Life in the North: An Apocalyptic LitRPG

Calgary has a total of three City Cores, areas that demarcate the portions of the city and give control of the city itself. Unlike Vancouver or Seattle, which spread its population across numerous adjoining cities, Calgary concentrated most of its population in its main city area. That means they have significantly fewer City Cores to deal with. Initially, humanity had all three Cores under their somewhat fractured control, but with the coming of the aliens, they lost two of the Cores at the cost of quite a few people.

The Kingdom of Peswin currently control a City Core in the southwest of Calgary, beneath the bow river, while the Uvrik are east of the river and humanity has the northwest. Of the three, the Uvrik corporation is in the most tenuous position, having to deal with the brunt of the fighting with humanity, while the halflings sit back and watch from the sidelines.

Those are the basics. The rest is a rundown on the kind of problems the Calgarians are facing. The Peswin currently had the lowest number of Advanced Classes in the city—about twenty or so, all low-Leveled—but had a much larger number of Basic Combat Classers. Uvrik went the other direction, having eleven very high Level Advanced Classers, about a hundred ten Basic Combat Classers, and a very, very large army of drones.

Most importantly for my plans, I got some information about our enemies’ current defenses. While everyone had settlement shields set up to stop simple probes, everyone conducted on-going attacks, which meant those shields dropped constantly. Unfortunately, that means that everyone has put a decent amount of funds into upgraded sensors. Still, for all that, everyone was on-board with the first part of my plan. Sneaking in and getting the lay of the land, especially with my ability, was uncontestably a good idea.

It was part two that got them riled up.

“You want to what?” Charles shouts, his reedy voice almost breaking as he squeaks his outrage.

“Talk to them,” I say. “Negotiate an alliance. Preferably with both but at least one.”

“Are you insane?”

“No. There’re either eleven really high Level Advanced Classers or twenty low Level Advanced Classers of the combat persuasion we have to fight. That’d be doable individually, but what happens if the other side hits us right after the fight?” I say.

“We know. Why do you think we’re holding off?” Donna says.

“That’s what we expect you and your men to help us on,” Trevor says pointedly. “Or are you just talk?”

“I can bring a bunch of fighters, enough that we’ll have a decent advantage and most likely won’t lose too many in a single fight. But not many doesn’t mean no one. I’m tired of digging graves and cremating bodies. Aren’t you?” When no one replies, I continue. “If we can find some common ground, maybe make an alliance, why don’t we?”

“Because they’ve killed our people!”

“It’s our land,” Trevor says.

“And how’d that argument work for you guys?” I say pointedly. When I see Trevor bristle, I hold up a hand, my brain catching up with my words. “Sorry. Too far. But getting an ally from another power is a winning strategy, if I recall my Canadian history.”

Trevor grunts, obviously still unhappy. I wonder if offering him a chocolate will help.

“What makes you think they’ll talk to us?” Donna says when the silence gets uncomfortable, leaning forward and giving me an eyeful.

“I don’t. But if we don’t try, we won’t know.”

“And if they try to kill us?”

“Then we’ll have their answer,” I say with a slight smile. “But I figure we could write up a contract to get a diplomatic talk going.”

Donna makes a face, while Charles gets ready to raise another point of contention. I sigh, settling in to continue the argument. We need allies not just for this fight but for all the upcoming fights. We can’t keep pissing off the entire Galactic System. I just hope that we aren’t embroiling ourselves too much into Galactic politics by creating these alliances.

Convincing them took hours, but eventually I received an agreement—after promising to scout out their lands and get moving on preparations for a knock-down, drag-out fight. I’m less than enthused by the idea of that, but between the help we can get from Seattle and BC, we should be able to win. We might even be able to do so without losing too many people, even if we get attacked by both sides. Thankfully, neither group in Calgary seem to be into the entire slavery or random torture business, which means we only have to overcome the basic prejudices and hurt feelings from fighting a constant skirmish for the last few months. Only.

I wish I could say scouting is more difficult, but the fact is, slipping in and causing havoc is just the kind of thing the groups have been doing for the last few months. Joining a skirmishing group when the shields fall is a simple matter, and after that, I limit my attacks. Mostly though, the group of us just run around, making sure I get as much land under my feet as possible.

The next day, we head straight into the Uvrik’s territory for a repeat. Unfortunately, a few hours in, we get caught.

The Uvrik have a somewhat different method of dealing with intruders. Their flying drones blanket the sky, dozens of them swooshing over our heads as they triangulate on our position. Much like Sam’s smaller drones, none of these do much damage individually, but together, they could easily become a problem. More importantly, these ones are focused on slowing us down, hitting us with oil slicks, insta-concrete canisters, and foam barriers. Area effect spells like Lightning Strike and Fireball sweep the skies, but they just keep coming.

“Move, we can’t keep staying here,” Iris, the titular leader of our group, screams.

The African Canadian woman matches actions to words even as she looses an arrow at a coming swarm. The arrow shimmers, becoming a dozen. Each ignites and accelerates into the sky, tearing apart the drones. The rest of us are right on her heels.

As we turn the corner of the next block, the four of us find ourselves faced by a wall of steel. Squat robots have shields held in front of their bodies, and the barrels of their beam weapons sticking out gleam in the summer sky, moments before they fire. The portable shield generator around my waist flares white, soaking up the damage as it teeters on the edge of failing.

“Shit!” A thin, young man ducks away as the ends of his long hair catch on fire. The ends burn away as he ducks and rolls. “You assholes! That cost me a hundred Credits to get fixed!”

“Told you you should have gotten the nanoweave!” his friend, Louise, cackles as she stands in the middle of the road, beams aimed at her seeming to bend as they near her form. The twisted flares of light strike the ground, buildings, and drones as she Warps Space.

I admit, I have to grin. It’s time for me to test out a few new spells I purchased just before we left. While I’m not earning as much these days—not having that much time to go hunting has put a crimp on my looting and experience gain—I can give myself a salary as the settlement owner. I’m not particularly clear about the formula used—it has something to do with the type of government, the on-going revenue generation, tax base and tax rate amount and duration—but it’s enough to replenish my empty wallet. It’s a pity I can’t use the settlement funds directly for myself, but if I could, royalty and other settlement owners would be truly broken.

“My turn,” I whisper to myself and raise my hand. A molten bar of fire shoots from my hand, melting the steel and punching into the robot behind the shield. I swing my hand sideways, lopping the creature and its neighbor in half before the attack fades. Even as the after-images of my strike fade, I dodge aside.

“What was that?” Iris pants as she draws a breath, her own attack punching a hole in a robot next to the ones I attacked.

Ali tosses her a description, since he has little to do in this fight, his orders being to stay hidden and undetectable.

Inferno Beam

A beam of heat raised to the levels of an inferno, able to melt steel and liquefy earth on contact! The perfect spell for those looking to do a lot of damage in a short period of time.

Effect: Does 150 Points of Heat Damage

Cost: 125 Mana

“Move,” I snap without thinking, dodging forward and sweeping my hands sideways as my next spell forms. Mud Walls rise from the ground, stretching to the sky before sweeping forward in a V formation, pushing and submerging the attacking robots as the walls create a pathway for us.

Mud Walls

Unlike its more common counterpart Earthen Walls, Mud Walls deals slow, suffocating damage and restricts movement on the battlefield.

Effect: Does 20 Points of Suffocating Damage. -30% Movement Speed

Duration: 2 Minutes

Cost: 75 Mana

Reacting to the tone of my voice, the group charges alongside me. Mana Darts form in my hand to attack more mini drones that block our way. I keep the pace down, making sure the team can catch up, spinning around after a hundred meters to lash out with another Inferno Beam as some of the robots get out of the mud.

“Mana consumption, boy-o. Remember, we don’t want to look too powerful,” Ali reminds me.

I grunt, pulling the beam rifle from my shoulder. With the team caught up, we get back to running, arrows, projectiles, and spells blowing away any obstructions as we try to get back to “our” part of town.

Luckily for us, our situation has been transmitted to the other teams, and after another couple of minutes of running away, we receive an order over the tactical net.

“Drop and roll in 3. 2. 1. Now!”

Some of my new friends do exactly as the voice commands, but Louise and I take the liberty to interpret the orders, hitting the ground in a long slide. We’re both angling to see what’s coming, and the extra effort—and a few road burns—is worth the effort. Prepared spells lash out, beams of purple, green, and yellow light that cut through drones are mixed with tiny homing missiles and the deep and continuous boom of a minigun. In seconds, the air behind us is clear of drones, the last lucky few pulling back to stem losses.

I grunt, standing, road rash mostly faded away as my System-assisted healing kicks in. It’s weird that I even got it, considering how much health I have, but I’ve noticed that the System likes to make us hurt. Higher health doesn’t mean an inability to take damage—just less. A lot less. Staring at the remnants of my armored jumpsuit, I sigh, making mental note to pick up a few more sets when we get back. Sometimes, I feel like these armor sets are like what pantyhose must have been for women—better to buy cheap and disposable than expensive and nice. Because you never know when the next damn thing is going to leave a tear in it.

We run back to the safety of our lines. It doesn’t take long now that we don’t have to worry about fighting through masses of drones. A part of me wonders how much all that cost the Uvrik, but I decide against asking. I’m not sure if I’d laugh or cry at the answer.

“You’re wanted,” Iris says once we’ve made it safely back.

I nod, turning to head to see the council members. That’s the only people they could mean.

“And John? I run the team.”

My step hitches slightly from a flare of anger, but I push it down. She’s right—I might have been a fraction of a second faster, but it didn’t matter. Not at that point. I should have let her give the command rather than do it myself. Having multiple leaders could cause trouble. I wave goodbye in acknowledgement before I leave, Sabre finding me soon after.

“Did you get far enough?” Trevor asks when I walk in.

I’d be annoyed at his abruptness, but it’s not like I knocked when I entered. “Good enough for government work.” I pause, struck by a thought. “We’re the actual government now, aren’t we? Crap.”

Donna snorts before she taps a projected holographic image. Ali floats over, waving his hand over the image and updating it with our path, a red line charting our progress through the city.

“Now, we ready to chat?” I ask when I realize the three, perched over the map, won’t be saying anything soon.

“We’ve made the requests,” Donna says. “We’ve yet to hear from them.”

I frown, considering if they’re telling the truth. In the end, I decide not to question them. Better to believe in them than not. “Anything you need from me?”

“The Kingdom’s been putting some pressure on us here,” Trevor says, pointing at a portion of the map. “They didn’t like us picking up those buildings. Our men could use some help, especially with that sensing Skill of yours.”

I grunt, nodding. While I’m still limited—as is Ali—by my Levels to pick up anything truly Skilled, that doesn’t mean we can’t be of help. Our very presence along that line will force the Kingdom to deploy more stealth-oriented teams, reducing the pressure those teams can bring elsewhere along the border. And since I’ve got nothing better to do, I head off. The only pity is that I’m limited in how much experience I can gain since killing too many of their people before we engage in “peace” talks is probably a bad idea.

Two days later, we get our first meeting. You’d think the Uvrik corporation would get on it faster, but hey, who cares about thousands of Credits destroyed, a little blood spilled, and a few worthless lives lost? It’s all part of the balance sheet of taking over a city, isn’t it?

I’m pacing in a circle, waiting for word of how the meeting went. It’s been hours since my presence was restricted to this room near the rest of the Council members. Within it are members of the fast-acting reserve team we’ve designed, ready to act if things go to hell. Most of them are lounging, reading, playing with weapons.

Hours of pacing, chewing on chocolates, and occasionally attempting to read. It’s frustrating, being stuck back here and waiting, but having me there would give away too many of our cards. I could calm myself, instill control over my emotions, suppress them so I can do something “productive,” but sometimes, it’s important to actually feel what you’re feeling, to deal with your emotions rather than suppress them. Or so I’m told.

When I’m finally called into the meeting room, I find Donna with the pair of aides who went along with her, all three relaxing over a big bottle of apocalypse ale.

“John,” Trevor greets me, his greeting followed soon after by everyone else’s.

“So?” I ask.

“They’re willing to talk. But they want you there for the next meeting,” Donna says. I blink, raising an eyebrow before she shrugs. “No, I don’t know how they figured you were in town.”

“Do you think the Kingdom…?” I ask, frowning.

“They still haven’t answered any of our missives,” Charles says, shaking his head.

“What do they want with me?” I frown, not understanding the request for my presence. I’m just a helper here, an over-powered troop carrier.

“The Manager I was speaking to didn’t know. Or wouldn’t say,” Donna says before looking at the other two. “But they’ve signed a Contract binding their corporation to a ceasefire to take effect in twenty-four hours. And guaranteeing us safe passage to meet with them. In their headquarters.”

“With me?” I say, my eyes wide. That’s insane. They can’t not know of my ability if they made that call. Unless they’re planning a double-cross. Which might make some sense. Crap.

“It’s a trap!Maybe.”

Trevor leans forward. “We have to do this. Even if it’s nothing more than to get John in…”

“They can block my Skills,” I say, holding up a hand. There are Skills, Settlement Upgrades, and even spells that can block my Portal Skill. While doing it for the entire town is expensive, for a single headquarters? That’s more than reasonable. Hell, I did it for each of the City Cores under my control.

“Still, that close…”

“And if they betray us?” Charles says, shaking his head. “No. Not at their headquarters. It’s too dangerous.”

Trevor turns to Charles, beginning a loud argument about strategic necessity. All the while, I stare at Donna, who’s spinning the empty beer bottle in a circle.

“What do you think?” I ask her softly.

“I think we should go,” Donna says. “You were right.”

“I like hearing that, but about what?”

“They’re willing to talk. Almost eager.” After a moment, Donna raises her voice. “We’re going.”

That leads to another round of arguments, but it’s good enough for me. I leave it to the trio, slipping out of the room. Guarantee or not, I’ve got preparations to make.

Our initial meeting place is in a small park, just next to a pair of residential apartments and some office buildings, nearly right between the shifting borders of our settlements. Theoretically, these borders were fixed in the settlement screens and maps, but in wars and battles, locations that are tactically and strategically sound to hold don’t hold to the vagaries of the System. Even with settlement shields that regenerate, having an irritating burr of an enemy team can make a huge difference. And so here we are, standing among summer green grass, overgrown and unkempt with last fall’s withered leaves because no one has time to care for such trivialities, waiting.

“What makes you think they won’t just kill us?” Donna says again, looking around as she sweeps a hand through her hair. Nanowoven, color-shifted to a dirty blond that suits her slim, carefully dressed business-formal figure. Even now, she’s chosen something somewhat impractical—a tightly woven suit to show off her figure, combined with dark blue high heels.

“Well, we did get a Contract. And you’ve got a pair of shields on you. You should be fine,” I say, shaking my head. “I’m still curious why it’s you and not anyone else.”

“Why the woman?”

“Why the Lawyer?”

“Ah, because of my Skills. Contract, Detect Motive, Detect Truth, Confidentiality Agreement, Binding Oath,” Donna chants. “All potentially of use in a discussion like this.”

“Way I understand the way these things go, there’s rarely an agreement on the first meeting,” I counter.

She bobs her head. “True. But this is the second one. And I did volunteer.”

“Oh?” I raise an eyebrow, surprised.

“I can assess usefulness as much as anyone. Charles is needed for the planning, administration, and running. He also has the greatest support from the Artisans,” she stumbles a little at the last word, unused to the term I’ve introduced. “And Trevor manages our defense. I fill the gaps. This. This is a gap.”

“I’d hope we are more than that,” a voice calls out before I can answer her. The voice is low and growly, holding a trembling timbre that a human voice might get after a twenty-pack-a-day habit. The speaker is just as much a surprise—a humanoid-looking foxhound walking on two feet toward us in a single-breasted tunic that extends to his knees in gold and brown.

Stafin (Level 34 Adjunct)

HP: 270/270

MP: 1080/1080

Condition: None

“Stafin,” I say, inclining my head, at the same time sending a thought to Ali while Donna makes her own introduction. “A single name?”

“Common among his people for commoners. They get another name for each notable clan that accepts them into their inner pack, or if they do something worthy among his people,” Ali explains.

“I have been requested to guide you forthwith. If you will…” Stafin gestures, big, soulful eyes fixed on us.

We glance at one another then nod, walking forward. After much discussion, we’ve kept our party small. If they do attack us, keeping Donna alive will be hard enough, never mind anyone else.

As we head deeper, I take the time to study the changes the Uvrik corporation has made to their side of the city. While their drones cluster around us, none of them seem particularly aggressive, most docked in the numerous charging stations added to buildings. In addition, I note that a number of the buildings have widened windows, glass removed and allowing the ever-present winds to blow through. Though I do note the slightest shimmer in front of those windows, which speaks of a secondary environmental shielding system to keep out rain and debris.

“Uvrik corp—are they all shifters like Stafin?” I ask Ali, realizing I never did check. Never really thought about it, since the fighters we deal with are, as usual, a wide-ranging mixture of Galactic races. And shifters are part of our culture, so they’re likely sources of bad Mana translation too.

“They aren’t shifters. They only have one form—and not all of them have the same form. The people you’ve been fighting, most of them are from the same planet. The Uvrik originate from the planet of Izu, where genetic modification is the norm. They’ve been mixing and matching genes, altering their base code such that if it wasn’t for the System, they probably couldn’t even reproduce normally,” Ali says, shaking his head. “That’s why they’ve got so many different forms.”

“Weird. What’s with the lack of glass?”

While I hold my mental conversation, Donna is engaging Stafin in a war of words, fishing for knowledge. It’s not a bad try, and listening to the pair verbally spar, I realize how damn far behind I am in some areas. But hey, I can punch out an elephant these days, so we all have our strengths.

“They’ve got all the enhanced senses and enhanced musculature that extensive gene alterations give you. Without the glass, they get to smell and hear more, giving them better awareness through the city.”

I can see that. Lana, for example, has extended senses over and above what an increase in Perception would offer. I’ve more than once noted her using those senses to spot monsters or unexpected guests early, saving us from injury or embarrassment in equal measure. Having no fixed address might seem free and easy and fun, but it also means that we catch our private time when we can.

“So how come you decided to chat with us? Thus far, the Kingdom has been a little on the slow side,” I ask in a break during the conversation between Donna and Stafin. My bluntness gets a look from Donna, but she keeps quiet.

“They will not answer,” Stafin says, shaking his head.

“Oh…?” Donna steps in, arching an eyebrow.

I’m sure she’s wondering, like me, why he’d feed us such valuable information. Or perhaps it’s a lie, but if so, it’s a stupid lie. Then again, if he’s right, it’s possible that that information doesn’t have any real value since we’ll learn of it soon enough.

“We attempted to speak with them concerning the city when they first arrived,” Stafin says.

“And you didn’t try to talk to us?” Donna says softly, though I can tell there’s a bit of an edge to it.

“At that time, the consensus was that it was unnecessary,” Stafin says, tilting his head toward me. “The appearance of the Redeemer in the last few days has altered the strategic environment.”

Well, that partly explains things. Not that we hadn’t figured it was something like that. Or that they’ll probably want to end up negotiating some form of access to my settlements. If they’re playing fair. On the other hand, it’s possible they’ve got other considerations. Thoughts about the potential reasons why I’m coming along and what our negotiation options are in light of this information keep me occupied till we’re led onto the roof of a parking garage.

What used to be a parking lot has been partly enclosed with force shields, all the vehicles removed, and the grey concrete cleared and replaced with white marble. What used to be dark and dingy sparkles with mana-imbued lighting that provides an open-air feeling. Only a few things—like the entrances and the sloping ramps—give a hint of what the building used to be used for.

The entirety of the roof of the parking lot has been transformed into an open air meeting area with green grass, small shrubbery, and comfortable lounging chairs. The grass itself looks familiar but subtly different, enough that I spend a moment assessing it. Seated in three of the seats are the heads of the Uvrik corporation in Calgary. The first is another dog-like variation, a weird mixture of beagle and huskie with long, drooping ears and an elegant pointed face. The second looks like one of those fish from the deep crossed with a particularly hairy caterpillar—a creature of angles, fangs, and nightmarish bristles with hands. And the third is the most “human,” if you ignored the extra pair of mammaries, the swivelling antenna, and the cascading greenish-purple hair.

Donna halts—and I admit, so do I—at the sight of the trio, our poor human brains attempting to process the peculiarity before us. Whether it’s due to a higher exposure to weirdness or just a higher Willpower, I find myself striding forward and extending a hand. For the first time, I kind of regret that the aliens have to, by common Galactic courtesy, use our greeting methods—I’m not looking forward to touching the spider-fish thing.

“John Lee,” I say, shaking hands as I’m introduced around.

Donna approaches and greets them as well, failing to suppress a shudder as she touches the creature of oceanic nightmares.

Rikard (Level 46 Urban Planner)

HP: 370/370

MP: 1280//1280

Condition: Trimark Link

Uwa Bima, Lord of the Sixty Third Chase of Balump (Level 17 Barrister)

HP: 670/670

MP: 1780//1780

Condition: Trimark Link

Quatta (Level 3 Security Consultant)

HP: 820/820

MP: 930//930

Condition: Trimark Link

“Trimark Link?”

“Similar to your Two are One. Except shared across multiple individuals. They’re all hooked up to two others.”

Smart. I’m actually happy to note they took such actions. It means they’re taking us seriously.

“Redeemer. Ms. Luff. Thank you for coming to speak with us. Do you care for refreshments?” Uwa the fish-spider takes the lead, a small thing I absently note.

Pity I didn’t have much time to study their culture and whether his taking the lead means they’re taking this seriously or if it’s just the way things work for them. After all, even on Earth, in certain cultures, the boss doesn’t speak much, working through their assistants for all but the most important bits. We quickly decline their hospitality, not just because of potential poison but because their idea of snacks is eclectic. Wasabi peas, dried shrimp, and raw, unsliced cucumbers aren’t exactly business meeting food.

“Lord Bima or Lord Uwa?” I send to Ali, unsure of how to answer him.

“Neither. Just Uwa. That’s not a noble name, just a title.”

“Well, I’m sure you’ve all read the offer,” Donna says now that the initial pleasantries are over. Among the earlier correspondence passed was our one-page ceasefire offer.

“Yes. I believe you Americans prefer a blunt answer?” Before we can correct him, Uwa’s already continuing. “A peace settlement on your terms is unacceptable. The City Core we hold has already cost us a significant amount of resources.”

“But that cost is a sunk cost,” Donna says, leaning forward on the lounging chair. “Continued war will increase such cost, with little return.”

“But the cost to you is high as well. In addition, control of a City Core provides significant non-Credit advantages,” Uwa retorts.

I watch the pair spar, arguing for a few more minutes about what, to me, seems an obvious conclusion. They’re willing to do this, or else there’s no point in dragging us out here. Irritated, I fiddle with my inventory, pulling out some chocolate. I pop a piece into my mouth, only to get a slight smile from Rikard.

“Did our food not suit your needs?” Rikard asks, drawing the attention of the other three.

I swallow the chocolate, refusing to look at Donna’s glare. “Nothing like that. Call it a bad habit for when I get bored.”

“Bored?” Quatta breathes, her voice high and pitchy.

“Yeah. I’m not a big fan of arguing over what seems to be a given. You guys are willing to sue for peace. The question is, what do you want? Just tell us, rather than talking in circles.”

“But we are negotiating…” Uwa pauses, eyes focused a few feet in front of him. “Ah. I see. You are even more blunt than expected. I shall have to update our protocols.”

Donna hisses, waving her hands slightly while shooting me a glare. “Please, Mr. Uwa, don’t base your protocols on John. He is unusual even for us humans.”

I grunt, refusing to apologize or back down from my initial question. “So?”

“Very well. We are willing to stop aggressive actions against you. The corporation is not willing to expand hostilities with the Kingdom, and as such, we do not agree to aid you in attacking them. We will give up the City Core, giving you majority control of the city, but require adequate compensation. That includes land in your settlements, Redeemer,” Uwa says.

“How much land?”

“Well, that is a matter to be negotiated.” Uwa seems to straighten in his chair, frills and hair tucking closer to his body.

“Arse,” I mutter but don’t protest any further, gesturing for Donna to take over. Even I’m not dumb enough to think that we won’t have to talk about this a bit. Still, being the dumb, impatient hick means that this entire conversation had sped up more than I could have reasonably expected.

The negotiation continues between Uwa and Donna, the pair starting with the number of settlements then switching to specific settlements, lot sizes, building types, addresses, and more. Even I can tell that there are details that will need more time, more research to be completed. The fact that a good portion of this discussion includes my settlements also means that my people will need to get involved.

The conversation takes hours, and in the meantime, I’m giving Rickard and Quatta a lesson in proper meeting foods. Cheese, crackers, a wide variety of chocolates, and pork rinds appear as we talk.

Uwa and Donna call it as the day gets closer to the end. There are too many details to finish by themselves, but at least for now, a broad agreement has reached. As such, the trio leads us to the exit.

That’s when I grab my chance to ask a question that has been bugging me. “Why did you agree?”

“A simple calculation about the return on investment across the options provided. With your current settlements, especially Vancouver with its dungeon, we expect to see a significant return in the future for much lower on-going expenses if we can reach an agreement. If this agreement is successful, upper management has indicated that we might be willing to negotiate for additional locations,” Uwa says. “Obviously, that would depend on your continued expansion and success.”

“Of course.”

“Careful there, boy-o. That’s how the Yerrick lost. They kept giving out land, and they eventually found themselves bought out of their own cities.”

“I remember,” I say while smiling and saying goodbye. After all, there’s no guarantee that that is what the Uvrik corporation is actually considering. And pigs may fly.

Chapter 8

You’d think that something already agreed upon in principal would be fast to negotiate. Even with everyone’s earnest desire to get this done, the final peace treaty took weeks to complete. And that’s with significant cribbing by Kim and Ali from other Galactic agreements and Donna’s 24/7 work ethic. The woman even Leveled twice during the entire process. But in the end, we had a signed and vetted agreement that covered timing, penalties, land trades, Credit payments, tax exemptions, and more. Frankly, if we hadn’t used the Shop to get the entire thing vetted by a third-party Galactic Barrister, I’d have been afraid to sign it.

During this entire time, the Kingdom refused to talk to us. In fact, the little goblin-asses picked up the tempo of their attacks, forcing us to deploy even more people to their border. Since the damn halflings are refusing to talk to us and the Uvrik already know about me, there’s little reason for me to stay hidden any further. It’s even likely they’ve bought enough information from the Shop that they know I’m here. Finally, the council let me loose. That, of course, brought its own problems, including a couple of targeted ambushes. All those attacks were beginning to feel a little personal, but at the same time, it’s kind of hard to get really angry at people who are, like, three and a half feet tall. But trust me, they sure do try.

Which of course leads us to today and the attack we’ve planned. Now that we have a peace agreement in place with the Uvrik and no contact with the Kingdom, it’s time for us to finish this. Which leaves me on this blasted street, fighting off another damn swarm of halflings.

“Get. Off. Me,” I snarl, kicking and punting the halfling through the air.

I send a burst of projectile fire after the spinning body, and the impacts of the explosive projectiles throw the body on a new, bloody trajectory. Even as my attacker falls away, another little bastard charges me with a tiny serrated knife and plunges it into Sabre’s beleaguered thigh armor.

“Chain Fireball,” a voice intones behind me, all the warning I get before a sphere twice the size of a basketball flashes past me and splits into five smaller spheres which head off in different directions and explode. The explosion throws me and the swarm of halflings apart, making Sabre’s damage board flash red all over.

“Arse,” I snap, dragging the poor mecha back into my inventory with a thought.

Two hours into our attack on the Kingdom and my trusty mecha has seen better days. A part of me notes that it’ll likely come back with additional resistances against edged and fire damage, while another points out that there’s a reason why the previous version of the PAV had easily replaceable armor parts. It’s going to be weeks before Sabre is back in action.

“You good?” Chetan says, his Indian accent coming through even more clearly under stress, his fingers shifting as he hand-casts a healing spell on me.

Dealing with the Mages from Seattle is frustrating, since none of us are coordinated in our actions or decisions. I hate fighting with new people, but they’ve been assigned to me since they’re a decent stopgap while my team provides heavier firepower.

“Warning first, damn it!” I snarl.

When Chetan taps his ear, I realize the helmet is too damaged to transmit and I do a quick swap with another copy before repeating my angry answer.

Chetan Patel (Level 8 Life Mage)

HP: 301/340

MP: 1733/2830

Conditions: Gaia’s Embrace, Anaerobic Surplus, Mana Drip

“Sorry about that,” Daniel says as he walks up.

I glance back at the Vietnamese-born mage who—thanks to the gene editing purchase—stands shoulder-to-shoulder with me. Swirling around him are small fire elementals. I’ve seen those fire elementals flash forward and intercept beam attacks and rubble, absorbing attacks and leaving Daniel untouched.

“We needed them clear,” Daniel says. “The colonel has new orders for us. We’re needed at 45 St and 8th Ave. Southwest for both.”

Daniel Nguyen (Level 11 Fire Conjurer)

HP: 237/280

MP: 2803/3400

Conditions: Embrace of the Sun, Mana Drip, Roving Flames

“That’s right across the city!” I grumble, my map updating with the new directions. Our scouts, who’ve backtracked since we got held up by this ambush, wave us forward, and we comply. “Which idiot decided to name everything using numbers and compass directions?”

I get a shrug from the two Mages who match my pace. Thankfully for them, we’re forced to keep to a slower pace as our scouts try to get us around the fiercest of the fights. That, according to the damn colonel, isn’t my job. No, I’m just a giant transportation machine. Pulling a beam rifle from my inventory after a thought, I keep my eyes swivelling left and right in search of threats the scouts might have missed—or who, like the ambush party, moved in our direction since they left.

“We getting reinforcement for our team?” Chetan pants, his Stamina obviously not up to snuff. Running and fighting as much as we have done has obviously taught him to sink more points into Constitution the next time he Levels.

“No idea. Why don’t you ask?” Daniel suggests sweetly.

Chetan grimaces, knowing that he’d get another “we’re working on it” answer. “We’re Mages damn it, not tanks. We’re DPS at best, long-range support. They could have at least given us Mike.”

I grin, recalling the overweight programmer who had classed in as a Druid. The first time we released him, Mike had been in his dire bear form, a minibus-sized transformation that smashed its way through the Kingdom’s hardest strong point via brute strength.

“How’s your Mana?” Lancer 3’s voice cackles in my ear.

I admit, I had to giggle a little internally when he was first introduced to me as my point of contact. I’ll admit it’s juvenile, but calling the soldiers by Lancer 6 or Lancer 3 or the like just made me smile. “Okay.”

“Numbers.”

“Five eighty-seven and increasing.”

“Get it up to at 750 at least. We need you to open the Portal at 14 and 33rd, then we’ll need another Portal to the Saddledome from Westbrook Mall once the teams have done mop-up there. Coordinates are being updated on your map.”

I nod, reaching to my Mana Bracer and pulling out another fifty or so Mana. That should easily put me in the range they need before we reach them. Unfortunately, I’m realizing just how little an additional three hundred Mana is in such a long battle. “Do we join the mop-up?”

“If it’s not complete yet, yes. We need those troops over at the Saddledome.”

“And me?”

The Saddledome is where nearly half of our imported forces are. The high Level Basics and any Advanced fighters we brought are locked into a battle to free the dome and the City Core from the Kingdom. Unfortunately, the Kingdom seems to have dumped a ton of money into defenses on those buildings—never mind how big they are naturally—and our people have been bogged down.

“We’ll let you know. Over,” Lancer 3 says curtly.

“That—” I begin, then realize he’s already left. If he was talking to me directly, things must be urgent. A quick mental switch and I’m on the team’s frequency. “Let’s pick up the pace.”

We come in on 13th Ave to see Westbrook Mall wreathed in flames, the northern half crushed and mostly rubble. Explosions, gouts of flame, and a cyclone of debris greet us, the roar of spells, Skills, and explosives drowning out most of the screams as we hit 37th St. Most.

“Where’s the team?” Chetan asks, panting a little as we come to a stop.

“Get your asses under cover.” Wride fades in from the shadows near the corner, his crossbow held loosely in his arms, green army fatigues somehow blending in even in the grey concrete. We scramble to take cover, reminded to do so now that we aren’t running headlong, as he says, “Our targets are inside. The damn halfies are fighting inside the mall and blowing it up as our people push them back.”

Elliot Wride (Level 44 Apprentice Ranger)

HP: 1788/2300

MP: 450/450

Conditions: Urban Spirit, System Shadow, Eagle Eye

I crane my neck around, getting a hiss from Wride, but I ignore him. Anyone who wants to take a potshot at me will have to get through my restored Soul Shield. Still, I don’t hang my head out too long.

“We’ve got to get to them,” I say.

“Jess is scouting it now,” Wride says. A moment later, our maps update, new route markers appearing. I frown, staring at them, which makes Wride stop from moving off. “What?”

“We’re going around,” I say.

“Yes. We’re going to flank the halfies,” Wride says as he tilts his head to stare directly at me. “Is that a problem?”

Dots move on my minimap, red and blue, enemies and friendlies. I can see the force concentrations, the numbers. Hell, I can even see where the damn halflings are on the map. A few explosives into the wall, Lightning Strike, Chain Fireballs, and then a Blink Step in would finish this, with less of our people down. I could finish this fight in a minute. But then I’d have blown half of my remaining Mana and probably lose my Soul Shield, which would require me to refresh it, which would put me well below what Wier needs me for.

“Nothing.” I grit my teeth, shaking my head.

It pisses me off, not being able to help more. I feel helplessness as I condemn some of the fighters within to death just so that we can throw the survivors into the grinder again a few seconds later.

Miners nods then pops up, checking out the surroundings before he takes off, slipping from cover to cover in full view of us. I know he’s doing it to let us know where to move, annoying as it might be to be schooled like this. But he’s the expert. I just kill things.

By the time we get to the mall’s southern entrance, Jess has disarmed the traps laid across the entrance, dealt with the pair of watchers they kept out, and found us an entrance. Even as we slip in, I have to admire the Advanced Level Ranger and his effectiveness. The man might not be as tough in a stand-up fight as I am, but damn is he good at his job.

Together, Miners and Jess move ahead of us even as the sound of battle approaches. Within seconds, we’re in our ambush spots, the pair highlighting our positions in our maps. Not a moment too soon since the first of the halflings appear a moment later. Jess has us hold our fire even as the halflings take position a bare twenty meters ahead of us.

Absently, I twist the beam rifle in my hand, debating which spells I could use as I eye my designated zone of fire. The journey takes just over three minutes, returning another three hundred or so Mana to me. That’s good enough for a Blink Step in close and then Blade Strikes. Or an Inferno Beam into the biggest cluster. They’re too spread out for Lightning Strike to be particularly cost effective. I could Mud Wall them, but that’d be hard to move through later, so I nix that idea.

My thoughts are interrupted as the halflings lay down covering fire, another group rushing toward their prepared positions. I grin, knowing that Chetan’s spell and Kelly’s Skill are still hiding us from their own sensors.

“Now!” Jess snaps over the comms.

There’s just over fifteen halflings in front of us, most having barely gotten themselves under cover before we let loose. A beam of white-hot fire flies from my hands as Wride holds down the trigger on his crossbow, bolts slamming through the bodies of the halflings and piercing their defenses. Jess uses a more traditional assault rifle, System-registered bullets tearing into their backs. In his corner, Daniel goes for something a little more cinematic, an elemental fire wyrm that comes to life and whips around to lay waste to the halflings.

The initial shock sees us add a few of the injured to our kill count, but the halflings react well. They spin about, taking cover and returning fire, only to find that their initial attackers are charging them. After a moment, I realize that Jess probably warned the other team too, letting them coordinate with us. Rather than stand and fight, the halflings break, charging us in a mad scramble that our combined firepower is insufficient to stem. A few harried minutes later, with me resorting to my blade as the last couple manage to get into melee distance, we’re done.

The rescued team has barely caught their breath before I’ve got the Portal open to send them to their next fight. Ten seconds after that, we’re on the road again, feet slapping asphalt as we head to our next objective.

It’s not the kind of fight I like. But as I glance at the ground we’ve gained and the kill count Ali has been quietly updating, I realize it might be the kind of fight we need.

“All right, Redeemer,” Lancer 3’s voice comes an hour and a half later as I get ready to open another Portal for a group of weary fighters. I’d have done it already, but they needed a moment to sort themselves out. “You’re cleared to follow the squad.”

“To the Saddledome?” I say slightly incredulously. Finally!

“Yes. There’s an obstacle your particular Skills are needed for,” Lancer 3 says. I make a mental note to look at his Status and get his name next time. “You will be briefed when you arrive.”

“Got it,” I say, waving to the group around me.

A quick briefing and a shuddering passage through the Portal later, we’re a block and a half away from the Saddledome. The other team starts down a side street with their own orders while we follow the updated map details on ours.

The Saddledome is huge, a multi-hall complex that hosted the Calgary Stampede and other giant conventions. It’s not a single building, though the largest one has multiple halls that are joined together, allowing access internally. Even so, when we get through the entrance and spend ten minutes jogging, I’m pretty sure it’s never been this big.

“What the hell? This place wasn’t this big at FanExpo!” Chetan mutters.

“FanExpo?”

“Stan Lee signing.”

“Nerd,” Ali crows before he waves. “It’s a City Center building that’s been modified with a minor pocket dimension.”

“A pocket dimension?” Daniel squeaks.

“A minor one. Relax,” Ali says nonchalantly. “Come on, you think my team wouldn’t be able to blast our way through your tiny building by now?”

Chetan grunts, saving his breath while Jess and Wride wave us onward. Our passage through the empty, gaping hallways is only marked by the appearance of corpses, combat damage, and the occasional unexploded trap.

Oh yeah, traps. There are a lot of them. Everything from the classic pitfall to chaos mines, walls filled with high-explosives and ball-bearings and automated laser turrets. Most of them are destroyed, but a few have reset by now, which we either avoid or just destroy again. It’s annoying and occasionally painful, but it doesn’t take too long before we catch up with the vanguard.

The army boys make up the majority of the fighters here, most of them split up into groups of four and hanging together in a squad of two teams. Or in some cases, what’s left of two teams. The non-military personnel are more loosely organized, but even then, they mostly hang out in their parties.

“Miss me?” I say, sliding into the space next to a familiar redhead resting against a wall around the corner from the fight.

She cracks open an eye then grins weakly. Next to her, Anna lies, fur singed and missing two legs. I frown, eyeing the fox with mild concern. Anna was pretty old when she was first picked up by Lana, and the last year has added streaks of white to her light red fur.

“John.” Lana’s voice is filled with relief and exhaustion at the same time. She hands me a thermos filled with coffee, which I swig quickly after dropping my helmet, the Skill-produced nectar of the gods automatically adding a small Stamina and Mana buff.

“Thanks.”

“About time,” Sam grumbles from his spot a short distance away. He’s leaning up against the wall, fiddling with a drone in his hands as he attempts to fix it. He seems completely oblivious to the fact that they’ve been stuck in the same spot for the last twenty minutes.

“Mikito?” I say as I search for the diminutive Japanese woman. On the other hand, I do spot Laila with her afro and her team.

“Down the other hallway with Carlos,” Lana says. “They’ve got this menagerie there which has a never-ending supply of monsters, it seems. They’re desperate for healers.”

“Oh, I don’t get an inquiry?” Ingrid says.

I jump slightly, adrenaline from hours of fighting leaving my nerves slightly overstrung. It’s only a small portion of my lizard brain that remembers she’s a friend, allowing me not to put my fist through her smirking face.

“Gotcha,” Ingrid adds.

“Funny. And that’s why I didn’t ask,” I say. “So I hear you need me?”

“I do. If you’re done with catching up with your friends,” Captain Angus Tyrell says sarcastically from a few feet down, hunched over clear air with his aides. Of course, I know they’re actually staring at a shared display, one I’m not privy to.

I flash the captain a smile as I walk over, eyeing soldier-boy and noting the damage on his suit. Good, not someone who leads from the back. “What can I do for you?”

“There’s a chasm in the other room. There used to be a bridge, but they destroyed it when we arrived. Attempts at fording the bridge have met stiff resistance. We need you to cause a disruption while opening a Portal for our men,” Captain Tyrell says while indicating exactly where he’d like that Portal on the 3D map he’s shared with me. “We’ll be supporting you the best we can, but you’ll need to handle most of the fighting yourself to begin with.”

I grimace, eyeing the thirty or so dots. A quick thought and Ali highlights the Advanced Class fighters in the group, flashing me their details. I’m a bit grateful he’s removed their names for now, those details not something I require.

Gale Mage (Level 17)

HP: 303/320

MP: 2103/2480

Conditions: Shield of Air, Wind Blades, Mana Drip

Medjay Warrior (Level 29)

HP: 2868/3110

MP: 983/1080

Conditions: Body of Stone, Millicent’s Ever Healing Remedy, Sense of Shifting Sands

Tagma Rider (Level 7)

HP: 1455/1480

MP: 988/1070

Conditions: Linked Mount, Health of the Many

3rd Bone Ranger (Level 6)

HP: 1577/1680

MP: 781/990

Conditions: Dimensional Sight, Air Sense, Mana Drip, Wqq’s Blessing

Four Advanced Fighters. None of their Conditions are particularly surprising, mostly buffs for their abilities, regeneration or defensive spells or Skills. Nothing extraordinary, but there are four of them. Three of which are melee fighters. I exhale then blink as first green, then purple light washes over me, my own conditions updating as the nearby spellcasters throw buffs on me too.

Haste

Mana Drip

Yeller’s Patented Kinetic to Blood Regeneration

Plot Armor

…

The buffs keep coming, but after a while, I stop looking at them and focus on the way the changes make me feel while keeping an eye on my Mana. I’m nearly topped up and my health has never been better. Other than a quick swap of armor, I’m about as ready as I can be. I could spend the time assessing if the spellcasters are coordinating properly or just trust that they aren’t clashing their buffs, canceling each other out. After all, certain types of Skills and spells actually clash in their properties and it isn’t always the “better” Skill that stays in effect.

As I exhale and pop my head around the corner again, the conversation with Ali pops back into mind.

“No such thing as infinite buffs, boy-o. On average, you can get about three buffs for each of your secondary attributes, like Mana or Health. The first ups the related attribute, the second the regeneration, and the last the actual value. Spells or castable Skills that try to affect the same thing will often conflict unless the spellcaster is good. Or the Skill’s particularly unique.

“That doesn’t include passives of course. So your skill Body’s Resolve won’t clash with another regeneration spell, but a second spell of the same kind could if it was an active type. Of course, if you tried to get a second passive Skill, chances are you’d definitely clash. If you want, there’s a bunch of research on it, including the specific combinable Spells and Skills. But you ain’t a real spellcaster and…”

A hand slips into mine, pulling me back from my memories. I turn to see Lana holding it, giving it a gentle squeeze.

“Worried?” she asks.

“Nope.” A single raised eyebrow and I chuckle softly. “Fine. Just a bit. It’s been a while since…”

“Yeah.” Lana nods. She understands. It’s been a while since I did something this stupid. But there’s no one else, is there? And so, what is is. She kisses my helmet on the side before she drops down again. “You’re wasting your buffs. Boy-o.”

I chuckle softly and take the gentle ribbing as the encouragement it is before nodding to the captain to indicate I’m ready. A second later, my backup opens up. Sam’s drones sweep out first, laying down smoke and beam weapon fire. A few seconds later, the rifle squads who have been hunkering down and trading potshots open up, tearing into their opponents, soon joined by the spellcasters who have been conserving Mana. We stream into the cavern, taking cover under the portable shields and mobile armor that litter our side of the chasm. For a moment, I take it all in, the metallic floor and walls, the cavernous drop-off with its ill-lit bottom, and the defenders on the opposite side, a bare two hundred meters away. Then I act.

Blink Step. Maximum range, five hundred meters. An easy flicker, especially as Ali has swung high to give me an even better vantage point, one not obscured by the growing wall of smoke. My first target would be the Mage, but an anti-teleport formation that Ali spots makes that impossible. So I pop into being right behind the Bone Ranger crouched over a metallic wall and firing his repeating beam rifle. It’s a simple thing to extend a foot into his bottom and let physics take over. The Ranger’s yelp of surprise makes me grin even as he flails and falls into the cavern. I doubt he’ll die, but out of the fight is just as good a result for now.

A polearm flashes, a blade cleaving through my Soul Shield to be stopped an inch into my shoulder. My eyes wide, I jerk aside even as my attacker rips the weapon away, his hands burning from a damage reflection buff. I keep dodging, my Soul Shield forming around the torn hole even as the pair of Advanced Fighters close in on me. The Medjay is tall, nearly our size, with a pair of javelins in hand and long, sweeping hair. The Tagma is a stocky halfling female wielding a beam-pistol-and-sabre combo.

A hand twists as my eyes lock on the empty point of space the captain requested. A moment later, a tear in space appears, a black hole that offers nothing. Before I can rejoice, I’m grabbed by invisible hands and thrown into the sky. A moment later, a javelin is thrown at me, smashing into my Soul Shield, then it defies common sense as it hangs suspended in air, spinning and drilling into my Soul Shield.

“Lightning Strike, boy-o!” Ali cries as he swoops forward in front of my hands.

Hands slammed together, I call forth my spell, electricity playing along the crowd, attacking the Kingdom’s men even as Ali channels his own Affinity through it, upgrading the damage. We sweep the attack across the ground before finding our angle of attack changing abruptly. A moment later, vertigo.

“What the…?” I snarl then realize that the air grip has thrown me over the chasm before releasing me. Before I lose sight of the Portal, I trigger Blink Step to pop back into the air and get ready to re-engage.

Left alone by himself, Ali floats, exposed. Already, spells arc toward the Spirit, who is dodging into the chasm while attempting to fade out of existence.

As gravity takes me back down, I land in a crouch, feet flexing as I soak up my initial momentum, knees aching from the impact. The Soul Shield lasts for a fraction of a second longer before another beam rips into it. A javelin pierces my chest a moment later. I fall backward even as the javelin tears through my body and exits, flying back into the Medjay Warrior’s hand. Before he can attack me again, a pair of halflings dogpile my crouching form, blocking his attack.

Since I lost sight of my Portal, it snaps closed to the accompaniment of a loud scream. Even as I roll and buck off my little assailants as they stab me with poison and frost-coated weapons, I’m calling forth the Mana needed to open a second Portal. A twist and flip gets me to my feet, one of the halflings behind my back.

A bone-shuddering thud from behind is accompanied by a flash of orange and black. Roland at least made it through, and the halfling’s body crunches under his massive teeth. A second later, the second Portal snaps open, just to the side of where a Marine crouches, firing his repeating beam rifle as he bleeds from the stumps of his feet.

“Chain Fireball!”

The screamed warning has me throwing myself forward, ending up behind the Portal as the flaming sphere traverses the chasm. Insane or not, more of our people throw themselves through the Portal into the middle of the exploding flames. Entire rifle teams exit and take station, the few healers—or designated healers—doing their best to buff the front-line fighters. Ingrid appears from the shadows, wreathed in fire, to tackle the Medjay Warrior while Jess and Miners bully the Tagma Rider. I take a moment to recover from getting cooked. Again.

“Keep the Portal up. We’re nearly done,” the captain’s voice cackles over the communicator.

I grit my teeth and nod, layering a newly generated Soul Shield over my form while taking potshots with my beam rifle. I can’t afford to take my eyes off the Portal again, so I keep my help to the minimum. But the team doesn’t need it. Lana and puppies charge out of the Portal to smash apart the last resistance at the hallway exit. With our people inside their lines, the tide of battle turns. More and more of our men stream in, the Kingdom personnel unable to slow us down. And just like that, the fight is pretty much over, support personnel streaming in seconds later through the Portal.

“So, magic school bus, how you doing?” Ali says over our mental connection.

“Magic school bus?”

“What? You’re yellow and transport children around.”

I pause, considering if I should be insulted or proud to be compared to a classic children’s book. Wait. No. Insulted. Very much so. “Go roll in some Goblin shit.”

“That’s my boy-o.” Ali chuckles, floating up from the chasm. He’s literally smoking, damage from spells having pulled his Mana-imbued form apart.

“Why all the racist shit lately?” I say, stretching.

“No reason.” Ali flashes me a smile. There’s something in it that I don’t understand but nags at my intuition. For all that he’s an annoyance, his sense of humor tends toward the bizarre and perverted, not racist and hurtful. Which makes his recent actions weird.

“Mr. Lee,” Angus speaks a moment later, making me look up. “Colonel Wier says you may continue to work with us or proceed with the additional deployment of our troops.”

“He’s giving me a choice?” I say.

Lana snorts, walking over to me as she stares at the hole in my chest armor, the skin beneath already patched up. “The colonel knows you need to Level too.”

“Ah.” I consider the offer. “I’ll stay with you guys. If there’s nothing else, I’ll join the vanguard.”

“That—” Angus shuts up, deciding not to protest further.

Dangerous or not, the vanguard is where the experience is. Flashing him a grin, I trot forward, Lana following me, flanked by the puppies.

Time to finish this then.

Chapter 9

“Where to next?” Lana asks a day later.

We’re curled up on a couch in a newly purchased building in Calgary, one that we picked up from our earnings in the fight. Down the hallway, Ingrid and Mikito each have their own apartments while Sam’s taken over the caretaker’s place and the parking lot beneath for his drones. Last I saw, the older man was muttering something about upgrading Mikito’s PAV further.

“Mmmm… I’m not sure,” I say softly. “Things have cooled down for the Americans in Washington. Or heated up. There’s a new entrant and it’s messing up everyone. So Wier’s been ordered to take things a bit slower.” I let that topic die before I continue. “How’re our settlements?”

“Your settlements,” Lana says, prodding me in the short ribs.

“Yeah, yeah. We’ve got a rough outline for a government. I’ll get Ali to send it to you. Basically, a constitutional monarchy, with a steward, captain of guard, generals, and the rest. The administration of cities will be left to the self-elected city councils, with those under me as a check against them. There’ll be a series of individuals, roaming judges if you will, who can override decisions and mete justice out too. But we’ll mostly let the cities do their thing. And once all this is done…”

“You’ll give it up?”

“Yup.” My lips twist in a half-smile. “Any other form is much harder to dissolve.”

“You’re asking people to trust you to give it back,” Lana says softly, eyes fixed on me.

“And you know what they say about power…” Ali cackles from his corner where he’s watching his latest binge TV show. As far as I know, he’s currently on a Dr. Who binge—including the lost seasons. I’m a bit confused about what those are, but really, that confusion is the least of my problems.

“I know,” I say. “We’re working on options to give you people a way around this. But I don’t think it’ll matter in time.”

“Oh…?” Lana arches an eyebrow.

I kiss her, just because she looks so damn good that way.

When I pull away, she murmurs, “Stop changing the subject.”

“Just a premonition about the future.”

When I refuse to elaborate, Lana drops the topic and answers my original question. “Vancouver’s doing well. We’re well on the way to meeting the Large Town requirements. The land purchase requirement is the problem. We’re trying to balance it with development in Burnaby to get it up to a Town level, but it’s still only at eighty-three percent right now. The parks are a tough nut to crack, but we’re getting there. New West, Richmond, and Surrey are next up, though Surrey seems like they’re going to get there by themselves.

“As for Kamloops and Kelowna, they’re both Towns, as you know. No real chance of them becoming Large Towns, not without a larger population…” Lana sighs and I nod. That isn’t possible until we can direct more people to them. With a minimum of twenty thousand population and a ninety-eight percent land purchase requirement, the Large Town status isn’t even worth considering.

“Sounds like things are in hand,” I say softly. “And the scattered other settlements?”

“We’ve pulled everyone who is willing to come out. There are still holdouts but…” Lana shrugs, and I have to agree with her. There’s not much we can do about those.

“What are we doing with the production spot for Vancouver?”

“Who knows? The damn Artisans keep arguing among themselves, so nothing’s happening. If I hear how ‘innovation is the only way forward’ one more time,” Lana growls softly. “Why do you think I made my way out here?”

I chuckle, giving the woman a squeeze. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. So. Where next?”

I sigh, rubbing my face. My heart says to swing by and clear the prairies and keep going till I hit the Atlantic. Hopefully by that time, there’ll be enough people who can help that they’ll be able to free the Maritimes. Sense says dealing with the larger, more geographically close cities in the US is a better use of my time. We can free more people faster. Logic… well, hell. I haven’t actually looked at the information we have on the cities lately, so focused am I on Calgary and our potential alliances.

“Onward. Always onward.”

Later that evening, when Lana’s finally asleep, I have time to review my status updates. I have to smile slightly at the newly increased Levels, a smile that is wiped away when I recall why exactly I’ve gained these Levels. I exhale, pushing aside the mild guilt once more. Survivor’s guilt, that feeling of not being good enough, of not having sacrificed enough. It’s been more than a year now and still it lingers. For all my attempts at being more in touch with my emotions, I have a feeling certain things might continue to exist forever.

Glancing over my Status Screen, I note I’ve got another free Class Skill Point and nine free attributes to allocate. That’s a decent amount for upgrading, which means I should probably spend it. It’s strange, but at this point, those nine free points aren’t that huge a deal. That last battle was painful and once again showcased the need for more Mana and more Mana Regeneration. It’s one of the many reasons why I avoid picking up more passive Skills—too many of them harm my Mana Regeneration.

That being the case, Intelligence and Wisdom seem to be the best bets. Dumping three more points into Intelligence, four into Wisdom, and one each into Luck and Perception makes me happy. Now that we’ve got a larger sample size, I’m pretty sure that increases in Luck increase at the very least the number of Credits I get to take from those I kill. And money is good.

After that, I have to decide what to buy with my last Class Skill Point. And that’s a difficult choice. I’m not going to get many more from now on, so rather than make the decision, I put it on hold. Never know what I might need in the future.

Status Screen

Name

John Lee

Class

Erethran Honor Guard

Race

Human (Male)

Level

46

Titles

Monster’s Bane, Redeemer of the Dead, Duelist

Health

2120

Stamina

2120

Mana

1660

Mana Regeneration

129/ minute*

Attributes

Strength

112

Agility

199

Constitution

212

Perception

63

Intelligence

166

Willpower

164

Charisma

18

Luck

33

Class Skills

Mana Imbue

2

Blade Strike

2

Thousand Steps

1

Altered Space

2

Two are One

1

The Body’s Resolve

3

Greater Detection

1

A Thousand blades

1

Soul Shield

2

Blink Step

2

Portal

3

Army of One

1

Sanctum

1

Instantaneous Inventory*

1

Cleave*

2

Frenzy*

1

Elemental Strike*

1 (Ice)

Shrunken Footprints*

1

Tech Link*

2

Combat Spells

Improved Minor Healing (II)

Greater Regeneration

Greater Healing

Mana Drip

Improved Mana Dart (IV)

Enhanced Lightning Strike

Fireball

Polar Zone

Freezing Blade

Inferno Strike

Mud Walls

As dawn breaks, Mikito and I have just finished a round of sparring. Ingrid’s on breakfast duty thankfully, while Sam continues to work on replacing his drones. Lana walks out of our bedroom, dressed but distracted as she swings her hand and mutters, working on one of her many projects. As hard as I work on building my combat skills, Lana probably does twice that in handling the various business and settlement interests she’s been given.

“What’s for breakfast?” Mikito asks, sliding into a seat. She eyes the stacks of omelets and the jars of honey, real butter, and jam, along with links of sausages and bacon. “Oooh, bannock!”

Everyone looks up, realizing what Mikito said. All eyes but Ingrid’s alight on the floury goodness on the table, our hands and bodies darting forward. Triggering Blink Step, I snatch four pieces of bannock before popping back to my seat, smirking at Sam, who is only just beginning to go for the fast shrinking pile. My smirk is wiped away a second later when Lana casually takes half of my share directly from my plate. When I move to protest, Lana cheats and uses big, puppy dog eyes on me.

“Thanks,” I mutter to Ingrid, eyeing the pot of boiling oil to see if she’s making any more. I’m not the only one.

“There’s no more,” Ingrid answers our unasked question. “You know I have to make these by hand. The Shop’s just isn’t right.”

I grunt, offering her a nod. Personally, I think it’s more of a matter of her personal skill at making it rather than the ingredients offered not being up to par. But as I stuff my face, I have to concede that I’m not exactly the expert on this.

“Portaling us back to BC today?” Sam asks when we’re all on our second—or in Lana’s case, third—plate.

“That’s the plan. Most of the fighters need to be back,” I say. “Kamloops first, then individual Portals everywhere else.”

“You ever going to do the Vancouver dungeon?” Mikito asks.

I grimace with regret. It’s rather stupid that I have a dungeon of my own and I haven’t even stepped foot into it. “Not yet.”

“Well, keep this up and we’ll catch up with you,” Mikito says, shaking her head. “Not helping anyone if you aren’t Leveling. Even another couple of Levels would allow you to extend your Portal range.”

“I know,” I snap then hold a hand up in apology. I could point out I could extend my Portal range right now, but I want to save that Skill Point like a squirrel with a nut.

Lana quietly pushes some coffee over while I get my irritation back under control. My temper’s getting better, but I have to admit, the stress of finding time to do everything is a bit of a killer.

“Nice one,” Ingrid says sarcastically, digging a dagger into my emotional vulnerability.

“Sorry, Mikito. Everyone,” I say, which gets Ingrid’s nod. A sip of coffee—plain coffee, not the magical brew from the Baristas—helps calm me down a little more. “I know I’m letting you guys down. Being the only one with the Skill is a bit stressful. The colonel keeps reminding me not to take risks, but at the same time, I need to be out charting new waypoints and leveling.”

“Why can’t you buy it for anyone else?” Sam asks, frowning.

“System limit,” Ali chimes in, happy to play the know-it-all. “You already know you can’t buy a Skill above your Class Skill tier, right? Well, Portal and a lot of the equivalent long-distance teleportation Skills are Advanced Class final tier. Even the spells including the teleportation rituals require at least Advanced Class casters.

“Even if you could get to that Level, you also have the problem of cost. John gets a huge discount because it’s his Class—just like you would in yours—but for others, they’d have to pay through the nose. Firstly, because it’s an Advanced Class Skill. Then again because it’s from a rare Class. Then for the Tier. We’re talking hundreds of thousands of Credits.”

“But John…?”

“Is a cheat character,” Ingrid says, quoting an old friend. “According to the System, he’s only at Level 43 Basic, even if he has access to his Advanced Class Skills.”

“That’s so unfair,” Sam mutters, shaking his head.

“Oh please, Mr. Swarm-of-Drones,” I say. “You barely get shot at because your drones do the work. And you get more assist experience than anyone I know.”

“It is rather useful, isn’t it?” Sam says with a smirk.

Before we can start another round of ribbing, a knock on the apartment door interrupts us.

“Come in.”

“Mr. Lee.” A young man strides in wearing an army uniform, greeting me when I turn to regard him. “Colonel Wier sends his greetings and requests your presence in his office. As soon as possible.”

“Is it something urgent?” I frown, tilting my head toward the window.

Lana shakes her head in my peripheral vision, indicating that she hasn’t picked out any sign of any large-scale fighting.

“No significant problems from the sensor net.”

“Yes, sir. He did mention ASAP,” the private says firmly.

I sigh, deciding I won’t be getting a third breakfast plate then. I’ll survive. “One second.”

I turned toward the group and glance at Mikito, who has grown quiet. I make a note to talk to her when I can, just to make sure we’re good. Sometimes it’s hard to tell, with how quiet she is.

Realizing I’ve forgotten what I meant to say and can’t recall it, I shrug and wave goodbye, using the same gesture to open a Portal. “I’ll see you all later.”

A moment later, I’m a couple of kilometers away from my apartment, the private dashing through the Portal as Ali snickers and follows. When the Portal snaps closed, I realize no one’s in the colonel’s office.

“Huh.” I frown, opening the office door and striding out.

The private scrambles after me, looking confused. We run into the colonel walking back with a cup of coffee and a breakfast plate balanced in his hands.

“Ah, that was fast. Well done, Private Keel. You’re dismissed.”

Keel doesn’t waste a second, leaving after saluting.

“I take it you Portalled into my command post?” Weir says.

“You did say it was urgent,” I say, not at all apologetic.

“Yes. It was. Is,” Wier says, gesturing for me to take a seat. “We have news that the Sons of Odin and a few other groups banded together and launched an attack on the Mages’ base. They were repulsed, but not without losses. Sit down. The fight has been over for over a day already.”

I grunt, sitting while guilt claws at me. I dragged the Mages to Calgary to help us, the entire group being one of the few willing volunteers. Now their people lay dead because those who should have been guarding them were helping me.

“We’ve already informed the Mages and hastened all preparations for our return to Seattle. However…” The colonel eyes me. “I cannot act against them.”

“Why?”

“Politics,” Wier says bitterly. “We’re not to act against US citizens except in self-defense. The Secretary, the acting president, has issued an order barring direct action against US civilians. My hands are tied.”

I grunt, my lips curling in distaste. Stupid orders, at least from my perspective. Except I can see how the Secretary might not want to set the precedent. Still, stupid. “You want me to help.”

“I cannot, officially, ask for aid from a foreign power,” Wier says softly. “But if my allies were to appear in Seattle and decide to do some scouting ahead of freeing up additional US cities, it would not be inappropriate for them to defend themselves or act humanely if they came across criminal behavior.”

Damn weaselly words. But for all that, Wier’s sticking his neck out a bit, telling us this and asking for help, albeit obliquely, while indicating he won’t act against us. Not that I’d say no to the Mages anyway.

“Fine. But you should have asked my team to come too,” I say, standing and waving to create a Portal.

Seconds later, I’m back in my apartment building, to the surprise of my team. Seeing their faces, I brace myself to explain what has happened.

“Right, who wants to go on a road trip?”

Staring at the blasted ruins that surround us, pockmarked earthen craters and the burnt remnants of trees and shrubbery, the desperation and scale of the battle fought here is clear. With System-assisted reconstruction, the extent that’s still damaged shows that there was even greater destruction before.

“Thanks, John. We’ll see you!” Chetan says as he scrambles away.

His reminder of social niceties gets a chorus of agreements and repetitions from the other Mages as they nearly sprint into the buildings, concern written across their faces.

“You’re not going?” Carlos says to Daniel, who is still standing with us.

“No. I’ll get a report later,” Daniel says, his face impassive. “You’re our guests, so someone has to show you around.”

“That’s not necessary,” Lana says, shaking her head. “You should be checking on your friends.”

“They will be fine. Or not. In either case, it’s too late,” Daniel explains. “Shall I show you to your quarters?”

“Uhh…” Lana’s obviously perturbed.

“Har! Between you and John, we could get a skit going.” Ingrid snorts and prods him with her elbow. “Show us the way, Mr. Robot.”

“I’m not a robot. I just don’t see the fuss about crying over spilt milk,” Daniel protests.

When I hear Ingrid tease him again, I tune out the words while gesturing for Mikito to fall to the back with me. Sam, seeing the two of us moving to have a private chat, swings away from the group even as he releases some scouting drones.

“Yes?” Mikito asks.

“Just wanted to apologize again. About snapping,” I say, rubbing my nose.

Mikito wrinkles her nose slightly. “It is okay.”

She’s obviously uncomfortable with me tackling my social faux pas directly. Sometimes, it’s hard to navigate the damn cultural channels—when should I not talk about feelings, when should I?

“Right. Good.” I nod.

Mikito speeds up, but just before she leaves easy speaking range, she adds, “I’ll take it out of you tomorrow morning.”

I blink at the tiny Japanese woman and feel a thread of fear run through me. Perhaps her hanging out with Lana and Ingrid is a bad idea.

We’re in a large meeting room. Charles, Chetan, Daniel, and the rest of the Mages are all clustered around a paper map of the city. On it, pins are placed for all the City Cores, and small, finely painted pewter miniatures indicate the various parties involved.

“A bit old school here, aren’t we?” Sam says, eyeing the map.

“You’re complaining about how we choose to display our information?” Charles says, staring at Sam.

“You guys are the tech geeks, aren’t you? I’d have expected, I don’t know, holographic maps. Didn’t think you’d be a bunch of luddites,” Sam rebuts.

“Hey! We have that in our real—” Chetan says and gets glared down by Charles. Mocha-colored skin flushing, he subsides with an embarrassed grin.

While Chetan is explaining that we’re not being allowed into their main conference room, I’m busy picking up some of the miniatures and admiring the paint job. Some are obvious—the infantry trooper for the US Army, the horned Viking helmet for the Sons of Odin, and the chainmail bikini warrior for the women-only group. Others require a little more thought, like the bardic figurine with a lute for the Baristas. Luckily, they’ve got a little note on the board indicating which piece is what.

“Boys.” Lana rolls her eyes. “Are we done yet? What are your plans, Charles?”

Charles nods, tapping the board. “All the figures with a red base belong to an enemy group that we know attacked us. The yellows are those we believe might be supporting these groups, but we aren’t sure. Greens are friendlies, of course—”

“Wait, why are greens friendlies? I thought blue was for friendlies?” a portly mage interrupts.

“We agreed on green for friendlies and blue for allies, Steven,” Charles says exasperatedly.

“Well, we’ve got no blues on the board, so we should use blue for friendlies—”

“Steven,” Charles says softly, anger tinging his voice. Daniel, beside Steven, elbows the portly man, who finally shuts up. Charles turns to us. “Sorry.”

“What do we know about our opponents?” I say while tapping the little Viking figurine.

“Actually, we thought we’d have you talk with this group,” Charles says, pointing at a smaller figurine.

I frown, staring at the location before looking at their helpful note. Oh, the suburban group with Desmond. “We can do that.”

“Problem?” Charles asks, hearing the uncertainty in my voice.

“Just not used to planning to kill other humans. Well, not much,” I say, recalling a few times when I’d done that. But the circumstances were different. Sort of. Maybe it’s just that we’re looking at a larger group, a bunch of people who used to be plain old middle-class suburban residents.

“If it’s too much…”

“No. We’re allies,” I cut him off but find myself shooting a glance at my team.

Mikito is impassive as ever. Ingrid and Carlos look slightly angry, while Sam is giving his usual stoic expression. By now, I know that’s his version of “I’m unhappy, but I understand we’re doing this.” It’s only Lana who looks as uncomfortable as I feel, but Lana gives me a firm nod. For all her empathy, the redhead knows how to push it aside. As for our healer, he just stays silent.

“We’re good,” I say.

“Thank you. Now, Daniel, your group is going to hit Ethan’s group,” Charles says.

With our marching orders given, I can keep quiet and watch, remembering the potential areas and stewing in my thoughts. Thoughts which revolve around having to kill humans. When they deserve it or not, I hate this.

“Now remember, we’re taking prisoners if we can, but don’t risk yourself. Attack only those on the list. A lot of these groups have non-combatants, just like we do, so be careful,” Charles says sternly. “I’m leaving it to you all on how to engage your groups, but do your best to keep the casualties down. But don’t risk yourself.”

A chorus of agreement meets his pronouncement, after which there are a few last things to sort out. The final thing is, of course, the registration of everyone who attacked the Mages on a bounty list, adding them as a potential Quest reward for turning in these attackers. With the Mages’ mysterious leadership team going after the strongest group—the Sons of Odin—cleanup of everyone else should be simple enough. When we finally split up, the final “go” time is still to be determined. Just in case our opponents are trying to get that information from the System.

“You going to be okay with this?” I ask Sam while Carlos and I lend a helping hand to the Technomancer.

Carlos tilts his head when he hears me speak but doesn’t say anything. Unlike us, Carlos has been fighting humanoid sentients for the majority of last year and is also a native, so he’s a little more invested.

“I’ll survive,” Sam grunts. “Higher please.”

I comply, lifting the covering of the larger drone higher. “Thought you were going for smaller drones?”

“Just doing some work for their mechanics. My drones are ready,” Sam said, rubbing his nose. “There’s a Skill called ‘Optimization’ that I can use if I work on a piece of advanced technology. Keeps the drone running at a seven percent efficiency increase for the next six hours.”

“Ah.” I nod. “You know, you can skip out on this if it’s an issue.”

“No. They attacked our allies. We have to hit them. And my drones will provide us more coverage and control of the non-combatants,” Sam says. “I’m not happy about this. But it needs to be done.”

“They’re assholes anyway.” At the looks he gets from us, Carlos clarifies. “My friends and I, we were part of Desmond’s group for a bit. We quickly found ourselves doing all their dirty jobs—night patrols, corpse cleanup, harvesting. Somehow, the whiter team that joined at the same time never got the same share of work.”

“They just assigned you guys?” Sam says.

“Nah. There’s always an excuse, you know? Why the schedule changed. Why the other team couldn’t do it. Someone got hurt. Somehow we’re more suited to harvesting than the others,” Carlos says bitterly.

Sam winces and murmurs some consoling words while I keep quiet, caught in my thoughts.

“Was this why you’re being a bit of a dick? Getting my walls up?”

“A bit. You’re a bit of a softie at times. And let’s just say that I picked up some chatter lately.”

It’s no real surprise. Even in Vancouver, I’ve seen some of the old prejudices rise up, though little of it was directed at me. Being insulated by position, wealth, and power means that I don’t have to deal with the same level of bullshit as before. But people like Carlos and his friends—who, I absently note, he’s only now mentioned—probably had it worse. Add the fact that the lines are drawn clearer down here, and well…

“Drop it. I don’t need your pop psychology. Been dealing with that shit my whole life. And from what Lana tells me, we’re going to have to deal with it more when we deal with the Galactics once we’re out of Earth.”

“You can lower it,” Sam repeats, and I comply, dropping the drone’s top as requested.

“Do you think Mikito will be fine with this?” Carlos says hesitantly.

“Mikito?” I say with a frown.

“Yes. She was so, umm… cold,” Carlos ventures.

“Ah. Yes, she is.” I lean back to consider my friend’s reaction. I’d just taken her lack of objection as acceptance, the young woman’s willingness to jump into our violent confrontations a given in my mind. “Mikito should be fine. She’s done this before.”

“Yes, but is she okay?” Carlos stresses the last word, trying to get his point across.

After peering at Carlos for a moment, Sam snorts while I frown, unsure of why the man is so insistent on that point.

“Oy, inventory of rocks. He likes her.” Ali’s mental thought is filled with exasperation, obviously cluing in on my lack of a clue. “And you, lover-boy, just talk to her.”

“Me? No, I didn’t. I’m not—” Carlos splutters a bit. We all chuckle, making the Latino flush. When we’re finally done laughing, he sets us off again with his next question. “Do you think she’d be okay with that?”

“Outside of Carlos’s interest, we actually got a plan for this?” Sam says, having pulled out various pieces of another drone to put together.

“Sort of. I was thinking of asking them real nice…”

A buzz precedes an announcement in my ear that notifies us it’s time to get moving. The attack is on.

“I get it now.” Mikito laughs behind her hand as she surveys the golf course grounds and clubhouse.

We all look at her askance, most of us having understood the barbarian with the club figurine used and not finding the hilarity in it that she does. All but Carlos, who laughs a little too hard.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” Sam mutters.

Since we still have to journey south to the actual city core after the attack announcement is made, I have more than enough time to brief the team on the “plan.” Calling it a plan is rather generous, but we out-Level these fellows enough that it shouldn’t matter. It’s part of the reason we’ve all got our helmets down, showcasing our faces. On the other hand, Lana’s pets are all farther behind, hidden behind invisibility potions and ready to back us up.

“It’ll be fine,” I say. “If we don’t take their City Core, we’d be forced to hunt their fighters down anyway. This way, they’ll do all the work for us by gathering here. We won’t even need to hunt them down.”

“And if they refuse to fight?” Lana asks as she cranes her neck and surveys the slowly gathering teams of enemy combatants.

Most of the fighters are streaming in from the various houses dotting the golf course, luxurious residences that once overlooked carefully manicured, pesticide-ridden grounds. Someone had actually spent the Credits to ensure the grounds were still manicured and cut, managed by the System rather than underpaid groundskeepers.

“Then they lose their Core. And the Mages can figure out who they want to kick out,” I say.

I have no intention of taking the City Core here. I have more than enough on my hands, dealing with the politics and development of the settlements in BC. There’s no need to invite even more trouble by getting involved in the US. Not yet at least.

“Mr. Lee, Mr. Turner.” Desmond walks to the forefront of the group, hand resting on the butt of his pistol. “What’s the purpose of your visit?”

“Your Core,” I say. “We’re here to take it from you. And there are a few people we’ve got a bounty to collect on. Ali.”

A moment later, the list of wanted personnel appears as a System notification for everyone present. Ali’s even been nice enough to sort the ones in this group to the top and highlight them for easy reading. He’s considerate that way.

“You’re just going to take a quest from those Mages? Do their bidding? I thought you were independent!” Desmond sputters.

“Well, it’s nice experience,” I drawl before I drop the act and let him see some of the anger in my eyes. “And you guys attacked first.”

“It has nothing to do with you!”

“Except they’re our allies. And you’re assholes,” I say then gesture to the team to walk forward.

We cross the space between us, Carlos and Sam tapping their helmets, the hardware shifting around their neck and forming around their face as asphalt crunches under our feet. Our opponents shift and ready weapons. I hear spells being chanted and buffs being added, but I don’t break eye contact with Desmond.

“You think you can beat us? There’s only five of you!” Desmond snarls, his pistol drawn.

From a hundred feet, we’re down to fifty, the slow, rhythmic thread of our steps not stopping. They have numerous spells held ready, but thus far, no one has attacked.

“Five?” Lana whispers.

“Ingrid’s gone again,” Sam mutters, his voice carrying to us via the communicator.

Without a word, Lana triggers her Aura of the Red Queen, her hair darkening into a blood red, her features growing slightly shadowed, her pale skin lightening. The beautiful redhead becomes so much more intimidating, the fear effect that the Aura triggers causing indrawn breaths and a few involuntary steps back.

“Tell me,” I call, raising my voice to carry to everyone around us. “Are you all willing to die for Desmond and his friends? Because the first person to shoot dies. I don’t know if you all agreed on the attack, but for those of you on the list, we’re not going to kill you. Neither are the Mages.”

“What… what are you going to do with us?” a voice shouts.

I chuckle softly. “I hear you guys are fans of serfdom—”

I never get to finish my sentence because Desmond opens up, the melee fighter with the sword and tower shield behind him moving next to him whilst glowing a purple color. Smoothly, another of his allies drops to her knees, brown hair billowing as she fires her plasma rifle. A mage snaps off a spell, and steel birds appear around the group, razor-sharp wings extended. All around us, a few of Desmond’s people open fire while others hesitate at the sudden onset of violence.

“Sam, Lana, crowd control!” I snarl, my sword appearing in my hand and cutting the plasma beam.

Of course physics doesn’t work that way and the beam, aided by a Skill, melts my sword partly and slams into my chest anyway, a fraction of a second before Desmond’s second shot manages to hit me. Even as my armor smokes and my skin bubbles, a soothing green light washes over me as Carlos gets to work. Rather than take another shot, I cast Soul Shield. I’d purposely left it off since I didn’t want to come in too hard—but perhaps I could have worded our earlier entrance better.

Damn Charisma.

Mikito, under her Haste Skill, ducks the majority of the birds as she runs to Desmond, only to be blocked by the wannabe-legionnaire. The pair exchange attacks, Mikito’s longer weapon leaving her mostly safe from the legionnaire’s gladius. However, each attack that he blocks seems to cast a red glow that drops Mikito’s health a little while the swooping metal birds force her to duck and dodge while fighting.

While everyone’s distracted by Mikito, Ingrid makes her appearance, her knives sliding into the steel mage’s back. His back arches and he gurgles in pain as she yanks the blades from his kidneys and restabs him in the shoulder blades. He sinks to his knees. Finally free to choose my target, I Blink Step above Desmond.

“Time to die,” I snarl, my sword dismissed and recalled to give it back its edge.

Even as I drop, I activate Cleave and Elemental Strike—Ice. I don’t even need my additional blades as my cut tears into Desmond, the blade sliding through his body with garish ease. Blood, bone, and muscle part, frosting over. Desmond chokes, his lungs compromised as he attempts to wheeze out a protest. He falls backward, ripping the blade from his body.

A moment later, the blood that escaped from the frozen flesh stops running, growing grey and firm. In a flash, the rest of Desmond’s body is covered in the same greyness and his mouth splits into a grin as he drops his pistols and launches himself from his feet with an uppercut.

“Got you,” Desmond snarls.

With a casual twist of my hands, I bring my sword across my body to block the attack. Rather than cut through his fist fully, it only sinks in a few centimeters before the surface of his newly hardened body punches through my defense and pushes me back.

Class Skill: Blood to Stone (Level 3)

Transforms lost hit points into defensive armor, increasing the defense of the user. Blood to Stone increases armor at a ratio of 1.2:1 for each health loss.

Cost: 200 Mana

Duration: 3 minutes

“Dream on,” I snarl, cutting at Desmond with my sword the moment I rush back to him.

He might have a better defense, but I’ve got a Soul Shield, so even when he does manage to actually hit me, it does no damage. Again and again we clash, blade against fist, and wounds open across Desmond’s body. A faked cross turns into a front kick which turns into a spinning backhand by Desmond, his attacks shattering my Soul Shield. In return, I duck under and cut his leg, slicing a line of grey damage. But even as I watch, his wounds slowly knit together, his chest wound nearly entirely healed.

“Lana, I’m marking his healers!” Ali sends over the party chat.

In a few moments, his healers are glowing. We’ve been avoiding attacking them since they aren’t direct damage dealers, but since it’s gotten this far, the gloves are off. At this rate, his defense is just going to keep creeping up, making my attacks almost utterly useless.

Shattered glass draws my attention and I’m forced to jerk my head back just a little too late. Gnarly, rough knuckles graze my jaw, tearing open surface wounds. From the shattered vials, smoke pours out, covering the battlefield.

-31 Poison Damage Taken (Poison Resisted)

The notification flashes in the corner of my eyes even as I find the poison burning my skin and exposed flesh. I would swear, but it’s the right call. The healing from Desmond’s friends drops as they lose sight of him. Forced to rely on his own regeneration and armor, he backpedals but continues to laugh softly as I keep hitting him, trying to drag down his health. He’s mostly on the defense for the moment, taking damage and dishing a little out before a fully drawn shoulder cut across his chest leaves just a white line across his skin.

“Thousand hells,” I swear.

“My Skill stacks, stupid.” Desmond laughs maniacally as he throws himself forward, disregarding defense at all.

I’m forced to backpedal, blocking, dodging, and occasionally eating a shot. Cleave should work, but only a little longer—his damage resistance keeps going up. I can slow him down with Freezing Blade, but it won’t kill him… slow him down…

I chuckle, catching a cut, then grab him, spin him around, and slam him into the ground. He’s good, but he has nowhere near my agility. And while he might have had some hand-to-hand training in the past, I’ve spent the last year and a half training with Mikito. My shift in tactics puts him down, his arm stretched across my chest and locked at the elbow and shoulder while I press his face into the ground.

“You can’t stop me!” Desmond chokes out, pushing upward for a second.

I know if he’s really willing to do it, he could dislocate his arm and get out, so I cast before he gets the idea. In the few seconds my spell requires to conjure, I look around to survey the situation.

A body falling from a rooftop shows Ingrid is dealing with some of our ranged attackers, her Shadow Form giving her the maneuverability required. Carlos is hunkered low with Sam and Lana in our original position, a series of defensive shield drones offering support as the group fights off a pair of attackers. The puppies are dealing with a cluster of ranged fighters on the left, Anna and Roland intimidating another cluster of surrendered combatants to the right. Mikito, having dealt with her attacker, is finishing off the female rifle-bearer.

That’s all the time I have before my spell forms. Shoving down hard, I jump and Blink Step away even as the Mud Walls form, slamming together to cover Desmond.

“Carlos, Ice!” I snap even as I cast Polar Zone on the Mud Walls.

A couple of potions—twinkling, periwinkle blue bottles of liquid—crash against the liquified earth, releasing their sub-zero contents and completing the freezing process. The sudden emergence of the mud and the entombment of their leader freezes our assailants, their ace in the hole neutralized. Hopefully.

“Is he dead?” Carlos says, staring at the newly created frozen, brown hill.

Just in case, I make a note to cast Polar Zone again once the cooldown is off.

“Nope. He might suffocate in a few hours, but his Constitution is high enough to keep him alive for a bit,” Ali says, peering at his screens.

“But he’s taking damage…” Sam says. Even from there, he can feel the unnatural cold radiating from the hill. “A bit cruel, no?”

I shrug, keeping my face impassive. Best to play cruel and uncaring. Truth be told, while I might have been able to kill the son of a bitch eventually, it’d have been a slog. Better to leave him stuck until the Mages come by and drag him away. His Skill was a nasty, overpowered one.

“Are we done?” I ask threateningly, letting my gaze slide over our shocked opponents. There are a few quick nods, a few faces turned away in shame. “Good.”

I wave, using up a large chunk of my remaining Mana and dragging a headache with it to open a Portal. The Mage team that’s been waiting steps through and heads into the building to take over the Core while Lana, under her Aura and with Ali’s help, sorts out the wanted figures. No surprise, not all of them decide to come peacefully once we lay hands on them. A few with stealth abilities even attempt to run away. Luckily, we have Ali and the pets around to corral the majority of those, though a few manage to get away during the fight or perhaps were never around. They’re a problem for later.

Five minutes later, as the Mage team comes back out of the building, an explosion attracts everyone’s attention. At this distance, all we hear is a low rumbling sound, but all eyes turn in that direction. Lana’s eyes narrow as a large plume of smoke rises from the downtown core.

“What is it?” Carlos says.

“Space Needle,” Lana says slowly, her eyes brimming with unshed tears. “It’s where the Sons of Odin had their headquarters.”

“The Mage leaders?” Mikito asks quietly.

“Yes,” Ali answers for Lana. “They decided to make a show of it and blew up the entire building.”

“Civilians?” I say with a frown.

Ali shrugs. He has a little more information than we do, but it isn’t as if he’s omnipotent. I make a mental note to have a conversation with our “friends” later about that. If the Sons of Odin were anything like this group, there might have been some innocents in there. Then again, there might not have been. Better not to jump to conclusions before I tear out someone’s throat. Still, this display puts another mark in the column of “don’t necessarily trust the Mages” portion of my brain.

An hour later, when the Mages have sent enough people to keep the peace and the crowd has dispersed, my team gathers again in front of the Core to be ported back.

“Are we really going to let them make them slaves?” Sam asks, looking at the bound and guarded group of prisoners awaiting transportation.

“Not exactly,” Lana says softly, shaking her head. “There’s going to be trial. Those who were just ancillary, they’ll be jailed for a bit then released with a Contract forced on them. Only be the ones who killed or took direct part will be made serfs and put under guard. And even then, there’s a time limit—well, a Credit limit.”

“What’s to stop them from adding fines and charging more?” Ingrid asks, eyes narrowed. “There’s a lot of loopholes in that system.”

“Because we won’t allow it,” Ali says firmly, meeting Ingrid’s eyes. “Lana, Katherine, Kim, and I have all gone through their documents. And we’re keeping an eye on it.”

“And they let us?” Sam says with surprise.

“Well, let’s just say that there’s more than one faction in play,” Lana says with a slight smile.

I blink, curious how the lady managed to get all this done. I mean, we’ve barely had a few hours all in.

The team reluctantly let the topic drop. It’s not real justice, but in this world, it’s the best we can do. For all that we might dislike the concept of slavery, they did start the damn fight. And tossing people, no matter how self-serving, arrogant, and idiotic, into prison would be a waste of resources when we desperately need all hands on deck. Prison would not just cost us the prisoners, but we’d need prison guards too. Better to use the System controls to get them to work for us. And who knows, maybe a little punishment might smarten them up.

And leeches might fly.

Later that evening, Lana and I are seated on the couch overlooking the large backyard in Lana’s house in Richmond in the Lower Mainland. Rather than sticking around the town, I Portalled us back to the large ex-farmland that Lana had purchased in the suburb for her use. The ample fenced grounds offer a convenient place for the puppies to stretch their legs. Considering their husky breeds, that’s a necessity.

“This is for you,” I say, waving slightly to pull the small cardboard box from my Altered Space.

Lana frowns, staring at the box before she opens it to reveal the small paper charm with words of unknown origin on them. “This is…?” Lana frowns.

“Pick it up,” I say.

When she complies, the item information appears.

Talisman of Teleportation (Tier III)

Upon use, the talisman will either transport user to anchored location or to a random, safe teleportation location within 5km of the user’s origin.

“How…?”

“Loot from Calgary,” I reply. “Congratulations, Beast Master.”

“Oh!” Lana flushes, smiling slightly. “I didn’t think you’d noticed.”

Lana Pearson (Beast Master Level 1)

HP: 420/420

MP: 620/620

Conditions: Bestial Senses, Linked x 4

“I did. Just didn’t have much time to congratulate you during the fight,” I say. “I take it you’ve switched the experience gain to something more balanced?” Lana nods, confirming my guess. “What’re the Skills like?”

“Different. Sort of,” Lana says with a shrug. “Three trees. The first buffs me—the usual but better increases to my personal Skills and survivability. There’s even an option to take control of swarms or hives in there. The other two options are divergent in their needs. I guess you could say the first is an evolutionary option. Here…”

Forced Evolution (Level 0)

Forcibly causes a pet to undergo an evolution. Evolution will (generally) be beneficial to the pet. Reduces Mana Regeneration by 5 permanently

“Not much explanation,” I mutter, dismissing the notice. “And the other?”

Biological Overdrive

Increases biology of pet by 300%. Attack, speed, defense, and damage values will increase during overdrive period. Pets will suffer a negative exhaustion effect after overdrive duration is complete.

Duration: 10 Minutes

Cost: 250 Mana per pet

“Is that title correct?” I frown, staring at the Skill’s title.

“Translation issues, boy-o,” Ali says, shaking his head. By this point, both of us have gotten used to the damn Spirit randomly floating in when he feels like it. Thankfully, after forcibly banishing the Spirit twice for intruding when he shouldn’t, he’s stopped coming in while we’re otherwise intimately engaged. “Not everyone has me cleaning up their UI.”

“The other Skills are similar,” Lana says, ignoring the byplay between us. “Basically, I can push my pets to be more powerful for a short period or chance evolutions and other changes on them, giving them longer-term effects. But they don’t seem to be as powerful.”

“Mostly,” Ali agrees. “It’s an option between long-lasting effects or guaranteed hard-hitters. Though you sometimes get a little of the second with the evolutions. They can get weird.”

I grunt. Considering some of the strange and less-than-successful evolutions we’ve seen—more often as corpses—I have to agree with Ali on that. Still, considering how much Mana and the number of evolutions that happened, the ratio of “good” to “bad” mutations is incredibly favorable. The fact that these evolutions don’t seem entirely random has generated a significant amount of discussion in my books, some of which I’d gained a few upgrades to my System Quest by reading. The general consensus is that either the Mana or the System self-selects for successful mutations, which lends to the belief of intelligent design behind these actions. A cruel intelligence though. There seems to be a small but significant number of random mutations that are neither beneficial nor benign but just weird.

“What did you choose?”

“I haven’t,” Lana says softly, doubt creeping into her voice. When I stay silent, Lana is forced to fill in. “I don’t want to hurt them. But…”

“But the evolutions could do that too,” I say, and she nods. Even now, the woman still visits the little girl we left Elsa with, when she can convince me to Portal her up. It’s touching, if a little worrying. Sometimes, I wonder how much more pain that big heart of hers can take.

“Yes,” Lana says, leaning her head against me again. “What should I do?”

I don’t answer, just giving her a squeeze. Even if I want to talk, to advise, I’ve learned my lesson and bite my tongue. Literally. Sometimes, women just want to talk.

It’s into that comfortable, if morose, silence that Kim’s notification appears.

“REQUESTING AUTHORIZATION TO USE FUNDS TO ASCERTAIN ALTERATIONS IN SETTLEMENT MARKETPLACE.”

“What?” I say out loud.

“REQUESTING AUTHORIZATION TO USE FUNDS TO ASCERTAIN ALTERATIONS IN SETTLEMENT MARKETPLACE.”

“I got that,” I snarl then draw a breath, forcing down my irritation. No point getting angry. It’s a machine. Sort of. “I meant, what alterations?”

“UNKNOWN. REQUISITION FUNDS TO…”

“We got that, bits-for-brains. Boy-o wants to know what alterations you’re seeing,” Ali says.

“RECENT PRICE FLUCTUATIONS IN QUANTUM STABILIZERS AND ANTI-TELEPORTATION SHIELDS,” Kim says.

A moment later, a graph pops up with so many lines on it, my eyes blur trying to read it.

“We got it, bits-for-brains. Authorized,” Ali says.

“UNABLE TO ACCEPT AUTHORIZATION FROM LOWER ELEMENTAL FORM.”

“I’ll give you lower—”

“Ali.” I cut him off before I say slowly, “Why are you tracking this? I thought you were limited to the settlement?”

“A REQUEST FOR INFORMATION FROM THE LOWER ELEMENTAL FORM WAS DEEMED TO OFFER AN ACCEPTABLE RETURN ON THE RESOURCES DEDICATED TO SUCH TRACKING,” Kim says. “REQUESTING AUTHORIZATION TO UTILISE SETTLEMENT FUNDS.”

Once I parse the answer, I shrug. “Do it.” Then I turn to Ali. “Explain?”

“Not much to explain, boy-o. You know what anti-teleportation shields are. Quantum stabilizers do the same, but they include things like your Quantum State Manipulator. There’re a bunch of variations of course, from single-activation stabilizers to on-going fields,” Ali says. “I figured since you’ve purchased the QSM again and are waiting for its delivery, and with your Skills, it’d be a good idea to make sure the cities we’re going into aren’t utilizing it. Don’t want to jump into a place that is quantum locked. It’d be real painful. Or deadly.”

“We can tell that from this…?” I say, frowning at the graph that hasn’t disappeared.

“No idea about the graph. I just bought some information on the next few cities,” Ali says. “Looks like bits-for-brains took it a step further.”

“DATA CONFIRMED. ASSESSMENT IS THAT SETTLEMENTS WITHIN NORTH AMERICA HAVE SEEN A SIGNIFICANT INCREASE IN PURCHASES OF ANTI-TELEPORTATION AND QUANTUM STABILIZERS.”

“John?” Lana says, frowning as she reads the information Kim and Ali have so kindly shared to her.

“It’s like this, Lana,” Ali says. “They’re taking steps to stop John from bouncing around inside their cities or dropping an army on their doorsteps. Skills that involve spatial distortions, like his Blink Step and Portal, are going to be seriously degraded. Depending on the level of interference, it’s either going to be impossible, seriously curtailed, or just painful to use.”

“Painful?”

“Certain quantum stabilizers only react on use of the Skill. They disrupt the actual teleportation, damaging those transported.”

“Nasty,” I say with a wince.

“Yup. They’re also the most common,” Ali says. “Cheaper to purchase an occasional trigger piece than a whole anti-teleport field, you know?”

“Yeah,” I say, rubbing my chin. This isn’t good news. Not at all. It looks like our actions have caught some attention. “How much damage are we talking?”

“Depends on the field. Anything from a couple of hundred health points to a few thousand.”

“So, no jumping.”

“No jumping.”

“We need to tell the colonel,” Lana says softly.

I nod. Ah hell, I bet he’s going to make me do the US next. Still, maybe Voodoo Donuts survived…

Wier takes the news with equanimity. Seated in his office alone, his table is bare but for a cup of coffee when we arrive. Soon afterward, his aide comes in to take notes while we inform him of the bad news. Since Sam had promised to work with the army’s mechanics on a new project, he tagged along when we went down, leaving Mikito and Ingrid to their solo adventuring efforts.

“I have news of my own,” Wier says after he digests the information. “Fort Irwin and Camp Pendleton both survived the System changeover and have contacted us. We have begun further coordination, though contact is via messenger. Forces around these bases have joined together, including the remnants of the Edwards air force detachment, the marines of 29 Palms, and various navy services. Unfortunately, the navy were the hardest hit among our men, with significant losses in equipment and personnel. They are currently in battle with the local alien forces known as the Zarrie.

“In addition, our efforts at aiding Portland have resulted in significant progress at whittling down the enemy’s forces. We—I—expect to see a significant increase in pressure on the resistance in the next few weeks.”

“You want me to go down and tag their land, don’t you?” I state.

“Yes.”

“It seems like we’re reacting more than planning recently,” Lana says, frowning. “We did Edmonton and Calgary because John wanted to free them and they were close. You helped us because that was part of the agreement, our Skills and men in trade for yours. But now, instead of continuing down south from there or farther east, we came to deal with Seattle. Now we’re going down to Portland?”

“The battlefield is fluid, Ms. Pearson,” Wier says calmly.

“Maybe, but I’d think you would have more of a plan,” Lana says, an unspoken accusation in her voice.

“You are perceptive, Ms. Pearson,” Wier says then raises a hand to make a call.

In a few minutes, Captain Angus Tyrell joins us and the table hosts a projection of the map of North America. Friendly settlements are coded green, hostile settlements are red, and those currently contested are yellow. Pretty much the entirety of the eastern seaboard is red with dashes of yellow, while the Midwest is a mixture of reds and yellows. The western seaboard is obviously what we’re dealing with, and it’s a mixture of reds, yellows, and of course, our greens. Overall, the greens are extremely rare, with most of those located in smaller towns and one large clump in the southern USA.

Silence descends as Wier lets us peruse the map, and I spot some interesting notes. Woodbridge, Virginia, yellow. Ashland, Oregon—a weird half-green, half-red coloration. A quick perusal shows it’s Galactic-owned and neutral to humans. Meeker, Oklahoma, green. Hardin, Illinois, red.

“As you can see, most of our country—and yours—is held by others. Of these settlements, even fewer have an active resistance. You’ll note that Los Angeles and southern USA have the highest number of such resistance cells,” Wier says, waving his fingers down the map.

“Not exactly true,” Sam says, pointing upward to our Midwest, where many places glow yellow.

“Yes, but those settlements have smaller populations. Very small,” Wier says. “In addition, many of these locations with resistance are backed up by members of our armed forces, the national guard, and members of the police and security services.” A slight pause before a half-smile. “As much as there might be complaints about our armed forces and the militarization of our police force, in instances like this, it is particularly useful.”

“You want us to go through Portland, LA, and then back up to each of these resistance cities?” I say softly, flicking my gaze along them.

Sam is right, there are a few towns and settlements—including a few greens—that we could free in Regina and Manitoba. But their numbers don’t compare at all. If we punch east from LA, we could link up with a bunch of greens and yellows, rather than the frightening bloc of red farther north. I absently note that more than a few places in the middle of the States seem to host some really nasty monsters.

“We have more people. And well-trained ones. We can’t afford to wait. Our enemies are already reacting to our growing strength,” Wier says. “The faster we are able to grow, the safer we all will be.”

“And how about what’s happening in Ontario?” Sam asks.

“Ontario?” I mutter while Lana’s face grows fixed.

“It is tragic, but this is the most efficient use of our resources,” Angus answers.

“Efficient? Do you know what they’re doing? The Galactics in Ontario are worse than the Thirteen Moon Sect. At least those assholes played nice. These guys are just shipping people wholesale to other planets and importing their own instead. If we keep this up, in less than a year, they’ll have gotten rid of the majority of the population!” Sam snaps.

“And in Italy, the aliens are shooting anyone who tries to hide in their cities,” Angus says. “In Kenya, for fighting back, they sold the settlement keys so that there are no more safe zones at all, other than a few Galactic-owned ones. In Borneo, there’s less than 0.1% of the population left because the entire jungle has mutated into a Level 200+ location. What’s your point?”

I twitch, listening to the list of calamities. For all the good that we do, it’s a drop in the ocean. Ever since people got a little more funds, they’ve been picking up information about our world—real information, not rumors—and learning about the tragedies that await us. It’s something I’ve tried to avoid myself—an ostrich’s choice to keep myself sane. There’s nothing I can do about most of it, so I can only soldier on.

“We can save Ontario, unlike those places,” Sam says. “That’s my point.”

“And linking up with our men around Los Angeles will allow us to act on multiple cities at once. Right now, we have to stop and reinforce each city with nearly all of our men until things stabilize because we do not have enough. With more units, we can continue to our attacks,” Wier repeats.

“LA also has a large economy,” Lana pipes up. “If we can get access to their funds, we can divert some of it to building defenses in other cities, just like we’re doing in BC. We could even set up teleportation gates between each city, giving us a way to reinforce them that doesn’t rely on John.”

I grunt, knowing that’d be useful. It’d fix the issue about bad roads and logistics, though the upfront cost involved is staggering. Rebuilding the defenses, upgrading each city, and making sure the settlements work is important. While fixed defenses will never be as important or as good as trained personnel, that’s no excuse for leaving the gates open either. Especially in a Dungeon World.

“Fine,” Sam says, sitting back and crossing his arms.

I’m slightly amused, though I do my best to hide it. For all of Sam’s protests, it’s not as if this was his choice. I’m the idiot who has to drive everywhere to get the Portals set up. Still, I’m glad to see he’s passionate.

“Then we’re agreed. Portland is next,” Wier says with finality. “We’ll make sure you get briefed on the city and the others further below. I’m particularly concerned about the Zarrie in LA. They’re one of the worse groups from what we gather.”

“Thank you,” I say softly. Information is good. If we’re going to liberate this continent, the more information we can gather, the better. So yeah, Portland is next.

Chapter 10

It says something about humanity that we went through an apocalypse in which our libraries and schools burned down and our government institutions were trampled and lost, but this building that provides deep-fried, sugary goodness is the first thing we rebuilt. Biting into the mocha-covered donut of heaven, I survey the battlefield.

The fight for Portland was less of a grind than what we faced in Calgary. Rather than fight a running urban battle, the Movana clan that owned the city had focused their forces at each of the City Cores. So while each fight had been more brutal, with a higher number of losses than in Calgary, they had been more contained and gone faster. Once we managed to knock down a good portion of their forces, most of the Movana gave up. It helped, I think, that Ali and Kim had started sharing our serf-of-war conditions, stating the conditions and prices for buyback. Wier had muttered something about Italy and condottieri when he heard about it, but hadn’t directly objected.

“Are you going to share?” Colonel Wier asks then promptly helps himself to the box of donuts on the picnic table that someone dragged all the way here. The greying older man looks around for a chair and, finding none, settles himself into a standing relaxed posture.

Behind Weir, his bodyguards glance at the donuts longingly but don’t make a move.

“Looks like I don’t have to,” I say.

“Good. Because I wasn’t going to ask,” a jovial voice calls. A moment later, a delicate black hand grabs a donut before it’s slid into large, luscious lips. “If anyone makes a joke, I’ll personally beat them till they’re bleeding from all their holes.”

“Firstly, pretty sure you just made the joke yourself, Chief. And secondly, isn’t that police brutality?” I say, grinning at the uniformed officer of the law.

“I’ll put the report in myself. Pretty sure the DA will get around to it in a few decades.”

The chief grins and I snort, regarding the woman and her blood-splattered, burnt, and gooey uniform. It still fits her quite well, emphasizing the decent-sized bust and toned waistline. Considering it’s unlikely she got it fitted since the System, she must have been pretty fit even before the System added its cosmetic changes. Her hair woven into a series of braids, the African American chief seems to be reveling in the sugary goodness, even going so far as to lick the cream off her fingers.

After a moment, I cast Cleanse on her uniform, wiping away the blood and grime at least.

Danielle Fuller (Sargent of the Guard Level 7)

HP: 1230/1230

MP: 1380/1380

Conditions: Sense of the City

“Got to get that spell,” Danielle says with a smile, shaking her head. “Got to get the department the spell. Do those slackers some good.”

“Well, we are hoping that there’s a lot less of this,” I say, glancing around the city. There’s not much damage from our battles, but the on-going guerilla warfare that Danielle and her people conducted shows in the shattered buildings all around us.

“I’ve been dying to ask. Why are you all wearing your uniforms?” Ali says, shaking his head. “I mean, sure, Ingrid told you when we’d do this, but it’s not exactly useful.”

“Why shouldn’t we? We’ve been hiding who and what we are for the last year. I’ll be damned if I let my people hide a day longer. We’re not thieves. We’re the police,” Danielle says with sudden heat, making Ali blink and float backward.

After a moment, he raises his finger and points at the box of donuts. “You definitely need more sugar.”

I smack myself on the forehead, realizing that after spending all this time with me, Ali might have a warped notion of why humans get angry. “Ali, not every problem can be solved by the addition of sugar…”

“Just yours,” Lana says sweetly as she snags a donut.

I growl at her without any heat. “Out of curiosity, if we’re all here, who’s running the war?” I cock my head to the side to see if I can hear any additional explosions.

“That’s what I have subordinates for,” Danielle says with a sniff before she regains her seriousness. “It’s all mop-up right now. The elves aren’t even trying to fight back anymore. We just have to find them before they get away.”

“Good to know,” I say with a nod. Considering I’ve not been asked to shuttle anyone for the last half hour, I figured it was something like that. “What’s the butcher’s bill?”

“Within acceptable limits,” Wier says and, with a slight twitch of his eyes, indicates the surroundings and our audience.

Oops. Perhaps I’ll wait for the actual report later. Or just ask Ali. Part of hanging out and joking is to improve morale, to let people know that things are returning to normal. Either that or they really wanted the donuts.

An older, portly gentleman coughs to draw our attention before flicking his gaze to the box of donuts. “And mine’s twenty Credits.”

“Dear, I forgot my wallet…” Lana says.

I roll my eyes, mentally triggering the command to send the Credits over. Well, that’s another city down at least.

Hours later, we’re in a meeting room that’s been cleaned and cleared. Scorch marks and gaping holes are filling in at a rate that if you looked away and back after a little while, the change would be noticeable. Around the table, Lana, Sam, and myself are seated. On the opposite side, there’s the colonel, Captain Tyrell, and their aides, as well as a new addition—Romeo, a Combat Engineer. From what I recall, it was their people and their fortifications, along with Danielle’s core of officers, that kept the resistance in Portland alive. Danielle is here too, as the third spoke in the wheel, along with Portland’s current civil leader, an ex-deputy mayor. He’s dressed in Adventurer chic, auburn hair buzzed cut and eyes hard and weary from the battle. He was the one who was willing to lead from the frontlines, something I have to admire somewhat. Up in the Mages’ portion of the table, Charles sits silently by himself, content to listen for now.

“Did you have to destroy the shield generators and the quantum stabilizers?” Philip, the ex-deputy mayor, complains. “It’s going to cost us nearly as much to fix them as to buy them new!”

“Your techies were taking too long,” Wier says. “The entire plan hinged on our ability to shift our forces around swiftly.”

“But if we’d had another five minutes, we’d have finished!”

“Your people said that five minutes earlier. I made a military decision, as is my right,” Wier states, making Philip flush a bit. “Now, I believe we’re here to discuss our next steps?”

“We need you here for a few weeks more at least. Even if we do set up deals with a Guild, like you suggest, it’ll take them time to send their people over. And if the elves hit us again…” Danielle shakes her head. “We don’t have enough people, not alone, to handle them.”

“We can give you a few days. My men need to rest and refit,” Wier says. “But we need to continue our push. While my men can handle the smaller towns without significantly degrading our forces and the addition of Romeo’s sappers has been good, we need more trained men. Do you have any further leads about the armed forces?”

“Hey! Boy-o here can still kick any of your men’s butts,” Ali says challengingly.

“Mr. Lee is an exception. While we are still adapting our tactics to the System, trained soldiers can and will win against undisciplined warriors,” Angus replies for Wier, meeting the spirit’s gaze challengingly.

I groan silently as the pair start up again. Ever since they had a chance to actually talk, they’ve been like oil and water. “Ali…”

“Captain.”

The pair shut up before they can get truly started.

“Well, it’ll take me a few days to continue my sweep anyway. I’m assuming we’re still looking to link up with the bases and cities down south?” I say, looking at Wier.

“Yes. Any luck on expanding your radius?” Wier asks, leaning forward.

“It’s possible, but I’m leery of dedicating it right now,” I say with a shrug.

Wier purses his lips but doesn’t push it. After all, Skill point distribution is a private matter and something that has already developed a series of social taboos. Not pushing people into allocation is a big one.

“And purchasing it?” Angus asks.

“It’s viable,” I say.

In truth, it’s a lot more than viable. Since the System allows me to purchase the Advanced Skill because it’s part of my Class but still registers my Levels on the “basic” status, the pricing is infinitely cheaper for me than for anyone else. Truth is, I was getting it cheap if I bought the Skill. Relatively speaking. A mere sixty-five thousand Credits for the next Level and another seventy for the one after that.

“But you haven’t picked it up yet?” Wier asks with a frown.

“No,” I say. “None of your jumps have required it as yet, and we’re pretty sure information about my Status has been purchased a few times already.”

Picking up the next Level would give me a range of around five thousand kilometers, while the fifth Level would let me open a Portal anywhere on Earth with a range of over twenty-five thousand kilometers. After that, the numbers get even more ridiculous. My only concern is those anti-teleportation devices—the farther away the Portal, the easier it is to destabilize the transmission. There’s a formula that lets you figure out the potential additional cost of holding a stable Portal open against interference, but it’s the kind of math that they give to PhD students, not ex-web programmers.

“Then when will you be able to continue, Mr. Lee?” Wier says.

I find myself grimacing, knowing that what he’s asking is when can I get to the army bases in California so that he can set up some reliable and immediate communication. They can still run their people out the old-fashioned way, especially since my Skill is no longer hidden, but in terms of easy, fast communication and responsiveness, I’m the go-to guy.

“Give me a day,” I say after a moment. Ah hell, I always wanted to see San Francisco.

Of course, getting to San Francisco wasn’t a straight drive. There were a few cities on the way, places that I had to deal with. Salem was a battleground as the remaining Galactic holdouts from Portland pushed back against our people. Neither party was willing to throw down completely, so everyone took potshots at each other and called it a day. Rather than get too involved, I stayed to the outskirts, and even then, I got shot at.

For the next few towns, I do much the same, swinging inward enough to get the notification that I’ve entered their territory but never getting too close. Eugene is weird, run by an advisory council with a strange, peaceful mixture of about six different Galactic groups and three human factions. The Galactics are a group of crustacean-like creatures with pincer or pincer-like hands and shell coverings and a sponge monster. Two of their species can’t survive in the open air, using a mixture of technology and magic to keep themselves wet and alive. Luckily for me, the first group I meet in Eugene has a mixture of humans and Galactics, ensuring that we don’t start our relations in a violent manner. Once they work out that I’m not a threat, they make some introductions between the town administrators and me before leaving me with a short, bottle-blond twenty-year-old.

“And you’re okay with all this?” I say, glancing around the quiet restaurant we’ve taken over.

“Definitely. Portland might have problems, but Im’in’ee are cool. They be refugees from the third Dungeon World. They’re scrappers and runners. We be a good place to settle and chill, you know?” Oz says as he rubs his hands together, pleading with me to understand.

“Sounds like the Yerrick,” I say softly.

With all my anger against the Galactics and the System, it’s easy to forget that others have been crushed under the System’s relentless expansion, its heartless judgment of worth without a shred of mercy. We are all playthings under the System, cogs in a machine.

“The who?”

“Yerrick. Alien minotaurs,” I answer with a half-smile. “Nice, honorable group. If weird.”

“Don’t know about honor, but the Immies are real,” Oz says with a firm nod, almost daring me to contradict him.

“I get it,” I say, bowing my head to him. “But I’m just a messenger. I’ll open a Portal, let you speak with the ones you really have to convince.”

“Fair,” Oz says. “You got any deetz on them?”

“Just tell it like it is,” I say.

Not long after that, I make my way back to report on matters and pop open a Portal so that Lana and others can get involved. Even Katherine makes an appearance, my personal pair of eyes and ears and a precious note-taker in the upcoming negotiations.

Leaving others to deal with the negotiations, I keep driving south. There’s no real rush, but sitting around a conference table and chatting is my version of hell. I’m more than happy to leave it to others while I take the time to deal with any monsters and dungeons I run into. There’s no point in going fast, especially since my backup teams aren’t ready. Not yet.

After that, my journey is a passage of small town after small town, most of them feeder settlements for the bigger cities. Whether it’s the higher density of people that brought about the monsters or just bad luck, most of these settlements are worse for the wear. Many of the towns are abandoned, and those that aren’t are filled to the brim with refugees from other locations. Only a couple are actual Villages, their City Cores owned and managed by others.

Where there are no City Cores, I find myself opening up my Portal and sending the survivors to Seattle. We’re dumping them into the football stadium, a spot specially designated and upgraded to take newcomers. Wier even made me go all the way to Harbor Island in Seattle so that I’d have a place to Portal in unwanted guests if I’m ever forced to. He had a group of his people take the time to set up a minefield on the island, along with using Benjamin’s Architect abilities to create a sturdy, reinforced wall. All in all, it’s an idea that I had Ben steal for the rest of our settlements.

Since my goal is mostly to make my way south to give the colonel and his people more choices in their attacks, I’m trying to avoid getting into full-out fights. As such, while I’m not happy about locating a number of settlements owned by Galactics, I don’t necessarily step up to deal with them. Wier and his people will eventually take them, with or without my help.

When I’m passing near another tiny town whose name I can’t even be bothered to remember, I get jumped. A group of Pooskeens, nasty little dog-like creatures, dogpile me a mile out of the settlement. I find myself fighting for my stuff, Sabre doing donuts and firing the Inlin under my mental command while I alternately punch, kick, and stab at the small, furred monsters. For all their lack of size, their teeth are sharp and their knives even sharper.

“Hit me!” I snarl, fed up as I throw away one Pooskeen to just have another two jump on me.

Ali doesn’t even hesitate—that little asshole—before he throws a bolt of electricity at me. And keeps throwing it. With my Class resistances and my increased resistance from my Elemental Affinity, it hurts enough to make me scream rather than being the teeth-clenching, nerve destroying event it should be. Once I can focus, I Blink Step straight into the air and spin around to lob a fireball at the space where I used to be. Sabre cooks, but its flame resistance has gone up enough that it’s a minor thing.

After that violent introduction to the Pooskeens, I call Wier’s people and my team together and we conduct a little clean-up. There’s no quarter given or asked—the stripped bare bones and metal cages filled with humans hanging around town drive away anyone’s desire for such mercy. The soldiers and Carlos are left to keep the survivors safe while the rest of the team go hunting. We go through the town quick and violent, the swarm of defensive drones hacked and destroyed by Sam.

“John, southwest corner of the map,” Ali says to me as we finish with our latest batch of annoying rugrats.

“I see it,” I say, frowning. A half-dozen dots moving very fast.

“If I’m not wrong, that’s the settlement owner. High-Level Advanced fighter, a Pooskeen Red Fur and his people,” Ali continues.

The others tilt their head toward him, listening to our conversation.

“They’re running away?” I frown.

“Got it in one. You need to choose—take him and his people on or take the city.”

“Why can’t we do both?” Sam growls.

“Two reasons. You’ll need everyone to stand a good chance of winning. And the Red Fur’s set the power generators and shield to overheat. I figure you’ve got about three minutes to get to the City Core and fix it,” Ali says, grimacing. “But I wouldn’t trust my numbers. I’m not exactly the tech guy.”

“The city,” I say without hesitation. “Ali, can you highlight where Sam needs to go? Maybe he can fix the power generators directly. I’m assuming that’ll cause the most damage.”

“Oh yeah, send me to get cooked immediately,” Sam mutters softly. “I’m too old for this shit.”

“Probably,” Ali says, though he doesn’t sound confident. Still, a new glowing dot appears on the minimap while a second, less bright one appears on nearly the opposite side of the town. “Second one is the shield generators.”

“Sam, Ingrid, and Lana. You’re on the power generators,” I order.

There’s no wasted time as the pair and the puppies peel off while I hope that Ingrid is following. If not, I’m sure she’s off doing something useful. For a moment, my mind offers the image of Ingrid lazing around on a rooftop with martinis and a beach umbrella while we fight, making pithy comments, before I shove away the irrelevant thought. “Mikito, we’re going to speed things up.”

“Yes,” Mikito’s agreement trails along behind her as she takes off running, headed straight for the City Core.

I have to speed up to catch up with the Japanese woman punching her way through the weak resistance with ease. Even then, with my Thousand Steps and occasional Blink Steps helping cover ground, we’re nearly too late.

“Eleven seconds,” I say, shuddering.

Whether it was because the asshole Pooskeen has not read the Evil Overlord list or he is just a sadistic bastard, there is a giant countdown timer when we finally make it to the City Core. Luckily, actually deactivating the self-destruct sequence is easy. I just have to stand there with my hand on the City Core until it finishes registering my new ownership, then I cancel the orders.

“Eh, it wouldn’t be that bad,” Ali starts.

“THE SPIRIT IS CORRECT. THE DAMAGE DONE TO YOU WOULD ONLY BE SUFFICIENT TO REQUIRE A WEEK OF REPAIRS FOR SABRE. YOUR ALLIES WOULD LIKELY ALL SURVIVE.”

“And the human survivors?”

“COLLATERAL DAMAGE.” Kim answers.

“So how is it that you’re down here?” I decide to change the subject before anyone else picks up on it. While the notifications can normally only be seen by me and anyone else Kim decides to show them to, there’s no guarantee his notifications can’t be intercepted. While Kim can fake empathy, its occasional lapses can be jarring.

“UPGRADES AUTHORIZED BY BENJAMIN, THE COUNCIL, AND LANA TO YOUR SETTLEMENTS HAS INCREASED MY OPERATING CAPACITY AND LIMITS. WITHIN NORTH AMERICA, I AM ABLE TO ACCESS OWNED SETTLEMENTS AND AID IN THEIR DEVELOPMENT.”

“Nice,” I say. “Okay, well, start putting together a list of what we should upgrade here. I’m thinking the usual beam turrets, drones, and maybe a wall. Keep it within budget. I don’t want to be throwing my Credits into a pit.”

“CONFIRMED.”

“You know, they might not want to stay,” Ali says.

I grunt in understanding. Whatever, Kim’s a computer—it probably would only take a few minutes for him to get that information together.

“John. We need to get the survivors out. Now,” Carlos calls to me on the radio, his voice filled with rage and shock.

“I’ll be there in a bit. Just settling the city—”

“No. Portal here and create another for them. We’re getting them out immediately.”

“What’s going on?” I ask.

“They’re shell-shocked and on the verge of a complete breakdown. They don’t believe they’re safe,” Carlos replies. “And I don’t blame them. The survivors in the cage… they were being penned until they signed a Serfdom contract. Those who died from hunger or the beatings were eaten.”

“Eighteen hells,” I swear. That’s frightening. I stare at the City Core for a moment, wishing I had just sold it. “On my way.”

We spend the rest of the day cleaning up, stealing everything the Pooskeens left that’s useable and selling everything that isn’t. We aren’t going to leave anything here, even if we don’t have the time to deal with them properly. Lana and the council have begun organizing a trauma team that can help survivors deal with their problems. They even have a triage process that highlights those who are dangerously unstable for immediate treatment via the Shop. The worst cases I bring along with me, my access to a better and more immediate Shop critical.

“John?” The voice is liquid chocolate to my ears, my body clenching down below as my breath shortens. Damn it.

“Roxley.” I turn from staring at the doorway the child was taken through, too catatonic to move himself, and face the Truinnar.

The Shop has my tab, and Ali’s in the corner, negotiating with his friend for a group discount as we usher in more and more people. I can feel my Credits draining, but I can’t regret it, not really.

“You look well,” Roxley says with a purr, his eyes gliding over my body.

I admit, I check out that tall hunk of blackness for a second, admiring his form. I might still be angry with him over his betrayal in Whitehorse, but that doesn’t alter the fact that he’s pretty. Really pretty.

“What’s this about? You didn’t just turn up here by chance,” I say tightly.

One of the reasons why I rarely see other shoppers is because the time-space laws in this Shop have been messed with. A conversation about it with Foxy the salesperson left my head hurting, but he indicated that while it might seem that time moves differently here, it’s just them adjusting the timelines for when I arrive and leave. It helps keep things exclusive. And thus makes it nearly impossible for there to be a coincidental run-in.

“No.” Roxley takes a seat, staring at me and waiting.

Eventually, I walk over and sit in the lounging chairs across from him.

“I came to speak to you about your actions. And the Zarrie.”

“My actions?”

“You’re no longer a single fighter. You’re the owner of a large number of strategic settlements. It will not be long before your lands draw additional attention,” Roxley says softly.

“And…?” It’s not as if I didn’t know that. Part of the planning for the city includes building out the Tier I & II military / adventurer buildings to add security forces to the important settlements. As the other settlements upgrade to Towns and more, we’ll be adding additional buildings. On top of that, we’ve already started specializing the cities to some extent. Places like Kelowna are focusing on production, while Vancouver itself is fast becoming a hippy, urban dungeon delving / military town.

“And you’re seeking to begin a battle with a new Empire,” Roxley says, leaning forward. “One that is closely allied to the Movana. Your new allies.”

“My new allies?” I say with an eyebrow raise.

“Please. Do not act as if you do not know what your actions with the Burning Leaves meant.”

“And…?”

As I keep playing dumb, I see the flash of irritation in Roxley’s eyes, gone so fast that only someone who has spent so much time with him would notice. Time having dinner, talking, sparring, kissi… actually, not that last part. Dragging my mind back to matters at hand, I pay attention to the dark elf. A part of me wonders why I’m daydreaming so much, another says that it’s because it’s been a bit since Lana and I had some time together, and with the death I’ve seen… well, it’s a normal reaction to my hormones.

“You know that Earth is in the Truinnar’s sphere of influence. What you might not understand is how close you are to our borders. It is disputable if Earth lies with us or the Movana. That dispute was put to rest in the courts, and we were meant to take your planet when the System came online. But…” Roxley waves as if to encompass everything that has happened in the last year and a half.

“That didn’t happen. You suggesting the Movana did something?”

“I would not defame them in such a manner,” Roxley states primly. “My point is that as a Dungeon World, your planet is considered a neutral ground. All races, all species from the Galaxy may enter it. Of course, those whose borders lie close to your world are the most interested.”

“The Movana and Truinnar,” I say, nodding. “You’re still not explaining what this has to do with me.”

“You are beginning to swim in deeper waters, John, and your actions can have wider consequences,” Roxley says exasperatedly. “The Zarrie are traditionally allies of the Movana as their planet lies within the Movana’s sphere of influence. Acting against them sets you—and your settlements—at odds. It is unlikely to escalate to a full-out war, but your actions will have consequences. Trade blockades, assassinations, and yes, wars have been fought for less.”

“So I should what? Stop?” I say. “It’s interesting that you’re talking to me about it when the Movana haven’t.”

“I cannot speak for them. I can only recommend that you seek allies before it is too late,” Roxley says. “If you intend to act against the Movana, ally yourself with us.”

“Us. You. The Duchess.”

“My kingdom,” Roxley says, nodding. “We—I—have shown that while we might not be your ideal choices, we are significantly better than some alternatives.” Roxley pointedly looks at the door, making me grunt in acknowledgement. Roxley and the Duchess never went this far. The worse they ever did was set-up Serf contracts, and while I’m not a fan of them, they can be at least be somewhat fair. For all the harm and financial finagling the Duchess did, even her Serf contracts at least played fair. “You cannot, your people cannot, continue to do this alone.”

“You expect me to trust you. After what happened,” I say.

“I did what was best for the city, and I will not apologize for that.”

I grunt. Rather than answer Roxley, I walk toward the exit.

“John…”

“I’ll think about it. But for now, I’ve got work to do.”

I open the door without turning around, feeling the anger boil inside me. Because while he might not have a reason to apologize for his actions, there’s no reason why he shouldn’t have apologized to me. But perhaps I’m being petty.

That’s the problem with dealing with Roxley. I can never tell where I stand or what I feel. And so rather than deal with it right now, I walk out. Because I am telling the truth. There’s work to do. There’s always work to do.

As bad as that day was, it has nothing on the next town a few days later. I find myself calling for help, bouncing the call through the limited use communicators we’ve purchased from the Shop rather than opening a Portal. The town of Clinton isn’t even on the No. 5 highway, but I’d seen the map and figured swinging out of my way by twenty minutes would make it easier for the teams when they arrive.

My first hint of something being wrong is the crucified bodies of Galactics dotting the fields and road in. Whoever did it was insistent that crucifixion was the way to go, ripping, tearing, and otherwise forcibly positioning bodies that had more than—or less than—four limbs into the appropriate poses. Worse, a few unlucky bastards were still alive, clamped still and constantly, unwillingly healing from damage as the System “helped” them survive.

“Goblin’s ass. This is wrong,” Ali says as he observes a bug-eyed creature involuntarily flap its wing and click in pain.

“No shit.”

“No, I mean, this is really wrong. Continuous torture without removing an individual from the System’s automatic healing is considered a Class A felony,” Ali says.

“And…?”

“It’s the kind of felony that gets you put on Galactic bounty hunter lists,” Ali says.

Even as he speaks, I’m directing Sabre to the cross and using the anti-gravity plates to get closer to the alien. When it clicks and snaps at me, I ignore it, focusing on the nails driven into its body and wings to hold it aloft. After a moment of hesitation, I conjure my sword and cut and pry the creature free.

More clicks. More trembles.

“What’s it saying?” I grunt, yanking stick-thin feet free.

“Don’t know,” Ali says with a shrug.

“I thought you could translate everything?”

“I’m old, not omnipotent,” Ali snaps. “Also, it’s not as if these guys are all that common.”

“These guys?” I say with a smirk while I pry the nails from creature’s arms, letting myself revel in the fact that Ali is stumped rather than focus on the gruesome task.

Each motion, each removed nail elicits more clicks and occasional whistles. Unfortunately, the poor creature has multiple nails driven through it, probably due to its higher-than-normal Strength factor.

Bent over the creature’s body, I can smell its dry, dusty, and acrid scent, a mix of desert air and sulphur that assaults my nostrils. Each nail I grip is sticky with black blood, stubborn in its refusal to exit without extracting another pound of flesh. Each movement brings forth another series of high-pitched chirps, but even with its arms and wings free, it makes no move to stop me. When I’m done, the creature falls to the ground and lies prone, body shivering as aftershocks ripple through it.

“How many left?” I ask, glancing around the forest of stakes.

“Two more of the bugs. There’s a Hakarta that’s barely hanging on—”

“Just the numbers, Ali,” I say, not wishing to hear a list filled with sorrow.

“Seven.”

Out of maybe fifty crosses. I wonder how they found so many Galactics, how they captured them all and did this. But it’s a small matter, unnecessary information.

I reach out my hand, calling forth streams of Mana and weaving it into the universe, tearing a hole that links one location to another. Moments after the Portal solidifies, a soldier exits, rifle held in guard as he scans for threats. I see his tension increase when he sees where I brought him, the rifle coming up further as he readies himself for trouble.

“Get the teams out here. We’ve got people to save and people to kill,” I order the soldier.

He nods and heads back into the Portal, disappearing within seconds. Rather than keep the Portal open, I close it and let the teams gather while I wait. A quick check with Ali indicates that none of the survivors are about to expire in the next hour, which gives us more than enough time.

“Incoming, boy-o,” Ali announces, and I look to where the Spirit points.

In the distance, a group of five are walking toward me, weapons out and ready for use. They don’t seem to be in particular hurry, but they aren’t lolly-lagging either.

“Levels?” I ask Ali. I could try to review each of them individually, but I’d rather stay focused. There’s no guarantee they don’t have their own little tricks.

“Mostly Combat Classers, all in the late thirties and early forties. Two Bandits, one Soldier, a Channeller, and a Biochemist.”

“Channeller and Biochemist?” I frown, hoping for more information. Problem with Classes that are too obtuse is it’s hard to tell what they might come up with.

“Magic user with continual cast specialization. Watch out for explosives and poisons from the Biochemist.”

The bug finally pulls itself together, its wounds closed, though it occasionally still twitches. Though I’m not entirely sure if that is due to the torture or just a facet of its biology. After a moment, the bug dresses itself using a slap-on, liquid-like fabric and pulls a small extending baton from its System inventory. Its thin hands extend again and it loops a string around its neck, the material a flexible plastic-like substance that glows once the final loop is attached.

“Thanks to be given, Savior of the Fallen,” the creature buzzes and clicks before being translated.

“Oh, you’re up. Good. Stay back,” I say quietly.

“Choice sub-optimal, Savior. One desires vengeance.”

I grunt, looking at the bug’s status again.

Ox’imm’qq (Level 31 Merchant)

HP: 593/1080

MP: 780/780

Conditions: Feared, Enraged

“Fine. But don’t get in my way,” I say with a sigh, then I raise my hand as the group ahead of us gets within twenty meters. “You can stop there.”

“I don’t think so,” the salt-and-pepper bearded man with the ball cap replies, his friends spreading out to give each of them a clear shot. They don’t even break step at my warning. “What are you doing damaging our stuff?”

“Did you just call him—it—stuff?” I say incredulously, watching as the two Bandits keep coming.

The leader has a rusted, spiked club in hand. The other Bandit wields a pair of knives that glisten with a greenish tint. The only Soldier drops to a knee, cradling his rifle against his shoulder. The Channeller stops as well, and with my Mana Sight, I can see energy gathering around his arms. Only the Biochemist follows the front line, staying a few steps behind the Bandits.

“You’re one of those alien lovers, aren’t you?” Beardface sniffs and spits to the side, grinning. “Well, don’t worry. We don’t kill humans. We’re just going to teach you not to touch what’s not yours.”

“Could you people be any more stereotypical?” I reply, keeping my hands out to my sides and empty. “And this doesn’t have to end in violence…”

Rather than answer me, Beardface dashes forward in a full-out sprint. As he does, his and his friends’ bodies blur, losing definition in their edges. He covers the distance between us in seconds, followed by his friend, who is only a few steps behind him. It’d be impressive if I didn’t spar with Mikito on a regular basis. I drop into a reverse lunge, left leg thrust out behind me as I summon my sword to catch the club on my guard. It’s not as effective as you’d think since the club is conical and spiked. The edges of a spike punch into the lightly armored bracers of my arm. On the other hand, the momentum of his sprint drives him fully onto my sword, the blade sliding through his ribs with ease.

I grin, twisting at my hips as I conjure a Blade Strike and rip my sword out of his body, sending an arc of power tearing through his body. His friend appears by his side, thrusting daggers at my exposed body. Out of the corner of my eyes, I watch as the bug launches itself at Beardface, floating through the air as its crackling baton swings toward the Bandit’s head.

Rather than take the hit, I tap into Ali’s viewpoint. A thought later and I Blink Step toward the Soldier, my blade plunging into his body as I fall. As I land, my free hand snaps out sideways and the Portal opens right behind the Channeller. Too focused on his spell, the mage doesn’t see the Portal, his hands clapping as a black shroud falls over my body, trapping me within. It squeezes, attempting to crush me while robbing me of oxygen and my senses at the same time.

Seconds, maybe ten, maybe a hundred, within the inky blackness. It’s hard to tell how much time passes objectively, the only indicator the glow of defunct notifications in my helmet and the beating of my heart. Even my connection to Ali is muted, a buzz at the back of my mind that has fallen to a whisper. As suddenly as the spell took effect, it shatters, bringing too-bright light and the roar of battle.

Miraculously, my Portal is still open, the connection to it somehow having survived the spell. The Channeller is on the ground, bleeding from multiple gunshot and beam rifle wounds as Jess bayonets him. The asshole enemy Soldier I attacked is falling back, firing as two members of Jess’s squad hound him. Meanwhile, Roland and Howard tear into the Bandits and the Biochemist. Mikito and Shadow are crouched over the bug, teeth bared but not attacking as Ali hovers over them protectively.

“Up and at ‘em,” Sam says as he hauls me to my feet. Around him, his drones circle in a spiralling pattern, not taking part in the fight yet. “I’m already picking up activity in the town.”

“Keep an eye on them,” I say, glancing at the soldiers, including Jess, who has made his way to me. “Get your men on taking down the Galactics. Ali will mark those alive for you.”

“Copy that,” Jess says, assigning his men to the job immediately.

Others are sent to set up a perimeter for the incoming forces. Wride is among the perimeter scouts, jogging forward in an easy trot. Lana walks up to me, making a face.

“What are you guys doing here?” I mutter softly. I’m surprised to see the entire team here, since I figured most of them had better things to do than wait around for me to contact them.

“Luck. We were having lunch after Mikito’s and my meeting with Wier,” Lana says as if she’s afraid to raise her voice. “John, those bodies…”

“Yeah. We’ll deal with it. And them.” I nod toward the settlement where the gates have reopened.

From the gates, a small group of fighters step forward, armed to the teeth. Around me, the soldiers and my team regroup, ready for another fight.

Maybe it was the fact that we were just too angry, but the resulting battle was a lot simpler than I had expected. Once their main group fell to a combination of concentrated rifle fire and area effect spells, the town itself was devoid of any real threat, the few remaining high Level Combat Classers giving up the moment we stepped through the sundered walls. It’s only later, when we take control of the city, that we realize that the settlement owner and a few of his close allies had already absconded under the shadows of a Skill. This is fast becoming a thing. I make a mental note to get Wier and Lana to look into creating a team to help us deal with that. Until Ali and I upgrade our Skills, we definitely need someone who can pierce these concealment Skills more reliably.

Cleaning up the city, freeing the few rattled and some angry citizens is a simple enough matter. With only a couple thousand survivors, it’s a real question if we should keep the place at all. Between the kind of people involved and the settlement being located in this Level 30 zone that’s hours away from any real help, it’s a decent question. It doesn’t help that even I can tell our presence is resented. After some consideration, I make the smart decision and lob the entire problem over to Jess to hand to Wier, making him the settlement owner for now.

It doesn’t help that we find, in nearly the center of town, this.

“Are you sure the System will fix the damage?” Sam asks Ali for the umpteenth time as he carefully moves the rods into the newly created lead container.

“Yup. Radiation is a low-grade damage over time effect. Your natural regeneration is more than sufficient to fix it. You’d really only need to worry about kids and maybe some real suckers with no points in Constitution,” Ali reassures Sam. “And even then, a swig of Carlos’s potions should fix it.”

“Well, that’d also explain the lack of safety equipment,” I say helpfully.

“Stupidity also does the same,” Sam grouses, looking around the Alchemist’s lab. “Who the hell makes plutonium?”

“Someone wanting their own nuclear warhead,” Lieutenant Marco Sprouse says as he stands by, watching the entire operation diligently.

Outside, his rather relieved team is keeping an eye on the lab and ensuring we’re not interrupted. The Lieutenant was dragged out here from Portland, one of the combat engineers sent to “help” us contain radioactive material. I still find it amusing that Sam’s the one managing said radioactive material though.

“I thought it was pretty difficult to build nukes?” I say, frowning. I mean, didn’t it take the entire brainpower of the States to figure out how to do it in the first place?

“Well, as you’ve pointed out to the Colonel numerous times, everything is for sale,” Marco says and lets me draw the obvious conclusions.

I do, soon enough, my eyes widening. “Shit…” I look at the nonchalant-looking Spirit. “What? What am I missing?”

“Everything important,” drawls Ali. When my eyes narrow, he snorts. “You’re carrying a particle beam rifle over your shoulder, driving on an anti-gravity-driven Personal Assault Vehicle, and regularly throw around lightning while teleporting hundreds of feet. What makes you think a small nuclear explosion is that important?”

“Because they’re nukes?” Sam says as he finishes screwing the container closed.

“It’d destroy most non-System-registered buildings, but even a mildly reinforced System building should be able to stand up to the explosion if the nuke wasn’t System-registered. Most of what you’ve got are the equivalent of Tier IV weapons, dangerous for non-Combatants and Basic Classes—but that’s the same as most of your spells and Skills. I’ll admit, if you built the bomb from scratch and used your Skills, it’d have a little more of a kick—but nothing a good settlement Shield couldn’t stop,” Ali says. “At best, it’d be considered a Tier II weapon.”

There’s a long silence as our worldview takes a beating. The idea that a nuke—a weapon of mass destruction—isn’t really all that powerful in this new world takes some getting used to. Maybe a little more widespread in its basic destructive potential, but a single high Level Advanced Classer could probably tank the damage and dish out more damage over the longer run. Still…

“What happened to the US’s nukes?” I ask the Lieutenant, curiosity burning me.

“I’m not privy to such information,” Marco replies stoically.

“Would you tell me if you knew?” I ask.

“You would not be cleared for that information either,” Marco replies, which leads to an annoyed grunt from me.

Still, the non-answer leads me to believe that not only has the colonel learnt what has happened to most of the US’s nukes, it’s also well in hand. I can’t see him refusing to direct me to one of those earlier if that wasn’t the case.

“We’re going to have to track down the Alchemist who did this,” I say, changing the subject.

“I believe the colonel will agree with your assessment. I’ve requested that Sam use his drones to continue searching for our escapees.”

“I wouldn’t worry about that,” Sam says grimly. “We’ve got a few Bounty Hunters and Trackers who’ll make finding these asses easy. And the military boys have their own police squad. We’ll find them, even if we have to issue a quest.”

“Just make sure they bring enough friends,” I mutter and get a nod.

Now that the radioactive material is safely stored away, the Lieutenant calls in his people to cart it through the newly opened Portal. Within seconds, people are streaming in to help settle the city as well. Getting all this settled will take a while, and for the time being, my presence is needed. It’s just another damn delay on the way south.

Chapter 11

Life never takes you to where you expect it to. After our last disturbing settlement, I’ve reached the Six Rivers, Klamath national forest reserves. Being drawn once more into the leafy embrace of tall, mutated trees is actually comforting. The few settlements that either border or are located within the forest reserves are mostly empty, the few survivors more than grateful to be Portalled somewhere safer.

I could almost believe that the rest of the trip down would be that simple. After all, the settlements nearest a big city get emptied as the survivors flock to the city for mutual support and safety.

It’s at Williams, California, a tiny little crossroads town hours away from Sacramento, that things change once again. The town itself is empty, abandoned buildings and broken-down vehicles telling the usual tale of the apocalypse. No bodies this time though. Not even the rotted remains we expect to find occasionally.

No, what I get is a real, live Galactic sitting in the middle of the crossroads, one with red skin, horns, pointed ears, and a tail. The fact that he doesn’t reach for a gun and is lounging on a bright red, bullet-shaped hovering vehicle clues me in that this will be a more social kind of confrontation. Unsurprisingly, that puts me even more on guard.

“Greetings, Redeemer.”

Dylan Pratma, Grandmaster of the Forge (Level 8 Executive Diplomat)

HP: 2830/2830

MP: 8940/8940

Conditions: Aura of Benevolence, Tier II Pheromones, Shield of the Stars

“Grandmaster?”

“Just a title. He is a Master Class though,” Ali says warningly.

“Greetings, Grandmaster Pratma,” I say with a smile, pulling Sabre to a stop and bringing my helmet down with practiced motions. “I’m going to assume your presence here is not a coincidence.”

“Forsooth, that is the truth of such matters,” Pratma says with a grin, running a hand along the silver-grey suit he wears. Seeing my glance at his clothing, Pratma smiles again. “The dress, the cloth that drapes across your kind’s bodies, speaks to the petals of my vanity, the dressings of success and opulence that man revels in.”

“That’s one of us,” I mutter.

I hate suits. It’s why I worked for a tech company. And what the hell is up with his speech pattern? I almost want to ask him, but I’m not entirely sure what the etiquette is with regard to botched language downloads.

“In this time of darkness, a moment of light is required, a time to speak and perchance come to an agreement of minds. We seek to speak with yourself under the greater aegis of the System and a bond of peace,” Pratma continues, his voice becoming almost rote.

“A… what?”

“Bond of peace. Exactly as it sounds like, boy-o,” Ali explains. “You both promise not to injure one another while you talk. Generally has a duration and other terms and conditions… ah, here it comes.”

I get a notification, one that makes my eyes glaze over. When I shoot Ali a helpless look, the Spirit laughs.

“Boy-o here hates reading. Something simpler would be best.”

I growl softly at Ali over the besmirchment of my good name, but he is effective. The next notification is much shorter, a simple agreement that promises that we’ll talk and not harm each other nor allow each other to come to harm during this conversation and an hour afterward. I agree to it, curiosity driving the decision more than anything else.

“How come the Uvrik didn’t use this for our meeting?”

“What did you think the Contract was? It’s all just variations on the same thing.”

“Gratitude is given to the Redeemer, he who sets to rest those who have fallen, who resolves the wishes of the forsaken and lost. We speak now, if the slayer of beasts will allow, about the peace that reigns in our fair cities and the coming clouds of war, of those who might be lost and those who might be saved,” Pratma says.

I stare at the devil again before coughing and waving for Pratma to continue.

“I come from the city by the bay, the settlement of golden gates, the abode of the fog children and the city of the blessed ritual in the hopes of peace, of an agreement between our two empires.”

“You’re from San Francisco and Sacramento,” I say. Memory of my briefings about the owners of the settlements come back to me, sparse as the details might be. The pair of neighboring cities had been taken and controlled by the same organization, another damn corporation. “You’re part of the Golden Water Corporation’s upper management, aren’t you?”

“In the manner of decisions, in the choices of the actions that the business of the golden liquid might take, it might be said I have some say. Some, those touched by the green-eyed beast, might say that I have more than some, but it is not for one to speak about such minor things. Such words are a hateful bile that erupts from my throat and wipes away all sweet words.”

“Okay…” I wave him on, wondering if we’ll ever get to the point.

“In the time since the coming of the System, since the approach of those starborn, the glimmering dihydrogen monoxide has laid claim to the lands of the golden gate and the blessed ritual. We have provided a shield against the night, a sword against the rapacious. We have given greatly and taken fairly, provided succor for the frail and training for the strong.

“But the clouds of time drift ever onward and the System comes fully birthed, extending its tendrils through all facets. Now, other starborn come in greater numbers, some with needs and desires that encompass all that they see, hear, and smell, seeking to only take from the wealth that flows from the blood of the Mana-evolved. And those native-born to your fair land strike back, seeking safety in numbers and under the glowing barrels of your guns. But it will be insufficient. For the starborn are numerous, like the kelp in the sea, the eggs of the kooma. If there is only blood and death in your path toward peace, only blood and death will you find.”

“And what does that have to do with you?” I say.

“A meeting of minds, an agreement among those more rational. We seek to show you our fine and fair intentions while swearing upon our good names and under the aegis of the System an alliance, one born from fair intentions and future Credits,” Pratma says with a smile, hands spreading to show them open and inviting.

I fall silent, considering what Pratma said. He’s not wrong—we can’t fight everyone. It’s why I pushed for us to talk with the Uvrik corporation in Calgary, why we have tried to come to some agreement with Galactics when we can. I know that the Americans aren’t happy with that, there being a very clear desire to “win” back their land, but Wier seems to understand the strategic implications of an all-out war. Even if we could beat the first wave—and that’s a big if—the second, third, and all the subsequent waves would win out eventually. There’re so many more of them than us that engaging in a constant acceleration of violence can only end in the devastation of our population. At the same time, we can’t afford not to take action, not to push back and acquire our cities.

What Pratma offers, what Roxley has in the North, is a potential solution. My biggest hesitation is the same one that afflicts me in BC right now—the various webs of Galactic politics being unknowable for us. The Movana and Truinnar, the Yerrick, Hakarta, and more. All of them have alliances and deals, and any one such deal we make could draw us into fights we want nothing to do with. Yet we need our people to deal with the real monsters out there. A memory of the previous human-run settlement comes to mind unbeckoned, disheveled survivors and starving children reminding me that the monsters aren’t just among the Galactics.

“This isn’t going to be an easy conversation, you understand? And I’m not likely to be the man you’ll want to speak with,” I say. “But I’ll pass your recommendation up the chain.”

“In the pursuit of peace, admonishments, anger, and abuse are but minor inconveniences. Among the dross and vitriol of words spoken in anger and overflowing emotions, one can find true orichalcum.”

“Ali, what are you doing?” I send to the spirit.

He’s staring at Pratma, hands held up in a small rectangle formation in front of his face. “Recording. This guy’s incredible.”

I roll my eyes at Ali’s answer but nod to Pratma, content to give him a non-verbal answer, partly in fear that he’ll start up again. With a gesture, a Portal appears next to me and I step through it to report on the latest change, Sabre following me. I’m sure someone has plans for this. In either case, having me do the negotiations is probably the worse idea possible.

“John…”

“Yes, dear?” I say with a smile later that evening, when we’re alone and picking through the remnants of our dinner. Mmm, barbecued mammoth creature slathered with Yurk butter.

“Why didn’t you warn us about him?” Lana says, just the slightest edge to her voice.

I can’t help but flash her a shit-eating grin, which gets me a pinch. Twisting away, I regret provoking the woman—and that Pratma insisted I stay, at least till a minimal agreement had been made. Something about my ability being a potential danger.

“Didn’t think it was relevant. He’s understandable.” Mostly.

“And the fact that he sounds like he’s from a badly written sixteenth-century play?”

“Is amusing. I’m kind of sad that the agreements are so…”

“Business like?” Lana snorts, shaking her head. “Imprecise, flowery language is not something you want in your alliance agreements. Even if they make for more fun reading.”

“Yeah…” I give her a hug. “Thanks for coming.”

“You’re welcome. It made sense to ensure we had some oversight on this. Wier is nice enough, but his people are kind of like you.”

“Except that diplomat.”

“Peter? Yes. We’re lucky he survived. And kept his Class,” Lana says, smiling. “That Skill of his is quite useful.”

“Diplomatic Immunity?” I say. “Complete immunity to damage, targeting, and spells? It’s a bit broken, as Jason would say. If it lasted for longer than a few seconds, it’d be really broken.”

“Do you think we’ll get an agreement?” Lana says, a slightly wistful note in her voice. “It’d be nice to have a couple of big cities on our side, ones that we don’t have to protect. After the Uvrik gave up their portion of Calgary, we’ve mostly been taking over smaller settlements owned by the Galactics. If we can get what they promise—that the humans can help us if they want—we’ll receive a lot of of help without the cost.”

“Aye. San Jose’s going to be problematic though,” I say with a grimace.

“Do you think it’ll throw off the negotiations?”

San Jose is technically a contested city, one that exists in an uneasy cold war with Pratma’s people. Whether we would give it up—if we even have a right to make that decision—is something that would be a sticking point in the negotiations.

“Maybe. Depends on how stubborn everybody is. If the Pratma give up on San Jose, it’d be great. Otherwise, they might have to learn to live with them. If it was just Wier, I’d be more optimistic.” I shrug. “But he’s in contact with his bosses now and I don’t know them. And there’s a lot of pressure to not give up any ‘American’ soil.”

At the last few words, Lana grimace. We’ve both heard such sentiments more than once, sometimes with the American changed to Canadian. It’s no surprise really. No one wants to consider themselves conquered, but perhaps because we lived for over a year with Roxley as the “owner” of Whitehorse, it’s something we can accept. Needs must when the devil drives, and the devil’s on a German autobahn.

“Keep an ear out on this?” I finally say to break the silence and get a nod from Lana.

After a moment, to distract us from the conversation, I kiss her with my hands on her hips, a hand sliding along her waist. In short order, we’re not worrying about the state of the world anymore, our focus on much more immediate and intimate matters.

A week passes in a flash. The first three days I spend stuck in the meetings, forced to listen as they negotiate a basic agreement between all parties. Since I was there, I even signed it, putting the settlements I owned up north into the document. City and myself, all bound by a simple acknowledgement. Once again I shivered at that level of power, that ability to control the lives of so many with so little.

After that, I was allowed to roam while they hammered down more concrete details, like when the first trade caravan could come in, when the first group could visit the cities. Mostly, I spent my time driving around, finding the few last human holdouts, and Portalling them to bigger settlements. There were a few nice surprises. A First Nations—wait, Native American—tribe that had managed to survive by holing up in their casino, along with a bunch of their workers and high-rollers. It highly amused me that the casino was a “Gambling Fort” with some truly strange, chance-based defensive measures. There was a church whose preacher had sacrificed his own Class and Perk to register the building in the System, allowing it to become a sanctuary against the violence and saving the town that had grown up around it. His actions had saved hundreds of people, the megachurch more than sufficient to accommodate them all.

I even spent a day back in BC, taking the time to review my settlements and work with Katherine about new developments. Richmond and Burnaby were now full-fledged Towns, the outlying suburbs a short hop away. With two more Towns, I had the option of joining them into one major Settlement to ease administrative burdens. Of course, I would also lose out slightly on the option of having more ancillary buildings, but the loss wasn’t as great as I feared. Rather than having three, I’d only have two, which meant I couldn’t add another Adventurers Guild till we had at least one more suburb, as Labashi already had his Mercenary Corp in place. Still, after some consideration, I decided to push ahead with it, joining the City Cores of both of those suburbs with Vancouver’s.

Partly, that was to help the City Dungeon grow. Simply put, the City Dungeon fed off the ambient Mana of the settlement it was connected to, allowing refresh rates and size to be dictated by these changes. Since I’d now tripled the size of the settlement, the Dungeon had a much larger area to draw upon and would thus grow faster. There were other ways to develop the Dungeon of course—including dedicating more Mana to it directly—but this was the “cheapest” way to do so in the short-term. The requirements to get more ambient Mana from a fixed location were quite wide-ranging, including Credits, technology, and of course, more Mana. Since actual Credits were a crucial shortfall for our settlements, with a large portion of our on-going income dedicated to rebuilding basic infrastructure, this was the best option.

After that, I had to deal with a few interest groups and the various city councils when they realized what I had done. I let them argue for an hour in the conference room before telling them to suck it up and work out who was going to be in charge of what before I left. It wasn’t particularly nice but I didn’t need to be nice—I just needed it to be effective. In the long-term, it could cause trouble, but really, I wasn’t exactly planning to run the city in the long-term. Owning the settlements was a short-term solution, one that met my own goals but at some point, someone more competent and who actually gave a damn about running it would need to take over.

Visiting Kamloops was a lot more relaxed. Ben and the rest of the council had the city well in hand, and the smaller population meant that there were a lot fewer egos to stroke. While Ben’s current Class only gave him abilities to alter existing buildings and provide short-term boosts, he indicated that his Advanced Class would be able to permanently alter and boost buildings or potentially an entire settlement, depending on which way he went. After some discussion, we ended up assigning him as the Mayor of the Town in a bid to increase his experience gain, as well as potentially open up even more interesting Classes.

As for Kelowna—well, it was doing okay. The farmlands were doing well, and the Adventurer’s Guild had, as promised, provided a significant security force. Mostly, Kelowna was in the development stage, with the focus on clearing out monsters and reclaiming lands, so there was little to report.

The last thing I decided to deal with was a visit to the Shop. The fox was, as usual, attentive to my needs, even if most of what I was picking up was the usual. I did, however, take the time to purchase the upgrades for my Portal Skill and a few others. Doing that took out a large portion of my personal Credits, but considering I was getting further and further away from my settlements, it was a necessary expense. Since I was still waiting for the Quantum State Manipulator to arrive, the Class Skills were more important than picking up a few more toys. A quick glance at the Portal Skill once purchased reaffirmed my decision.

Portal (Level 5)

Effect: Creates a 5-meter by 5-meter portal which can connect to a previously traveled location by user. May be used by others. Maximum distance range of portals is 25,000 kilometers.

Cost: 250 Mana + 100 Mana per minute (minimum cost 350 Mana)

My last meeting of importance in Vancouver was with Wynn. The Burning Leaves guild master had invited me out for dinner, an offer that Katherine made sure I couldn’t refuse. If you’ve never had sushi made by a Sushi Chef with System-mutated ingredients, you are missing out. For most of the dinner, our conversation was benign, revolving around recent Guild-authorized quests and equipment sales. It was only toward the end that Wynn brought up the topic I had been dreading.

“Is there no way for there to be a peaceful resolution to your disagreement with the Zarrie?” Wynn says softly.

“Not the right person to ask. I’m just a hired hand.”

Wynn’s flat stare made me grin weakly. My threadbare excuse was as worthless as a teddy bear without a soul.

“Redeemer, you must understand, the royal family have traditionally been allied with the Zarrie. While the mutual defense agreements do not apply on a Dungeon World, there are consequences to such action.”

“You guys leaving?” I ask bluntly.

“No. The Guild is independent, as you know,” Wynn replies. “But unwarranted aggression against our allies does cast a bad light on your settlements.”

“Unwarranted.” I grunt, shaking my head. “The Zarrie are asses and you know it. They’re petty tyrants, and while they might not be doing the entire System slavery thing, they’re more than happy to beat, blackmail, and kill as they wish. They’re bullies.”

“Political realities often dictate distasteful bedfellows.”

“Good thing I’m not a politician then.” Before Wynn can say anything else, I hold my hand up and stare at the man. “We’ll work with those who are willing to work with us. Who are willing to conduct themselves with grace. Everyone else can burn.”

“And that is the stance of your settlements?”

“I guess it is.”

“Very well.” Wynn falls silent before he points at a purplish slice of sashimi streaked with dark yellow. “Have you tried the Quem fish? I was surprised to find that they are thriving in your English Bay. They are considered a Galactic delicacy…”

And with that, the topic is dropped. I still am not sure what, if any, the effects our attack on the Zarrie in LA will have, but in the end, it doesn’t matter. I am not going to back down. I’d rather have a few good, reliable allies than a bunch of political flakes. Even if a part of me considers that entire statement a naïve belief.

After all that, when the agreement with Pratma is finally signed, I am finally allowed to leave the town—under escort—to travel through the outskirts of Sacramento and head farther south. Lana and the rest of the small diplomatic team actually get to visit the settlement itself, with additional visits to San Francisco planned for later on. The goal, of course, is to verify the information we’ve purchased from the System. There’s nothing like actually seeing things with your own two eyes—especially when it’s possible to have the System “lie” for you with certain Skills. Admittedly, that is a rarer Skill, but it is possible.

Traveling with a pair of guards is interesting. Both have low Level Advanced Classes, but for the actual fighting of the various monsters we encounter, I am on my own. I kind of guess what they are up to, so I keep the use of my Skills to the minimum. Still, when Ali locates a new dungeon, the potential gain from clearing it outweighs any security concerns and I make sure to clear it, Blink Stepping and Inferno Striking through its interior. At the end of the smoking ruins, amid the stench of burnt fur and cooked flesh, I am truly grateful I don’t have to explain the canine and leonine corpses to Lana.

Once I am far enough away from San Jose, my silent companions leave me, allowing me to complete the rest of the trip by myself. The remainder of the trip is routine, filled with wandering monsters, displaced refugees, and the occasional enterprising bandit. Even the big cities like Fresno and Bakersfield are rote exercises in travel and rescue by now.

Thanks to Ali adjusting my Status, I don’t have much trouble entering the city itself. Fresno is interesting in that they aren’t exactly oppressing the humans, but there are more than a few signs of bias shown toward Galactics. Recalling my discussion with Wynn, I make a note of what I see before popping a Portal open for Ingrid and a friend of hers to do some reconnaissance. We’ll decide how far to take it once we have more details.

Bakersfield is more cut-and-dry, another one of those cities that need a helping hand dealing with a bunch of Galactic asses. Rather than fight for a settlement we can’t hold, I just pop open the Portal, drag a few fire teams through, and round up everyone we can before we leave. We leave a single team to stick around and round up anyone else with a short-range communication device to let me know when they need a pick-up. Interestingly enough, the Galactics don’t even try to really obstruct us, sending a few token drones and enforcers while we’re busy pulling people out. It is almost as if they are relieved to get rid of the stinky humans.

All these boring, easy trips change when I turn east and make my way to Fort Irwin.

Chapter 12

I have to admit, I was surprised to learn that Fort Irwin had been both an actual military base and a training center. That means that they’d had on-site housing and a fluctuating number of members on base at any time. Luckily for the base, a number of units had been undergoing training when the System hit, so they’d had a large number of trained personnel on-hand to deal with the monsters, even if our guns aren’t half as effective as they used to be. Unfortunately, they also got unlucky enough to get targeted with a monster drop. A couple of high Level sand worms were teleported around their base. For all that, the general in charge had managed to keep the majority of civilians and base households secure.

While Fort Irwin has nowhere near the numbers that Camp Pendleton does, it has the benefit of being nearby and fully staffed. In addition, they’re desperately in need of a restock. As a System-designated Fort, they’ve got a significant advantage over most random buildings, especially since the designation includes the entirety of the base. From what Wier says, they’ve even been able to gain limited access to the Shop through a few Quartermasters’ Class Skills. But access or not, they’ve been seriously limited in their ability to develop, which is where I come in.

For all that, you’d think I’d be greeted with open arms. Instead, first I get stopped and interrogated by a roving patrol in the 45° Celsius weather. If it isn’t for the fact that I’m mostly resistant to minor changes in temperature like this, I’d be pissed. As it stands, once they finish their not-so-subtle interrogation, I’m escorted onto base under armed guard.

The base itself is an interesting place. They’ve obviously laid out numerous mines around their shelter, the walls replaced and increased to nearly thirty feet high. Watchtowers made of reinforced concrete sit above the walls, beam turrets and rocket launchers arranged to cover the approaches. I absently note the shield that opens as we near the walls, the gate that rolls open soundlessly, and the armed guards that patrol the walls. It is, for want of a better word, a military fortification.

It doesn’t take long for them to bring me to meet the general in charge. He’s got a close-cut hairstyle, salt-and-pepper hair on a too-tanned face that emphasizes the wrinkles he’s not gotten rid of and a steely glare that dictates respect. The only thing that detracts from the professional look is the fact he probably should have shaved this morning. Or he might just be unlucky enough to need to shave more than once a day.

Richard Miller (Officer Level 16)

HP: 880/880

MP: 1290/1290

Conditions: Aura of Command

Mental Influence Resisted

“Mr. Lee,” General Richard Miller says as he stands and offers me his hand. I absently note the notification that pushes aside the aura, the briefest flare as my resistances and stubborn will engage and beat aside his low Level Class skill. “General Richard Miller, Commander of Fort Irwin.”

“General Miller,” I say, casting a quick glance at the others in the room.

I get quick introductions when my interest is shown, though I promptly forget their names as I’m interrupted by a floating, invisible Spirit.

“Isn’t that a drink?”

“Not now!”

“Thank you for coming. Colonel Wier informed me that we could be expecting you within the week. You’ve made good time,” Miller says with a smile.

“Not too bad,” I agree, tilting my head. “You know, if you pointed me at a suitable location, we could continue this talk while you get resupplied.”

“All in good time, Mr. Lee. I wished to speak with you before we began such an operation,” the general says with a smile. “Communication with the colonel has been somewhat difficult, our conversations limited. I was hoping you could perhaps detail a little about the situation in Seattle and your own settlements.”

I return Miller’s frank stare before nodding. At first, I start with talking about Seattle, but Miller’s incisive questions have me jumping backward again and again as I detail my own settlements, the Galactics I’ve come across, and the basic System knowledge we’ve gained. He’s particularly interested in Crusher’s little book, so I send the survival guide to him and his aides with a thought. Through the entire conversation, notes are taken, and before I know it, nearly half the day has passed.

“Well, that’s all been fascinating. But you’re right, we should really open the Portal to the colonel. I’m sure he can brief me himself,” Miller says as he stands, one hand sweeping low to beckon an aide closer. “Major Alvarez will show you where you can set up the Portal.”

“So I’ve passed?”

“Passed?” Miller says, playing dumb.

“Your assessment,” I say bluntly. Out of the corner of my eyes, I note that the soldiers who were clustered around the office have slowly dispersed.

“Yes.” Miller doesn’t apologize, which I can understand. Without access to the full Shop to verify how truthful I am, he’s only got Class Skills and his own intuition. Which, probably, is good enough, but probably doesn’t cut it when you’re in charge of so many lives. “If you’ll follow the major, we do look forward to getting our supplies.”

“Got it.” I offer him a wave, walking out of the door, followed by the major soon afterward.

Out of the corner of my eyes, I see the general bending his head and falling into a deeper conversation with his people.

“This way, sir.” Alvarez waves a tanned hand.

I follow along, almost wanting to whistle a jaunty tune to break the seriousness they all seem to carry. Then again, they’ve been surviving in the arse-end of nowhere for nearly a year, fighting Level 40 plus monsters and hemmed in by even higher Level zones and Galactics. I’d be tense too.

Watching Wier and his posse of uniformed aides walk away to talk with the general, I release the Portal before it drains me completely. A moment later, I’m seated on a lounge chair pulled from my Altered Space, a bar of chocolate in hand while I wait for my Mana to recover. Alvarez stares at me for a second but chooses not to comment. Instead, we spend the time watching the small group of assigned personnel move the various pieces of equipment that were brought over during the few minutes the Portal was open, distributing them as needed.

Shifting goods via the Portal is weird—a large group from this side jumps through in a bid to make purchases at the Shop while another stream of individuals comes in from Seattle, all of them toting boxes double to triple their size and even more stored in their System inventory. The sheer volume moved is significantly higher than what it seems, especially since a few of those have Class Skills that let them carry more in their inventory than you’d guess. The ability to overstack slots in a System inventory is a bit of a cheat.

“What’s in the boxes?” I ask Alvarez after I finish my first bar of chocolate.

“Non-System-generated items we need,” Alvarez replies. When I glare at him, the man relents, probably deciding that replying is better than annoying me enough to stop opening Portals. “Fresh vegetables and supplements, new clothing, toilet paper, and umm… other sanitary equipment.”

“Pads?”

“It’s been an issue,” Alvarez says stiffly.

I chuckle softly, though I do recall more than one time when the young ladies in the team disappeared into houses and stores before stuffing said items into my Altered Space. I once asked why they just didn’t get their genes changed or something else and received a blistering earful from Ingrid about how the System cheats and reverts such changes quickly. At a guess, it’s a by-product of the entire damn “get everyone pregnant” directive.

“So what are the men requesting?” I’m rather curious to see what it is they, being stuck without the basics, might be after.

“Nothing they can’t live without,” Alvarez replies then relents. “Beer. Smokes. Deodorant is high on the list too. Disposable razors. System-registered knives.”

I chuckle and decide not to comment further. I’m sure there are other less savory requests, but considering the major is handling most of this in an official capacity, fulfilling those is likely to be done via less official channels.

“Fair enough.” I glance at my Mana gauge. “Another five minutes and I should be good to go.”