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REMINDER: What ain’t mine, ain’t mine.

The Way Of The Melody

Chapter 8 – When All is Well?

For over a week, neither the Pirates nor Al were causing any grief to Fortissimo. It was the 18th of October, and Genifa was taking a walk with Jemma and Alexandria through downtown Attewa-Kilmeara.

“What is that again?” asked Genifa, noticing a store that had decorations of pumpkins.

“Like, that’s Halloween,” explained Alexandria. “It’s major spooky, lots of candies, and we’re gonna show you Rocky!”

“The boxer, or the squirrel?”

Jemma laughed. “No, I think she means the Rocky Horror Picture Show. The cinema at Fifty Arches will show it. You’ve just GOT to see it!” She and Alexandria went into a rendition of “The Time Warp.” Genifa laughed.

“You e’Xenia have such funny dances and funny songs. I like it.”

“The film is a joke, but that’s the beauty of it. It’s a big cult hit on Earth.”

“DAMIT, JANET, I LOVE YOU!” sung Alex.

“You will so love it, Nobody doesn’t!” insisted Jemma.

---------------

A couple of hours away, in the country, stood a large fenced in field. The only proper way in was through a large building, that had a sign that identified the entire property as “Bouvi Oklahoma Ranch.” Bouvi was Pavonian for “cattle”, coined by people from Earth who brought cattle to Pavonia, using the word “bovine” from the Latin bos as the source. The same word was also used for beef, and for the living cattle, cows were bouvifema, bulls were bouvihoma. The middle of the building was open and had a large pen. In both the pen, and the entrance from the parking lot adjoining it on the outside, were large American and Oklahoman flags, next to Zygan flags.

Outside the building, in the parking lot, a large truck pulled to a stop. It was a semi-detached stock trailer that was being hauled, and the front was a customized Kentworth with an eight-person cab. The driver’s door opened.

Out stepped a short rotund man in designer sunglasses and denim overalls. He scowled as he looked around, and the sun illuminated his brown hair. He, a former lieutenant gang-leader, was now taking part in cattle rustling. He snapped his fingers, and several cloaked figures followed him.

The reception area was large, and lined with benches. Behind a desk, a man with a cowboy hat over his face was napping, with his boots up on the desk. A slow bluegrass song with heavy resonator guitar was twanging off the P.A. system. The man leading the small group smiled. He walked through a corridor, past posters from various rodeos, cattle shows and farm auctions. At an intersection, a sign pointed to the on-site butcher shop, and another sign pointed to a restaurant, that specialized in (not surprisingly) dishes with cow meat.

At the end of the corridor was a pair of heavy glass sliding doors that led to the pen. As required by law, the words “Regardi lu kula – Watch your tail” were written on it. A schedule of the next events in the open pen was written, as well as a warning to not go beyond the spectator fence, and that NOBODY was EVER welcome beyond that fence. The door was locked, but the man was unfazed. He pointed to the lock, and one of the figures, the largest of them, took a crowbar, and rendered the lock useless. The group forced the door open, and went through.

Bleachers were arranged against the fence, and an ad for an upcoming rodeo was on said fence. There was another gate, which was more easily opened. After the air-conditioning of the building, the heat was starting to annoy him. Through the pen was a large double-door.

“WE MEAN IT: YOU AIN’T STAFF YOU AIN’T WELCOME!” warned one sign. “WARNING: These premises are protected by both Smith AND Wesson” proclaimed another, and “Tresspassers will be shot, Survivors will be shot AGAIN!” advised a third. Awfully translated Pavonian was on a fourth. This door was not locked, and came open quite easily. A cacophony of mooing was their sign that they were in the right place. The cattle were often out and about during the day, but sometimes sickness, or intense heat, or other factors would move them to the cells, and it was also where cows went to be milked.

The man activated a portable communicator. “We’re inside. Why do you want me, Phillip ‘Phil’ Theerich, to rustle cattle?”

“Because,” replied a strange high-pitched voice, “they will be food for the Dorotea project. It will be the trump card in our conquest!”

“Whatever. Do you have any choice in…”

“I JUST WANT SOME COWS!” screeched the voice. “DO NOT FAIL ME!”

“Yes, will do so sir, right away sir!” He hung up. They looked around, and saw that there were large cattle cells, each one numbered, and protected by a metal barred door.

They chose cell #11. Inside were three cows. The inside was lined with straw, and had a water trough on one side. There was also another door, that led to outside. The group had to move quickly, as tubes protruding from a wall indicated that the cows were just sent in to be milked. Each cow wore a collar, with both a cowbell, and a bright high-visibility tag. Similar tags were in their ears. The cloaked man with the crowbars threw off his cloak, to reveal that his head was covered with an icosohedral (twenty-sided) helmet, that glowed a light blue. He wore a jacket, sarong, and tool-belts, and had a few crowbars and hammers with him, a long with several plastic tubes that ran along his muscular arms and his back, and ran under his helmet. He also had a spiked whip, and a diamond-lined chainsaw, both of them kept on a rack on his back. He took the chainsaw, and revved it up, to cut through the lock. The cows backed off. When the door was forced open, Icosohedron Head circled so he was behind the cows, and revved the chainsaw to scare the cows off in the direction the group had come from. It worked.

Phil was impressed, but also a bit unnerved. He would have been happier plucking cows from the outside, but outside there were helicopter patrols, as well as a multi-layered fence with sensors and 480 volts running through it. The way they chose bought them more time. While Phil and Icosohedron Head led those cows, two of the others were rushing ahead to ensure a safe getaway, and the remaining four had a job of finding all other cells with cattle in them and letting them out.

By the time they crossed the pen, and went to the building that was open to the general, though, the alarm had been raised, as each cow tag had an RFID transmitter in it, and a hidden scanner saw them. Cattle were not supposed to be in the general public area except in an emergency. An alarm blared.

The man who was napping at the desk bolted upright, and flipped on the monitors. It was unlikely that any rustled cattle would be led through the corridors, but runaway cattle would just be as likely to chose that path. He put a key into a cabinet and turned it, and inside the cabinet was a shotgun. “Bring it on!” he laughed. His gun was loaded with a special “boxing glove” type ammunition that was less dangerous than lead but had more stopping power, which was the thing needed for ornery cattle, or dangerous thieves.

The group of thieves was behind their cattle. A quick glance at the monitors showed that someone else had let even more cattle out. The first trio was followed by Phil, holding a pair of golden Glock pistols, the two cloaked assistants, who brandished automatics, and Icosohedron Head, who had his chainsaw running at full speed. The man aimed, but Phil shot him in the kneecap. He dropped his gun, and in a fit of adrenaline, quickly rolled out of the way of the oncoming cattle.

The vehicle had been positioned so that the cows would run right up the ramp and into it, and a cushioned barrier meant they would not come out the other side. The truck was closed, and the four herders boarded the front. The other four had not made it back, but they were not needed. Where they were needed was causing problems on the ranch, to delay any pursuit. And to ensure that everyone was reasonably frightened.

------------

“What is this?” asked Genifa, later that day, as she was taken to meet Hannah. “I don’t see what’s new.”

“Her harness has been fitted,” explained Seamus. “Look on top of her collar.” Genifa noticed several lights, and a pair of speakers. “If you need to run through a busy street in a rush, turn on the lights and the siren, and there’s a phone handset there. Use it to speak through the speakers if you need to warn anyone, or annoy anyone. Or you it as a communicator, to radio PAVFOR or the Garda…sorry, the police.”

“Thank you. But what is the box on the back?” She pointed to a small box.

“It has a tracking beacon you can turn on if you must, and first-aid kit.”

“You thought of everything.”

“Not just me. The brains at the central station thought of most of it.”

---------------

That evening, Genifa was eating with her family, like usual. As they dined one salad, rice and legato meat, they heard loud noise from outside. It was probably someone in a convertible with a blaring stereo. Normally these people passed by quickly, but these were going slowly.

“Hey,” yelled one of the voices, “I don’t know what the deal is with Dorotea. Is she their God or something?”

“Naw, she was some kind of witch,” said someone else. “Supposedly kicked lots of ass.”

“But she wasn’t a ninja!”

“Doofus, pirates are better than ninjas!” The car roared off. Everyone at the table felt a slight headache.

“My head doesn’t feel well,” commented Biris, Genifa’s father.

“Mine either,” added her younger brother, Matteo. All of them had a strange feeling. “And my korona itches.”

Outside, parked across the street from the Pikaku residence, was a yellow van with brown spots. It had a microwave transmitting tower that resembled a giraffe, and even had the end of the antenna decorated with a giraffe’s head opposite the parabolic reflector dish. Written in red letters on the side of the van, “PGRF News - #1 English News in Attewa-Kilmeara,” and next to it, a giraffe head and “PGRF Channel 11.”

-------

Inside the van, there were no camera crews or TV reporters. Instead, two men were seated at a row of monitors. “Mental Thought Analysis of Pikakus in Progress” flashed a sign on one of them, another showed an oscilloscope-like image, and still another had various numbers flashing. Another monitor showed the Pikakus’ trullo. The multi-coned roof and the round-topped front door made it no different from many other traditional houses in the area. They saw the door open, and Biris and Elena come out through the front door, both of them pointing at them.

“I think they’re suspecting,” said one of the men. The other dashed to the driver’s seat, put the van into gear, pressed a button to retract the “giraffe”, and pounded on the accelerator. The van jackrabbited off with a loud screech, leaving skid-marks behind.

-------------

The next day, Genifa, Alex, Jemma and Seamus were invited to take a tour through the mansion of Sir Arthur Welter, an eccentric billionaire who was also an important British diplomat, and later given a job helping with “Pavonian Modernization.” He insisted that his entire mansion be moved to Pavonia, and paid millions to do so. The odd middle-aged man had set up his mansion like a museum, with memorabilia, artifacts and exhibits everywhere.

“I like to collect history,” he commented. “Especially its people, without which there would be no history.” He had a couple of rooms dedicated to Elvis Presley, complete with golden records, some actual hair and a pair of teeth taken from the singer, a couple of his guitars, and one of his actual cars. “I have the larges collection of authentic Elvis artifacts outside of Tennessee,” he boasted. His main passions, or at least the areas where he had the greatest number of dedicated rooms, were music, entertainment, and significant history. Adding to the strangeness of rooms dedicated to people, were art nouveaux decorations and ornate staircases.

“Crickey, you even have Sir Winston Churchill’s papers,” mused Jemma.

“He was very important in history, but now I must show you my work in progress.” He led the group down in an ornate birdcage-like elevator, and led them to a large cave-like room. “This will be the Enega room. Some day, your staff may very well end up here, Genifa!”

Genifa didn’t quite like the man’s attitude, but remained quiet. There was no way that she, or part of her heritage, would lie between Vincent Price and Rick James, and would just be casually owned and gawked at by this…jerk.

-------------------------

“You are almost ready,” advised Mu’urese to Toni. “And then, we can lay our claim to what is rightfully ours.”

“In the meantime, what’s on the tube?” He pressed a few buttons, and a monitor activated. Said monitor had unusual patterns of light. Mu’urese pressed a button, and it changed to show a news report.

“The police and PAVFOR are still confused as to why someone would go through trouble to steal cattle yesterday,” announced a blonde woman with a slight Swedish accent.

Camera footage of Phil Theerich leading the cattle out was shown.

“THAT SON OF A BITCH!” shouted Toni. “He always has to upstage me. He tried going independent when he was released from jail. We show him to toe the line, and what does he do? He goes and steals fucking cows!” Mu’urese laughed. “What’s so funny?”

“Why would he steal cows?”

“There’s something I don’t like. It ain’t like him at all. It’s beneath him. And that guy with him, I can’t see his head. At least we know the deal with Anansi. He’s one of us. But that helmet guy, he gives me the creeps.”

“Maybe Phil now works for him.”

“Perhaps. And something doesn’t…feel right. I think it’s having this Pavonian stuff on me.”

“You’ll be used to it, and your powers.”

“Tonight you could train me.”

“There’s more than just your powers to work on,” replied Mu’urese with a sly smile. “Much more!”

“Such as?”

“You’d love to know!” She caressed him. “Hey, don’t be so stressed.”

“It’s bad enough we have another Enagi, now there’s Phil’s new army, and a White Blood on the lose somewhere. I need them like I’d need a grapefruit on a Passover plate.”

“We will prevail,” reassured Mu’urese. “We must.”

------------------

“Genifa,” spoke the voice of Areia that night. “It is time for you and your guardians to go. There is much you need to learn, and that they will learn.”

“They?” asked Genifa.

“Yes, they. With the threat of Off Low and Al, you will need your own Enega, much as Katherine has hers.”

“So do I leave right now?”

“No. First you will say goodbye to your family, and meet your friends. I’ve already summoned them. And this will be the first time Hannah is truly being ridden. Your friends will use the Fortevan.”

“I’m not even ready, I’m in my saiayöta…”

“Genifa, just put on a normal saia over top. It is important that we move quickly.” Genifa absent-mindedly threw on a dress, while silently cussing at Areia. “I heard that!” She knew that Areia meant well, but wondered if Areia had some secret joy in pressing her followers like that. Several moments later she heard honking outside. She already had some bags packed for her next trip, and she ran around the house, making sure to say goodbye to everyone. Her parents and Matteo knew that she now had strange duties.

She loaded her supplies into the Fortevan. “AWU, AWU!” came a familiar cry. Casually leaning against a wall stood Miglo. In his mangled speech, he said he wanted to follow. He climbed into the van, while Genifa climbed onto Hannah, and placed the staff on the staff-holder. Areia led the way, off towards more adventure, and uncertainty.

To be continued…

Author’s Notes: Well, that was quick and interesting. So Fortissimo is now heading….somewhere. And a question is raised….what’s the deal with the cattle? And what’s this “Project Dorotea”? You’ll find out soon enough.