Slumrat Rising

Vol. 4 Chap. 53 The Pinky Toe Dilemma

Truth slowly blinked at Cho, then checked the crystal again. He eventually found the summary page that said essentially what Cho had- that Starbrite was ritually sacrificing himself to himself to achieve the lifespan of “the very stars.” There was some speculation about whether he would force people into a mass suicide and the life energy of the sacrifice would somehow become his life, but by this point the summary had devolved into wild speculation.

“This is the best you could put together after literally a century of investigation? Really?” Truth wasn’t sneering at the cop, he was just stunned.

It was guesswork. It wasn’t even particularly good guesswork. They had found a couple of things in books, connected it to a few suppositions about Starbrite’s character, made some wild (and wrong) guesses about how the System actually worked, and eventually reached a conclusion that would barely pass the laugh test.

The only reason Truth hadn’t stormed out of the office was what he had learned from Sally- that Starbrite’s soul was horribly unnatural, and that Starbrite was essentially immobile. That… sorta-kinda lined up.

“It was the only thing we could put together after a century of digging. For most of that time, the investigation was intensely covert, as you might imagine. Very slow paced. Combined with the lack of information about off-world magic, and the information disparity has proven… difficult to overcome. What we have mostly been able to do is exclude possibilities.”

Truth slowly nodded, rapidly putting pieces together in his head. One of the biggest questions Truth had been wrestling with was why the Hell Starbrite was still on the planet. Why not run off-world when he had the chance? For that matter, why do something as stupid and dangerous as kidnapping a Shattervoid child?

Having his foot nailed to the floor as part of a magic ritual was a pretty good reason. Now… why do that ritual on this planet as opposed to literally anywhere else? And for that matter, why Jeon instead of the ocean bed somewhere?

“Why Jeon?”

“No idea. At all. We guesstimate Starbrite reached this planet four hundred years ago, or so, but we really don’t know. At that time, we were… not nothing, but nothing anyone really gave a damn about. Basically Onis’ less developed client state that they couldn’t be bothered to administer. Somehow more corrupt and conservative than the Onis of that era too, which is really saying something.”

Cho shrugged. “Our best guess is that he was looking for a combination of factors, with a particular focus on how… malleable… the ruling classes would be to his persuasion.”

Truth nodded and memorized the layout of the suspected ritual sites. There was something about the design that tickled some part of his memory, but he was equally certain he had never seen anything with that precise shape before.

“How close are you to validating the existence of these ritual sites?”

“Not very. Starbrite is now openly murdering any investigators that get too close, literally or metaphorically. And I do mean openly. Executed-on-the-street openly. They have utterly shed all pretenses of obedience to the state.”

Truth got the logic. In a few months, there wouldn’t be a state, the System would be non-functional, and everything would be in chaos. So why play games with petty snoops? Starbrite requires- so it shall be done. His mouth uncontrollably twitched into a very reluctant grin.

“Something funny about people being executed in the streets?”

“Not usually. No, that’s not it. It was the whole… he presents himself initially as this unknowable kingly figure. He has the court, the crown, the minister or eunuch or whatever transmitting his words to the masses. You never see him, but you know he is there, and he is powerful. And now there isn’t even that. Starbrite isn’t a humananymore, he’s a corporation. But the core remains the same. Somewhere, high above, Starbrite reigns. Unseeable, unknowable, except by the words of his slaves.”

“Much like God, perhaps.” Cho offered his own meaningless smile in return.

“Or a stellar eminence.”

Cho made no reply. Truth was quietly positive that one of the analysts made the same connection.

He did have to make a decision about those tickets off-world, though. He had no good criteria for selecting who got a spot, other than “people I actually care about,” which still left virtually all of them unfilled. On the other hand, if he was going to put together a quick list of people he didn’t want to survive a global catastrophe, “anyone capable of conspiring with Internal Security and puppeteering the few decades of civic development in Jeon” would fill a lot of it.

That being said, hope was a beautiful thing, and if you didn’t give people something positive to work towards, they would surely get into mischief.

“I’m not utterly heartless. I’m willing to auction off seats. Bids will be in the form of “Do things I would approve of.” The value of the bids will be subjectively evaluated by me. Don’t like your evaluation? Fight me. In order to ease the bidding process, things I approve of are, in no particular order- Preparing the world for the collapse, ensuring the Level Zero’s will thrive. Killing anyone, or any group of people, who intend to set up as God-King of the Apocalypse World or equivalent. Kill anyone acting a prick. By which I mean, picking an example completely at random, working kids to death in a sweatshop then feeding their ground up corpses to the next wave of labor. Or equivalent. Spreading the idea that these are bad times, but the way we get through bad times is by looking out for each other. Spreading the idea that looking after others makes you look powerful. Spreading the idea that Starbrite is responsible for all the bad things that are happening. Starbrite is an alien. He is not one of us. He brought this calamity down on our heads.”

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Truth smiled. “Last but not least- Starbrite created the Hell Prince.”

That got a small jolt from Cho. “You mean the public image?”

“No, I mean it literally. Hell Prince is clearly a psyop. It’s a false flag attack by Starbrite, trying to make everyone focus on fighting Onis or internal traitors rather than confronting the truth- the only way Hell Prince could keep getting away with all this was if Starbrite was actively supporting him.” Truth shook his head. “I mean, all those roadblocks? The snap searches, the raids, the diviners? All that surveillance, and yet somehow, SOMEHOW, he makes it to the Onis embassy and out of the country?”

Truth pounded his fist into his hand. “That’s just what they want you to believe! It’s all a distraction, a scam, to keep you from seeing the truth! Do you know just how many shares of Starbrite stock are held by the upper echelons? How many bribes, how many “gifts” given for tax breaks and other advantages? They don’t want you making connections. This, all of this, the lousy economy, the war, the way everything is less reliable these days, even the damn sunspots, are all Starbrite’s fault. And the public should hate him for that.”

Cho nodded casually. “It’s been tried before. He cannot be baited that way.”

Truth opened his mouth to explain, then just shook his head. “Where is your best guess as to the locus of the ritual?”

“We have no idea. In the middle of the box would make sense, but then, we can’t see any reason for any of the suspected ritual sites being where they are. It doesn’t look like anything in any of our books, nor can we find an explanation in theoretical thaumatology.”

“No, I don’t imagine it does.” It finally clicked for him, though. He had never seen it in this life. But in another life, he was a sailor.

“Goodbye Colonel. Let’s not meet again.” Truth turned for the door once more.

“Really? Nothing for yourself? Nothing for your future off world? Even if you don’t think money will be worth anything, some things- precious metals, talismans, gems, slaves, narcotics, cultivation aids, weapons, those things have value anywhere. One way or another.”

“Are those things valuable?” Truth tilted his head wonderingly at Colonel Cho. A man who could exterminate a clan with a stroke of a pen. A man who could exterminate a family with his silence. The bribes and gifts he would have received over the course of his career could scarcely be counted. Even if he was passing a big piece of them upwards, Cho would be considered quite wealthy. Not a plutocrat, but rich.

Truth couldn’t help laughing. The man looked so serious! He really believed those things mattered. He was testing Truth again, but he really did believe those were things of worth. “You keep them, then. Look after them for me. If I want them, I’ll come and take them.”

Chuckling, he opened the door. “Trying to bribe me while wearing a beggar's rags. What a joke!”

Truth had a rough suspicion about where to head next, but his now virtually disintegrated road atlas was understandably lacking in maps of offshore islands. Assuming there even was an island, and not an undersea base or something. The clouds had turned black while he had been talking with the Colonel. He could smell the heavy rain in them. It would hit very soon.

He looked around and couldn’t see a sign for even a local bus, let alone a bus or train depot. He’d spend the night. He had a quick look around. To his pleasant surprise, there was a youth hostel nearby. Practically empty for the off-season. It would do. The rain started pattering against the windows, then pounding. Nothing leaked. It was a good hostel. Truth slipped into one of the private rooms (because he would be damned before he bothered with a dorm again), kicked off his shoes, and had an early night.

Which turned out to be a not-great choice for The System, who barely had time to flinch when he saw Truth’s nous shake.

I was sent forth from the power,

and I have come to those who reflect upon me,

and I have been found among those who seek after me.

Look upon me, you who reflect upon me,

and you hearers, hear me.

You who are waiting for me, take me to yourselves.

And do not banish me from your sight.

And do not make your voice hate me, nor your hearing.

Do not be ignorant of me anywhere or any time. Be on your guard!

Do not be ignorant of me.

The Prophet was reciting their favorite hymn as they walked through the busy streets of the most advanced city in the world, or at least, this part of the world. Debatable on a global level. But definitely top tier even if it wasn’t the very tippy top. It was a wonderful place to be a prophet. There were so many others in the same line of business. You could swap tips. And because there were so many God-botherers, there was an almost endless supply of those wishing to learn more about God. A beautiful, virtuous cycle.

For purely personal reasons, they had spent a century or so in quiet places. Places free of exhausting youth. Just had to settle their soul a bit. Some unpleasant business in the desert. Not bad, exactly, but fair to say they had overdone it. Still. That person was safely reincarnated as a turnip somewhere, so all was well.

Okay, not an actual turnip, but whatever. Turnip farmer somewhere deep in the north. Learning some very valuable lessons about the universe very, very far away. The prophet took a deep breath, inhaling the fragrant herbs and pungent fish sauce aromas coming from the local food stands. The south was where the good things were. That freshly griddled bread smelled amazing. They should just barely have enough money for one, and if not, perhaps they could persuade the cook by sharing the good word.

“I’d like one bread please, with extra oil, extra herbs and extra garlic.”

“Sure. On the house.” The muscular cook slapped a bread on the hot iron plate, and reached for his jug of oil.

“Oh, how generous! May God bless you and your stand with eternal prosperity!”

“That would be lovely. Though it does raise a question.” The cook asked. With a sudden jolt, the Prophet realized that while the face wasn’t exactly familiar, the voice really was.

“What question?” The Prophet had already started to inch away.

“If God is all-powerful, all-knowing, and all-benevolent, why do we live in a corrupt, imperfect world?” The cook rested a hand companionably on the Prophet’s shoulder. “Also, unrelated, I’ve never let a dine and dash get more than three steps with two unbroken legs. Just seemed like something you should know.”