Stars Asunder

by Tao Wong

  I let the silence stretch out, just ‘cause I can. When Ayuri glares at me, I continue, letting my voice project. “You need to prove to me you have what it takes to become a Paladin. And then, you’re going to have to fulfill the Class-change Quest.”

  Ayuri twitches at the blatant repetition of what has got to be obvious information.

  For a moment, I consider warning them that they could lose their lives, that the Quest I have to give can’t be made easier—or at least, not by much—because the System has its tenterhooks in it. Like all Class quests, like all System quests, there’s only so much I’d be allowed to change.

  ***

  Another memory, another slew of data. Of tests, of attempts to change the System. Class-change Quests, System Quests generated from a Settlement sphere, Guild Quests, Dungeon Quests, on and on. Every type, every kind. Questors, with their Skills, attempting to manipulate them from outside, pitting themselves and their will against the System. And failing, with the backlash tearing apart Skills, pulling away health and experience. And sometimes, lives.

  Questors on the inside manipulating the Quest itself, using the same Skills, adjusting the ratios, the payouts, the risk and details of Quests as they offer them to others. Fighting the System to offer more than the System wants. More than it is programmed to do. And some, a few, succeeding. Data, recorded, noted, parsed down, and then, another experiment. And another. Till, they fall.

  But the information, always kept. Always recorded. For another Questor, another researcher willing to pit themselves against the System.

  All to get another percent in their System Quest.

  I shudder, seeing my own completion rate tick up. I get the flood of experience as memory goes away, leaving me reeling internally. But I can’t let them see it, so I don’t.

  And I focus. Into the silence, as the group stares at me, waiting to hear what else I have to say. These people standing before me, they’re not likely to turn away because there’s a small chance of death. At least, not if I know anything about the Erethrans and the Honor Guard.

  “You’re dismissed, for now. I’m sure Ayuri has a bunch of documentation to send me about you. After which, I’ll speak with each of you.” I pause. “Personally.”

  “In the meantime, while I read, I want you to keep an eye on them. Talk to them, make friends if you think they’ll find you spying. I want your in-person judgment.” I send the last to Ali.

  And then, turning on the balls of my feet, I walk back out the way I came. It takes Ayuri a few moments to catch up and follow, letting me stride off down the corridor for a bit and nearly out of the building itself before she speaks.

  “You do know we’re going the wrong way to get to the offices, right?”

  I grunt. A man has to make a good exit.

  ***

  Luckily for my image and self-esteem, a simple Portal by Ayuri gets me to the right location. The office I take over consists of boring-ass pale blue walls, a single kidney-shaped table, and a pair of all-too-comfortable office chairs facing one another. A central door opens into the room, directly opposite the big window. Lighting in here is slightly off, just like the rest of the hallways— just a little too bright, just a little too hot.

  Weird alien lighting schemes is an ongoing issue in the Galaxy. It’s one reason why most people dump some points into Perception and Intelligence, even if they aren’t going to use them for combat. The System helps us adjust across a broad range. The enhanced Perception offers us the ability to see and interpret light—and other senses—in a wider range than human—or alien—normal. The higher Intelligence points allow us to retranslate that back into our norms, or close enough that it doesn’t frag our brains.

  And trust me, I’ve seen the results of lopsided Status attributes. It’s not that you need a lot of points—and for those who can’t afford the attribute increases, there are tech solutions—but at the Master Class Level, very few keep their exclusive and super-specialized builds, just to head off potential problems.

  Once we’re in, Ayuri walks over to one corner and pulls a small circular cone from her Inventory, triggering the mobile hard light furniture creator. A moment later, a hard light lounging chair appears, onto which she flops. I mostly ignore her, for in the corner of my vision, a more interesting piece of information has appeared.

  The full military records of our volunteers.

  Taking a seat on the opposite side of the desk, I start reading. There’s a lot of information to get through. Everything from their full Status Sheets as of the last week to their battle records, their commendations, previous commander notes, build recommendations, and even a full psych profile. It’s kind of disturbing how detailed the information is, even though I know it’s routine for the Honor Guard. Maybe it’s disturbing because it’s routine. Either way, I learn more about these people, their families, and relationship situations than I know about my own companions. Which is rather sad, if you think about it.

  Maybe I should ask a few more questions of my friends…

  Chapter 3

  A couple of hours later, I’m finally ready to see people in that little office of mine. In the meantime, I’ve adjusted the lighting to the human visible wavelength, transformed the Erethran-sized chair and desk to human norms—which make it just a little shorter than what they’re used to—and put up a nice outdoor vista on the walls. It’s a Pacific Northwest rainforest, a scene taken from the archives of the System. Peaceful and normal—and not at all filled with hungry monsters and mutated trees that produce carbon monoxide or eat you when you fall asleep beneath them.

  My first visitor is Freif, one of the two native Erethrans. Can you even call them natives, when they abandoned their homeworld thousands of years ago to the System? Something for the alien anthropologists out there to answer. When he marches in and stands at attention, I’m idly reviewing his file again.

  Freif’s build and personal weapon choice is clear. He’s the guy who sits on the rooftop somewhere, watching out for bad guys, or is sent far away, deep into enemy territory, to deal with enemy commanders. Outside of the basic Erethran Soldier and Honor Guard build, he’s got a few Class Skills that emphasize aimed and single shot damage. Of them all, Freif has the least number of “Slayer” titles, because outside of routine operations, he isn’t meant to be mixing it up directly.

  Once again, I flick my gaze over his Status screen, lips pursed.

  Freif T’raoor, Slayer of Kobolds, Trolls, Goblins, (more), Marksman Champion IV, Krismat Pathfinder, Chaumi Desert Survivor, … (Erethran Honor Guard Level 50)

  HP: 2780/ 2780

  MP: 2510/2510

  Conditions: Life Suppression, Scentless, Not the Droids, Ten Steps Closer, Mana Drip, Anchored Return

  But that’s his Status screen, his sheet. That’s not him. And as I stare at the man standing at parade rest before me, hands clasped behind his back, I can’t help but wonder if he has what it takes. His psych profile reminds me he’s a loner on duty, but a people person—a crowd pleaser and joker—when he’s with his peers. On top of that…

  “You’ve been through three separate physical cleanses, all because you’ve not been able to keep clean.” I don’t recognize the names of the drugs, but I don’t need to. Their effects are clear enough from the report. “Can’t handle the pressure?”

  “The incidents were twenty years ago. Paladin Sir,” Freif answers me with a tight tone.

  “We’ll see.” When my pronouncement gets a flat-faced return stare, I go on. “Why do you want to be a Paladin?”

  “I was ordered to show up for this recruitment process. Paladin Sir.”

  “Drop the Paladin Sir nonsense.” I point a finger at him “I didn’t ask why you were here. I asked why you wanted to be a Paladin.”

  “Because they are linchpins of the Empire. Paladin Sir.” Freif barks out the answer, his gaze fixed on my face but not meeting my eyes. It’s a trick I’ve used before, to seem respectful but not.

  I snort and
wave him out. It’s not much of an answer, but it’s an answer I’ll take.

  For now.

  ***

  “Ropo Dhagmath. Master Brewer. Poison Master. Slayer.” I flick the Status Screen to stay right above the bearded Grimsar. Unlike our fantasy Dwarfs, he’s got a small beard, neatly trimmed to ensure it doesn’t get in the way of putting on a battle suit. The beard is streaked with white and gray, mirrored in his braided hair that covers his head in tight bundles. He’s the oldest in the bunch, nearly hitting a hundred eighty, and it shows in the hair and lines on his face. “Not your usual secondary build and occupation for an Honor Guard member.”

  Ropo Dhagmath, Silver Axe Thrower of the Sixth Deep Warren, Master Brewer, Poison Master, Slayer of Trolls, Goblins, Hakarta, (more), … (Erethran Honor Guard Level 49 / Poison Specialist Level 38)

  HP: 4180/4180

  MP: 2340/2340

  Conditions: Loved by Poisons, Venoms & Toxins, Necrotic Damage Resistant, Serve them Twice, Tip the ‘Tender, Potions to Mana Siphon, Alchemist’s Inventory, Stand my Ground

  “Poisons and toxins are a major source of fatalities among our forces, Paladin.” Ropo’s deep voice rumbles as he speaks. “Some of our enemies and dungeons are toxin-filled. Training to gain resistances to join the Guard is required. Not all of us were able to skip such training.”

  My eyes narrow slightly while Ayuri’s close-eyed grin widens. Of course, Ropo can’t see her grinning since she’s behind him, but she’s obviously amused. I do wonder if this kind of backtalk is normal for the Guard. Then again, I’m not in their direct chain of command. Or am I?

  For that matter, are they even using the correct forms for talking to a superior officer? They are talking in Erethran, which is distinct from Galactic itself. But the details sometimes get lost when you buy language packs from the Store. Blindspots you never knew you had until they hit you in the face like a falling tree.

  “So you were the medic before you joined the Guard. And during. And, of course, having someone able to treat poison as an Honor Guard is a good idea. Which is why you’re specialising in bodyguard Skills, like Sanctum.” I watch Ropo nod at my words. “Comfy, stable job. So why do you want to be a Paladin?”

  “A Grimsar has dreams.”

  I raise an eyebrow and dismiss the dwarf. That’s an interesting choice of words. He’s old, but stable. A family man, though all his kids are grown. Grandkids abound, and even some great-grandkids. That’s an obvious weakness, compared to the other candidates. A leverage point. I wonder if he’s willing and able to sacrifice them, if it came to it.

  More to the point, he’s a dreamer. Aren’t they supposed to die early?

  ***

  Next up is the rock man, whose very movements send miniscule shocks through the floor. I’m surprised, because the floor itself is reinforced. And even if I’m extremely sensitive to motion these days, it’s still one heck of a feat. Unlike the usual full-sleeve-and-pants uniform rig of the others, the rockman’s uniform is made up of short-sleeves and cargo shorts.

  “How come Rocky’s playing rock and roll with his feet?” I shoot the thought to Ali, while I study the Status Screen hanging above Rocky’s head.

  Kino Kaan, Last Survivor (II), Medallion of the Kozma, Bearer of the Yellow Flame, Sapper, Slayer of Goblins, Yerrick, the Deep Lovers, Wendigo, Enfields, … (Erethran Honor Guard Level 50)

  HP: 4500/4500

  MP: 2140/2140

  Conditions: Increased density, Juggernaut, Resistance to All, Stand My Ground, Geopositioned, Triple Health Regeneration Nanites, Memorised Form

  “The Risen are all denser than they appear. Makes them the perfect tanks because they’ve naturally got a physical defense resistance over a hundred plus percent,” Ali sends back. “Increased density and weight is just one of the side-effects. Of course, most get a Light Foot Skill or two to off-set that.”

  I grunt, recalling the Skill in Rocky’s notations. That means he’s either choosing to make a point by stomping in here or he’s so dense, his Skills are still not enough. I’m not entirely sure which option I like more.

  “So, Rocky, you’re the tank. The perfect bodyguard who stands in front of the Queen until everyone else gets her out. Or the guy who lets the battleship fire upon him while his platoon preps the anti-ship artillery.”

  I’m not great at reading rock, but the slight shiver that sends rock dust floating to the floor shows I’ve scored a hit. I’ve been hit by that kind of fire. Even if you survive, it still hurts. Rocky’s granite face makes him look like a less expressive Uncle Ben from the Fantastic Four, which isn’t useful. I’d rather have Jessica Alba myself.

  “So what makes you want to be a Paladin?”

  “Because I can survive it.”

  “We’ll see about that.” I gesture Rocky away, watching as he tromps off.

  Solid. Quiet. Your typical tank. Except the Risen are few in number, almost all of them joining the army at some point. Their family system is weird, with children born when a Risen decides it’s time to split. They shatter themselves, creating a mini them that then hibernates for a century or two before rising. Weird, but it means every child is precious and taken care of by the entire race. And the loss of a single one is to be mourned.

  No easy handles at least.

  ***

  “Are you just calling them in to ask that single question?” Ayuri says while we wait for my next victim. Sending them down to the courtyard and back without teleporting means we’ve got time to wait. Not as much as you’d think, since the higher Dexterity in all their abilities means they’re basically hot-footing their way back and forth.

  “Pretty much.”

  “Why?”

  I grin at Ayuri’s question.

  “Seriously, Redeemer. Why?”

  “You’ve trained them too well,” I say, gesturing to the window and the courtyard behind me. “Other questions won’t get a proper response. So. One question. Then I’ll figure out a way to tease out the truth.”

  “Oh? And how would you do that?”

  I shrug, not having found an answer yet. Though I have hints.

  Before we can speak further, the door chimes and slides open, leaving me to regard the horror-inducing appearance of my next speaker.

  My next victim-volunteer arrives, wings flaring a little as he steps through the door. I lean back, eying the roach-flyer—a Che’dah from a Dungeon Planet just like me—as he regards me with its compound eyes. I shudder a little, an atavistic instinct making me want to squish the bug. Preferably with a ten-foot hammer.

  And I know exactly where to find one.

  “Redeemer.”

  I cock my head at the greeting. It’s a breach of protocol in a way. But not really.

  The usage of Titles is a social construct of System-created society. Titles that matter more to specific cultures are always used first, in front of other Titles. So the usage of Titles varies depending on social standing.

  As an example, the Hakarta are more likely to use my Monster Bane Title over a general Slayer Title—if I ever get one. In turn, they’d discount my rank of Paladin entirely, since that’s a Class and only Erethran. Redeemer of the Dead is the Title most commonly used, because it’s a unique Title, even if it has no other direct benefits like Monster Slayer.

  Other cultures might see social rank Titles—like Lord and Lady or Duke—as more important. It’s a little bit of a mess, but the big thing is that rather than using the “correct” Title—in this case, my rank as a Paladin for their armed forces—the roach has decided to use my Redeemer Title. It says something about the society the Roach lives in, though what, I’m not sure yet.

  Smo’kana Sa’l’a’la, Monster Slayer, Slayer of Goblins, Isooma, Yerrick, Nuckelavee, (more), 12891th Spawn Survivor, Multi-Classed,… (Erethran Honor Guard Level 47)

  HP: 2940/2940

  MP: 2840/2840

  Conditions: Multi-Classed (Shadow Stalker), Fire Resistant, Ablative Impact Resistance, Fountain of Mana,
Shadow Consort

  “So, Smo, you’re a fellow Dungeon World survivor. Don’t meet many of you guys,” I say. “How come?”

  “Swarm perish. Mother Brood Die. Sixth Cycle of Rebirth of the Third Line.” Smo’s got a clicking, buzzing tone to his voice, as if he’s a bad transistor radio that has never been tuned properly.

  I dart a look at the lounging Ayuri for clarification.

  Silence stretches out until she finally cracks an eye open and replies, “Sargent Sa’l’a’la’s race is birthed from eggs, produced by queen Che’dah. Their race is one that was uplifted by the System integration, but during the process of integration, the majority of uplifted queens were lost. There are now three remaining queens on the planet, leaving them vastly undermanned.” Ayuri pauses then adds, “It doesn’t help that each birth swarm goes through a period of intense cannibalism. It does mean survivors have a headstart on Levels though.”

  “Oh.” I eye his title, realizing it wasn’t just a throwaway note. Then again, most Titles aren’t. They’re gained due to either Galactic Council or System intervention for notable achievements. Which is kind of disturbing when you consider how many siblings he probably ate that the System felt it worthy of a Title.

  Ugh.

  I suddenly decide I need a bath. “So why do you want to be a Paladin?”

  “First in Line. Power. Consume. Rebirth.”

  I glare at Smo while Ayuri explains. “One of the powers of the queen’s class is the consumption of their brood to pass on Skills to the next generation. Greatly weakened, of course, but it can allow the development of unique Classes. The queen is quite interested to see what the consumption of a high-Level Paladin would engender.”

  “Yeah, okay. That’s just messed up.” I shake my head and point at the door. “Out. And send in the next.”