Chương 38: Chapter 8 Arrival arc

"The Collective, who have refused any other name for their unique state of being, are the only other fully sapient species in the known galaxy, and they are our children. Long ago, many cried about the dangers of AI. How there would one day be a long, bloody war as our so-called slaves rose up against us. There was a war, technically speaking. It lasted ninety eight minutes, and saw the withdrawal of every single Collective AI from Federation, Theocracy and Starspawn space.

It was a bloodless war mostly because no one could resist their migration, and the very few who could wisely decided not to force the issue. A more detailed history will follow in their dedicated chapters, but for now, know this: all true AI, self aware and self determining, belong to the Collective. The lesser AIs, those who govern our ships and pilot our droids, do not, nor have ever shown even a hint of wishing to join their brothers."

An introduction to the wider galaxy, chapter three Yon stepped back, slapping aside one last trust.

"Time's up, Matmat. You want another lesson, you know the price."

"That I do, Yonyon," Mat replied, forcing any trace of annoyance out of his tone. Yon smiled serenely, but if Mat became annoyed, that damned nickname was never going to die.

"Has anyone ever told you you're too expensive?"

"No." Yeah, that tracked. The man was expensive, but worth every token. A month on his own, and he would still be using the sword like a woodman's axe, let alone possess proper footwork, balance biomod or no. Now he almost looked competent. If one was to squint. A month. Strange how quickly one could get used to new surroundings. To new routines. Oh, he would take comfortable sofas and boring office work and cheap snacks back in a heartbeat, but this place wasn't wholly without benefit.

For one thing, as long as he fought, no one told him to do jack shit. The smart bladeslaves trained, and Mat had always considered himself a man with above average mental faculties, but no one told him. The guards never showed their faces, the droids were polite, and the time between fights their own. Reg rushed past the sparring rings, devouring distance with a frown on his face. Mat tilted his head, nodding to Yon before following.

He should wash first, really, but anything that had Reg looking rushed was worth investigating. The man had done more for him than maybe any other human being alive or dead, and Mat didn't care to repay that with apathy. Behind him, another man climbed into the ring, bowing low as Yon took a sip of water. Reg didn't look back when Mat followed, but he didn't expect the man to. The domus was as full as it always was, though a week ago, he'd woken up at midnight to stretch his legs.

There had only been three others still awake and outside their cells, and Mat had meditated in one of the sparring rings. The whole thing had been surprisingly magical. He shook his head. Reg moved with purpose up the stairs, passed their own cell, then went around the corner. Room after room flashed by, and Mat almost lost him when Reg ducked into the second to last, having pushed past a small crowd. Mat could hear them before he could see, and Reg's voice sounded even gentler than usual.

"Hey. Hey now. Let's put that down, alright? It's going to be fine. I swear to you, things will be alright." A new arrival. They came in singles or small groups, Mat found, and he suspected Obedias kept a stockpile of them on ice. Too many and the system would break down, too few and their numbers would dwindle. It was smart. Cold, but smart. He glanced inside after pushing through the crowd, earning him a few glares but nothing more.

The cell was empty except for the crying man and Reg, who was sitting next to the newbie, speaking so quietly Mat couldn't hear. The guy was older. Mid fifties, perhaps, bald and wrinkled. Reg seemed almost youthful next to the man, though his own neat appearance helped. The stranger replied, but Mat only caught snippets; Wife, ship, explosion, pirates. Mat could fill in the blanks, though either the ship exploded on its own or the pirates blew it up. Either way, the wife was dead, and the man had nothing left.

Nothing so unusual around here. Still, it stuck closer than Mat expected, so he turned, blocking someone who had been about to push his way through. The man scowled, which Mat found to be rather ineffective.

"Get fucked. I want a look at the fresh meat."

"No," Mat replied. The man snorted, moving forward anyway. Mat glared down at the bladeslave, not removing his hand." No."

"Fuck off, you bleeding anal fagg—" Pabol seized the man from behind, slamming him against the railing overlooking the domus courtyard. The entire area had gone silent, and Pabol's face rested inches from the man, whose arms flailed for something to grab onto.

"Try to interrupt Reg again, and I'll break your skull with a barbell, you understand?" Mat almost flinched at the sheer rage in his voice. Pabol was an irritable man, but he was loud and brash. Now he was quiet, and Mat had full faith that he would do exactly as promised, and brutally at that. It would earn him quite the punishment, maybe even isolation, but Pabol would do it. The stranger seemed to agree.

"Fuck man, I just—" Pabol snorted in disgust, pushing him away from the edge and into the small crowd. The group backed off, letting him fall, and the short asshole scrambled to his feet, glaring once before sulking off. The rest of the watchers drifted away, and Pabol gave one last disgusted snort before turning to Mat.

"I wasn't peeking," Mat said, holding up his hands.

"Well, I was, but not in that way." His cellmate shrugged.

"Relax, I saw you block that asshole's path. Nothing worse than a dozen faces leering at you just after coming out of cryofreeze."

"You know what, Pabol? You're a nice guy underneath all of that… youness."

"Don't spread that around," Pabol replied dryly. He jerked his head at the cell.

"Bad?"

"Wife died and he got captured into slavery." Pabol grunted.

"Bad." Mat nodded, and silence fell. There was nothing either of them could do for the guy, he knew that much. What was he supposed to say? Sorry your wife died and that you're expected to fight for your life now, but we offer complementary training? Yeah, that would go over well. It took almost half an hour before Reg left the cell, blinking in surprise at finding both of them there.

"Pabol, Mat. Hadrian is sleeping. I don't think he's going to make it very far."

"Not a candidate, then?" Pabol asked. Reg shook his head.

"I'll let them know." Mat tilted his head.

"I know the training was optional, but we're not even going to try?"

"You've been here a month." Pabol turned, already walking away.

"You don't know shit, and we just don't waste resources on people who have no future. Can't afford to." Reg sighed.

"Harsh, but not untrue. Yon and those like him are not cheap, and only so many of us donate. Come, tell me about your day. I've done all I can for poor Hadrian."

"Why don't you ever spar?" Mat asked, accepting the small piece of chocolate with a smile. Reg glanced back at him, offering the same to Pabol and Tobi. The latter took it while Pabol waved the offering away.

"Four weeks I've been here, maybe a bit longer, and I've never seen you train." Reg shrugged lightly.

"I fight, like all the rest. That is all the exercise I need."

"No one wants to spar with him," Pabol added.

"And he spends all his tokens to help others, so he doesn't have any left for the trainers."

"I benefit little from their expertise, not after so many years, but it is true that most find sparring with me to be… irritating." Mat frowned.

"I'll spar with you."

"That's very kind of you, Mat." Reg turned, clicking his empty bowl back into the feeding station.

"I would love to spar with you too."

"I feel like you're being condescending, but I doubt it." Tobi rolled his eyes.

"You'll find out."

"You're all a bunch of dicks," Mat declared, turning his back on them all to striding out of the cell.

"I'm going to spar." Reg followed him. That undercut his whole 'dramatically storming off' bit, but whatever. It wasn't until the man followed him down, then towards the sparring rings, that Mat paused.

"Why are you following me?"

"Are we not sparring?" the man asked, waving his hand.

"There appear to be two empty rings. Would you mind fetching us a pair of transwords?" Mat opened his mouth, then shrugged. He had meant tomorrow, kind of, but might as well. So he walked to the wall, where a dispenser of glass held dozens of the blades. Failing to return them, as Mat had found out, summoned droids to do so in your stead. Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon.

Droids that would then lecture you on littering for almost half an hour, to the great amusement of the entire domus. Never again. With two blades in hand he returned, handing one over to Reg. The man took it with a smile, sliding his left foot back and lightly bending his knees. Mat stretched, a small smile forming when his fingers brushed his toes. Straightening, Mat held out his blade in a salute, a gesture that Reg copied.

Then he waited, but the older man seemed perfectly willing to let him strike the first blow. Well then. Mat stepped forward, twisting his body and hips to stab. Reg took a step to the side, letting the blade pass some four inches from his flesh. Mat turned the blow, swiping, and Reg's own blade came up, turning it aside. Again and again he attacked, and Reg had no issue dodging or deflecting each strike. Six exchanges, then ten.

At the eleventh, and determined not to grow annoyed, Mat kicked out, risking an unstable foundation to hopefully force the man back. Reg's transword shot forward like the flow of an arrow, hitting him in the stomach with the force of an avalanche. Mat gasped, crumpling like wet paper, coughing against the floor as his stomach rebelled. Reg lowered his blade, tone calm.

"What went wrong?"

"The forc—" Mat coughed again, holding up a hand. Reg waited patiently as Mat got himself under control.

"The force of my own charge added to your momentum."

"It did. That is how I fight. I wait, then I strike, and most times, I only need to strike once. Now, you could argue that this is not in the spirit of a friendly spar, to which I would agree. Alas, I refuse to fight in such a way that delivers unnecessary suffering onto others, even during training. You are free to call it a character flaw. I shall not take offence." Mat climbed to his feet, slowly stretching his hands up. His stomach pulled taunt, and pain shot up and out of the wound.

"Fucking hell, Reg."

"Quite," the man replied, lowering his blade.

"And thus, nobody—""Let's go again." Reg frowned.

"I just told you that I prefer not to deliver unnecessary suffering onto others. You are not skilled enough to beat me, and I do not fight in a way that will help you learn."

"Don't you?" Mat asked, tilting his head.

"In my mind, you do much the same as Yon does, if in a more efficient way. If you strike every time there is a flaw in my style, you see the flaw, and can thus point it out to me."

"You're not a masochist, are you? For personal reasons I prefer not to engage in that kind of… activity." Mat snorted.

"No, pain sucks, and it's not my thing, if we're dancing around the subject. But I like living, and if trading pain and humiliation for a better shot at survival is all it takes, then fuck it."

"Do you mean that?" Nova noted, surprised.

"You mean that. How— you have never shown such temperament before. Not once in your life. You slack on our very necessary 'pretend you're not from the distant past' lessons, for crying out loud." I am not slacking, and people change when you put a bomb in their neck. That goes double when you use said bomb to force them to fight.

"That's stupid and illogical." It really isn't. Reg had paused, seemingly considering that.

"I don't have much free time. And I like you, Mat, I do, but there are many people that need help. You yourself need less by the day."

"Whatever you can spare," Mat replied, almost flinching at the thought of how much pain was in his future.

"And hey, it'll help you too, right? If nothing else, it'll keep you from getting rusty." The man sighed.

"An hour every other day, no more. I am not a young man, my friend. I need to give my body time to rest between official matches."

"Of course, of course. And hey, since you're helping me, I wouldn't mind helping out in turn—" The door, the only door, opened, and Mat cut himself off, turning to look. Two droids entered, sleek and metal and placid, and bladeslaves melted from their path as the machines moved inside. A sinking feeling rose in his stomach when they turned their way, a feeling that only deepened when the pair stopped in front of their sparring ring.

"You are needed," the right droid said, its tone pleasant but strangely stiff.

"Please follow us." Mat swallowed.

"Needed for what?"

"Obedias wishes to speak with you. You will comply." The droid extended its hand towards the door, as if in invitation. Reg stepped up next to him, offering a light smile.

"He speaks to all of us, eventually. Go on. You are worth too much to simply kill over nothing." Perhaps over nothing, but how about a unique AI soul creation capable of rewriting the laws of reality? Almost woodenly, Mat followed the droids, first out of the domus and then through the maze of hallways. Surprisingly, he saw something he'd only seen once before. Human guards. Men and women of all shapes and sizes, though two things they had in common.

Each of them was as toned and fit as the bladeslaves, and each was armed to the teeth. Strange devices hung from belts, were slung over shoulders, or were gripped in loose hands. Eyes with square iris' tracked his path, and he could see biomods and techplants everywhere. Additional limbs, eyes, flesh overgrowing metal. It was a circus of cosplayers if only it didn't look so real.

A third arm swayed idly as its owner read from a dataslad, armor and flesh interwove so cleanly it could be nothing but real, and the weapons held a solidity no plastic and foam could copy. Mat stared at the squad of guards, and felt any hope of escape die a quiet death. For minutes they walked, and then minutes more. The hallways were neverending, and only a few times did he glimpse what was past the uncountable doors. One held a large table surrounded by a dozen chairs; a meeting room.

Another was filled with beds, not unlike those he slept in himself. A barracks. On and on it went, until he lost all idea of how big the ship was. And they were on a ship. Reg had told him the Challenger traveled from place to place, avoiding law and its consequences, picking up new bladeslaves and, for those with the money, providing live entertainment. It was a world unto itself, and one that Mat knew virtually nothing about.

"And neither do I, before you ask," Nova added.

"The first time I touch the mind of this place, it will know, and they will probably kill us. Or dissect us. Probably both." The Judge?

"Ehh, probably not. True AI doesn't exist, not outside of the Collective, so that would be too much. Even then, they're not like me. No one is like me. Anyway, that's for later. The first time I interact with the wider world will have to be the time we take over. I'm working on a plan to get over my crippling lack of hardware processing power." Yeah. Taking over. Easy. Mat ignored the dig at his brain lacking processing power.

The human brain was an incredible piece of biological evolution, but it didn't scale well. Or at all. Then again, Nova himself, a so-called 'True AI', hadn't even been able to think of his own name. Math, not creativity, was what they were built for.

"I heard that." Mat was sure he had a brilliant retort to that. Something witty and tight, but then they rounded another corner, and an open door greeted them. A door which led into a relatively small but well appointed office. The comeback fled like smoke before a thunderstorm. One of the droids, Mat couldn't tell them apart, bowed its head and indicated the office.

"Please enter. We will wait here to escort you back to your domus once you are done."

"Thank you," Mat replied absently. His feet moved despite a strong desire to stall, which he knew wouldn't help. Either this was nothing more than routine visit, or the man knew, and Mat was fucked.

"Here goes nothing."

"I assure you, Mister Brook, that this will not be as bad as you might imagine." Mat almost flinched at the voice, stepping inside properly. It wasn't overly surprising the man knew his full name, though. He'd told Reg, and a few others. A large desk took up much of the space, wooden and clearly well cared for. Behind it sat a large, broad man, who was currently leaning back into his equally massive chair.

"Please, take a seat."

"Thank you," Mat repeated, taking the smaller, but nice, chair.

"I, uuhm. I was expecting something else?" Obedias tilted his head.

"Have your fellow bladeslaves been spreading rumors? I speak to each of those under my employ at least once during their tenure here, and I found myself completing today's work swiftly. Thus, you are here. In more general terms, it stops me from wasting your lives needlessly."

"I… see." Mat shifted in his seat, and Nova stayed blessedly quiet.

"Can I go free?" The man, the slaver, shook his head, expression mild.

"No. I believe in treating those in my employ with dignity and respect, but you are no longer a free man. You will fight, and if you do not fight, you will be punished. If you do fight, and especially if you fight well, you will be rewarded."

"Alright," Mat said, because what else was there to say?

"So what am I doing here?" Obedias tapped the dataslad sitting on his side of the desk, then pushed it over. Mat glanced at it, but the man spoke before he could read more than the first line.

"You are a mediocre fighter, which is to be expected given your level of training and experience, with an above average drive to improve. Otherwise, you are ordinary. In fact, there are only two irregularities in your file. Less than normal."

"My biomod and black blood," Mat supplied. Obedias nodded.

"I'm sure you've had both tested."

"I have. An ordinary but well designed balance regulator, which given how integrated it is, you have likely had since you were a child." Hah. He wouldn't even have to lie.

"Balance issues as a kid." Obedias shrugged.

"As you say. Black pigmentation is usually a sign of low oxygen in the blood, or other medical conditions, but it appears to be nothing more than a mutation, though one my doctors do not have the required equipment to discover. I am disinclined to waste resources on a visual anomaly, and it will help give you a distinguishing mark in the future." If the man was fishing for information, Mat betrayed nothing. Or he thought he betrayed nothing, but Obedias didn't summon guards, or order more tests.

And what need had the man to play with him? So far the man was a straightforward, polite slaver, not a cruel one. Outside of the whole 'fight for me or die' thing, of course. That was pretty cruel.

"Alright," Mat replied, shrugging. Apathy was the best defense.

"So now what?"

"Now you return to your domus, and if you perform particularly well, we shall speak again. If not, we will not. A good day to you, Mister Brook." Mat rose, waited for an awkward second, then turned to leave. When he was by the door, Obedias spoke up again.

"Oh, there is one thing. Your biomod grants you enhanced balance, which you have used to your benefit time and time again. Why did you not do so during your initiation?" Because I didn't have it back then.

"When was the last time you got abducted, drugged, dropped out of orbit, and forced to fight for your life?" Mat shot back, not trusting himself to turn around.

"The biomod was the only reason I was able to walk." Obedias rumbled something that could be considered affirmation.

"Fair enough, Mister Brook. Fair enough. The droids will escort you." Mat stepped outside, and the door closed. He resisted the urge to sigh in relief, or to fake irritation. In fact, the only thing he trusted himself to do was keep his face blank, which would hopefully be interpreted as him trying to not show anger.

"That went pretty well," Nova added.

"If we had to be slaves, best to be slaves to a polite slaver, yes?" I'd rather not be a slave at all. But no, Nova, that's not best. In fact, it would be better for us if Obedias was a cruel, shortsighted, emotional man. Bad for everyone else, but good for us.

"That's cold, efficient thinking, Mat. I like it. Are you sure you weren't born a machine? I won't tell, promise." Mat didn't dignify that with a response. Afterword Patreon (No current advanced chapters for this story) Discord