Chapter 24: The Calm

***Emperor Pikaku, Uniter of the Continent, Ruler of Mestikos, Level 327***

Chains rattled as Pikaku’s father moved his hand, telegraphing his next move.

Pikaku chose discretion, allowing his father’s Waluigi to sprint far ahead. The former emperor had chosen the character because he had the most passing resemblance to their people’s body.

Pikaku had chosen Peach, because her plumage was rather salacious.

“I spanked you once, I’ll spank you again,” the withered kitri muttered, the flame of undeath flickering behind his eyes, honking softly.

“Blue shell.”

“Nooo!”

Pikaku’s neck wobbled in amusement as the shell hit his father’s character from above, Allowing him to gain the lead and the win.

“The game is mine, father. You have no choice but to accept it.”

“Accept this!” The former emperor threw the plastic controller at him, the chains rattling around his wrist.

Pikaku dodged it easily enough, catching the precious commodity on the way past. They weren’t making any more of these, after all.

Pikaku checked the time. “Mother guide me, it’s time to go already?”

“It’s been four hours?” His father demanded, glancing at the ‘nintendo’ gifted him by his new human aristocrats. “These humans are masters of masturbatory time-wasting, aren’t they?”

“I hear they had an entire city dedicated to it.”

“If I was a thousand years younger.” His father said, clutching a boney fist.

“You’d straighten them out?”

“I’d indulge in every vice they’d invented.”

“You’ve grown more honest in death,” Pikaku said.

“And whose fault is that, eh?” his father said, motioning to the glowing manacles and collar around his wrists and neck, preventing him from escaping and wreaking havoc on the world above. There was a bit of truth enchanting in there, too.

“All joking aside, These ‘nuclear bombs’ my new aristocrats warn me of paint a horrifying picture, and with the Stitching, they are not all accounted for. I fear rebel groups of humans may try to use them to shatter the empire and carve their own territory. I wonder if I truly have the luxury of attending a party at a backwater like Solmnath.”

“Your job is to appear normal,” his father said. “Remember you lead their minds as well as their hearts. If you express concern over these ‘nuclear bombs’, it will signal to many, many humans that you are afraid of them, and possibly spawn more of these factions who seek to leverage them against you.”

His father honked. “But seriously, how bad could they be?”

“Twenty miles wide.”

“That’s impossible.”

“You believe that’s impossible. Let me tell you something. Every human I spoke to, from my aristocrats, to beggars taken off the street without warning, was absolutely sure they existed.”

His father grunted.

“When everyone else believes a thing, sometimes you must ask yourself if you’re the ignorant one. These weapons seem like the sort of thing you might want to send some of your more trustworthy Enforcers after in secret. The Tekalis family comes to mind.”

“My thoughts exactly.” Pikaku said, nodding. Vresh Tekalis had been stripped of her title for refusing to answer him about who she’d given her Mark, but that made her more trustworthy, all things considered. She had given her word not to tell who she’d chosen, and she would rather be punished by the emperor than break it. He would need to send some of his human Enforcers after these weapons as well, because they were some of the only ones who would take the threat seriously.

“If you already knew what to do, what do you need me for, then?”

“I find it helpful to sound ideas off of you.”

“Bah,” The undead kitri grunted, waving him off. “An emperor makes his own decisions.”

Pikaku set the controller down within reach of his father, then headed for the marble arch leading to the long stairs out of the crypt.

“Before you go,” his father called after him.

“Oh?” Pikaku asked, turning.

“I don’t suppose you’d send someone down here for me to eat? I am absolutely starving. A fat little human child, perhaps? If those humans on the broadcasts are anything to go by, they’re the most succulent thing I’ll ever laid eyes on.”

“No, father.”

“Damn you to the mangled space of the Roil! I want to eat!”

The former emperor’s curses devolved into howls a living being couldn’t hope to match.

Pikaku wanted to rub the aching corners of his beak, but he was being watched by his guard, so he straightened his spine and marched out into the sunlight while they closed the heavy stone doors of the crypt, sealing his father back in his grave.

“Four hours of lucidity, as promised.” The priestess said, bowing low.

“The emperor appreciates your assistance in this matter,” He said, nodding. “When will you be ready to calm him again?”

She winced. “Two weeks, my lord. He is very strong.”

“Do not harm your core in haste. The emperor is patient.” Pikaku nodded, then prowled away, every inch the proud emperor. Nobody knew he’d spent all but the last few minutes playing human games with his father, rather than discussing important matters of state.

And if they did know, they kept their mouths shut.

As he walked, his secretary hustled up beside him, clutching a messy stack of papers to her chest.

“Emperor, King Jose of the fiery mountains wants a meeting to discuss the taxation of the villages damaged by flash-fires, Gurand of Lee seeks your approval for the dispensation of funds to their dam.”

“I’ll Summon them personally.”

“There’s been damage in the imperial academy, two children defaced a statue of your grandfather during a Myst battle.”

Pikaku grunted and waved it off. “Five lashes, and have them fix it.” He didn’t really care, but the institution cared, or at least, needed to be perceived as caring.

“Yes, my lord.”

“You’ve also got a slurry of letters,” She said, the smaller female half-jogging to keep up with his ground-eating pace.

“Oh, and the Courvars had some input about your visit to Solmnath. They said you might be interested.”

Pikaku nodded silently, marching to his throne that sat in the great hall of his grandfather, created by the greatest artisans of the age. He felt the weight of authority settle around his shoulders with every step he took up the short staircase that held the throne above all others.

Finally he settled down, and leaned back in the throne. He reached inside and tugged on the gnarled web of Venaxus, pulling a single strand out of his Core and giving it a voice. It only took a little bit of Myst, since they were already in the city.

“Amanda and Brett Courvar.”

The side door to the throne hall creaked open.

“You’re sure we’re not lost?” Brett asked his wife as the hairless apes stumbled into the throne room.

“I don’t know, we must’ve gotten turned around some-“ Amanda put a hand on her husband’s shoulder, staring at the emperor.

Swiftly, Pikaku’s new aristocrats dropped into perfect bows. They’d been practicing their etiquette.

“You may rise.” Pikaku said, waving his hand gently, calculating every move to be as neutral as possible.

“We’re sorry for, umm, wandering into your throne room,” Brett said with a frown, craning his neck behind him, studying their path in disbelief.

“It is I who should apologize for your confusion. I summoned you, and you came. If you find yourself before me, it is very likely that I wish to speak to you.” Pikaku said. “Remember that.”

Pikaku’s Myst Ability was to tug on Venaxus’s web and alter fate so that those who he named wound up in front of him. It was a power suited for an emperor. None could hide from him or his justice. The only limiting factor was the amount of coincidence that was required to bring a person to him, and his own familiarity with the subject.

“You’ve been doing good work for the empire, adapting humans to their new circumstances, and for that, I am grateful. You said you had something to say about my visit to Solmnath?” Pikaku asked.

“Yes, um…” Amanda tugged a letter out of her pocket. “Can I just…give this to you?”

Pikaku allowed himself a small head-waggle, and crooked a finger, motioning her to come forward.

The sickly-looking human half-jogged up to the throne and placed the letter in his hand before backing off.

“Interesting,” Pikaku muttered, scanning the letter. “Is this the same Jebediah Trapper who led you through the Impossible Tutorial?”

The two humans nodded. “We think so.”

“Well my friends, you may be receiving land to accompany your titles sooner than I expected. The optics of this would work best if my humans were to execute punishment for this malfeasance on my behalf.”

Pikaku leaned forward in his throne, looking down at the featherless creatures.

“Tell me, are you willing to kill in cold blood for the empire?”

The two humans were silent, the man deferring to his wife.

“The idea makes me want to throw up… But, if these people did what it says in the letter, then yes.” She swallowed loudly. “Yes, we’ll kill them.”

But just in case, let’s bring one human we know will follow through, Pikaku thought, leaning back in the throne and tapping his claws against the armrest. Generations of emperors had worn a groove in the gold.

“Excellent. Stay here until I am done so that we may discuss travel plans.”

“Yes, my lord,” the two said, bowing.

Pikaku reached into his Core and drew out a fine thread.

“Gurand of Lee.”

“I tell you it can’t wait any longer!” The large Brovis man shouted, shaking Pikaku’s frazzled secretary off of his leg as he stormed into the throne room at that very moment.

Amanda and Brett glanced back and forth between Pikaku and Gurand with the strange human expression of confusion that wrinkled up their eyebrows and tugged at their lips.

Heedless of the humans, the northern barbarian marched up to the throne, stopping just shy of the stairs, causing the imperial guards stationed along the hall to finger their weapons.

The man was no threat to Pikaku, but it was the principle of the thing.

“Listen ‘ere!” Gurand said, pointing at Pikaku. “We joined the Empire with the expectation that we would be taken care of! And all we’ve gotten is letters asking for gold we ain’t got! Now we need that dam for our home to prosper. How else are you planning on getting your taxes?”

Pikaku once again suppressed the urge to rub the muscles at the corner of his beak. This was going to be a long day of chasing his own tail. He had to maneuver the chieftain of the tribe to give his word the cost of the dam would be paid back, and the tribesmen had a curious notion of debt.

***Jebediah Trapper***

Jeb watched Eddie walk out the front of City Hall, sweating so profusely that Jeb could see it from his third-story vantage point.

Several other carriages parked outside the circle of uniforms, waiting for their turn to enter city hall. They were for the most part, richly dressed keegan.

Shit.

Without his drone next to him, Eddie had no way of communicating with Jeb, and he didn’t want to send the old man back into the wolves’ den.

Jeb picked up the receiver and told Legolas to follow if someone took the book, then he packed up the dish and battery, putting them in their duffle bags and heading out.

The two of them met up at the orphanage. Eddie must have run halfway back, because he arrived first, waiting for Jeb while breathing heavily and glaring.

“Never ask me to do that again,” he said, resting his palms on his knees.

“I have no idea what that was about, I’m sorry.”

“I think it was a parade or something. They were talking about clearing the streets for ‘his’ arrival.”

“Someone important?”

“Sounded like it,” Eddie nodded, before glancing around. “Where’s Legolas?”

“I told him to follow whoever took the book. Maybe we can still get our hands on it.”

“Mother-“ Eddie scowled at him, reaching into his vest. “Gotta give me more credit than that.” The old man pulled out several blank sheets of paper.

“That’s…nice?”

“The list is on here, and we’re going to have to call Legolas back, he’s got a long run time, but it’s not semi-permanent like Buddy.”

“You didn’t use the engine?” Jeb asked.

“Why would you put a pair of two stroke motors on a stealth craft?” Eddie asked, raising a brow. “No, I’ve been experimenting with lithium ion batteries. I used a silicon anode, upping the energy density drastically, but I haven’t got the tech to fix the growing SEI layer problem, so I just use my Myst to clean it out on Sundays, and that seems to work fine. One day though, I’ll crack it.”

Jeb frowned. “You know, there’s shrinking magic, right?” Jeb said, thinking back to the collectible he’d cannibalized to escape the Tutorial.

“Holy hell, why didn’t you tell me!?”

“‘Cuz we don’t have any on hand and I didn’t think of it.”

“How much shrinking!?” Eddie demanded.

“Football to pen sized.” Jeb said, motioning.

“Hot damn!”  Eddie shouted, his brush with death and prized drone all but forgotten. “I need to make some drafts!”

“Hold up there,” Jeb said, grabbing the roboticist by the shoulder before he went into a frenzy. “Papers,” he said, shaking the blank sheets in front of the old man’s face. “How do I read them?”

“Ugh, c’mere,” Eddie and Jeb went down into the basement, where the old man pulled out an airbrush and popped a mixture of ink and water into it.

“I isolated out the nonporous parts of the paper, so they should be more susceptible to osmosis,” he said as he prepped the mixture.

“Light, too,” Jeb said, holding up the paper to a bright light, where he could make out faint scribbles shining through the slightly less dense portions of the paper.

“Gimmie,” Eddie said, snatching the paper out of his hand and putting it over some printer paper, then he coated them with an even spray of black ink.

Eddie waited for a moment, then pulled the two papers apart, revealing a crisp list of names, one side written in alien, the other in English.

“It looks like there was an orphan named Tim,” Jeb muttered, scanning the list. He couldn’t bring himself to find that fact amusing.

Eddie shooed him away and swiveled, rolling on his chair back to his drafting computer, muttering to himself.

Jeb hoofed the three pages of suspects up to Zlesk, who would presumably be able to put titles to names.

The injured keegan was sitting on a bench, enjoying the blazing hot summer sun while the kids played out front. It was a surreal sight watching children jump five to ten feet in the air during tag.

“How’d it go?” he asked as Jeb approached. “I saw you and Eddie return unscathed, so I assumed it was at least a partial success.”

“We got the list,” Jeb said, putting the papers in the sheriff’s hands.

The keegan’s eyes went wide, watering as he scanned his way down the list.

“So many…” he said softly, flipping between the pages.

“This represents maybe a third of the governing body of Solmnath,” Zlesk said, glancing up at him. “These are old, powerful families. You’d have about as much luck taking them down as you would pulling the sun out of the sky.”

The sheriff put his palm over his forehead, taking a deep breath and staring into the ground.

“If it were five or six, you might be able to rally the rest of the nobility against them, ostracise them and cut away their support, but with this many complicit in this horrifying trade…”

“They’re gonna cover each other’s asses, aren’t they?” Jeb asked.

Zlesk nodded. “I would be tempted to take my pay and extricate myself from this political garbage fire right now, if my very soul didn’t recoil from tacit agreement with these monster’s methods.”

“Something I’ve said heard; The only thing necessary for the triumph of evil is for good men to do nothing,” Jeb quoted.

Zlesk chuckled, eyeing him from the side. “That sounds wiser than something that would come out of your mouth, Jebediah Trapper.”

“Oh, it is,” Jeb said, nodding. “Some old guy said it a long time ago. Was it Gandalf, maybe? Idunno. It holds true though. They’re gonna keep doing what they do as long as nobody holds them accountable.”

“You’re right.” Zlesk said, sighing.

“How long until you’re ready for action again?” Jeb asked.

“About a week.”  Zlesk said, flexing his fingers.

Damn, high Body really does speed up healing. The keegan had some pretty nasty lacerations a day ago. A week was warp speed in comparison to a normal recovery.

Jeb’s broken arm would likely take longer than that…

“Are you willing to do what we have to to keep the children out of the clutches of these people?” Jeb asked, tapping the list in Zlesk’s hand.

Zlesk straightened in his seat. “Yes.”

“Alright then, we’ve got a week until my next hearing. You rest up,” Jeb said, folding up The List before patting Zlesk on the shoulder. “And maybe give Colt some pointers.”

Jeb had some ideas for how he could legitimize the orphanage, at least enough to keep the children safe from the people in charge.

My kids, at least. Jeb was under no illusions that there weren’t more kids forgotten in the gutters at this very moment. They could never all be accounted for.

But stopping these people from killing for gain? The only thing he could hope to do was shine a light on it and force them to tiptoe.

I’ve got a week before my next visit to the court, hopefully with a judge that doesn’t give a shit about me, rather than one who wants to blame me for his crimes. Apathy would be a marked improvement.

In one week Jeb was due for a re-trial, and the lady whose ankles he’d broken hadn’t pressed charges: Nobody who’d been at O’sut’s mansion wanted to admit they’d been there.

So Jeb had a week to polish up and prepare, and he had three major issues on his plate.

1: Getting Mystic Triggers up and running again

2: Outfitting himself better.

3: Searching his body for more things stitched on by the System and getting them off.

Jeb really wanted to give himself a thorough once-over and check for more things that might have been stitched on, but the matter wasn’t pressing. He was fine now, and he would continue to be fine even if he didn’t get to it immediately.

Even if some worm-like thing in the fifth dimension was currently buried right behind his eyeball.

Jeb shuddered.

Besides, the weirdness of what came out meant it was dangerous or at least unpredictable, whether it would benefit him at all. Jeb still remembered thinking he was an apprentice wizard named Mevas for a couple minutes.

So Jeb directed his attention to the other two options. As much as Jeb wanted to make his own weapons, it was more time-efficient to buy and commission them. He couldn’t spend the entire week making a single shield-blade or wand.

Nope, his best course of action would be to send Zlesk out with a bag of gold and a list and give Eddie some ideas, then spend the rest of the time mastering Mystic Triggers.

Delegation.

Jeb needed his triggers back.

Jeb clapped his hands together and limped off to get to work.

****

The week went by slowly, the constant tension under the watchful eye of quickly hired mercenaries made sure nothing got stale, and they were busy as hell, which made every day feel like its own week.

Zlesk bought him a +3 Body ring to drastically speed up Jeb’s healing, along with the magical equivalent of a flak jacket. It was a heavy vest lined with thin segments of faradan, a stone that exerted force against anything that got close to it. It slowed down anything aiming for Jeb’s vital organs, taking the punch out of them so the underlying chainmail could catch it.

Fun fact: Faradan was also what sand pirates lined the bottom of their boats to cruise over the desert with, as well as a primary component of every major city’s walls. Jeb even spotted where they were being built to fill in the gaps left by the Stitching.

Zlesk also got him a glove with fire and speeding arrow lenses sandwiched into the back. It fired little darts of flame that emerged from the palm. It was a hand-me-down from an aristocratic keegan child, so the fit was decent for Jeb after they cut the extra-long fingers off.

It was also less-than lethal, not being particularly powerful, but in Jeb’s experience, nobody liked getting a face full of fire-dart.

Zlesk got Jeb’s Annihilation lens gun back from the two detectives, and disassembled it so he didn’t get summarily executed, since the individual pieces weren’t illegal. They could figure out something else to do with it later.

Jeb’s fancy foot came back after three days with some new spit and polish, along with a small panel in the side that was practically invisible, where he could store stuff secretly.

Of course, a false foot was a terrifically predictable place to hide stuff, so that kind of evened things out, but still, it was nice to have.

Jeb stored a copy of the list of names in the little cubby and sealed it closed, marveling as the seam vanished completely. He buried the original under the orphanage’s floorboards.

As for Eddie, he took Jeb’s idea for a saw blade he could move with telekinesis and ran with it. The old man took an udium-tipped blade and Refined the superhard metal straight out of it as a dust, then sintered a thin layer onto the blade-edge of a circular disk of ultra-tough composite material scrap he had lying around.

The material Eddie made was so tough it would bind up his cutters in a fraction of a second, but the old man worked it easily.

Jeb watched in fascination as the old man’s pale purple Myst traced shapes along the composite, which would then shed dust of its stronger reinforcing material, allowing the roboticist to snap it off by hand.

When he was done, the old man welded a composite handle to the back of it and called it a day. The entire thing was about a palm and a half wide, and looked like a buckler. It was unpainted and ugly, it looked like a circular saw blade, and Jeb loved it. It was somewhat non-threatening and at first glance looked like a defensive tool, and it was just small enough to clip onto his belt.

“Yep, that’s a murder-buckler, if I’ve ever seen one,” Eddie said, eyeing his creation.

“I’ll call it the Identity disk, after the Tron movies.” Jeb said, nodding as he imagined it flying around slaughtering people.

“That doesn’t really fit, does it?”

“I just wanna be the one who names something,” Jeb said, throwing the disk into the roiling cloud of the Appraiser.

Murder-Buckler

A buckler that pushes the boundaries of performance for a non-magical item, this unique weapon has been fitted with a jagged Udium edge to tear flesh asunder.

“Damnit!”

The rest of the time, Jeb spent working on dialing in the bandwidth of various events. The first two things Jeb focused on were the spoken word and moving objects.

Jeb wanted his automatic protections and his bullets back.

Every day he read and re-read the book while trying exercises that he either vaguely remembered or invented on the spot.

Jeb wasn’t entirely sure, with Mevas’s experiences having sunk into his subconscious.

Much of his time was spent sitting crosslegged out on the lawn, bouncing a tennis ball off of the side of the mansion, mastering both breathing in Myst to fill his Core to his new limits, as well as creating Triggers to catch the ball on the rebound.

Well, trying.

Jeb let the ball hit him in the chest before it dropped into the palm of his hand.

What am I missing? Jeb thought, eyeing the fuzzy ball in his palm. He was still trying to tune into specific events, but it wasn’t doing anything. It never triggered the ball of Myst.

If an object comes towards me at a speed greater than 5 mph, deploy the bubble of force.

Jeb tried to focus on the criteria, focusing on tuning those events in tight.

He threw the ball, which hit the wood and rebounded, hitting him in the chest again.

What am I missing?

Jeb set the ball down between his legs and closed his eyes, reviewing what he’d read in the book. He had to picture the scene vividly so clearly as to confuse what was real, then strip away the non-relevant parts, applying the image to the trigger.

Jeb took a long breath and tried to envision the ball approaching him, every single detail.

The sudden shriek of one of the children playing dodgeball distracted him, and an instant later, a dodgeball whizzed out and smacked him in the face.

Jeb opened his eyes with a startled grunt, expecting to see a red ball rolling away from him and a dozen guilty-looking kids.

Instead he saw them still playing, throwing the red rubber at each other at inhuman speeds. He glanced around and didn’t see any indication he’d been struck at all. The sensation of the rubber hitting his nose faded like a ghost. No bruising, no blood, no sting.

Did I just…

Jeb frowned, looking at the tight ball of Myst in front of him.

Worth a shot.

“Hey you guys!” Jeb shouted, waving, catching their attention. The children looked apprehensive having earned the attention of ‘The Boss’.

“Which one of you wants to throw dodgeballs at my face?”

Colt raised his hand. Because of course he did.