by Tao Wong
I still would have declined, mind you, if I didn’t have my own objectives tonight. After my private talk with World Ruler Hanna, it was quite clear that certain steps need to be taken if all our hard work is not to be wasted.
“Are you sure about this, boy-o?” Ali floats alongside us, visible to everyone even if he wasn’t directly on the invitation. After all, Companions are considered part of one’s retinue, and a single addition like him is nothing compared to the dozens some of these nobles have.
In fact, as I walk, I spot a young lady—the Countess of Jade—with floating butterflies all about her head. Strange form for a companion, but then again, Ali is really a floating ball of spiritual energy and Mana. The only reason he looks like an overweight Middle Eastern man is because I somehow, somewhere in my brain, felt that was the ideal form for a spirit.
“Got to get going on stage two.” I turn my head from side to side, searching for my target.
Problem is, even after gene therapy, I’m six feet two and everyone else, even the women, is at least seven feet tall. That means I’m at a major height disadvantage. Mostly, I see a lot of chins and necks, suited bodies and gowned women. And others, who float in between. Erethran biology is kind of fascinating…
“John?” Catrin leans in and murmurs into my ear, waking me from my reverie.
“Right. Keep moving. You lead, I’ll follow.” I offer her a wan smile. It’s a bit annoying how fast she’s picked up on my inability to stay focused.
“Find him for me, will you?” I send to Ali.
I get a mental assent from Ali before he buzzes up to the ceiling. He joins a bunch of other flying companions—some of them sapient and verbal, others just glowing balls of power. There are even a few flying AIs running drones up there. In either case, I’m sure he’ll let me know when he finds who we’re here for.
In the meantime, Catrin’s tugging me along, dragging me over to meet our host.
Julierudi K’nillam, Viscountess of the Purple Sky March, is a striking figure clad in a purple outfit that swirls and shimmers with every motion. Stars appear, flare, and die on her clothing while projections of spaceships swoop in graceful arcs around the curve of her hips and down the slits, caressing her long legs. The entire dress is a masterpiece of military valor and glory, underscored by the subtle background of capital ships in muted colorings.
Unlike her military photograph, the Viscountess is significantly more striking in person. Makeup does a good job of masking the size of her nose, decreasing the visible projection of the extremity to make her beautiful. The mutation makes what is normally a tiny knob of a nose a dominating feature of her face, drawing eyes to it and her lush lips below. Of course, that’s based off human tastes. As I understand it, she’s considered incredibly ugly among Erethrans. It explains, among other things, her lack of companionship and relationships outside of the Admiralty.
It also says something about her personality that in a world where buying a new nose probably wouldn’t cost more than a few thousand Credits, she refuses to do so. Not entirely certain what it says, but it says something.
“My dear Paladin, such a pleasure to see you.” Julierudi steps forward, doing the entire air kissing next to my face thing. We get a couple looks, and I lipread people muttering about strange human customs.
I’m a little too amused to tell them that that’s a European thing, not a North American greeting. And definitely not a greeting you’d give a physically repressed Chinese Canadian. Of course, having blood and guts spilled all over me and being in close contact, grappling and training, with all kinds of creatures has ridden me of my issue with physical contact.
Mostly.
“Viscountess. Pleasure to see you too. Thank you for the invitation. I’m sure you know Catrin,” I say, stepping back and detaching myself from the Viscountess. At the same time, I offer up Catrin.
The two women offer their own greetings. This one is more restrained, a smile, a sweep across the tops of their chests where medals might have hung if they were in uniform. All it does is drag my attention to certain areas of the body. But it’s a more traditional Erethran greeting. So who am I to say anything?
While I’m busy admiring the women, the two ladies have passed on their verbal greetings. But just as quickly, Catrin is discarded, relegated to a footnote as Julierudi focuses her attention on me.
“I heard you just returned from Seepgra?” she says. “I trust it was a good training period.”
“It was good enough.”
“Is the planet stabilized?”
“Not yet. It will be, once more immigrants arrive,” I say those words with the same tone, same inflection as I would use to talk about dinner. Maybe a sports game. I’d be much more excited about dinner.
“Ah.” Julierudi smiles at me, head tilting ever so slightly. “It’s like that, is it?”
“I’m sure I have no idea what you’re talking about.”
Julierudi goes silent, her eyes going distant before she focuses again on me. “Well, I won’t keep you. Do try the food and enjoy the dancing. Perhaps in the north hall?” When I nod, taking her hand and kissing over it, Julierudi smiles. “Do make sure to see me before the end of the evening. I would hate to not speak with you again.” The Admiral then gestures to the side, and a young man bows slightly. “If you can’t find me, please ask for my nephew. He’s quite well-versed in most of my affairs and can help you with anything you need. Tonight, or in the future.”
I incline my head in thanks, for both the directions, the invitation, and the introduction.
Seconds later, she’s off, greeting another important noble, another player. Some corporate industrialist, from what I recall. It’s only when she’s gone and I’ve beaten off a couple more wannabe social rank climbers that we manage to begin our journey to the north hall.
Catrin leans into my ear and murmurs, “What is this about?”
“You’ll see.” I offer her smile, content to let her wait.
It’s not a big secret. Not big enough that it really would change things in the next few minutes if I told her. But some aspects of their military culture have started catching on. Like operational security. She doesn’t need to know. So I won’t say.
We enter the north hall, sweeping past open doors with a smile and nod. Unlike the main greeting hall, the northern hall is decorated with a more tropical theme. Floating fish—chirping five-limbed, lightly furred creatures—swing from what I’d call tropical rainforests. If our trees moved and tried to eat its inhabitants. A significant amount of solid light projections are involved in the display, but as my fingers brush against one of the plants and come away slightly sticky; I realize there’s just as much real vegetation scattered about. It gives the entire display a surreal and physical sense that hard light projections miss, for the plants bring with them the smell of turned earth, fresh oxygen, and bleeding sap.
“I found him.” Ali’s flashing waypoint on my minimap directs my feet as we edge around the hall.
Ali’s floating high above, along with some of the more active guests. They’re swooping through hanging branches and vines, dancing and playing. There’s a game of laser tag—with real lasers—going on above, shield drones taking care to soak up errant blasts. A cyan buzzer goes off and one of the Erethrans grumbles, floating down to the floor as he’s knocked out of the game. For now.
The sight catches my attention, and another piece of data unfolds. I shake it off, pushing aside the information. I have no idea how the rules and intricacies of a social sport has anything to do with the System Quest, and right now is not the time to explore.
Catrin shoots me a worried glance, leaning in close. “Are you okay?”
I can only offer her a half-smile, placating her. Telling her would be a bad idea. For millions of reasons. But I reassuringly pat her arm. It’s nice to have someone show they care. Even if it is fake.
As we near my target, I turn on Society’s Web. The Mana drain isn’t the problem with the Ski
ll—it’s the strings that float everywhere. Even with training and practice, I still have to focus to make some strings disappear, make others come to the fore. After all, Society’s Web shows all the obligations, all the duties and feelings we create with one another. And even for an introvert, it’s a significant number. To help me focus, I turn to stare at Catrin, taking her in.
My date’s in a shimmering dress, all tight curves, off-shoulder beauty, and plunging neckline. But I’m more focused on the threads that erupt from her body, that cover her form and attach themselves to the individuals around us and fly deeper into the city and the palace. A deep, dark purple, thick but shimmering in the way that denotes a shared obligation. That string is similar to the ones every single individual in this room has, all leading to the Queen.
Another, this one dark red with flashes of pink and mauve, twists and beckons. For an ex-flame I’ve never met, but for whom she still holds a little feeling. It isn’t the only red and pink string. In fact, there are more of those than I care to count. Or should. A lady has her secrets and a gentleman doesn’t pry.
Idly, I confirm that Brerdain’s string with hers is the same. There’s still some minor connection, but the color and thickness hasn’t changed. I’d assume she’s being paid a little for some information. Or it could very well be the simple acquaintanceship he mentioned.
There are numerous such connections, threads of those she’s been with, obligations and favors owed as she continues her social journey. A dark brown-gray thread leads into the city. Another, lighter purple-white, that I know is for her hairdresser. She’s arm candy and companion, friend and confidant. And more. And all that means she has one of the most fascinating webs I’ve ever seen, more layered and complex than the majority. Her relationships are never simple, all of them complex. Even the one she has with me…
“You’re staring, my dear,” Catrin says as she breathes into my ear.
I blink, tearing my gaze away from her, realizing we’ve stopped. Like the social chameleon she is, Catrin’s hanging off my arm just enough to make it seem as though we’re having a discreet conversation, and not that I’ve wandered off again into the maze of my mind.
“Can you blame me? When you dress like that? I love the necklace,” I say, covering up my mistake. I push with my mind, shedding the majority of the strings, and look around, letting my subconscious work the angles, the data. It’s harder than it seems, especially because so much of my processing power is taken up by the damn library.
“Well, we could leave and you could take it off me. Or we could find some place quiet…” Catrin teases, her voice low and husky.
I feel a stir down below but ignore it. She’s good, but Roxley was better and I spent years learning to ignore that damn elf. I feel a flash of guilt but push it aside. We never promised anything to one another, beyond the barest of connections. It was never a viable relationship, not when he’s a Truinnar and I’m… me. And if I know I’m lying to myself, that’s between me and my conscience.
“Down, girl,” I say. “There’s work still to be done.”
“For you.” She smirks at me.
“And you. I’m sure there are few connections you want to make.” I flash her a grin and she shrugs unashamedly.
“If you’re willing. It’s not as if you’re going to be my sugar daddy for ever.”
I scratch my temple, wondering if it was a translation error in my brain or if she really used that term. It’s not as if it’s an organic learning of languages, this Shop download of Erethran. I don’t exactly have a dictionary in my brain to check against. Occasionally, terms we hear are just close approximations.
“After I’m done,” I say. “Though we’ll have to see who wants to talk to us afterward.”
She laughs, squeezing my bicep in support. “It’s okay. If necessary, I can leave you to fend for yourself. I’m sure you’ll find more than enough company either way.”
She traces her gaze to a number of women, and a few men, who are eyeing us. Not in the political “what can they do for me” way, but in a more carnal manner. At first, I’d dismissed their gazes as being focused on her. But among other things, Society’s Web ensures I’m not mistaken where their regard leads to.
I really could have used this in my twenties, in the club scene. Or maybe not. I’m not sure my ego could have handled it back then. Young, male, and unsure? I might have retreated into my code further.
Either way, it’s a new thing. Being a person to be lusted after. And I know part of it is because of my Charisma, my aura, my status. It’s still kind of nice. Not that I intend to take advantage of it, not anymore.
All of those thoughts fade away as I finally spot my target. Like most others in here, he’s filled with lines, threads that lead between him and others. Except unlike most others, most of those obligations are toward him.
The Lord of the Infinite Keeps is from an old and prestigious house, having provided soldiers for the imperium since their very beginning. For their loyal service, they’ve been given great lands, entire solar systems. And of course, they’ve garnered the arrogance that comes with such prestige.
Kremnock Ucald, Duke of the Infinite Keeps, Cretigrad of the Spears, Malefactor Imperium, Slayer of Goblins, Slimes, Grishnak,… (more) (Level 34 Erethran Vice Marshal) (M)
HP: 3480/3480
MP: 2480/2480
Conditions: Aura of Marshal’s Command, Under my Rule, Only Death and Taxes, Personal Force, Confidential Business
“Vice Marshal?” I send up to Ali.
That’s a new one. Most go direct to General or in a few cases Admiral. I’ve not seen Vice Marshal, though I’m assuming it’s an air force designation. Then again, from what I understood, the Air Force has been subsumed into the general army, since so many of the army can fly or are abusing things like hoverboots and mecha. In fact, outside of a small branch of dedicated transport specialists, the Erethran Army is mostly divided into the general army and the space navy.
Of course, there are units within those designations with individual Generals deciding on how they like to split things up, but the uniformity of the units and general training means they can also work together with only the slightest hiccup. It’s still a little complicated, especially for someone like me. And, truthfully, I don’t really need to know.
I seem to be saying that a lot.
“Vice Marshal. It’s a general rank for those without a unit directly under their command, but who still want some of the perks of being a ranking officer. Quite common about a hundred years ago but fallen out of favor recently among the Erethran nobles. Splits skills between personal bonuses, unit bonuses, and domain bonuses. Most put emphasis on the unit in their domain,” Ali provides the details as usual, having anticipated my question.
But as he was detailing skills, we’ve already reached the man. He’s noted my approach and hasn’t made a move away from me. Which is a good thing. I’d hate to have to chase him down in public.
“Ah, Paladin. It’s good to see you,” Kremnock says when I approach. He even offers me a formal greeting, that weird salute from the chest. “I was just telling my friends that we’ve sorely missed having Paladins overlook our activities.”
Even if I didn’t have a finely tuned sarcasm detector, I could pick it out here. So instead of returning the greeting, I look him over. He’s not wrong about the friends part though, as threads around him vibrate to his words. Multiple lines of obligation vibrate and twitch as his hangers-on and audience laugh as he wishes. More surprisingly, he’s got a thick, brilliant red, burgundy, and pink thread leading to his wife who swoops and ducks above. The thread speaks of love. True love, if you believe in things like that.
Otherwise, when I filter for business and military contacts, the strings he has to pull on are numerous. They don’t just include the nobles clustered around him, but more—much more. Prestigious, old, and connected.
When I notice that Catrin, in her usual social mode, moves to pacify him in my sile
nce, I pull gently on her arm hooked onto mine. She’s smart enough to stop, shifting from the beginnings of an apology to a demure smile.
“Paladin? It is common to reply to others, in Erethran society,” says Krenmock.
“Oh, I was going reply. I just trying to decide if it was with a punch or not,” I say.
My casual threat isn’t taken lightly, with a few of his hangers-on putting their hands on weapons.
“But it would be poor taste to spill blood outside of a formal challenge,” I say. “And that isn’t the kind of party that the Vicountess has chosen to host.”
“How have I generated the ire of our illustrious Paladin? After all, I do not believe we’ve met,” Krenmock says. “Did I, perhaps, tread upon an Earth custom?”
“The planet Seepgra. Your men have been interdicting transports in,” I say.
“It’s for their safety. Seepgra is a restricted planet. There are too many dangers for the unprepared. We do not need to be feeding the monsters, increasing their Levels,” Krenmock replies. It’s smooth and almost plausible.
“Yet somehow, Guilds who have paid you off, who have close contact with you, get through without a problem. And on top of that, any native Erethran who is looking to Level is able to reach the planet.” As we speak, I note the increasing number of stares and scrying orbs. We’re good entertainment in a place that is always looking for gossip. “It’s only non-Erethran groups, Guilds that are out of favor, and competing companies that get stopped.”
“I don’t deal with the details.”
Krenmock’s very careful, making sure that he never tells an actual lie, only partial truths. He doesn’t deny knowledge. He doesn’t deny stopping or giving those orders. Just that he doesn’t do it himself. Its one way of escaping truth-telling Skills. Not that I have one. My Eye of Insight only stops Skills from working on me. They don’t tell the truth.