Janus and The Dreamer, page 36
“Or that,” Leon didn’t reject the idea. “Though, that’s just a tiring amount of work.”
Leon Ninth
Status: [Companion]
Overall Affection Rating: C-
Current Affections:
Eros [Venereal Affection]: [N/A]
Philia [Friendly Affection]: C+
Storge [Familial Affection]: D-
Mania [Obsessive Affection]: E-
Likes: Learning. Star-Gazing. Low-Effort Activities.
Dislikes: Responsibility. Working Hard. The Notion of Duty.
“I was going to ask about the Hierophant Card… but we’ve got more pressing matters.”
A coffee cup landed square in the center of the table. A foreboding chill passed through everyone. The cup was sealed, but we could still feel slight fluctuations and a malevolent coming from within it.
Leon glanced around, making sure we were far enough away from earshot, before speaking.
“What are we going to do about the Dreamstone?”
Everyone turned to me. As the Vice-Captain, in Sophia’s absence, I had the final say on such matters.
“If more Midwarfs have a Dreamstone in their possession, then they’re all currently being controlled by a Demiurge,” I began. “Vinolentia, did you notice anything odd about the other Midwarfs?”
“No, not as far as I could tell. They drank the same, spoke the same… I was really out of it so…” Vinolentia met my gaze.
I instantly understood.
Bacchus said she was drugged. I didn’t find any drugs on the Midwarfs… I only found the Dreamstone. The Dreamstone was what it considered a drug.
“Leon, does one have to be asleep for the Dreamstone to take over?”
“No,” Leon replied. “They only have to be in a state of unconsciousness.”
“Would it work if someone were to say, pass out from drinking?”
Leon took a moment and nodded. “In theory.”
I shot another glance at Vinolentia out of the corner of my eye. She shrugged in a ‘what-can-you-do?’ manner.
The Dreamstone tried to take over Vinolentia’s mind when she drank too much, but Bacchus prevented it from happening.
“We may have to consider the possibility that all the Midwarfs in Alshaghal are under the influence of the Dreamstone and that they’ve been under its influence long before they arrived here.”
A thought came to me. “When we first arrived, Constable Verdad said something about the Midwarfs around Warehouse 202 peddling a miracle alternative to reminite.”
“That’s right!” Nala snapped her fingers. “Vinolentia, you were there. Did you see the Midwarfs handing out anything?”
“I — um —” Vinolentia cleared her throat. “I don’t quite… recall. But — but it could be possible?”
“You don’t…” Nala scowled. “Just how much did you drink?”
She doesn’t remember that either? I pursed my lips. Was Bacchus possessing her for longer than I thought?
“If Midwarfs are all being controlled by the Dreamstone and spreading it to others, then this matter has become an issue of national security.”
“What?” Nala frowned. “I’m sure we can round up all the Midwarfs in one place and search them one by one to make sure they’re clean, right?”
“And if they’re not clean?” I asked.
“Then we kill them,” Nala said. “Problem solved.”
“You don’t think rounding up all the members of another race within your territory and executing them might cause issues?” Leon drawled. “You don’t think it’s enough to spark a diplomatic incident? If not, you know, a war?”
“W-well…” Nala hesitated.
“W-what a-are we going t-t-to do?” Ingrid asked. “We — we can’t j-just leave them be…”
“We won’t,” I assured her. “We’ll have to report this to the higher-ups.”
Leon, squinting through his baggy eyes, let out a dry groan. “Do we really?”
“You want us to handle this?”
He took a moment before banging his head on the table. “Reporting this is going to drag us into it, but we can’t not report it… either way… it’s going to mean extra work. Just… why?”
“Suck it up you big baby,” Nala teased.
“Major Macey is in command of the Regiment,” I said. “I’ll report the matter directly to her. Hopefully, she’ll report it to her superiors in time and we won’t have to be involved?”
“You’re going to put the fate of Alshaghal in the hands of bureaucracy?” Mors grinned. “With the standard of handling matters in three-to-five business days, I’m betting on a total apocalypse by the end of the month.”
Mors’ remark made me pause. He was right. I didn’t quite trust that the matter wouldn’t be held up in unnecessary red tape.
“Speaking of,” I said. “Has anyone gotten word from Sophia or Jürgen?”
“Last message I sent to Jürgen, he was still stuck on the whole Druid issue,” Nala provided. “He kept whining about having to prevent people from killing a Leporinian for blasphemy.”
“You spoke with him?”
“Yeah, I sent a message.”
I blinked for a moment. “Scrying?”
“No, I sent a message,” Nala frowned. “You have the message feature on the Godscripts. You know we can message each other, right?”
I didn’t want to bring up the issue of my Godscripts being restricted. I didn’t even know how to broach it. It was something close to the fact that I was a transmigrator. I could tell them anything, everything, but that particular secret was something I would keep to myself at all costs.
“Keep in touch with him. Try to contact Sophia if you can.”
I rose from the table and craned my neck.
“I’m headed to Sector One-Zero-One to speak with the Major.”
“Can I tag along?” Nala chirped up.
“Why?”
“I left some of my stuff back at the Sector. And you’re a free, instant trip, so—”
I had a feeling Nala was going to enjoy using my power more than I was.
“What about getting on board the Takumian ship?” Mors asked.
“That’ll have to wait, this takes precedence.”
“Can I do it?” Mors smiled. “I’ve always dreamt about being a pirate.”
“You…” I blinked. “What?”
“All you need is something from the ship, right? I can probably find something quick and easy as —”
“Mors.”
“...Ah,” Mors smiled nervously. “Oops?”
“What do you need something on a Takumian ship for?” Nala asked.
“It’s nothing.”
“You’re a terrible liar,” Nala snorted. “Does this have to do with finding the Takumian Prince and Princess?”
Nala suddenly pointed a finger at me.
“Don’t tell me! You can teleport to anyone through the nearest door as long as you have their stuff?!”
“I —”
…Can I do that?
Firel and I didn’t consider that. All we’d been able to prove was that I couldn’t port to doors I’d never used or entered. The thought never came to try testing if I could move to a door I’d never been to by relying on a focus — relying on a person.
“Wait, you can?!”
“I’m not sure.”
I took a moment.
…Do I trust them with this or not?
I didn’t have much of a choice. Mors already knew. That aside, the potions I had would give anyone the wrong impression.
The last thing I needed was for Ingrid or Nala to accidentally stumble upon my utility pouch filled with Lucid Rapture and get it on them. The consequences were dire, and there was no amount of explanation or apologies that would ever make it right.
“There’s an aspect of my power I don’t quite understand. It lets me see things when I touch them.”
Leon perked up. “See things?”
“Psychometry,” Mors added helpfully.
“You can see the past of everything you touch?!” Nala exclaimed.
“Not everything,” I said. “I need my senses heightened to use it.”
I brought out a bottle of Liquid Rapture potion from my utility pouch. Everyone other than Mors had their eyes glued straight to it, and they turned to me almost twice as quickly.
“N-Neo, w-w-why do you have —” Nala sputtered. “W-what are you planning on —”
“This helps me focus my power. It amplifies my sense of touch.”
“I’m sure that’s not the only thing it amplifies,” Vinolentia giggled.
“It also amplifies my sense of taste and hearing,” I said deadpan. “Touch is mostly what I need.”
“Your Flair isn’t about doors,” Leon murmured.
We turned to Leon.
“It’s like my Flair,” Leon drawled. “There are nine aspects to it, which all seem different, but they’re all based on one concept. Yours is probably the same thing. You just have to figure out what that concept is.”
“Yeah, but what is there in common between opening doors to places and being able to pick up a pencil and see the list of its previous owners? ” Nala asked.
“Either way, you’ve opened something,” Vinolentia laughed. “One’s a door, the other’s a list. The next thing you open could be…”
“Don’t be crass,” Nala scowled.
“Nala, dear, I’m not the one walking around with top-grade aphrodisiacs in my pockets,” Vinolentia turned to me, her eyes twinkling. “Did the thought never come to make nefarious use of it?”
“No.”.
“I don’t know whether to be glad or disappointed that I believe you,” Vinolentia sighed. “You’re supposed to give a girl a little sense of danger to keep her on her toes. Being too trustworthy kills the allure.”
“Good.”
“You’re no fun,” Vinolentia huffed.
“In any case,” Leon yawned. “Take your time. You’ll figure out what the concept is sooner or later.”
There was a strange burden that fell off my shoulders. Words couldn’t quite put it. I wanted to thank everyone, but I didn’t know how. The words: thanks, guys just could not emerge from my lips. Some part of me knew this was not something I needed to thank them for.
They would do for me, what I would for them.
“So…” Mors cleared his throat. “I’ve always wanted to raid a ship.”
“Go with Leon,” I said. “Tell him what we learned.”
“Huh? Go where?”
I patted the boy on the back. “Mors will give you the details.”
“It’s going to involve work, isn’t it?” Leon groaned. “Damn, you both.”
I chuckled. “Ingrid?”
“Um — c-can I follow you and… Nala?”
“I suppose,” I said after a moment’s deliberation. “It’s fine. We can be back quickly if needed. That leaves, Vinolentia —”
“I will be racking up quite a debt at the bar, seeing as a horrible, contemptible man took all my money,” Vinolentia huffed, before shooing me away. “Go, lest I weep.”
“Keep an eye out for when Sophia and Jürgen return.”
“Seeing as I have nothing better doing… I might consider it.”
“Alright, we all have our tasks.”
I nodded to everyone. “Lance Brigade, let’s move.”
Chapter 22: The Duel
Sacrosanct Rifles made no noise upon gunfire.
This feature of the weaponry ensured no one had to worry about getting tinnitus from a battlefield where hundreds of them were fired off over and over again. In those early days, when I'd first woken up, I’d practiced getting a hand of different rifles. I’d spend hours in the firing range, testing out what worked for me and what didn’t. I’d shoot and shoot till my hands were numb and I couldn’t move them. I’d practice my aim until I was certain it would not fail me at a critical juncture. In that process, I remembered how many times I could fire before a weapon overheated, requiring cooling and a change in the rem-clip.
Watching a set of fresh recruits standing in line, organized in rank-and-file, bright-eyed, all smiles and laughter, an irritated feeling settled in my throat. Watching them twirl around their weapons as though they were sticks burned at something in me. Did they not know what they’d signed up for? Those rifles weren’t toys. Could any of them list the exact number of times they could fire their weapons before they overheated?
During the mission in Tell-Tale Village, all I had to defend against the Fleshlings was a default, unmodded SR-88. Others used their Flairs. I didn’t have that luxury. Jürgen and I were amongst the few unlucky ones running and gunning to the end. The gun maniac always counted his shots. Our SR-88s could only fire a maximum of eighty rounds before the rem-clip overheated and the rifle needed twelve seconds to cool.
Twelve seconds.
Twelve seconds of waiting for my rifle to cool, wondering if it'd be better to put it in my mouth and end it. Twelve seconds of running and contemplating the value of my own life.
“N-Neo? Is — is e-e-everything alright?”
Ingrid stood beside me, a worried expression on her face. I took a deep breath of air. The familiarity of Sector One-Zero-One’s smell hit me all at once. I’d almost forgotten it, in the brief day I’d spent in Alshaghal. I’d pushed most of those uncomfortable memories away. With Firel in the dispensary, the man’s often jovial, joking and frank tone didn’t make me recall those moments.
I almost forgot how much I hated this place.
“A lot of these recruits are going to get themselves killed.”
She turned her attention to the fresh recruits.
“T-They’re m-more t-than l-last time…”
The AAA was always recruiting. Whenever they didn’t recruit from Middlings desperate for a chance to climb the socioeconomic ladder, they recruited from people incarcerated by the Eminency of Penance. They would find talented people who’d committed major, somewhat pardonable crimes, and give them the choice between serving out their long sentences or enlistment.
Ingrid, beside me, was someone who chose the latter.
“Do you regret it?”
She shook her head. “I — I d-don’t.”
“Really?”
Her voice was quiet.
“It was e-either t-this or… t-thirty-five years… s-s-so…”
The early-morning sun had only recently ascended into the sky, and Ingrid and I stood facing the gargantuan gates of Sector One-Zero-One. Lieutenants stood atop each tower holding variants of Sacrosanct Rifles fitted with modified scopes loomed above us. SR-724s, my brain told me on instinct. Slower shots, but more effective at piercing numerous targets simultaneously, and devastating at long range. Typically needs size 9 rem-clips. Fires ten shots then needs cooling for thirty-one seconds.
My sense of danger was sharpened in Sector One-Zero-One. It was a survival instinct. Someone more cynical would claim it was a response to trauma. I didn’t have many fond memories of this place. Not from the people, who’d doubted and mocked me when I claimed I’d lost my memories, not from the buildings, their designs constrained and alienating, and certainly not from the ever-present tension in the air that was stifling and suffocating.
Sector One-Zero-One was the training ground for all recruits. It was often referred to as the 'Disvirgining Dome.' Anyone who‘d ever enlisted in the AAA had to go through it, akin to a coming-of-age ritual. It bordered one of the Seven Forbidden Zones of Alamir — the Disremember Woods. Officially, Juma told me it was supposed to be called the Kataramenos Forest, but no one referred to it as such. In theory, having a location named after a Nightly One would only serve to empower them — mythify them.
The distance was far enough away from the heart of the Empire, and the fact that it was quite literally next to a zone that constantly spawned hordes of Nightmares didn’t make it appealing. It was for that reason that the High Eminent of War, the General of the AAA was stationed here, to ward off the unknowns within the territory of the forest and the uncertainties of the Hlahan Hinterlands beyond it.
“LISTEN UP YOU FUCKING COCKROACHES!”
A shout interrupted my thoughts. My ears rang from the sheer volume of the voice. The familiarity of it wasn’t in doubt. Tall and imposing, with frizzy brown hair, a crooked nose, brown eyes, and a small, jagged scar across her lips, I saw the person I’d come here to meet.
Macey Esquire
Status: [Acquaintance]
Overall Affection Rating: E-
Current Affections:
Eros [Venereal Affection]: [N/A]
Philia [Friendly Affection]: E+
Storge [Familial Affection]: F+
Mania [Obsessive Affection]: FFF-
Likes: Thunderstorms. Weapon Maintenance. Percussion Instruments.
Dislikes: The Esclavos Cartel. Poltergeists. Nepotism.
Major Macey began a speech. I half-listened to it. It was the usual hazing I’d seen before. Others under her, drill instructors, swooped in immediately, barking orders, getting right up in the faces of the startled recruits.
I saw the anxiety building in them. The nervous glances they shot between one another as they were lined up and inspected. The utter bewilderment at the onslaught of rules and protocols thrown at them.
The next few weeks of grueling training would be designed specifically to break them down. The constant barrage of discipline and correction, the farewells to comfort and gentleness — the AAA would waste no time molding them into soldiers.
Soldiers… or cannon fodder.
As the days wore on, the transformation of the recruits would be more apparent. The carefree smiles would disappear, and the naive excitement would be crushed under exhaustion and stress. With every shouted reprimand and endless drill, another piece of individuality would be chipped away.
Only when you were strong, only after you’d proven yourself, were you allowed to be an individual.
It didn’t take too long for Major Macey to spot us off to the side, watching the entire process. She approached, floating as was the nature of Prominents to do so, a scowl forming on her scarred lips.
