Chapter Six

Kaj hurried past two Onu-Matoran homes, hauling a sub-assembly of machinery and equipment. Lights once again glowed out of the windows and doors of the dwellings, an optimistic sign that Onu-Koro was on its way to recovery. But the defeated and motionless Gahlok stretched out around them were ever-present reminders of their past ordeal.

Zemya popped his head out of one of the dwellings. Seeing Kaj, the two exchanged mutual expressions of relief. It had cost much, but victory was at last theirs. Content, Kaj continued carrying his piece over to the Boxor assembly grounds. Nuparu’s invention, along with Taipu’s might and Onepu’s courageous leadership, had repelled the Bohrok offensive, however temporarily. Now everyone was doing their share to begin mass production.

When Zemya arrived at the site, Onepu was already barking instructions.

“…and I need a full report of the state of the Great Mine,” He finished sternly. “Understood?”

“Yes, Captain,” the guard named Damek explained. “But the Mine could be treacherous after the flood. Perhaps—”

Movement in the corner of Onepu’s eye distracted him, and he pulled a double-take. “Well, well! What have we here?” he marveled, both amused and curious. Damek turned to look as well.

From a nearby gate, a small platoon of Ta-Matoran stepped inside. The one leading the group, who wore a yellow Kanohi Hau, looked around, taking stock of his surroundings and assessing the situation. His shoulders slumped slightly at the sight of the wreckage and washed-out earth village.

“Jala!” Onepu greeted, striding over at once. “How surprising to see you so far from Ta-Koro in dangerous times,” he said, saluting his peer. A Ussal Crab dutifully came near the Onu-Matoran, then backed away when it realized that, despite the fact they stood by the sign, they did not need a taxi crab.

Jala returned the military salute with his own. “Vakama has sent my guard and me to aid in the defense against the Bohrok,” the Ta-Matoran explained, gesturing at his soldiers. With a single nod, the two of them saluted their commander and started off to patrol other entrances. “Solidarity is vital to all the villages, now more than ever,” Jala finished, turning back to Onepu.

Onepu smiled. “Still as duty-bound as ever, I see!”

Jala frowned. The latest report had said Onu-Wahi had been lost, and the Matoran were cast out from their very homes. But now Onu-Koro was not only devoid of Bohrok, but filled with cheery, upbeat Matoran.

Onepu laughed at Jala’s expression of bemusement. He walked over to the Ta-Matoran and slung an arm over his shoulder. “…but I’m afraid you have arrived a little late to be of aid this time!”

The pair began walking further into Onu-Koro, passing merchant shops, huts, and even mining caves. One Matoran was standing over a disabled Gahlok, apparently stripping it for certain parts. “Matters were grim not long ago, true,” Onepu explained as they went, “but with the help of the Boxors, the Gahlok were no match for our cunning!”

Jala stopped. “Boxors?” he asked, unfamiliar with the term.

“Certainly! Remarkable machines,” Onepu answered proudly, stepping away. “I must return to my own duties, but no doubt Nuparu or the Chronicler would be more than happy to bring you up to speed.”

“Hm… The Chronicler is here?” Jala asked, surprised.

“Where else?” Onepu returned, surprised that Jala was surprised. “It is from our great undercity that the push back against the Bohrok shall commence! We shall meet again later,” he assured Jala brightly, starting toward three Matoran who awaited him. “For now, I must turn to other matters. Farewell!”

Jala watched after him, considering the matter. His gut feeling was that it was far too soon to be optimistic, but he also didn’t want to renounce Onepu’s confidence until he himself saw the machines in action. Intrigued, he approached a pair of Onu-Matoran working on one of the ‘Boxors.’ Mamoru was sitting on top of the tall orange and black exo-suit, while Tehutti was lower by the feet. Mamoru gave a signal and Tehutti lit up the concentrated heatstone in a handheld tool and began to fuse the metal. Behind the pilot seat of the device was a Bohrok shield hiding most of the hardware, which looked almost too similar to the original Bohrok for Jala.

“Hello, Jala!”

The Ta-Matoran turned to see Takua approaching, his iconic Chronicler’s bag still on his back.

“Good to see you again,” Takua greeted amicably.

“And you, too, Chronicler, in this time of danger,” Jala returned. “I believe the last battle we shared was at Kini-Nui. For someone outside of the guard, you seem to make your way around the island.”

Takua gave a small shrug. “I’m just trying to lend a hand where people need it.”

Jala looked around, noting the production of Boxors in the area. Every pair of hands was helping in the battle effort. “As are we. Yet it seems like the Onu-Matoran are doing well, and do not need our help.”

Takua sensed the disapproval in his voice. “You don’t believe in them,” he noted.

Jala hesitated and considered how best to phrase his opinion. “I believe in the heart of the Matoran. But independence and self sustenance can go too far. We should have learned that before the Great War; you and your Company finally showed us how to fight together.” He glanced over at Onepu saddling his Ussal crab as Onu-Matoran pilots entered their finished Boxor machines. “Now we are separate again,” he finished. “It seems to me the Onu-Matoran might have a case of ‘tunnel vision…’”

Takua looked also, seeing the large machines walk away for distribution. “Captain, if there’s anything I learned from my adventures as Chronicler and a temporary guardsman, it’s that help can come in many forms.” He turned back to him. “I know Onepu—he probably forgot to tell you that some models of the Boxors were made for Matoran outside of the earth village.”

Jala’s eyes widened at this. “Yes…he left that part out.”

Takua smiled back. “He is proud and hopeful, and after even a small victory, I won’t take that from him. The Matoran need courage.”

“That’s true, Chronicler,” Jala answered. “He has done his duty well so far.”

Takua walked toward another trio of stationary Boxors. “These are ours,” he said with a smile. “It’s actually fortunate you showed up. When Nuparu told me I was supposed to get these back to Ta-Koro, I wasn’t sure how I would do it alone!”

Jala looked up at the machines, feeling hope, anticipation, and yes—even pride—begin to rise in him, too. The Captain gave a gesture to his guards who hurried over to the Boxors. Takua looked on as the Onu-Matoran taught them the ropes.

It wasn’t long before the guards had mastered the new vehicles and were piloting them back to Ta-Koro. Their journey underway, Jala turned his own vehicle back to face Takua. “Are you returning to Ta-Koro as well, Chronicler?” he asked. Moving a control stick in the cockpit, he lowered one of the long arms, its hook nearly touching the ground. “You can hitch a ride with me.”

“I’m afraid I’m needed elsewhere,” Takua answered, “I’m heading with Nuparu to Le-Wahi now. We heard from Kongu and Tamaru … things aren’t looking good there. Onepu wants us to meet up with Onua who’s heading there too.”

Jala nodded. “The jungle has gone silent. No messenges have gotten in or out since the swarms first attacked.” The Captain placed his hand on the Boxor. “At any rate, once I drop these off, I’m heading straight for Ga-Koro. They’ve held out the best of anyone so far, but I fear it won’t last. Perhaps when you’re done with Le-Koro you can meet me there, Chronicler.”

“Sounds like a plan. And you can call me Takua, Captain.”

“In that case,” Jala returned, as he started toward the village of fire, “call me Jala.”

“Yes, sir.”

As Jala marched into the tunnels for the surface, his features were illuminated by an expression he hadn’t worn in days.

He smiled.