Chapter 44: This. Is! SPARTA! |
After a few days in Alcubierre space, yet another term liable to make scientists have a conniption, considering that it was not, in fact, some kind of alternate dimension where distances were shorter, it was instead simply a warped version of the regular universe, the Dragonfly dropped out into normal reality, only to find herself face to face with … a naked guy?
Well, if the man had ony any clothing other than the Corinthian helmet on this head, it was hidden behind the large round shield with a massive lambda splashed across it covering most of his torso from view.
And then, the man spoke with an accent that would have been expected in the previous system, not here.
“Howdy folks, quick question, those magic shells you’re lugging around, you aren’t planning on using those here, are you? Also … you seem awfully heavily armed for a freighter. What are you here for?”
Apparently, Derek had been decidedly wrong about Earth being the only place having those aboard would cause an issue. Also, that guy was a good ten light seconds away, how the hell could they hear him, ability to speak in a vacuum or not? Also, did he even have the capability to understand a radio message?
But not replying was hardly an option, so Derek tapped the transmit button.
“This is the independent exploration vessel Dragonfly, we figured we’d have one final stop in civilized space before going out into the unknown was a good idea. We also brought trade items from Freedom.”
A few seconds later, soon enough to make it abundantly clear the man had heard the transmission before it could have reached him, limited by lightspeed as it was, he shrugged.
“I guess that just leaves the question of what you’re planning on doing here. ‘Final stops’ can end in a merchant’s office, the drunk tank, or … “
While Mimi muttered something about the inappropriate choice of attire, Derek tapped the comms control again with a sigh.
“We’re not planning on attacking, raiding, being a nuisance or otherwise behaving inappropriately. The munitions are a measure of last resort in case we meet something nasty.”
“Works for me,” the Spartan cosplayer announced, then vanished.
“They’re not all going to be dressed like that, are they?” Mimi asked, sounding quite concerned.
Derek shrugged. “Some of them take on more of the Spartan ideas than the attitude to self-improvement.”
The Dragonfly quickly made its way towards the inhabitable planet of the Neo-Laconia system, Neo-Sparta. Seriously, why the “Neo”? There were something like twenty Terra Novas out there, able to be differentiated only because they were numbered. Having a name that could also apply to other things was perfectly acceptable.
But yeah, one final civilized system before they wound up in the boonies and then quickly headed out into the great unknown.
One of the first things that became obvious during their approach was the near-complete lack of warships, which, for a world of almost fifty million inhabitants, the single biggest colony outside the core, was reckless, bordering on suicidal.
Or at least it would have, in literally any other world.
Neo-Laconia automated literally anything that wasn’t learning and getting better at fighting using a teachable [Skill] of its leader, which could then be taught even by recipients once certain conditions were met, meaning that any given place’s population was, children excepted, entirely military, and high level at that.
Any pirate stupid enough to try and raid this place wouldn’t even get a Darwin Award. The story would be so damn moronic no one would believe it, even the kinds of people who read up on human stupidity for a living.
But they did have a few ships, cruisers ranging from three- to seven hundred meters in length, of the light, heavy, and medium types, yet judging by the cuts, burns, and fist-shaped dents peppering the exterior hulls, they were there to be sparring partners, rather than defenders, with the damage visibly repairing itself even as he watched, meaning it had to have been quite recent.
It was genuinely fascinating to watch all the drip and drivel of modern life, such as maintenance, manufacturing, and everything else happen without any human input, or machine input, for that matter, everything driven by the raw power of the [Skill] that threaded through every atom of this star system.
Though as they approached, a new message arrived, directing them to a new docking station, along with a dinner invitation. Well, not an “invitation to be taken out for dinner,” but rather an “there’s a dinner happening, attend.”
Which felt premature. The only thing they’d done in this star system thus far was set off some kind of alarm and gotten a visit from the local powerhouse.
Well, a local powerhouse. There were a lot of them. Hell, there were at least a dozen equally impressive individuals training just where Derek could see, giving him plenty of things to watch while Atticus docked the ship at what seemed to be a governmental/military station, rather than something meant for trade …
When they’d finally docked, the airlock was done connecting, and Derek stepped out onto the station, a Hispanic man in a karate gi appeared for the briefest of moments, handed him a piece of paper, and vanished before even a single question could be asked.
He must have stood there for a while, trying to figure out what the hell had just happened, because Ye-in plucked the paper out of his fingers with a sigh, and unfurled it in front of his eyes so he could still see.
It was instructions on where to go, written down and accompanied by a map that had been hand-drawn with military exactness.
Okay, what the hell was going on?
Derek was half-tempted to head back to the ship and leave a “if we drop of the map, here’s where we are” kind of message for his sisters, but then he Atticus flashed his phone before his face, displaying that he’d just placed down just such a message, then started marching in the direction indicated by the map, whistling innocently, something Derke had literally never heard him do before.
Well, that settled it. Though the question had been less a matter of whether or not Derek would follow this invitations, but how long it would take him to find his balls. Or at least that was what he’d have likely had to hear if he’d taken much longer.
There was no real security as they dove deeper into the station, but once again, the sheer power of everyone here meant that it would take someone a hell of a lot stronger than Derek to become a threat, even here.
But it was still weird, becoming all the more so because unless they were reading the map totally wrong, they were heading into the fancy part of the station.
Well, considering their location, “fancy” was incorrect both in terms of vibe and appearance, the corridors were still mostly deserted and the station’s interior was just about as spartan as it could possibly be, a matter of pure functionality, bare metal everything, basic lights, nothing that might indicate that the people here were any kind of important.
In fact, while the nameplates on the offices were displaying titles that seemed to indicate ever higher rank, though something like ninety-five percent of the doors also bore notes indicating that the occupant was to be found elsewhere, typically in some kind of training place, summoning arena, and other locations typically more suitable to martial pursuits than anything even remotely bureaucratic.
Though Derek got the distinct feeling that this place only existed as a “just in case,” rather than being in actual use. In fact, if it weren’t for the all-pervading [Skill], this whole place would likely have been covered in dust.
This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.
As they neared the end of the guidance the map provided, things finally changed, decor appearing on the walls, for a certain definition of the word.
It was really just a progressive evolution of blueprints for some kind of dining room/command center that fell very heavily on the former for function and the latter for form.
And then, when the ahead doors swung open, and Derek saw who was sitting in the seat of honor, right next to the head of the mostly empty table, things suddenly became quite clear.
“Sorry, this was not planned, I had a meeting with King Dellas, I am not stalking your journey,” Isaac announced, sounding shockingly contrite.
“This might have happened anyway. Someone with the discipline to earn a legendary starter [Class] would fit right in here,” the man sitting at the actual head offered. Presumably that was the king, but you wouldn’t know it by looking at him.
Black hair that was slightly too long to be save in a brawl, but also slightly messy in the way hair tended to look if repeatedly stuffed under a helmet, a full beard trimmed but not styled, his beige shirt clean and well made, but nothing that wouldn’t have looked out of place on a common laborer at any point in the last millenium. He didn’t even have any scars, something that was still a part of most people’s “tough guy” image, even though very few people had scars nowadays due to a preponderance of healing powers.
But “Dellas” was a name that Derek had heard before, even if he hadn’t looked deeply enough into this place to recognize the man without Isaac’s introduction.
“Call me Markos,” the man said. “Titles, surnames, and formal hierarchy are for wartime and dressings down.”
“Now that everyone’s here, I think could start dinner?” a younger man on Dellas’ other side asked, a slight but noticable accent making Derek assume he was from either South Africa or the Netherlands. There were differences between the Dutch and Afrikaans accent, but he simply didn’t know either well enough to judge.
“Of course,” the big man nodded. “I’ll …”
He was promptly cut off by that same young man, who, in a surprisingly pleading tone asked, “May I bring the food?”
Huh?
Dellas made a “go ahead” gesture and the young man began to cast something that Derek wasn’t entirely certain he could understand, but it was a fragile thing, wavering, ready to shatter at the drop of a hat, or the slightest hint of interference.
And it was … a teleport spell, maybe?
It triggered a moment later, and seven bowls of soup appeared in the air above the table. Just one problem.
Half of them were upside down … yet by the time, Derek had realized that, they were already right side up, Isaac and Dellas having moved in an instant, a brief blur of motion that saw them sitting back in their chairs in an instant, while the dishware clattered onto the table.
“Well, that’s why we do it like this,” Dellas commented. “Better we get our practice when the cleanliness of the tablecloth is on the line, than when we’re fighting for our lives.”
“So you just use [Skills] for … everything?” Isaac asked.
“Anything that isn’t completely pointless,” Dellas said. “Also, I believe you made a habit of using your ability to levitate knives for all sorts of mundane purposes?”
“Duct tape one piece of chalk to a dagger so you can draw on the blackboard while talking, and apparently, no one’s ever going to let you forget it,” Derek’s older brother sighed.
“Tanja said you flew her and Viktoria to school on a giant sword,” Derek threw in.
“Thank you for that,” Isaac sighed.
“Uh, what is this?” Mimi asked in the silence that followed, looking down at the dish before her, nose twitching in a decidedly inhuman manner while her fox ears drooped.
“Melas Zomos,” Dellas replied. “Spartan black soup, ancient recipe, perfect for building muscle if you’re training properly. Here, we traditionally use it as a starter to remind us of what we’re trying to be, even if getting stronger is easier nowadays.”
Derek’s focus still remained on Mimi. Sure, the soup smelled unusual, but she had senses beyond the human. Was there something wrong with it? Poison would have been noticed by his brother but … ah, what the hell. He ate a spoonful.
It … it tasted like vinegar and pork soup. Nothing special, exactly, but also far from good. He could see why it was being served due to “tradition” rather than “taste.”
“So, what’s your regular food like?” Isaac asked.
“Anything that’s good and someone knows how to cook,” Dellas replied. “The [Skill] still needs something to base its actions on.”
“Does that also apply to technology?” Mimi threw in. “Would some fleet engineer taking a holiday here grant you a tech base equivalent to the military?”
“It only takes over the tasks fo the people who are actually working, have the [Skill], and want to join,” Dellas replied. “Also, I don’t think that kind of knowledge vampirism would be accepted.”
“So it’s really just a whole lot of people … focusing on self-improvement?” Derek asked.
“Interested?” the young man, who’d slurped down his soup in barely thirty seconds, asked as he set the bowl back down.
“How about you introduce yourself first,” Dellas suggested with a sigh.
“Christiaan Voske. I’m looking to become a strategist.”
“And by that, he means that he spends his days weaponizing literally anything he can get his hands on, and everyone wants to go against him when we’re training army combat.”
“Sounds dangerous,” Isaac commented. “I actually trained some officers way back, when all anyone wanted was someone with the barest hint of a good [Class]. One guy tried to expand the latrine with a fireball and wound up getting slapped with a shit geysir when the gasses ignited. Another didn’t realize that the rules about running with scissors apply doubly for magical swords so sharp you wouldn’t even feel any resistance as you cut off your own limb. Especially if you’re blindfolded.”
“But did they live?” Dellas asked.
“Oh yeah, one of them was the Commandant of the Marine Corps, last time I heard,” Isaac shrugged.
“Not bad,” Dellas said, then adopted a mischievous expression. “Does that mean favors, or that you’ll never be able to work with Marines ever again?”
“No clue,” Isaac laughed. “I guess I’ll see the next time shit hits the fan.”
“But seriously, a fireball in the latrine?” Dellas asked.
“Way too many people didn’t realize the laws of physics still apply to anything not actively being fucked with via magic,” Isaac shrugged. “What can I say, people hear ‘magic’ and think ‘cure all’.”
Dellas shrugged and gestured at the walls.
“And you didn’t have to build an entire culture around [Spartan Warrior’s Prerogative] to make this happen?” Isaac snarked.
“Point taken,” Dellas agreed, then turned towards Derek and his friends. “What about you guys? Where do you see yourself ending up?”
“Way out there,” Derek pointed straight up. “Where … no clue.”
That drew a booming laugh from the man styling himself as the king of a modern-day Sparta.
“Just remember, if it feels like someone’s stalling, some people see diplomacy as just saying ‘nice doggy’ while they go find a big stick.”
“Well, that’s dark,” Mimi commented.
“And you need to pay attention to why they’re stalling,” Isaac added. “Sometimes, they’re just trying to figure out how to step on the fewest number of toes in a situation where no one has any idea who the other is. Retreating and coming back with the navy is a perfectly rational response to something feeling off.”
It was good advice. But Derek’s mind had glommed onto the Dellas’ previous statement. To be specific, the rather warlike nature of it.
This star system had all this power, what were they going to do with it? What was Dellas doing with it? What reason would anyone have to believe they wouldn’t use all that they were stockpiling at some point?
But that was hardly a question Derek could afford to ask. Isaac could, but he couldn’t
“Why aren’t we using our military power to do anyhting?” Dellas suddenly asked out loud, making Derek flinch, especially when he realized the older man was meeting his eyes. “Is that what you were wondering?”
Shit, something must have show, but now that the question was out there … Derek nodded.
“Do you want the real answer, or the one they’ll believe?” Dellas asked.
“Both?”
Dellas chuckled softly. “Figures. Okay, the real answer is that conquering is pointless. We’re here, because [Spartan Warrior’s Prerogative] lets us keep bureaucracy pretty much nonexistent, and any time we do have to deal with paperwork, it’s usually just looking up what the [Skill] set up.
“Adding a huge chunk of population that doesn’t share our way of life would literally break it. We’d become bureaucrats. We like life the way it is, and want to keep it that way a hell of a lot more than we want … what exactly? Responsibility and paperwork?”
That tracked. It was also not something the sort of people who’d gone into politics to lead were likely to be able to empathize with.
“And what’s the lie you expect them to buy into?” Isaac pressed before Derek could.
“No lie,” Dellas shrugged. “We don’t have the power to go after Earth, even if we wanted to, there are way too many powerhouses who’d take askance. And nowhere near enough of those same powerhouses would want to fight us in a preemptive strike to make that even remotely winnable. Those are the facts. It doesn’t matter what they believe about us, they can’t actually do much. Not without one hell of a misinformation campaign. Speaking of …”
A soft thud drew Derek’s attention back to his brother, who now had a hefty manila file folder lying in front of him.
“The cadre of dumbasses who decided to start slinging mud at Neo-Laconia in the hopes of eventually getting the support for a preemptive strike. There’s enough there to trigger an ethics inquiry, then they’ll have to explain what the hell they thought they were doing both in public and under truth spells.
“I’m used to fighting. I’m willing to fight. If I thought that’s what needed to happen, I’d throw hands with a god,” Isaac said softly, tapping the file on the table between them. “This is not a war worth fighting. This is some paranoid politicians’ ego trip. And seeing as we have both truth spells and ways to subject even our leaders to them …”
He grinned wolfishly. “I like having a way to deal with corruption without having to put even a single toe out of line.”
“But you would?” Dellas asked.
“Like I said, if I thought it needed to happen, I’d throw hands with a god,” Isaac said, a reply without an answer.
Things got very hypothetical from there, as the two S-Rankers debated, and dinner continued. Food was teleported, levitated, and otherwise magically retrieved when it was ready, as the night was debated away.
Interesting in the grand scheme of things, though Derek found himself feeling distinctly unable to contribute … dinner eventually ended, however, he managed to get all the trade goods sold in due time, allowing them to finally head off for the great beyond a couple of days later.