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

It was almost an hour before the outpouring tapered off into silence and gloom. No one felt like leaving, maybe because the experience of loss was so fresh and cut so deep that a primal feeling of emptiness bound all the creatures in that room, maybe because there was a closeness and intimacy here that kept the dark thoughts at bay, maybe because bereft of that mooring the mind would be cast adrift on an odyssey of roiling emotion and then would lose all hope of returning to the present, the sober.

Betelgeuse stood flush to the end of the room, watching the faces of people contort in endless confusion. Voke had been the first to join the convocation of grief, lending his arms and his warmth to some distraught young wife. Then Thete, embracing children, embracing elderlies. Finally, Douglas, whose strabismic eyes became moist enough that Betelgeuse could believe he was tearing.

But Betelgeuse remained apart from the group, as Cacliocos did.

In Cacliocos' case it was a means of processing grief, and though his body remained separate, his spirit became enveloped in the emotional energies that were swirling around in the room. Being there, being the commander on whose head the deaths of so many soldiers lay, was torture for a man such as Cacliocos. And in those dark eyes Betelgeuse divined a further death, the death of one Private Joy repeated endlessly, a death which dredged up a cosmos of torment within that singular soul… the heaviest death of all.

Unlike Cacliocos, nothing of the grief that was being expressed en masse touched Betelgeuse.

And so he watched, and looked at the faces with his spider eyes, and remembered the strange feeling that had welled up in his soul when Frederica breathed her last. But he felt it was very dissimilar to this, that though the significance of her passing bore to him some resemblance to the scene he was observing, it was somehow repressed, corrupted, lesser, fallen. Like there was something missing.

There was no insincerity. I was there and I was with her in her last moments, and that must count for something. It must.

I never did know much about her. I never did talk with her properly. And yet, who will say that communication can only be made out of words and professions? I remember the way she moved and fought, I remember the emotions she felt deeply enough to express.

Now there were mutters and silence. All the power of the emotional energies had been purified by their ritual expression, and perhaps that was the reason for the expression in the first place. In its course, Cacliocos came to sit in a chair beside the aisle, and there were people around him, touching him, holding him, and he was finally there with them, as if the outpouring of grief had to some small extent expiated his guilt.

The emotional energies bind us, make us a society. Dead labor does work on the raw material of emotions and conceptions of legacies, makes value out of it by channeling them into mass ideas, mass emotions, mass conceptions. Dead labor shores up the bonds that make society, creates a reserve power that is drawn upon by the institutions that make claims, to varying levels of legitimacy, to represent such society or part thereof.

A woman with hair that was straight and dark split from the group that was waiting on the mute and impassive Cacliocos. She made for Betelgeuse, and as she got closer his eyes focused on her and found that she could not have been much different in age to himself. Her dress was a simple and drab cotton-weave of faded blues.

She bore a relative's resemblance to the officer and, like him, had skin that was several shades darker than the rest of the Jegorichians. Betelgeuse' gaze was drawn to her hair again, and he passed from those straight locks down to the fine-boned face it framed, caught himself looking at the dimples flanking her small lips, and glanced past her aquiline nose to rest his vision on her deepset eyes. He thought they were full of brightness and life, her eyes, despite the circumstances.

She raised an open palm beside her face in greeting, and managed a smile that was wide enough to be polite but small enough to be appropriate to the setting.

"You must be Betelgeuse. I'm Tenzhian's sister, Aisya," she said, and her voice was high-pitched enough to grate on Betelgeuse' ears. He raised his own hand, proffering a handshake, and Aisya hesitated for a moment before accepting it. She was about a head shorter than him, Betelgeuse mused.

"I am. I didn't know Captain Cacliocos had a sister…" Betelgeuse said. "My condolences to you. He told me what happened to your brother."

Aisya nodded, the smile falling from her face. "Yes. Mom and Dad are taking it too hard… they couldn't come today."

"Are they staying here? The Family Ward, I mean."

"No, I live with them in Jegorich, but I touched down at the airport earlier this morning, so I could be with Tenzhian. I can only imagine how difficult this is for him, so I figured I better show my face. Anyway, I commute to Saltilla very often, for work. Frequently enough to have an apartment in the Talonne."

"Where's that? Sorry, I've only been out of the Barracks twice."

"It's fine. Talonne's just down the street from the Agave—Saltilla's shopping district," she added, seeing Betelgeuse' quizzical look. "—and connected by train."

"I see…" Betelgeuse trailed off into silence.

"Anyway, Tenzhian mentioned you to me. Said you were a good reason he survived. That many of them owe their lives to you. I came over just to say… thank you," Aisya said, bowing her head respectfully. "Maknon and Tenzhian, I don't know how my parents and I would have taken it if both of them…—"

"I understand. There is no need to say more."

"... You are very brave," Aisya whispered, her head angling toward the ground. Then, as if suddenly realizing what she had said aloud, her head snapped upward and her eyes found his gaze, and she quickly blurted: "—is what my brother said!"

The abruptness of it took Betelgeuse momentarily aback. "I am glad to have helped," he settled for, unable to find a better response. "I hope your parents, all of you, manage to find some peace."

Aisya nodded, the precipitous spike in her energy level dissipating quickly into calmness. "Our parents never approved of my elder brothers' decision to enlist into the PDF. It's not looked upon very favorably, being in the PDF… well, I mean the soldiers are officially celebrated and all that, but unless you come from a wealthy family it's almost like you had no choice, you know?"

"They made the choice to enlist? I had heard the PDF is a conscript army," Betelgeuse said, only for Aisya to shush him quickly.

"It is," she whispered, looking surreptitiously about, "but it's tied to the grade of your Incunabulum."

"So only a certain grade gets conscripted. Ash grade?" Betelgeuse whispered back. In truth, he didn't know why she had started whispering in the first place, but he figured it would be better—safer?—to ape her.

"It used to be only Ash grades were subject to conscription, but the standing Requisition Order three years ago expanded the practice to Hollows and Whites…"

'Curious,' Betelgeuse thought. Ash-grade-conscription had long been a tool used by the Democracy to fight off Chimeric incursions; but while the Democracy only imposed conscription in times of war, what Aisya was implying was that, in Saltilla, Ash grades were subject to conscription even in peacetime, with the practice being expanded as and when necessary.

"... But for Maknon and Tenzhian… Our family, we're all of us Primaries, you see. You could say we just fall shy of the oppression-threshold," Aisya murmured, permitting herself a slight chuckle.

"What an interesting turn of phrase, oppression-threshold."

"Ha!" she snorted lightly. "It's what Fem-D are pushing all the time now… maybe you won't understand, as an offworlder—as an Earthian, by Ahman—but recently they've been making a lot of sense…"

Old memories resurfaced in his mind. He remembered the feeling of disappointment and failure. Shouldn't he have fallen shy of the 'oppression-threshold' too, having come from a family of Bronzes? Be that as it may, he couldn't find it in himself to give half-a-fuck about the way things had turned out.

"… In any case, my parents blamed themselves, and I don't think they've ever stopped blaming themselves. They thought they had something to do with my brothers' decisions… they couldn't understand what had possessed them to take on such risk. It was foolish to enlist, it was stupid, it was ill-advised, they could contribute in other ways…" Aisya murmured, and Betelgeuse watched her silently, observing every twitch of her eyelid, every flare of her nostril. Her emotions were starting to overspill and her words were laced with memories that were heavy with the weight of family history, of familial struggle… and something of that hereditary pain did somehow touch Betelgeuse.

This novel's true home is a different platform. Support the author by finding it there.

"… Mom tried and said almost everything but never came close to dissuading my brothers. They were convinced that they were right and that the purpose of their lives was to defend the Sylvan Protectorate for the sake of the Democracy. I think maybe Dad would have tried harder if he knew the Chime were planning an incursion… oh he must hate himself now, all that being so patriotic just rubbed off, how could it not? It was the same choice of our father's father… Even I… oh… please forgive me, I just met you, heh heh… no idea why I'm rambling so much…"

"There's nothing to forgive."

Aisya rubbed her eyes and then stood facing him for several seconds, both of them comfortable in their respective silences.

Low muttering could be heard drifting over from where Tenzhian Cacliocos was sitting, and Betelgeuse turned shaded eyes in that direction to see that a mass of families had congregated around the officer. They were whispering as if unwilling to disturb the peace and solemnity of the place, but he could perceive from their faces and tones a growing agitation.

The disturbance grew until several young women started loudly importuning Cacliocos for money or compensation or some other such thing, their voices tinged with anger. They were switching from Aluaa to Common to Aluaa and Betelgeuse came away not understanding much of anything that they were saying.

"What's wrong with them?" Betelgeuse asked, turning back to Aisya and seeing that her face had become etched with worry. By his estimate she was about five seconds from rushing over to support her elder brother.

"They're complaining against the demerits. The PDF took it out of the estates of some of those who died, and they're saying it's an outrage."

"Hrnh. I agree," Betelgeuse folded his arms over his chest, his mind running at a million miles per minute.

"I have to go help him, I don't know what the fuck they're saying they want to sue him…"

"Hold on," Betelgeuse said, placing a hand on Aisya's shoulder and arresting her movement. "I go, you follow. I have an idea."

"... O-okay?"

Betelgeuse sauntered coolly toward the disturbance, Aisya trailing behind him. Thete was already there behind Cacliocos, and, when she saw Betelgeuse coming over, her face fashioned itself into a frown almost immediately, sensing that he was about to do something.

Douglas was standing a half-step behind Thete and now elbowing Voke and Entuban to his left and right respectively, gesticulating with his chin toward Betelgeuse. "Ballsman's coming, something's gonna go down," he whispered louder than most people spoke.

"Hey, what's happening here?" Betelgeuse said as he neared the group, capturing the attention of Cacliocos and the irate women. Cacliocos raised his head at him, and, when he did so, Betelgeuse cringed to observe empty cheeks that were sunken and wasting away.

As Betelgeuse' came closer, the women passed their eyes over the brand burnt into forehead, then at each other, momentarily nonplussed. Then, a thin-faced woman whose hair was messier than Voke's and whose cheekbones were sharp enough to cut steel snapped off an unintelligible collection of words.

"She asked who you are," Aisya said, translating for Betelgeuse.

"PLP Betelgeuse Sakar. Please refer to me as PLP Sakar," Betelgeuse said, staring straight into the woman's eyes.

"What are you wanting?" another of the women piped up, her crescent earrings spangling like tawdry trinkets. "Our issue is being with Mr. Cacliocos."

"I couldn't help but realize you were talking about the demerits, is that right?" Betelgeuse inquired.

"—they are taking and taking everything! Even the lives of our husbands are not enough! I will be getting my compensation—"

"—Most of the demerits were borne by Tenzhian, you damn churkey—" Aisya raged, interrupting the third woman who had suddenly erupted into a tirade .

"—half-breed shit, you and your mongrel brother will burn by Azda's fire for all eternity—"

"Quiet!" Betelgeuse shouted down the flaring commotion, placing a hand on Aisya's shoulder and gripping it tightly so she knew not to respond. The women clammed up and returned their attention to him.

"None of us will get anywhere with all this stupid bickering. Your anger is understandable but this man," Betelgeuse pointed at Cacliocos, "is the main reason any of us soldiers are alive. It is pointless to take your emotions out on him. You must look at this sober-mindedly, ma'am, why are you targeting this innocent man?"

"What the hell are you proposing? We will not be standing for any of this so-called demerits," the thin-faced woman declared.

"I would say you should bring it up with the TAF, but," Betelgeuse turned to the vacantly staring Cacliocos, "sir, you've heard about that Captain Crowley?"

Cacliocos blinked, cocking his head. After several moments, he shook his head, no.

"… It was announced just this morning. He's been sent to the Detention Barracks," Betelgeuse managed, raising an eyebrow. "How could you not have heard?"

"I… was not paying attention. I apologize," Cacliocos sighed, leaning back into the plastic backrest. The expression on Thete's face was almost comical.

The prospect of attending this memorial must have been a heavy burden.

"Okay, well, now you know. I'll get straight to the point. I suspect this Captain Crowley's operation was recognized for the colossal failure that it was. You see what this means?"

Cacliocos raised his head. Signs of life in his eyes.

"You want to submit a complaint. You risk more demerits, you know that," he said.

"Yes, but it's all in the argument, sir. I can help with drafting the application, but you will need to sign off on it. Think about it," Betelgeuse pressed, addressing the entire group, "the blame for all of this death—not only the annihilation of the Jegorich First, but also a substantial proportion of the TAF First—lies squarely upon the shoulders of Captain Crowley. This is the message I'm getting. Isn't this a good enough reason to attempt a complaint? There is not a single bureaucratic shithead in all the universe who will risk his skin to save such a blatant fuck-up."

"Go on," Cacliocos returned, leaning forward and steepling his fingers before his face.

"… What is it they cited as the reason for our demerits?"

"Two reasons. Failure to meet the contingent move-out timing and illegitimate use of foreign language in an operational context," Cacliocos answered.

"So, what we should do is to draft into the complaint the fact that Captain Crowley illegitimately requisitioned our unit for an illegal operation. The imposition of the demerit points was an abuse of his authority to force compliance with his illegal orders."

"But he technically did not requisition our unit. LTC Pilix was the one who put us up for Captain Crowley's muster," Cacliocos returned, his voice regaining a modicum of strength.

Betelgeuse thought for a moment, then, turning and addressing the question to Thete, he asked: "Was LTC Pilix sent to detention?"

"I… can't be sure, it wasn't in the announcement," Thete managed.

"No, I don't believe so. I have heard nothing about it… but I have been distracted lately, so I will have to confirm. Does anything turn on this piece of information?" Cacliocos asked, straightening his back.

"My take? I think not," Betelgeuse said, his tone confident. "It's obvious to me they're scapegoating Captain Crowley, sir. Most likely there were multiple superior Protectorate officers involved, but they pinned it on the TAF Captain and it stuck. I don't know how or why, but it stuck, and now is perhaps the best opportunity we have of reversing this ridiculous punishment."

A brief silence interpolated. Soft sobbing sounds drifted over from the disparate, grief-stricken groups still huddled in the far corners of that room.

"You… might be right. I must check what is happening within the Jegorich ranks. But what you have said is plausible," Cacliocos began slowly.

"Eminently plausible," Douglas said from behind, and Betelgeuse almost smirked.

"If that is so, sir, then my advice would be to put in a complaint as soon as possible. No better time than now to capitalize on Crowley's predicament," Betelgeuse urged.

"I… I must go at once. This must not be delayed; Betelgeuse, I will draft the complaint and run it by you after curfew tonight, so you can go ahead and enjoy your off-day." Cacliocos regained his feet, and his face seemed very bright all of a sudden, as if the appearance of a purpose had revived the man from the dead. Even Aisya was surprised at the sharpness of his transformation.

Cacliocos turned to the group of grousing women, addressing them with a tone of finality: "In respect of the demerits, we will go through the process and inform you of the outcome in due course." Then, without waiting for a reply, he turned and made a quick exit.

"—Sir!" Entuban called, but the Captain had already left through the door. Several glances were shared between Entuban and Betelgeuse, and after some seconds of indecision Entuban and Von followed suit and went out of the room in search of Cacliocos.

The women shortly disbanded, jabbering amongst themselves, and Thete, Voke and Douglas came up beside Betelgeuse and Aisya.

"Good call in the end, B.T.," Voke nodded, his dark pupils twinkling merrily.

"Shoulda guessed you would be going straight to the boss," Thete sighed, and Douglas grinned.

"Indeed, looks like you got him fired up," Aisya squeaked. "I'm Aisya by the way, Tenzhian's sister," she said, addressing herself to Betelgeuse' fellow PLPs.

"Well met," Thete said, and the sentiment was echoed by Voke and Douglas. "We owe your brother a great deal."

"Not at all, not at all. If there's anything at all I can do to help—"

"You know of anywhere cheap to cut my hair? Like say a three-Credit-cut? Maybe even less?" Douglas said, even before Aisya had finished speaking.

"Cut… your hair?" Aisya echoed.

"Yes, yes, what part of it you need me to clarify?" Douglas returned impatiently.

Betelgeuse felt eyes on him and swept his vision across the room. The surviving soldiers, hugging their families, hugging the families of others. People kneeling before the altar, pressing their foreheads to the ground. There, several meters away and sitting along with his plump wife, was Belekov—staring silently, brooding.

"I do know of an affordable place…"