“Freedom. If there is one word that encompasses the Starspawn, it is that. Freedom to travel, to love, to fight and to live. Freedom to do as a person sees fit. This is not to say they are a lawless people, but for good or ill, the Starspawn believe freedom matters more than all.
In this chapter, we will look at the good, the bad, and the ugly this belief has brought to the galaxy.”
An introduction to the wider galaxy, chapter thirty three
Omniscience was strange. Even with only three radial feet to work with, it was still a bubble, and with well over a hundred cubic feet of stuff inside of it. While that didn’t include himself, and quite a lot of fine detail was lost, it should have been utterly overwhelming.
When the transport landed and Mat once again set foot on the Challenger, he knew that he was only walking over a thin layer of metal, a walkway suspended over a mess of wires and tubes. When another bladeslave drifted too close, like Jason tended to, he could feel their clothing, their arms and legs and organs and more.
All of that, and it included air currents, smells, pressure, light levels and so, so much more. And when Jason shifted his weight and moved to sling an arm around his shoulders, he knew. He didn’t see it, turned to look the other way as he was, but he knew. Resisting the urge to dodge was hard, though at least he didn’t visibly flinch away.
Anything but three feet, and Mat could think of a dozen ways to take over the entire ship.
He shook his head when a new line of guards blocked their path, once again accompanied by doctors. Time to get the globeleash removed, then. Good. Unnoticeable it might be, but he was old school. Having more than one kill switch in his body was irritating.
The medical drones hovered forth, this time seeming to collect a vial of blood rather than inject them with crude nanobots. It took longer than the implanting had, but Mat was fine with that. Standing around for half an hour wasn’t so bad.
Then the drones skipped past Stef, winner of not only the tournament but one of the last few standing fighters in the brawl. The woman frowned, but Mat already knew what was going on.
“I won’t say I told you so,” Nova said. “No, wait, I will say I told you so. I told you that standing out would carry consequences, and you went and mouthed off against someone who could buy this entire ship with his pocket change.”
That was an exaggeration. He hoped.
As expected, the drones passed him by. Four, maybe five people didn’t get their globeleashes removed, though he hadn’t bothered to check thoroughly. With it in his blood, they could theoretically kill him the moment he struck a guard, or set a toe outside of a pre-approved area.
In reality, it wouldn't be that strict. Couldn't be, not unless Obedias spent a lot of money. More than he was worth. Nova, can you figure out what the conditions are?
“Not easily,” the AI replied. His tone was low, clearly seething, though Mat was somewhat surprised to find out it wasn’t directed at him. “As slaving tools, they’re supposedly tamper proof. But I can try to passively read out their function.”
How long?
“Not sure. Could be days. Probably more like months.”
Mat gave the AI a mental nod. They weren’t ready anyway, but if this continued, Obedias might stuff them full of a thousand collars. Enough that—
No. No thinking about that. Think about anything else. Literally anything. Old grandmother dancing a merry gig. A purple horse. The fact that he was a slave. Oh, that did it quite nicely.
Mat suppressed the flare of cold, hard anger in his stomach, deciding to meditate on it later. Something like that could be used as fuel, if harnessed properly, but he didn’t need Yon’s lectures to know rage had to be very tightly controlled.
The guards stepped aside, and Mat rolled his shoulder. He had enough tokens to get another proper lesson, assuming Yon wasn’t feeling generous, and he needed to test out his omniscience in combat. That, and work off some stress.
Tobi watched his friend spar, a more brutal affair than normal. Where Mat got all that energy from he would never know, but it was there. Yon knew how to deal with it, of course. Mat had solid instincts, but it took more than six months to seriously challenge someone of Yon’s background.
So for now, Yon let the man tire himself out, though Tobi could swear something had changed. A twitch here, a slightly too smooth dodge there. Strange. And speaking of strange, Ryke stepped up, faced the other way. Tobi grunted in greeting. “And?”
“Something’s definitely wrong with the kid,” Ryke reported. “Killed two people, one by accident and the other sort of on purpose. Clearly conflicted, so he probably liked it and now he’s punishing himself. But yeah, he’s got stamina, and that biomod of his is something else. Wonder why you-know-who didn’t take it.”
Tobi hummed. “Can’t, not if it's as well bonded to him as I suspect. You know why Mat is this pissed?”
“We got globeleashes installed when we landed,” Ryke replied, scratching his cheek. Tobi winced in sympathy. “A couple of us didn’t get them removed. Mat was one of them.”
“Why not?”
Ryke shrugged. “Too dangerous, for most. But I heard that Mat and Jason were the last ones standing during the brawl, apparently by avoiding most of the fighting. Some old rich fuck told them to fight to the death, and the winner would get his freedom. Mat said no, then basically called the man a coward when he pressed the issue.”
“Of course he did. What old man?”
“Mauldove something. Didn’t catch his first name.”
Tobi closed his eyes. “Mauldove. Of Mauldove Fairtrade Unlimited, the second largest Free Company in the galaxy. Great. Lovely. Did the old man have a crimson beard?”
“Nope.”
At least it wasn’t that old man, then. Small mercies. “What else?”
“Kid kept himself out of the spotlight where he could. Pretty sure he threw his last match in the tournament, but can’t be sure. Other than that, something is off about him, which I guess is why you asked me to keep an eye out.”
Tobi nodded mildly, watching Mat dodge a blow by inches, his eyes wide. Even Yon seemed surprised. Now, that could just be improvement, or luck. But Tobi didn’t think so, which was why he kept watching.
One way or the other, he was going to figure that man out, and hopefully he could be what they had been looking for.
Time fell into a routine again, after returning to the ship. The Local Omniscient perk was interesting, but for now, its main use was for fighting, and it was like a whole new set of instincts to get used to.
Mat spent most of his tokens on Yon anyway, so that hardly changed anything. But his skills improved, and hand to hand combat especially was downright fun. He could see their legs, arms, hips and shoulders. Every twist, every turn; he would know the second they moved, though acting accordingly was harder.
Thankfully, it was far from an impossible skill. Yon himself could do it too, but Yon had spent decades mastering it. Hell, Mat looked like a damned prodigy. And not, importantly, like someone who had an AI capable of collecting soul energy and structuring said energy into blatantly impossible abilities even by the standard of the far future.
For the first few weeks, he was worried Obedias would notice, but no droids ever came. Not after a month, or two, or even three. Three months, and he finally realized, in full, that he’d gotten away with it.
Nine months he’d been here now. Three months to get used to his new perk, and even now it still caught him off guard. He had walked every inch of the domus, and all the hallways he had been able to, but still there were no hidden panels he stumbled across, or structural weaknesses he could exploit.
Deathmatches had continued, and more frequently than before. Mat supposed they sold quite well, and if Obedias wanted him gone, it was a cost efficient way to do it. But Obedias didn’t know it was fueling his growth, especially when half of them had been against kitted opponents.
The more dangerous the fight, the more energy Nova could collect. Something about the link between man and the afterlife; Mat didn’t really care. Point being, he was halfway to level four. Fast, but not fast enough.
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Obedias could decide to kill him at literally any moment, and it wasn’t helping his stress levels.
“So, uuhm, are you sure I have to do this?” Tim asked, holding the transword in a white knuckles grip. Mat shook his head, snapping back to the present. Dave’s replacement seemed more put together than most, but he didn’t seem eager either. A shame. Yon loomed in the sparring ring, impatient. “It’s not that I’m not grateful, but— but I don’t know. I don’t want to learn how to fight.”
Mat shrugged. “You don’t have to. But if you don’t take this seriously, you’re probably going to die. It sucks, and it's unfair, and it's your life now. The sooner you get used to it, the better.”
“Harsh,” Nova commented. “Not untrue, of course, but harsh. Reg is much better at this.”
That he was. But Reg was busy, so Tim got him instead. Yon still loomed, but Tim climbed into the ring regardless. Mat remembered his first time. Yon had seemed like a gargoyle of displeasure, though by now Mat knew him well enough to see that he was pleased.
Training to fight, more than anything, was about practice, and if people refused to get in the ring, no matter their talent, they would die. And if Yon didn’t care, he wouldn't be training others, let alone as well as he did. There were others, of course, quite a few of them, but Yon was the best. The most seasoned and skilled.
He might, just maybe, be biased on that front. Possibly.
Tim fought, poorly and hesitantly, but he fought. Mat watched for a few minutes, almost amused at how heavily Yon was holding back, then shook his head. Mat himself was far from the best fighter even in the domus, but nine months was a long time to learn a new skill, especially when your every waking moment is dedicated to it.
“And when you have a never seen before, literally priceless AI crafting abilities of unimaginable power,” Nova added. “Not to downplay your own dedication, of course, but you know. That helps.”
Mat rolled his eyes, moving back to his cell for lunch. He was scheduled to fight another deathmatch in an hour, the third this month, and honestly, they had lost most of their power over him. Hell, the last had been more dangerous to his soul than his life. The woman had been terrified and barely put up a fight, and though he had made her death quick, he added it to the debt he was going to take from Obedias.
Tobi waved from where he was napping on his bed, one leg thrown carefully over the edge. Mat resisted the urge to yank on it, since that kind of seemed like a dick move. Intrusive thoughts; never let it be said they couldn't be suppressed.
At least the slop was exactly what it was advertised as. Slop. Healthy to an almost ridiculous degree, it was about as bland and unappetising as it could physically get without stepping into rancid territory. Perfectly serviceable, especially once you got used to it, but no one would be getting fat on it.
As much as Mat hated the man, he could respect Obedias’ efficiency.
He promptly abandoned Tobi once he was done, spent some time sparring with Darion, watched Yon train Tim some more, then finally made his way over to the door.
It was much the same as last time, really. Go in, take a drink, wait, go into the armory, arm himself—a plain sword, nothing unusual—then wait again. But before his trip down to an actual planet, he had been allowed to find his own way.
These days he had an escort waiting for him. Two droids, one in front and one behind. It was almost as if Obedias was worried that Mat would go on a rampage. Which, without a proper weapon, the droids could stop. Probably.
He had never fought one, but he was pretty sure he could get away. Their internals were interesting, after all. Much of it was wire and steel and such, but the joints were kind of stiff. Limited to human range of movement. They also lacked advanced weapons, like guns or even moleblades.
“These models lack guns and moleswords,” Nova corrected. “Details matter.”
Don’t quote things from my own memory. But speaking of droids, could you take these over when the time comes? Like you took over that ship we woke up on.
“Taking them over isn’t the problem. Or, well, I don’t think that will be the problem. There’s always the chance that these things are running highly advanced, localized AIs, but I doubt it. So if it’s just a personality matrix, I could tweak them like snapping my fingers. But because of that, so could others, and so droids can’t be modified from afar. You’ll have to literally wire them to a command module, which is tied to the ship itself. So yes, but no, but actually yes.”
They can talk, right? And respond? That means audio has to be processed.
Nova cooed. “Look at you, speaking all technical. Sure, they can hear, but that input is sanitized to hell and back. Which, uuhm, isn’t as impossible as it used to be. To heaven and back?”
I’m not religious, Nova.
“You probably have more reason to be than any other person in history.”
Mat blinked, deciding to set that aside before he could spiral. Because, yeah. He had come from the far past, and that might very well make someone believe in god. Or not, if the afterlife was indeed just a realm of energy. Or double yes? Or was this an alternative universe? Was earth even a thing? How could—
So that’s a no to the droids, then? He asked, forcefully pulling his mind away. I could think of a few uses for a small army of tall, monstrously strong war machines.
Nova shrugged. “It’s a no, but also a yes. It depends on something that we can’t talk about, remember?”
Right, expectations warp energy, and warping energy was bad. Somehow. Not his job.
As they came to one of the smaller fighting rooms, Mat paused, and neither of the droids hurried him along. He liked that about them. They were polite. But as he looked at that door, he sighed.
No, his job wasn’t to warp energy. His job was to get the energy in the first place.
The door opened, revealing that his opponent had already been waiting. Not someone he knew, thankfully. There was a quiet, low fear that one of these days he would face one of his acquaintances—and one friend—from the other domuses, but not today.
Mat stepped inside, and it was all much the same as usual. The walls were actually screens, drones flew over their heads and the Judge droned on about the rules and regulations. It was only after, when their match began, that something strange happened.
The man recognized him.
“So, before we get started here, I simply have to know,” the stranger said. “Did you really mouth off to one of the Mauldoves?”
“Why? You know them?”
“Know them? I ran security for them a lifetime ago. Personal guard of Mercadian Mauldoves, one of their lesser cousins. You must have the devil's own luck not to be dead. Still, luck runs out. I’d give you good odds against anyone else in my domus, especially that cunt Noah, but I’ve been killing people since before you took your first steps.”
Mat tilted his head. People who talked a lot usually weren’t confident enough to stay silent, and the man wasn’t that much older than him. Still, no reason to be impolite. “I’m Mat, biomod for balance.”
“Richard,” the man replied, rolling his shoulder. “My list of biomods and techplants used to run for pages and pages, but now I can only boast of a reflex and strength enhancement. Now let’s get to fighting before the Judge gets bored, eh?”
He shrugged, and Richard charged, wild and with a scream. Mat could see no less than four easy to exploit flaws, and took none of them. Instead he stepped to the side, blocking the slice aimed for his neck. He knew the man would try something, since there was no way he was that sloppy, and was proven right.
Richard’s left leg moved back, out of range of local omniscience, and Mat followed, keeping close. The kick aiming to shatter his knee went wide, so Mat punched the man in the throat, letting go of his sword. Three feet wasn’t enough to trivialize a battle between blades, but wrestling?
Some people liked to think wrestling was a fun sport. One often mocked for allowing closeted men to touch each other. Mat had been one of them, once. Well, not the mocking bit, but fighting was supposed to be about punching one another, not violent hugs.
Now he knew exactly where Richard was. His feet, arms, hands, shoulders; All of it. So Mat’s foot linked behind Richard’s own, and they tumbled to the ground. Richard landed hard, driving the air from his lungs, and Mat twisted to avoid landing on the man’s outstretched elbow.
He hunched his shoulders, then took a fist on them, which accomplished little more than pain. In return Mat’s arm twisted under Richard’s elbow, trapped beneath the man’s own weight.
Mat flexed, and after a moment of stiff resistance, Richard’s elbow snapped clean in half. A wild kick connected, forcing Mat back as it proved to carry more strength than should be possible, and then another created space. Mat rolled with it, smoothly picking up his blade when omniscience told him it was in his path.
Richard climbed to his feet, blade in hand. His left hand, which seemed awkward at best. The man grimaced. “Fucking fuck, you cunt. Balance my ass. Who trained you?”
Mat didn’t reply, and any playfulness was gone from Richard's face. When he came again, his footing was sure and smooth, and his stance had no flaw that Mat could find. No matter. He warded off one blow and then another, before kicking out.
Richard’s own leg came up, but Mat had aimed high. The man’s enhanced strength stopped it regardless, but then Mat’s blade came, and that block was even weaker. Off balance but for a moment, Mat bullied into him, throwing his body against the man.
They fell again, and Mat leaned heavily on his balance. Richard scrambled with an almost desperate speed, clearly realizing allowing him to get close was a bad idea.
Mat stabbed forward, probably looking utterly ridiculous. Half fallen, half kneeling, his blade still stabbed, and Richard’s blow came a split second too late. The man seemed surprised by that, too. How hard had it been, learning to fight without most of his tech? How many wrong instincts were still buried in his mind?
Steel entered flesh, and steel won. Richard snarled and pressed a hand to the wound. Not a kill stroke, but dangerous. The man was on the clock now, and they both knew it.
Mat stepped back, warding off a trio of attacks. He had spent a lot of time sparring with Reg, and though he still fought in his own way, Mat had convinced the man to teach him some of what he knew.
Usually, it consisted of the perfect defense with quick, brutal strikes to punish mistakes. Now Mat just focused on the defense part, freely giving ground and letting unnatural energy bolster his stamina.
After ten seconds, Richard seemed to realize what Mat was doing, and the attacks intensified. After another twenty seconds, all that intensity had only cost Mat one scratch on his shoulder, and a somewhat deeper cut on his arm. Neither of which were even close to fatal.
A minute later, Richard slowed. Which Mat knew could very well be a trick, so he just waited, ignoring any opening or opportunities. And so Richard grew weaker, the sand swallowed more and more blood, and finally, Richard just kind of… collapsed.
Still wary of a trick, Mat stepped up, then immediately danced back. Richard didn’t move. Mat kicked sand in the man’s face, and still he didn’t move. Mat stepped back, shrugging.
Ten seconds later, the Judge spoke up. “Winner, Matthias Brook. Two iron tokens will be awarded.”
Two iron, not bad. Mat nodded to himself, then turned to leave, sparing only a second at the threshold to wish Richard good luck. Then he moved on, and the two droids escorted him back to the domus.
Just another day as a bladeslave.
Afterword
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