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The Stargazer's War - Chapter 3.12
🕑 Added 2025-05-24 16:21:20 +0000 UTCChapter 3.12: On the Inside
2,614 matches found!
Micaiah groaned and flung the arm from which her holopad projected into the cushion beside her. Three weeks she’d been banging her head into this wall and still the AI refused to play nice.
“Perhaps you should take a break,” Xavier broke from his silent meditation to say. “You’ve been at it since breakfast.”
“It’s not like there’s anything else to do around here,” Micaiah replied. “Some of us can’t just train and meditate all day. I’m starting to understand why Cal was so gung-ho about getting a job.”
“Some training would do your cultivation good. You can’t expect to face the dangers of your Way so unskilled in combat.”
Micaiah rolled her eyes. “The next time we run into a problem that can be solved with violence, I’ll let you know. In the meantime, I have comparison parameters to adjust. Again.” With a breath she looked back to her holopad, activating the secondary projector to call up a half-keyboard below her left palm so she could type with both hands. A few keystrokes later, and the AI returned once more.
0 matches found!
She’d known going in that this wouldn’t be easy. The scans she’d taken of Cal’s eyes should’ve been high fidelity enough to compare with the starmap she’d downloaded, but for a proper comparison she’d needed to run a bunch of post processing to make them the same fidelity. Assuming she’d done that correctly, it was theoretically just an issue of getting an AI to figure out where in the starmap a view of the night sky would look like Cal’s eyes.
Running that directly returned no matches. Micaiah had spent over a week on it before she’d thought to compare her map to an older version, only to find a number of stars had gone dark. Whether fallen to void beasts or some other threat she’d rather not think about, it meant Micaiah had to reprocess Cal’s scans to match the outdated map, and try running her comparisons there.
There were still no matches. It stood to reason, however, that if stars had died between her two maps, it was entirely possible whatever image Cal’s eyes were projecting predated even the oldest record she could get her hands on. That forced her to let the AI start excluding stars in case they’d gone out before her records began, which both vastly expanded the scope of the calculation she was trying to run and made it nearly impossible to get a conclusive result.
71,544 matches found!
Micaiah sighed. All in all the whole process reminded her of the long months trapped underground, pushing her AI to it’s limits trying to figure out the Sil enchantments. The frustration was remarkably similar, though at least this task was likely possible. The nanites in that ruin would’ve defied years of enchantment analysis.
“What even makes you think it is a place?” Xavier interrupted her wandering thoughts.
“It’s not a physical phenomenon,” she replied. “There’s nothing specific the qi is doing to make his eyes look like that, at least not as far as Cal can tell. It’s spiritual. Either those particular stars have some kind of symbolic importance to Cal in particular, or to his qi as a whole. I’d know for sure if I had someone else to compare to, but the only other option is Ariel, whose bond to Cal defeats the purpose.”
“Have you tried—”
“It’s not New Heravia,” Micaiah interrupted him. “That was my first guess. Second was the approximate location of RF-31, but it’s not there either. Dueling Stars is basically the same data set as RF-31, so it’s not here either. Even Lucy’s origin out in ISH space returned nothing. Whatever the symbolic link is, it isn’t Cal’s history.”
Xavier paused, staring off into space for a few moments as he seemed to think something through. Eventually, he asked, “What about Mausoleum?”
Micaiah furrowed her brow. “Mausoleum? What would Mausoleum have to do with—history. Right. Far as I can tell the stars in his eyes are ancient. Might as well give it a try.”
It didn’t take long to alter the parameters to search a specific location—she’d done that a dozen times before—though for thoroughness’s sake she included a regression to extrapolate celestial movement backwards through time. It was the kind of computation heavy analysis that would take a few minutes to run just looking at one place. If she had access to a large scale research AI she could probably check the whole galaxy with only a few years runtime, but Micaiah lacked both the resources and the willingness to wait that long.
1 match found!
Micaiah froze. She scrolled through the readout, checking the debugging messages that’d popped up before finally pulling up the side-by-side comparison. Cal’s version had a few extra stars, but the placements were identical. “Holy shit.”
“Language,” Xavier chided, an annoying habit he’d picked up from Lucy.
“You were right,” she breathed. “I’ve got a match near dead center of the Mausoleum Exclusion Zone, circa a hundred-thirty-thousand years ago.”
“Huh,” Xavier said. “Neat.”
“I should’ve realized it was something like this. Cal’s always going on about infinity and eternity and how small and insignificant we all are. Of course his spiritual phenomena wouldn’t function on a human scale. It’s not referencing Cal’s history. It’s referencing humanity’s.”
“Now what?” Xavier asked.
Micaiah shrugged. “Now we know, I guess. That’s how this works, mostly. The big flashy discoveries get all the press, but most of research is tiny, incremental steps forward. We know a little bit more today than we knew yesterday, and progress marches onward.”
“So now what?”
“We tell Cal. Maybe it helps him figure something out, maybe it doesn’t. Until he figures out a way to actually measure his qi, let alone analyze it, there’s not much else we can do short of sneaking into the MEZ. As someone who very much prefers not to die of qi poisoning, I vote we don’t do that.”
“Come now, where’s your sense of adven—”
A knock on the door cut Xavier off.
“—ture?” He raised an eyebrow at Micaiah. “Were we expecting guests?”
Micaiah stood. “Not that I know of.” She walked to the door, and signaled it open to find an unfamiliar copper standing outside.
The girl jumped into a salute. “Senior Cadet Isla Dews greets the core members!”
Micaiah blinked. “Uh… hi, there. What can I do for you?”
She heard Xavier ambling over to join her at the door as Isla replied. “Sect Grand Elder Myra Urlitch cordially invites you to join her for tea. If it pleases you, I can guide you to the Urlitch estate forthwith, else help schedule a time in the days to come that better suits your prior commitments.”
Micaiah looked to Xavier. “Tea with Myra Urlitch? I’m not sure that’s a good idea. Should we decline? Can we decline? Charlotte probably wouldn’t—”
Xavier’s holopad buzzed with a high-priority message. He looked down at it. He scowled. He raised his arm to display the readout to Micaiah.
Charlotte: Take the invitation.
Micaiah shrugged. If she remembered Charlotte’s rundown correctly, Myra was the one Charlotte’s father backed to supplant Darla. Ostensibly that made them allies, though this all reeked of getting embroiled in sect politics, the very thing Charlotte had warned them away from. Instructing them to accept the invitation felt out of character for her. Clearly there was more going on here, but Charlotte knew this den of vipers best, and it would be foolish to ignore her advice. “I’m not doing anything right now.” She looked to Xavier. “You?”
Xavier saluted back at Isla. “We graciously accept! Lead the way.”
Isla led them to the same transport terminal Micaiah visited twice a week to see Cal, ushering them into a private shuttle but not actually entering it herself.
So much for guiding us to the estate, Micaiah thought as the transport pulled away with just the two of them aboard. She didn’t particularly mind Isla’s departure—a transport with a preprogrammed destination would get them there just fine—but the disconnect between Isla’s words and her actions struck Micaiah as weird. “Any word from Charlotte?”
“More instructions,” Xavier answered without looking up from his holopad. “She wants us to accept whatever offer Myra gives us, probably some task in exchange for resources or focus hours or something.”
“Did she say why?”
“No,” Xavier said, concern clear in his voice. “It worries me. I think someone might be monitoring her communications.”
“Or altering them,” Micaiah replied, fighting off a shudder. “Since before we even got here, Charlotte’s been ad nauseam ‘don’t get in involved, don’t get involved, don’t get involved.’ It’s weird that she’d flip the script like this, right?”
“The situation may have changed. Charlotte’s position could be untenable, or staying uninvolved could be no longer possible. If Myra Urlitch wants something from us, we may already be involved.” Xavier sighed. “I wish I could see her. She understands people in a way I never will.”
Xavier’s sharp and sudden honesty sent a pang through Micaiah’s heart. Amazing as her date nights with Cal had been, they served as stark contrast to the fact that despite living a short transport ride away, Charlotte and Xavier hadn’t seen each other in over two months. She placed a sympathetic hand on Xavier’s arm. “I’m sure she misses you too. The honor duels seem to have mostly winded down. Maybe it’ll be safe for her to leave the estate soon.”
“This invitation smacks of beginnings, not endings,” Xavier declared in his usual overly poetic and painfully cryptic fashion.
Micaiah still had not gotten used to way he seemed to jump back and forth between normal speech and these grandiose statements, but Xavier was far from the only cultivator she knew with his own idiosyncrasies. “Either way, it’s a change, both for Charlotte and for us. Maybe getting involved will mean there’s no longer a reason to avoid the Velereau estate. We could visit her.”
Xavier flashed her an intense look, his gaze seeming to bore holes through her retinas. “You have a hopeful spirit, even after all you’ve suffered. Hold it dear.”
Micaiah didn’t have enough time to decode whatever the hells that meant before the transport pulled into a private dock and the door opened to reveal another copper cultivator in House Urlitch colors.
“Welcome to Radiant Manor,” he greeted them. “Sect Grand Elder Myra awaits you. Please, right this way.”
Micaiah didn’t get a chance to return his greeting before he was off, forcing the two of them to hasten after him. They walked in silence through the grand estate, taking in the beautiful paintings and sculptures and hunting trophies that lined the walls. The wealth on display irked Micaiah, but came as no surprise. She’d always known how effective the sects’ strongest cultivators were at hoarding resources.
The unnamed copper stopped outside an open doorway, gesturing them through. Beyond, Micaiah found a garden.
A winding stone path—the material for which must’ve been imported from a local asteroid at no small expense—wound through carefully manicured hedges and patches of flowers all beneath a glass skylight exposed directly to the star’s light. It was, to Micaiah’s eyes, a masterful display of tamed nature. Xavier didn’t seem so impressed. If Cal’s tales of the being that destroyed the nanite swarm under Ilirian were to believed, Micaiah could understand why.
The hedges eventually spat them out into a paved clearing, within which sat a number of benches, a round table, four cast iron chairs, and Myra Urlitch.
She looked young, especially compared to the other movers and shakers of the Dragon’s Right Eye, though the steel core Micaiah detected at her center belied her apparent youth. For all she appeared in her early thirties, bodies iron and beyond aged differently, the process slowing all the way until it stopped completely upon the transition to jade. She may have been the youngest and only unmarried Urlitch sister, but Myra still had a good thirty years on Micaiah.
“Ah, you’ve made it.” She neither stood nor saluted, simply gesturing with an upturned hand to the chairs across from her. “Please, sit.”
The words were outwardly polite, going so far as to skip the usual shows of deference someone of Myra’s standing would expect from them, but there was a predatory undertone to them. It reminded Micaiah of nothing more than a shark happily letting a school of fish part for it, knowing it could strike at its leisure.
Micaiah sat. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Grand Elder.” She kept to the formalities as best she remembered, for lack of any other context for how to behave in such a situation. She wished, in that moment, that she shared Xavier’s unflappable courage or Cal’s flagrant disregard, but Micaiah had always been a researcher first, a cultivator second, and a fighter so distantly behind that that to rank it would probably require scientific notation.
Civil as the conversation seemed, Micaiah was on edge. All interactions between cultivators of different stages carried an inherent threat of violence, one Myra—if not outright embracing it—hadn’t done much to dispel.
Seemingly unbidden, a valet appeared from one of the various paths into the hedges. He deposited a pot of tea, three cups, and a plate of bite-sized cakes onto the table without a word. Micaiah thanked him. Myra didn’t.
“Now that you’ve had some time to settle in,” Myra started as the valet poured the tea, “how have you been enjoying your first exposure to polite society?”
Micaiah agreed with Xavier. She wished Charlotte was there. She’d know how to properly navigate this conversation. For all she enjoyed his company, Micaiah very much did not wish Cal was there. He’d have taken offense and the conversation would’ve already devolved into exchanging barbs. Diplomacy really was not his strong suit.
“It’s been very enlightening,” Xavier replied. “I’ve found many opportunities to hone myself for the challenges to come.”
Myra smiled at that and sipped her tea. “I’ve heard tales of your time in the dueling arenas, both of your dedication and your prowess. The Dragon’s Right Eye has a promising future if even the weakest of our outworld holdings are fostering such martial talent.”
Instead of thanking her for the compliment, Xavier went full Xavier. “I’ll be the champion of the sect, one day. This I swear.”
Myra chuckled. “Such fire! I’ll hold you to that.” She paused, taking her time to raise her cup to her lips before lowering it again. “Yes, you’ll do quite nicely.”
Alarm bells rang through Micaiah’s head. “Quite nicely for what?”
Myra set down her teacup. “Jean Jack was clever to keep you two at arm’s length. If nobody knows for certain if your loyalties lie with Velereau or that soulship that delivered you here, you’re free to act with a level of plausible deniability hard to find in cultivators of your level.”
Micaiah scowled. “That’s not…” She trailed off, rethinking the implications of Charlotte’s instruction to take this meeting. Charlotte had told them time and time again to stay uninvolved, keeping them separate from House Velereau to protect them from sect politics, but Charlotte wasn’t in charge. If her father wanted them under the Velereau umbrella, they would be. They’d only managed to keep as distant as they had because Jean Jack had let them. It seemed they were about to find out why. She exhaled. “Nevermind.”
A knowing grin stretched across Myra’s face. “Come to some realizations, have we? Good. It’ll make this easier. Jean Jack’s stunt at the last reception had the intended effect. Cassie will make her move against Darla in two days, well ahead of schedule. She’s furious the only retribution for Austin’s death was territorial concessions to Darla, and she fully intends to depose my sister so she can bring the full might of House Urlitch—backed by House Morris—against Jean Jack.”
Micaiah furrowed her brow. None of that sounded like a good thing, but it was almost word for word the series of events Charlotte had predicted in the immediate aftermath of Austin’s death two months ago. “What does that have to do with us?”
“It means it’s time for our counter play.” Myra let out a breath. “Threads, it feels good to say that. Patience truly is the most insufferable necessity. I have a list of targets for you, names I’d prefer you memorized and didn’t write down, all courtiers of Cassie’s that would prove expedient to become suddenly indisposed in the next two days. Coming from you, such an act would serve as implication but not proof that Jean Jack is trying to keep Darla in power, further inflaming Cassie’s ire while simultaneously weakening her power base for the conflict to come.” She continued to list six names, none of which sounded familiar to Micaiah.
“You want us to, what, attack these people?” Micaiah could feel some of Cal’s righteous outrage burning through her. She suppressed it as best she could. “No.”
Myra sighed. “Sometimes I forget we weren’t all raised in civilized society. I require nothing so barbaric. Accidents in the dueling ring happen, and a few days in a medical bay is surely a more merciful outcome than death in an attempted coup.”
Micaiah set down her cup. “We don’t work for you.”
“Of course you don’t, sweetheart.” Myra winked. “Speak with Jean Jack if you need to. I’m sure he’ll settle any misunderstandings between us.” She pushed back her chair and stood. “This has been a most productive talk, and it’s been such a pleasure to meet you both, but I’m afraid other matters require my attention. It’s a busy time, after all. Do give Jean Jack my regards.” She turned and left, waiting neither for them to stand nor offer a goodbye of their own. Within seconds, Micaiah and Xavier were alone in the artful garden.
Xavier looked to Micaiah, and, with a shrug, reached for one of the little cakes and popped it into his mouth.
Micaiah stared at him.
“What? There for us, aren’t they?”
Micaiah sighed.
“These are good.” Xavier went for another.
She looked at him askance, considering how delicious the treats could possibly be compared to her distaste for the reason Myra had summoned them there in the first place. With a mental shrug, she reached out to try one. Her eyebrows shot up. Some kind of jelly—the fruit behind which Micaiah didn’t recognize—filled the confection, washing over her tongue with an immaculate combination of sweetness and tartness as she bit down. “These are good.”
They’d made their way through six of the miniature desserts before the same copper cultivator that had delivered them to the garden materialized. “If it pleases the seniors, I will lead you back to your transport.”
“Perfect,” Micaiah said, standing and pushing the chair back under the table. “We’re finished here.”
Xavier snatched one final cake from the plate as they turned to leave, tossing it into his mouth in an act of unnecessary showmanship. Micaiah couldn’t help but grin at his antics.
Whether he was actively trying to distract her from their latest dilemma or simply having a bit of fun, he’d successfully lightened the mood after what’d been a particularly distressful meeting.
It didn’t last.
A familiar face spotted them as they left the garden, one that prompted their guide to jump into a salute. “Senior Moule, sir! I was just delivering our guests to their transport.”
“At ease, junior,” Nolan replied. “I’ll take them from here. You can return to your cultivation.”
“Yes sir!” the copper exclaimed, scurrying off without a second look at Xavier or Micaiah.
Whatever maneuver Nolan was going for, Xavier was having none of it. Subtly had never been his strong suit. “Nolan!” he practically shouted, reaching out to slap him on the back. “I haven’t seen you since our duel! How have you been?”
“Shhh! For threads’ sake, lower your voice.” Nolan stepped closer to them and gestured they keep walking. As they did, he spoke in hushed tones. “I lost my job thanks to you. They fired me for apparently not being the best bronze in the entire sect. As if that baboon Carlyle would’ve fared better.” He scoffed. “They’ve got me tending the damned garden, like I’m some kind of mortal. Look at me! I’m covered in filth!”
Micaiah looked him up and down to confirm that while some dirt did stain his boots, knees, and the undersides of his fingernails, he was neither—by her definitions—covered, nor particularly filthy. She would’ve killed to be as clean as he was during her months underground. She considered saying as much, but opted not to antagonize him when he clearly already upset.
Xavier went a different direction. “Seems like a safer job than having to deal with the young master and mistress. It seemed they were trying to get you seriously injured taking you to the Velereau dueling rings like that. Perhaps you’re better free of them?”
“Are you kidding? Insufferable as those little shits are, they’re a golden ticket to iron. Getting fired cut my focus room hours in half, and there’s no way they give a gardener access to one of their iron crucibles.”
“And what exactly would you like us to do about it?” Micaiah asked. “We don’t get any more focus room hours than you do, and we aren’t exactly flush with natural treasures either.” Cal had mentioned Xavier had a crucible to reforge his body and advance to iron, but Micaiah herself still hadn’t a clue how she’d go about obtaining something similar.
“Look, it’s not about cultivation resources. You’ve gotta get me out of here.” Nolan paused to look in each direction, seemingly satisfied to find nobody within earshot. He lowered his voice. “I know it doesn’t look it, but House Urlitch is falling apart. Cassie’s son died at some party a few months ago, and she’s mad enough people think she might try and overthrow her sister.”
Micaiah clenched her jaw to keep from reacting—better not to let on exactly how much they knew. “That sounds like it’s above our concern. What do a couple of bronzes have to do with a dispute between steels?”
“Everything,” Nolan said. “Ninety eight percent of House Urlitch and its allies are bronze and below. For Cassie to actually take control, she can’t just beat Darla, she needs enough support for everyone else to agree she’s actually in charge. There will be fighting, honor duels at least if not outright combat, and since I’m a gardener instead of the honored mentor of the house’s future, I’ll be expected to take part.”
They reached the dock and stopped walked.
Rather than board the transport, Micaiah looked to Nolan. “What exactly do you want us to do?”
“Take me with you,” he answered immediately. “I can hold my own in a duel, but open fighting is a bridge too far. I refuse to give my life for this place, not after how they’ve treated me.”
Micaiah blinked. “What, now?”
“Yes, now. I’m supposed to be working. Any minute now someone will come looking for me.” Nolan paused, eyes darting desperately between Xavier and Micaiah. “Please, you gotta help me. I have nowhere else to go, and it’s partially your fault I’m in this mess. I’ll give the Velereaus everything I know about the goings on here. Threads I’ll give you focus room hours. Please.”
Micaiah breathed and looked to Xavier. “What do you think?”
“I think we can hardly fault him for seeking to avoid the conflict to come. We’ve been doing the same thing.”
Micaiah sighed. He had a point. It irked her, how ready Nolan seemed to betray his employers, but from everything she’d seen of House Urlitch she couldn’t exactly blame him. It was a risk, one she was certain Charlotte would be none too happy about, but given she’d directed Micaiah to attend this meeting in the first place, Micaiah was none to happy with Charlotte at the moment.
“Alright,” she eventually said, gesturing to the transport. “Get in. Please don’t make us regret this.”
“Thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you! I swear on my life and my cultivation I’ll repay you for this.”
Yeah, Micaiah darkly thought as she watched him practically run into the transport and strap himself in, I’m sure you will.
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