Phoenix Rising (Dragon Legacy)

by Previn Hudetz

  “What's your name?” Mtumba asked. Stella hadn't ever seen him like this, and it was making her feel uncomfortable. She tried to laugh it off, but Mtumba shot her a quick look of annoyance.

  “My name?” the boy asked uncomfortably, looking up at the ceiling or...who knew? Maybe through it. He looked at Stella. “I don't know...what do you think my name should be?”

  Stella looked at him, her mouth open in surprise. “What, you think I'm gonna name you? Who do you think I am, your mother?” she asked, mortified. Mtumba rolled back on his haunches and started guffawing loudly, then got up and walked over a few paces, holding his sides, clearly in stitches.

  “Serves you right, that's what I say,” Mtumba snorted at her, shaking his head and grinning.

  She scowled at him and turned back to the new boy. “Fine,” she said, “Let's give you a name, then.”

  The boy looked at her, waiting expectantly.

  What would her father tell her to do right now? Well...he'd tell her to honor the moment with her attention, and do her best to find him a good name. She wished he was here, but shook her head and focused on where she was. Stella looked at the way the boy moved, and listened to the sounds of the cavern around them. The wind coming through the hole in the wall. Next to the crystals on the ground. Next to the rocks...deep in the mountain...no, he'd looked up. Then it came to her, from out of the blue, so to speak.

  Her father had once told her a story about a great bird called a Roc. It had flown Andromeda to and from her parents' palace. It seemed to fit, somehow. She couldn't quite say why, but it felt right. There was also the bizarre nature of his birth...he was born in a crystal. Or a rock. She'd never heard of anything like it before, and Stella had an idea!

  “I name you...Rok. With a k, not a c.” She gave him a sharp nod, and stood, offering her hand to help him up. Rok took it, and stood beside her, flexing his legs for what seemed like the first time. So strange. Stella just shook her head, marveling at how odd this voyage was!

  Now they just needed, somehow, to find their way home. Stella was grateful that at least they could see outside, now. She was relieved they wouldn't have to go back through the caves. Those creatures...she shuddered, and from more than just the chill wind. Mtumba gasped, and Stella saw why. Her mouth fell open in surprise.

  For there stood the oldest man she'd ever seen.

  6

  Outfoxed

  It had been an ambush. Quinn had expected it a bit closer to his ship, of course, but he'd been as prepared as anyone could ever be for this kind of thing. Sloppy. He hated sloppy. He shook his head with disappointment as he felt another cold pulse-blast zip past his cover position. He'd already taken out half their team, and expected he could deal with the other four in quick fashion.

  Although it had been somewhat interesting during the initial attack, since they obviously had at least some level of training. If he hadn't been expecting them, they might have actually nailed him with that first shot. It'd been good, he admitted, touching the torn left sleeve on his leather flight jacket. Ex-military, he wondered? Maybe special forces. Fresh to the field, if that was the case. He'd find out soon enough, one way or the other.

  He poked his gun around the corner of the support beam he was using to block their fire, and tagged two more of them. They fell, hard. He was honestly disappointed they were going down so fast. It made him genuinely concerned that they just weren't paying enough attention to detail in the training camps these days.

  Quinn checked that his gun had enough charge, and engaged the wide-dispersal stun setting. He stepped out from behind his cover and whistled. The last two men reflexively peeked over the barrels they were hiding behind, and Quinn was ready with a quick pulse that sent them both crumpling to the ground. “Lemmings,” he muttered to himself, and walked over to one who was wearing nicer boots than the others. You could always tell who was in charge by their shoes, he noted.

  He leaned down and fished through the man's pockets until he found what he was looking for; the metachip ring that would hold the information for their mission. Maybe now he'd find out some clues about who was setting him up.

  He put the ring on, and downloaded the information to his earbud. That's when everything went sideways. It started as a small itching in the back of his mind, and developed into a full-blown massive headache. He felt a painful shock in his mechanical limbs, and his whole body went rigid, toppling him to the ground like a felled oak tree. As he lay there twitching and fighting for consciousness, he saw a pair of boots walk around from behind him, a slight hitch in the stride received in a battle he remembered from years ago. Not him, Quinn thought. That's not possible.

  “Hey there, Quinn,” Roth said, flashing that greasy smile as he squatted down. He reached over and pried the meta-chip ring off Quinn's finger. “Been a while. You and me got a lot to talk about.”

  Quinn gritted his teeth, trying to say something, but all that made it past his induced paralysis was a feeble grunt. He was humiliated, and glared at Roth. He'd get him back for this, and not long from now, either. He wasn't going to take this from a punk like him.

  Roth looked over Quinn's convulsing form and gestured to someone Quinn couldn't see. He heard footsteps coming up from behind. How many people had they brought in for this operation? What was going on here? Moreover, how was Roth alive? He'd seen the explosion. No one could have made it out of that, but somehow he had. No scars either, from what he could see.

  Consciousness was fading fast, and the painful shocks coursing through his body were causing him to twitch like he was having a seizure. What had they programmed onto that meta-chip? His mech limbs had triple-encrypted redundancy functions, but he hadn't even had any warnings pop up! Nothing should have been able to penetrate his firewall, but it had, and it had happened like a shock-blade carving through wet tissue. He grunted, furious.

  Roth looked back at him, the fake smile gone from his face now. “We'll catch up later, Quinn. I've got other things to do.” He snapped, and Quinn felt himself lifted onto a stretcher. The last fading sounds he heard before blacking out were Roth warning his transporters, “Careful, you know what he was. Don't take your eyes off him, or you'll regret it.”

  Quinn was determined to make sure they did.

  Fox returned to her ship, another successful mission completed. That one had been strange. She already felt her system flushing out the DNA. She returned to her more delicate feminine proportions, the hitch in her gait giving way to a smooth sashay. Flexing into a man was uncomfortable; she always felt unclean afterwards; and then there was the bitter taste in her mouth. Especially with someone as slimy as Lieutenant Roth.

  You had to stay flexible in this market, and when money wasn't an object for your employer, things could happen fast. Fox was on the spot to make sure they did. Like with that Quinn character. She'd read his dossier...quite possibly the deadliest man she'd ever helped capture. She was surprised it'd taken as long as it did for that program her tech-man had sold her to worm into his circuitry, but she'd been warned about that. That's why it had been a two-step special.

  When Fox had initially run into him at the bar, she wasn't sure if he'd take the bait, but he was an old warhorse, and didn't ask too many questions. Just as well for her. Helped her stay in business when her marks couldn't keep up. It was all about the speed and flexibility to move on intel in her business, and Fox had it. Benefits of having a flexible bio-matrix. Although chem-maintenance kept her busy enough, she snorted, injecting the stabilizer serum kept on hand for her transition pain. For some reason, teeth were always the worst. Fox felt her jaw shift, teeth grinding. Ugh. She rubbed it out.

  Sinking into the cushioned flight chair, she reviewed her accounts over her earbud while her ship lifted into orbit on autopilot. The credit had been transferred. Job well done, then. Good. She liked making her employers happy. Meant more work, and more credit. She smiled and thought about where she'd spend it. Maybe the Garden Citadel? Or maybe she'd go laze abou
t on the Faya Beaches. That had been...nice, last time. She grinned, remembering those cabana waiters. She'd never been so hungry. Hmm.

  Fox initiated the warp trajectory sequence to Huron Station. She could check in there with some of her more discreet chem suppliers. Wouldn't mind investing in some smoother DNA shift-serums. Expensive though. Just a downside of being the niche market. Not everyone could handle the danger. Then again, she wasn't them. At least not right now, she smirked mischievously.

  A call came in over her earbud. It was Turk. “Talk to me, Turk. What we got?” Good. Her voice had shifted. She sounded like herself.

  “You're gonna love this, honey-pie,” his resonant bass voice massaged her ears through the link. He continued. “That last job opened some doors. An event-chain just came in. Top-tier activity, and pay to match. You interested?”

  “How can I say no to such a sweet old man?” she bantered back playfully. Turk laughed, and it made her shiver. Something about his voice just always seemed to put her in a good mood. Didn't hurt that he was probably one of the only people she knew who seemed to genuinely like her and get her sense of humor.

  “Well, I'm uploading to you now. Let me know what you think, sweetie.”

  “Got it,” she said, reviewing the files. This one was big! “You really think we can handle this?”

  “Yeah, girl, you got this one,” she could hear him smile over the line. “Your talent, my tech, and we're in an out 'fore they know what happened.”

  Probably true, she conceded, but this was serious business. One slip and they might not work again for years. Or ever, because they could be dead...but you have to risk it to win it, she decided. “Okay, mark it. I'm in.”

  “That's my girl. Here's the coordinates.” They came in, and she reset her warp trajectory. It looked like the Faya beaches had to wait, at least for now.

  “Check. Fox out.” She cut the line and hit the light-wheel.

  Her ship snapped into warp.

  7

  The Old Man

  The old man paused before entering the open chamber. He wore an eye-patch over his left eye, and when he spoke, it sounded like steel wrapped in hot iron. Strong. Commanding. Like he was used to being listened to with respect. The air around him almost seemed to crackle with energy despite the advanced age evidenced by his double-braided white beard and flowing hair.

  “Welcome,” was all he said.

  Stella surprised herself by speaking. “Who're you?”

  He laughed, and it was a warm sound that quickly set her at ease. Mtumba, too. Even with the eye-patch. He didn't look like a pirate. Or...what were they called? Brigands? He was far too old, she figured.

  “You can call me John, I suppose,” he crinkled a smile at them, “but I'm more curious about you three. Where did you come from?” He raised a thick left eyebrow.

  Mtumba answered him. “We're refugees. Lost. Our ship blew up and we landed here.”

  “Obviously,” the man replied genially. He leaned forward on his staff. “I'm glad to see you're all right. That must have been quite an explosion.” He gestured at the gaping hole in the wall he'd just walked through. Stella and Mtumba shared a glance, and old John continued. “How would you like some hot tea and a meal? My cottage isn't far, and I doubt you'll run across many more doddering old men in this area,” he chuckled. He clearly wasn't the type who doddered, Stella decided.

  They nodded, following him at a quick pace down the side of the mountain, keeping inside his steps on the rough narrow trail, through a long canyon of snow and stone, seeing the mountain from the other side now, she supposed. Stella was breathing hard and working up a sweat, and Mtumba huffed a bit from the exertion. She wondered at how the old man could be so fast. Their breath steamed in the cold air, though it seemed warmer than yesterday. They followed old John all the way to a large stone gate set within an immensely tall wall of ice.

  “Almost there,” the old man said, tapping his staff on the ground three times. “This way.”

  As they approached, the doors groaned open wide, revealing a magical vision. Stella didn't even believe it at first. Through the gate were things that her mind told her couldn't exist in this icy waste. Fields of green grass. A large lake of what looked like clean water. Trees gently swaying to a melody only they could hear.

  A warm breeze welcomed them in, and they followed the old man inside, staring wide-eyed at the suddenly verdant landscape around them. Mtumba was looking around in shock at everything, and Stella was too stunned to let anything escape from her lips other than, “Huh.” The old man must have noticed, because she heard him laugh softly.

  Rok appeared highly intrigued by the drastic disparity between the other side of the gate and this one. He looked behind them a few times, just confirming it was real.

  The old man led them to a small white cottage set amidst a low garden of cabbages, squash, carrots, and other plants she didn't recognize. She looked behind them, and saw the gate had closed itself. Above them, the sky seemed unchanged. Magic, she decided. If she believed in magic, that is. Which she didn't. She shook off the thought and kept moving.

  “Mind you step around the radishes, not on them,” the man said with a grandfatherly smile, crossing the porch and opening the door to the cottage. They went in and he motioned for the three youths to sit at a small wooden table by the window looking out at the garden. So they sat, not sure what to think as they looked around the charming interior.

  A warm fire crackled in the hearth, and the cozy room was neatly organized with quilts, cookware, leather-bound books, and big glass jars of purple jam and pickled fruit. Stella caught the familiar scent of lilacs from her left, and noticed a vibrant floral arrangement by the window. Mtumba looked at her with a nod of approval at the tidy cottage. They were finally safe and warm, and Stella could feel herself relax.

  “Here we are,” the old man chuckled as he brought over a tray of cups, a kettle, and some buttered biscuits. “Good and warm.” He set a cup in front of each of them, and a fourth out for himself. Old John lifted the teakettle and carefully poured them all a divine lavender-scented brew. Stella was in heaven. Mtumba dove right into the biscuits. As they sipped the tea, Stella's tension melted away, and tears fell down her face. They were all okay now. Mtumba drank in silence, eyes closed and breathing slow. Rok was fascinated by all of it, and munched on a tasty biscuit while he took in their surroundings.

  “It's all right,” old John said. “You're safe now.”

  Stella felt a surge of gratitude, and walked over to hug old John. He seemed surprised, but patted her gently on the shoulder with an understanding sigh. After a while, Mtumba and Rok came over, too. John let it go on for a few moments, then shooed them back to their seats with a chuckle.

  “So, I'd very much like to hear how you ended up in that mountain,” old John said as he stood to ladle four earthen bowls of thick, hearty stew from the pot over the fire, “and I'm curious how you made it through that rather significant explosion.” He put the bowls on plates, loaded them up with bread and hummus, and rejoined them at the table.

  Stella and Mtumba related what had happened between spoonfuls of the hearty vegetable stew, mopping it up with the chunks of thick almond bread and spicy hummus. By the time they were finished eating, and had washed everything down with a cool glass of water, John was nodding respectfully, and the sun was setting. John put some more wood on the hearth fire, then made cots for them, each boasting a thick quilted blanket and big, fluffy pillow on a plush down mattress. Heaven...or close enough for now, Stella decided as she pulled the covers up to her chin with a yawn.

  Mtumba looked over at her and whispered, “I'm glad he found us.”

  Stella nodded. “Me too, Mtumba. Me too.” She closed her eyes and started to dream about how maybe old John could help them find their families. Maybe they could make it to the garden Citadel, after al...

  “Hey, you ever gonna tell me your name?” Mtumba whispered hopefully.

  She laugh
ed and turned on her side. “You can call me Stella. Now go to sleep. I'm wicked tired.”

  “Cool,” he said. “Good night...Stella.”

  She let out a contented sigh and finally sank into a deep, blissful slumber. The soothing melody of an old lullaby floated in from the porch, reminding her of when her mother had played it for her. Stella hadn't felt this comfortable or safe in months. Soon she was softly snoring, dreaming about raking the fallen leaves with her father. They were at the house they'd lived in when her mother had still been alive. They were welcome dreams, even though bittersweet.

  Out on the porch, John strummed his guitar and looked up at the stars. “Interesting,” he whispered, and paused to drink the last of his herbal tea. “I wonder how much more time I have.” Not much, he figured, but shrugged and settled into his chair, leaning his instrument against the wall. He closed his eyes and let himself fall asleep under the clear night sky.

  The next morning found them busy with chores. Turned out the old man had a goat, a cow, a donkey, and two horses. Beautiful horses, Stella had to admit. Andalusians, he'd called them when she'd asked. Stella asked if she could ride one, and he'd said he'd teach her later if she took care of the chickens. Oh, yeah, he also had chickens. She snorted, and a persnickety red hen ran between her legs, clucking.

  “Hey!” she said.

  “Hey,” said Mtumba, walking up with a trowel in his hand.

  “Oh, hi Mtumba.”

  “What? Oh.” He looked embarrassed. “Um, I wanted to talk to you about Rok.”

  “Uh-huh?” she asked, going around the outside of the henhouse and picking up the eggs through the slots. One of the hens pecked at her, but fortunately, she was fast enough to avoid being nicked...this time. She was reminded of earlier when she'd been caught lagging, evidenced by the red scratches on her hands. She'd learned quickly that this was no game for the timid.