by Tao Wong
When the leviathan eats the crew, tentacles attaching to floating bodies and tossing them in like so much meaty popcorn, I dismiss the screen. I don’t need to see that.
While I’ve been engrossed in the macabre fate of the crew, my friends have finished their discussion and moved on to their own obsessions. Mikito’s disappeared—off to train, I’m assuming—while Harry sits beside me, hands moving as he edits his next segment. And scarily enough, Ali and Bolo are sitting together, watching one of Ali’s many, many recordings of Earth TV. It’s somewhat comforting to me that no matter what happens to Earth, at least future generations of Galactics will still learn of the awesomeness of Jackie Chan and the Three Stooges.
Rather than bother them, I pull up the notifications I’ve been leaving sitting in my screen, curious to see what I’ve been missing.
Reputation Increase!
You have killed an Adult Space Leviathan. As a threat to all space-faring Galactics, this act has increased your reputation.
+0.12 Galactic Reputation
+12 Spaks Reputation
+1254 Spaks Station Reputation
My, oh my. That was rather nice. The Reputation bump is amazing, though it amuses me that the System split it for both the region and the station. Considering the station is the major inhabitable location in the region, the additional regional reputation is useless.
Level Up!
You have reached Level 37 as an Erethran Paladin. Stat Points automatically distributed. You have 7 Free Attributes and 1 Class Skills to distribute.
I’m tempted to assign the free points, but I hesitate, realizing that for the first time in a while, I have someone outside of Ali who has a comparable Class to talk with. Perhaps Bolo might have some interesting ideas. Of course, chatting about one’s exact attributes can be difficult, but I get the feeling that Bolo isn’t the conniving type. Anyway, it’s not as if I intend to bare my heart to the man.
Plan made, I turn to my next notification.
New Spell Learned: Enhanced Particle Ray
A powerful Tier II spell that has been enhanced and self-taught by the Redeemer of the Dead, this spell converts raw Mana into a powerful laser beam.
Effect: Enhanced Particle Ray calls forth a beam of concentrated accelerated particles. Attack does 1000 points of damage on initial strike. Additional damage may be caused as the spell is channeled at the rate of 100 base damage per second.
Cost: 100 Mana
Continuous cast cost: 10 Mana / second
Enhanced Particle Ray may be enhanced by using the Elemental Affinity of Electromagnetic Force. Damage increased by 20% per level of affinity
The new spell is amazing. It does so much more damage than my Lightning Strike, though it doesn’t have the advantage of being able to jump between opponents. Even then, the sheer amount of damage puts it at one of the most dangerous attacks, especially on a per Mana ratio. The only two major issues are that I have to channel the spell to make full use of it during combat, and as a spell, there’s a delay in casting it. This spell, I intuitively know, will take longer to conjure than most of my other spells. So not something I’d use on a whim.
Elemental Affinity of Electromagnetic Force Upgraded!
Your affinity with the electromagnetic force has increased. Continue to experiment and push your ability to increase your affinity. Just don’t do it without thought, boy-o.
I look up to see Ali returning a knowing gaze and a smirk. Letting out a long sigh, I nod. Fine. I deserved that one. My careless use of the spell was stupid, but learning how to convert energy and Mana, how to manipulate the forces of the universe was thrilling. I admit, I’m tempted to duck into research again. Try to figure out how Mana is used, experiment and learn new spells from the manipulation of spell matrixes and the forces of nature. Which kid didn’t want to throw lightning from their hands and summon elements with a snap of their fingers? It’s a tempting thought, but reality hits me soon after.
First, and perhaps most importantly, time. Research—real research—takes time. High level spell research—which is generally what I need—is at the stage medical science on Earth had reached before the System debuted. All the low hanging fruit has been plucked. The equivalent of magic’s penicillin was well researched. While the variety and types of spells out there are infinite, the useful variations are much smaller. Does it matter if your spell of ice sends slushy snow or big, fat snowflakes?
At the higher levels, research required significant amounts of time, resources, and expertise to get right. Galactic magic users work in teams, each focusing on specific portions of a spell in an attempt to optimize it even further. Aiden, for all his brilliance, is just rethreading the work done by hundreds of geniuses before him. Oh, he might find a few forgotten or ignored spells which, for modern spellcasters, might be considered a surprise. But only briefly. It’s not to say Aiden is wrong to do what he’s doing—new cultures, new people mean new research avenues. Some of which might result in new spells. More importantly, anything he finds himself, he doesn’t have to pay the System for and can then make free or cheaply available to everyone else on Earth.
As for me? I can cheat with my Elemental Affinity, but only so far. I’m all guesswork and intuition. I’d spend more time failing than succeeding and time has never been my friend.
On top of that, you’ve got to consider my temperament. Amusingly enough, for an ex-programmer, I always enjoyed my time outdoors and moving around more than sitting behind a desk. Reflecting on it, I know that my career choice was impacted by my father and his dreams of a stable future for me rather than my personal inclinations. If he had not been so against the outdoors, I might have found some work that way. But, well. C’est la vie. And that’s not to forget how tendinitis crippled me later on, making every workday a torture of painkillers, ice, and more painkillers. Holing myself up and doing repetitive tests to figure out a new spell, a new way to manipulate Mana, would drive me even more insane.
This isn’t the comic books or a bad fan fiction. I’m not the genius hero who is thrown into a medieval world with twentieth-century knowledge and the ability to remember a million important and minor engineering, alchemical, and historical details. I don’t have the ability to skip decades of iterative development in manufacturing research and testing, to bank on the numerous failed tests of my brethren scientists to skip decades of failures. I can’t ignore the reality that the industrial revolution was predicated on the ability of us building the machinery that built the machinery that gave us our final product.
The sad fact is, I’m the caveman in the twentieth-first century. And as the caveman, my best bet is to do what we cavemen do best—hit things very hard till they start working the way we need them to.
Closing the notifications, I let out a long breath and focus on the reality around me. Like any good caveman, I’ve got a carcass that needs dealing with.
***
“Impressive. An adult space leviathan. Then again, it is the two of you,” Oi says when we finally get back.
We’re seated at a conference room, one close to the hull of the station and near where we docked. We hadn’t even asked to meet with the station master, but Oi felt the need to come down once we arrived. One of the negatives of such a huge increase in station reputation.
“Mikito helped,” I helpfully point out my friend. As did Harry, but he prefers to keep his involvement quiet. I’m not a huge fan of him sending out his news reports about our trips, but the good comes with the bad with a Reporter.
My words of rebuttal are met with a scornful glare—from Mikito of all people. I open my mouth then shut it, deciding not to air party laundry.
Oi diplomatically nods before glancing at a notification then focusing on us. “As for the leviathan’s corpse? What are your plans?”
It’d been expensive, but thanks to some quick work, we’d managed to hire a few bored pirate ships to watch over the corpse while we reported in. It wasn’t as if we could “dock” the leviatha
n’s body to the station. Luckily, everyone who was anyone knew who had taken down the creature. Even the allure of a quick buck was squashed by the very real knowledge that we’d come and kick in their teeth if they tried to screw with the corpse. As such, the guards were more of a visible reminder than a necessity. I might have my own code, but killing pirate scum for stealing from me would not hurt my sleep at all.
“I understand there’ll be an auction soon?” I say, cocking my head. This piece of information had been helpfully supplied by Bolo as we discussed the best way to profit from the carcass.
“The quarterly auctions in the third ring, yes.” Oi’s eyes narrow. “But its participants are normally only those with sufficient reputation.”
“Or in-demand goods,” Ali says with a smirk.
“True,” Oi replies. “The auction holds many of the items we’ve acquired from underinsured merchants. We also have a large number of Adventurers coming in from nearby systems to sell their goods. It’s often more cost-efficient to do so at a large-scale auction than in the Shop.”
That is so true. The transportation costs between us and Shops has to be paid somehow, so the prices of goods reflect that cost of transportation. In a large-scale auction, if an Adventurer brings his own goods in his own inventory or other form of storage, he can generate a bigger profit. Only works for high enough value goods, which makes such auctions both a prime target and shopping ground. But…
“Your reputation won’t be enough to keep the carcass alone when they start arriving en-masse,” Oi says. “Get it skinned and taken apart before then. Do that, and I’ll make sure you get your invitations to the auction.”
I know Oi’s looking for a way to get rid of us, and this works quite well. Getting to the third ring was our goal after all. I grunt an affirmative then look at Bolo. I’ve got a lot of skills but separating a Cthulhu-monster into its various useful parts is not one of them.
The Dragon Lord looks contemplative for a second before he grins, clapping his hands and rubbing them together. “I have the perfect person!”
Are there any more frightening words than that?
***
“Compensating much?” I mutter, staring at the giant mecha that walks out of the airlock and floats over to the waiting leviathan.
We’re standing at a loading dock, staring at the projection of the mecha as it draws a sword thirty feet long from its back. The entire thing glows as a monomolecular edge is given to the weapon by a carefully layered force shield.
“Did you say something?”
I look down at the tiny Gremlin that spoke, the creature barely taller than a foot. The Gremlin speaks with a twisted accent, even for a Galactic, like he’s got a mouthful of rubble and one too many tongues. His spine is so twisted, he’s bent over with a highly prominent hunched back. A portion of the data I’ve downloaded or read in passing floats to the surface, reminding me that such a posture is considered sexy among Gremlin culture. Or Greelin culture, as they are known Galactically. Seems their name was mostly translated over, though not completely. Their ability to manage and interact with technology—in both good and bad ways—from our own legends is true too.
“No. Though I’m surprised you’re using a mecha at all,” I say.
“Eh. You’d be surprised what societies still cling to. Might not be as powerful as a Master Class—or heck, a good Advanced Class—but a force multiplier’s a force multiplier. And when your society’s made up of a bunch of support Classes…” Bolo shrugs. “Not the way we do things. But your Erethrans do it too, no?”
“To some extent. Though they focus more on weapons, ships, and artillery. Not”—I gesture to the mecha that is now taking apart the leviathan corpse—“that.”
“Ah, but mecha is a Greelin’s dream,” Um of Lof says. “Makes a Greel feel big when you’re piloting one of those.”
Ali chuckles, floating over and letting his body expand. In seconds, he’s bigger than all of us, which is a surprise. “There’s something to be said about being big, no?”
“Aye. Makes the big-ones realize that size ain’t everything,” Um replies.
“But it does help.” Bolo sniffs, patting the head of his hammer.
“This entire talk makes no sense,” I say, looking between Ali, Um, and Bolo.
Ali and Um smirk at one another, which makes me roll my eyes.
Outside, the mecha continues to take apart the leviathan. There’s a delicacy to the mecha’s motions that belies the scale of the action, almost like a sushi chef parting the bones from a fish corpse. A magical swish of the hands, a twist in the hips, and a flare of thrusters and off goes the scales.
Yeah, okay. That metaphor breaks down. Fast. But you get the idea.
As pieces of the body float away, drone tugs catch the pieces and drag them into a cargo vessel. Within, I know, even more members of Um’s clan are waiting, knives held aloft as they dismember the body into even smaller portions. Way I understand it, even the spoilt meat will be of use as it is chunked into smaller portions and reconstituted as high-grade monster feed. The intact portions will be cut apart and sealed, ready for sale. I have to say, even for my broad palate, the idea of eating space leviathan makes me pause, but Ali assures me it’s a delicacy. In some cultures.
More importantly, the expensive crafting material will be separated, sorted, and stored until the auction. As payment, we’re giving up a percentage of our earnings, but Um’s clan has the numbers, the expertise, and the connections to keep the valuable crafting material safe until after the auction. They also can get rid of the less expensive, everyday materials for us, giving us an immediate Credit influx. As for where they’ll keep it, Bolo and Ali muttered about a Clan-powered extra-dimensional storage space.
“We good here?” I say.
“For variations of good. If you squint. And aren’t too picky,” Ali says before anyone else can.
Um breaks out laughing while Bolo looks puzzled. Sometimes, humor just doesn’t translate.
Um finally catches his breath, clutching his sides and slapping Ali in the knee as he pulls himself together. “We are good, Redeemer. Your leviathan is insured till the auction.”
“Great. Then I’ve got a station to visit.” I eye my new station pass and look around the fourth station ring one last time. Amusing that we barely spent any time here.
A part of me knows that there are station residents who would kill for the permit in my hand. I earned it in less time than many take to get over celebrating a good haul. But bugger them. If they complain, I’ll tell them to go play in a Dungeon World for a few years and earn their Master Class.
Or, you know, kick their ass.
Whistling to myself, I walk off, heading for the closest transport tube. Time to go do some reading.
Chapter 11
It takes about half a day of bouncing from transit station to transit station to enter the third ring and our final destination. The three of us leave Dornalor in the fourth ring while we journey, the Pirate Captain busy completing repairs to the ship while researching new repair options. It’s not that the distance is that far, but each transit station has its own security checkpoints, its own queues. Bolo could have breezed through the security checkpoints since he had the rep, but since the rest of us are newcomers, each checkpoint needs us to register, verify our documentation, and finally, receive their bribe to pass us down the chain. Once I figured out the last was what they were really looking for, we crossed the last few checkpoints at a good clip.
“You could have told me.” I glare accusingly at Bolo, who trails along, one hand filled with popcorn, his gaze fixed on the semi-opaque viewing screen he shares with Ali. Since Harry decided to stay behind to keep filming the aftereffects of the takeover, my usual social lubricant isn’t around.
“I wasn’t trying to get anywhere fast.” Bolo waves one butter-stained hand at me. “Now, shush. Jonathan and Kate are about to meet again after ten years.”
“Wha—no. Never mind. I’m not
getting involved in this.” Even so, my blasted Perception and Intelligence ratings mean that the sight of John Cusack and Kate Beckinsale is enough to supply the name of the movie. Details, even irrelevant details, tend to creep up on me these days. “Ali, map please.”
A muttered grumble later and I’ve got the map of the new station we’re on. The third ring is made up of fewer stations than the fourth—rather obviously, since there’s less space to cover. But each station is bigger too, broader and wider than the ones in the fourth ring. System-generated cleaning bots and Mana absorption means that everything looks as clean, but the atmosphere and the people within are subtly different. No lingering fear, no desperate gazes. Those who have made it to the third ring are more established. There are quite a few third generation and older rebels, individuals who have grown up within the station itself, never having been part of “normal” Galactic culture.
No surprise then that the entire station feels more like Irvina than ever before. Even the Classes change, from Pirate Captains, Outcasts, Buccaneers, and Rebels to more common Classes like Courier Captains, Afterburn Pilots, Privateers, and The Loyal Opposition. Even the Levels are higher, fewer Basic Classes and a lot more Advanced Classes. There’s also the usual plethora of support Classers who are needed to keep anything running, most of which have a wide range of Levels. Even with the level of basic tech available, there’s only so much that you want to entrust to droids when there are Classes who can take over your toys.
While the fourth and fifth rings of Spaks mainly service the riff-raff of the galaxy, the third ring station seems geared toward the everyday needs of Spak itself. The third ring hosts a large number of manufacturing centers, warehouses, and ore smelters, with the attendant docks and facilities. A perusal of the actual station plan shows that while it might be larger than previous rings’ stations, the actual useable space is smaller due to the larger facilities.
