by Tao Wong
I get a click and buzz, the Che’dal’s wings flaring as he turns and flies off.
Cannibalism. Fun for all Galactics.
Not.
***
She’s cute. That’s my first thought now that I’m able to look closer at the female Erethran. Slim, muscular in the athletic and active way, the Erethran Honor Guard stands at rest with a wariness in her eyes. As I flick my gaze over her, I note the rather extensive list of buffs she has on. Unlike many of the others, she’s nerfed her passive regeneration like Bolo in return for ongoing Skill effects, including a wide range of buffs.
Anayton Nichortin, the Everlasting Light, Winner of the 185th Cross-World Bollman Race, Mana Fount, Flesh Golem, Slayer of Goblins, Leoucroucta, Nuckelavee, (more), … (Level 50 Honor Guard)
HP: 3140/3140
MP: 3230/3230
Conditions: Time Compression, Double the Gain, Double the Pain, Greater Regeneration, Save Point, Greater Mana Regeneration, Battle Flow, Strength of the One, Agility of the One, Mind of the One, When the End Comes, (more)
“By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask. What do you guys have against Goblins?” Every single Honor Guard I’ve met thus far has had that Title.
“They are a common pest and one that we need to deal with across all our planets, sir. Basic Units are sent to deal with growing nests as training. They are an easy source of Level Ups while fulfilling our ongoing peacekeeping efforts,” Anayton replies.
“Oh. Huh,” I say. “You guys send entire units to wipe out a Goblin nest?”
When she nods, I can’t help but feel somewhat sympathetic for the poor Goblins. My team managed to take out a Goblin nest by ourselves—and we were all pretty much Basic Classers back then. For them to send a whole unit seems a tad overkill.
“Goblins are a pest. No matter how many you kill, they always return. Like ants, in your world. Or your Common Cold.”
My eyes narrow again, curiosity pinging. She’s the first to show any indication that they’ve done research on me. Not to say the others didn’t, but she’s blatant about it. “Fair enough. So tell me. Why do you want to be a Paladin?”
“Is answering your question an order?”
“Not yet,” I say.
When she clamps her mouth shut and continues to not answer me, I gesture her out.
The moment the door closes, Ayuri drawls, “I know you’re no military man, but allowing your subordinates to defy you is bad for discipline.”
“Good thing I’m not in the military. Or training a military unit.” I flash her a grin, then ignore her inquisitive glance as I focus on the next Status screen. Let her mull over that.
As for Anayton, I remember how she flowed into a combat stance. Her reports all indicate a level of minor insubordination coupled with extremely high marks for performance. Her background as a commoner from a Restricted World. She’s mouthy, without any real ties to those outside of the Guard. And few close ones within.
A loner.
***
“Don’t see many of your kind in the Empire,” I say, my gaze roaming over the Pooskeen. Long snout, short ears, short hair with traces of stripes that make me think of a hyena more than a real dog. Especially with the reddish-brown-clay fur that covers the creature. “And you’re the first non-Honor Guard.”
“I’m grateful for the chance,” the Pooskeen yips, its voice high and grating. I kind of want to rub at my ears, the way it speaks.
“Not chance. You earned the spot, from what I can see. Ancillary support Shaman for the fire teams. You’ve been forced to work with them, but not be part of their actual command and payment structure. Hard living, not being paid your full rate and still facing the same—if not more—dangers. Though I’m a little puzzled by your Skills.” My gaze rakes over his Status Screen again, picking out his buffs.
Gheisnan of the Two Palms, Minor Seer, Cassandra, Rebel Marked, Slayer of Goblins, Uyyi, Qawe, (more), … (Four Eyed Shaman Level 50)
HP: 2640/2640
MP: 2380/2380
Conditions: Eyes of the Future, Twisted Destiny, Scion of the Fates, Personal Timeline, Fate Siphon, Greater Mana Regeneration
“Cassandra?” I send to Ali. He’s a distance away, but I can still talk to him, though I’m trying not to bother his spying. But this is a new one.
“Greek mythology. I figured it’d be more fun than ‘Forecaster of doom that no one listened to.’”
“Prophecy and foretelling,” Gheisnan says. “My people have much Skill at that.”
“Your people…” I flick my hand sideways.
A notification floats in front of him, stolen and replicated to Ayuri’s side by a twitch of her finger. It’s a recording, a piece of data I’ve kept stored in my implant. Sent years ago by the team to inform me of what was happening in another part of my then domain. A small town where bones and other unmentionables lay gnawed upon and discarded as humans whimpered in the corner, staked to the ground in their own refuse. Pooskeen bodies lie, weapons drawn, facing out—slain by the team sent to liberate the town while we fought through Alberta.
“Tell me why I shouldn’t kick you out right now,” I say.
“Those are not my people,” Gheisnan yips, his fur bristling, that short stubby tail flicking so agitatedly that I can spot it behind his body. “Fallen clans. A twisted kingdom.”
“Pretty sure they’re from your main planet.”
“Twisted and fallen.” Gheisnan snarls, fish clenching. A green, sickly light radiates from his body as he speaks, his entire body leaning forward from his hips as if he could shove the truth, along with his words, down my throat. “My people are the true heirs of the Pooskeen heritage. We are nothing like the twisted creatures the Oynaci Dynasty have created. They have destroyed our culture, our heritage. All to keep themselves on top.” Gheisnan almost froths at the mouth as he speaks, having taken an inadvertent pair of steps closer. “Paladin or not, I will not let you declare us the same as those things.”
“Touchy, are we?” I can’t help but admire the fire though. If there’s one thing a Paladin needs, it’s fire. Passion. Because when the chips are down, when things are at the worst, you can’t just back off. Not now, not ever. “I’m curious what makes you think you can become a Paladin. Pretty sure it was only open to me because I was an Honor Guard.”
Ayuri speaks first, well before Gheisnan can say anything. “It’s uncommon. But there have been cases of non-Honor Guards being elevated to the Class. It requires a Prestige Class at the minimum, which the adjunct has. The Quest itself grows significantly harder. And, of course, it requires the agreement of a Paladin. That is rare enough to get.”
“I see.” I fall silent, eyeing the short dog-like creature. My own Quest had been a simple one—if you could consider killing over-Leveled monsters in a Forbidden World simple. Still, the first step was having me agree to give them the quest. Which leads me to… “Why do you want to be a Paladin?”
“For the honor of my people. My real people.” And when he finishes speaking, Gheisnan glares, daring me to challenge his words.
I decline and send him off.
***
Lastly, we have the pretty little duelist Movanna. All elf ears, long hair, and beauty. The annoying part is, I can tell he’s not even put points into his Charisma on purpose. He’s just that pretty naturally. Makes me want to gag at the unfairness of genetics.
As he saunters in, all cat-like grace and the arrogance to match, I can’t help but check out his Status information again. Of them all, the Movanna has the longest and most in-depth documentation. I’m curious why he got the Title for Century Guard when Ropo didn’t. System-centric racism?
Magine a Clarson, Century Guard, Monster Slayer, Loadah Champion Duelist (VIIX and VIX) & (more), Slayer of Goblins, Kraska, Wexlix, Frakin, (more), Dueling Addict,…(Erethran Honor Guard Level 50)
HP: 2740/2740
MP: 2540/2540
Conditions: Blitzed, Face Me, Aura of the Duelist, Burst Attack, Greater R
esistance, Ablative Shield
“I didn’t expect to see a Movanna in Erethra,” I say, showing that I’ve yet to learn to not stereotype the races. Or I have, but I kind of want to see what he has to say.
“There’s a small community.” Magine shrugs. “Live a few hundred years, and you start wanting to travel a little. My parents found their way to Erethra before they were killed by pirates. But you know that.” His gaze flicks upward to where my notification screens hang.
“I do. I also noted that your stated goal was to become a Champion. So why give that up now?”
“Because the option is no longer viable.”
“Paladin’s your second choice,” I say.
I can understand that. The Champion sub-Class is a unique Class, one that can only be held by a single person at a time. Not to say there aren’t other types of Champions, but the Champion of Erethra Class Ayuri has is unique.
It’s part of why her Skills are so insanely powerful. Or not. That’s the double-edged sword of being a “Champion.” Many of the Skills scale according to the strength of whatever you’re linked to. A failing Empire could nerf the Class significantly. Of course, there are also other restrictions on the Class—like being forced to be subservient to another. Which, I’m guessing, is why he’s given up on the other Champion options.
“A distant, if respectable second. But the Champion has shown her mettle,” Magine says, turning his head slightly to take in the lounging form of Ayuri. “She will stand for the Empire. In turn, I must find another form of service, and returning honor to the Class is a worthy task.”
I wonder if that last line is a barb against me. Or how much of a barb. “Well, that’s clear enough.”
I dismiss Magine, leaving me to stare at the closed doors. I’ve got my answers, an idea of who these people are. And soon, I’ll get an idea of what they are like when I’m not around, when Ali is watching them. Even so…
“Are you satisfied?” Ayuri says, sitting up from her chair. “Or do I have to find others for you?”
“You guys really want more Paladins, don’t you?”
“They are a pillar of the Empire, and their lack shows.” She gestures to the door. “They are the best we have, of what we believe should work. Others, at lower Levels, might be suitable but…”
“But you don’t think I have enough time to Level them.”
Ayuri inclines her head in acknowledgement.
“I don’t know what you expected to happen, but I’m not about to wave my hands and just give them my assent to acquire the Class.”
“Why not?” Ayuri raises a carefully plucked, graceful eyebrow. “Would it not simplify the matter? If you’re worried if they are suitably loyal, that was our first criteria.”
“Loyal to your Queen, perhaps.” I shake my head. “But being a Paladin is more than loyalty to your Queen. Or, hell, loyalty to your Empire.” I put a hand over my heart. “Case in point.”
Ayuri’s eyes narrow. “Are you saying you’re a threat to us?”
“No.” I shake my head. “At least, not in the way you think.” I kick back, putting my feet on the desk. I stare at the ceiling, memories of my time in the Forbidden Zone coming back to me. “Did you ever wonder why Suhargur never came back? Why she’s putting the lives of an entire planet over that of the Empire?”
“I have a feeling you’re about to tell me.”
“We’re here to protect the Empire—its citizens and what your Empire is supposed to be. Not what you think it is,” I say, looking at her through parted feet. Ayuri’s lips thin through the V of my crossed legs, and I wonder if she’s going to hit me. I’m giving her the best shot she’ll get.
But taunt or not, she doesn’t rise to the bait. “So. You’re not going to rubber stamp our choices.”
“Not without running a couple of tests,” I say.
“And what would those be?”
“Well, funny thing you should ask…” My grin widens behind my feet. “I’m going to need to make a call. Or two.”
Chapter 4
Ali finds me in my quarters a while later, the personnel files of my recruits spread all around me. I have my feet up in the air—literally as force wards cushion me as I lounge—while scanning through the documents and accompanying videos. I’m still waiting for my call to be put through, but I’m not worried. It’s only been a few days since I was yanked all the way here, and my last message to my friends cautioned them that I’d be busy. They’re probably doing their own things and not in any hurry to speak to me.
On the other side of the window—plain, reinforced glass windows backed with a nearly invisible force shield—the sun is setting. I haven’t been around long enough to figure out their seasons, but in this world, days are long and nights short. With a pair of moons hanging overhead and light filtered to make the sky purple at this time of day, it’s a strange and unsettlingly beautiful sight.
“So?” I ask the Spirit.
“The Poos found me,” Ali says, floating over. The brown-skinned, goateed Spirit floats along in his favorite orange jumpsuit, flicking his gaze over my datasets before turning to me fully. “But I listened in for a bit. They’re a pretty buttoned-up group.”
No surprise, if they’re the elites. Ali keeps talking, filling me in on his impressions. For the most part, it confirms much of what I gathered. The group is generally well-mannered, grouping into small clusters along the lines of previous engagements and missions fought together. They talked about past missions, old friends, and quietly measured each other up.
No one showcased any real notable Skills, but most considered Freif—the marksman—the most dangerous of the lot. Well, either him or Magine, from the way they interacted. Ali couldn’t tell for sure, but those two were the snarling male lions of the pack. It’s a subtle thing though, no giant posturing by either.
“Fun. I got another question for you,” I say when Ali finishes by relaying a horrible story that he overheard about an Erethran pangolin, a stick of dynamite, and a latrine.
“Of course you do. What is it?”
“Why is Ayuri letting me scupper their plans?”
“Scupper?”
“Mess with. Destroy. They want Paladins. All I really have to do is give them my blessings and… whoosh. Off they go.”
“Ah.” Ali scratches his nose. “You still need me to answer the question?”
“Obviously.”
“Surprised. But it might be a little too political and obvious,” Ali says. “Good to know I’m not completely useless.”
“Blah, blah, blah. I hear a lot of talking, not a lot of answers.” I wave for him to hurry it along, then I have to reposition my windows when they follow my hand motions. Most of the time, the System is fine, but occasionally, it messes with me. Or it could be Ali doing the messing.
“You got to remember. You’re a separate organization in their hierarchy. Ayuri can’t exactly order you to do what she wants. Even the Queen has to be careful. Secondly, if you read your data pack, you’d remember that the picking of Paladins is a time-honored internal tradition. Messing with that—”
“Could mess with the first point.” I say, catching on. Right. If you let people—and in this case, that includes the Queen—interfere with how Paladins get picked, you’d end up with not an independent organization but an extra arm in their armed forces. “Still, it’s not as if I knew that. So if they pushed me…”
“That brings me to point two. Advanced Master Classes—prestige Classes—all have restrictions on their creation and their development. Mess with the requirements or details of Classes too much and the System can just as easily take away the Class,” Ali says.
“It can do—”
Before I can finish my sentence, information blooms. Data. So much data. It rips through my mind, makes me tense and twist in my chair so much that I fall. The kiss of the floor is so distant, it might as well be a kitten’s first nuzzle. I’m distracted as videos, articles, and voice recordings decrypt themselve
s in my mind.
“I will not!” The voice is panicked, loud. So close to breaking, so close to insanity.
A chainsaw grates, cutting into another tentacle. The speaker writhes, purple and white limbs thrashing. The attacker doesn’t stop until the limbs are lopped off entirely. And the alien thrashes, health falling and falling. Until a glow encompasses the thrashing alien, healing and sealing off wounds. And then, they regrow.
“Sign. We can do this all year.”
Such a cold voice. Clinical. I can’t see the speaker, I can only sense them, through the recording. Sense them, and see, feel, the limbs, all the limbs that twist and twitch beneath his feet that tell a tale. A shortened, grotesque tale of how long they’ve done this. How often.
“I’ll sign…” the alien sobs.
Memory breaks. The video speeds up or maybe my memory of the video blips.
The alien is thrashing, its one tentacled-hand raised toward the notification. The one where it rescinds heritage rights to its own family. Breaking its own Advanced Class, that of the Podkeeper Scrooge. Destroying the tenents of its own Class.
And the System acts.
Tearing it from its Class, stripping it of its additional attributes, throwing it all the way back to a Basic Class. The process is painful, dangerous, and at the end, the alien is dead. Too much leftover damage, too low a Constitution—or perhaps too much pain.
The creature lies dead while in a corner, the researcher’s hands are outstretched, flicking and twisting as he manipulates the System information windows he’s reading. I know that because in the corner of my mind, the same data is unscrolling. Mana levels, data streams, and System code-gibberish—all of it displayed and unencrypted. All of it being prodded, pulled, and compared against other research, other test subjects.
I shudder as another memory pushes this one aside. Another experiment. Less gruesome, with less lethal results. But this was because the previous experiment had found the final member of the Class and broken it; while here, they just broke the herm.