Vol. 3 Chap. 78 The Lone Wolf's Pack

Vol. 3 Chap. 78 The Lone Wolf's Pack

Truth was in a mood the rest of the evening. It was the scope of everything. The sheer enormity of what the System would mean to Jeon. There was one major difference, on paper at least, between what Jeon was planning and what Starbrite did. When you joined Starbrite, at least in theory, you had the country to protect you if the System Astrologica screwed you over. With this? The screwing was baked right in, and there was no appeal.

He could see it all laid out. You were born into a certain class. You had the potential to move up, but it was harder than climbing to the heavens. You spent every waking hour trying to make sure you had enough food, shelter and weren’t in danger of falling back into being a denizen. Left no time to improve your lot in life. In seeing to your children’s education, so that they could improve their lot. They would be trapped.

Your money, your home, your very identity, all tied up with the System. How people were allowed to treat you. Where you could go and what you could do. What you could learn. How far you could cultivate. All ruled by the great ledger. All ruled by the System. All that, and you were still better than the denizens. The citizens would at least have hope. The denizens needed an actual miracle to become citizens. Two of them. First, God would have to look back at this world and see them.

And perhaps the cruelest joke of all was that it wouldn’t matter. There would be, at most, two years of violence and decay before it all fell apart. Considerably less than that, assuming the loss of the System Astrologica meant the Jeon system collapsing. It was, all of it, all the fear and confusion and misery and hurt, the ruined lives, all of it, to gather souls for the System Astrologica. The whole country, maybe many countries, burning their strongest mages to fuel Starbrite’s escape.

How in the Hell had Starbrite managed it? How the Hell had he convinced the government to endorse this? Twenty percent of the economy wasn’t nearly enough clout. He brooded on the question for a moment, then nearly slapped his forehead.

It was Starbrite. He was unquestionably the most powerful mage in the world, and the current CEO was the second most powerful. The C-Suite probably accounted for a major percentage of all the Level Eights in the world. Certainly the best equipped, and almost certainly the most powerful. Truth could barely imagine what a Level Eight could do with the System. You wouldn’t so much cast a spell as write a sentence describing what you wanted to happen.

Eight spells, each backed with obscene power, working in combination. He was certain that by the time you hit Level Three or Four in Starbrite, there would be special classes on combining spells available. Probably mandatory for those in the PMC. Outside of Starbrite, that information would be the tightly held secrets of nation-states or powerful families. He had been winging it so far, successfully, but thinking about fighting the true old monsters? He had zero confidence. He doubted that anyone else was confident either.

“Welcome, President Whoever-You-Are, let’s not pretend you aren’t completely disposable. Your job, and the job of the other ten people in this room, is to convince the rest of Jeon that they really want to adopt the proposals laid out in the envelope in front of you. Or you, your families, and your closest friends, will become objects of amusement and philosophical inquiry for our employees. And if you can’t guess what we mean by that, here is a selection of recordings from the last people who told us “No.” Including three of your predecessors. Amazing how many Jeon Presidents “work themselves to death” in office.”

As an up-and-comer in the PMC, he might well have been assigned as a “bodyguard” for someone’s kid, just to make sure their parents were doing as they were told. Actually, as fast as he grew, after five years... who knows just how powerful he would have been?

He exhaled hard and forcefully shook off the morbid thoughts. “Attend me.” The maid appeared. “Does this hotel have a private and well secured ritual chamber?”

“It is the belief of the hotel that it does. Whether it meets Your Highness’ standards, I do not know.” She bowed apologetically.

“I will examine it.”

She bowed again, and led Truth to a small ritual room. Mostly bare, with an altar and various bloods and oils provided. There was the traditional olive wood box full of salt, he was happy to see, as well as a few handy reference guides to some of the more common rituals. Pretty good. It even had that “expensive room” smell. A combination of wood polish and herbs, and the lingering traces of incense.

He was without his usual counter-surveillance tools, but he knew enough about it to have some degree of confidence in its security. Not a high degree. Plan C was the ritual with the highest, most refined degree of stealth. He’d have to make sure his route out of the city was secure, just in case Merkovah’s improved impossible-to-detect communication ritual was, in fact, detected.

It was what it was. He made his enquiries, made what small preparations he could, ate a big dinner, and slept well. It was going to be a busy day tomorrow, however it turned out.

Morning came, and with it the now well established morning routine. The coffee was perfect, the shower invigorating, the cultivation merely adequate, but better than nothing. At least it left him feeling stretched and nicely warmed up. About an hour until his scheduled call. He went down to the ritual room and started setting up. He took his time and did it right, pushing out Incisive on the off chance the foresight would let him know when he screwed up.

Not at his level of mastery, apparently. Ah well. When all was in readiness and the appointed hour had arrived, he activated the ritual.

“Wet Twelve Twenty One Farce Vase”

Merkovah sounded like he didn’t know how to feel as he replied, “Mountain Green Seven-Seven Woobly Jelly.” There was a pause. “So. You have kept busy.”

“It’s not about just one thing. Mass movements require mass surveillance. It’s why security services are always desperate to find “ringleaders.” So much easier to focus on one person, and so much more satisfying for your bosses to have a head to hang over the gate. On the other hand, as you correctly guessed, the threat of a palace coup is grabbing the attention of their higher up mages, as that is the one thing that could plausibly reach those bosses.”

“I’m pulling the attention of the full stack of the hierarchy.”

“You and many others, most of whom have no connection to us. This is a game everyone is playing at the moment.”

“No wonder I’ve been able to slip by so many times. For all the roadblocks, they are still looking in a hundred different directions.”

“It’s a factor. And of course, that means less resources going to Starbrite and the more Starbirte is having to use its own people for security, intelligence, and the like.”

“Do we have any sense that it’s impacting the high level operations?”

“Trickier to say. We know the C-Suite was kicked out of their orbital retreats as soon as the Shattervoid rolled in. I don’t know if any died in the process, we haven’t been able to confirm their movements since that time. Presumably they are spending at least some time managing their respective departments.”

Truth opened his mouth to say something heated, but Merkovah plowed right on. “Neither of us is willing to trust any plan that involves the words “Presumably,” “Logically” or “It stands to reason that-.”

“Too right!”

“That being said, just what the hell did you do to Dr. Borges? I knew it would kick over a hornet’s nest, but if I had to pick one spot on the map where members of the C-Suite definitely were, it’s his former research center. Which you blew up? Somehow? For some reason?”

Truth walked Merkovah through what he had found, and particularly the reality manipulating creation of Uqbar. There was silence on the connection.

“Teacher?”

“I... would have given a very great deal to meet Borges. To have had a chance to talk with him about his ideas.”

“He was brainy, but he was also trying to create a-” Truth’s voice ran out. When you got right down to it, what Borges was making seemed, superficially, like...

“He was trying to create his own version of Siphios, one with a God and King of his choosing. All to keep more people, and the light of civilization, alive through the dark millennia to come.”

“Giant pyramidal sacrificial altar, though. Human sacrifice.”

“So? What’s war but human sacrifice? Or working in a factory? Donating time, or money, or food to a church or temple? You are giving up part of the time of your life and giving it to another. Sometimes a human, sometimes God. And maybe the victims went up to the altar voluntarily, or they went up at spearpoint. So what? Their sacrifice might mean tens of thousands had gentle rains and good harvests. That’s got to be worth a few dozen lives in exchange.”

Truth didn’t have a good answer to that. “So what’s next?”

“Get out of Conjin. It’s not worth your time- a shipping hub is going to die fast without any help from us. Time for you to head on home. Time for you to head back to Harban.”