxy. That meant more repopulating. Years of effort to contain the Pashier were quickly being undone. Fortunately, Norsh had petitioned the Imperial Howsh high counsel. They had agreed to build a new, far more advanced Fleet—state-of-the-art warships capable of dealing with the Pashier telekinetic powers—ones that were shielded and could also attack Primara from afar—from deep space. They’ll never know what hit them. Finally, they then will be done with, the Pashier gone, once and for all.

  Norsh couldn’t stand to listen to Sub-Forgue Molth’s voice—not a second longer. Glancing around, he interrupted a group of still-excited crewmembers, verbally recounting the match. “Give me your sidearm, soldier,” he ordered.

  The surprised ship’s sentry did as asked—nervously handing the senior officer his weapon. Norsh casually took ahold of the handheld plasma pistol then aimed at the copious growth between Molth’s still uncomprehending eyes. He shot Sub-Forgue Molth dead without giving it a second thought.

  Norsh contemplated the situation with the seemingly immortal Pashier people. Then the band of humans who were assisting the Pashier—he would make an example of them. He stared down at the four slaughtered Howsh bodies. Yes…an appropriate example.

  Chapter 7

  Seven years ago… Woodbury, Tennessee

  Cuddy Perkins couldn’t quite put a finger on it—why, suddenly, he had become so uneasy in this place. Fidgeting, he thought of Momma—she wouldn’t want him to be here with a stranger.

  There was an uncomfortable stillness inside the cabin.

  He wondered if the old man, wearing stained overalls, lived here alone. What had he said his name was? Stich? Swatch? No…Slatch. He couldn’t remember if Slatch mentioned a last name. His memory was terrible, due to the accident five years prior. Slatch had said the log cabin was over 200 years old or was it 300? That early settlers had built the rustic dwelling before America was even called America. Cuddy didn’t know what that meant, but something so old—well—it must be something special. Something he’d want to see.

  So quiet here inside. Cuddy began to make loud popping sounds with his lips. The type of noise Momma would say knock-it-off, Cuddy!

  He’d been told to sit on the couch. To wait and not touch anything. As Cuddy’s gaze moved about the interior of the small timber dwelling, his eyes briefly lingered first on one item then moved to the next. Each object, albeit unconsciously, was giving Cuddy subtle insight into the old man’s character who had brought him here—the worn recliner chair, with strips of silver duct tape securing its threadbare armrests; a snipped-open can of Miller beer, sitting on the small coffee table, half-filled with a pasty brown liquid. Cuddy then briefly recalled seeing Slatch spit out tobacco loogies while perched on his tractor. A TV was in the corner of the room, its two-prong metal antenna making a letter V above.

  Off to the left, was the kitchen area. A glowing amber light indicated the rectangular-shaped hot plate was powered on. A small, lidded pot, sitting atop it, made soft burbling noises. A sweet, gamey smell, waffling out from the kitchen, scented the air in the oppressively small space. Cuddy wondered what, exactly, Slatch was cooking. He mentally pictured a squirrel, or some other small rodent, lying curled up beneath the pot’s off-kilter lid.

  Maybe I should go home now…

  Cuddy glanced at the heavy wooden door, with its old rusted hinges and equally rusted oversized latch, then back to the dark hallway across from where he sat. He figured Slatch’s bedroom, maybe a bathroom was that way. Slatch was back there. Cuddy listened hard but heard no sound.

  He refocused his attention on the front door then back on the latch. Positioned directly to his left, Cuddy figured it was probably within arm’s reach. Slatch had told him to sit there, not touch anything. Did that include the latch? Cuddly slowly extended his arm—then leaned even farther over to get a bit closer. The tips of his fingers came into contact with the cold metal. His hand wasn’t oriented right to use the thumb lever. Instead, he pressed down on the latch using his forefinger. It didn’t budge. It must be locked. When had Slatch locked the door? ¬He then heard a rustling sound coming from the back of the house.

  A dim light suddenly cast out—partially illuminated the far end of the hallway. Perhaps a door had opened? Cuddy continued to stare into the murky darkness but something blocked his view. He realized he was looking at the silhouetted outline of someone—standing quietly in the semi-darkness. It was the old man.

  “You have a problem doing what you’re told, boy?”

  Chapter 8

  The Evermore returned to Primara without further altercations with the Howsh. As directed, Cuddy piloted the Evermore to a remote, still uninhabited, location—an area of the planet he’d never been to before. Once landed, Cuddy told the AI orb to stay with the ship. Together, he and the others started down the gangway.

  Cuddy was greeted with familiar excited barking just before the yellow lab shot up the ramp. Standing on hind legs, frantically wagging his tail, Rufus welcomed his master home. Lowering to one knee, Cuddy let his dog lick his face for a while. “Okay…okay…settle down, boy. I’m home now.”

  Brian too was there, waiting for them. Only Brian didn’t look the same. Evidently, the empath elders, the Pashier healers, had indeed been proficient in restoring his physical appearance. Although still somewhat strange looking, he was no longer ugly. As surprised as Cuddy was, Jackie seemed to be bowled over by the transformation. Following an extended hug, she was all compliments and questions—What had the sessions been like? Did it hurt? How do you feel now? On and on the Q&A went.

  Cuddy, Kyle, and Tony watched the two with equal, albeit growing, annoyance. Finally, Kyle quer
ied, “Um…guess we should unload the pod now?”

  Cuddy, staring at Brian and Jackie for an extended moment, nodded. “Yeah…let’s do that.” Once the sub-deck lift completed its downward progression, the trio carefully removed the pod’s restraining straps.

  “It’s all yours, man. TK it away…,” Tony said, taking a step backward. Over time, TK had become the default idiom for anything to do with the usage of telekinesis.

  Cuddy took in a steadying breath and then lifted his palms, inwardly summoning his mental TK ability to raise the small-car size heritage pod off the lift platform. Steadying the load at two feet above the ground, it hovered there then began to wobble. Kyle and Tony eyed Cuddy, throwing him uncertain glances. Cuddy was still feeling distracted. But he was reining in his mind—the wobbling was dissipating.

  “What the hell you doing?” Brian barked behind them. “Just stop! You’ve already done enough damage transporting it here. Fuck me…look at that fissure along the side of the thing.” Brian, elbowing his way past Cuddy, studied it. Then, casually lifting one hand, he maneuvered the pod—steady and true—away from the Evermore and into the open. Jackie fell in step beside Brian, as he moved the elevated pod toward a crop of tall trees in the distance.

  Cuddy exchanged more glances with Tony and Kyle. Under his breath, Tony mumbled, “What a douche bag…”

  Cuddy inwardly smiled. Allow douche bag Brian to have his moment.

  “I heard that,” Brian snorted, twenty yards out. But by the tone of his voice, he didn’t really care what they thought.

  * * *

  Cuddy loved trees. Standing now beneath three towering leafy deciduous species—he contemplated how akin they were to Autumn Blaze Maples, the kind that would be thriving back on Earth. They definitely were a close Primara derivative of that same genome. He knew he was purposely focusing his attention away from Brian’s non-stop self-narrative. The group was all there.

  “Are you capable of concentrating for five minutes, Captain Cuddy?” Brian asked.

  “Knock it off, Brian…and I am listening.” Cuddy, resuming eye contact, gave him a sideways glance that said my patience is quickly waning.

  Brian gestured to the newly positioned Heritage Pod, situated in the shade of the three leafy trees. He’d picked a good spot. Of course, he had.

  “As I was saying…I’ve got this all figured out, and before any of you start whining, yes, I’ve already spoken to Tow.” Brian hesitated long enough to level a displeased glance toward Kyle. “Sure…we might be on the verge of an epidemic here. It may become pandemic…who knows?” His expression suddenly brightened. “But with every new Shain ritual, the population on Primara grows. Hell, they’re like gerbils running around now. Although if you ask me conditions around here are still pretty caveman-like. The good news is the Pashier are readjusting; regaining their dormant powers. Their TK is blossoming. Not anywhere near my level, but hey…it is what it is.”

  Tony pretended to shoot himself in the head.

  “So what is this great idea of yours, Brian? And, please, while we’re still young…okay?” Kyle said.

  Jackie shot Kyle an annoyed expression. “Go on, do tell us, Brian.”

  “Up until now, the weight of protecting this world has sat firmly on my shoulders. Every time a Howsh warship attempts to enter into orbit here, I send it millions of miles out into deep space. And, it’s tedious…ensuring that absolutely no one is killed in the process, well, that makes things even more challenging. It’s getting old,” Brian said, a flourish of drama in his voice. “High time the natives here start taking responsibility for their own welfare.”

  “Is this when you share your great idea with us?” Tony asked.

  Cuddy too was ready for Brian to just get on with it.

  “Look. Individually, one Pashier won’t be able to send an invading ship away. I don’t know if they’ll someday develop, or rise up to my level of telekinesis, or not. But working together…working within an overlapping-type network, an adequate team of Pashiers strategically positioned around the planet…communicating between one another psychically…well…I think they can do the same as me. Can rebuff their enemies.”

  “You think there’s enough of them here to make that overlapping-network-thing work?” Jackie asked.

  Brian gestured toward the still-closed heritage pod, resting before them. “Once this latest pod is added, and a few hundred more essences released, it should do the trick.”

  “Are you sure you’re not rushing things just a tad?” Kyle asked. “What’s the hurry? By your own words, you’re doing an adequate job all by your lonesome.”

  “No. I’m done playing God to these aliens. I have my own life to live. One that doesn’t involve me patiently waiting around for the next spaceship to come wandering by. And Tow has a new mission for us, anyway. Something important.”

  Cuddy bristled at that. Now Tow was giving Brian mission directives?

  “What mission?” Jackie asked. “Don’t we have enough to do retrieving heritage pods from space?”

  Brian shrugged. “Tow wants to speak to Cuddy first before he says anything more about…whatever it is…” He looked at Cuddy with ambivalence.

  Jackie put her hands on her hips. “So…should we meet back here for the Shain Ritual of Awakening? In the morning?”

  “Yeah…daybreak,” Brian said, already walking off.

  * * *

  It was still dark outside. Witnessing a Shain Ritual of Awakening firsthand typically left Cuddy emotional, but today’s early morning ritual was already affecting him more than usual. Part of him still worried the heritage pod had been permanently damaged due to his own negligence. He thought back to the train wreck of events on the green planet—how his focused concentration had been shattered when alien Spinktrolls attempted to abduct Jackie. Subsequently, when the pod fell hard to the ground, his eyes too noticed the jagged fissure on the pod that Brian so astutely pointed out to everyone.

  Now, standing next to Tow as the pod’s fronds began to unfold, Cuddy sent up a silent thank you to the powers that be. He wasn’t religious; didn’t know if there was one god, or even multiple gods, as some civilizations he knew believed. Or if there was some incredible higher power, watching over everything and everyone.

  There in the pre-dawn darkness, he once again was witnessing the same breathtaking fountain of glittering lights—streaming upward from the unfolding pod fronds—shooting higher and higher into the air. He felt the now-familiar, swirling, comforting breeze all around him.

  It took a while for the last few leaves to fully open before settling onto the ground. Looking up, a galaxy of starlight flowed above them—spanning out hundreds, even thousands, of feet—ascending ever higher and higher. The brilliance, sheer magnitude of it all, made it impossible for Cuddy to think about his own petty problems, including the ridiculous power play with Brian.

  Then he spotted Jackie. She was standing alongside Kyle, on the far side of the opened pod. The shimmering lights, cast downward from above, gave her face a soft—angelic quality. So beautiful. As if sensing Cuddy’s gaze upon her, her eyes lowered, searching around, before finding and locking onto his own. They held each other’s gaze for a moment before she focused back on the spectacle taking place above her. Moments later, the first of the shooting star-like effects—raining down from the galaxy of lights above—reached the center point of the splayed-opened pod. In a flash, Cuddy saw the bluish glow of a Pashier female standing there. As always, at that same stage, she was naked and nearly transparent. She stood still for less than a minute before hurrying off—somehow sensing where she needed to go—what she needed to do. Then one-by-one—more and more life forces emerged from the pod, both male and female. Also Pashier children, arriving in groups of two or three, who were escorted away by an awaiting Pashier adult.

  As the last ones appeared then left, Cuddy turned toward Tow. He was smiling; both palms pressed tightly on his chest—over his heart—moisture brimming in his shining
eyes.

  He gazed up at Cuddy and nodded. “Thank you, Cuddy. We all thank you…you have brought life and heartfelt reunion to this world…to our new home.”

  “It was a team effort. In fact, this go around, I was only a notch above useless.”

  * * *

  As the crowd dissipated, slowly moving away, Cuddy heard distant coughs coming from more than one infected Pashier. With Rufus close to his side, he sensed something was amiss. “What troubles you, Tow?” he asked, but the alien didn’t answer. He simply stared toward the hazy-blue horizon as they walked side-by-side into the early dawn light.

  Cuddy knew he should be used to Tow’s long silences by now. That and the fact that Tow didn’t answer stupid questions.

  Tow slowed his pace to admire something high up over the ridgeline. Whatever it was, it brought a smile to the alien’s face. Pointing a thin finger, he waited for Cuddy to stop and also look.

  Cuddy hunched-down his six-foot-three frame, low enough to follow the full length of Tow’s extended arm and finger—similar to lining erup one’s sight down a long-barreled rifle. “Okay…what am I supposed to be looking at?”

  Tow continued to point—volunteering nothing.

  Cuddy, straightening up, stared at the distant mountainous landscape, where the timber tree line gave way to jagged rock cliffs. “The crescent moons, right over the ridge? Is that what you’re pointing at?”

  Unlike the single moon viewable from Earth at certain times of the day, Primara had three moons: Timor, Dathan, and Horpris. Right now all three waxing moon crescents were visible at the same time—one an amber color, one yellow, and one blue. Cuddy remembered that the Pashier living on Primara commonly referred to them as the jewels of wisdom, grace, and humility.

  They maneuvered around four large boulders and, at one point, had to turn sideways to squeeze through a narrow gap. Together, Tow, Cuddy, and Rufus followed along a meandering dirt path. Off to the right, a large open field revealed fresh, evenly spaced plow marks. The green tops of tiny heritage-pod sprouts peeked through dark soil mounds. Tow lingered around long enough to breathe in the scent of freshly churned earth. Continuing on, the path led to another clearing, where a large fallen tree rested on its side—probably toppled dozens of years before. The tree’s once thick stout branches had been reduced to nothing more than irregularly worn rounded nubs. Where once coarse bark covered the tree’s thick trunk, now only smooth, weathered surfaces were evident. In the not far distance, an azure lake reflected glints of light from Primara’s closest sun-like star Sath.