7. The Hidden Light

"Dad?"

Avocato looked up from the charts he was reviewing. Curled up in a crumbled ball on the seat beside him, Little Cato was studying him just as closely. "Yes?"

"Do you like Gary?"

Avocato blinked at the unexpected question. "As much as anybody, I suppose. Sit up straight."

"Really?" Little Cato pushed himself upright. His disbelief said all. "You spend more time with him than with anyone else here but me!"

"Maybe. Where are you going with this?"

"I was just wondering if you like him. Like, like like him."

"Like like like?" echoed Avocato.

He gestured with an open paw, his eyes just a step away from the Eyebrows of Everything. "As in . . . attraction?"

Finally cottoning on, Avocato gave him an amused smirk. "What if I do?"

Little Cato smiled, pleased with himself. "I think it's a good idea."

"And what if I don't?" challenged Avocato.

"Then I think you need to spend more time with him until you do."

Avocato chuckled gently. "You know, Ventrexians have a reputation for being absolute snobs when it comes to other races. Especially relationships with other species."

"You're not snobbish."

"I'm sure there's plenty who would argue otherwise."

"Huh." Little Cato took a moment to come up with a counter to that statement. It was quite true. Ventrexians rarely found other races to be attractive, and almost never took mates outside of their own species. Still, his adopted father had, at this point, spent far more of his life outside of Ventrexian society than in it, and by choice and necessity was more open-minded than most other beings. "Not our fault other races aren't as impressive as we are."

"And every rule has its exceptions," agreed Avocato with a knowing glint in his eye. His expression was answer enough for Little Cato. There was most definitely something there between his dad and his friend.

Little Cato picked up a padd from the table, just to have something to do with his hands. "I know a lot of the officers and faction leaders don't trust him, but I do. They don't know him like I do. Or like you do." Avocato held out his paw, and he handed off the padd. "When you're stuck for a few months with no one else to talk to, you kinda get to know a guy."

"Especially one that never stops talking," Avocato added softly.

Little Cato grinned. "You've got to admit, he keeps things interesting."

"There is that. Lively, too. He's unschooled, but not unintelligent. And he is good company. That you trust Gary means a great deal to me, believe me."

"Wait - wow! Did I hear that right, Dad? You called him Gary!"

Avocato made a face. "That is his name. Speaking of which . . ." He activated the padd and adjusted the function. He frowned as he studied the data before him.

"What is it? Something wrong?"

"The comm unit I gave Gary has a tracker in it." He handed Little Cato the padd so he could see for himself. "The Crimson Light is passing by the G'Qui Nebula. That's the wrong course to reach the rendezvous with our allies at Castina."

Little Cato looked up anxiously. "What does that mean?"

"That means Clarence has done exactly what I expected him to do. It would have been nice if he surprised me for once, but this means all bets are off." He tapped a button on the padd. "Bridge, this is General Avocato. Let Captain Nere know it's time to activate phase two." He sighed, weary, leaning back and closing his eyes for a moment. "Also, tell her to reach out to Green Eyes immediately and relay It's a go."

"Right away, General," replied the ensign at the comm station.

"Alert my command team I'll be transferring my flag to the Imbara corvette at the end of this duty shift. Have them and the Imbara prepare for my arrival, and have a shuttle ready."

"Yes, sir."

"Green Eyes?" asked Little Cato, taking the padd after his father was done and passing him a glass of water.

"Code name. He picked it." Letting his son baby him, Avocato took a sip, waiting a long moment to swallow. He closed his eyes, trying not to waste his time or energy hating what had been done to him by the akusan. Instead, he focused on the barely-detectable hum of the ship as the engines were engaged and the lightfold system calibrated in preparation for an extended jump.

Guessing by his tone that this agent was as good as he was annoying and knowing better than to ask who it was, Little Cato wondered softly, "Are they going after Gary?"

Opening his eyes, he nodded, taking another sip and letting his son consider the situation. Finally, he said, "As a leader, it's important to know the nature and motivations of the people you trust. Even though he's in the process of betraying us, I do trust Clarence. I trust that no matter the situation, he'll do whatever profits him the most. There's a bounty out for E-thir . . . Mooncake. Clarence must have realized he's got a fortune on his ship and, as expected, he's put himself before his integrity." He drank more water, watching Little Cato and waiting for him to figure things out.

"So . . . you're using Clarence," the prince reasoned slowly. Impromptu lessons in leadership like this were nothing new for Little Cato. His adopted father was a true leader and a good teacher, better than the tutors Little Cato sat in classes with now, and his wisdom was always relevant.

"To do what?"

Sitting back, Little Cato gradually picked out the thread of logic from the tapestry of the battle plan.

"Clarence would have to contact the Lord Commander to collect the bounty, and then go meet the fleet or wait for them to come to him."

"Which is safer?"

"Waiting. He'll be easier to find, too. The fleet's already left Tera Con Prime because Mooncake was spotted on Belitruse VI, now they'll go to the G'Qui Nebula or wherever he stops to pick him up."

"Why?"

"You said the Lord Commander has no patience."

"Not a scrap. Neither does Viro."

"The fleet will have to escort the Lord Commander if he's on his ship. Plus, the Lord Commander is really sick. He was in rough shape last time I saw him. He's probably a rotted lump by now. Why is that?"

"His own powers are destroying him. I'm not sure how or why, but that's the reason he needs Mooncake."

"Well, if he's that sick, he probably doesn't have much time. He'll come himself!"

Avocato nodded, pleased.

"So you know where he'll be!" concluded Little Cato, stunned at his own understanding. "And his fleet! You're drawing them out!"

Another nod and a hint of a proud smile. "Clarence's ship is a VX-9 Light Runner. VX series ships always leave a distinct ion trail."

"So even if Gary's not onboard, you'll be able to follow Clarence to the Lord Commander."

"Exactly."

"All that from knowing Clarence would be a fink. Do you think he'll hurt Gary?"

"Gary's a scrapper. I wouldn't have let him go after Mooncake if I didn't think he'd make it back safely. He's got a comm unit to call me and a cannon in that hand of his. He'll be fine."

Relieved, the teen let out a little 'Whew!' Suddenly serious, Little Cato asked, "Can you beat him? The Lord Commander?"

And in that moment, he was as much a prince as a soldier.

In a rare display of affection, Avocato rested his hand against Little Cato's cheek. "That's the real question."

He leaned into the touch. "Has it got a real answer?"

"Unfortunately, no. I can take on his military, but the Lord Commander himself . . . it's hard to say. You've seen what he can do with his powers. He may be sick, but he's not done for. It's my hope to overwhelm him."

"So he'll do himself in."

"Or at least be vulnerable to conventional means. I doubt it's that easy."

His expression hardened. "We'll never know 'til we try!"

"Precisely."

OoOoOoOoOoOoO

They stayed where they were. No one was inclined to make the trek to a ruined, empty city. Things were already depressing enough; they didn't need any outside help from Tarb III's bloody history.

Though it felt like much longer, it was really only a matter of a few hours before the comm unit on Gary's wrist crackled to life. Night was approaching, and none of them fancied being so exposed even if they were the only things alive on the planet.

"Testing. Testing," said a voice. "Are you receiving? Richard, is this thing even on? Hell-oooo!"

Gary scrambled for the comm unit before this seemingly impatient caller got annoyed.

"We hear you! We're receiving! This is Gary Goodspeed."

"Listen up," said the voice, "because I'm only going to ask this once and it's very important."

Gary glanced at the anxious teens huddled next to him. "We're listening."

"Good. I need to know what the weather is down there."

Completely befuddled, Gary echoed, "The weather?"

"You heard me. Cold? Rainy? Hot? Do I need a coat?"

He couldn't close his moth or form words for a long moment. A weather report was possibly the last thing he expected. Then Gary forced his brain into gear and managed, "I'm . . . gonna say no? Call it . . . warm and dry?" He looked at the teens for confirmation, but they shrugged, as lost as he.

"Excellent. Capes do not go with parkas. I've seen it tried and the results are nothing short of tragic. We'll be there soon. Prepare yourselves."

"Rrrrrroger that," he answered, wondering what the hell was heading their way.

Not much later, they heard a roar overhead as a ship descended through the clouds. Gary was floored to see the distinct outline of a Series 3 or 4 Imperium Cruiser set down a hundred meters away from where they stood. Gary swallowed. He was hardly the Infinity Guard's favorite individual, and he still owed them two weeks or so on his jail sentence for blowing up ninety-two ships just like the one that just touched down.

Or, maybe not quite like. He could just make out a rough letter 'R' in a circle painted in red on the rear foil of the cruiser. The Infinity Guard high command was so touchy; they would never allow anything like it. They wouldn't even let their ships have battle stars for fear of offending the losing side. And they wondered why morale sucked.

The ship's ramp lowered and a handful of soldiers in Infinity Guard uniforms fanned out. Still not sure of what they were getting in to – only that this was their ticket out of here so they could get after Clarence and get Mooncake back – Gary led the way. He waved to the soldiers, then approached the ship just as two more figures descended the ramp.

One was a dark-haired human woman in a tight commando sweater and cargo pants big enough for a family of four. She wore her hair in a tight bun and had black greasepaint smeared on her cheeks. In her hands was a scattershot blitzbeam almost as big as she was. She had a hard-edged, fierce look about her, like some toy dog ready to rip a leg off.

Her companion was unlike anything or anyone Gary had seen, heard tell of, or imagined.

Green. Six eyes stacked in two rows of three across his face. Blep. Pot belly. Beret, jauntily angled. Skin-tight khaki coveralls. Cape.

"What the . . . ?" wondered Fox.

The Green Beret stopped at the bottom of the ramp, struck a dramatic posture, and looked them over with interest. After a few beats, he said,

"I'm looking for a Barry Evildeed."

"Uh . . . my name is Gary Goodspeed?" he offered cautiously, earning a hearty glare from the brunet woman right beside him, apparently for daring to speak and other sins like being the person Mr. Green Beret wanted.

The green being waved a dismissive hand, then paused, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "No, that's not it. But he did say a robotic arm . . ."

"Like yo?" He lifted his left arm.

"Don't interrupt!" hissed the woman, borderline feral. Gary recoiled, but Green Beret went on rambling.

"Amazing! Just like that. Could two people have the same arm? No, they can't. Not at the same time. He must have gotten your name wrong."

"I'm sure he did," agreed the cheerleader, a manic smile plastered right back on her face.

"He who?" asked Gary.

Green Beret gave him a look. "General Avocato, of course! What other he is there?"

"Uh . . . not touching that. You know Avocato?" asked Gary.

"Honey, anyone who's worth knowing knows General Avocato, and trust me, I am worth knowing."

A sigh of happiness and lust escaped the brunet and she murmured, "Don't I know it."

"O-kay," ventured Gary, having zero clue where this was going or, indeed, where it had started. He tried to edge away from the woman, but there was nowhere to go. "I know him, too."

"Well, duh." Green Beret gave him another assessing look, up and down and up again. "Avocato clearly has the hots for you, Tumbleweed. Why else would he send me out to rescue you?"

"What?"

"That Ventrexian's not only dashing, he knows the power of accessorizing and he's smart enough to know who can get the job done with minimum fuss and maximum impact. That's me, if you were wondering. He sensed Clarence would be all Clarence-y and put me on alert." He flicked the smart red cape tied around his neck and the woman almost swooned. "Red alert, I hope you'll note. I don't wear this for just anybody, but what the general wants, the general gets." He looked past Gary to where Fox and Ash stood a little behind him, trying to hide. "Who are these two tater tots?"

Gary gestured as he answered. "Ash Graven. Fox. They want to kill Clarence, too."

"Take a number, kids. You've got a lot of company. Okay, theyre in."

As if he'd leave them here after the crap day they'd been having. Knowing he was gaping but helpless to stop himself, Gary carefully asked, "Who are you?"

Clearly Green Beret been anticipating the question all along, because his rescuer turned away, then whipped around to pose dramatically, lips puckered and all his eyes half-lidded. Somehow, there was a breeze exclusive to his cape, because it flapped behind him as he said, "Name's Tribore. Head of the Resistance. The Light at the End of the Tunnel. Paragon of Fashion Tips. Keeper of the Un-Binary Flame. Defender of Espadrilles. But you can call me . . . Tribore."

"Isn't he wonderful?" breathed his one-woman fan club.

He was spinach green, had six eyes, a lisp, never seemed to pull his tongue into his mouth, weird as hell, and had a rollicking, swashbuckling air of daring-do and danger about him. Oddly, Gary found himself liking whatever the heck Tribore was. He was unabashed and unapologetic and very few people could pull off a beret with such panache.

Aloud, Gary said, "If you can get us the hell off this pile of dirt, I'll call you whatever you want."

"Can I get you out of here?" asked Tribore, then smiled. "Hell yeah, I can."