by Macronomicon
Jeb’s eyes went wide as he put two and two together just as the massive keegan lunged forward.
Jeb wasn’t small by any means, but he wasn’t huge either. He was right in that comfortable range where no one had ever truly throttled him. Jeb had heard the term used before, but when the seven-foot keegan clamped his vice-like hands around Jeb’s neck and shoulders before shaking him like a disobedient toddler, he knew what it felt like.
“You ruined me!”
Shake shake.
“You ruined my career!”
Shake, shake.
“You ruined my life!”
The ceiling wobbled, and Jeb’s vision darkened a little as the blood to his brain was cut off. Jeb wanted to say something eloquent that would mollify the enraged giant boney-man, but it came out as a garbled croak.
“Three generations!”
Shake shake shake.
“Scrimped and saved to buy our citizenship!”
“Herglebuba!” Jeb responded.
Shake, shake, shake.
“And you ruined it overnight!”
Shake.
“I’m a Citizen with no standing! How can I pass on that legacy to my heirs when I have no standing!?”
Jeb held up a finger to launch a counterpoint, but couldn’t force air through his neck beyond a rattle.
Click.
Both of them went still upon hearing the metallic sound of a gun cocking.
Mrs. Everett, her flabby arms quivering with determination, and no small amount of Parkinson’s, aimed a .38 at Zlesk’s temple.
“Let go of Mr. Trapper, boney,” Mrs. Everett said.
Jeb glanced down to the old woman’s apron, slightly less bulgy than before. Does she just carry that around in her apron? That’s gotta be some kind of a safety hazard in an orphanage.
On the stairs above the foyer, the janitors and Mr. Everett were clomping down, while Mrs. Lang and the other lunch lady were cordoning off child lookie-loos.
Jeb sucked in a grateful gasp of air as Zlesk released his neck, huge thin fingers unclasping from around him.
In a blur of motion, Zlesk knocked the gun aside, faster than Jeb could see.
BOOM!
The deafening sound of a .38 at point-blank range, amplified by the close quarters, tore through Jeb’s ears. As his eardrums were ringing, Jeb did a quick self-eval, mentally scanning his body for pain or holes that weren’t put there by God.
Nothing.
Zlesk winced and shook his palm, a squished piece of lead and a couple drops of blood falling off of it.
“This is between me and Jebediah Trapper. I have no quarrel with any of you,” he said, looking up at the four men on the staircase. “But if you attack me, I may defend myself without repercussion.”
Mr. Everett opened his mouth, glanced down at his wife rubbing her bruised, shaking hand, and paused for a moment. “Take it outside. Away from the children.”
“Dude!” Jeb exclaimed before Zlesk hauled him back out the door. He’d been hoping for some kind of ‘you attack him, you attack all of us’, but Jeb had made the mistake of hiring sane, rational people.
None of the teachers could compete with someone who could catch a bullet, and they knew it.
Jeb got dragged out onto the mansion grounds, all the children gawking at the seven-foot-tall bone giant who hauled the owner of the orphanage through the courtyard, then over the hedge to the next property over.
When Zlesk dropped him onto the flagstone around the edge of the neighbor’s swimming pool, he seemed to have calmed down in the interim. The former sheriff prodded his rapidly purpling hand, watching Jeb out of the corner of his eye.
“I regret losing my temper. I was…upset.”
“So, Grenore got you fired, huh?” Jeb asked, coming to his foot. It was the only reason he could see that the sheriff might have lost his job and would blame Jeb for it.
“He wanted to discredit or eliminate any witness to his humiliation. I am a Citizen and therefore he could not risk killing me, so instead the tycoon launched an aggressive campaign to have me removed from office and stripped of my standing.
“Mere hours after you had left his office, all your posters were down, replaced with ones that muddied the water and called for my resignation. Hundreds of bulbs changed hands, and in the end…” Zlesk spread his hands. “I received a dismissal from the head office for allowing Ms. Grenore to be kidnapped, and here I am.”
“What about the enforcer?”
Zlesk snorted. “I wish he’d tried. Ms. Tekalis could have put the buffoon out of our misery before his campaign against me amounted to anything. Sadly, Garland isn’t that stupid. Imperial enforcers have a license to kill and very little oversight. He let her be until she simply left on more important matters.”
“Well, how can you get your standing back?” Jeb asked.
“Oh, there are ways, but all of them amount to either greasing a staggering amount of palms or accomplishing some monumentally dangerous task. Climbing back up is harder than falling down.”
“…Would working closely with an imperial enforcer and killing a reaper do it?” Jeb asked.
Zlesk’s brows skyrocketed for a moment. “Honestly? No, no, it would not be enough.” Zlesk cocked his head. “But it would be an excellent start to regaining my status within the empire.”
“I got the job offer right before I left Kalfath. Haven’t earmarked the credit for the kill to anyone,” Jeb said with a shrug. “Would you like to make a Deal?”
“Like your arrangement with Grenore? You might not remember, but I witnessed that farce firsthand. I’ll pass.” Zlesk waved his hand dismissively.
“Most of the setup to lure the reaper out has already been done,” Jeb said. “Help me for the last little bit and all the positive credit for the operation will be owed to you. Someone who can catch a bullet would be appreciated when we finally confront the murderer.”
“Jeb, you can’t lie about who did all the work,” Smartass whispered into his ear.
No, but I can assign credit.
“Whaddya think? I’ll even let you dictate the terms.”
“I think it could be a colossal waste of time.” Zlesk thumbed his chin, cocking his head in thought. “But...if i get to dictate the terms…
“Give me a hundred bulbs as collateral, the price of my heir’s citizenship, and I’ll do what it takes to help you catch your reaper. If we succeed in a spectacular fashion, then I will exchange your money for public crediting of my involvement. If you muck it up and incite public outrage or political blowback again, I will walk away with your money and deny all involvement with you.”
Jeb felt a smile blooming. “Do you take gold bullion?”
“Acceptable.”
“Deal.”
Jeb felt the somewhat more complicated bargain click into place inside him, urging him to fork over a little over six pounds of gold.
And now we’ve got someone who can actually fight, Jeb thought.
While the two were shaking hands, Rufi—er, Colt leapt over the hedge, a sling whirling over his head.
“Get down, pops! I got this!”
Teenagers, Jeb thought, rolling his eyes.
The teen unleashed a lead pellet with the distinctive crack of an object breaking the sound barrier, straight for Jeb’s new hire.
“Stop!” Jeb shouted as Zlesk flickered out of the way, the bullet puncturing the ground behind him.
Shing! Zlesk drew his blade, and Jeb thought he was about to see a diced Colt. The keegan charged forward, using the hilt of the blade to deflect a second bullet before punching for Colt’s head.
Colt responded with a spray of Mystic slime, covering the sheriff and just about everything else in zero-friction goop.
Zlesk’s eyes went wide as his feet slipped, throwing his punch wide before he tumbled to the ground, sliding into the hedge in a lanky heap.
“Take my friends!? I’ll fucking kill you, boney!” Colt pulled out a knife and went for the
coup de grâce, and Jeb used a ball of hardened air to jab him in the nose. The boy staggered, clutching his face, giving Zlesk time to get his bearings.
Zlesk’s palm found purchase in the slime somehow, and he flipped, reaching up to catch Colt’s wrist.
There was a hum that was more felt than heard, and Colt’s wrist was dragged down to the ground. Zlesk touched the boy’s forehead and shoulder, and soon he was stapled to the ground by invisible force.
“Let go of me, I’ll kill you!” Colt shouted into the dirt, followed by some more wordless screaming and spraying of zero-friction goop.
“What did I do to offend this one?” Zlesk asked, coming to his feet. From the way he moved, Jeb could tell he was using his Class Ability to secure his own body to the ground. The sheriff’s belt was slipping off because of the slime, and his sword had long since flown away into the hedges.
“He thinks you’re the ‘bad guy’. Give me a minute to sort this out.” Jeb carefully stabilized himself with his own Myst as he walked through Colt’s slime zone and crouched in front of the kid.
“Calm down,” Jeb said.
“He’s right there!” Colt shouted. “And you helped him!”
“That ain’t the guy we’re looking for, and there’s no reasonable way it could be, since he was the sheriff of a town nearly a month north of us until a few weeks ago.”
Colt peered at him with a single angry eye from where his face was planted in the ground.
“This is a pretty good lesson on why I don’t want you fighting the kidnapper by yourself, though. Zlesk beat you easily.” Jeb poked the teen’s shoulder.
“You helped him!”
“Who knows? There might be more than one,” Jeb said with a shrug.
***Kebos O’sut***
Kebos O’sut, or ‘Lenos Surpey’ to the children, watched from the balcony as his newest acquisition slaughtered rabzi by the dozens alongside her peers. The feral creatures snarled at the children before they died, but the little girl no longer flinched and mewled, instead having grown numb to the fuzzy creatures’ threat displays.
She simply speared the restrained animals in the neck and moved on to the next cage.
About time, Kebos thought, ire simmering under his expressionless surface.
“How is your product coming, Mr. O’sut?” Judge Elkor asked, joining him on the balcony overlooking the courtyard. The keegan man was wearing his work attire, a black and blue checkered affair.
Even at a party, the judge wanted everyone to know who he was and what his station was. The man was a raging narcissist. Kebos swallowed his personal distaste and motioned to the eight children killing caged rabzi.
“Those three have shown complete regeneration on the scar test. We will get them ready to ship by the end of the week. The other five are newly acquired. It will be some time before they are ready.”
“If they showed complete regeneration, why not just kill them now? They are immortal now, are they not?
“Here, hold this,” the judge said, shoving his drink into Kebos’s hand before rolling up his sleeves, crackling energy dancing along his fingers.
“Which one’s mine?” Elkor asked, his eyes dancing with mirth as he scanned the unaware children.
“Judge, I don’t mean to be a wet blanket, but the scar test is not one hundred percent accurate. Our standard practice is a five-point buffer of Body to be absolutely sure they have achieved immortality. You wouldn’t want to pay for a dud, would you?”
“I’m sure it’ll be fine. I trust your skill.”
If you trust my skill, then let me perform my business my way! Kebos shouted in his head.
“You think I could hit that one in the head from here?” Elkor said, closing a single eye and lining up a finger covered in brilliant sea-green energy. “I bet I could.”
The child he was pointing at wasn’t even one of the three he’d pointed out! The judge was doing it specifically to get under Kebos’s skin.
“Your Honor,” Kebos said, choosing his words carefully and treading the fine line between obsequious and forceful. “If a child is killed in front of the rest of them, it will spoil the entire batch. Are you willing to pay for all eight of them, when only three are possibly worth the money? I can’t imagine the other investors would be pleased.”
The judge’s eyes opened, and he glanced at Kebos before lowering his finger, the Myst fading. “I suppose not. You shouldn’t put them on display like that if you don’t want people taking potshots at them. It’s lazy and a safety hazard, Kebos.”
“I’ll take care of it right away, Judge,” Kebos said, bowing as the man left.
“What an ass,” the lady Nevair said, idly stirring her drink as she approached, cloaked in her lovely gown. The keegan woman’s cheekbones were high and stood out to a tremendous degree that always made Kebos wonder if she’d had work done.
Kebos chose not to respond to her comment. He was merely the supplier, a low class of Citizen compared to the movers and shakers of Solmnath. He couldn’t afford to choose sides, even though the woman was absolutely correct.
“Just eight?” the lady asked as she leaned over the balcony, brow raised. “I don’t mean to criticize your math, but there’re more than eight of us.”
“Apologies, my lady, but the current supply of rabzi can only support eight at a time. If we were to stretch the Impact too thin, it simply wouldn’t work. Your Immortal will be shipped in the order they were acquired. I apologize for the inconvenience.”
“You don’t have to take that tone with me,” Nevair said, waving him off. “I understand limitations, and you are the expert, are you not?” Her eyes scanned the eight distant figures hungrily. “Tell me, is mine in here?”
“As you requested, a young female with pale skin,” Kebos said, pointing out Nancy. “The specificity of your request made finding one a little more difficult, but not impossible. She still has a few weeks to…bake, for lack of a better word.”
“Why keep the rabzi in a cage? Why not just restrain them entirely, or better yet, put them on an assembly line and have the children press a button?” she asked, taking a drink.
“Because it wouldn’t work. Impact transmission is dulled the more degrees of separation there are between the act and the result. It would be possible to arrange a system like you described, but the children would receive next to nothing in return.
“The two most important features of Impact transmission are awareness of purpose, and directness of causation. If the child doesn’t know their actions are killing a living creature, The System places the responsibility for its death on another, and if the rabzi are completely restrained and murdered by proxy, The System likewise assigns the majority of its Impact elsewhere.
“Of course, by this logic, we’re taking a hit from keeping the rabzi in cages, but allowing them freedom to act would result in all the children dying.”
“I said you were the expert. I didn’t mean that I wanted to be one, too,” Nevair said, her tone sharp.
Kebos bowed low. “My apologies, my lady.”
“Apology accepted,” she said with faint amusement. “I know how you scholarly types tend to get carried away. Your grandfather was much the same.”
Kebos clenched his jaw and bit his tongue.
“Your knowledge and enthusiasm instills me with confidence in you, O’sut. Keep up the good work.” Lady Nevair eyed Nancy one more time before sauntering away.
“Thank you, my lady,” Kebos said, heart pounding in his temples as he continued to bow until he mastered control over his expression. He would never let these people see that they’d gotten to him.
Once he was calm, Kebos cast one last look at the practicing children before turning back to the golden light spilling from his party, which hosted a swath of the wealthiest Citizens in the city—something unheard-of for a man with a background as humble as Kebos.
They wouldn’t breathe the same air as me, Kebos thought as he greeted, flirted and laughed at their awful j
okes, were it not for their need of me.
The Stitching of humanity represented an opportunity, and Kebos intended to rise beyond the grandson of a disgraced scholar.
The humans called Impact ‘Experience’, and foolishly believed it was a simple measure of an opponent’s strength. It seemed they already had some kind of rudimentary myths pertaining to it, but the savages didn’t understand how it worked the way the keegan did.
And the keegan didn’t understand Impact the way Kebos did.
If a child has a large amount of time value in their Impact due to the amount of time and potential they have to choose their fate, then how much time value would an immortal child have?
Many thousands of times more than the rabzi that they spent to create them. Many thousands.
Kebos was chatting with the mayor and his wife when one of his underlings tugged on his sleeve. It was a young hornless melas with lighter skin, more pleasing to the pale keegan nobility.
“Apologies, but the work never stops,” Kebos said, excusing himself and stepping away. He dragged the underling off to the side, where the two of them wouldn’t be overheard.
“What?”
“The rabzi in the mountains have…dried up,” the melas said with a wince. “The collectors are charging us full price for a quarter of the rabzi.”
“Define ‘dried up’.”
The melas shrugged, glancing around evasively. “The hunting isn’t so good anymore. There’ve been reports of explosions echoing across the mountain for weeks now, and the hunters tell me they’ve come across hundreds of charred corpses.”
“Probably a young aristocrat flexing a new fire Core,” Kebos said, waving it off. “Their numbers will recover, as always. In the meantime, hire fishermen to catch peruha.”
“That’ll be expensive,” the melas wheedled.
“Focus on keeping the flow of Impact steady first,” Kebos said, poking his underling in the chest. “Expense second. These aren’t the kind of people you shortchange. Now, was there anything else?”
“We’re having trouble finding children to match the specifications of…sixteen of your investors.”
“Sixteen!?” Kebos hissed. “There are thousands of human children in the city alone, hundreds of whom have no guardians at all. Are you telling me that among all that choice, we’re having a hard time finding them?”
