Stars Asunder

by Tao Wong

  The rush of wind mixes with the ring of metal blades blocked, the spark of ozone as blades clash. The smell of burnt flesh, of healing wounds, of freshly spilled blood swirl past my face, remembrances of our past fight. And the current battle, as cuts and surface wounds accumulate.

  I trigger Cleave, swinging down with all my might, almost cutting into her collarbone. She blocks and sags to the floor under the strength of my blow. Her ghostly traditional Samurai armor cracks, shattering around the glowing edge of my blade. Mikito twists her hips and angles her hand, shedding the remnant energy to the side, then uses the same motion to block another swinging blade with the haft of her polearm. A Flash Step pushes her backward, moving her without her using her feet. The blade points at me and Makoto triggers, a beam of power lancing for my torso.

  I hop over the attack, dancing across my own blade to continue to close the distance. Never wanting to give her space, a gap in time to recover. Her Stamina is one of her weak points. I pressure her as damage accumulates on both sides, as attacks that I fail to block get through. As Blade Strikes cut across her own blocks or tear away at her translucent defense.

  We dance across the room, neither side willing to give up.

  In the end, skill and Class win out. She has the advantage over me in terms of total Levels, in terms of a Class geared for solo combat. In terms of skill. I miss a block, get cut, and don’t even see the grapple she set up with the attack, her polearm tangling my arms which she turns into a throw. I land on the floor and the blade sinks into my collarbone, pinning me.

  Pain. I struggle not to scream as my flesh burns.

  Brown eyes, filled with life and a dark joy, stare down at me. There’s a crazed light there, a need. For a second, I wonder if she’s going to end it, if she’ll trigger a Skill to pile on the damage. She pants over me, hair falling to cover her face, leaving me only to stare into the slitted gaze of her smoky helmet, the flared edges of the curved bell rippling.

  Then the blade is yanked out, leaving me curling around my side. It takes a lot to stop from screaming as flesh reknits. I stagger back to my feet, taking a cut from my own still-spinning blades before I dismiss them. And stare at my friend, who has retreated a distance away.

  Silence dominates the room as we recover our senses and come down from the fight. And then, two words.

  “I win.”

  ***

  We’re seated, resting as I get my Health and Mana back. Nearly ten minutes have passed and I’m back—statistically at least—but there’s a difference between stats and reality. Mentally at least, I’m not in the mood to duel again.

  So I sit quietly, doing a light meditation of breathing in and out, letting tension and pain flow out. Finding an equilibrium and grateful that the System seems to ameliorate some of the pain, some of the terror. Not all of it—not even a lot in some cases—but a little. It makes it possible to consider another training session.

  In the future.

  “Sorry,” Mikito says softly, breaking my reverie.

  “Hmmmm?”

  “I went too far.” She gives herself a quick shake of the head, her lips pursed in anger and self-recrimination.

  “Just a little.” I’m used to my friend being dangerous. Just not necessarily a danger to myself. Especially with her Skills being tied so tightly to me. “What happened?”

  Mikito falls silent, not answering me for a long time. Then she slowly speaks. “When it started, I was angry. Upset. I didn’t want to live. I couldn’t die.”

  A fist clenches around the polearm, around Hitoshi. The weapon her husband gave up his Classes, his boons for. All to give her a better chance to live. And I understand. The burden of that sacrifice, survivor’s guilt—it can break people. Has broken many.

  “Then time passed. And we did good. Killed the aliens. Saved the world.” She shoots me a quelling look when I shift at the last sentence, forcing me to still rather than interrupt her mistake. “The pain lessened. But the anger didn’t. And I was lost. I helped out when you were gone. Fought the monsters. The aliens. They called me the Spear of Humanity, because I was fighting. Always fighting. But… I couldn’t stop…”

  “You didn’t know what else to do,” I say. I know that feeling. The insanity that creeps up on you, the restlessness, the thoughts of anger and loss. “You can’t stop, can’t stop moving. Can’t let go. Can’t look back. So you keep moving, keep fighting.”

  “Yes.” Mikito’s assent is quiet. “You understand.”

  “I’m sure others do too.” I remember Therapists, Psychiatrists, and Mind Healers, all offered to us. All available to help people heal, to get better. I even paid for some of those programs. They only work as well as you let them though.

  “They did. And didn’t.” Mikito purses her lips, glancing at me sideways. “They don’t… I can’t… letting it go…”

  I nod. She doesn’t need to say it. Doesn’t need to finish the sentence. And I realize why she’s with me. Because unlike the others, unlike her friends, the other Champions, I won’t push her to get better. To find healing or to make a life for herself in this new world.

  I don’t, because I refuse to get better myself.

  I can’t let the pain go.

  I won’t leave the quest alone.

  Some people get over things.

  Some of us, we nurse those grudges like fine whisky. Because if we let it go, if we accept it and move on, there might not be anything to move on to.

  ***

  “What?” Bolo walks in on us twenty minutes later, silent and brooding over our losses. His eyes flick over our still forms, narrowing.

  “Nothing,” I say, shaking away the darkness. It takes a bit of effort, but I manage. After a while, pain like this isn’t an all-encompassing thing. It’s just the ache in your back, the hitch in your steps—metaphorically speaking. You get used to it, and only once in a while does it slow you down. “What’d you buy?”

  Bolo shifts his stance a little and looks awkward. “So. You know. About that…”

  “Yeah?” I prompt him.

  “We never discussed me being here. Or you, you know…” He gestures between himself and us. “I mean, Harry didn’t get anything.”

  “He did actually,” I say. At least, I sent him the option, but the reporter was in the city when I did. I’m sure he’ll decide on his buy later, when he’s done filming his “first days in Erethra” episode. Having him wander around getting information and playing reporter is more important. For now.

  “Right. But he’s, you know, human.”

  “And I’m racist?” I frown. “Speciest? Alienist? The offer’s open to Dornalor when he gets here too. Whenever that happens. In fact, I probably could upgrade his ship…” I trail off, my mind flashing with the implications.

  “No!” Bolo snaps. “I meant, he’s your group. You guys…”

  “Dornalor’s a merc. Well, mostly. I pay him very well and he does what we want,” I say. “One day, I expect he’ll probably leave. Once he’s earned enough. And Leveled.”

  “I’m not a mercenary.” Bolo crosses his arm in a huff. Then he freezes, eyes narrowing. “You drake-swapped egg. You’re doing this on purpose.”

  I finally crack, breaking into gales of laughter and slapping my leg. I’m too busy chuckling to dodge the compressed air attack that throws me back into the wall. I still don’t stop laughing as I peel myself off the wall and floor.

  “Chill. You want in? You’re in.” I gesture to the smiling, cross-legged Mikito then out the door. “This isn’t the Paladins. This isn’t a…” I frown, looking for the word. “Cult. I don’t even own these Credits. So if you want to use it, go ahead.” I shrug. “No skin off my nose. Though I’d like it if you let me know if you’re choosing to leave. I’d have to work out what to do without you.”

  “Without me for what?” Bolo says, frowning. “I understand giving the soldiers new Skills. They’ll need some training to integrate them, but that’s not really my Skill set.”

/>   “As if I’d trust you with training. You’d probably squash them like a pancake. That’s not what I need you for. I want to see them in action.” I pause, considering, and add, “And I want to see the kind of world I’m going to be putting them through.”

  Mikito frowns, while Bolo grins.

  “What?” I eye the grinning Dragon Lord.

  “This is going to create chaos, isn’t it?”

  I shrug. Bolo laughs, slapping his thigh a couple of times, before turning around and walking out.

  “Hey! Where are you going?”

  “To buy Skills!” Bolo continues to laugh until his voice is cut off by the closing doors, leaving Mikito and me alone.

  The Samurai stands, shaking her head, and levels her polearm at me.

  “Nope. I’m out,” I say. A thought has me Blink Stepping over to the door. “Have fun!”

  Mikito snorts but lets me run away. Even as I leave, hard light projections of her opponents appear.

  Chuckling to myself, I saunter off to do some thinking. Reading. Despooling. Whatever you call dealing with an entire library in your head.

  The first steps are taken.

  Now, I just have to wait.

  Chapter 11

  I have to admit, one of the few things I’ve kept with me over the years—through apocalypse and international travel—is my love for food. Good chocolate for certain, but just food in general. And now that I’m in a new alien city—one that doesn’t require me to hide out while finding my prey—I take full advantage of it.

  B’oolyn is the equivalent of a three-star Michelin restaurant. The reservation list to get in is about a year and a half long, and that’s if you can get on the list. They’ve got a limited number of tables open for those without the requisite connections. And a few tables set aside for those with the status to ignore things like reservations.

  Which is how I end up eating here with the team. Harry’s having the time of his life, tiny drones flying around and taking videos of the building. It’s all carefully arranged and agreed upon by the owner of the establishment, ensuring that his guests—who all have their own privacy clauses active—are either not bothered or featured as contracted.

  The pale cream walls and the marble-like columns that dribble down like melted candles, making the entire place look like the inside of a sculpted ice cave, show well, as do the lingering hints of past meals. A Galactic array of spices combine with the smells of perfectly blackened meat, glazed vegetables, and other foodstuff best not considered too carefully. Even so, Skills and extractors ensure that none of the smells are overpowering, the lighting set perfectly to ensure that an amiable atmosphere is available for all.

  As for the patrons themselves, they’re a wide array of celebrities, socialites, noblemen, and military personnel. In Erethra, the last mixes with the first three in strange ways, with the concept of the celebrity soldier dominating their culture. Entire units are created—or kept together—because of specific individuals. Individuals who might have been given unique Classes for their actions or because of their natural Charisma. There’s even a subtle powerplay between various Generals as they promote their own armies, with Celebrity Soldier an actual Class. Of course, part of the requirements for them to be popular includes a series of death-defying stunts, so the lifespan of such soldiers is often limited.

  When you add in the fact that the Erethran Empire spans literal solar systems and dozens of races make up their population, the array of patrons within B’oolyn is staggering. The need to draw support from a wide range of sapient races makes the breakdown of celebrities on species lines a little more equal than you’d think. The only reason there isn’t a wider range is due to natural population and recruitment numbers among member races. After all, certain races—like the living rabbit-looking fuzzball Bignief—are just too cute not to use for publicity purposes.

  All of which is a long way to say that even in a racially diverse cast of patrons, our particular table still gets a lot of eyeballs as we eat.

  “You seem to be taking to the looks well,” I say to Bolo, who chows down on his food.

  The Dragon Lord is a big contrast compared to Mikito. She’s hunkered down, glaring at everyone who even looks halfway at her. If she had Hitoshi out, I’d be a little more worried, but she’s chosen to store it in her Inventory. Ali’s floating above us, out of sight, in a portion of the establishment reserved for companions. They’ve got their own servings, their own set up which keeps them out of our hair. Though the occasional complaint from Ali tells me it’s a lot less nice than the main room.

  “We were much the same in Xylargh,” says Bolo. “Attention, when earned justly, is not to be shirked.”

  “Good to know.” I lean back, grinning at the occasional glances.

  The restaurant maître d’ appears by my side. It’s a bit magical, the way he manages to glide through the room, making himself known but yet not disturbing his guests’ enjoyment of their meals. He makes his presence known subtly, so no one gets twitchy when he does want your attention, yet he never impinges on our conscious consideration. It leaves people like Mikito able to handle his presence without stabbing.

  “Is the meal to your liking, Paladin?” the maître d’ asks, bowing low. He’s a full Erethran, dressed in a variation of a pale-yellow-and-blue-trimmed serving uniform, almost looming over me as I sit. Almost, because he’s standing far enough back that he doesn’t tower. Nor do his luminescent yellow locks distract from the professionalism of his outfit and demeanor.

  “Definitely,” I say, gesturing to the empty plate before me. “That last dish was amazing. What was it called again?”

  “Leontophone haunch, braised with walmer nuts and a touch of the opin herb mix, caramelized afterward,” the maître d’ replies. “We can bring a second serving, if the Paladin desires.”

  “No, not yet. Let’s finish the suggested course,” I say, shaking my head. No need to mess with their suggested menu. At an establishment like this, their menu is certain to build upon itself.

  “Of course. Also, there’s a gentleman who would like to join you,” the maître d’ says hesitantly. His eyes flicker to the side and I get a new notification.

  So. And so.

  Just about time then. I smile to set the maître d’ at ease. “I’d be happy to speak with him. And his friend.”

  No sooner have I finished speaking than waiters appear, moving our utensils and adding a pair of chairs to the table that grows to fit another pair of diners with ease. I don’t even have to scoot my chair back as it moves by itself. That gets a little yelp from Mikito and a glare that the waiters all studiously ignore. I don’t ignore the small blade that Mikito disappears back into her Inventory with a twitch of her hand.

  “Who’s joining us?” Harry asks.

  Before I can reply, our guests arrive.

  Brerdain Ramanner, the General, leads the way. He saunters over, his Charisma washing over us all even though he’s not projecting his Aura. Per usual social conventions, people keep their aura retracted around others unless they’re looking to make a point. Even portly and older like he is, there’s a Charisma to him and his presence that the vid did not showcase.

  Beside him is an Erethran female, decades younger. She’s clad in a twinkly, tight sleeveless dress that shows off the muscles in her arms and legs—thanks to the long slit up her leg—while the tasteful makeup on her face and coral ears accentuate her features. Interestingly enough, she’s a little on the short side for an Erethran, at just about six feet six. As she smiles at me, I can’t help but notice the way the light around her brightens a little, angling to deepen the cleavage, shadow her cheeks, highlight parts of the shimmering rainbow of her long hair.

  “Paladin. Thank you for letting us join you,” Brerdain greets us with a polite smile. He holds the seat next to me out for his date, letting her slide in. “This is Catrin Dufoff.”

  I flick my gaze up to Catrin’s Status, curious about the light-bending companion as
she sits down next to me, offering me a smile.

  Catrin Dufoff, Empire Top Companion, Class 2 Human Resource, Slayer of Goblins, Wexlix, Crilik, (more)… (Administrative Companion Level 38) (A)

  HP: 1210/1210

  MP: 3480/3480

  Conditions: Always in Place, Never too Late, Perfect Lighting, Pheromones, A Good Impression

  Companion it is. I’m debating if there are perks—or what kind of perks—to her Class before doing a mental shrug. None of my business. From what little I recall about Erethran society, they have no specific hang-ups about paid companionship. No more than they do with any job that isn’t directly in the military, that is.

  Society’s Web, already running, let me verify the thread between them. Thin, almost insubstantial, and green-gray, the color of Credits and duty. There are more, many more, of those radiating from Catrin. She’s as connected to those in this room as any who have walked in, some of those threads heavy with scarlet and burgundy, passion and lust. Others are threaded with black and gray, heavy motes of duty and obligation. And there are the common ones leading to the Queen, a brown-gray thread leading off into the palace, a trio of purple-yellows headed straight up into the atmosphere.

  Brerdain’s even more interesting, his threads numerous. Lots of steel-gray for his soldiers. For those beneath him. I have to sort those out, cleanse them. Then I cleanse his companions, his casual dalliances. And still there are threads, so many to review. Even as I sort, I idly flick away a failed Charm notification.

  Brerdain takes his seat while returning introductions with the rest of my team. My attention is pulled back to Catrin as she places a hand on my arm. The heat of her touch and the chemicals in her skin set off another Charm notification.

  “Do you prefer to be called Paladin, Paladin Lee, Redeemer, or another of your many, many Titles?” Catrin’s voice is low and husky at the same time, like thick maple syrup coating the waffles of my ears.