The Simpleton QUEST

by Mark Wayne McGinnis

  First, Langer teetered and toppled over backwards, then Calph went down. By now the heads, hundreds of them, were all begging for help. Cuddy could just barely make out Calph’s original head—his face. Making eye contact, Calph mouthed the words, Please kill me…please, Cuddy…kill me.

  But in the end, Cuddy wasn’t obliged to make that difficult decision. From nearby came a startling eruption of weapon fire. First Calph’s life, then Langer’s life were terminated and—one by one—too many heads to count became still.

  Cuddy turned to the Howsh holding the energy rifle, and said, “Thank you, Marzon. That must have been very difficult for you.”

  The big Howsh looked somber. Cuddy wasn’t really sure what Marzon and Calph’s relationship had been, but it obviously went beyond officer and subordinate.

  “Really…what in God’s name made you come up with a curse that does…that?” Tony asked, peering over at Haffan.

  Cuddy was well aware Tony was just being Tony, trying to break up the tension. But Haffan, still childlike, wasn’t used to Tony’s dark humor and looked horrified. Guilt and sadness began to fill her eyes. On the brink of tears, she ran to Cuddy. He opened his arms and swept her up, turning them away from the grotesque scene.

  Real nice,” Jackie said glaring at Tony.

  As her tears flowed—to the point he could feel wetness on his shirt—Cuddy was unsure what to say to her—how to make things better. Giving her a few pats on her back, he thought about Tony’s question and wondered the same thing. How did anyone come up with such an awful curse?

  “Here…give her to me,” Jackie said, her hands raised. “You’re not helping.” Cuddy transferred Haffan to Jackie and watched as she softly, and soothingly, comforted the child.

  Kyle, standing at Cuddy’s side, asked, “What the hell do we do now? Go back to Primara? Go back to searching for heritage pods?”

  Cuddy studied the jumble of animal hide scrolls strewn upon the ground. “According to Tow, the future of the Pashier, also the Howsh, hinges on us finding this Prophesy of Harkstrong. We need to find out what’s written in those nine scrolls. Personally, I’d like to keep going with this. Finish what we started. But it needs to be a unanimous decision. I have a feeling things aren’t going to get any easier.”

  “Or any less lethal, “Kyle added.

  Chapter 34

  Seven years ago… approaching Nashville, Tennessee

  Staring out the car window, the outside world flew past Cuddy in a blur of muted colors and undefined shapes. He liked the somewhat familiar song playing but didn’t remember what it was called. Suddenly the radio started making an awful noise, like an alarm. A voice now speaking on the radio was so serious. An important announcement, he said. At the mention of something called an Amber Alert, Slatch stiffened upright in his seat. Judging by his response to the robotic-sounding voice, it was clear Slatch very much cared about what was being said. Cuddy listened as the voice spoke about a mentally impaired boy abducted in Woodbury.

  Slatch quickly fumbled for the knob. Angry, he swore and the radio was switched off.

  “That’s where I’m from…and you too, Slatch. Woodbury.”

  “Ignore what he said.”

  “And I’m mentally imp…whatever that word was he said.”

  “I said to ignore it!” Slatch barked. “It’ll all be worth it…when your pa gets to see you again. He’ll be mightily happy…and he’ll forgive me…no doubt about that.”

  “Forgive you for what?” Cuddy asked.

  Slatch didn’t say anything for several moments. “Nothing…go back to looking out the window. We’ll be in Nashville in a few minutes.”

  “To see my pa…yeah…I still remember. Yup, he’s going to be real happy to see me.”

  He watched as Slatch checked the rearview mirror for the hundredth time. What’s so important back there? Cuddy wondered.

  “There she is…you can see the skyline up ahead.”

  “Nashville!”

  “That’s right.”

  “What’s in Nashville?”

  “Your pa. But other than him…well…there’s the Country Music Hall of Fame. There’s something called the Parthenon. A copy of a famous building in Italy, or maybe Greece.”

  “Yeah?”

  “And there’s the Johnny Cash museum…”

  “Okay. Does my pa live near there?”

  “No. He lives in a place called the Lucky Apartments.”

  “That sounds like a nice place.”

  For some reason, the comment made Slatch chuckle. Rolling down his window, he spat out another gob of tobacco juice. Then up came the window and Slatch again twisted the knob on the radio. Stevie Wonder was singing about sunshine. A song Cuddy knew—had heard before falling off the hayloft. A song locked away in his memories and, thankfully, never to be forgotten. It was a great song. Cuddy pictured his pa. Maybe in that same moment also listening to the radio at the Lucky Apartments. Maybe he too liked Stevie Wonder and was tapping his toe in rhythm to the catchy melody.

  Slatch pointed to a big green highway sign up ahead. “Here we go. This is our exit.” He turned the Rambler’s big steering wheel and descended an off-amp. The car curved around and around before the road straightened out. Slatch noticed Cuddy was showing signs of becoming mentally confused again. Starting to forget.

  “We’re on our way over to see your pa, boy. We’re in Nashville…where he lives. You’re dog’s back at home. Oh, and my name is Slatch.”

  “I remember that. Well…some of that,” Cuddy said, nevertheless glancing into the backseat in case Slatch was wrong about Rufus. “Why are you sweating so much?” Cuddy asked. “Maybe you should open a window.”

  Slatch gestured back, making a few fingers wave on the hand positioned at two o’clock on the steering wheel. “I’m fine. Humid here is all.”

  Cuddy hadn’t known what to expect Nashville to look like—but this sure wasn’t it. Most of the houses along the road were boarded up. A good number of them had yards strewn with old appliances, or wheel-less broken down cars, sitting up on cinder blocks. What once had been houses, long since burned to the ground, were now only charged chunks of timber. There was a definite sadness to the place.

  “You must have made a wrong turn, or something, Slatch. My pa wouldn’t live in a place like this. Maybe you should pull over and get some directions. There’s a guy up ahead on the sidewalk, pushing a grocery cart…let’s ask him where the Lucky Apartments are.”

  “I know where it is. Not far. We’re on the right road.”

  “He might not be home. We might have come all this way and he’s out. Like at the post office. Or washing his car, or something.”

  “Nah…he knows we’re coming.”

  “How’s that?”

  “I called him before we left.” Slatch fished a hand into a pocket on his overalls and came out with a cellphone. One of the older kind, you flipped open to use. Cuddy was curious why Slatch hadn’t told him that before. But maybe he had and he just didn’t remember. Still, something felt off.

  The car slowed and pulled over to the curb. High up on rusted metal supports was a big sign with faded red lettering. Cuddy needed to crane his neck to see it all on account of its being so high. He had no doubt the sign read The Lucky Apartments. Beneath the sign was a dilapidated two-story building. The surrounding second-level walkway was missing part of an iron railing, which Cuddy thought was pretty unsafe. The lime-green doors each had a number on them…well, most of them did. Some only showed a faded impression where the number once fitted.

  “My pa…he lives here?”

  “This is it. Just remember, his home is his castle. Go on, hop on out.”

  Cuddy did as told and waited on the crumbling sidewalk. Getting a whiff of strong perfume, he turned to see a lady in a short skirt approaching from down the sidewalk.

  Ruby-red lips smiled at him. “Hi sweetie…your shoe’s untied.”

  Cuddy glanced down and noticed she was right. By the tim
e he looked back up, her high heels were clicking and clattering up a concrete stairway—partially hidden by an overgrown shrub.

  Cuddy wiped his sweaty palms on his trousers, all of a sudden feeling nervous. He wondered what he’d say to him when he finally saw his father. Not sure he’d recognize him, since it had been a lot of years. He wasn’t sure how many.

  Slatch, coming around the car’s rear end, headed for the same stairs the lady had taken. “Come on, boy. Let’s go meet the other Mr. Perkins.”

  Cuddy trailed after him, stumped. What did Slatch mean? What other Mr. Perkins?

  By the time they reached the top of the stairs, Cuddy’s confused second thoughts had evaporated. More than ever, he was truly excited about seeing his pa again. He’d have quite the story to tell Ma and Kyle. And Jackie! She’d want to hear all about it too.

  Slatch, up ahead, held a slip of paper in his hand and would peer at it every once in a while, comparing the numbers on it to the doors he passed. Cuddy hurried—trying to catch up to where Slatch stood. It looked like Slatch had found the right door, though he sure looked concerned.

  Excitement had built to the point Cuddy could hardly contain himself. Approaching Slatch, Cuddy saw the door hung partially open. Pa had done that for them! Such a nice gesture!

  Slatch, looking back at him and in the process of raising a curtailing hand, was shaking his head. But Cuddy’s physical and emotional momentum carried him past the old farmer straight past door 29 of the Lucky Apartments.

  “Pa?…it’s me, Cuddy.” He waited a moment for his eyes to adjust to the dimness inside, finding the curtains were drawn. An old couch and one chair were in the sitting room. Paper plates—some with partially eaten meals—covered a coffee table. Busy cockroaches scurried from one plate to another. “Pa!”

  “Cuddy, wait! Come back outside,” Slatch said, lingering in the doorway. He seemed to be frightened.

  Cuddy had noticed the strong odor when he first entered the room. It was gross—sweet and putrid. Giving a furtive glance into the nearby kitchenette, Cuddy figured Pa was pretty much a slob. More dirty plates. More bugs. “Pa! It’s Cuddy! Hello…I’ve come to visit.”

  “Damn it, Cuddy, get back out here! Come on outside next to me,” Slatch pleaded.

  No way! They’d come all this way. Leave now without at least saying hi? Cuddy tentatively moved into a narrow hallway. Two doors—both closed. He chose the one on the right, knocked then entered. The curtains were wide open and Cuddy knew this was Pa’s bedroom. An unmade bed, with dingy sheets and a threadbare blanket, covered a partially exposed mattress, lying on the floor. No other furniture, only several large black garbage bags strewn around. Cuddy noted a couple of the bags held rumpled clothing.

  “Cuddy…you can’t be in there. Please, come back outside.”

  The smell, if possible, had only gotten worse; even this far away from the kitchen. Good God…what was that stench?

  Cuddy closed the bedroom door and, turning, knocked on the second door. He only heard the drip drip drip sound of water inside. The bathroom. “Pa? You okay in there?” Cuddy slowly opened the door, not immediately recognizing the man hanging from the pipe. He wore nice clothes—the kind people wore when they went to church. His face was discolored, purplish and bloated—a leather belt tightly cinched around his neck. A continuous dribble of water, flowing down from the showerhead, ran across his cheek and dripped off his chin. Cuddy stared into the one open eye that was cloudy and vacant. Of course, Cuddy knew the man was dead. He was highly forgetful but not stupid. And he also knew that the man hanging down from the brown leather belt was indeed his father.

  Cuddy spoke up, just loud enough for the hanging man to hear, “Why did you do this to yourself, Pa? Didn’t you want to see me again?”

  Cuddy heard Slatch talking to someone outside on the walkway. Perhaps to someone on his cellphone, since he only heard Slatch’s voice. He was apologizing over and over again.

  Cuddy was okay, being alone with his pa. He knew this would be the only time—the last time—he’d be in his presence again. He knew too he would forget this moment. It might take ten minutes, or an hour, but forget it he would. So he waited near his father and thought about things, trying to make some sense of it all. He leaned there within the open threshold and stared at the dead man. He stayed there for a long time. Perhaps an hour—perhaps two. He listened to the dripping water and Slatch outside pacing and pleading for him to come back out. Cuddy ignored him. Instead, he told pa about the things he still could remember—about Rufus and Jackie and Kyle, too. And about the old ranch house falling into disrepair—about Ellie in the barn and that she didn’t liked to be ridden by anyone except Jackie.

  When he heard Momma’s voice outside on the walkway, he wondered how long he’d been standing there. A distant siren was getting louder. Soon, her arms came around him and she gently guided him away—away from the small bathroom where his dead father hung from a shower pipe.

  Chapter 35

  Vaults of Calirah — present day…

  They each offered up their own two-cent’s worth of advice. Giving the pros and cons of whether it was time to head back to Earth, go to Primara, or stay focused on their quest. In the end, Kyle, Tony, Jackie and Cuddy were in agreement. Young Haffan didn’t voice an opinion either way. They decided they would finish their mission together. Using the nine scrolls, they’d follow, somehow, the clues set forth within those ancient writings. Whatever it took, they’d track down the Prophesy of Harkstrong and then hand it over to Tow.

  Speaking in low tones, and huddled close together within the Calirah rock cavern, Cuddy almost forgot about the eight lingering Howsh soldiers. They hadn’t left yet, busily preparing the deceased commanders for transport. The two disfigured bodies were now wrapped in large blankets, found within the museum halls. It struck Cuddy the whole contingent would need a ride—perhaps back to Tripette City on Mahli.

  Hunched, and looking miserable, Marzon approached them. “I am ready.”

  Cuddy and Kyle exchanged a quick glance.

  “Ready?” Kyle repeated.

  “To be imprisoned, of course,” Marzon said, staring at his feet.

  Cuddy raised up a restraining hand to keep the others from saying anything. “And you think that is an appropriate punishment…for what you’ve done?”

  He sniffed nervously. “I fired on…the human, your friend, Brian Horowitz. Then stood by while that other human was abused.

  Tony nodded scornfully, in a way that said, yeah…thanks for that, asshole.

  “No. Imprisonment will only be a precursor to what must come later. My execution.”

  “I see.” Cuddy sighed, letting out a lengthy breath.

  Marzon continued, “The brig…unfortunately, is not yet completed on your vessel. So I suggest manacles…chained within the Farlight’s aft under-hold.”

  “My vessel?” Cuddy asked, bewildered.

  Though Marzon’s head remained lowered, for the first time his eyes glanced up at Cuddy. “Lorgue Supreme Eminence Calph, when you all came aboard, assigned each an officer position. Well…not the sprout. You were assigned as the Captain’s first.”

  “First…as in second in command…the XO?”

  “I thought you knew,” Marzon said. “The vessel Farlight is a stolen Howsh prototype. The ship, and its crew, are now under your command, Captain Perkins.”

  Cuddy let that sink in. The Farlight was an amazing vessel. A true warship, with advanced capabilities he mostly was clueless about. Whereas the Evermore could practically be piloted singlehandedly, the Farlight required a full complement of specialized crew.

  Kyle said, “We need to take command of that ship, Cuddy. I’m sure Bob’s piloted the Evermore all the way back to Primara by now. I also assume we’re not the only ones searching for the elusive Prophesy of Harkstrong-thing.”

  Cuddy, giving the eight, standing-up straight, soldiers a sideways glance, found some had weapons slung over a shoulder, while others held
onto theirs in a casual—unthreatening—manner. But he figured whomever it was Langer once reported to, perhaps his brother Norsh, would not take defeat lying down.

  “What about these soldiers. What about the Dubon tial?”

  “They have not shared much information with me,” Marzon replied. “I overheard something about this being a special mission, directed by Council Member Leshand. He desperately wanted the Prophesy of Harkstrong found. For what reason, I do not know. The Howsh soldiers around us are unsure about me. A former crewmember on a vessel that was stolen, I could be considered as much an enemy to them as they suspect you are. I presume they will return to their ship, along with the scrolls, and request further orders. Orders from the Howsh high council.”

  Cuddy nodded. “For now, your incarceration will have to wait, Marzon. You’ll continue with your duties onboard the Farlight. Understood?”

  The big Howsh suddenly seemed to grow in stature. With his head raised high, and his shoulders squared, he replied, “I would be honored, Captain Perkins.”

  Cuddy looked about the cavern. The Howsh soldiers were preparing to leave. Leave carrying the nine scrolls, which presented a problem. They needed to be faced now, or faced later. But he wasn’t about to start killing—them or anyone else.

  “Introduce me to them,” Cuddy said.

  Marzon hesitated a moment then nodded. Cuddy, watching him turn away, heading toward the assemblage of Howsh soldiers, turned to Haffan and spoke to her telepathically. I know you can hear me.

  Without looking at him, she responded, So…what if I can?

  Will you do me a favor?

  What kind of favor?

  In a moment, while I talk to those Howsh soldiers, can you use TK to secretly gather up the nine scrolls, the ones lying over there on the ground, then hide them, and yourself, around here somewhere?

  Her eyes roved toward the rolled-up scrolls, mostly lying near the soldiers’ feet. With a glint of mischief in her eyes, she silently affirmed, Sure, I can do that.