Magus Star Rising

Beware of those emburdened.

The settlement may be at odds with the Way.

THE SCROLLS OF VANERA

A Debt Repaid

Luis Ortega tried to act as nonchalantly as he could which, for him, was almost impossible considering where he was. He had been to the Yharria a few times in the past, had even stayed overnight on a home visit in one of its residential districts, tending to a hospice patient’s return to his world.

But he could never get used to it.

He consulted his map, wandered up to a food vendor and saw, to his surprise, that among the various edibles served there, coffee was high on the list. He bought a cup and sipped it thoughtfully.

Not bad, he thought, delighted. Delicioso.

Throughout the Rim World Conglomerate, the ubiquitous caffeine-laden beverage had become quite popular and had spread like a weed, becoming a real constant among the many world-members’ diverse goods and services. The facially-augmented vendor, who looked more like a rodent than any classification of sentient, seemed out-of-place selling the Terran beverage but Ortega knew everyone here had to have a gimmick.

Although coffee’s the last thing I need, keyed up as I am.

He walked to the corner of the large street, weaving his way in and out of the usual eclectic groups the Yharria attracted. He was dressed in simple jeans, t-shirt and light jacket. This time of early evening could tend to be chilly. He looked at the map again and stopped at an intersection of the main street and a small interconnecting one. Looking up at the street signs, he leaned against the wall of a corner shop, trying to be as inconspicuous as possible.

I wonder why he wants to meet here? he thought, his nerves jangling just a little. It’s so crowded.

But, really, the question on Ortega’s mind was why did he want to meet him at all?

He had gotten the data-tube message early this morning at his home by commercial messenger. It read, “I am the Puman you helped. You used a shock lance to divert my prey. Meet me at the corner of Barsa and Yetuk Lane this early moon in the Yharria. Come alone and tell no one.”

At first Ortega thought it was a joke. But neither he or Weller had told the Karda how the hospice worker had interfered in the struggle between the Puman and Kazrah. Somehow, that didn’t seem relevant to Arshelle or the deaths of Nunek Honin-Zay and his mistress.

Initially, he decided not to go. But curiosity could be a stronger motivator than fear sometimes. Besides, the sender of the message obviously knew where Ortega lived.

Per instructions, he had told no one about the message. Not even Marsha, who, Ortega thought with a smile, had become more of a regular fixture in his life the past few days.

He had needed someone to confide in and take his side after the terrible events at the Honin-Zay mansion and Marsha had filled that role enthusiastically. And more. Both had become closer as friends as a result. For one ‘evil’ moment, Ortega had even thought about renouncing his celibacy vow.

Foolish old man. At least you’re not that ‘stiff old turd’ anymore.

The hospice brotherhood, on the other hand, had been outraged Ortega had acted in such a ‘rash and dangerous manner’, according to their words. Some type of punishment had to be meted out.

But, since nothing like this had ever happened before in the hospice’s history, Ortega had been given a temporary leave of absence until the primary council could meet and decide on some plan of action.

Ortega sighed. He had it easy, relatively speaking. It was Iolyn Honin-Zay who would probably get the worst of it. Shock and outrage had rippled through Frenati City’s clan elite at this most heinous of crimes, the murder of a high-born husband with the wife wallowing in suspicious circumstances. Yet, in the end, Ortega reasoned, the Honin-Zay clan itself would probably be more than eager to maintain a low profile and to keep everything as quiet as possible.

Banishment, he thought. Exile. The Karda will probably defer to local custom in this matter as far as the Honin-Zays are concerned.

Arshelle, though, was another story. Ortega, Weller and Behoola testified that Kazrah had been the killer of Hunek Honin-Zay and his mistress. No mention was made of Arshelle per the threesome’s quickly agreed-upon consensus. Iolyn Honin-Zay was too ill to add any details to the attacks at that time although the Karda had questioned her later.

It all seemed for the best. They would find Arshelle and try to help her. Though, how they would accomplish that, was something they hadn’t figured out yet. The heat of the moment had goaded them to such an action.

But now, in retrospect... To lie and aid a murderer in her escape. Ortega winced as if in physical pain. I hope we’ve done the right thing.

His mind returned to the present, however, when he saw the Puman walking toward him. Ortega’s nervousness cranked up a notch. What did the Puman want with him? He wondered yet again as he set the plasti-foam coffee cup down on a window ledge.

The man-cat was impressive. He strode through the crowds as if they were made of air. Everyone opened a way for him. He exuded, even at this distance, a powerful aura of strength and intelligence, much more so than other Pumans Ortega had encountered.

And he had seen what he had done to Kazrah. This was no one to be trifled with.

He walked up to Ortega, his muscular body wrapped in a long cloak, similar to the one found on Iolyn Honin-Zay. Though he faced Ortega, part of his awareness seemed to be focused on the crowds and the area surrounding them.

“Luis Ortega.” The man-cat’s voice was low and edged with a slight vibrato. His accent was very slight. The look he gave Ortega held no visible animosity.

“Yes.” Ortega inadvertently backed up a step. He was afraid anyway.

“You are in no danger,” the Puman said as if reading his thoughts. “I am here to repay a debt.”

“What? I... I’m sorry?” Ortega returned the Puman’s heated gaze. Those eyes were like old, Terran marble. Cold and intense. He suddenly felt as if he and the Puman were completely alone. The crowd noise suddenly seemed distant, the man-cat the only thing he saw and heard. It was as if the Puman possessed some type of energy so great it could block out any distractions. “A debt? I don’t understand.”

The Puman nudged Ortega slightly with a clawed hand, gently but firmly steering him into the empty sidestreet although Ortega knew he would have not been able to break that grip, gentle or not. “You helped me, possibly saved my life. I will not let that deed go unpaid.”

Ortega blinked. This was not what he expected.

“Why?” the Puman asked. “Why did you interfere on my side?” Something in his stoic manner conveyed to Ortega that he needed to answer that question.

And answer it he did, without hesitation. “You showed kindness to the mistress of that house, wrapped her in your cloak and turned on the oil-globes to allow us to find her quickly. You didn’t have to do that, surely.”

The Puman uttered a low, rumbling growl. “That can be a fatal mistake in my line of work. I am not even sure why I bothered.”

“But bother you did. And I based my actions on that. I don’t think the Senitte you fought would have helped as you did.”

The Puman seemed to consider that statement a moment, nodded and then said, “The woman, the bau-bau I believe you call her, is staying in the rooms above the tailor shop at the end of this street.”

Ortega jerked in surprise. “Arshelle? I mean...”

The Puman stopped and pointed to where the street open-ended into a small cul-de-sac. Four multi-story housing units encircled the rounded causeway. “I have tracked her to the second story dwelling in that building there. She was injured in her fall and is weak and ill, although that seems unrelated to her jumping off the balcony. Her illness seems to be caused by something else.”

Ortega frowned. Does it? I wonder... Is her body rejecting its change like Iolyn Honin-Zay’s did hers?

“As a result, her shapeshifting abilities are poor, at best, though she has killed at least once since her arrival here. However, she has not left her rooms for the last two suns. Her already deteriorating physical condition has worsened.”

Ortega cast the Puman a bewildered look. “How...?”

“Realize it is my business to know such things.” The Puman stopped and faced Ortega. “It took courage to do what you did,” he said. “I respect that. I give you a choice, or choices. I can bring this Arshelle out for you to do with her what you will. I can leave you now to do whatever you want, contact the authorities, ignore the situation entirely, whatever. Or...”

The Puman paused, almost theatrically. Ortega felt a chill as he anticipated what the man-cat would say next.

“Or I can take care of the problem for you now.”

“Take care of the problem?”

The Puman stared, his gaze never wavering.

“What are you saying?” Ortega asked. “Are we to be judge and executioner? I cannot sanction such action!”

“Then who should sanction it? The Karda? The family members of her victims? Will that be justice or a mob seeking revenge? Think of the attention that will be generated, the... publicity.”

Yes, even now, people gather outside the Honin-Zay mansion, hoping for a glimpse of the merchant’s wife. Ortega slumped forward, bringing his hands to his face. “Surely this is not my decision to make,” he said. “I cannot play god.”

“We all play god in one way or another,” the Puman said. “Have you never allowed a patient of yours a merciful, dignified death in your work?”

Ortega looked up, startled. “Of... of course. Such patients were suffering and could not even be kept comfortable any more. We had the blessing of the family, the permission...”

“Consider the circumstances here as you know them. Can you really help this creature? How many more will she kill if left alone? And is she, herself, suffering beyond your understanding? Will she ever be what she used to be?”

Ortega looked at the Puman. “Why me?” he said.

This time the Puman answered without hesitating. “You cared for this fem while she was a patient in the hospice. In a sense, you are a part of her family. I believe you will do the right thing, just as you did the other night.”

The right thing. What is that? Would my decision be the same as Behoola’s?

“Then why didn’t you just kill her? Why involve me at all?”

The Puman looked away, as if caught off-guard. “There are times when I too cannot play god.”

“I don’t know. I can’t... I must have time to think and to consult the others.”

“I am leaving here soon, as soon as this business is done, in fact. I have stayed much longer than I anticipated gathering this information. I would have remained to help you that night at the Honin-Zay estate but for the hunt I was engaged in. Time is always of the essence in my profession. Just like now. I cannot stay any longer. You must act, or not act, now.”

Ortega felt a slow anger building. “You call this repaying a debt? It sounds more like an ultimatum!”

The Puman shrugged. “I am sorry if that is the way you interpret it. Think of what you Terrans refer to as ‘the big picture’. Your lives will be affected by whatever happens here today, of course, but at least you can have some type of... of...”

“Closure.”

“Yes. That is the word.”

“Behoola, Arshelle’s sister, said she would never rest until she found Arshelle,” Ortega murmured, more to himself. “Her life would never return to normal until this was resolved in one way or another. She agonizes over the events of the past few days almost constantly although she keeps it hidden. But I’ve seen her. I know.”

Closure. Getting on with our lives. There’s been enough tragedy the last few days. If there’s any way to shorten it, to, at least, create a chance for a new beginning.

“Very well,” Ortega said. His hands shook. “God forgive me, do it.”

The Puman nodded. “She has a book of lasepics in her possession. I will bring this back to you as evidence the job has been completed.”

Yes. No more decapitated heads, please. “Fine.”

As the Puman turned to go, Ortega stopped him. “Wait,” he said. “I sense that you don’t really like this line-of-work you’re in, do you? How did it happen? How did someone like you get this way?”

The Puman chuffed, a small snorting sound which almost seemed like laughter to Ortega. “That is a rather long story,” he said. “Suffice to say, it was mainly being forced to make decisions like the one you just made.”

He took a step closer to Ortega, his eyes glowing with some inner fire. “However, unlike some of the choices I made, the one you made is the right one. Believe me. Remember that as you get on with the rest of your life. Sometimes hard problems call for hard solutions. That advice is part of my repayment to you.”

He turned to look up the street from where they had entered, as if searching for someone. “However, one benefit of this ‘line-of-work’, as you say, is that, occasionally, I can help someone. After this is done, I will be escorting one of my sisters back home. She has suffered much in an Outlander enclave. She will be Puman again. Such action, though rare, helps me to sleep at night.”

He looked at Ortega and nodded. “I will take care of the disposal and burial. Wait here.”

With Ortega staring wide-eyed, the Puman turned again and walked into the cul-de-sac.