by Tao Wong
I shudder, shoving aside the memory of the academic study. It’s not the only one, not the only document, video, and memory recording that tries to take over my mind. Graphs, tables of recorded data, speaking heads in pale blue labs. All of it flowing through my mind in a blip and leaving me reeling.
And, as always, another tick upward in my System Quest experience. Another hole filled in. But still, I grasp at the edges. Even as some things, some questions are answered.
I push aside the thoughts and finally, finally call forth the only person I can talk to. At least, to some extent. It requires some Mana, an effort of will against reality’s barrier. And then, the olive-skinned Spirit reappears.
“Ali.”
“About time. What took you so long?” the Spirit grumps at me.
I shrug. There is really no reason. Other than a desire to be alone. And that’s hard enough to get sometimes.
“Whatever. Where are we going?” Ali says, when I offer him no explanation.
“Home.” Or the closest thing to home right now. Better to say the place I’m putting my head down, but semantics. “Why?”
“Because we’re not.” Ali waves and a map appears. Much bigger, taking in all the city. A flicker in the top right highlights the palace. Another blinking dot on the bottom left shows my location, and a dotted line shows our flight path. Away from the Palace.
“Crap.” I wasn’t paying attention. Not thinking I was in danger. Not thinking anyone would take action on the capital planet. But here I am, flying to an unknown location. I buff myself while I consider my options.
Destroy the aircar? Possible, but it’d throw me out into the middle of nowhere. Which might be what they’re looking for. I don’t know what the repercussions of destroying an aircar in the capital city might be. And while I have some protection as a Paladin, it’s all theoretical.
“Call for help.” Probably blocked but worth a try.
“On it,” Ali says, his eyes going blank.
I could stay here and wait. But tough as I am, whoever is taking action probably knows all about me and what I can do. Walking into an ambush is a bad idea, no matter what I tell the initiates.
“I’m blocked,” Ali says moments later.
That’s it. I raise my foot, ready to stomp down, and am halted by a new voice.
“Paladin. Our apologies for the interruption. There is no need for violence.” The voice blaring out of the aircar’s speakers is rough, as if they’ve been smoking a couple of packs a day for the last couple of decades.
“Pretty sure there is.” But I put my foot down. I can still break the car with a thought, but I’m willing to wait. “Keep an eye out for threats, will you?”
“Teach a Goblin how to populate a planet, why don’t you?”
“The Prophet just wants to speak with you,” the voice comes again, just a touch of pleading in it. “We promise you, we offer you no harm.”
“Then open up communication channels. Three seconds, or else I make my way out of this vehicle.” I’m curious, especially when they mention the Prophet, but I want more than a verbal assurance.
“Done.”
“Let Mikito and Bolo know. Keep them updated on our location,” I send to Ali. At the same time, I reach within and pop out Hod’s Armor, placing my hand over the box and letting it begin the process of armoring me. I hear a slight squeak from the voice, but I never promised to come unarmed.
“Well… you’ll be here in a few minutes. Please, remember we are just here to speak with you,” the voice says a little breathlessly.
I smile grimly, leaving the helmet unformed. Activating it, covering myself would take only a second. Might be too long, but I figure that between Sanctum and my Soul Shield, I should be fine. And if not, I’m sure Mikito will bring fire and flame down on them in revenge. Never mind Ayuri.
Killing me now that my friends know what’s going on seems much less likely.
“They’ve confirmed receipt. Bolo’s cursing up a storm about getting woken up. And Harry wants to know if he can ride along in the armor’s recording features.”
“Go for it. He might see something I don’t.”
“I want to know if we’re telling the Champion.”
I consider then shake my head slightly. Even if she would be good backup, running to her for every little problem is getting old. Her sending me to Saimon and Lord Braxton was a pretty clear indication that she expects me to take care of things myself to some extent. And while political maneuvering in a place I don’t know might be a little much, violence is something I do know.
Very, very well.
“Understood.” I glance at Ali, at our projected course, then flick my hands at him. “Go ahead. Get me the lay of the land, will you?”
Ali nods and disappears from normal visual view, floating through the car and zooming ahead. As he does so, I feel him reaching into my inventory, pulling out drones, and dropping them behind in our flight path. Setting up fallback positions for when things go wrong.
Paranoid?
Me?
Not at all.
***
The aircar drops to the ground, floating to a stop in the middle of a courtyard complex. Multi-story-high buildings float around us, each decorated with gold effigies and sculptures of the various alien races that make up the Empire. I say float, because the ground floor is bare, the entire complex held aloft by anti-gravity mods. Walkways, glowing with power and contained by force shields, lead between the building complexes in an intricate cat’s cradle, leaving me to eye the numerous sniping points distrustfully as I step out of the vehicle. The aircar drops the rest of the way with a slight thump, turning itself off and stranding me.
More important than the lack of transportation are the individuals awaiting my arrival. A half dozen robed and dressed Erethrans, all of them flanking a rather recognizable figure. Spuryan Chaiwan, the Prophet of the cult or religion. Or philosophical party. I’m not sure which is more appropriate. Or, truthfully, what the difference is at times.
Spuryan looks similar to the image I’ve seen. Coral ears embellished, shiny and filled with jewelry. Smooth skin, robes that gleam yellow and gold, enchantments twisting the Mana around him. After all this time, I’ve learned to read the way enchantments affect the Mana flow around them, the way they twist and shift depending on their guided uses. These are defensive enchantments, movement boosters, and a few shields for the most part. Just ways of letting him escape potential sticky situations.
Does it make me a bad person that I’m already charting out the Skill uses I need to stop him? When he’s offered no violence?
“Paladin,” Spuryan says, walking forward to greet me.
A trio of his people follow, each of them sternly daring me with their gazes to try something. Worse than their baleful regard is that they’re Combat Classers. One’s got a civilian offshoot of the Erethran Honor Guard bodyguard build. The other two are pure smash-and-grabbers. Further back, even more attendants hang by and watch, the attendants a wide range of races though, as always, the Erethrans dominate.
“Thank you for being willing to speak with me,” he adds.
“Didn’t really get a chance to say no, did I?” They keep coming, closing the distance, and I hold up my hand when they’re about five feet away. “That’s close enough.”
I see a flash of irritation on Spuryan’s face, even as my resistances ping. I grunt, feeling his Auras press down on me. It’s not that powerful, not like the Queen’s. But it’s noticeable. And unique, in the ability to wrap two Auras around one another.
“Certainly. We wouldn’t want you to be uncomfortable. We are here just to speak,” Spuryan says, then tilts his head from side to side. “I do wonder—where is your Companion? The redoubtable Spirit.”
“Ali’s out scouting,” I say, telling him the truth. It’s not as if they couldn’t figure out that one themselves. Not with the ever-increasing amount of automated drones and linked firepower showing up.
“S
uch precautions aren’t necessary.”
“Well, tough. If you didn’t want me to do that, you should have tried calling and asking first.”
“We would, but we’re not exactly…” Spuryan seems to search for the word. “In favor. There were concerns that our requests would be blocked.”
I can see how that’d happen, but it’s a lie too. Because they could have sent it via the Shop and broken through any blocks with enough Credits or Mana. No, they wanted to have this conversation out here, in their place of power. To throw me off just a little. Or maybe just to get in the first word before the others have a chance to pitch themselves. I wonder how much analysis they’ve done of how I’d react.
My silence seems to embolden them, for Spuryan continues. “We wanted you to see a part of us, the reality of the Reluctant Survivors and not the lies that they tell you.”
I almost want to point out that I’ve yet to hear of them from others but decide against it. Better to stay silent and keep him speaking. To see where the lies lie.
“We are no cult, no subversive organization. What we want is the best for our society, for our people. Unmitigated expansion, the wars that we fight, those only bring blood and tears. The loss of our people. Unending war with other sapients is not the only way to Level.” The words flow with well-rehearsed cadence, the phrases resounding with passionate conviction. He sounds like a television evangelist or an auctioneer, so rehearsed with his words that he can brush past your initial objections and assault your better senses before you know it.
Each word, each sentence comes with a flash of a notification, the thrill and a jolt of pleasure as his Skill cuts through my defenses partially, dropping serotonin direct into my body.
“I’m not going to argue with the idea that war is bad, but it seems to me saying it and changing an entire Empire are two different things. Sort of like teaching people to eat less,” I say.
My last sentence gets a bunch of puzzled looks. System-enabled worlds have much less of an issue with obesity, since most high-Level individuals burn more calories than they can hope to intake. Without Mana boosting their bodies, they’d wither and die. It’s why Technocrats who leave System-enhanced space are often extremely low-Leveled, or have attributes dedicated to non-physical stats.
“There is much to do, for certain. Changing an entire culture is not simple. But we can do it if we all work together,” Spuryan says, waving his arms to encompass the buildings. “Look. Look at your map. See how many have already chosen another life, another way of living that does not require blood to be spilt endlessly. And these are but a small portion of those who believe in us, in our cause. We need only a chance, an opportunity to allow those who dare not speak up to do so. To enforce the change that we need.”
“Interesting choice of words.” I look up, eying the hundreds of dots that make up the compound. I wonder how many of them have guns pointed at me. How many of them are here by choice. “But that’s a pretty good pitch. Does leave the question, how do you expect to Level up otherwise?”
“Internal development. Increased investment for city dungeons, exploration of the Forbidden Zones. Additional exploitation of the Dungeon Worlds. And the development of new Dungeon Worlds—uninhabited of course,” Spuryan details his plans with ease.
“I thought you couldn’t do Dungeon Worlds without inhabitants?”
“Incorrect. It is more difficult, since the System needs a sufficient number of sentient personnel to provide the linchpin for its start. It is possible however, with the right seed population inserted beforehand,” Spuryan says.
“Seed pop—”
I don’t get any further. Tests. So many tests. I see the way they’ve tried to do it beforehand, the various methods the Galactics have tried. Tests by the Questors, by the Galactic Council, by kingdoms and other groups on the down-low. All trying to find ways to make more Dungeon Worlds, to gain access to the resources a Dungeon World creates and slow down the progress of the Forbidden Zone. Ways to skirt around the System, around the Galactic Council, around the notice of their enemies.
Tests. Not a dozen, not a hundred, but thousands. Spread over the course of the entire life of the System, from when it first began to now.
Tests. And deaths, failures, the way the System reacts—badly—to manipulation.
I watch worlds burn, intelligent beings warp. I read the reports of how once-sapient creatures become twisted, distorted nightmare versions of themselves. Lycanthropes, shifters, chimera… even more unspeakable monsters, like the Galactic equivalent of the wendigo.
“Paladin?” Spuryan says, as races scream and the System strips scientists of their Classes, offering them new ones in my mind’s eye.
I’ve seen myself a couple of times when the information comes crashing in. Having a friend like Ali means that I get to see recordings of my most humiliating moments all too often. On occasion, when he thinks I’m getting too big for myself, he’ll pop up a window of his “Boy-o highlights.”
When the data unfolds, when my mind is taken over, my face twitches, my eyes flicker and go dark, and during the worse times, I might even get a nosebleed. Once, my eyes themselves bled. Even if the entire download, the data unfolding takes only a few seconds, the process of analysis, of understanding might last longer. And it is disconcerting to come back to myself, to the physical world of aliens and pain, after leaving a mental one of pain and twisted studies.
“And you think you know the right numbers?” I say, ignoring the puzzled looks, the question to ask my own.
“We are not certain, not yet. But there are a large number of volunteers within my apostate who would be willing to go. For the greater good. We will learn the correct numbers.”
He’s given the wrong answer, acting as if I wouldn’t know the truth of it all. No surprise. I don’t think there’s anyone in this world—other than maybe a few top-level Questors—who understands what he’s really suggesting.
After all, there have been successful attempts. Two, to be exact.
The first lasted all of four thousand years before the Mana Density grew too great and the planet was lost. The other lasted for a year before the System stopped flooding the world with Mana. Now the planet lies vacant, a perverted and rotten parody of a Dungeon World. Too much Mana within it to be a normal, residential planet. Too few resources and too much unsynchronized, uninitiated Mana to be a Dungeon World.
In the end, Mana is all around us. It’s what makes the System work. But it’s also what makes the System break down. Because there are two types of Mana, in a way. The unmarked, unaspected, uninitiated Mana that has never gone through the System. And the Mana that has passed through it, whether through sapient creatures or monsters. Mana that is marked, encoded, and thus useful to the System.
Understanding that little bit, understanding the differences in Mana gave me a huge jump in my System Quest. The realization that the Mana available in the city, that can be used to make a city a Safe Zone, the controls put in place all come from the sapient members of a city and the monsters slain is important. Everything the System does, it can only do because of this marked Mana. Unfortunately, this marked Mana slowly degrades, becoming unaspected and unSystemized after a period of time. Worse, monsters only mark Mana after a while, as they Level, and it only releases when they die. So there’s a balance to be struck between murdering them and letting them grow. And, like the Forbidden Worlds, there’s always more unmarked Mana arriving.
That’s why we have Forbidden Worlds. Because at a certain point, we aren’t able to handle the flow of Mana anymore. Even the System’s last-minute controls, the explosion of monsters that precede the start of the loss of a world isn’t enough.
In the end, the System is a means of control for Mana. That, I am certain of now. But who made it, how they made it, why they made it? And, perhaps just as important, where all this Mana is coming from and what it is? Those are still unknown.
“Boy-o! Stop drifting off,” Ali calls.
&n
bsp; Unfortunately, ever since Feh’ral dumped the library in my head, this has been happening more and more. I don’t know if it’s my mind compensating for the information or the fact that I feel—I know—that I’m so close to the answer.
“My apologies. Just thinking about your answer. If you want me to believe you, then I have a request.” I offer Spuryan a smile, curious to see if he bites. I let my gaze track upward, checking out the glowing walkways that hang above me, the lit-up buildings around us. Looking for attackers.
“Of course, anything you want.” Spuryan glances backward to where his bodyguards stand and pauses. “At least, if my bodyguards allow it. You understand, of course.”
“I doubt they’ll worry about this. You can leave.” I smile wider, flicking my gaze to the three guards. “Because the person I want to speak with isn’t you. As you said, you’ve got hundreds of people here. Let me speak with them.”
“About?” Spuryan looks puzzled but not worried. I wouldn’t be either. I’m assuming the people here are the most committed of his cult.
“About you. About your beliefs and what you intend for us all. Let me talk to them, let me see how it works in reality.”
“It will be poor example, when we are forced to live as we are, forced to adjust our vision to the society that hates us.” Spuryan says, already making excuses. “But if you wish it.”
“I do.”
Spuryan nods, gesturing not behind him, not at his bodyguards, but at a couple of others in attendance. They walk forward, crossing the grounds to stop a short distance away from me, closer even than Spuryan himself. I let them come, figuring they’ll be my guides. The pair are a male and female, one an Erethran, the other a female Yerrick of shorter stature.
“I could come with you, if you wish. You are a somewhat intimidating presence,” Spuryan says.
“Don’t bother. You can go. I’ll even make my own way home.” I flash the cult leader a grin, gesturing at the pair of attendants. “They will more than do.”
When Spuryan opens his mouth to speak, I dismiss him by turning on my heels and walking toward the nearest floating entry chute to the buildings that surround us. I watch through Ali’s eyes as Spuryan’s face twitches in annoyance before he gestures for the attendants to follow me.
