Chapter 6: A future in the present.

“Wow,” I say, a little annoyed.

 

Well, I’m annoyed on an intellectual level. It’s hard to feel truly angry when lacking hormone receptors. I feel my soul failing to latch on the other two, or at all really. This place really doesn’t exist.

 

“I think I was killed in a bomb blast,” I declare.

 

“Wine?” Chronos offers.

 

I nod. With the delicate touch of an expert sommelier, Morag prepares a glass of white wine. She waves at the decanter, presumably to oxygenate it or something. I haven’t been treated this fancy since an old man from Kent invited the entire orchestra for dinner, about four years ago.

 

The wine tastes okay. Morag frowns. Somehow, she grows a little larger.

 

“It’s just a little acidic for my taste,” I assure her. “Nothing to do with the setup.”

 

We leave her frowning over the bottle. I didn’t check the sticker so I have no idea where she fished the thing out. Instead, I return my attention to my patron. He waits there, impassive.

 

“This station of yours… It’s a bit of a mess, isn’t it? Explosions everywhere?”

 

“The succession year invites inevitable chaos.”

 

“I can’t imagine the locals would be too happy with you,” I state.

 

Chronos shrugs, the gesture smoother than expected.

 

“You see gods as an earthling does: either quaint local spirits or that one abstract deity that is supposedly omnipotent and all-knowing. Here, we are neither of those. We are tangible, and powerful. Those enforcers you met are made strong because they embody Law, and it grants them might. The people of Enderlith are, for the most part, not angry with us. They are either grateful, or terrified.”

 

I note the ‘mostly’ in passing. Chronos doesn’t say this to terrify me either. He’s merely stating a fact.

 

“I still think you could do with fewer explosions, mate. Not to pressure you or anything.”

 

“Then do something about it,” Chronos adds, amused.

 

He takes a sip of wine and winces. Morag disappears in a flash. Air moves strongly enough that my short hair sticks to my skull and I have to grab my glass before it topples.

 

I glare at Chronos who merely chuckles. They’re acting like two grown-ups playing dolls with their kid.

 

Anyway, I died again. Now I have to return to that damn room. At least, I know I can survive more than a day. Speaking of, I should make use of my notes. I move to the false desk and pull a notebook. Let’s see. What happened this time?

 

I successfully escaped the killer. I make a note of the exact method, so I can reproduce it later. I also met a strange woman in the dumpster. I write down the time and exact the location as well as I can remember. Speaking of, she was called a ‘mysterious being’ and I was awarded 3 qualia points for talking to her.

 

I make note of the doorman being an asshole, and the description of the three muggers.

 

“Maybe holding grudges isn’t the healthiest use of my time?” I muse aloud.

 

But to be fair they were dangerous to me and will stay that way in every loop so, it’s just self-preservation at this time. To finish, I write the names of the people I met in Mercy’s temple, and the exact date and time of the explosion. I do not believe that was done to take me down specifically, unless someone decided I was worth razing a city block for. The temple wasn’t destroyed, it was…

 

Right.

 

“Time for some shopping,” I lie.

 

Chronos waves me away without a word. I move to the skill machine, but really, I just want a moment to myself. The knowledge that the gods can read my thoughts triggers a flash of annoyance. There is little I can do to solve that — it’s like being naked all the time without my consent.

 

I feel both ashamed and angry at the violation.

 

“Can’t help it. Can’t help it,” I repeat like a mantra.

 

Alright.

 

I have two priorities and one immediate concern. The immediate concern is that I don’t want my fucking brain splattered over the counter two fucking minutes into a loop. The first priority is to finish learning ‘common’ and basically become familiar enough with the culture that I can function at a basic level. The more I learn about Enderlith, the more I realize it might be long and difficult. The station’s society is more stratified than an Angel cake and just about as disappointing. Of the three levels of language I identified, I barely speak the first. There are also local dialects. And that’s what I could find out from the shelter. It’s only to be expected when billions of souls share the air filters: things get complicated.

 

Now, that one is easy: I just need time, and to get time, I need to disappear far away, possibly out of range of that explosion. Enderlith is massive. I doubt the killer has a way to track me down through the entire galaxy though I may be wrong. I just don’t think I’m that important.

 

I’ll need to get to the bottom of this but it’s not a priority simply because I doubt I can get a killer off my back with a simple phone call at the beginning of the loop. Not without tremendous effort. Getting stronger is a safer, universally useful solution. For all of its charms and weirdness, Enderlith is closed to me, and it will remain so until I can get that killer off my case. Getting people not to call the local jackboots on my ass for the crime of looking weak would go a long way towards making my life tolerable. I have two avenues of progress.

 

The first is the mage tradition. Magic is cool. I also have enough points to buy one, if barely, but I need my soul awakening to progress before I can learn. Fortunately, this kind of happens by itself so I can just get on with my lives and wait for an opportunity.

 

The second is physical awakening. I know I can buy the first level for cheap provided I reach the third within a single loop. What I find interesting is that this isn’t one of those skills I can learn by myself with enough time, but a qualitative change to my nature at the beginning of the loop.

 

Maybe they’re one and the same.

 

In any case, this will be my second priority. I need to learn how physical awakening works just so I can start every loop with an advantage. It’s also a little bit exciting. The thing with working out is, the good stuff goes away. It does come back faster afterward but it still goes away. I find the perspective of a physical benefit that just never leaves intoxicating.

 

Right. I have a plan. Chase the killer away, get my stuff, disappear, learn more, and start with physical awakening.

 

Easy peasy. Right. Brilliant.

 

I don’t want to die again. But it will happen.

 

I wish I could get my cello.

 

“There are printers. You only need to recreate it,” Chronos muses.

 

“Yeah sure, let me just pull a perfect blueprint out of my memory,” I complain.

 

Chronos doesn’t react. He’s right. I only need to learn how to do it. I know the different parts, I just need to find out the right proportions. Maybe I can even ask for help.

 

Later.

 

“Alright, I’m done. Send me back.”

 

***

 

I leave my cup on the table, then look for the control panel. It should be by the… ah there it is. I swipe on the detector and the wall opens like an iris, revealing a recess and the ugly box of the flat’s main controls. With shaky fingers, I navigate through the displays. Air warmth. Must be the AC, so no. Water. Security. Here we go. The screen offers a variety of options but oh miracle of miracle of efficient UIs, there is a ‘oh shit’ button near the top. I press it.

 

“Please state the nature of your emergency,” an artificial voice said.

 

Even in the midst of a space wizard station, I still have to deal with answering robots? Fuck all of my lives.

 

“Someone’s about to attack me. He’s outside the building.”

 

“Processing,” the voice almost cuts me off. “Camera malfunction detected.”

 

Shit.

 

“Irregularity detected. Enforcers dispatched.”

 

Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Yes! Suddenly, I jerk when a woman’s voice replaces the robot.

 

“Hello, please state your name and citizen ID.”

 

Her voice is so fast I can barely comprehend. My what? Oh. Wait, I think I have it on the table.

 

“Are you the legal owner of this residence?” the voice said with some impatience.

 

“Yes sorry I’m new. I have it there. Hold on.”

 

I rummage through the pack of stuff. Ah here, it is. A sort of card. I return to the box and recite the characters. There are 24 of them and luckily, they’re all simple and familiar.

 

“Steev Plentiss,” the voice confirms.

 

I do not complain at my name being mangled by people who’re supposed to be superhuman.

 

“Yep, that’s me.”

 

“Identity confirmed. I recommend putting your domicile in lockdown until the crisis has resolved. Do I have your approval?”

 

Finally. I can already feel the assassin creeping into the corridor, his presence focused and muted. I don’t want the door to blow up in my bloody face.

 

“Yes, bloody hell. Yes!”

 

An alarm rings. Panels shut the window. Something descends upon the door. The light dies, then flickers back to life red and angry. Not ten seconds later, I hear heavy stomps cross the corridor from two bright souls. Then nothing.

 

Minutes pass. Eventually, the lockdown ends with a polite ring at the door, which takes me some time to answer since I’ve never used the interphone before. The same faceless jackboot who kicked me out of the damn tube talks to me in a low, gravelly voice. They confirmed they’ve chased the intruder away. Follow up questions come, as they always do.

 

“Have you committed any action that would lead to this attempt?”

 

“Not to my knowledge, no,” I reply.

 

Something brushes against my soul, not intrusive and so subtle I wouldn’t notice if I did not awaken twice. It drifts by like a careful glance.

 

“I see,” the guard says.

 

Beyond the door, they shine strangely in my perception. I think I’m getting a stronger return from them than I am from the neighbor. They are strong but rigid and structured too stiffly, almost unnaturally. They are closer to statues than people. I have no idea what this means.

 

Then the gaze turns away, and my perception of them returns to a whisper. I’m just not good enough yet.

“Incident filed. An instruction notice has been sent to your address. Please follow the procedure to guarantee your safety and tranquility. Have a good day, citizen,” the guard finishes with all the enthusiasm of an answering machine.

 

Right.