Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Sixthmonth, 1634 PTS
I let out a cautious breath, the urgency of the situation finally leaving me as Rachel’s whispers confirmed the Shade’s death. This mission had been far riskier than my estimations, but so far, we had succeeded at every goal. Now, all I wanted was to return to the sect and rest my wounded body.
Before me, Triezal calmed, no longer dashing around in a chaotic dance. Instead, he had turned a way eye onto myself and the still-resting Irid, the only other inhabitants who remained anywhere nearby. On the other side of the room, I could sense a number of souls, but they had all been wise enough not to approach.
“Cyrus, we need to take back the dagger!” said Rachel, appearing beside me. She had taken her sei form, and her appearance seemed oddly frenetic. In fact, her hair was mussed and her robes ruffled. What was the point of depicting herself in that manner, I wondered?
I turned back to Triezal, and stretched my palm out to him, indicating my desire for him to pass the blade over. He merely sneered, not dignifying the request with a response. The Magister’s eyes gleamed in the multi-colored light that surrounded him. I couldn’t see a way to reach the man without getting dangerously close to the lesions had I wanted to.
Did I even want the thing, I wondered? It was dangerous, that was for sure. I could barely even use it myself without acquiring severe injuries. But I was a martial artist. A weapon was useful, but the path was my own. And this weapon was not a part of mine. In fact, I did not want the thing anywhere near me. There was something to be said in favor of preventing an enemy from having it, but… I glanced back to Triezal, and the multi-colored defences he stood behind. It was not a barrier I found myself willing to charge, at least not in my current condition.
I shook my head.
“It’s not worth it,” I said. “We need to go. I’ll grab Irid. Where’s Karie? Have her meet up so you can transport us away.”
Rachel scowled, but then paused, as always seeing something beyond mortal senses. She sighed, a look of resignation coming over her.
“Shit, you’re right they’re almost here. You don’t have to worry about Karie, but go grab Irid.”
I nodded, having an idea of who she might be referring to. Given the visual spectacle that covered the whole sky outside, it had been only a matter of time until the Staiven involved themselves. Wasting no time, I helped Irid to her feet, and draped one of her arms around my shoulder to steady her. One of the Reth woman’s collarbones was smashed, and at least five bullets had been lodged into her body.
I knew almost nothing about a Reth’s internals, but for a woman in her progression stage, I would have to trust that if she were not yet dead, the injuries should be enough to heal. Still, it would be best to get her to a hospital, or more accurately, the sect’s newest palace.
It seemed my initial thoughts had been correct, I thought. For more reasons than one, we needed to return to the sect as quickly as possible.
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Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Sixthmonth, 1634 PTS
Triezal felt his body knit itself together, holding his agonized skin to his tender flesh. Though he had a strong ashatic resistance, Triezal was no Jobu, and such exposure to lesions would still cause injury. He suspected it would be weeks before he fully recovered. For now, however, the lesions were his shield, guarding him in case the Redwaters wished him any harm. Given the history between them, it would have been difficult to describe their relationship in simple terms. Regardless, it was clear that Rachel wanted to retrieve the knife, but Triezal wouldn’t let that happen. His fist clenched tighter on the blade, as his eyes still paid careful attention to the martial artist and the Reth.
There was a third presence in the room, one Triezal couldn’t help but be wary of. Rachel stood before him, at the edge of the field of lesions. This should be a hologram, he thought. He knew that she had access to those, from the reports. If it had been a robot body, she surely would have put it to use fighting against Janottka. The Shade narrowed her eyes as she glared at him. Triezal’s lips tightened as he settled into a readied stance, in case he needed to guard himself.
“I’m sure you’re aware,” she said, “but the Brink shares locality with Telles. Travel within takes… quite some time, even at a servitor’s speed. Tell me, Magister,” she contonued, her grin demonic, “How far was it to Janaste, again?”
Triezal blanched at her words, and his face went pale as if the blood had drained. He wanted to doubt what she was suggesting, but it fit with the fears he had already been harboring. A being like Janottka would not have died so easily, he thought.
“Don’t tell me…”
Rachel’s grin seemed to serve as sufficient answer, and Triezal scowled as the implications swept through his mind. If she’s alive, she’ll return to Janaste, and construct herself a new body. And she’ll surely return here to kill me.
How long would it take a servitor to travel between systems, he wondered? She lacked naaeratanh, so a slice drive was out of the question. And Rachel had implied it would take some time. At subluminal velocities… Triezal pinched his brow, annoyed by the results of his rapid estimation. The best he could guess would be the same as a physical ship, or perhaps slightly faster. A round trip of about a decade, give or take a few months. It seemed that all he had managed to accomplish was a return to the original timeline for the Epon’s return.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
Still, it was difficult to deny the relief Triezal felt at having dodged his imminent demise. Ten years was a long time, relatively speaking. During that time, perhaps he would receive the opportunities he would need. So long as he was alive, there would always be a chance.
Triezal watched as Cyrus lifted the Reth woman, who had, it seemed, not quite bled out yet. For future reference, he made a mental note of her hardiness. Perhaps it was a trait of her species. As he watched them, for a moment he and the Riverfiend locked eyes. Triezal gave the man a sharp nod, one born from respect. Regardless of their differing goals, he could respect the man’s warrior’s spirit. The martial artist reciprocated the nod, moments before the trio disappeared in a brilliant flash of golden light. Triezal let out a sigh of relief. Now that they were gone, he could finally make his way out from the web he had trapped himself within.
His scowl returned moments later, however, as before he could even begin, one of the hangar’s entry hatches released.The aperture revealed the boots of the Justice Office’s soldiers, clacking on the metal floors as they entered. So that was why Rachel had left so easily, he thought. Their actions made more sense, in retrospect.
Triezal cursed, glancing around at the approaching soldiers, and the lesions which still surrounded him. If he wished to escape the cage of lesions without mutation or potentially fatal injury, it would be quite difficult, and might even require him to dig himself out. Though he had been so caught up in killing Janottka that he didn’t notice, Triezal was surrounded in tight confines by the wounds, standing in a small pocket within the brilliantly colorful mass.
Looking into the tears felt as if he were looking into reality itself, and looking beyond them to the rest of them was to look into a far more mundane sort of reality. The shocked Staiven had begun to form ranks, barking orders as they surrounded him.
This had truly, Triezal thought, been one of the worst days of his life. It did not seem as if it would get any better.
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First District, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Sixthmonth, 1634 PTS
Renuas frowned, reaching up with his left hand to peel a large flake of skin from his forehead and discard it in a nearby trash can. He had developed a habit of peeling his skin off, one that only increased the rate of peeling, as well as the amount of nutrients that he needed to consume. Not that this bothered him, as Renuas had long considered himself a connoisseur of fine bathing. He visited the nutrient pools on his street twice a day, and his well-paid job was enough to visit some of the really expensive baths one per week. Renuas had received one such bath just the day before, and was already fantasizing about his next opportunity. Sometimes he pitied the oddness of the other races, who had to consume solid objects for nutrients. To swallow something down one’s throat… Renuas shuddered at the thought. That just sounded painful.
Returning his attention to the terminal he was kneading, Renuas scanned the network anomaly he had been assigned to investigate. Apparently, during the titan scare the day before, something extremely odd had been occurring. He scanned the data from several angles, making little sense of it. Whatever had happened, someone had cleared most of the traces, and there was little to go off of.
“Did someone try to hack the…” he muttered, before his words cut off mid sentence. Numerous other events crossed his mind, and Renuas quickly pulled up several older files, looking through and cross-referencing the data. He shivered as he looked over the results. There was a simple explanation that would solve multiple conundrums he had been faced with in past weeks, but one that he found terrifying. He compiled the data, and ran out from his cubicle, nearly knocking over the chair in the process. Shocked and fearful, Renuas dashed through the hall, nearly slamming into the hatch which led to his superior’s office.
“Sir! I have an urgent report. Item 23.”
Seated in an odd spherical chair was another Staiven with an angular body whose clothes hung so tightly they might as well have been pasted on, in Renuas’ estimation. He much preferred clothing that could be removed more easily for bathing ease, but was not the sort of fool who would openly question their employer’s taste.
Her name was Oulan, and Renuas was actually a little bit scared of her. A bead of condensed miasma slowly dripped from one of her formless eyes as she regarded him.
“Twenty-three…” she muttered, speaking slowly. “I’m sure you know what that designation means, and what the consequences for false reports are?”
Renuas nodded vigorously. He knew exactly what he was doing, and that knowledge dug a spike of fear deep into his body. Oulan waved a hand, as if prodding him to speak.
“Then explain, Renuas. What did you find?”
He hesitated, scared of the consequences of being wrong. That was the problem with being the bearer of bad news, Renuas thought. But the consequences for failing to report news so potentially vital were far worse. Why couldn't any of his colleagues have been assigned this task?
“Well, ma’am, ah…” He said, stumbling over his words. Renuas found it difficult to begin, finding fear clutching at his throat. “There- There have been a number of anomalies in the net over the past month, but this is the largest one by far. From what I can tell, there are many attempts to send data through the network from this node, but none of them went through. Most importantly, all information about the devices involved have been wiped entirely from the system. All we can see now are traces indicating that something happened. If you look at the data… you should look at it. I-I believe this is sufficient evidence for concern that one or more Shades may be hiding aboard the station.”
“Show me,” ordered Oulan, her expression alert. She lifted her terminal, and, fumbling, Renuas quickly sent the file over.
Oulan frowned as she inspected the device, leading to over a minute of silence as Renuas awkwardly waited for her to finish checking over both his work and his conclusion.
“Good work,” she said, eventually breaking the silence. “You were right to show this to me. I’ll send this up the chain. You might receive a bonus for this, but…”
Renuas nodded vigorously.
“I understand,” he said. “I will not leak a word of this.”
“Good.”
Oulan scanned through the data once more, disappointed in what she saw. She leaned back in her seat, sighing.
“Damn it all,” she muttered.
Pantheonic- Sheneth-Ari Treaty Item Twenty-Three: [One of the more well known parts of the lengthy and complicated legal document that ended conflict between the Sheneth-Ari Council and the Pantheon of Staive, item twenty-three was the stipulation that all mechanical or virtual life forms, colloquially known as ‘Shades,’ are to be destroyed by the Pantheonic Government, or should that not be possible, for their existence to be reported to the Sheneth-Ari. Such reports invariably end poorly for all mortals within the affected city. Despite being only item 23, this section of the treaty is one of the most staunchly enforced by both governments.]