by Tao Wong
“And the addition of humanity as allies is something I wish for,” Wynn says, laying a hand over his heart. Which, in Movana is actually more toward the right and down than in humans. “I’ve grown to like your people in my time here.”
“And for that, we are grateful. If you can speak with others,” Lana says beguilingly. She’s not simpering, that’d be too weak, but it is a pointed and heartfelt request. It’s enough to make Wynn nod slightly, unconsciously. “And help us pitch our hopes.”
“I shall do what I can, Lady Pearson,” Wynn says, smiling back at her.
“Just Ms.”
“Not in my eyes,” Wynn replies, and I almost roll my eyes. “But I cannot make any assurances. I can only speak with those in power here.”
“That’s all we can ask for,” Lana says.
I watch Wynn preen and I wonder if he’s even realized he’s fallen for her. Or if he does, if he cares. After a few more pleasantries, Wynn takes his leave.
Lana returns to the office after showing the Movana out, slumping in a seat next to me. “Are you sure you want to go with the Truinnar?”
“Pretty boy making you think they’re a better choice?” I say.
“I don’t know if better is right, but have you done any research about either group? Beyond the people you’ve met?” Lana asks.
“I have. For all their bitching, they’re actually very closely aligned. No surprise, when the Truinnar are just a branch that decided to run off a millennia or so ago. The Movana are a little looser with their noble structures, more free-flowing with those who move up or down their society. The Truinnar are more stratified in theory, but their entire army division allows the ambitious a respected and serviceable method to gain influence and position.
“Geographically—if that’s even the right word when we’re talking about star kingdoms—the Movana have fewer solar systems under their control but higher populations and higher build-out. The Truinnar have a more scattershot approach, with a large number of so-so areas. Roxley’s old domain was one of those scattershot areas, great at first and then, well, not so much. Economically, the Movana are better off, but the Truinnar have a stronger standing army. Not that it matters as much to us. Of course, the last few decades have seen the heating up of their old cold war.”
“And they support different factions, which means it’s unlikely they’ll ever work together,” Lana adds. “And one of those factions probably made us a Dungeon World.”
“The Movana,” I say. “Sounds like a bad option to give them what they want then.”
“Except for the fact that if they’re willing to send more than six billion of us to hell, what makes you think they’d let you do what you want?” Lana says.
“I’ve considered it,” I say, looking at my hands, framed as they are by the dark walnut wood. I shrug, giving her a half smile. “But they’ll find out I’m a lot harder to kill than they think.”
“Maybe. But I don’t trust the Truinnar either. You know they’re willing to backstab to get what they want,” Lana says. “Roxley might be trustworthy, but he’s not acting alone.”
“True. In the end, we’re just waiting anyway,” I say with a grimace. “If neither group is willing to work with us at all, this is just theoretical.”
Lana nods, but her troubled look doesn’t go away. Not even when we switch to more productive topics. As the redhead walks out, I can’t help but consider that maybe she’s right. But in the end, I’ve got to try.
Movana and Truinnar done, I need to hit up the other Galactic groups. Amusingly enough, the warmongering, weapon-building Ares Corp is the easiest to handle. Almost immediately from the initial call, I’m put forward to their planetary head of operations. And after that, it just becomes a matter of horse trading. Thankfully, I drag Katherine and Lana into the actual negotiations, since I find myself well out of my depth within seconds. After all, tax structures, preferred supplier status, and duty rates are all things I have no real experience at. In a surprisingly short amount of time, the entire negotiation is wrapped up, a contract in place and signed. When it’s done, the three of us share a glass of champagne around my office table.
“So. Did that seem a lot easier than it should be?” I say, staring at the contract notification floating in front of me.
Lana glares at me, running a hand through her hair. Even with her bountiful Constitution and Charisma, she looks slightly frazzled after the umpteenth marathon negotiating session. “Easy? You didn’t just spend the last three days in continuous negotiations.”
“It did,” Katherine asserts, denying Lana’s assertion. “And that last request…”
“Something tells me that was the whole point of the negotiation,” I say.
“Are you sure you’re new at this?” Katherine says, her eyes narrowing.
I shift uncomfortably, uncertain of what to say. It’s true that I wasn’t apt at managing office politics in my previous life, but I’ve had time to reflect on my past mistakes. And between my Intelligence and Wisdom attribute increases and my Subterfuge Perk, I have a feeling that some information is leaking in. I’m beginning to get a weird intuitive sense for backstabbing politics. Underhanded dealings, those I can handle. I have a feeling I’d be floored if I ever had to deal with an honest, upstanding politician. Thankfully, the Galactic variety are similar to ours—they exist, but they’re rarer than hen’s teeth.
“New enough,” I answer, breaking off from my musings. And my, somewhat justified, concern about what exactly is leaking in under the influence of the Perk. “In either case, we agreed to it. I need to speak with the Fist anyway, and this is as good a time as any. I’ll be back in a few days.”
Katherine offers me a nod while Lana grimaces, tugging at her messed up dress.
I stand, considering. “Think Mikito would be up for a trip?”
The answer was yes. Once we contacted the Samurai, she managed to catch up with us at the teleportation pad. Of course, part of that was because Lana took an hour to catch a cat nap and change. Mikito looked almost eager to be coming, a light smile on her lips as she gives Lana a hug before playing with the various pets. Once the requisite greetings and licks have been dealt with and a discreet Cleanse cast, Mikito turns to us with a smile.
“It’s almost like old times,” Mikito says, looking around. “Now if Ingrid was around and Carlos could be dragged out…”
“Huh. I think you’d have better chance with Aiden,” I say. “He seems to have gotten over his fears.”
“A bit,” Mikito says, shooting a look at Lana. “It might have been because Lana kept bugging him while wearing a tank top a couple of summers ago.”
“Mikito!” Lana says, apparently scandalized at first before she breaks into a grin. “If you’ve got them…” She gives a pointed look at the tiny Japanese’s rather flat chest.
“Low blow,” Mikito says with a growl, crossing her arms reflexively.
“Who says Ingrid isn’t here?” I say, looking about and heading off the dustup by changing the topic. “Not as if we could ever tell.”
“Har. No. She’s too busy making Credits to hang out with us,” Lana says with a frown.
I hear the slight bitterness in the redhead’s tone and mentally grimace. Damn it. Topic change—fail.
“Come on, we’re holding up the line,” I say eventually, waving up the group.
It amuses me how the pets go first. All of them, including Lana’s griffin, are transported before the three of us get on board. A slight shiver, a twisting in the folds of space, and we’re suddenly there. I snort slightly, noting the usual greeting notification and the now prevalent icon indicating a quantum lock in space.
You have entered a Safe Zone—the Town of Scarborough
Mana flows in this area are stabilized. No monster spawning will occur in this region. Stamina and Health Regeneration increased by 2% in this zone. Please note that unauthorized teleportation is forbidden.
This Safe Zone includes:
City of Scarborough City Center
Shop
Arena
Armory
…
“Duelist Lee. Spear Sato. Mistress Pearson,” the apelike, barrel-chested creature who greets us uses our titles.
It’s the first time I’ve ever heard anyone called Lana by her title—abbreviated or not—of the Mistress of Flame and Beasts, but obviously, it means something to these people. Which is interesting, since most combat titles are rarely used in greetings. From what I’ve gathered, it’s a bit of a social faux pas.
“Champion Emven,” I greet the Galactic while making sure that Ali remembers to send his Status information to my friends. Not that they probably don’t have their own Skills, come to think of it.
Emven Iz, Champion of the Purple Sands, Greater Meatshield (Shield Guardian Level 38)
HP: 5430/5430
MP: 870/870
Conditions: Vulcanized skin, Organ sheath, Reflexive Shield
“Good call, boy-o. The Fist care more about combat titles than anyone else. Frankly, your Redeemer title holds no weight here. Though I’m getting an inkling of what we can expect,” Ali says.
“Well, spit it out.”
“Nah, this will be more fun,” Ali sends back with a smirk.
And despite repeated prodding, Ali refuses to divulge anything further. All the while, I’m listening to Emven as he leads us through the reconstructed city where the looming, giant oval structure dominates the city. Emven waxes lyrical about the many historical battles fought over Tobago in its Earth history, and most recently, by the Galactic colonists. I find it all quite interesting, but the big building even more so.
“Where are going?” Lana asks during one of the few breaks.
“Ah, we walk toward the arena. The governor is holding court there as usual,” Emven says. “He also felt warriors like you would find it of great interest.”
“Really now,” I say, looking at the looming building. Cheers echo out from the open air building. Loud. So very loud, the clash of blades and the hiss of spells ringing through the air, almost as if a heavy metal band had taken to the stands with their amplified instruments. “Sounds like there’re a lot of people there.”
“It’s the major form of entertainment. And training,” Emven remarks. “There’s normally between five to six thousand, but today, the governor made sure to have a few favorites show up to spice up the regular lineup. I hear we’re at nearly ten thousand.”
Lana cranes her head from side to side, noting the numerous pedestrians and the busy hum of vehicles which float along the street below and above us. Even at a glance, it’s clear Scarborough is as busy as Vancouver, even with the large audience in the arena.
“Mostly humans out here,” I send to Ali, judging the difference between the settlements.
“Want to bet the Galactics are at the arena?” Ali says with a smirk.
“No bet.”
I get a chuckle from Ali as we are led inward. There’s only a brief moment of awkwardness as we deal with Lana’s various pets. Eventually, the security personnel compromise, allowing Roland to accompany Lana within while the rest of the pets get housed with other pets and mounts. Grey corridors made of a stone-like substance, marked with light green and blue trimming, encompass us as we go up, finally ending at the skybox. A part of me is amused how certain architectural strictures are the same no matter the culture—give the important people luxurious space, a high viewing area, and privacy. I’m sure there are species who would abhor some of these concepts, but here, it’s the same.
“Welcome, friends! You are just in time for Umma of the Two Blades and Whirlpool Donnie. The Whirlpool is one of your compatriots and a very entertaining fighter.”
The jovial greeting hits us the moment we walk into the room. The speaker is a sight to behold, standing just over eleven feet tall and nearly as wide, his body a mass of firm grey fat, large long ears hanging down his elongated face, and tiny, beady eyes. For a moment, I wonder if anyone ever considered the concept of a werehippo, which is what the speaker looks like.
Asgauver Heindra, Boneshaker, Master of the Sands, Lord of the Fell Reaches, Survivor of the Marrik Raid, (more) (Level 21 Absorber)
HP: 13980/13980
MP: 1230/1230
Conditions: Altered Gravity, Healer’s Wrath, Force to Bone, Flayed Nerves
“Thank you,” I say and shake Asgauver’s hand. For the first time in a while, I feel tiny, my hand disappearing in the werehippo’s larger one.
The thirty-by-thirty room is filled with probably the widest array of Galactics I’ve ever come across in a non-violent fashion. A rolling ball of cables and tentacles, a siren, a sylph, Truinnar, Movana, Hakarta, and Yerrick are all easy to spot. There are other, less commonly seen Galactics in the crowd, including a pair of little grey men.
“What is he?” The notification pops up in my interface, tagged Lana.
“Kudaya Delta. Interesting world—there were four separate species on it when the System arrived, just starting out as agricultural civilizations. Each species is designated by a number type after the planet name. Nearly all their technology is Galactic owned. The Kudaya just decided to abandon creating their own technological culture and focused on being the best damn warriors they could be,” Mikito sends back almost immediately.
“How’d you know that?” I can’t help but send.
“Know your enemy.”
“Sit, sit.” Asgauver waves us to a trio of scaled down seats next to him. I absently note that instead of a chair with backing, Asgauver uses more of a leaning apparatus whose structure supports his lower back and butt. “Did you wish to place a bet? If so, you must do it quickly.”
“Uhh… maybe later,” I say even as Mikito adds a yes.
I blink as the usually reserved Japanese lady waves over at the attendant with a tablet. A few seconds of interaction later and the attendant moves away. Lana watches all this with a light curl on her lips, stroking Roland, who’s curled up next to her. I wonder what she thinks of all this.
Directly ahead of us, the window screens flash, shifting to showcase the pair of fighters entering the arena. Immediately, the din of conversation drops off as everyone focuses on the fight. Now that Asgauver and the Galactics around me are a lesser concern, I take in the arena. Perfectly white sand surrounds the otherwise empty arena, whose borders are protected by expensive and nearly perfectly clear force shields. Stadium seating goes up around the arena with a second layer of flying, floating, hovering, and otherwise airborne Galactics watching the fight. As we guessed, there aren’t a lot of humans in sight.
The fighters themselves are interesting. Like her name hints, Umma is a Movana who wields a pair of glowing short swords. One burns red hot, and the other seems to freeze the air around it. A plain black armored jumpsuit is covered by a gaudy yellow tactical vest where a series of smaller blades sit. On the other hand, the Whirlpool—short for Elemental Whirlpool—is a short, tanned human with shocking pink hair, a rapier at his waist, and a single glove on his wielding hand. Contrary to his appearance, the man is actually Classed as a Battle Mage. In terms of Levels, both of them are within a couple of points of each other, giving no clear advantage.
At the slug-like referee’s signal, the pair battle. Like the rest of the viewers—with the exception of Lana—Mikito is leaning forward, watching the battle with rapt attention. Umma dashes forward immediately, blurring across the ground. Donnie responds by conjuring waves of water. When Umma attempts to jump over the waves, tendrils of the liquid grip her legs, pulling her downward. Immediately, the water twists, transforming into the Battle Mage’s namesake.
“Ah, so fast!” Asgauver says, his tone full of disappointment.
“Har! Don’t count your Credits yet. My cousin is not so easily dealt with.” A Movana walks up to us, his smile wide and relaxed. “Care for a side wager?”
“Twenty thousand Credits,” Asgauver offers.
The Movana nods, the pair tapping their
left shoulders to seal the deal in what looks like to be pure reflex.
“But this is rude. Friends, will any of you take on Quityan’s offer as well?” Asgauver asks.
Lana shakes her head again while Mikito visibly considers the question before shaking her head.
“Let me introduce myself. I’m Quityan o’Shea,” Quityan says.
It doesn’t take us long to introduce ourselves to the Forest Ranger, who then turns back to the fight. During this period, the elemental water conjured has transformed, icicles forming as they cut at the helpless figure within. Yet Quityan does not look concerned at all.
“Boy-o, focus on the body in the whirlpool with Mana sight.”
I call forth the ability, frowning slightly as the colors shift and change. Instead of the heatmap-like viewpoint a normal body would provide, what I see is a more solid figure, one which glows a light yellow.
“Doppleganger?”
Even as I finish asking the question, the body abruptly disappears. The real Umma appears behind Donnie, her blades slicing downward. They shatter against an invisible Mana Shield, one which absorbs both impacts but sends the Battle Mage staggering away. The Battle Mage’s reactions and recovery are amazing though, as Umma’s next attack is met by the rapier. Within seconds, additional tendrils of water and fire appear, joining Donnie’s defense as the pair duel at close quarters.
“A new Skill is it?” Asgauver says, contentment lacing his voice even as it looks as though he might lose the bet.
No one answers Asgauver, not that one is needed. The battle rages on, Donnie managing to pull away a couple of times, but never far enough to completely disengage from Umma. Eventually, the Mage’s greatest weakness tells and his Mana bottoms out, leaving him defenseless against Umma’s blades.
“Damn. A pity,” Asgauver says then gestures toward Quityan, who inclines his head after his gaze goes faraway. “Next time.”
