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

Marja took her seat before the large, rectangular table and crossed her shins and peered about the deserted room. She had arrived earlier today for the second of two sessions that comprised the controlled deposition, because she wanted to be by herself for a while, to escape the interminable noise and hubbub and relentless forward movement of daily life that blasted from her mind all introspection and which was slowly debilitating her sense of self.

… The busyness was an excuse, she knew. The more she blotted out the guilt—the more she tried to escape it—the more it corrupted her soul. A malicious thing, shaped like a Saltillan boy, was eating her up from the inside.

It was a sound-proofed room, lined with faux-wood veneers on three sides and covered entirely by a screen on its fourth side upon which was projected a vast and mountainous woodland, patched with sunlight and horizoned by cloudless blue and edged by a roiling, mysterious fog.

She pursed her lips and braced herself for the onset of the brutal headache that had been haunting her mornings lately. It came in waves, corroding her perceptions and making her taste bitter feelings in her mouth. It was the second time this past hour, and she could imagine it burning coldly through her synapses and corrupting her eidetic-feeder-implant.

She shook her head. It was gone in moments, the feeling, but its effects lingered on in anxiety and the trembling of her hands.

She waited. She thought. She wasn't sure what to think.

The hum of the air-conditioners was so soft she had to hold her breath to hear it. Cool air washed over the skin of her cheeks and tickled her nostrils, and she sneezed lightly and wrinkled her nose and closed her eyes to feel the slight irritation in her left nostril that made her want to sneeze again.

She inhaled deeply and exhaled through the tip of her nose, circulating oxygen through her system like she had been taught. Through several concentrated minutes of Fafas, she managed to expel the heaviest anxieties plaguing her mind. Her shoulders relaxed and her mind quietened.

She had bought herself a temporary reprieve.

When she opened her eyes again, her attention was drawn to the projection of the mountain woodland. The entire wall had been taken up by that window into another world.

From her vantage at the summit of a mountain of middling height, she could look down at the smaller mountains and the hillocks upon which tens of thousands of hinoki were perched. Their leaves were shivering atop branches that swayed lazily, and her skin prickled with a phantom sense of a breeze rolling across it. She could look up at the massy outcroppings piercing up into the blue, blue sky, feel small at their crushing presence, scrutinize the thin semicircles of clouds ringing in dainty halos their highest outcroppings…

She blinked slowly, realizing that she recognized the scene. It was an artificial recreation of the famous Old-Empire-Japonic painting known as the SHAN-SON-SAN-YAMA, a piece of art she was intimately acquainted with. The original piece had been a painstakingly hand-painted 40m x 50m behemoth produced by the great and itinerant artisan Hirohito Boy during the golden years of Old Empire cultural-congress; it had been lost, as all great Old Empire artworks were, during the collapse of that ancient and decadent regime. Of those oil-painted imitation-copies that had been hand-produced using that original painting as reference, only a total of eight still existed, if the Sexton Obina of her youth were to be believed—she'd seen one of it in person, and it ranked as one of the most priceless artworks preserved in Abuna Yem'ata's Roc Museum. The piece had been procured at great and almost crushing expense by her father, a connoisseur of Old Empire and pre-Old Empire artwork, and had the privilege of being one of only two artworks her father had secreted away in the Museum's private suite, so that it was insulated from public eyes and thus kept, as he liked to say, 'existentially pure'.

She sat there and watched this dynamic rendering of Hirohito Boy's masterpiece rustle and breathe. There was a small carpet of grass that peeked out of the foreground, the grass spindly and hooked and half-torn by last night's rain or hail, and then the grass fell away with the cliff and there was the world there, a kind of still and peaceful nature staring back at her and contemplating the disturbance in her heart.

There was a single blade of grass sticking out somewhere near the right edge of the screen which shook, fluttered, then stilled as her gaze fell upon it. It was slightly spotted, maybe from some kind of parasite or mold, but it was generally whole and tapered off from a broad base to a sharp tip. There were other blades of grass wobbling across the screen, most of them torn and variously bent. Far out past the cliff was a valley that started from somewhere below the platform she seemed to be perched upon and that ran between the mountains and hillocks and rocky juts, and it was spotted with maples and pinkish blips that must have been azaleas; and she knew that every leaf and flower-petal and fungal tumor and soil-particle had been individually rendered, their animations and inter-body effects simulated by whatever esoterically-created generator served the AI-Tableau as its twin-scepters order and randomness.

She waited for another half-hour, watching the scene in silence. She got so absorbed in it she failed to notice the door opening behind her, and she jerked when she felt the thin vibration of the carpet underneath her shoe, leaping to her feet and whipping around to see—

It was the lawyer from Benson Hughes Lawry LLP—the lawyer retained by Saltilla to advocate for hers and Saltilla's rights—introduced to her yesterday: Theophilus "Dan" Kennedy, Senior Partner at Benson Hughes Lawry. He was dressed in a navy suit and had gray-streaked hair, and he was clean-shaven and thin and had skin that was only lightly-darked. A young woman in black-and-white professional attire trailed behind him, and she had come bearing a load comprising several voluminous binders, her full cheeks puffing with the physical strain.

Dan had entered the room so softly Marja hadn't noticed; she blinked at him, her arms still raised over her face, and he stared back at her with concerned eyes and an expression replete with confusion.

"Ma'am?" he sounded tentatively.

She smiled sheepishly, letting her arms fall to her side, muttering an apology before returning to her seat. Dan's flat-tipped nose twitched regally, his brows furrowing with the sense that something was wrong, but, recognizing it was not his business to pry, he exhaled softly and directed his intern—Anita Tate, her name was—to place the binders onto the table.

Anita did so and the binders spilled over the marble surface, and she sighed to have been relieved of her burden. Marja stretched out her hand and picked up one of those binders, and she brought it in and flipped through it to see that it was a compilation of the deposition session's planned questions. Lebensraum's lawyers had shared them earlier with Dan, and it was Marja's understanding that these were the questions that would be put to Betelgeuse later.

Dan and Anita took their seats left of Marja, their dull conversation and paper-ruffling and mumbling circumlocutions receding into the background. Marja flipped listlessly through several pages, reading silently but understanding nothing, distracting herself from vague and difficult thoughts.

Betelgeuse arrived several minutes later, silent and dark-eyed as ever. He stalked across the room with tramping steps and took his seat to Marja's right, and the latter closed the binder she was leafing through to regard him. She nodded to see that his gray TAF uniform had been ironed today (as she had instructed him to do at the end of yesterday's session), and she passed her eyes over his pixel-print sleeves to his wide chest, scrutinizing the bulging Standard Issue Incunabulum-pouch he had strapped tightly across it and then snapping her vision away quickly to wonder what exactly she was thinking.

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Next to arrive was the man with the wrinkly and wide forehead, Saltilla Intelligence Underapparatchik Cenian "Sen" Hughes. He burst into the room and, seeing that the counterparty lawyers had yet to arrive, heaved a sigh of relief and came over to Betelgeuse right to take his seat. He turned, smiling in greeting to Marja and nodding to Betelgeuse and Dan.

Lebensraum's lawyers arrived shortly after, fair-complexioned Mehmet Zhukov and Dalia Trahouni, Managing Partner and Partner at Tensor Hedges L.S. LLP respectively. They had with them a tall and broad-shouldered woman—Ms. Hanikka Burrell of Lebensraum-subsidiary Tacoma Intersystems, Authorized Representative of Lebensraum for the purposes of the controlled deposition. The SHAN-SON-SAN-YAMA projection was shut off, revealing behind it a smooth and unmarked surface.

They took their seats opposite Marja, Betelgeuse, Sen and the lawyers from Benson Hughes Lawry and arranged their own binders before them. Then, the Managing Partner, Mehmet, reached underneath the table and depressed a button, and a compartment in the middle of the table slid open to reveal a microphone ascending slowly into the light.

The lawyers from Tensor Hedges then placed their palms down flat upon the table's gleaming surface and locked gazes with Dan.

"We're all here, Mr. Kennedy. Anybody else joining on your side?" Mehmet, asked, his voice smooth and cultivated and a little nasal. He wore a dapper plaid suit and, as he spoke, a beam of yellow light materialized into existence above the center of the table, suffusing that space with brightness and making shadowy creases of Mehmet's crow's feet wrinkles—the only sign of age upon his face. He had a shock of brown hair and his nose—sharp as Betelgeuse'—wrinkled to realize that the woman sitting left of Dan, the intern Anita, was still engaged in shuffling around sheets of paper.

Dan shouldered Anita, who eeped and sat up ramrod straight. Her expression and body-language bled so much anxiety that Marja, sitting two seats away, could feel the tension in the air.

"Nobody else," Dan nodded. "I assume that, same as yesterday, Ms. Burrell is attending in her capacity as Authorized Representative of Lebensraum Integrated LLC. I will reiterate to Ms. Burrell that any information disclosed in the course of this controlled deposition cannot be used and/or disclosed otherwise than in her capacity as Authorized Representative—that is, none of such information can be used and/or disclosed to any third parties, including her current employer, Tacoma Intersystems LLE, otherwise than is required to communicate it to Lebensraum Integrated. I can state this for the record Tensor Hedges prefers."

Ms. Burrell watched on impassively, her blue eyes staring straight into Marja.

"Ms. Burrell is attending as Authorized Representative. As we mentioned yesterday, do note that the specificities of Ms. Burrell's capacity or incapacity to disclose information is the purview of Democratic Arbitral Law. We reserve the right to submit a point of information to the Protectorate Central Court clarifying the exact duties Ms. Burrell is subject to, given the anticipated complexities surrounding the interplay between Democratic Arbitral Law, federal-level Protectorate law and city-state-level Saltillan law," Dalia Trahouni returned, smiling cordially. Her skin was smooth and white as alabaster, her nose straight and elegant, and her jacket, though black and formal as Anita's, hung low enough that her cleavage was exposed through her half-buttoned white blouse. It was difficult to describe her dress as entirely professional, Marja thought, but her beauty was artificial and daunting and lightly reminiscent of that Intelligence Apparatchik, Alan Grimmersby.

"Given the current uncertainty surrounding Ms. Burrell's duties, we think it's better to leave this off the record for now, Mr. Kennedy," Dalia finished.

"That's fine. You may begin the deposition, Mr. Zhukov, Ms. Trahouni," Dan nodded amicably, returning Dalia's smile with a lopsided grin.

"Excellent," Mehmet said, motioning for Dalia to flip the switch sticking out of the flared-base of that straight and phallic-shaped microphone.

The click echoed through that capacious room. Marja's fears and anxieties receded to the back of her mind. Mehmet started speaking and the fluidity of his vocal tones washed over her in pleasant waves, making it easy to keep her focus on the present. On the here and now.

"We are on the record. Please note that the microphones are sensitive and may pick up whispering and private conversations. Please mute your transceivers at this time. All material recorded during the course of this controlled deposition will in accordance with procedural regulations simultaneously be piped through to the EGS-3097 Central Court Docket Repository. This is the continued controlled deposition of BETELGEUSE SAKAR, a witness to case number DEM-AC three, zero, nine, seven dash zero, four dash four, nine involving: firstly, a complaint by THE CITY STATE OF SALTILLA OF THE SYLVAN PROTECTORATE, hereinafter Saltilla or complainant as the case may be, to LEBENSRAUM INTEGRATED LLC, hereinafter Lebensraum or respondent as the case may be, respecting a failure to adequately fill a military support request; and secondly, a counter-complaint by Lebensraum against Saltilla and DEPUTY MARSHAL ALLIED FORCES IN DESERT MARJA MENTZER, hereinafter Ms. Mentzer and, together with Saltilla, the counter-complaint-respondents as the case may be, claiming malicious use of vexatious complaints that tend to injure the reputation of Lebensraum. This controlled deposition is taken on TAF time: SUNDAY, 25 APRIL, year of THIRTY-NINETY-SEVEN.

"The location of this controlled deposition is 16th Picadilly Road, SQ-CSS, at the offices of Tensor Hedges L.S. LLP. I am Mehmet Zhukov, Managing Partner at Tensor Hedges, acting for the respondent. Will the attendees present please identify themselves for the recorder, please?"

"This is Dalia Trahouni, Partner at Tensor Hedges, acting for the respondent."

"This is Hanikka Burrell, attending in her capacity as Authorized Representative of Lebensraum."

Across the table, Dan started off the introductions for the complainant and counter-complaint-respondents.

"This is Theophilus Kennedy, Senior Partner and Benson Hughes Lawry LLP, acting for Saltilla and Ms. Mentzer."

"This is Ms. … I mean this is Anita Tate, Intern at Benson Hughes Lawry LLP, assisting Mr. Kennedy in this case."

"This is Marja Mentzer, counter-complaint-respondent in this case."

"This is Betelgeuse Sakar, a witness in this case and the subject of this controlled deposition."

"This is Cenian Hughes, attending in his capacity as Authorized Representative of Saltilla."

"All principals are present," Theophilus Dan said, closing introductions.

"Alright, I'm going to turn this over to Dalia Trahouni to make some opening remarks and then conduct the examination," Mehmet said. "Dalia, if you please."

Dalia Trahouni started speaking next, addressing Betelgeuse and leaning forward slightly and giving him her full attention: "Mr. Sakar, I will take us through the questions to be posed to you today. For your sake I will inform you of the following—you must generally answer every question that is posed during the course of this controlled deposition, though Mr. Kennedy as lawyer for the counter-complaint-respondents may register if he wishes to raise any objection for the record. Despite his objection you must answer truthfully, unless the answer is protected by a privilege which has a basis in Democratic Arbitral Law or unless Mr. Kennedy specifically instructs you not to answer. Following this controlled deposition, the recording will be automatically piped to the Central Court Docket Repository where it will be listened over and checked for authenticity by a Court Administrator. Any questions?"

"No."

"Excellent. For the record, my colleague and I do not have any interest, financial or otherwise, in the outcome of this case and no part of our fees are subject to any contingency fee arrangement, directly or indirectly. Mr. Sakar, please recite the swearing-in paragraph that has been set before you and we can proceed."