by Tao Wong
I try to find some emotion, some sense of loss or sadness. But there’s nothing there. I left Earth a long time ago, and I’m only just now realizing that I never really meant to go back. Says something about how numb I am to my own feelings that it took me this long to clue in. This. This is just the last step.
A quick shake of my head discards those thoughts and meandering feelings. I’ve got the Credits I need. And I’ll sign whatever documents Lana sends over when the time comes. For now, I’ve got to buy what Skills I can and start practicing. Two days isn’t a lot of time to learn how to integrate Skills properly.
***
“Come here!” I snarl, throwing out my hand.
Blue light shoots out from my hand, wrapping around Mikito’s naginata that she uses to block the attack. The light attaches to the handle, gripping tight and pulling it toward me. Not willing to let Hitoshi go, Mikito is dragged forward as I activate my new Skill.
Fate’s Thread (Level 2)
The Akashi’so believe that we are all but weavings in the great thread of life. Connected to one another by the great Weaver, there is not one but multiple threads between us all, woven from our interactions and histories. Fate’s Thread is but a Skill expression of this belief. This Skill cannot be dodged but may be blocked. After all, all things are bound together.
Effect: Fate Thread allows the user to bind individuals together by making what is already there apparent. Thread is made physical and may be used to pull, tie, and bind.
Duration: 2 minutes
Cost: 60 Mana
Each of my floating blades cuts into her, tearing at her defenses as she jumps and twists in the air. I laugh, watching her spin to reduce the damage, then when she’s all the way past my floating swords, past my defenses, I dodge her palm strike by kicking her through the blades again.
“Owww!” Mikito lands and rolls, coming back up without her weapon. Her clothing and armor are torn up, barely shreds hanging from her frame even as the Ghost Armor Skill repairs itself. If she was wearing her real armor, it wouldn’t be this bad, but this is just training. No need to get equipment damaged while we train. “You’re getting better at that.”
“And you’re getting predictable.” I drop Hitoshi, flexing my hand to shake off the pins and needles. Damn weapon has an anti-theft attribute, making it impossible for anyone but Mikito to wield it. Even holding the weapon is painful.
“Really?” Mikito says as she stands.
Her word is the only warning I get before I’m yanked forward by an unseen force, her polearm jerking up to angle its blade at me as it sets itself in the ground. My first act is to dismiss my own blades rather than impale myself on them. My second is to bat at her weapon. But the tiny, nearly invisible strings she somehow looped around me while we were fighting restrain my actions enough for Hitoshi to reset itself fully and impale me.
A focused surge of strength is enough to break the threads, but by that time, the naginata has sent more poison into my System, slowing me down even through my resistance. While I look at the Samurai, I find her gone—only to feel Mikito place her dagger on my neck. Impaled and trapped, I give up.
“My win,” Mikito says, then she yanks her weapon out of my chest without a trace of delicacy.
“Just because I’ve got a pain resistance doesn’t mean you have to abuse me,” I complain, rubbing the bleeding wound and waiting for my healing to kick in.
Mikito chuckles, eyeing the damage in my chest. Already, my System-enabled healing has stopped the bleeding, leaving only a fast closing wound in my body.
“How’s the new Skill?” Bolo says, coming over from where he’s been watching and clapping me on the shoulder. “Good, right?”
“Owwww. And it’s okay.” I eyeball the Skill that Bolo recommended. The one that all Dragon Knights are recommended to take.
Peasant’s Fury (Level 1)
No one knows loss more than the powerless. The Downtrodden Peasant has taken the fury of the powerless and made it his own, gifting them the strength to go on so long as they manage to make others feel the same loss that they did. -5 Mana Regeneration per Second
Effect: User receives a 0.1% regeneration effect of damage dealt for each 1% of health loss.
“Bah! With your Penetration ability and your tendency to lose health, this is perfect for you,” Bolo retorts. “Great for any of us with a higher Constitution. Means we can sit at a lower health level as a percentage and still get the full benefit from this.”
I have to admit, he’s correct. And if I hadn’t dumped so much in the other out-of-Class Skill, I probably could have upgraded this one. But I have to do the best I can. Sometimes I wish I had something a little more game changing, but those are mostly Master Class Skills in combat, and I can’t access any but my own.
“Again?” Mikito says, interrupting us.
I idly note that Hitoshi’s clean again, my blood having been absorbed by the damn weapon. Which is not, in any way, creepy. Not at all. “Again. Bolo, you in?”
The Dragon Lord grins, hefting his hammer and walking to a starting position a short distance away. I glare at the Dragon Lord, refusing to conjure my sword until he relents and backs off farther—far enough away that the Giantification of his weapon doesn’t give him an automatic hit. Mikito lets out a little laugh as she watches us but sobers up the moment I conjure my sword.
A tense second wraps us all, then as if someone fired a starting gun, we move together, dueling in a three-way fight, to make sure we’re ready for our final test a day away. Even so, there’s one last thing to do, one last mystery to solve.
Chapter 22
Making my way through the crowded hallways of the second ring, I can’t help but grimace. Because we expect to lose the connecting tubes in the upcoming fight, the vast majority of the civilians have been pushed even deeper into the stations. While the second ring stations are bigger than the preceding stations, they now contain the populace of all three lost station rings as well as its normal population. That’s brought along quite a bit of crowding and a marked lack of personal space.
The tension in the air is as thick as congealed maple syrup. There’s a scant few hours left before the Poet’s Skill fails and we are forced to fight again. There’s been no new word from the Inner Crew. Their one and only announcement had them refusing entry to the Prime station. They’ve made it clear they’ll let in combat specialists if things go badly, but they’ve also indicated that the number they’ll allow in is limited due to space. Put another way, their message is simple—win or die.
The Shop portals have seen a marked increase in traffic as even the lowest Level non-Combatant tries to find funds to purchase a combat Skill or two. When that fails, they’ve picked up System-registered weaponry, hoping to do a little more damage. This is one case where the Admiral’s earlier pronouncement is working against him. Resisting arrest and aiding and abetting a rebellion means that even non-combatants are going to be turned into Serfs. Of course, there are the hopefuls, those willing to gamble that the Admiral is lying, but they are few enough. A public renouncement of his own intentions would hit his Reputation scores significantly and make his next battle much harder to win if he tried the same tactic.
“What’s the point of buying a Class Skill? If you loan me fifteen thousand Credits, we can use it to send Yu-er out.” Small, bespectacled, and green, the spiky-eared almost Goblin-like speaker entreats a Yerrick. “Please. We’ve been friends for decades.”
“You’ve raised enough to teleport him already?” The Yerrick is surprised, his voice rising so much so that others turn to him. The Yerrick glares around, making the others look aside until he reaches me and my curious gaze. He holds it for a second before he turns away, realizing he’s not going to intimidate me.
“Yes. Yes.” Softer, Greenie continues. “Please. I don’t want him to die here or be enslaved.”
“Knotted fur! Fine.” The Yerrick makes a gesture, sending the Credits directly via the System.
&n
bsp; I shake my head, continuing the walk. It’s amazing they’ve managed to raise so much that they’re able to punch through the Dimensional Silencers.
“Are you idiots?” another voice, shrill and musical like a thin reed whistle, cuts in. The speaker looks like a standing beetle, its voice coming from a set of thin tubes that jut from under its mouths and curl back to where its lungs would be, small holes opening and closing to allow the creature to speak. “Didn’t you hear that they are redirecting teleports?”
“I’m paying more than those idiots! They won’t be able to stop me,” the Gremlin cries as the Yerrick glares at him.
“Har. You can afford more than the Galactics?”
The bug’s pronouncement makes more than a few people fall silent. Individual teleportation via the System was possible, but the bug’s comments cast a shade of fear over the speakers. Such ability was not just possible but likely. A quick check early on had shown that certain individuals were further restricted via other Skills, making teleportation ruinously expensive. Among those, not surprisingly, were my team and me.
I shake my head and push ahead. As interesting as listening to others is, as enlightening as it might be, the fact stood that I have a goal here. When I finally arrive at the building housing the library’s temporary location, the doors slide open without prompting. Within, the office is blessedly free of people—just a few roving Questors, most using the quiet of the new library to relax. I’m amused to see that above their heads, their System Completion rates are being shown. Most have barely enough to qualify. I guess these are who the Librarian meant by fake Questors. Pushing aside my amusement, I find my target standing by himself at the back, a data slate in his hand.
“Who are you?” I ask the moment I close in on Feh’ral.
The way he fought. The fact that, even now, he is able to establish a place like this, when space is at premium. Ali’s inability to read his Status screen. There’s a mystery here, and if I’m about to fall, I want it answered. Beside me, Ali has face-palmed at my blunt questioning.
“The Librarian,” Feh’ral replies, the data slate disappearing from his hand as he fixes me with that unnerving gaze of his.
I shudder slightly, even though the damn Librarian isn’t using his aura. High Charisma perhaps? An intuition of his deadliness? Or he could just be really creepy. “Funny. I’ve never seen a librarian take out an Advanced Class attack squad. Or even have one sent after them.”
“Some people desire knowledge more than others. And some prefer to keep such knowledge to themselves.”
“Thousand hells…” I exhale, fixing him with a glare, dropping my voice as I do so. “You’re telling me this after you stick the entire damn library in my head.”
“I am telling you this because I did.” Feh’ral turns his head slightly, fixing his gaze on the others within the room.
One by one, they notice his silent regard and take the not-so-subtle hint, edging out of the library. All but a single Grimlak whose head is bent, big beard shifting with each breathy exhalation as he naps. Feh’ral regards the dwarf for a second more before the sleeping Grimlak is picked up by unseen hands and thrown out the open doors.
Once the doors slide closed, Feh’ral turns back to me. “This conversation is best done alone.”
“Without the Questors you said weren’t here?” I snapped.
“They are not true Questors.” Feh’ral’s voice is filled with disdain, confirming my guess. “Though they might have the Title, they have not the heart.”
“The heart to pursue an endless Quest that no one has completed in thousands of years,” Ali drawls. “Yes. They’re the impractical, silly ones.”
In reply, the Librarian fixes Ali with a flat gaze, making the Spirit squirm before he returns his gaze to me. “You have questions.”
“One. Who are you? Really?”
“And I have informed you. I am the Librarian of the Land of the Forbidden,” Feh’ral states.
“So why are they trying to kill you, Librarian?” I continue. “It can’t be for the library, no matter what you say. The System already makes it available to everyone. You’re just the cheaper alternative.”
Feh’ral doesn’t rise to the prodding, seeming unconcerned about my backhanded insult. “I do not, for obvious reasons, have a clear idea of their reasoning. But if I were to forward a hypothesis, it is most likely because I have hit a threshold in the System Quest.”
“Threshold?”
“Ninety point one percent.”
My jaw drops, and Ali literally drops a half-foot before he catches himself and continues floating.
The Spirit recovers before me, his voice hoarse and disbelieving. “That’s not possible. No one has ever gotten over ninety percent.”
“Incorrect. That information has been hidden, but…” The Librarian fixes his gaze on me and I can feel information unfold within my mind again.
I wince as studies, pictures, lists, and video recordings appear. Dozens of individuals, almost all of them Corrupt Questors, all of them reaching the same point. And the last image of the Librarian staring at an image of a familiar blue planet alongside a litany of information before a new notification appears.
System Quest Updated
+1,283,217 XP
“He’s right,” I croak to Ali, who is still shaking his head in denial. “So very right.”
“Why? How could they hide that information?” Ali says, shaking his head. “It could change everything!”
“Precisely,” Feh’ral intones.
“They hid an entire fleet,” I say, mind sprinting to new conclusions. My eyes narrow, my throat growing dry. “They hid an entire fleet.” I repeat the words slowly, tasting them, running through the implications. “The Council knows.”
“That is what has been theorized,” Feh’ral says.
“They’re after you.” I gesture, taking in the station and all of us caught up in this mess. “All of this. It’s because of you. You put all of us in danger because you had to finish this damn Quest!”
“Yes.”
I breathe in and out, anger threatening to spill over from its tightly wrapped container as I think of the people forced to suffer because he couldn’t stop. Knowing that what he did could—would—draw the attention of the Council. But another part of me, the same part that has needed an answer, cannot help but wonder—why are they hiding this news? Why…
Data flickers, shudders, as my mind unwraps. Data becomes information as I grasp the edges of the conspiracy, of information that never made sense. Of studies that were meant to be truthful, that were meant to be reliable, suddenly thrown into a different light. My eyes dart from side to side as I read information only I can see, threads of information spinning through my mind.
System Quest Updated
+21XP, +712XP, +1274XP,…
System Quest Completion Rate: 78.1%
Level Up!
You have reached Level 39 as an Erethran Paladin. Stat Points automatically distributed. You have 7 Free Attributes and 1 Class Skill Point to distribute.
“You feel it too, do you not?” And for the first time, the Librarian smiles. It’s chilling rather than comforting, sending shivers down my back. “The call. It is the question of the ages. The only one worth asking, for those of us caught in the web of the System. The only thing that can give meaning to this life.”
I shake my head, trying to deny his words. Trying to ignore the fascination. But it’s a futile effort. A fool’s errand.
“Oy. You idiot,” Ali says, smacking me on the back of my head with those tiny hands of his. “They’ll be coming for you next.”
“In time,” Feh’ral acknowledges Ali’s words. “But I have taken steps to ensure it is not soon. My actions with you have been shrouded. In time, they will break through. But even for the Lady, it will take time.”
“Great,” I mutter sarcastically. “Thanks for that.” That I am, in a weird way, actually grateful is kind of scary. But it doesn’t matter,
not right now. “How are you going to fix this?”
The Librarian cocks his head. “Fix this?”
“Yes. Fix. As in solve the problem of you sending all of us to our deaths. You must have a plan, or else all this”—I tap my head—“is for nothing.”
“I expect that you will find a way out, Questor. You have some ability to do so. I am somewhat surprised that you have not already left.”
I growl, shaking my head. “What? Teleport out and get thrown into a trap? Run away in a ship through their entire navy? Exactly how did you expect this to happen?”
The Librarian looks at me flatly. After a time, he sighs. “Perhaps I overestimated you.”
“No. Shit.” I prod him with a finger. “You’re what, Heroic? Legendary?” Something changes, a shift so small that I don’t notice it on a conscious level, but my jaw drops again. “You’re a bloody Legendary?”
The slightest inclination of his head.
My jaw drops. “Gods above. You’re the Legendary. The one on the Inner Crew.”
“I am not part of the official management of the station,” Feh’ral denies. “Though I do have ties to them.”
That explains the threads, the way we all wrap around him. Why we’re all affected by him, by his actions. I call Society’s Web to life, letting my gaze run over his form, the threads. Understanding even more. His decisions reaching out to all of us, putting our lives at risk. I glare at him, then prod him with my finger again, an action that still elicits no reaction.
“You’re going to talk to the Inner Crew and help us figure a way out of this. For all of us.”
“Are you threatening me?” Feh’ral asks, a tinge of curiosity rather than anger in his voice. As if the thought a mere Master Class could threaten him is laughable.