The Stargazer's War - Chapter 3.11

Chapter 3.11: The Mortal Life

“Exactly what part of ‘keep your head down’ did you not understand?” Charlotte’s voice rang in my ear as I stepped down Lucy’s gangway on my way to work.

“In my defense, my head was down,” I said into my holopad.  “My mouth was just open.  Threads, I wasn’t even trying to talk to them.  One of them had their sense meridian running for some threads forsaken reason and they overheard me.”

“And you escalated that into a fight?”

“I didn’t mean to,” I tried.  “Look, I was calling one of them ‘Baldy’ in my head as a little joke about his receding hairline because he was being a prick and then I found out his name was actually Baldric of all things and I just… I couldn’t help myself.  It was funny.”

“I swear on the threads Cal, one of these days you’re going to get yourself killed over a stupid joke because you couldn’t help yourself.”

I rubbed the bridge of my nose.  “I know, I know.  I just… the more I cycle my brain meridian, the more I come out of it with this sense that my qi is turning me into this unfeeling robot.  If I don’t make a concerted effort to stay human, to stay me, I don’t know how much of me is gonna be left at the end of all this.”

“None of you is going to be left if you die starting stupid fights!”  Charlotte’s voice raised.  “Cal, you aren’t a mortal anymore.  You can’t keep pretending to be.  When you have power, there are consequences to the things you say and do.”

“You think mortals don’t experience consequences?  Have you been paying attention at all?  Those guys drew blades because I laughed in front of them.  If I hadn’t been a cultivator I would’ve spent last night in a med bay or a morgue.  Far as I can tell, mortals are just about the only ones who actually do consistently have to deal with the consequences of their actions.  And other peoples’ actions for that matter.”

“Yes, yes, life’s not fair and the mortals have it the worst.  I get it, Cal.  We all get it.  It’s always been like that, and unless you’ve got a secret path all the way to Black Hole, it’s always going to be like that.  Beating up lower level cultivators isn’t going to change that.”

“They attacked me!” I defended myself as I strapped into the transport.  “I just wanted to eat my dinner in—”

“You baited them, Cal.  I know you want to blend in, but you tricked them into thinking you were an easy target and then provoked them.  I don’t care if they pulled weapons against a mouthy mortal.  What you did reads an awful lot like a high-tier cultivator looking for an excuse to punch down.”

“I know,” I groaned.  “I screwed up.  How bad is this gonna blow back on me?”

“The good news is, none of them had sect ties.  As far as the Right Eye is concerned, you disciplined a few uppity outcasts.  That won’t stop this Nguyen person from retaliating, but from how you told your victims might not tell their master about it.  The real problem is the information.  You’ve let the sect know that you can be provoked, and you’ve shown them exactly how to do it.  There’s a very real chance you’re about to start having more run-ins with rude cultivators.”

“Shit.”

“Shit is right.  It’s no guarantee, but you’ve exposed a lever.  Could be nobody sees any benefit from riling you up—the elders still haven’t figured you out, and that unpredictability is an effective deterrent—but levers beg to be pulled and sooner or later someone bold or desperate enough is going to pull it.”

I shut my eyes and took a deep breath.  “Okay.  What do I do?”

“For now?  Nothing,” Charlotte answered.  “The more you minimize your reaction, the less effective provoking you looks.  Keep going to work, keep going out with your friends.  In a week or so you should probably go back to that same bar, just to prove you’re still willing to.  After that… you might want to roam a bit further afield for your nights out.  Find bars away from sect territory.  If sect cultivators have to travel to run into you, it’ll make any ‘chance encounters’ a lot more suspicious.”

“Bill’ll be happy,” I said.  “He lives way out in the boonies.  Probably knows some spots—maybe not good spots but definitely cheap ones.”  I sighed.  “Anything else?”

“Carry Shiver,” Charlotte told me in a tone that brooked no disagreement.  “Not immediately—it can’t be too obviously a reaction to last night—but in a week or two.  Masquerading as mortal or otherwise, actually looking like you can defend yourself should help deter harassment.  Worst case it gives you some plausible deniability.  They can’t accuse you of tricking people into thinking you helpless if you’ve got a sword on your back.”

I blinked.  “You sure about that?”

“Someone might try, but it’ll be easier to argue.  The goal here is to stop some copper from provoking you, getting beat up, and using that as an excuse for his iron cousin to challenge you to an honor duel.  The more holes we can poke in that narrative, the better.”

“Understood.  I guess my coworkers already know I’m a cultivator now.  Wouldn’t be surprised if word has already spread to the entire crew by this time tomorrow.”  I glanced out the window to find my transport had nearly arrived.  “I’m almost there.  Before I go, how are you?  Must be stressful being holed up with your family so long.”

“I’m fine.”  Her words came out clipped.  “Everything’s fine.  Have a good day at work, Cal.”

“I’ll try.  Thanks, Charlotte.”

The call ended.

Something felt off about Charlotte’s answer at the end there, a tension to her voice that belied the words.  Anyone else I would’ve accused of putting up a strong front for their friend.  From Charlotte, it bugged me.

She was a better lier than that.

The only reason I could figure was that she wanted to communicate that all was not well, but couldn’t.  Had someone been listening in?

My concern didn’t last long, supplanted within minutes as I disembarked to find a familiar face waiting among the hustle and bustle of the transport terminal.

“Hidden master!” Blondie—alone, thank the threads—saluted.

I audibly groaned.  If word about my cultivation hadn’t already spread to every vac welder in the complex, it would soon.  I approached her.  “How did you find me?”

“After much reflection on your instruction, I returned to the scene of our shame late in the evening.  The bartender said he didn’t recognize you, but knew some of the mortals you dined with to be vac welders.  Exterior maintenance has three departure points with an hour’s commute of Hijinks, but as this was both the closest and the largest, I came here first.  Had you not arrived, tomorrow I would’ve visited the airlock in the Ilsion district.”

I blinked, both at the thoroughness of the answer and the lengths she’d apparently gone to.  “Please tell me you didn’t hurt the bartender.”

“No, master.  He was most forthcoming.”

Of course he was, I thought.  He’d just seen how ready your friends are to draw weapons.  Red paste and all that.  “I’m not your master,” I told her, eager to get this over with and actually make it to work on time.  “Now what do you want?”

“Teach me!” she implored, visibly excited at the idea.  “Take me as your student.  You’re clearly wiser and more skilled than Master Nguyen, and your philosophies about remaining in touch with the mortals are unlike any I’ve heard before.  I assure you I would be a most dedicated disciple.”

I really, really hoped that last sentence didn’t imply what I thought it implied.  “I’m not a teacher, am a vac welder.”  I made a point of directing my gaze away from her and towards the door.  “And I’m going to be late for work.”

“Please!  I’ll give you everything I have, my credits, my treasures, anything.  Master Nguyen only shares his weakest techniques, and you’ve seen how insufferable my fellow disciples are.”

I scowled as she threw her friends under the bus, remembering clearly that she herself had asserted their ‘right’ to push mortals around.  Her only real selling point over the others was that she’d been smart enough to realize they were outmatched before drawing a weapon, and that she was ambitious enough to pull this little stunt.

“No,” I told her plainly.  “I have nothing to teach you.”  I moved to step past her.

She dropped to her knees, apparently a habit of hers.  “I beg of you, if not your tutelage at least a nugget of wisdom.  I understand I am not worthy of your instruction, but I swear if I could only glimpse the first step of your Way I could prove myself talented enough to walk it.”

I almost snorted at the idea.  Even if I had such a piece of advice to set her on my Way, it sounded like a great method for manufacturing void psychos.  I opened my mouth to refuse her outright, when a devilish idea struck.

I wasn’t a teacher, but I knew someone who ostensibly had been.  A part of me screamed that I shouldn’t indulge either of the two women in question, that there were a handful of ways this could go horribly wrong, but the situation was almost too serendipitous to ignore.  With any luck, they’d keep each other busy and, more importunely, out of my business.

Lopez had, after all, come begging me for people to listen to her.  Here was one volunteering.

My mouth started moving before I could talk myself out of it.  “There’s a man and a woman, a mortal and a cultivator, somewhere on this station—probably somewhere that sees a lot of mortal foot traffic but few cultivators.  She cultivates, and he preaches of god nobody’s heard of to passersby who neither believe nor care.  If you can find me here in under twelve hours, I’m sure you can locate them with enough time.  When you do, tell her I sent you.  Tell her I found you bullying mortals, and that she should set an appropriate penance.”

I thought to end there, but I realized this was too valuable an opportunity to waste.  I swiped my holopad info over to her.  “When you find them, tell me where.”

“Yes, hidden master!  Thank you for this insight.  I swear on my cultivation I won’t let you down.”  She kowtowed, even though last night I’d pretty much explicitly told her not to.  

I rolled my eyes and walked away.

Encouraging Lopez’s insanity would probably find a way to bite me in the ass, but from my encounter with her she seemed to at least take what I said and did to heart.  Threads, she’d come to me alongside a mortal—if a thread sensitive one—and hadn’t once treated him like a servant.  Maybe she’d be good for Blondie.

If nothing else, I’d have an easier time keeping tabs on her if I knew where she’d set up, and I had to admit my curiosity.  I hadn’t the slightest clue how this would play out, but it was bound to be interesting.  At least Lopez would be les likely to view me as an obstacle now that I’d given her what she’d asked for, if only in part.

A slight grin stretched across my face as I stepped out of the terminal and realized what exactly had just happened.  I, a mysterious hidden master with strange techniques and philosophies, had just sent an ambitious young cultivator on a quest.  I chuckled at the concept.

My amusement didn’t last.  It took six steps into the busy staging room for every eye in there to turn my way.  I stopped and surveyed my onlookers, trying to find some enjoyment in their variety of responses to eye contact.  Some leapt into salutes, others averted their eyes, others still just stared back, either staring shamelessly or too petrified at a cultivator’s direct attention to react.

I let out a sigh and kept walking, doing my best to ignore it.  I hadn’t been gawked at so intensely since Fyrion, and that had been a mix of fascination and derision, the calculating looks of people who thought themselves social maneuverers evaluating a new variable.

This was fear.  I was sure they’d all heard the same kinds of stories I had growing up.  Threads, working this close to the sect, a good chunk of them probably knew people who’d been imprisoned or maimed or killed on the whims of a cultivator.  I wanted to flash them a grin, to try and assuage them, convince them that I wasn’t like that.

Somehow I couldn’t bring myself to smile at the fear in their eyes.

Bill and Ursula had already suited up halfway by the time I made it to our usual spot.  I sat next to them.  “Mornin’,” I said.  “So am I fired, or what?”

“Fired?” Bill seemed surprised by the question.  “Nah.  I had a chat with Foreman Lou.  He doesn’t want to touch you with a ten foot pole.  Says you’re above his pay grade.  ‘Long as you aren’t fiddling with the enchantments to steal qi, you can weld to your heart’s content.”  He blinked at me.  “You aren’t stealing qi, are you?”

I withheld my chuckle.  Far as that could be from the truth, it was a valid concern.  “No.  If I wanted more qi, this would’t be how I’d go about getting it.”

He shrugged.  “Well, there you go.”  He tossed me a helmet.  “Now suit up.  We’ve got holes to patch, and apparently you haven’t been working as hard as you could be.”

That earned a smile.  Cultivator or not, Bill had been working here for almost as long as I’d been alive.  That earned him seniority.  “Yes, boss,” I told him.

I climbed into my vac suit in record time, not considering for a moment going without it.  The mortals around me might not have recognized the significance of a cultivator surviving a hard vacuum unprotected, but any watchers from the sect would know something was up.  Not many iron cultivators could do such a thing, let alone the bronze they thought me to be.  That was a card worth preserving.

It felt good, stepping into the airlock.  The atmosphere whooshing out of the vents took with it my worries about retribution from Master Nguyen or their disciples, my mounting dread of provocations from the sect, and even my concern for Charlotte.  For the next eight hours, I was safe, I was in my element, and I had a job to do.

It wasn’t quite the calm and comfortable life I’d lost on RF-31, but the work reminded me of where I came from, even as the frightened stares from my coworkers served as their own stark reminder of how far I’d come, and Lopez’s madness and Carlos’s tarot deck offered their own dark hints of where I might be going.

For now I contented myself with remembering the mortal life, with staying in touch with what it meant to be human for as long as I could, before the endless uncaring and imminent danger of my Way inevitably forced me to leave such simplicity behind.  

Politics could wait until my day off.

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