Chương 10: Arrival arc

"The mercenary. Sitting in between professional armies and civilian mobs, they seep into the cracks of a vast, dangerous universe. Quality varies, as does price, but they are a singular people in one regard. Money. Heavily augmented titans of steel and chrome, sleek, beautiful men moving with inhuman speed, all seek to make money with what they feel is their best—or only—talent: violence. Hate them, hire them, they care not.

Mercenaries are the product of the times, and be they massive ten-ship warfleets or independent fighters, they fill a thousand vital roles." Excerpt from Soldier, Slave and Mercenary Mat awoke to the not entirely welcome voice of Nova screaming into his head, though he understood only half the words.

"—fuking insane, you hear me? Insa—eled so you have more feats to pick from, bu—nd don't you ever take a blade to the chest again that fuck—ar me?" He shook his head, which did nothing but give life to an ocean of stars. Slowly, so slowly he felt like he was imagining it, his vision cleared, and he looked around. Then he realized that he wasn't in agonizing pain.

"You are in perfect health," a woman said. Mat looked, and for a wild, panicked moment, he was sure she was here for revenge. Sanity returned, and the simple, easy connection of woman equaling enemy melted away. The doctor raised a metallic eyebrow.

"There is a note in your file that prohibits me from addressing a number of potential mental diseases. I would urge you to reconsider." Mat tried to speak, coughed, drank water from a straw when offered, then managed to form words.

"Don't— Don't touch my mind."

"Very well," the doctor replied, turning away.

"Try to stand. Your subconscious might need time to adjust to the fact that you are healthy, so take it slow." He swung his legs over the bed, rising to a sitting position. Nova tutted in his ear, disapproving.

"Like anything could keep my host down. Stupid doctor. You just wait until we're punching reality in the dick, and then we'll see who has to take it slow." Peace, Mat though, the corner of his mouth curving into a smile. But thank you for the sentiment. I— who else is alive?

"Just Darian, I think. It gets hard to use your senses when you're unconscious, so maybe someone else made it. You should really avoid headblows, by the way. Not that you didn't, but just in general. It's where I live. Kind of. They're bad, is my point." Mat stood, lightly bending his knees then stretching his arms. He nodded, then paused. I can't believe I'm alive.

"That's the spirit!" Nova exclaimed. The AI paused.

"Ehh, no, actually, it's not." He shook his head, ignoring the doctor and turning to leave. He was done here, and he didn't feel like spending another second in the office of a woman who apparently condoned slavery. Which was not legal, he had been informed. Not in any major population centers, anyway. She was breaking the law for money, uncaring for the misery she helped support. And not in a 'I bought this phone from China instead of a local supplier' kind of way, either. Direct, visible, honest to god slavery.

Back through the hallway he went, and he didn't see Darion anywhere. If he was the only survivor, then… then something. Guilt, probably, though he felt fine at the moment. Was that shock? Could someone in shock recognize that they're in shock? Mat was still considering that when the final door to his domus opened, and the first face he saw was that of Darion, who lunged. Mat flinched back, his mind snapping to the fight.

It had been his fault Stephen died, and if Darian blamed him, then— The man seized him by the arm, dragging him into the room. An almost manic smile was on his face, and Mat noted the return of the man's eye.

"Alive! I told you he was alive! Matmat and me, conquerors of the hook blade." Few others seemed to share his enthusiasm, though there was a small crowd. Four against four was rare enough to draw some limited excitement. Yet a few faces looked at him more in question than cheer, and Mat shook his head even before they could ask. Stephen and Benard's friends slunk back, taking the news with an almost defeated ease. Darion's grip shifted until he was gripping Mat's forearm, and Mat returned the gesture on instinct.

"Brothers we are! Brother of blood and death. Your friends prepared a feast, and my friends are cunts, so I'll join you!" Mat looked at Reg, who returned his gaze with a small congratulatory smile. Not for the killing, Mat knew, but for surviving. Both Tobi and Pabol were with him, and for once, the latter didn't scowl. Neither did he smile, but Mat could swear he detected a hint of approval. Reg shrugged.

"I did prepare a little something, just in case. You are welcome to join us if your friends have deserted you, Darion, but I don't think that is the case." A pair of strangers grabbed Darion by the shoulder, forcing the man to let go of Mat's arm. Darion laughed at them, and the trio stumbled away, their hands shifting to hang over Darion's shoulder. Before Mat lost sight of them, Darion had already been handed a small bottle, which the man gulped down.

"I did prepare a drink, but it is back in the cell," Reg said, following Mat's gaze.

"How are you feeling, friend?" Mat didn't answer at once, and when he finally did, his tone was strange even to his own ears.

"I don't know."

"That's nothing wine and meat can't fix," Pabol declared, turning.

"If you lag behind, I'll eat your dinner." Tobi rolled his eyes, stepped closer and lowered his tone.

"Darion showed us his steel token. Do you have it? If you do, don't take it out. Or show anyone else, for that matter. Theft isn't tolerated, but there's no sense in tempting the masses." Mat raised an eyebrow, feeling his pockets to find that he did have a token there. Tobi nodded, clearly pleased, and half dragged him away. Reg followed behind them, his feet droning on in their usually steady state. It was grounding, in a way.

Let him pretend that nothing had changed, and that those short, violent moments back in the arena hadn't affected him at all.

'A drink', as it turned out, was almost more of a feast than not, and two larger jugs of wine had been laid on the beds. The small table was barely big enough to fit the food, let alone plates, but Pabol was already inside, halfway through what appeared to be a blue-ish steak. It smelled divine. Mat wasn't one to splurge, not even before coming to this place, so he rarely spent his tokens on food or drink.

Only now did he realize what he had been missing, and he sat when Tobi half pushed him, the man and Reg sitting on the beds. The cells were literally designed to encourage people to not crowd in them, but he didn't care. Pabol shoved a cup of sweet smelling liquor in his hand, raised his own, and Mat took the shot with the ghost of a smile on his face. Steak, potato, chicken, bacon, and even a small, custard-like desert. Mat gorged himself, and only Reg appeared to be holding onto his manners.

So Mat laughed too hard at jokes which weren't that funny, drank more than he should, and ate until he felt like throwing up. Anything but think about how deeply his hands were drenched in blood.

"You're drunk," Nova declared. Mat stared at the bottom of the bunk above him, tracing the logo of the smiling man and his birds. Pabol was snoring, already dead asleep.

"So this is the perfect time for me to pressure you into making bad perk choices. Behold." Mat took a moment too long to protest, and his view filled with words. Insight. See what is not meant to be witnessed. Understand that which is not meant for you. Sanity not guaranteed. Break. Command the universe itself to break. Shatter ordinary glass, crack thin pieces of metal, or break something delicate with nothing but your mind. Don't get greedy, you're only level two. Untiring.

Run, jump, kick, swim, then go for another run. You're getting into shape, and this will give those newly toughened muscles more energy to munch on. It won't do much for your strength, but you'll keep going longer than you otherwise should be able to. Inspire. You're a real charmer. Or you will be once I'm done with you. Bend reality just that slightest bit to make others more easy to convince, motivate or otherwise grow more confident. Your first real 'technology can't do this' perk. Isn't that exciting?!

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author. Surge of Strength. I know, I know, we can't alter your body for fear of the doctors raising the alarm. Don't worry, this is energy based, just like untiring. Short, powerful bursts of strength, be that to attack or to leap away. They might still get suspicious, but better than being dead, right? Mat groaned at the influx of words, trying in vain to twist away from them. Can't this wait until tomorrow?

"Tomorrow you'll be hungover, tired and grumpy, so at best that means the afternoon." Nova paused, probably realizing how poor of an argument that was.

"The sooner you choose, the sooner I can begin finalizing the energy, and the sooner we grow more powerful." He didn't have much to say against that, so Mat looked over the five perks. It was… it was. They were perks. Yeah. Why was that man always smiling, anyway? Was it because of the birds? Was he a bird lover, and LandTech imprisoned him to serve as their logo for all eternity? Mat turned, letting his head fall onto the mattress. What in the hell is Insight, and how is that even close to any of the others?

Or Inspire? That's mind control, or close to it. Break sounds both stupidly overpowered and horrifically weak at the same time, somehow.

"I'm glad you're feeling relaxed enough to be so blunt," Nova replied, non-existent arms crossed.

"And I make what I can, alright? If you would like to be involved, please, just say the word. I can show you why my creators thought they needed to invent a being never seen before in this universe to work with this stuff." Mat rolled to his other side, wishing he had a blanket. Tomorrow, Nova.

"Please?" the AI asked. Mat almost flinched at how quiet, how scared, he sounded.

"We could have died seven times over. I counted. Darian could have been too late, and that broad shouldered woman would have broken our skull. If Benard hadn't distracted the scarred one, we could have died to a blow we didn't see coming, like Stephen. If if if if if if if—" Alright, alright. Mat closed his eyes, since it wasn't like he needed to see to select his perks. Insight is out. I have no desire to be born in blood.

Break is good, really good if it can shatter internal components, but it won't help us much here and now. Inspire would have helped with Benard, but I don't like mind control much. Surge of Strength is probably the best one, but Obedias seemed far too sharp to miss something like that.

"Untiring, then," Nova said, a forced cheer in his tone.

"Not only will you have more stamina in a fight, which I'm learning is rather more important than expected, but you'll be able to spar for longer too. You know, as long as you can endure the pain. Which you can, somehow. Are you sure you're not a masochist?" Being able to endure pain is not the same as enjoying it, Nova, and you live in my head. You know I'm not. Untiring is the overall best one, so I pick that. Now, are you sure that I can't have a say in the perk creations? Not even a little one?

Nova grunted, clearly already getting to work.

"No. This stuff is heinously susceptible to expectation, and even I, who has been tailor made to work with it, can't fully work around that. Which is why the selections are varied and sometimes, uuhm, strange. Probably a good choice on not picking the Insight perk. That one scares me a little." I'm glad you're happy. Mat thought. Now I want to sleep.

"You rest, little lamb. When you wake, I'll have finished securing a drip feed to every single one of your muscles, and you'll be the engine that goes. Well, the engine that goes for a little while longer than it normally should, anyway. The engine that's ten percent more efficient? No, that's stupid, Untiring doesn't work on percentages. What if…" Mat let Nova's droning and a belly full of wine lull him to sleep. Untiring was strange.

He had only been enjoying its benefits for two days now, and yesterday he'd been hungover. So today was the first real day of testing, and the effects were unnoticeable. Subtle. Mat pushed himself off the floor again, facing Yon. Ever since his first two weeks were up, he'd had to pay to be instructed by the man. But now Yon had challenged him to a match, which had been ongoing for almost two hours now.

Despite fighting harder than usual, and despite Yon not doing nearly as much actual teaching, Mat was still going. Oh, he was tired, and sore, and covered in soon-to-be bruises, but push himself up he did, like his limit had been moved. Not re moved, but moved.

"Battle is chaos," Yon said, striking down. The blow was heavy, fast, precise. Mat only just managed to get his own transword in the way, which was smashed aside. Yet it bought him a moment, and he lunged backwards, turning that into a roll. He should have fallen flat on his face, but his balance barely wavered. Yon advanced.

"Battle is death. Here we train, in the arena we play, but a true fight can be over in seconds. One missed step, one split second of inattention, and you die." Mat scrambled back further, striking the man in the side. Yon turned the blow away and attacked in the same movement, and the transword smashed into his ribs. Mat wheezed, pain spiking.

"You survived where better fighters died." Yon finally stepped back, and Mat resisted the urge to pant, breathing as steadily as he could.

"Why?"

"Lucky. I got lucky." Yon nodded once.

"Correct, but that is not the whole truth. Darian told me what happened. He told anyone willing to listen how you tore out your enemies throat, and ripped a blade from your own chest to attack with it. Why did you survive?" Mat shrugged helplessly, and Yon advanced. A sense of alarm was rising, because so far, the man had been relatively normal. Mat slipped away from an almost careless stab, blocking the real blow with his arm, and smashed his blade down on Yon's shoulder.

He seemed to flow aside, and the man's foot lashed out. Pain radiated up through Mat's knee, and his stance buckled. Not broken, his mind supplied, and then Yon was close. Too close. Mat threw himself bodily against the man, hoping stupidity would be something Yon wouldn't expect. Yon stepped aside, and the transword impacted against Mat's back, smashing him into the floor. He groaned, and he wanted to just lie here. To let the cool, padded material wipe away the sweat, blood and grime.

Then another blade came, one already coated in blood, and buried itself five inches into Stephen's skull. Mat groaned, pushing himself up with shaking arms. His blade had rolled to the other side, so he would have to angle for it, and—"That," Yon said. Mat paused, looking up at the man. A hand extended, and Mat warily took it, expecting a trap. Instead, Yon heaved him to his feet, an almost pleased smile on his face.

"That is why you survived. If there is a single ounce of quit in you, I can't pull it out." And then Yon left, picking Mat's own transword up while he did. Mat stared after the man, uncomprehending. To the side, Tobi whistles.

"Don't think I've seen Yon give up on someone before. It's almost impressive how little talent you show, really. There have been shitty bladeslaves, there have been cowardly bladeslaves, but I don't think we're ever had one with so little talent, and so little chance of surviving."

"Fuck you too, Tobi," Mat replied, rolling the shoulder that Yon had nearly pulled out of its socked. Holy hell he was tired.

"What do you want?" Tobi tilted his head, an easy smile on his face.

"Reg said you wanted me. You hit your head?"

"Oh, right." Mat shrugged, then flipped Tobi a token. His steel token. It was gratifying to see the man's eyes widen in surprise. Much more so than expected. The man started to shake his head, but Mat interrupted him.

"Pabol has his adrenal strength mod, I have balance, Reg has a metal spine. You're the only one that's still a baser. Just donate any tokens you get for the next six months to the training program." The man twisted the token around in his hand, trying and failing to keep his tone smooth.

"You trying to suck up to Reg, or something? You know I can't take this. Besides, I'm the product of very expensive Federation gene-therapy. I'm far from a baser."

"Reg didn't want it," Mat replied with a shrug.

"And I'm tired of you always complaining about how much you miss your 'vast range of biomods and techplants'. You rich kids are all the same; the only way you shut up is if I jam a golden spoon down your throat." Tobi hesitated for a moment, then tucked it away, a broad smile on his face.

"My loyalty is yours forever."

"I don't want something that worthless." The man barked out a laugh.

"At least Yon didn't break your spine, which honestly, it looked like he was trying to do. Literally. How the fuck are you not in pain right now?"

"Who says I'm not?" Mat waved his hand, cutting off the joke he knew was coming.

"Shut up. You go get whatever upgrade Obedias' doctors can give you, and then get yourself killed fighting against other kitted bladeslaves." Tobi beamed.

"Sounds like a plan. One or two upgrades won't kill me, don't you worry."

"I'm sorry to hear that." It was evening by the time his fight began. He wasn't in great shape, but he had napped, eaten a light dinner, and limbered up. The Untiring perk was feeding his muscles a small but steady stream of energy, and he held a well balanced blade in hand. He was ready. He felt ready. Opposite him stood a woman perhaps a few inches shorter than himself. Compact, almost lithe, and she held a long knife in hand. She was calm, too. Steady and composed. A dangerous opponent.

"The first to win three out of five matches wins," the Judge began.

"This is not a deathmatch. Begin in three, two, one…" Mat shot forward, feinting left then turning the blow into an upwards slice. The woman stepped past it like they choreographed the whole thing, and before Mat could create distance, her knife was at his throat. Calm, dull green eyes starting into his own. Kitted. Had to be.

"Winner, Bea." The Judge sounded distant, bored.

"Resume starting positions." Mat stepped back, and so did the woman, Bea. He bowed his head in greeting.

"I have a biomod for balance."

"I'm a baser," she replied, sounding neither proud nor ashamed of that fact. Lying? He didn't see why she would bother.

"You should angle your body more when lunging." He nodded slowly, and the Judge spoke up again.

"Begin in three, two, one…" Mat kicked out, abusing his biomod to strike with both his leg and blade at the same time. She stepped over his kick and leaned away from his blow, and he froze when cold metal touched his throat again.

"Winner, Bea." If the AI had sounded bored before, now the Judge sounded positively dead.

"Resume starting positions. Begin in three, two, one…" Neither he nor Bea had time to disengage, so they were still within touching distance. Mat headbutted her, and once again she flowed aside, seemingly unbothered by how he threw himself back. When he rose to his feet, not a split-second later, she was already there, her knife resting gently against his neck.

"Winner, Bea. This fight is over." The woman stepped back, nodded once, and turned to leave. Mat stared after her, then barked out a laugh, gazing up at where the Judge was watching them.

"Do feel free to schedule us again. Or you could just hand her the win and let me get an early night. Whichever works for you." No reply came, and Mat turned to leave himself, shaking his head. Such a small pond I swim in. Afterword Patreon (No current advanced chapters for this story) Discord