Chapter 16: Gainful.

 

I collapse on my tiny bed feeling like I’ve aged three decades before getting run over by a pack of American tourists. Embers glower under my skin where all my muscles are supposed to be. I guess. I can hardly move them. The strangest thing, I think, is that it’s not that bad. By all rights I should have collapsed six hours ago, but the frequent pauses, meditation, and steady supply of energizing food has kept me going. I suspect there is some form of accelerated healing at work there as well.

 

I laze about for all of fifteen minutes before remembering that I’m supposed to save the station at some point, and that’s going to take some effort. It doesn’t take too long for Krane to pick up my call, though I have to spend half a credit to connect because he’s in another district. This is going to get old quickly.

 

“Yes?”

 

“Hey Krane, it’s me. Steve.”

 

“I thought I might have imagined our first conversation,” the rumbly man replies. “So tell me about this explosion that threatens us all.”

 

I do, summarizing everything I learned the first time from the location and timing of the explosion to the methods we found to fight the abominations. And then since I started anyway, I mention the coming of War. Krane remains silent for a while after that.

 

“It is a lot to take in,” he says.

 

“Yeah. It was a lot to go through as well, if I can complain.”

 

“Well, our first priority should be to prevent the detonation. I assume you’ve tried to warn Law before?”

 

“No, this is the first time I’ve survived long enough to see the explosion.”

 

There is a pause.

 

“Someone sends an assassin after me literal seconds after the start of the loop,” I helpfully explain.

 

“Founder…”

 

“And I don’t think the Templars would believe me anyway. I come from a manaless planet on a distant branch of the galaxy. Nobody listens to the unawakened. They’d just ignore me.”

 

“Time certainly chose a… peculiar candidate. Regardless, Law has truthseekers.”

 

“It’s not because I’m telling the truth that they’ll listen, assuming they even dedicate a truthseeker to verify my claims. They’ll just assume I’m a deluded hobo with a price on his head. You, however…”

 

“Listen, Steve was it?”

 

“Yes.”

 

“I’m on trial for accusations of dishonorable warfare. You have been in Enderlith for how long?”

 

“Bit above a cycle?”

 

“Then I shall inform you that, ah, my star is at its nadir if the expression translates.”

 

“Ok, so we would both be laughed out of the gate.”

 

“Not necessarily. I will be clear to leave tomorrow. Where did you say the bomb detonates?”

 

“Actually, it might be better if I just message you over the Endernet.”

 

We hang up. Fortunately, station blueprints are almost public domain, and when I say almost I mean I merely need to pay another credit to pull what interests me with no guarantee that the map would still be accurate. A notice informs me that Enderlith sometimes reshuffles its innards and the deeper one goes, the more frequently this happens. I still find what I want, circle it using a software with scandalously bad UI, and then send it to Krane who promises to check it out. I’m tempted to accompany him but… stick to the plan, Steve. I need to make progress. I can’t keep living like this all the time.

 

When the lights turn down and I fall asleep, I feel like I’m finally making some progress. More importantly, I’m no longer completely alone.

 

***

 

“This is a quarterstaff,” Xan states.

 

On the mat, Tavor chuckles.

 

“You finally found a poor sod to pass on the art of the stick onto?”

 

It would help if the quarterstaff were, I don’t know, thicker and reinforced with steel bands. It is not.

 

“What my foolish friend says is partially true. The quarterstaff is essentially a stick,” Xan continues with a smile. “and that makes it one of the most versatile weapons around. It can be used as a polearm also known as long form…”

 

Xan walks through complex forms I can barely follow. It looks to me like he’s using it more like a spear that can also strike from the side.

 

“Short form.”

 

He holds the staff in the middle, striking with short and powerful attacks mostly from one end. Further in the room, one of the visitors chuckles. I cannot blame him.

 

Xan is fast though, and graceful for a man his size.

 

“And pike form.”

 

Suddenly, the staff hums as it moves through the air as Xan performs wide swings and powerful thrusts. As far as I can tell he is using the staff as if it were some sort of massive claymore. The flight of the tip of the staff hypnotizes me.

 

“And mixing all of them of course.”

 

Xan dances. This is the best equivalent I can think of while the tall man moves from one form to another, hands sliding on the staff, swapping position, the guard sometimes close and sometimes far. Short, snappy attacks follow sudden thrusts that use the entire length of the weapon so that I can never predict exactly how much range he’s using. All the while, his feet stay grounded and yet mobile. He’s not even using the speed a third rank is capable of. This is merely a show of technique.

 

“Look at him. You have found a disciple,” Tavor laughs.

 

Xan doesn’t reply, very pleased with himself.

 

“As my tall and foolish friend said, I am indeed a staff master, however I do believe this is the best weapon for you for several reasons. One, it is a foundational weapon. Should you find a spear, or a sword, or other basic weapons, your understanding of the quarterstaff will still serve you. A sword is a short pointy stick. A spear is a long pointy stick. A mace is a pointy stick with a weight at the end. If you are good with the stick, you cannot be entirely bad with all the modified sticks. It is therefore a good pick for a beginner. The second reason, and more personal, is that you are quite short.”

 

Oi.

 

“Do not make that face for it is not meant as an insult. My family has gene mods, obviously. My size is not a question of merit but of engineering. It does not change the fact that you can always use the reach this weapon will provide, at least until you purchase your own mods and the flesh crafter to apply them to yourself, I suppose.”

 

Tavor laughs.

 

“Of course, right after he purchases his own spaceship, yes?”

 

“The third reason is that the staff is an unassuming and humble weapon, just like you.”

 

No comment from the peanut gallery this time.

 

“I checked your soul awakenings yesterday. When we met, you conveyed a full sentence with perfect clarity and without the help of an implant.”

 

He tapped his own neck.

 

“You do know I have one, yes?”

 

“You mentioned a telecommunication implant the first time we met.”

 

“It’s a short-range com implant. Officers like me receive one as part of their gear. You don’t have one. I checked your neck.”

 

I nod.

 

“You can also feel people approach before they enter the gym. That gives you a passive range of, what, fifteen paces? More?”

That feels a bit personal. Xan doesn’t wait for an answer though.

 

“You’re not just a soul awakened. You’re a second ascension.”

 

He dares me to object. Behind us, Tavor swears softly in Sallurian.

 

“Yes.”

 

“And yet you take Tavor’s jabs with consistent calm. You could be working for half a dozen corporations with that profile. The army would kill for someone like you.”

 

I actually didn’t know that, but it’s nice to hear and the confirmation of this fact by a veteran opens a few potential doors in the future. If I think the army can teach me something, I can always negotiate it in a future loop.

 

Really, the thing I needed the most right now was still information.

 

“That is humility, is it not?”

 

“It’s mostly that I worked hard my whole life to be fit and with some ability to defend myself, and now I’m back to square one getting called a cripple which stings. And even if I protested, the truth is that anyone in the city could lay me flat on my ass in half a second without breaking a sweat. So I don’t want the injury on top of the insult, yeah?”

 

Ok maybe that just came out harder than I intended.

 

“We do not look down on you, Steve.”

 

“Maybe you don’t,” I jeer, “but why then, is the staff pink with cute little bows on it?”

 

Xan looks down on the weapon he used for his demonstration. It looks ridiculous in his scarred hand.

 

“Ah, it was the only one we have that matches you. I see your point.”

 

“Yeah.”

 

“Which does not change the fact that you show humility and self-control rather than aggressively fighting back like our Momo would.”

 

The woman freezes mid-rep.

 

“She would strike your manhood,” Tavor comments from the side.

 

“I am not criticizing either approach. I am implying that your mindset is to play the long game. You are patient and humble with some hidden depth, if only because you perceive yourself as weak right now. It is, again, not an insult, only one more reason why I believe the staff suits your style. In appearance, the staff is the simplest thing there is, and yet it offers endless combinations.”

 

“Ok, ok, I’m sold.”

 

I cross my arms, still a bit miffed I guess. I hadn’t realized but it’s true. All those people looking down on me are starting to piss me off.

 

“Good. Then we will begin… after I have wrapped some proper leather onto this weapon.”

 

***

 

I fully expected to be hitting a target a thousand times with the staff and certainly there is some of that, but Xan first has me ‘get used to the feel of it’, which mostly means fucking around as far as I can tell. He encourages me to twirl it in front of me and above my head, has me toss it and then catch it and a multitude of other games that are supposed to make me grow more familiar with the length and weight. I don’t think this matches the methods used on Earth, and this leads me to another fundamental difference between Enderlithians and what I used to know: these fuckers have time. Oh sure, they still have pressure and everything, but their projects are counted in decades, not months. They see things in the long run. I hadn’t realized before but now I can imagine how traumatizing the Year of Judgement must be for these poor sods. It makes me feel selfishly better. They might be stronger than me on almost every level, but they also lack that urgent drive Earth humans possess that makes, well, us, both more resilient and driven. I guess. The station probably isn’t that monolithic.

 

The second day is spent much like the first one except for more staff wielding. That night, I head home feeling equally exhausted but also not in any sort of pain. I could get used to this.

 

The same night, Krane has a message for me, just an update really.

The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

 

‘I checked in with the Depths guild. The sections under Elysion are both well-mapped and frequently patrolled. I had to ask for gate access codes, which must be first validated. Keep in touch.”

 

Hmmm. I don’t get it. Time for some research and since it’s still early, I decide to drag my sorry carcass to the ‘cafe’ where I first stopped. The massively muscular woman is still there.

 

“You’re one of Xan’s, yeah?” she asks me without preamble in heavily accented So-Sah.

 

I switch to the low common immediately as a gesture of respect. It’s been getting easier to use accents since I arrived, so I give myself the barest dock inflection.

 

“Yes ma’am.”

 

“Right! Where are you from, even? You don’t look like a Patrician.”

 

I give her an apologetic smile. That makes her laugh.

 

“Fair enough, man. Good luck to you, and let me know if you want any extra practice. Free of charge.”

 

“That’s very kind but right now I have the energy of a recently diseased rodent so I think I’ll pass.”

 

“Then have something!”

 

The cafe is not deserted at this time of the day. I expect the entertainment district keeps to different times. I pay cents for a sort of tea that won’t mess with my strict regimen, according to Muscle Woman herself. Once settled, I open my datasheet for some research.

 

It turns out that the Depths Guild is an organization that keeps track of Enderlith’s deeper layers. Their website boasts ‘competitive pay’ and a ‘familial environment’ as well as a few other terms that raise all manner of red flags in my mind. These guys must have some pretty bad attrition to be recruiting so aggressively.

 

“-paid for half the pads there and they’ve been deserted for ten cycles! They must be insane,” a heavily tattooed woman told my hostess.

 

“Someone could be making a move,” the other replies.

 

“Here! Hah! Nothing will get better for at least a year. What are they hoping for?”

 

‘My great great grampa told me about the previous Year of Judgement, once,” Muscle woman said, gaze distant.

 

It was subtle, but the rest of the cafe fell even more silent. All the souls around me were more alert.

 

“When the Archon made his move… well, he was only the avatar of Retribution then, but when he made his move, he destroyed that massive cartel that controlled the food plants at the time. Real ugly business, to hear it told. Enderlith went hungry for an entire week, even the Patricians, before Nature stepped in. Lots of things changed then. I expect lots of things will change this time as well.”

 

You have no fucking idea.

 

“But listen to me ramble. How’s your kid?”

 

“Aya don’t talk about him. I am going mad.”

 

I tune out the rest of the conversation. Muscle Woman is right. Things are moving fast, and I expect they won’t stop even if… when. No, after. Even after I’ve stopped the bomb. Anyways. The depths. I search for information and find entirely too much of it. Mostly rumors. Several local news sources mention expeditions returning with resounding success, mangled, or not at all. It’s only when I check out the guild website that I find a sort of guide to the depths. Apparently, the deeper one goes and the more ambient mana there is, but also the more sections tend to shift around, cutting communications and rerouting logistics. The higher energy concentration is not just hard on the unawakened, so children here, but there are apparently plenty of greater dangers in the kilometers upon kilometers of ruins and abandoned sections extending under us and to the other side, the one occupied by the ‘traditionalists’ factions: roving monsters, maddened machines, even entire tribes who haven’t seen the light of a star in generations. They make up for in raw power what they lack in technique.

 

A part of me starts thinking that I could grow faster near the center of the station, but I’d probably get pulped by some giant worm long before I reach the third awakening with how my luck has been going so far so whatever. Maybe I’ll try later. Stick to the plan. I also finally understand what Krane means about access codes. The local golems have, at the request of the surface dwellers, locked the deeper sections behind sealed gates to make it harder for passing creatures to snack on little Timmy and his dog. They don’t just unseal it for anybody, especially the tunnels under Elysion. On a hunch, I look for more general guides on Enderlith and I find… very little. There are a lot of specific guides on certain churches or businesses, but that’s the difference between the internet and the Endernet. The Endernet is simply too fragmented, with most of the content gated behind one community or another. People here just don’t share. Or rather, they don’t share online. As I look up to find yet another bit of gossip being exchanged here, it seems Enderlithians transmit most of their information by word of mouth. It’s weird how they can be so advanced and yet so feudal at the same time. Or we. I keep forgetting I rank among these anachronistic spacefarers as well now.

 

Guess thinking like that is going to take me some effort. With the hour growing late, I pack up and leave.

 

***

 

It has been five days since I started training here. I don’t know how I can be so exhausted, yet feel so little muscle pain at the same time. The food must be something special. I don’t feel like I’m making much progress, but at least Tavor got off my back now that it’s clear I won’t flake out on them within three days as I suppose he predicted. I settle down into my spot in Muscle Woman’s cafe — her name is Orva.

 

I feel lonely.

 

I guess working for Sethri derelict was lonely as well, but there was so much to learn and discover and I was so happy to be alive that I didn’t really notice. I miss more than my cello now; I also miss basic human connections. All my friends back home must have found out by now that I disappeared. I wonder what’s happening to them. Hopefully they will be ok.

 

It’s a bit crass to say but I miss Saanvi most of all because I’ve lived like a monk for over a year now. In perceived time.