Stars Asunder

by Tao Wong

  That catches the woman by surprise, making her look at me head-on. “Why would you ask that?”

  “I can’t think of another reason to speak to me. Debriefing is later, after all.”

  Anayton lets out a huff, her nostrils expanding. I hear the exhalation, smell the hint of myrrh on her breath. “You really aren’t very good at this social thing, are you?”

  I shrug.

  “I came by to check on you.”

  My eyes narrow, then I chuckle. “Drew the short straw?”

  There’s a moment of puzzlement before she nods. “Yes, I got the lowest Mana clip. We all noticed your… distraction.”

  “Smooth,” I say at her choice of words. “But I’m fine. I’ve lost others before.”

  “To your orders?”

  “Yes,” I say. And that too is true. Just not in the way she thinks.

  “They chose, you know, just like we all did. Just like Smo’kana did. To try to be Paladins. And it’s not our first excursion. We’ve fought, we’ve killed for worse reasons,” Anayton says. “This. This opportunity you offer? It’s perhaps the first time we’ll have a chance to do what we think is right.”

  I shake my head in negation of her words. Their choice, my orders.

  “Our lives for our honor?” Anayton shakes her head, something dark passing through her eyes. “A victory at twice the price.”

  I consider the young lady for a moment, then glance at the attendees below. I watch them walk around, cluster and break apart, chat and laugh, with that tinge of despair and grief that rises and fades around the edges. They’re a militaristic society. They’re used to loss, so there are no giant outbursts of anger or raging. But the grief is still there. Because loss is loss.

  In the end, I pluck a memory of her from her reports and speak. “The Diyamant attack.”

  Anayton flinches.

  “That’s your reason, isn’t it? For becoming a Paladin.”

  Anayton looks away, refusing to meet my eyes. But her hands clench and she shrinks a little into herself. I can be patient, so I stay silent. Waiting. Eventually, my patience is rewarded.

  “We were seconded to the Lord Sockuya. It was supposed to be a regular assignment. Guard him, make sure he survived his trip, come back. We didn’t know where he was going. We didn’t know what he would do when he got there. And when they came for him, braying for his head…” Anayton shudders. She tries to say more, to explain. She tries and fails.

  I put a hand on her shoulder, squeezing it. I know the rest of the story. The things she didn’t say. He massacred the town—not because of anything important, but because his ex-lover’s family had come from it. He couldn’t touch her, not anymore. Not since she got together with his sister, received her protection. But he could destroy his lover’s village. When the others came for him, he let the Honor Guard do their job, follow their orders. Made them choose between orders and what was right.

  They chose their orders. Because that’s how they’re taught.

  It’s what soldiers do.

  “It’s not what Paladins do,” I say out loud. Finishing my own thoughts.

  As if she managed to follow along, Anayton nods. And then she walks away as if she can’t stand to be near me anymore. Maybe it’s herself she can’t stand to be near. Self-loathing is a pernicious poison. Hard to get rid of, no matter how hard you scrub, no matter how much you drink.

  In the silence of the second floor, as the hubbub of those below caresses my senses, as I sip on the drink in my hand and grip the lava lamp Anayton left behind, a figure emerges from the shadows. I don’t jump. I don’t even startle. Hard to miss someone when you’ve got a big glowing thread leading right to them.

  “I didn’t want to bother you,” Catrin says as she sways over. She leans against the railing, brushing her shoulder against my chest as she does so, putting a little weight into my body and passing on the heat of her body. “It looked serious.”

  “It… was,” I say, shaking my head. I breathe in, catching the hints of nutmeg and flowers that is all hers, and find myself taking a deeper breath. “Just a talk of loss. And pain.”

  “Ah. That kind of talk.” Catrin lowers her gaze.

  I reach out, pulling her closer. “You know it?”

  “I’ve lost others. Friends. Family,” Catrin murmurs.

  “Work?”

  “Mmmm… and life. I grew up—well. You know. It wasn’t easy.”

  “Yes.” I look down. “What do you think of them? The initiates?”

  “They seem good. Strong. Dedicated.” She nods to the group below.

  I absently note how they’ve gathered again, talking amongst themselves. Already, I see the way the lines are drawing between them and everyone else. Even if members of their teams are here, there’s a line. Between those who eventually have to make the calls and everyone else.

  “They trust you. To lead them.”

  “More fool them. And you?” I say. “Do you trust me?”

  There’s a slight hesitation, one that makes me reluctantly turn to meet her waiting eyes. There’s a light smile on her lips, amusement at my question. She makes me wait, makes me regret asking such a stupid question.

  “Yes.” When I open my mouth, she places a finger on it. “If you say I’m foolish, I’ll throw you off this balcony.” I clamp my mouth shut. “They’re no fools. Nor am I, Redeemer. They’re exactly what you wanted, aren’t they?”

  I cock my head to the side but eventually nod. They very much are. I find myself drawing a deep breath and exhaling as I realize what it means.

  “You’re leaving again, aren’t you?” Catrin says softly.

  “Soon. Debriefing and then… well. The next step.”

  Catrin makes a face.

  I pull her close with one arm and give her a squeeze. “Make my excuses for me?”

  When she wrinkles her nose at my request, I chuckle and plant a kiss on her lips. It’s time. For the quest. For setting up their next step.

  ***

  We meet in the pale yellow room of the Shop. The meeting rooms are often rented out, the time dilation affect one of the few time-related effects that are viable. I’m not entirely sure if it’s an aspect of the teleportation to the location or if the entire Shop is affected by a time dilation bubble. In either case, time seems to move at a much slower rate within the Shop, compared to everywhere else.

  I’ve done some research into Classes that mess with time, in the very limited ways that the System allowed, and with the library in my head, I’ve learnt the hell a lot about it. Time, movement within it, and all the resulting research takes up a large chunk of the information in my brain. Even now, there are research projects in play.

  So far, time dilation is the extent of the System’s effects on the timeline. We can look into the future by guessing what will happen, but it’s all estimation. Sometimes eerily accurate guesses, but still guesses. You can look into the past by using various Skills to shift light, to draw on spiritual energies, to read the vibration of quantum entanglements. But you can’t go back in time or forward into the future.

  That doesn’t stop us from trying.

  Magic, unconstrained by the limitations of the System, is the go-to option. Numerous mages have attempted to manipulate Mana, trying to pierce the veil of time itself. The most successful of those spells rebounded, damaging their casters. The greatest failures had a tendency to create horrors.

  Monsters that grew too fast, that aged and died in the blink of an eye. Sapient creatures whose very life force was sucked out to power the spell. Even the mass replication of the spell using an entire city’s lifeforce was insufficient to make a dent. The veil was more like a diamond wall than diaphanous cloth. You could slow time down, dilute it. But you couldn’t move through it.

  “Cider?” the dark elf asks, holding out the clear glass of alcoholic apple juice.

  When I take it, he shifts his hand slightly, making sure I touch his fingers. I have to admit, his touch still sends a thr
ill through me. Even when a portion of my mind records the ongoing Charm effects I resist. Roxley has a full suite of Skills and tech to make him alluring. I would almost accuse him of vanity, except I knew he’d just bask in the accusation.

  It’s due to his past. Being a competitive dancer in Truinnar society meant he had to look good. No, better than good. While the winners were generally easy to pick out, the sponsorship of the contenders was another thing entirely. You couldn’t just win; you had to win with style.

  And that meant looking good.

  And smelling good.

  And yes, feeling good.

  “We could adjourn somewhere else,” Roxley drawls. His dark skin frames the now purple-and-yellow hair, highlighting those sharp ears and that wide smile. He leans against the table, pushing his hips out as he does so, and stretches.

  The ass.

  “No. Not getting distracted.” I step back and sip on the drink to buy time. Immediately, I get notifications that I’m resisting a variety of drugs, over and above the normal alcohol content. “What the hell?”

  “Third Sol apple cider,” Roxley says. He makes the bottle appear, and I look at the very long list of warnings. “Quite in demand. The orchard is a dungeon, the loot drops the apples. Only way to make the drink is via, well, questing. It’s even more in demand than Apocalypse Ale.”

  I can’t help but chuckle and take another sip of the drink. I should’ve guessed. Even in our world, apple trees have mutated. “Tastes pretty good. But this isn’t a social call.”

  “I assumed so.” Roxley grows serious as he puts aside the flirting. It’s like flipping a switch, and I kind of envy him that ability. I’m still letting my gaze linger on his biceps. “I’ve heard about you and your latest… fling.”

  “Jealous?”

  Roxley doesn’t answer, instead wandering over to a seat. When he’s facing me again, he just cocks an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, I figured.” I sit down across from him. One of the advantages of our relationship, if you could call it a relationship, is the lack of strings. Roxley understands, something Lana never could. “You still taking care of the Duchess’s place?”

  “Of course.”

  “Good. And you’ve got contacts with the rest of the council.” I say.

  That’s a new thing, as they’ve formalized the power structure within the planet. The major players in each faction have divided the seats into a semi-permanent ruling Council. Rob’s still the World Leader, but the Council has chipped away at his strength, forcing him to play politics. Or lose his seat. It’s still shaky foundations, with a lot of maneuvering. But they’ve managed to keep the planet united so far.

  In fact, from what I hear, a number of Dungeon Worlds have made moves to unite their own worlds. The advantages we’ve managed to acquire by locking down the entire planet have made it apparent that they’ve been leaving a lot of Credits on the table. Now that they’ve got a working example, old rivalries that kept them apart have driven Galactic groups together. Still, there’s a weight of history behind a lot of the fractious enmities on other Dungeon Worlds. And so while plans might be in play, nothing has actually happened. Yet.

  Roxley nods, confirming my understanding.

  “Good. Because I have got a business proposition for all of you.”

  The Truinnar cocks an eyebrow, and I can’t help but smile back. Just because I’ve left doesn’t make me any less a child of Earth. And I still need to have the initiates pass their quest.

  Chapter 20

  “This is a blatant abuse of power!” Magine complains.

  I grin at the Movanna, then turn my gaze on the surviving Paladins. Only four of them are left: two Erethrans, Kino, and Magine. I’m surprised Freif hasn’t broken. I’m surprised Magine hasn’t flamed out. A lot of surprises, including Kino’s survival. But considering I started with seven, having four left is a pretty decent number, I figure.

  If only I could have gotten to this stage by kicking them out. And not losing them.

  “Yes, it very much is.” I grin.

  We’re in a briefing room, back on palace grounds, where we’ve been training for the last week. There’s a little more polishing left to do for the initiates to learn how to work with their team, to fix problems we focused on in the debrief.

  They weren’t happy after that meeting, not at all. Between Bolo, Mikito, myself, and three guest lecturers from the armed forces we’d invited, we spent the better part of the day tearing apart every single mistake they did. Everything they could have done better. Everything they could have done so that their friends hadn’t died.

  We go through the recordings, sparse as they are. We pull out the video of the main fights, and when the cameras are destroyed, we go through the reams of reports they and their people provide. Lines and lines of data, of people explaining where they were, why they went there, why they were separated. More than enough, for all of us to dig in.

  Because that was the underlying point. If they had pulled enough aggro, done enough damage, freed up enough of the weaponry, turned off the safeties on the mobile drones, or taken over the first level fast enough, then maybe instead of four, maybe five or six members would be here.

  We drove the point home, again and again.

  We traced how Freif, at the controls of the shielding station, destroyed it rather than hacking it. Not because he didn’t have the personnel who could, but because he got a little too gun happy.

  We showed how Gheisnan was swarmed, forces turning on him, hemming him in. Till he was stuck in a corner, unable to break out, his Skills no longer as useful. He and his team had fought, back to back—till the sensor grid went down and we lost the ability to see his end.

  The grid had gone down late because Anayton had been too slow, too careless in dealing with the personnel in her own target. They’d refused to listen, refused to hand over the work, and when she finally acted to kill them and release the controls, it was too late.

  Magine, focused on taking out the AI controlling the wall, had torn his way through two different command centers, searching for the right person. Never taking the time to actually locate the main control personnel, relying instead on speed and violence. And failing.

  Over and over, we went over their actions, what they could have done better. Should have done better. We didn’t even spare the mistakes made by the dead. Because there’s a lesson there. We drill in their mistakes, their failures, the tragedy of their actions.

  And the initiates don’t break.

  Irritated, hurt, maybe a little ashamed. But not broken. Maybe it’s their old training, maybe some of the steel we’ve managed to bury in their backs. But even after everything, they’re still willing to bitch me out. In public. Just less colorfully.

  “We do have a facility there,” Freif says, frowning. “The training you want us to do, it won’t be that much different—”

  “Not training. Your Quest.”

  “You’re finally ready to give it to us?” Anayton says, distrust deep in her voice.

  “Yes. You’re ready. Or as ready as I can get you.” I shake my head. “You know all the dangers now, have an idea of what you need to fight for. The rest, you’ll figure out yourself. Or not. That’s the only other lesson I have to impart.”

  “We’ve got to figure it out ourselves?” Magine says derisively. “That’s worse than an unClassed fortuneteller’s five-Credit pronouncement.”

  “I’d have gone with fortune cookie, but you do you.”

  Of course, the Galactics all looked puzzled. I doubt System downloads on Earth culture contained fortune cookies. I don’t think I’ve even seen one since the end of the apocalypse. At least, not one that wasn’t pre-System. Though the cookies all taste the same, even years later.

  “The test?” Kino rumbles.

  I stop teasing the easy target that is Magine and flick my hand. I don’t really need to do that, but a little drama is useful once in a while. The group falls silent as they read over the System notifi
cation.

  System Master Class Quest: Paladin of Erethra

  You have been granted the opportunity to become a Paladin of Erethra. To do so, you must complete a Master Class Quest of sufficient difficulty at the behest of your Paladin of Erethra mentor (John Lee).

  Do you accept?

  [YN]

  “Are you sure of this, boy-o?” Ali sends to me. There’s a tinge of concern coming through the mental pathways that the System carves for us.

  “Yes.”

  Truth is, I’m not. But I do know that holding off any longer is a bad idea. In the last fight, I managed to eke out another Level, between the deaths and the System updates from the library. I’m trending up, and up, and there’s only so long before the Queen gets impatient.

  As for my doubts about what happened? The niggling concern that the two pureblood Erethrans are still here and my losses have all been non-Erethrans? Those I keep to myself. It could be coincidence. It could be something else. I could research it, dig into what really happened. Even through the Skill-shrouded Keeps’ defenses, even if there are locks in place that stop me from buying it directly from the Shop.

  I have my doubts. But in the end, we need more Paladins. Or at least, the Erethrans do.

  System Master Class Quest: Paladin of Erethra

  Your Paladin of Erethra mentor (John Lee) has designated the following requirements for your Master Class Quest:

  - Defeat 5 Master Class Monsters (Level 150 or more) in the designated locale (Earth) without aid beyond your bonded team.

  “What the hell is a bonded team?” Magine calls.

  “Whatever you decide to make it.” I lean over the table, dropping my voice to help make this clear. “But make sure it’s a nice, tight bond. Because otherwise, the System won’t count it. Make it a Serf contract, make it an Oath or a Gaea’s. Or a Feudal Bond.” I incline my head toward Mikito, who smiles slightly. “But these people are people you’ll trust with your life. For now. And for the rest of your time as Paladins.”