Manifold [An Interstellar Sci-Fi Progression Story with LitRPG Elements]

[Gehen Eastern District]

The engine's low hum murmured beneath the tension, throwing it into sharp relief as the vehicle trundled through the wide streets. They passed thin, emaciated figures with shoddy plastic masks for faces and eyes that were deep and hungry.

The unmanned border-towers were left quickly behind them, and the hovels climbed taller and higher till they became dilapidated three-story complexes that extended for kilometers at a time. Betelgeuse felt his wrist-transceiver buzz, and he turned the screen towards himself to note that various high-urgency communications had come through the satellite network servicing Gehen.

... The Mentzer woman? Now's not the time.

Turning off his transceiver, Betelgeuse settled into a quiet observance of the passing buildings. There were rows upon rows of bombed-out husks and dumpster fires that flickered desultorily in the dark Desert night.

Eventually they halted by the side of a dingy alleyway flanked by meter-high walls on both sides. The engine was turned off to conserve fuel, and the cool air quickly turned humid and oppressive.

Betelgeuse and Filippov were squeezed into the troop compartment of the vehicle with about seven other sweaty women, watching, waiting, melting in the stuffiness. The smell was incredible. It was wider than an APC and slightly longer, and its outside was bolted over with layers of tarnished metal. There were only two ways to exit the vehicle—via a hatch at the center of the floor of the troop compartment, and via the doors to the butt of the vehicle.

It was a modified Dust-Trekker, Filippov had explained cursorily to Betelgeuse, used mostly by Ayish-Bejana to traverse the Mining Tunnels and the Elluhada Overland. How Queen She got her hands on one, Filippov couldn't tell.

Queen She sat directly to his left, her perfect features glazed with moisture. She met Betelgeuse' eyes and offered a smile that made his loins burn.

The feeling disoriented him. Betelgeuse let the feeling linger even as he kept his gaze steady, observing the artificial ways in which the Queen's lineaments were joined and carefully parsing it of mind-cathexes. Fair skin, a thin and straight nose, double-eyelids. These had all been manufactured to fit the same beauty standards plastered over the billboards that once overlooked Saltilla's financial district.

'Painfully average susceptibility to advertising pressures,' Betelgeuse thought, blinking like a frog, attempting at the same time to rescue his mind from its budding horniness.

"You must have questions," Queen She said, folding her legs thigh over thigh. Gone was her armor, and in its place was a form-fitting inner-suit of p-Nylon that accentuated her muscular and lithe body. None of the other women—members of her honor-guard all—dared to meet her eyes.

Betelgeuse was a privileged guest of Queen She Who Castrates. She had put him above her women. For what reason, he couldn't quite tell.

"You didn't seem too concerned with keeping me informed," Betelgeuse said. An irritated look flashed across Queen She's face, but it was gone as quickly as it had appeared.

"What's your name?" she asked, undeterred.

The seconds ticked by. Filippov nudged Betelgeuse surreptitiously with his elbow.

"Anton," Betelgeuse said. "Anton Turgenev."

Not good. He had been thinking of Filippov's name. Could he pass as a Slav? Maybe. Just play it cool.

"Anton? A good name," Queen She said.

Betelgeuse begged to differ, but he kept his thoughts to himself.

She continued, leaning forward and whispering sultrily into his ear: "I'll get a tekkie to fix your forehead, Anton, and then you'll be perfect."

Betelgeuse glanced out the tinted-window to the far side of the Dust-Trekker to observe that the street was deserted. He returned his attention to the Queen, wondering why the light seemed to bend around her form. Her lips were glistening with sweat, and he could feel his obsession with control begin to melt away…

"You look like you have questions," Queen She said again.

"Only the most obvious," Betelgeuse returned, deliberately breaking eye contact to stare at the large-chested, darker-skinned woman to the Queen's left. Internally, he was shoring up his defenses. Something about the Queen wasn't like how she seemed. Betelgeuse had seen the viciousness with which she had murdered her own, and yet now she felt like the very epitome of femininity.

Queen She exhaled and twitched her nose, as if insulted that Betelgeuse wasn't taking the bait. She shot a sideways glance to her left, at the woman Betelgeuse was looking at, who sounded like she was having some trouble breathing.

"Chalis," the Queen said, her voice lowering dangerously, her expression one of feigned concern, "what's the matter?"

"... Nothing, my—Your Highness. It's just the…" Chalis breathed, her face turning blue with fear, "... it's a little stuffy. I'll step outside."

As fast as she could, Chalis pulled on her mask and fumbled with the lever on the floor. Betelgeuse watched her wrangle the hatch open and tumble clumsily through it. The hatch slammed closed with a dull thunk.

Queen She returned her attention to Betelgeuse, folding her arms across her bosom and squeezing it with just the right pressure.

"You can ask me anything, Anton," she said in a sultry voice. The air became more uncomfortable than it already was, and Betelgeuse could feel the other women push their heads so far down that their chins touched their chests. Filippov remained silent as a sphinx.

"What are we waiting for?" Betelgeuse said, blinking the sweat from his eyes. "We've been here almost an hour."

"... A delivery," Queen She huffed, looking away. "We need enough meat to slow Rabid down. That's why I need your truck. Well, technically my truck now."

"And we're getting it here?" Betelgeuse asked, pointing out the window at the unfinished building that loomed over the wall left of the Dust-Trekker. The building had yawning holes where the windows were supposed to be. It looked abandoned and devoid of life.

"What do you know of Gehen, my dear Anton?" the Queen said, catching Betelgeuse' eyes in a strange gaze. She had a plurality of eyeballs and suddenly felt far older than what she seemed.

"You're the Gehennite. You tell me," Betelgeuse returned.

Queen She scoffed loudly. Betelgeuse wondered why they couldn't switch on the air conditioning while they were waited, but decided against mentioning it.

"Gehen is a place of community. It's known for smelting and sex work," Queen She said, her dark pupils shining mysteriously.

"... Enlightening," Betelgeuse muttered.

"The City-State's government collapsed several years ago. Gehen is now administered by a local coalition," Queen She continued explaining, her voice unnaturally soothing to Betelgeuse' ears. He tried to focus on what she was saying, but all he could think about were her legs.

"The coalition used to comprise prominent members from two groups, the Haigenot and Kushan, but the addition of Ujung ever since whatever happened with Saltilla makes three."

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A sense of vertigo overtook Betelgeuse senses. The Queen's voice was soft and alluring. He suppressed it, but felt a sense of uneasiness in his heart.

"Criminal gangs?" Betelgeuse asked, pushing his train of thought through the heady muskiness. There were many women here. All of them were subject to his control. He owned their asses—all of them, including the Queen. Thoughts of pleasure, thoughts of meat, thoughts of sex, thoughts of absolute domination.

Queen She squeezed up closer to Betelgeuse. They touched through the layers of wet fabric. Sweat and heat.

"No less criminal than us, dearest Anton," the Queen said gently. Red lust. Currents of frustration. Betelgeuse felt himself close to being overborne. Peering into the Queen's eyes felt like staring into a deep and dangerous abyss.

"What are we… doing here?" Betelgeuse asked, attempting with all his strength to keep himself focused.

"If I tell you, will you… help me? Will you be with me?" Queen She breathed, parting her lips slightly.

This woman was far from average. She was a diamond, a jewel of a woman, as if—

Compulsion.

Once he realized what Queen She was up to, Betelgeuse destroyed the seed of her control with the utmost prejudice. His hand shot out to catch Filippov's shoulder. The man's eyes had rolled back in its sockets, taking with it all traces of autonomy.

Betelgeuse felt his Incunabula pulse within his vest, pushing back the oppressive blanket into which the Queen had threaded her insidious attempt at control. The attempt being frustrated, he felt the anger overtake him, and he was about to turn the compulsion against the woman when something stopped him.

His intuition urged him to stay his hand. Not all things were won through direct competition.

Betelgeuse exhaled loudly. A flicker of confusion crossed Queen She's face, and she raised her eyebrow.

"Oh, I'll help you. It's what I'm here for. But I don't intend on becoming your lackey," Betelgeuse said calmly, shaking Filippov out of his momentary stupor and causing him to sputter momentarily.

She took control of Filippov easily. Bronze grade? Silver? No—more than likely a Bronze. A Silver grade wouldn't be out here fighting for survival.

Within the span of a few seconds, the insides of the Dust-Trekker became solid again. The weight of heat and stuffiness returned. It was regular old humidity.

Queen She unfolded her arms, momentarily nonplussed.

"... Interesting," she muttered, her words edged with bitterness. Her eyes flashed angrily and her neck muscles flexed like flying buttresses. She flared her nostrils, thinking many hidden things before returning her attention to Betelgeuse.

The outcome certainly wasn't what she expected. How could Anton defy her? How dare he resist?

He was far beneath her; he was a weakling, he was inexperienced, he was nothing more than a callow youth. He was a fly caught in her trap.

Betelgeuse knew what she was thinking. He possessed a preternatural awareness of control and the relationships by which it was exercised. Above all, he knew whenever others sought to dominate him

As far as he was concerned, neither his mind nor anything in it could be claimed by another. None could challenge what his will had made fiat.

She almost had me, I admit. Considering my affinity for the compulsion, she must possess an incredibly powerful technique.

… Assuming for the moment that she's a Bronze grade, could her Increment be specialized in manipulating or navigating the mind?

During our initial encounter with her, there was something strangely lurid and performative in the way she murdered her own subordinates.

Is it really so simple as terrorizing her minions into compliance?

I'm not so sure. Her skill isn't so much in the direct imposition of the compulsion, but in smuggling it into the mind through... emotions. At the same time, she establishes her superiority by shows of control over both men and women.

Something is still missing. The secret to her power lies somewhere between emotion and ideology.

Once I discern the link…

The Queen sat silently, watching every minuscule movement of Betelgeuse' body.

She was wary, but in the kind of way that a tiger was when seeing a porcupine for the first time. She was still the predator, and he was still the prey.

He forced himself not to react, emptying his face of all expression. Let her think what she liked. He would bide his time.

"I did have some specific questions, now that you've asked," Betelgeuse continued casually, as if the tussle for control had never happened. He turned his eyes out the tinted window.

"I take it this is where you source for your… followers?" he said, pointing at the dark building across the street.

Queen She snorted as if Betelgeuse had asked a stupid question.

"The Ujung traffic disposable girls to the fleshpots of Saltilla and Jegorich," she said, turning her head toward the window, her voice regaining its lilting tone. "That is where they'll hold the girls pending transport to the cities. "

"So, we're here to intercept a delivery," Betelgeuse realized.

"You see, elite men have a special weakness for young flesh," Queen She said. "It's my calling to save them from a fate worse than death."

'Save them?' Betelgeuse suppressed a derisive snort and glanced at the other women to gauge their reactions. They remained quiet. Still as statues. 'She condemns them to a short and brutal life. No way her tyranny is saving anyone.'

"Who's your contact?" Betelgeuse asked, glancing back at a furiously blinking Filippov and then returning his attention to a bemused Queen She.

She wasn't going to give him an answer.

"Perhaps someone in one of the other groups, Kushan or Haigenot. Maybe someone in Ujung itself," Betelgeuse said, answering his own question.

"Not all stupid, I give you that," the Queen muttered. "Keep quiet now. We must await our delivery with patience."

Betelgeuse turned to the opposite window and peered into the darkness beyond. Chalis was crouched up against a wall as if she was a destitute, her huddled body framed by the jagged cracks spiderwebbing across the red-stained concrete wall.

"Alliset," Queen She called toward the driver, who jerked and responded with a hasty, high-pitched "Yes, Your Highness!"

"Can't you feel how hot it is?" she said, her voice laced with venom. "Turn on the fucking engine!"

***

Queen She felt her clammy skin begin to cool.

Anton Turgenev was a curious man. A Slav, by his name, and yet without many of the physiognomical features that characterized Desertian Slavs. Earthian Slavs looked different, perhaps.

His youth belied his ability. He had frustrated her attempts at enslaving him. A part of her respected him for resisting, a part of her felt insulted that he dared to.

'He might have an Increment or Etching that specializes in foiling the compulsion. He helped his friend out of it easily,' she thought to herself.

Why didn't he retaliate? Maybe he couldn't.

He's been branded. A Penal Legionnaire that escaped the long arm of the TAF. Not someone to be underestimated…

Once again, Queen She's eyes gravitated towards Anton's. They were still close enough to touch. Was he strong or weak? She vacillated wildly. The mystery of it maddened her and turned her on at the same time.

She pressed herself closer to Anton and felt his pulse quicken.

She smiled.

Real hunger there. Lust. He can't control himself. I know he wants me.

What's there to underestimate? He's just a boy. Young, immature and inexperienced. Once I make him my slave, he'll be the perfect toy. I'll use him properly.

I can feel it. Just have to tweak his face a little and he'll sway the heart of any woman. I can feel it, his body, even under all that.

Acquiring Rafayel greatly increased the maximum size of my band. What about Anton? Oh, none of the others will be able to resist him. 200, maybe 300 more?

… I can't wait to see what's under all that. High-quality meat, for sure.

A knocking sound on the opposite window drew Queen She's attention. Chalis, rapping a knuckle on the pane and pointing down the street. The driver, Alliset, confirmed that the targets were arriving.

'Anton can wait until after this,' Queen She thought, suppressing the fire between her thighs.

The troop compartment was roused. The women armed themselves—slinging their railguns and checking that they were loaded.

About half a kilometer down, three holo-buses were turning into the street, their insides concealed behind drawn curtains. They traveled down several meters and then curved straight into the compound opposite.

Without further delay, the team in the troop compartment pulled on their masks, slipped through the floor-hatch and crouch-walked across the street.

It was a cool night. Queen She glanced left to ensure that the truck which Colonel Dog Balls had traded her had parked close by. She signaled at the driver, and several men exited the truck's cabin and joined up with her group.

Without a word, she led them to the compound's edge and quickly vaulted the low perimeter wall. Then, they sprinted 20 meters across open ground to the thick concrete column anchoring the corner of the building.

Queen She found herself surprised at the disciplined movements of the Colonel's men. She knew how to train them, that's for sure.

The building itself was little more than an unfinished concrete frame that was completely empty on the inside, save for pools of dirt and colorful stacks of rubbish.

Queen She peered around the right of the concrete column.

Some 300 meters down from them, the holo-buses were being unloaded under the hostile glare of a floodlight. A line of shackled and trembling women shuffled across the dusty floor, urged onward by hulking brutes that waited by the entrance of the buses. None of the women were masked.

Disposable indeed.

Queen She had long ago stopped feeling bad about such things. The world was a cruel place. She simply had to be more cruel.

One of the brutes led the women quickly into the building. Queen She shifted left and peered around the other side of the column, watching the line of women disappear into a hole in the ground.

According to her Ujung contact, the 'vetting' of the girls would be done in the basement.

"We'll wait here. Give it maybe 20 minutes," Queen She said.

Anton slung his railgun over his shoulder and glanced askance at her.