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

The giants were blinking lazily and Betelgeuse was forcing his mind upon them and injecting every ounce of willpower to moving their great girth. Despite the state of general bedlam which that section of street was devolving into, the giants' intentionalities bore none of the marks of disturbance.

The most that could be said was that they were perhaps mildly interested at the happenings around them. Betelgeuse floundered at them, only barely managing to grip onto the hard and callused shells that were the representations of their minds to his grasping intentionality.

"Because it is your duty to protect us," Betelgeuse reasoned, straining to keep his voice level against the pulsing of his heart and coming up before them so they had to crane their necks downward in order to see him and his two companions.

"... Dat does make sense," the one on the left with the silver-dyed mustache said, after a second's palpable hesitation.

"I'd say it does, Sheffer," the one on the right with the purple mohawk agreed, nodding sagaciously.

"Dey the Chief's guests, Chauff. 'E called for you, ay?" Silver Mustache Sheffer said, addressing Betelgeuse and thumbing behind his shoulder toward the red-painted building.

"That goes without saying," Betelgeuse croaked, raising his head to see the crimson-colored building stretch past the floating stream of vehicles toward the hidden ceiling. He didn't have a clue what the building housed, nor did he know who owned it. Regardless, it had to be a decently powerful man, this Chief, to be able to control such a prime piece of Nookean real estate. "And the Chief wouldn't want us three to be hurt in any way."

He allowed himself one deep and welling breath breath, and although it stung his lungs and irritated his alveoli and triggered another wave of nausea to wash over him, he found that it all but alleviated the debilitating tightness around his chest. Mastering himself quickly, he settled his mind and person back into an arctic composure.

The commotion behind them had risen to a level that was impossible to ignore. Betelgeuse whipped around to find the first of the mob reaching them, and out of reflex he smashed his palm into a chin and saw a bulbous-headed man stumbling backward into his friend with a mouthful of splintered teeth.

But before the next opponent could square up to Betelgeuse, Silver Mustache Sheffer and Purple Mohawk Chauff shouldered past the PLPs, flicking the clustering cadaverous creatures away with their meaty finger-trunks and blocking their continued advance with their towering bodies and intimidating auras.

"What the fuck is going on, Ballsman," Betelgeuse heard Douglas whisper into his ear, but in the circumstances the only right answer was ignoring him.

The mob was surrounding, expanding, spewing all around them, and the giants stood before that chittering horde like a bulwark. They were shouting in hostile tones, the mob, and the giants were looking at each other with a quite evident confusion plastered onto their faces. A narrow strip of potholed asphalt had opened up, separating the baying rabble from the giants, and in that interstice lay the man Betelgeuse had struck, scrabbling and spitting blood from his ruined mouth.

"They want to take us hostage. The Chief will be very displeased if that is allowed to happen," Betelgeuse asserted, stepping halfway between the giants and pointing at the shifting throng. They were close enough to the constant stream exiting from the gray complex beside them that the mob started to jut immiscibly into that perpetual egress. The Nooksters jostled into each other and soon broke out into a rash of disorderly fights and scuffles and scrumming dark-skinned bodies, all of them heaving with misunderstood anger and melting one into the other.

The giants nodded in apparent acknowledgment of Betelgeuse' words and, returning their attention to the mob, began to bellow things in the flowing tongue Betelgeuse now recognized as standard Aluaa. The mob returned with expletives, obscenities spanning so many sounds they shaded into Common.

The tense stand-off lasted several minutes, whereupon the front of that mob shuddered and began jabbering animatedly amongst themselves. Silver Mustache Sheffer afforded a glance at Betelgeuse and said, his voice low and edged with something approaching urgency: "It don't look good, sir. You get into building. We handle here."

Betelgeuse hesitated, observing the mob inch closer. Then he turned on his heels and, muttering "let's go" to Douglas and Voke, stalked up the short flight of stairs toward the crimson-painted double-doors.

"What just happened?!" exclaimed Douglas. It was a long and brightly lit hallway they were walking down, and it went in far deeper than the apparent depth of the building when looked at from the outside. The space was bare concrete and devoid of any furnishing save for the yellow bulbs hanging from wires strung down from the ceiling.

"It was the compulsion," Voke said softly, scrunching up his delicate features and narrowing his eyes at the man leading them deeper into the unknown place. "Not only are you able to resist it. You have some sort of affinity for it. Tell me I'm wrong."

No use keeping it hidden, and I doubt dissimulation will do me any good. I should refrain from using the compulsion on them for the time being—at least until I am able to more finely assess its effect on the faculty of critical thinking.

I would rather have them be able to think for themselves than absolutely loyal and absolutely stupid. I may, of course, have no choice if they start to show hostile intentions.

"It is exactly that," Betelgeuse said, keeping his eyes to the front and his tone measured. "And I can break its hold on others, as you already know."

"Damn, what will Thete think—"

"Thete Jutson will think nothing of it," Betelgeuse interrupted Douglas, halting suddenly and turning around to regard his companions. "Because you will tell her nothing. You will keep this to yourselves, because once they find out, they will take pains to neuter it, one way or the other."

Several seconds of heavy silence passed between the three of them.

"... Okay, Ballsman, you the Boss. I guess you can compel us to keep it secret anyway, if you really wanted to," Douglas said, throwing up whatever was left of his arms. Voke remained silent beside him, sweaty-faced and funny-haired, and Betelgeuse could feel that man scrutinizing his every movement.

"I will not use the compulsion on both of you," Betelgeuse said, his eyes glinting with cold steel. "But I will say this: this power will only remain a trump card only insofar as it is kept hidden. You can see that our chances of survival are far higher with it than without it, I'm sure."

"You mean it will remain your trump card," Voke interjected, shaking his head so that the absurdity of his hairdo was enhanced. "There is manipulation at play here… Betelgeuse."

Voke is suspicious. I will have to keep an eye on him.

"It will remain our trump card. You forget I have freed you from the compulsion once before, Voke Thatcher, and you cannot deny my use of the compulsion has saved us today. If I wanted to, I could use it on you right now, and I would be saving myself the trouble of responding to your accusations," Betelgeuse said, staring Voke straight in the eye. I could, but I won't, was what he hoped to convey. As he said this he observed the fire within Voke's pupils sputter and die out.

"... It is true," Voke admitted. Something in his expression remained uneasy, but the spell of confrontation had passed. Betelgeuse narrowed his eyes, convinced that Voke had merely disguised his suspicion. Was there something he saw in Betelgeuse' demeanor?

This story originates from a different website. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there.

That cannot be. I am in complete control of myself.

"Hey Cokester, this man's the whole reason we're even alive now. We gotta trust him," Douglas said, turning and waving his arm-stump before Voke's face.

I can always count on Douglas.

"You… are perhaps right. We owe our lives to him. Maybe… that is enough to call someone a friend," Voke mumbled. He raised his head and his gaze met Betelgeuse' once more. "So, do you consider us friends?"

In truth, Betelgeuse was taken aback by the question, but he took pains to maintain a straight face, to ensure no emotion would bleed into his expression. Voke had asked a pointed question, and might have done so for some hidden reason. He was fishing for something, it was likely.

What is the feeling that one must invest in the word, 'friend'?

"I do. I consider both of you friends. As I considered Frederica…"

"Heh, aw, you gonna make me blush," Douglas chortled. Then he added, his walleyed pupils splaying thick with reminiscences: "... Though I'm not sure Dyke woulda liked to hear that."

Voke's eye twitched.

"Then it is settled. This is to be kept in the utmost secrecy. Come, we must keep going. I suspect this Chief of the Whites outside lives somewhere in this building," Betelgeuse said, resuming his traversal of the hallway, Voke and Douglas following close behind.

"What's our story gonna be?" Douglas asked. "I mean, can't you just, like, compel every fucker we come across?"

"I don't know how that will turn out, Doug, and I think it's best not to push it. I'm not very practiced," Betelgeuse returned.

Their black boots thumped sonorously down the hallway.

"... I think we say we're a delegation from the TAF… a special delegation, come to observe the Nook," Voke volunteered softly. "The more official sounding, the better. If these guys are basically gangsters, they may not want to get on the TAF's bad side."

"Can't say that's a bad idea," Betelgeuse said.

"… Hopefully they'll be more sensible than the guys who chased us down," Voke mumbled.

"They're fanatics, man, these Gimma Ashby guys and their followers. It's what they do," Douglas sniffed.

It was a good minute of walking before they reached the end of the hallway. They were stopped by a faux-wooden door with elaborate scepter-like decals spray-painted onto its panels. Betelgeuse bent down and eyed the decals closely, furrowing his brows as he did so.

"These guys might be Democracy-lovers, which would be good for us," Betelgeuse whispered. "If it comes to it, we're… Military Special Observers, sent to the Nook for the purpose of… cataloguing notable groups surrounding the western quadrant entrance. Maybe we can pander a little to this Chief's ego, make him feel important."

"Sound kinda hamfisted to me, but okay," Douglas returned.

"If you have a suggestion, please say it," Betelgeuse said, raising his head. Douglas shrugged.

"Then do you have any questions?"

Voke and Douglas shook their heads.

Betelgeuse turned the door handle and felt the slab of faux-wood plastic give.

They found themselves in a white-lighted cuboid room furnished like the cheap hotel lobbies so ubiquitous to Earthian villages, with several dirty couches flushed against the far wall and facing a low table strewn with vape canisters and dented plastic bottles some half-filled with water, some half-filled with reddish liquid in which dark particles were suspended. To an adjacent side of the deserted room were several doors each leading to unknown places. Near one of the couches at the far side of the room was a staircase that led up into a place from which yellow light was streaming down, the light making a splay of trapezoid shapes upon the adjacent wall.

The floor was carpeted in blue and tinged gray with grime or dust or both, and their footsteps made soft thumps upon the padded surface, as they made for the staircase at the opposite end and ascended it as softly as they could. They reached a landing and followed the change of direction of the flight of stairs left-wise, to eventually come into a hall that was wide and spacious and warmly lit.

Right at the top of the staircase was a young and lanky female receptionist standing behind a thin faux-wood counter, and when Betelgeuse met her eyes her face filled with confusion. Her hair was shoulder-length and glossy, and her face was layered in tastefully done make-up focused on lightening her dark skin and enhancing her full lips and contouring her fine small-nostriled nose. She stepped out before them and Betelgeuse saw that about her thin waist was wrapped a satin sheet he supposed carried her Incunabulum.

He reached out and found it with his mind, her Incunabulum, and found also that it was weak, like the barber's Incunabulum had been weak. Without much effort he guided the feeble infrastructure that was her intentionality, felt his own Incunabulum pulse darkly, and observed shortly a smile that was wide and sweet spread itself over the woman's face.

"Very much apologies, sirs, I did not be expecting you. I would be coming down to be service… service downstair," the woman said in her uniquely crude Common, turning around and curtsying in her over-short skirt that was hiked up so far the PLPs could see the thong wedged between her asscheeks.

"You did it again, huh," Voke said softly, and Douglas laughed airily.

"We have no need of your services. The Chief is arranging for us to be sent back to the main city," Betelgeuse said. "Will you be able to assist us?"

"Chief?" a mixture of fear and confusion flashed across her face. "I not know he is expecting…"

"He is expecting us to pass through," Betelgeuse intoned, stepping forward to tower over the quavering woman. "I'm sure you would not want to disappoint him."

"I… I am understand… let me call him?" the woman suggested meekly. "I cannot use…"

"You have no facility for easy access to the main city?" Betelgeuse pressed.

"Yawa?" the woman managed, by now almost frightened out of her wits and close to tears. "But… he said I must not open… otherwise… he will…"

"We're asking if you can get us out of the Nook, to the main city," Voke said, shouldering past Betelgeuse and taking a gentle tone with the woman. "We are TAF Military Observers, and the Chief would like us to be discrete. Secret. I'm sure there must be a way?"

"I… not sure… you are… TAF?" the woman said tentatively, suddenly recognizing the blue lapels upon their jackets.

"Yes, we are," Voke nodded, smiling. "We'd like to make it back to the main city."

"It's what the Chief wants," Douglas saw fit to add, and then he brought his face close to the woman's exposed belly button and started licking his lips.

"There is… is a way," the woman managed finally, and Betelgeuse noticed her glancing down the hallway, past the serried rows of tables and stools, toward the far end of the halfway which was covered over by curtains, "special for big guest…"

"We are big guests, ma'am," Voke smiled again, flashing his teeth.

"The biggest guests," Douglas added, retracting his head and leering stupidly in all directions except the woman's.

"But… Chief has said not to… not to open unless customer pay… the last girl is got hurt very bad…" the woman's voice trembled to remember what had happened, and she brought her lithe hands up to grab at her frilly collar.

Betelgeuse had had enough. He brought the full weight of his will to bear and grasped the threads of the woman's vague intentionalities. The woman recoiled violently and stumbled backward, and only by Voke's quick reflexes did she manage to avoid falling toward the ground. The pale-faced man held her in his arms and threw a sharp glare in Betelgeuse' direction.

"You will open this entrance to the main city for us. Right now," Betelgeuse commanded, remorseless.

"... Yes, sir," the woman said, and she raised herself up out of Voke's arms and straightened her back mechanically. All of her previous doubts, all of her dread and anxiety, had been blasted clean from her mind.

The entire floor was carpeted like the lobby-room below, and as the woman made her way across it Betelgeuse saw that she was barefooted and that she wore gold-colored bracelets about her smooth and delicate ankles. Past the empty tables, past the staircase winding upwards, past the doors painted a smattering of different colors—pink, purple, chocolate, yellow, brown—and finally, behind the black microfiber curtain pulled aside by the woman, they came to a door. The woman produced a key from God knew where and after several clumsy attempts at inserting the key into the keyhole, finally unlocked the portal. Betelgeuse pushed past it without further ado and found himself in a crepuscular interior that was dimly lit by red fisheye lights, the lights affixed in a line that followed the ceiling straight and then followed the bend in the hallway leftwise out of their sight.

The corridor was a small and claustrophobic place whose ceiling could not have been more than twenty centimeters above Betelgeuse' head. The three PLPs went on without comment, the door behind them thudding gently closed and its bolt mechanism slid forward with a satisfying click that echoed and bounced and melted away into hollowness and silence.