Waterstrider

Canvas Town, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

Through a projection created by Rachel, I watched as the fifty nine new disciples were shown around the interior of the rooms and training areas where they would be spending most of their time for the next few weeks. I hoped that they would all adjust well to this shift in their lives, and were able to fully dedicate themselves to learning martial arts.

Their excited discussions and anxious curiosity brought a slight smile to my face, reminding me of the friends who had joined the Downpour Sect with me. The smile faded as I recalled that I was the last, the sole remaining member of that group. I wondered whether or not this first entrance group would follow in our footsteps. I hoped not, though I knew I would willingly sacrifice all of their lives if it became necessary.

Soon I would pick those who had the most aptitude, to train them in my own arts while the rest would simply learn the best that the station had to offer under the stifling influence of the Hadal Clan. It would be enough. Most of them only needed to serve the role of cannon fodder, after all. It was the duty of any martial artist to serve the sect in any role they were asked to.

I chuckled softly to myself, my eyes glaring as I saw the naive, optimistic youth in those faces. I wondered just when I had lost that spark of hope inside of me. Watching them made me feel as if I truly had become a demon. I sighed at the thought, not enjoying the memories that had been dredged up. I turned to Rachel, who stood beside me.

I had thought that she had been watching the feed with me, but as I turned I immediately locked eyes with her. For some odd reason, she had been staring at me instead. She continued to silently stare rather than respond to my questioning gaze.

“Is something wrong?” I asked, my curiosity and annoyance finally taking hold.

Rachel smirked at me and shrugged.

“I like watching you brood.”

I had long decided that it was best to simply brush past Rachel’s oddities, ascribing it to the unique nature of her personality, or perhaps some odd cultural norm among the Terrans.

“Has the Hadal Clan reacted yet?” I asked, choosing to change the subject.

Rachel shook her head, glancing at the movements of the new disciples.

“The Vice-Leader of the Heirs immediately went over to their headquarters, and nothing happened as a result. I believe they may have come to some sort of arrangement in order to avoid a gang war.”

“Damn,” I muttered, my hopes dashed.

I had hoped that the Celans’ breach of the pact might have ignited the hostilities between the two factions again, resulting in them weakening one another even further. It was honestly a surprise that it had not. After all, allowing such a blatant move to occur risked damaging their reputation in the underworld. I frowned as I considered whether there were any other simple methods of inciting them.

“I expect that the matriarch might be intending to test us,” said Rachel, interrupting my train of thought.

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“If the Hadal Clan chooses not to pursue the matter, then all that is left is our dispute with the Celans. If we also choose not to hit them back, then our reputation will dip. At such an early stage, we can't risk that unless we have to.”

I frowned in realization as I considered her words, her idea seeming very likely. The matriarch wished to use us as pawns, and this was the perfect opportunity to gauge our strength. Unlike the clan, we could not simply let the matter pass. Our reputation would directly influence the quality and amount of new disciples that would desire to enter the sect in future entry examinations. In addition, if we seemed too weak, local gangs might cause problems in our territory hoping to steal some of it from us. While our sect had more members than the Redwater Gang had, I was not as strong as Hidoro had been, and would have difficulty facing off against the most powerful member of many of the gangs in Canvas Town.

“Forcing our hand,” I muttered, and Rachel nodded.

“We’ll have to think of a way to attack the Heirs without exacerbating the conflict further.”

Rachel laughed at her own words, and I glanced back at her. She gave me an awkward smile as she explained.

“We don’t need to worry about exacerbating the conflict, since I expect we’re already their top priority. No matter what we do, they’ll either decide to attack in force, starting a war with the Hadal Clan, or many of their executives will flee the station.”

For a moment I had difficulty understanding her meaning, but then a flash of memory from several weeks before hit my mind.

“Right, because the Epon courier should be arriving soon.”

Rachel smiled, cracking a joke.

“No one fears the Epon more than their subordinates.”

“Should we just steal from another warehouse? It should be profitable, and if I’m lucky they might actually have formless treasures this time.”

Rachel shook her head.

“They shouldn’t have any formless treasures. Flickering, maybe. I have another idea that you might like, though.”

I raised an eyebrow as she continued to speak. She had an amused look in her eye that told me that not only did she find her own idea funny, she was also serious about it.

“Have you ever heard of a figure known as the ‘Real Spider?’”

I frowned and then shook my head.

“Can’t say I have.”

“She’s an information broker who is a tangential member of the Heirs. A direct relative of the Vice-Leader, even. I expect speaking with her would be almost more effective at finding that Staiven than breaking into a government network like we had considered before.”

“Are we still discussing a manner of attacking the Celans?” I asked.

Rachel grinned at me.

“Obviously we are. My suggestion is that we kidnap her.”

Little Celah, Tseludia Station, Pantheonic Territory, Fourthmonth, 1634 PTS

Deuvar marched up towards a sizable townhome in the nicest part of Little Celah, several stacks and many levels away from the nearest slum. The building was done up in a fanciful style, a fine work of architecture, all swooping overhangs and arched windows. It was an architectural style that had been popular among the Celan population of Tseludia in the early days of their refuge here, influenced both by their own culture and by introduction to the other residents of the station.

As he approached the door it slid open as if on its own accord, without even requiring him to tap. He knew that his visit had been expected by the home’s sole resident. A small wellspring of anxiety rose up inside of his chest.

The building’s interior was also decked out in an ostentatious manner, filled with so many paintings and sculptures that one would almost think it to be a rich Seiyal’s dwelling. But it was also full of plants.

Hanging from hooks in the ceiling, resting on indentations in the wall, and sitting on pots in the floor, the plants had their origins from all sorts of different worlds, some of them from ecosystems so alien that they lacked structures such as chlorophyll entirely, and the building was a menagerie of color. The art pieces peeked through gaps in the flora, shifting the aesthetic significantly. It came across as more of a garden than a greenhouse.

Deuvar traced a habitual path through the hall, emerging into a sitting room where the plants remained omnipresent, but the art pieces had been replaced with bookshelves, each filled with books of all sizes and shapes, written by a variety of cultures. Resting on a couch, a book in hand, was an old Korlove man, wisps of gray hair draping down around his mouthparts as he sipped a warm drink from a mug. He did not react to Deuvar’s entrance whatsoever, merely turning a page with another of his limbs.

Deuvar bowed, kneeling down before the man.

“Leader,” he said in greeting, his tone one of utmost respect.

The Leader of the Heirs of Ottrien turned, as if he had finally noticed Deuvar’s presence. In all of the years that he had known and worked with the man, Deuvar had still yet to learn his name, nor any details of his identity, save that he had moved here decades ago and quickly started building up their organization from the ground up. Deuvar had long suspected that he might be a wanted man, or former high profile figure from another system decades to a century ago.

“Report,” said the Leader, the words drawling out of his mouth as he finally set the book down, carefully placing a fine ribbon between its pages to mark his place.

“Sir, the attempt to capture the Shade at the entry examination failed, however I was able to avert war by giving away certain properties to the Seiyal.”

“So Triezal attacked them and still failed to capture it?” he asked, and Deuvar could sense an intense rage growing within his superior.

The Leader of the Heirs was known for both his refined demeanor and his capacity for extreme violence when he was angry. Even Deuvar himself could never be certain he would emerge from his abode uninjured.

“That is indeed the case, sir,” he said, speaking as humbly as possible.

Deuvar was a man who appreciated efficiency, so he avoided unnecessary niceties and attempts to shift the Leader’s reactions via excessively florid language. While it did result in the Leader being more easily angered by his reports, he knew that the man did appreciate his straightforward nature. It was a large part of the reason he had been promoted to his current position.

“I see. And you want to know whether or not to shift our policy, now that the situation has worsened yet again?” asked the Leader, his anger cooling slightly.

“Yes sir.”

The Leader considered his words, as if trying to decide which move to make. Deuvar knew that the Leader was under just as much pressure as he himself was, for he would be the first that the Epon would fault for the matter.

“No change,” spat the leader, his teeth slightly grinding on one another as he forced the words out. “I will revoke all force restrictions. You tell that damn magister that I will kill him myself if he fails again.”

Deuvar paused and then stood, bowing at his employer.

“By your will, Leader.”

He then turned, stolidly making his way back to the door.

Behind him, he thought he heard the Leader sigh, and as he reached the exit, he heard the sound of paper on paper as a page was turned in the Leader’s book.

Tseludia System: [Located within the territory controlled by the Pantheon, Tseludia is a system with only four planets, two sunburnt rocky worlds in the interior of the system, one gas giant, and one icy world at the edge. It has two asteroid belts, one of which is located between the rocky worlds and the gas giant. The largest inhabited location is Tseludia Station, located within the interior asteroid belt in order to serve as a place for asteroid and moon based mining groups to transport goods so that they can be shipped out of system to be sold. Everything in the system is government owned, though many mineral rights have been licensed out to corporations. The Tseludia System is in an isolated area near the Frontier region, but still firmly within the Pantheonic Territory. It is one of the systems where refugees are often relocated to due to its relative lack of importance and the station's low desirability as a residence to Staiven seeking to move to another system. This is in large part due to the relative low income nature of the region, but also due to the poor design of the station itself.]