Stars Asunder

by Tao Wong

  Yeah, turning my back on the cult leader was a bad idea. But if there’s one thing I’ve learned, it’s when passions are high, when people are angry, that’s when you find out who they really are. Not the face they show you, the mask we all wear to get by in our daily lives, but who we really are. The lines that we draw, the things that anger us, they tell more about who and what we believe in than any kind words or mealy-mouthed social talk could ever do.

  What we will fight for is the truest guide of the inner self there is.

  ***

  One of the first things I noticed about this residence / manufacturing hub / Artisan Center and religious building is that it’s just as decorated on the inside as the outside. Pictures, moving video wallpapers, and statues abound, even in the hallways that lead to the individual rooms. They all depict Spuryan’s utopian society where races—Erethrans, Yerrick, Grimsar, and more—Combat Classers, and Artisans work together in blissful, brightly colored harmony. Happy, content, beaming faces stare back from the glowing paint and holographic images. All strangely content—even the ones battling the monsters on the outskirts of the sprawling, green-and-purple cities.

  Getting the floor plans for the building from my attendants is simple enough. Comparing it to the floor plan that Ali has managed to acquire shows that they aren’t hiding anything. No hidden floors or secret rooms where they build plagues or bombs. At least not in the first couple of floors we check out.

  The bottom floors are all social locations. Living rooms, social loungers, large kitchens in cafeterias dominate the layout, with the addition of a few land-based garages for vehicles that run on the ground. There are even some training rooms, for those violently inclined. Above the social floors are workshops, individualized and equipped for various professions. Surprisingly, many of those workshops aren’t empty, even at this time of night.

  “And you’ve been working for them for how long?” I asked the elderly Erethran Artisan whose workshop we’ve invaded.

  The workshop is barebones, all nanoformed steel tables and workbenches and covered cupboards. They’re all protected, built to withstand the occasional catastrophic failure. Each workshop is roughly ten by ten—good enough for a single worker, but not much more. It’s also relatively neat, since storing movable equipment in one’s inventory ensures it doesn’t get destroyed.

  The Artisan was working on a drone, putting it together from the ground up. Using materials crafted in other nearby workshops, melding them together with blueprints. There’s a degree of specialization involved, but not as much as you’d think. If a person can make a computer chip, they can just as easily make it for large drone vehicles or planetary destroyers. The Skills transfer over, especially when you can download the knowledge and blueprints from the System with enough Credits.

  “Eleven passages of the planet nights now, your justice.” The artisan refuses to meet my eyes, mumbling his answers. He’s not the first I’ve spoken to, all of them happy enough to talk, but offering little divergent information.

  “You like working here?”

  “I build drones, your justice.” He gestures to the drone he was building. “Civilian market, delivery drones. It’s good work.”

  That too is normal. Nearly all the Artisan work goes to the civilian market, with a small number going directly to the Reluctant Survivors’ own monster hunting team. They try to extract themselves from the military industrial complex as much as possible. Or at least, that’s what they’re telling me.

  “Ali, do we have stats to show they’re telling the truth?”

  “How the hell would I know? I can look it up later…”

  “Do so.”

  “That’s great,” I say. “You find it rewarding?” I get a nod for that. I try again. “You have family? Someone you care about in the complex?”

  “Yes, your justice. Two wives and six spawn.” For the first time, a trace of pride.

  “And how do they like living here?”

  “Well enough. We have food, shelter, safety from the monsters. My spawn enjoy playing with the other children. It’s a good community, though there’s not enough purple.”

  I frown at the last, trying to figure out if it means anything. A flicker in my mind as data downloaded comes to the rescue. Cultural saying, mostly to deal with the color of the greenery. As our version of green, their desire for more forests and open areas. I keep trying to get him to relax and just chat but give up after a few minutes and move on as the Artisan grows increasingly uncomfortable.

  My high Charisma stat might be useful for intimidating and scaring people, for forcing my Aura on others. But it’s not as useful for being the sociable huckster. That just isn’t me, and the System seems to agree, having grown my attribute in other ways. In the end, I give up and move on.

  It doesn’t matter where I go, how deep I head into the residence, knocking on doors and chatting with people. I get deference, smiles, and polite invitations in to chat, even from those who wake up grumpy. Fear, hidden within courtesy. Uncertainty, the same kind you get when speaking to a police officer back on Earth. I get nowhere, not talking to them at least.

  Not directly.

  But I persist.

  For I have other Skills. Eye of Insight is always on, alerting me when someone is actively using Skills to lie to me. Purchased knowledge about body language and my higher Perception allow me to pick out mundane cues for when people are lying or just shading the truth on a mundane level. Most aren’t lying. No more than normal people do. Mostly around questions like, are you happy?, do you like it here?, and the like. For most people, there’s always a level of uncertainty, of concern and doubt when asked a question like that. Most people have that niggling sense of doubt that comes from living an unfulfilled life. Of believing that it could be better.

  Sapient creatures just aren’t very good at being happy.

  More useful is Society’s Web. I watch the lines radiating from people, how they twist and thrum as they speak. How they connect and interconnect between individuals within the building. At first, I follow lines, verifying the information I get. Following up with questions on different groups that lie throughout the entire complex. Then I start veering away, finding different clusters, different social groups. All to corroborate the picture I’m developing.

  Have to admit, I’m rather impressed. When the attendants shoot me a questioning looks, I realize I’ve spoken that out loud. I give them a smile and don’t elaborate.

  It’s been nearly four hours of walking back and forth, bothering people in the middle of the night. Eventually, I walk out the complex, waving goodbye to the attendants and dismissing them. Not that they leave, watching my departing back as I walk toward the city. I start composing a note to Saimon to get my Portal pass approved. All the while, I’m waiting for the public aircar I’ve called to arrive.

  I stay silent, keeping my thoughts to myself until I’m picked up. I even stay silent when Ali returns from picking up all our toys. We stay silent, floating through the air, until we make it back to our residence. That’s where Mikito and Bolo are waiting, no longer at the ready for potential trouble, but too high-strung to go back to sleep. Instead, they’re training against one another, playing at violence.

  I watch for a few minutes, marveling at how Mikito pushes aside Bolo’s huge hammer, deflecting rather than blocking, using her greater speed and precision. She’s gotten better, much better, even in the few weeks that we’ve known him. If my Intelligence increases have been to handle Mana and create vector pathways, to deal with information flow better and to handle the insanity of war, hers seems to have been focused on her skills. She improves her martial skills at a rate that is staggering.

  I sometimes wonder if it’s a conscious choice.

  Studies from the library indicate that there is a little bit of conscious variation in our development of attributes. But just as much, there’s an unknown factor, the System’s influence, that even multiple and exhaustive tests have yet to uncove
r. Oh, there are hypotheses—but none of them have been definitive. There’s no rhyme or reason why an accountant can suddenly play musical instruments, find perfect pitch in a song while increasing his attributes. Or why a Combat Classer can do high-level mathematical formulas, complex equations involving six-dimensional math without touching a calculator. There are hypotheses that in those cases, the System isn’t building the capacity for us, but for itself.

  Though why it needs the capacity, why a sapient can pick out the addition of a flake of salt from a spoonful of soup is a question no one has an answer to.

  The pair notice my presence soon enough, pausing in their play. And it is play, for they aren’t using their Skills. At least, not any active ones. Breathing just a little hard, they stroll over to me, weapons over their shoulders, almost mimicking one another. It makes me smile. Harry, seated inside the building, comes out as well, obviously not interested in watching them. I’m sure he’s got more than enough footage of them.

  “How’d it go?” Bolo says. “We need to lay down the hurt?”

  “Aren’t you some kind of Lord, noblesse oblige and all that?” I reply.

  The Dragon Lord looks puzzled until his face clears up as the information download on our culture clarifies it for him. Sometimes, the data isn’t fully integrated. It’s decent most of the time, but English and its random borrowing of other words from other languages can trip it up.

  “Not that kind of Lord. Anyway, I was never very good at diplomacy,” Bolo replies. There’s a flash, a quick change in his face, the memory of something darker crosses it. But then it’s gone, like the passing of the cloud, and he’s focused. “So? What was it like?”

  Mikito makes a noise in agreement while Harry raises his hand, beginning to film. I wave my hands at him, indicating for Harry to stop. I know he’s recorded most of my interactions, tapping into my neural link and Hod, using it for his feeds. I don’t mind, because I’m going to make him look for my own information. But what I have to say now, it’s not for public consumption. Not yet.

  I take a few moments to turn the house’s privacy screens to maximum. Another second and I turn on my own Skills. Bolo and Mikito replicate my actions, layering their Skills on top of mine. It’s not as effective as the Champion’s power, but it’s better than nothing.

  “What did you think, Harry?” I ask. He’s the most used to watching, interviewing others. Whether in this world or the previous one, he has experience to draw upon.

  “The people you talked to, they were telling the truth. They are, mostly, happy. Some doubts, some concerns, but nothing out of the ordinary. In fact, it’s a little too ordinary, a little too happy. There’s some nervousness when talking to you, but that’s not uncommon when speaking to Your Justice.” Harry says all this while his gaze focuses slightly off, as if he’s looking at notification screens we can’t see.

  “Anything else?”

  “Not exactly my area of expertise, but a lot of the answers were a little too rote. Whenever you touched on their leadership, they were a little too enthusiastic. Not because they’re being forced to say it. I’d say they’re all true believers.” There’s a little hesitation in Harry’s voice, probably because he’s straying into speculation.

  “Cult?” Mikito jumps right to the point.

  “Close enough. Are social movements cults?” I shrug. I’m sure a sociologist could tell the difference between people really believing in something and a mind-washed, brainless mass. But that line is way too fine for me to cut. “That entire location was a setup. A lot of them don’t really live there. There are too many ties, too many strings attaching them to other locations. Spuryan dragged all of them over to make a perfect little location for me to visit.”

  Bolo frowns at my revelation.

  “I don’t know if he really thought I was that dumb,” I say. “Spuryan must know of my Skill, must know that I probably would have guessed he was putting on an act. So I don’t know what the point was. Either that or he really underestimates me.”

  “Not the first person, boy-o,” Ali points out. “Your history is rather rife with ‘Beacon first, ask questions never’ episodes.”

  Mikito and Harry cannot help but smile, making me even more annoyed. I’m not that much of a barbarian.

  “Any idea what his goal was in the end?” I ask the group.

  “Lie or not, that was still a few thousand people who truly believe in his cause. And by all indications, even if he doesn’t have billions of true believers, it’s still a substantial number. The siren call of not being at war is powerful, even in a militaristic society like this,” Harry offers. “Maybe he was just trying to make you see it. Maybe he’s hoping you agree with him.”

  “Foolish,” Bolo says. “Even at home, we fight. Monsters mostly, but we do leave to find other sapients. Adventurers, Guilds, and corporations come to our domain, thinking they can exploit us, exploit our land, our dragons. Levels are needed, and fighting others provide the best kind of experience.”

  I consider Bolo for a time. What I know of his world, I’d almost have thought he’d lean toward Spuryan’s belief. After all, his people spend their days and nights fighting dragons and taming them. There just aren’t that many civilizations around their world anymore. Not with it located in the Forbidden Zone.

  “You do what you must, especially if Legendarys are targeting you,” Bolo explains.

  I can’t help but nod. Over the years, the negative of the Erethrans’ constant need to go to war, to expand is that they’ve made a number of enemies. Including individuals who started out as nothing more than an Advanced Class and grew their Levels over the years. Or just ran away to Level and came back with a vengeance.

  Now, they’ve got a couple of high-Level people gunning for them, though none of them are Legendaries.

  Yet.

  It’s a constant spiral as the Erethrans rush ahead, trying to up their own Levels, to find their enemies and end them before they become too strong. Of course, when that fails, they help their enemies gain Levels and hurt themselves. Or they create even more enemies by hurting others. And so, it keeps circling. They’ve become their own Heavenly Sky.

  Problem is, the other option is… well. Bad.

  Because the histories are full of groups who haven’t chosen to Level, who have chosen to try to be nice and look internally, and most of those end up destroyed. By those who want power, by the System failing on them.

  “So you think this was just the initial pitch?” The group offer tentative nods, and I sigh and run a hand through my hair. “That means we can expect the others too.”

  “Very soon. They won’t like the fact that they’ve been pushed behind,” Ali adds.

  I can’t help but sigh again. Just another thing to look forward to. Never mind that we still have to train some idiots. Suddenly, I feel exhausted by what’s coming. I stare at the ceiling and shake my head.

  Time for bed. The problem of picking a new Empress and training a bunch of idiots is a future John problem.

  Chapter 9

  “Are you joking?” Magine’s incredulous tone is reward enough for me. Not that he’s the only one looking a bit thrown by my latest pronouncement.

  “Nope. We have the budget, so all of your requests have been approved.” Yeah, I might be smirking a little. “Put together a training plan for how you can integrate the new equipment and new Skills. I don’t believe it would be a good idea for you to grab them all at once, so prioritize those that make the most sense and have the longest integration period. Any questions?” I don’t even let them answer before waving them off. “Get me the training information by noon today. I expect you all to be buying your Skills by the end of day. Or equipment. Though I understand there might be some recommendations coming down on those. I might hold off on that, just a little.”

  The group hangs around, not moving, confused by my abrupt pronouncements.

  I clap my hands together, dragging their attention back. “Well, come on. Get mo
ving.”

  Some of them leave immediately, but Gheisnan hesitates before he speaks. “What if we have additional suggestions or changes we might want to make? To our requests.”

  “And why would you have those?” I ask almost teasingly.

  Gheisnan wilts beneath my gaze, ears flattening against his skull as he refuses to answer me.

  On the other hand, Anayton speaks up, hands on her hips. “Because none of us actually thought you’d get us the Skills. We thought this was just another test. So we hedged things, putting everything that we thought you thought we needed.”

  Almost, I consider telling them that they should have trusted me. That it’s a little too bad if they didn’t. But that would be petty. And self-destructive. One of the things I’m trying to build are Paladins who can make their own decisions. Which means choosing their own builds. With some assistance.

  “Send us your revisions by the end of the day,” Mikito says while I ruminate being naughty.

  Gheisnan shoots her a grateful smile while Anayton sniffs disparagingly in my direction. Even the others who had started leaving have turned around, hesitating over our confrontation, listening in. I can’t help but chuckle in dire amusement.

  As they walk away, I look at Ali. “Make sure to mark every change. We’ll have to go over it, make sure they aren’t buying any nukes or the System equivalent. Just because I’m giving them a blank check doesn’t mean I have to do it the stupid way.”

  Ali opens his mouth to comment then shuts it. It’s probably a little too easy, even for him.

  “So what now?” Bolo asks me when the group disperses. “More training?”

  “Nope.” I grin. “We do the same.”

  “Even me?” Bolo looks surprised.

  “It seems that real Paladins had support staff. And those support staff could draw from the budget too.”