Chapter 265

Alexander made his way through the camp.

The first thing he noticed was how clean it was. The ground was tamped dirt, worn smooth by foot traffic, but there was no waste. No rotting food. No refuse piles. Whatever methods they used to manage it, whether cantrip or discipline or both, the result was a settlement that didn’t smell like one.

He paused at the edge of a clearing and let his gaze sweep outward. Rolling hills in every direction. On the nearest, a stretch of wild grass grew tall enough to reach a man’s waist. Half a dozen figures moved through it, cutting and bundling. That explained the straw. On the next hill, goats dotted the slope, two people moving among them with long sticks.

Closer to the camp, small pens held chickens. A woman scattered grain into one, the birds pecking around her feet. Horses and donkeys stood tethered beside specific huts and yurts, clearly belonging to individuals rather than the community. A man was brushing down a mare, speaking to it in low tones.

A group of children fell into step beside him as he walked between the huts. Five of them, ranging from barely waist-high to almost his shoulder. They walked in exaggerated strides, chins raised, arms glowing and stiff at their sides, mimicking something approximating military posture. Small stones floated around each of them, three or four apiece, spinning in lazy orbits.

Alexander glanced down at them. They stared straight ahead, faces locked in theatrical stoicism.

He laughed.

The stoicism shattered instantly. They scattered, shrieking and giggling, the floating stones tumbling out of the air as concentration broke. One tripped over another and both went down in a heap of laughter.

Alexander shook his head, still grinning, and turned his attention back to the dozen small metal orbs floating in the air in front of him.

He’d pulled them from the ring earlier, when Wargah had pointed him across the camp. Part of his bits and pieces collection alongside needles, chains, ball bearings, spikes. Most of it the kind of ammunition he used to carry in his belt before the ring made pockets obsolete. The marbles were the simplest test objects he had.

His fingers twisted and turned as he guided them through patterns as he tested Body of the Machine. Orbits. Figure eights. Rapid directional changes. Splitting into two groups of six and weaving them through each other.

Within 22.2 meters of his body, his control felt absolute. The marbles responded to intent as fast as he could think it. No lag. No resistance. Perfect fidelity between thought and movement, limited only by his ability to split his focus, and enhanced by Multithreading.

Beyond that range, the control dropped. The marbles still moved, still responded, but with the familiar lack of precision control he’d always known with the old Metallokinesis. Functional, but requiring concentration and effort.

22.2 meters. Alexander didn’t need to do any math to find the connection. It was too blatant to be a coincidence.

One tenth of his Willpower.

He hadn’t tested the range of the new Spark of the Machine yet. Conjuring arcs of lightning in a camp full of straw huts and curious children seemed like a poor follow-up to setting the bed on fire. But he suspected the results would be identical.

Within his own body though, Electrokinesis charged the Core, now Heart of the Machine, enhancing his physical senses, pulsing vitality across his body, and accelerating his mental processing.

Alexander let the marbles settle into a slow orbit around his left hand and ran through the rest of what he had.

One shield drone, stored in the ring before Flashpoint could destroy it alongside its twin. The Sidearm, which would have been useless against Flashpoint given his near-immunity to heat. The Skipper, which he’d all but vowed to never touch again if he could help it. The surveillance drone with its fifty sub-units. His armor, lighter and less protective than the OACS, but better than nothing. The old black leather jacket Augustus had gifted him which he hadn’t worn in months. Ration bars. Spare clothes. Basic hand tools.

The stolen staff. The stolen spellbook. And an alien sphere pulled from a dead man’s skull that he still couldn’t identify.

There were no more drones. Nothing that would let him fabricate new equipment. No workshop. No raw materials. The Machine God, stripped down to what remained in his ring and his loyal machine-turned-spirit-familiar.

Plus the wolf ring. An emergency transmitter that would bring the others running if he removed it without first disabling it, except there were no satellites or communications infrastructure for it to ping.

Still. It was a nice reminder that he wasn’t really alone, even if he were trapped in another reality for the moment.

He stopped outside the only hut that had a familiar signature.

Minlah stepped through the opening while he was busy trying to figure out how to knock on a hut.

She looked different out of the blue and gold robes. A linen dress fell to her knees beneath a fitted leather vest, and a furred shawl wrapped one shoulder against the morning air. Her dark hair was pulled back with what looked like bone pins. She looked younger than he’d assumed at the fortress, though the sharp eyes were the same.

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She looked him up and down. “I am glad you have recovered. You looked about ready to return to the waves.”

Alexander frowned. He was fairly certain Droney hadn’t managed to translate that last part properly, but the meaning was clear enough.

“Thank you for saving me. I owe you.”

She gestured to a stump outside her hut. Alexander sat. She settled onto a second one across from him and spent a moment watching the camp. People moved between huts and yurts, going about their day, though more than a few gazes drifted toward the two of them.

“You saved me first,” she said. “I was merely repaying a debt. Nothing more.”

Alexander shrugged. “Well, then we’re even.” He paused. “Do you know what happened to my armor and the rest of the drones?”

Minlah gave him a look. “No. Dragging you from the fortress took everything I had.” She frowned. “You are very heavy. And your spirit familiar was very demanding.”

Droney beeped from above his shoulder. The bond carried no remorse whatsoever.

“You can understand Droney?”

She shook her head. “No, but my talent is to sense meaning. Your familiar’s demands were very clear.” She paused. “And very loud.”

“Talent?”

“Everyone touched by mana has a small gift. Something personal. Some can make things grow. Others can mend what is broken, or ease pain, or find what is lost.” She smiled. “I can see. Feel what lies beneath the surface of a person. Much like my grandmother.”

“Your grandmother?”

“Our shaman. She permitted you to stay because she sensed deep kindness in you.”

Alexander raised an eyebrow. “Her gift may need some calibrating.”

Minlah laughed. The sound was quick and bright. “Perhaps. But Nana has never been wrong. At least, she has never admitted to it.” She took a breath. “She would have healed you, but your familiar refused her entry.”

Droney had been protecting him from unknown magic being used on him while he was unconscious. When his Will was likely at its weakest.

He sent a pulse of thanks across the bond.

“I thought it was Wargah who decided to let me stay.”

“Wargah is the Earth. He leads, he protects, he speaks for the clan.” She tilted her head. “But Earth is always wise to listen to the Water and the Wind. Nana has been the clan’s wisdom from when Wargah’s own grandmother was Earth. She has danced with the Stars more times than any other living elder, and lost only eight fingers in the process.”

Alexander blinked. He doubted there were many people in the camp missing exactly eight fingers.

“Ah. I think I met her already, though I didn’t realize she was the shaman. She gave me a bowl of stew and patted me on the head.”

Minlah tilted her head. “Where else should a leader be, if not where they may best care for their people?”

Alexander opened his mouth. Then closed it. She had a point. Augustus was basically the same, always preparing meals and making sure everyone ate, sans missing fingers.

Now that he was thinking about him, he wondered if Augustus had returned from the Multiversal Solo Combat Challenge with more than just a spellbook. He’d begun conjuring ethereal hands without using his wand shortly after. Maybe he’d returned with a talent, too.

“Forgive me for being nosy, but what did you mean when you said she’d only lost eight fingers? That sounded very specific.”

Minlah’s expression darkened. “The Stars punish defiance with fingers. Any defiance, no matter how small. Speaking out of turn. Refusing an order. Hesitating when commanded.” She held up her own hands, turning them over. All ten fingers intact. “Nana has protected this clan for three generations. She has argued, bargained, misdirected, and lied when needed to every Stars officer who has ever set foot near our people.”

She lowered her hands. “Eight fingers is what it cost her. Others have lost their lives for far less. Nana knows exactly where the line is, and she walks it closer than anyone among the clans. Without her, we would have been lost long ago.” She took a deep breath. “When she passes, I shall become the new Sky, but the clan will be without the Sea. We have nobody to take her place as healer and guide.”

“What happens then? Can’t you just train someone for the role?”

Minlah offered him a small smile. “It is the way of the clans. Earth must possess the power to protect, and the discipline to lead. Sky carries the power of sight, and the responsibility to share our stories. And the Sea must have the gift of healing and the wisdom to guide the clan. Without them, our people must disperse among the other clans.”

It sounded very inefficient.

Minlah continued. “We are beginning negotiations with the nearby clans, but the clans are all nomadic. There is no certainty we will find who we need, and even if we do, they may not wish to perform the ceremony with any of our people.”

That sounded like a complicated marriage proposal. Definitely inefficient. But he wasn’t going to be the asshole that said so.

Alexander nodded. “I hope the, uh, negotiations go well.” He waited a few moments. To be polite. Then he changed the subject. “I was hoping you could point me in the direction of the fortress. And if you could tell me what to expect if I went back there?”

Minlah’s eyes narrowed. “The fortress will be heavily guarded by now. The Empire of Stars will have sent their archmages down from the Heavens to investigate. They are few, but they are all powerful.”

Alexander frowned. “I’m a bit confused. I thought you were part of the Empire of Stars.”

Minlah stiffened. “The Earth and Stars are not one people.” Her voice was quiet, but the edge was sharp. “The Stars believe they own this world, and they rule over us. We are forced to labor for them, though some of us choose to do so willingly, to protect our clans or to earn wands through service.”

Her voice rose. “We are forbidden all but the simplest of magics. They hoard knowledge like they alone have the right to greater power. They take our people and use them as fuel for their ships and their weapons. They cut our fingers off for speaking out of turn, and they burn our villages for possessing a single staff.”

Minlah’s hands had curled into fists in her lap.

Alexander gave her a moment. Then he asked the question that mattered most. “How? They can’t keep you from using the System, can they?”

Minlah let out a sharp breath. “The System allows a wizard to bind a spellbook or staff to their soul, yes. But in doing so, it adds them to its rankings, which the Stars use to hunt them down.” She shook her head. “And even if one of us could create a staff or spellbook, the spells that fill them, the knowledge of how to craft and bind and shape greater magic, all of it is kept from us. Forbidden. Hoarded behind the walls of their star fortresses where no Earth wizard may set foot unless they are in chains.”

Minlah sat there breathing hard. Around them, people had paused to listen. There were murmurs of what sounded like agreement, though Droney didn’t translate. He didn’t need to. Nodding was universal.

As was the anger on their faces.

Alexander understood. Even across different worlds, and though methods differed, power accumulated in the hands of the few and was then used to lord over the others. His world had the mega-corps, with their prisons and indentured servitude contracts. The cultists captured and spent the souls of their people for power.

The Empire of Stars sounded like traditional slavers, just with flashy magic.