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

"... Boy do I need a haircut," Douglas remarked, fresh from his morning preen and admiring himself in the mirror. From Betelgeuse' angle the light reflected upon its surface separated into a rainbow splay of different colors. The rainbow dab blotted Douglas' goggle-eye from view and it gouged out a large chunk of that man's cheek besides, making of that head something hollow and brightly lit on the inside.

"Shouldn't be diff'cult to get one," mumbled Voke from behind, shuffling drowsily in from the bunkroom and scratching his ass-crack. His messy tangle of hair was bunched up in a somnolent coiffure so that his penal brand could be clearly seen, and as he passed, yawning, under a lintel blacked with mildew, Betelgeuse' attention shifted upward to rest on those spotty patches colored gray to black and reminding him a little of cheek acne.

"Zat so? Any recs to go with your pointless comment, O wise and sagacious Ashen One?" Douglas turned to wave his left arm-stump energetically, the raw redness of that non-limb having over the days since their return subsided into a tender pinkness. Betelgeuse was still observing the mildew; he knew it would spread, because the dehumidifiers weren't working in the bathroom, and he shuddered to think where the fungus would reach by the time he was reallocated from Barracks Block 50.

"Shuddap yeah? They mean the same thing, sagacious and wise. You're repeating yourself," Voke grumbled irritably, coming up to the sink left of Betelgeuse. "And stop bein' so chipper… It's goddamn irritating, ain't it, B.T.?" he said, elbowing Betelgeuse for support. Betelgeuse said nothing, and when Voke turned he found the man with his had canted upward and staring blankly into space.

"B.T.?"

"Ballsman, you having a moment?"

"I'm fine. I guess we should look for a barber, freshen up a bit before we go visiting the Family Ward with Entuban," Betelgeuse said, shaking himself from his stupor. He turned to the sink beside him and, twisting the tap's knob, splashed his face with cool water. He wondered absentmindedly if a request for a contractor-specialist to deal with the mildew would be entertained. It was a health thing, right? And if they didn't deal with it now it'd cost far more once the damage became more widespread. Maybe he could go through Cacliocos.

"Shit, I forgot about that," Douglas sighed. "They really did have to schedule it for our free day, huh. This afternoon right? The memorial's not gonna be pretty."

"Death is not supposed to be pretty. It is a solemn affair," Voke said, looking into the mirror and inspecting his face for pimples.

"Kay. We have a reason to find a barber now," Douglas returned nonchalantly.

"Think we should ask Teat along?" Voke suggested, curling his lips and inspecting his teeth in the mirror.

"Fuckno—"

"Can it, Downie. We're all that's left of the LR PLPs. I'm sure the Teat could use some company," Voke pressed. "What you think, B.T?"

Betelgeuse turned off the tap. He looked down into the sink's porcelain gloss, watching the pool of water bubble and drain, feeling the icy refreshment fade away with the droplets falling from his face. He wanted to raise his head but found the prospect of staring himself in the mirror unpalatable, as if he were afraid that that face would take a life of its own and control him.

"We need someone who can translate and guide us through the city," Betelgeuse said, stepping away from the sink while keeping his vision lowered and raising his head only once he had turned away from he mirror. He made for the towel hanging by the metal bar beside the bunkroom entrance and, reaching it, stopped and stared at the green microfiber. 'This was hanging near the mildew,' he thought, and he regretted letting his thoughts wander for now he could not use the towel without thinking that he was rubbing fungus into his skin.

The spores might take hold in the subcutaneous area. They'll root in my blood vessels.

He stared at the towel, feeling ridiculous. Then he pulled it roughly from the rack, causing it to flap violently.

"So… someone who can translate and guide equals Teat?" Voke inquired, glancing curiously at Betelgeuse and trying to puzzle out exactly what had gotten into him. That man had a habit of deliberately mystifying his purposes and thoughts.

"Oh come on… the bitch has it out for me," Douglas whined.

"Okay, look at it this way,' Voke suggested, watching Betelgeuse saunter back into the bunkroom with a wet face and a dry towel clutched in his left hand. "After the demerits they slapped us with, none of us really have any money—"

"We have negative money—"

"Let me finish, Downie, remember!"

"Kekay, sorry, go ahead. For the record this doesn't count as breaking my promise because I'm reaffirming it. The promise to listen more, I mean, not the one about being less annoying cos no one could ever be annoyed with yours truly."

Voke continued, rolling his eyes at Douglas: "So we can't use any money except what was in our digiwallets, which I'm guessing is basically nothing, but now we get Sarge Teat on the hook if she's with us, and she's gonna take pity on us, her favorite boys, so when it becomes clear we can't pay she'll pick up the tab. A little dash of peer pressure never hurt nobody."

"Ha! I like your plan Cockster," Douglas grinned.

Betelgeuse could see the conspirators from his bed, hear bits and pieces of their conversation. Their cheerfulness did little to allay the uneasy silence that had fallen over the bunkroom, because there was no one else but them—they were all that were left, like Voke said. A thin layer of dust had covered the whole place save for the small area which Voke, Betelgeuse and Douglas were using, Douglas having shifted over to the bunkbed beside Betelgeuse which was originally allocated to Caleb Reyes. Betelgeuse passed his eyes over the empty bunkroom and observed a cloud of particles swirling like glitterdust by the light streaming in through the dirty windows.

He glanced over to where Frederica had bunked, saw the sheets pulled taut over the mattress, smooth as the day they left. He'd not spoken to her much then, didn't know a whole lot about her, and he wouldn't speak to her ever again. He leaned forward and stuffed his hand underneath his mattress, felt around to where he had secreted Frederica's Incunabulum, and was relieved to find that it was still there. A loneliness unlike anything he had heretofore experienced penetrated his bones, and he exhaled forcibly, trying to push out all trace of the feeling from his lungs. To no avail.

There was laughter in the bathroom and he turned to see Douglas prancing around and shadow-boxing by alternating strikes between his arm and non-arm. Betelgeuse observed that face and couldn't help remembering the moment that they had stepped out of the APC and into the Saltillan sunbeams.

Purple lips, leechlike and gasping for air. Tightness in the chest, fluid in his lungs, the world careening around him. Douglas' eyeballs splaying so far apart he could see to the east and west at the same time.

They had barely made it back to Liberation's Reach, and reaching there, they found it abandoned, only managing to pick up several hours worth of oxygen—the choice was between risking their precious oxygen to look for more oxygen, or chancing the drive over the Amate with what little they already had.

Then Entuban fell into unconsciousness and would not wake up, and the decision was made for them.

Though many had died in the LR op, they had survived in the end, and that was the only thing that mattered. They survived because of their will. Of course, credit also had to go to Cacliocos because he ensured they had water, the liquid of life being amongst his Incunabulum blessings to generate. And, although no one else knew it, they survived also because Betelgeuse had found himself capable of wielding a new power.

Love what you're reading? Discover and support the author on the platform they originally published on.

It was a confluence of circumstances. Because they survived, Betelgeuse considered it a victory.

"First parade's in fifteen minutes," Betelgeuse called to his colleagues, permitting himself a small smile to commemorate what had come to pass.

First parade and strength-taking were a mere formality, considering that the 67th Penal Legion in Saltilla comprised only four persons. But lip service had to be paid to the Green Book, Thete decided, and the parade was mustered with four people—Betelgeuse, Voke and Douglas lined up at attention, their heads making an ellipsis before Sergeant Thete Jutson—and then quickly dismissed once she conveyed the Jegorich-Division-wide announcement that TAF Captain Crowley had been given over to the Detention Barracks.

Then Voke delivered the trio's proposition, asking if Thete would be so kind as to lead them to a barber-station.

"Okay," Thete said, giving it no more than a second's thought. "Most all Saltillans speak Common anyway, but I can agree to be your guide. Anyway the shuttle bus service is suspended until further notice, so we're going to have to take the train."

"I'm not going to be your wallet, though," she added, prosthetic eye flashing a dramatic crimson, her right eyelid fluttering erratically.

She'd sussed them out immediately and by the time they got onto the Underground train at 'Milhub Station-Mainline' Douglas was already grumbling about how "they'd been had", fools that they were.

The train missiled silently through the darkness, gliding so smoothly Betelgeuse could believe it traversed the tunnel-way frictionlessly. The train comprised about twenty-five carriages, and the PLPs had entered the carriage third from the front. There were others that shared this space: an old couple and several young women, about seven of them, whispering amongst themselves. All of them were Saltillans, by their skin-color (the shades seemingly far darker than the average Saltillan Betelgeuse had seen) and physiognomy, and all of them, if Betelgeuse' observations were accurate, regarded the dark-jacketed, blue-lapelled Taffies with expressions of heavily-veiled suspicion.

Nothing specific evidenced that suspicion, but it was in the body language, the slight furrowing of the brows, the furtive glances paired with silent sniffles. Perhaps the other PLPs sensed it too, for none of them deigned to sit.

Not that Betelgeuse cared. Whilst Voke and Douglas bickered between themselves he stared out the small window, his mind treading and retreading the words he'd shared with Frederica in her last moments. Without the train loomed a sepulchral darkness occasionally broken by flaring light-tubes. They hurtled on, through subterranean tunnels hung with gloom. It was dark enough to remind him of the tomb they had been trapped in, where she had breathed her last.

"It shouldn't be more than fifteen minutes," Thete said softly. She had come up beside Betelgeuse, abandoning the other two to their verbal one-upmanship. "The next station is Metternich," she added, implying that that was their stop.

"I see," Betelgeuse returned, his expression vacant.

"... Probably less than fifteen minutes. Then we'll walk to Prilogia, maybe we'll find a barber-station," Thete continued, and Betelgeuse could feel she would prefer the silence between them did not reassert itself.

"You're the one who knows Saltilla," Betelgeuse shrugged.

"... I've only been here once before," Thete said, looking away to lock gazes with the old couple sitting to their left. The connection was held for less than half a second and then broken by the wrinkled septuagenarians, their heads turning together so that both their sunken, prunish cheeks were proffered to Thete at the same time.

"How d'you know where to go then?" Betelgeuse glanced askance at her.

"I've been there, where we're going… " she said, trailing off. Her right eye seemed to glaze over, as if she were remembering something that had happened a long time ago. Betelgeuse waited patiently for the moment to pass, and when she came to, she leaned forward so that her face came uncomfortably close to Betelgeuse' ear: "I'm actually just winging it," she whispered. Betelgeuse glanced over at Douglas and Voke to make sure they weren't looking.

"Back on Earth we had GPS in our transceivers. Down here we gotta navigate on foot. Sounds like a downgrade," Betelgeuse replied, pursing his lips and taking a step to the side to put some space between Thete and himself.

"Eh, we are always working with what we have. No use lamenting," Thete said, drawing her head back and eyeing Betelgeuse' sling bag within which he had secreted his Incunabulum.

"I agree. We use what we have," he said, and, hearing this, Thete wondered if he were not referring to something in particular.

A thin sound like rushing air filled their ears and then melted away into silence.

"Say… the fact you're able to resist… it's something I've never been seeing before. I got caught up in the confusion, you know, not being able to process any of it while we had survival on our mind, and… ah… I admit I became suspicious because I didn't know who was controlling me, if you were maybe fucking around with my mind. I admit I suspected you, but it was just confusion. Just confusion."

"Okay," Betelgeuse replied, finding Thete's justification overly simplistic but not knowing what else to say or if she were even expecting a reply. "What's your point?"

"That sum attitude? I'm sorry, okay? For all of whatever happened between us. It's too complicated to explain," Thete huffed, looking up at Betelgeuse and staring at him with wide eyes and slapping him on his lower back. A jolt of pain lanced up Betelgeuse' spine and it took no small amount of self-possession to pretend like he barely felt the blow. Thete's strength was no joke.

"I guess I'm sorry too. I did some petty shit," Betelgeuse acknowledged.

"Ha! You're a young guy. You'll learn," Thete laughed loudly, her demeanor changing so quickly Betelgeuse had whiplash. He glanced to the side to see Voke staring at them with confused expressions; Douglas was making dramatic overtures with his lips and mouthing accusations at Betelgeuse for 'fraternizing with the enemy'.

The carriage floor shuddered momentarily and then fell still. Betelgeuse glanced out the window, then returned his attention to Thete.

"I wanted to ask…" Betelgeuse began, unsure of how exactly he would phrase his thought.

"Hm?"

"... I wanted to ask if we'll ever have any opportunity to communicate with the other TAF Brigades."

"What kinda business you have with them?"

"Say if I wanted to talk with someone specific."

"You mean with Edith."

"... Yes."

Thete blew air out of her mouth, and her puffy cheeks seemed to sag. "Edith's being remanded in the detention-racks for the foreseeable future, at least until the Military Tribunal can come to a decision on Cacliocos' complaint against Hrodwulf."

"Detention Barracks. Like Crowley. They put her in there?"

"C'mon B.T., it makes sense cos she's the only one that made it back to Saltilla out of the entire TAF First. They needa do their interrogating."

"So, no dice?"

"What?" Thete squinted and frowned, her face twisting in quiet stupefaction. "You wanna gamble?"

"I mean, there's no way I can talk to her?"

"... Well, either you wait for the MPs to be done with their questioning and evidence-gathering etc. etc., or you're always free to visit her on your off days, subject to coycom's approval."

"Okay, I gotta go through Captain Cacliocos, then," Betelgeuse said, nodding to himself.

"He's on your side though. He loves you. Don't think he'll give you much trouble," Thete grinned.

"No doubt. I'll think about putting in the request, then. You know I think we should be complaining against that Captain Crowley too, for the demerits. He landed himself in detention, right? Are we just not thinking about this the same way?"

"You gotta chill with the wise ideas, man, they're gonna slap more demerits on us. It's all 'conduct subversive of authority', okay? Put some brakes on your brain."

"That's bullshit justification. We oughta try."

Thete sighed.