Stars Asunder

by Tao Wong

  Data. So much data, most of it gruesome. For these tests, you could record the occasional historical instances, but for good, reliable data, you needed to run your own experiments.

  And I’d once thought the Questors were relatively benign.

  “Boy-o?” Ali’s worried voice finally pierces my clouded mind.

  I find myself on my knees, spitting out blood from a bitten lip, wiping a bleeding nose, and groaning. In the corner of my eyes, I absently note the damage counter, the amount resisted from mental debuffs and injuries. Twice in one day, the library assaults me.

  If I was anyone else, if I had a weaker Class…

  I spit and stagger upward, casting a simple flame spell to burn off the blood and a Cleanse to clean up. When I spot Ali, he’s looking all too grim.

  “The usual?” he asks.

  “Yup.”

  We don’t dare say why. What happened to me, the stuffing of the entire damn Corrupted Questor’s library in my mind. It’s dangerous. Quite potentially lethal. Better to stay silent on it until we know exactly how much danger I’m in. How much I’ve changed. Because I have changed, beyond knowing more than I should, seeing more than I should.

  It’s possible that it doesn’t matter. It’s possible that Feh’ral got away and replicated the library somewhere else. That I’m just a backup and they don’t care about the data anyway. They went after him on Spaks because he neared Quest completion, because he reached the ninety percent mark. Not because of the library. Or so I hope.

  System Quest Update!

  +238,912 XP, +18,281 XP, +8 XP,…

  System Quest Completion Rate: 84.7%

  Or so I think.

  But those experience gains have been increasing. My percentage is creeping up, no matter what I do. Not that I don’t want it to go up—but a little more control would be nice. A little more clarity. I’m learning things about the System, but I don’t have context. I don’t understand.

  What is the System?

  And why is it important that the System can take away Classes? That it’s limited by Mana density? And yet it breaks down in Forbidden Zones, where Mana is more than abundant. Even when, in totality, there’s more System Mana there than anywhere else. Why is the System-script both completely legible Galactic and completely inlegible runic script? Runic script that no computer, no databank, no AI or Class has ever gotten even close to deciphering? The script defies understanding because it changes, morphs in meaning and context with every look, every attempt at reading. Why does the code change, even for the very same Skill and the same person?

  Too many questions, too little answers.

  But my Quest completion rates keep going up.

  I shudder and push aside the thought and focus on what I can handle. What is right in front of me. Because anything else—well, that’ll just scare me.

  “So. Politics.”

  “Politics, boy-o. It’s always politics with Galactics,” Ali says as if he’s seen it all. And I guess he has, in some ways. The Spirit is enigmatic, his history clouded, but I know he’s thousands, if not tens of thousands, years old. I’m just the latest in a long, long line of companions for him. The Spirit floats off to the window, staring outside. “And knowing you, you’re going to mess with their plans. So. What do you intend to do?”

  “Nothing on purpose,” I say, flopping back into my chair. “I’m not planning on making enemies.”

  “You never plan on it.”

  “But it happens,” I finish for the Spirit. “I need to make sure they can survive. No point in giving them their Quest, then watching them die completing it. Or a month later, when they don’t realize what it means to be a Paladin.”

  “And you do?” Ali says, turning around to look at me. “You’re not exactly Erethran. Or, you know, part of their society. Nor have you done any of the Paladin’s traditional job.”

  I grunt. “You have a point. But I know more than they do.” At Ali’s raised eyebrow, I shake my head. “They’ve not had one for too long. Or maybe they don’t want them to survive.”

  “And what does it mean to be a Paladin?”

  “Being the ass that everyone targets.”

  ***

  When the call finally comes through, I’ve been reading for hours. At this point, I’m mostly reading because the minor details I might be picking up subconsciously could be helpful in their training. A quick scan was more than enough to get me ninety percent of everything there was to know about each initiate, but at the levels we operate at, that last ten percent is where eighty percent of deaths occur. When fights happen in milliseconds, the tiniest edge can mean all the difference.

  “Mikito. Good to see you. Are you guys okay? Anything I should know? When will you be here?” I greet the short-haired, severe-faced Japanese woman with a barrage of questions. It’s been a while since I’ve spoken to them, days even.

  Not that they’re in that much danger, I think. Mikita is with Bolo, who I notice in the back of the transmission. The ram-horned giant of an alien is a Master Class at the same Level as me. And stronger. After all, he didn’t skip the entire Basic Class. He’s got a wider variety of Skills, a lot more experience, and Dragon Lords are geared toward one-on-one fights. They are, basically, a pure Combat Class.

  A Paladin of Erethra isn’t.

  My only real concern is that, as of their last message, Dornalor doesn’t have his ship yet. After all that fighting, the docks are extremely busy. It’ll be a while before they replace the Heartbreak, even with the funds the station has released. He’s still debating if he intends to wait for them to build him a new ship at a significant discount or just take the Credits and buy one somewhere else. There are advantages to both options.

  About the only person who isn’t happy about the end of the war is Harry. He’s been running around finishing up the last of his missives, playing war journalist and sending out reports. Even so, his viewership and experience gain has taken quite a hit.

  On the other hand, Harry’s reputation has really climbed the news charts. From what I understand, he’s doubled his fan base, and they’re paying into his account just to watch his regular streams. Thankfully, our prior agreement means he doesn’t do live streaming around us—at least not without warning us beforehand.

  “Not much longer,” Bolo answers quickly for Mikito, not letting the Samurai answer. I raise an eyebrow because that’s not suspicious at all. “We have it handled. We’re just waiting for the final payment to come through and then we’ll be there.”

  “I thought everyone had to deposit the payments before the auction?”

  “Normally, that’s the way.” Bolo shrugs, his enchanted emerald scalemail rippling and glinting as he does so. “But I struck us a side deal as well.” When I raise my eyebrow, he grins confidently. “It’s fine, it’s fine. It’ll all be done in the next six hours. Until then, the Gremlins will hold onto the Leviathan corpse.”

  “Mikito?”

  After glancing at Bolo, Mikito says, “We can handle it. The deal is good.”

  “All right then. I might need you guys here sooner rather than later. You mind taking a Portal?”

  “Of course not.” Harry speaks up as he wanders into the shot. The British man of African origin flashes me a grin, those pearly white teeth of his still perfectly in place. “We going to Erethra?”

  “She is.” I watch the flick of hurt and uncertainty cross Harry’s face before I relent. “Whether you’re coming is up to you. Don’t you have a lot more reporting to do?”

  “Eh. I’m a war reporter. Reconstruction is important but rather boring. Anyway, my fans prefer following you around. New worlds, new alien races, more death and destruction. Whatever you’re up to will be a lot more interesting.”

  I snort. “I wouldn’t bet on that.”

  I doubt the Erethrans will allow him to record the training I’m going to put their people through. And dry politics is rarely riveting.

  “I would.” Having said his piece, Harry wan
ders out of the frame again.

  “Anything we need to know?” Bolo speaks up, leaning over Mikito’s shoulder. “The last message you sent, I was expecting to have to break you out of the Empire.”

  “Wait, we?” I frown. “You coming?”

  “Mmmm… for a fight? Yes. Otherwise, no,” Bolo says. “No offense, Redeemer…”

  “None taken. You’re welcome to sit it out,” I say. “Mikito, when you arrive, make sure you’re ready to fight.”

  ***

  The next morning, I meet the Paladin initiates in the same square. Privacy curtains are up, ensuring that the ongoings inside the courtyard will not be seen by even those staring out the windows. The Paladin initiates are all standing at attention, waiting for me to say something. I’m just waiting.

  Ayuri finally turns up, flanked by her companions. This is the first time I’ve seen them, Unilo and Mayaya, since they yanked me out of my Portal and dumped me here. As usual, Mayaya looks bored with the entire proceedings, the master Portal-maker staring about with a blasé look on his face. Unilo is much more perky, flashing me a smile. I’m a little worried about what she’s got to say to me, considering I owe her a personal debt as well. Somehow, I’m getting the feeling that whatever I bargained for previously has even more implications than I had considered.

  That’s part of the reason why Ali isn’t here with me right now. I sent him off to go chat with the rest of the companions and AIs. One thing you have to say about the Galactics. While familiars, companions, and AIs aren’t open to everyone, they are quite common. And that commonality has created a whole subculture that’s hidden from us System-users.

  More than once, we’ve used that subculture to our advantage. You’d be surprised how few people treat their companions well. With the wide variety of social classes and individuals involved, and the System-enforced loyalty—slavery in other words—it seems to make people think that they can do what they want.

  “Champion,” I greet Ayuri as she comes to a stop next to me.

  “Paladin.”

  “That’s Grand Champion,” Unilo pipes up with a twinkle in her eyes.

  “It’s fine, the Redeemer is known for his lack of courtesy.” Ayuri’s lips widen in a smile. “In fact, a subsection of his historical predecessors were known for being extremely rude. So he could be said to be following tradition.”

  “Funny.” I glance at the clock in the corner of my vision and sigh. I still have another five minutes to wait before it’s time. We could potentially open up early but the…

  You know what, I really don’t want to do small talk.

  “Can you open the Portal?” I ask Mayaya.

  Of course, he looks at Ayuri for confirmation.

  “Redeemer, you do realize there are numerous restrictions involved in using the Portal between worlds? Teleportation and other mass transit, mass movement spells and Skills are a strategic threat. Receiving the right to make such Portals through our defenses is an involved process and requires significant planning,” Ayuri says.

  “That a no?”

  “Yes, you dungeon-born, uncivilized, System-deficient cretin. That’s a no,” Mayaya snaps at me, which makes me chuckle.

  “You know, this is probably the first time I’ve ever seen you react. For anything. That includes the time we almost had those monsters eat your face.”

  This time, Mayaya doesn’t rise to the provocation. In fact, his face slips back into that blasé look. I make note of it, how Portal-making and its attendant bureaucracy is his sticking point.

  Unfortunately, that leaves me with another four minutes or so to wait. While doing so, I regard the waiting Paladin initiates. They’re all standing silently, faces carefully tended to ensure that not a single inch of alien feeling shows through. Even the ones who have tails—or in the Roach’s case, wings—are careful to keep them from moving. Which the Galactic body language download tells me is unusual. It’s a level of control that’s uncommon and speaks more of focused attention than it does of relaxation.

  “All right. I guess I should tell you why I called you all here.” I regard the group, waiting to see if there’s any reaction to those words. Of course there’s not. “Today, I’m going to show you exactly how far you all are from being viable Paladin initiates.”

  That triggers a reaction. Especially from Magine and Ropo. The others are less blatant about their surprise, and in Gheisnan’s case, something tells me he expected me to do this. If so, maybe his Skill set isn’t completely worthless.

  After that, I let them stew in silence until time runs out. Mayaya doesn’t bother to ask my permission, just glances over to confirm with Ayuri before he snaps open the Portal. It’s a black void in space, a circular oval that consumes all light entering it. It’s not very big, about ten feet tall and five feet wide. What it is is more than big enough for those who come through.

  I can’t help but grin. This should be fun.

  Chapter 5

  The first to come out, to my surprise, is Bolo. For all his protestations and the friendship we struck up, he has a life on Spaks. I’m not sure why he’d travel across the galaxy to join us. But it’s not the time to question him.

  The Dragon Lord is standing tall today, all of his nine feet stretched to the limit, his hammer held idly and blocking the majority of his torso as he strides out of the Portal. It makes little sense for a hammer to be that big in real life—except, of course, for System shenanigans.

  Because of the System, Bolo has the strength to wield a ten-foot hammer and, I’ll admit, the larger surface area makes it much harder to dodge. In any sensible, physics-laden universe, wielding a weapon as big and heavy as that would make no sense. Luckily, the ability to alter our Strength and the strength of the molecular bonds of our surroundings make swinging weapons like that viable, without boring physics causing problems.

  His scalemail glints in the sunlight, its emerald-green shade darkening under the slightly pinkish hue of the sky. That the sky isn’t the usual blue—or gray, if you live in Vancouver—is due to the different particulate matter on Erethra. The science behind it is out of my scope of learning, though it does mean that their animals and other flora and fauna are more vibrant in coloring. Also, Ali has pointed out that the native animals have a tendency to see in infrared as well.

  Once Bolo has cleared the Portal, Harry strolls in, clad in Adventurer chic—an armored jumpsuit with strapping for weapons and equipment—with bright yellow markings instead of the duller colors favored by true Adventurers. As usual, upon entering a new location that might be of interest to his viewers, he has his hands spread out on either side, his fingers split apart in an L shape, holding up invisible camera lenses and recording. He swings his hands one way and another and freezes. A moment later, he curses.

  “No recording in the training areas. Or palace grounds,” Mayaya snaps at Harry. Mayaya continues a moment later. “Delete your current files. You also need to receive a full press review.”

  “Even if he isn’t recording?” I ask.

  “Yes. Many of these journalists, these news junkies, can extract memories to create recordings. None with any great fidelity as compared to an actual recording, but still salable.” Mayaya shakes his head and spits. “We do not allow just anyone to walk around in our government locations. And we require them to all sign the necessary documentation and promises.”

  I frown, considering whether or not I should override Mayaya. I adjust my mental notes too, from stickler with Portal bureaucracy to just bureaucracy. Prodding him would be amusing, but it also could cause more trouble than it would be worth. My theoretical rank doesn’t necessarily extend to my friends. It doesn’t do Harry any good if I let him record and then have the Erethrans assassinate him later.

  “It’s fine, John. The Erethrans are more into military announcements and public distribution of information from qualified sources. I’m sure, once I get my clearance, I can produce work that Galactics will actually want to watch,” Harry calls as h
e keeps walking to me, his hands down by his sides. He flashes the trio of Erethrans a grin as he slides in his own dig.

  Behind the journalist comes Mikito. The samurai has her polearm at the ready, the heritage weapon masquerading as a soulbound tool. She’s armed and armored in a space-age battle suit, a transforming mecha with compressed layers of metal and built-in weaponry. It’s an upgrade to her old mecha, a new addition to her wardrobe. Even as it covers her form, it’s not too bulky, barely a few inches more across her entire form. On top of the mechasuit, she can throw up her ghost armor Skill, giving her full protection when needed. That’s down for now though.

  The Portal stays open for a second longer before Mayaya, seeing no one else entering, speaks to Mikito.

  “I was told to expect four.”

  “Donalar is staying behind. He wants his ship built to his specifications. We left him grumbling about dockworkers and cost-cutting,” Mikito says.

  In reply, Mayaya snaps shut the Portal.

  While my friends make their way over, I note how the Paladin initiates stare at them, some with open curiosity, some with rising dread as they puzzle out what I’m planning. Some—like Magine—just look unimpressed.

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I say to my friends, returning handshakes and fist bumps. “So who wants to be first?”

  Bolo doesn’t even hesitate, pointing. “I’ll just take that corner, shall I?”

  “All right, ladies and gentlemen. As you probably guessed, today’s a beatdown day. We’ll start it easy. Two of you can play with Bolo over there. I recommend you pick the two best you have. And don’t worry, I told Bolo not to kill you.”

  The words make them bristle for the most part—all but the Pooskeen, who shrinks backward. He’s obviously not interested in having a big, strong Dragon Lord pound him into the dirt. Quite literally.