by Pdmac
A moment later, Ross’ body softly fizzled and was gone.
“Let’s find a place for the night,” Karl said, crossing the bridge.
The largest building in the town turned out to be the tavern with two large bedrooms with ten beds per room. Despite the summer camp type sleeping arrangements, the ale was reasonably good and the food even better.
“They came through here not even a week ago,” the proprietor recounted. He was a trim industrious man who owned a farm in addition to the tavern.
“The orcs was with ‘em,” the serving girl said with a shudder as she placed mugs of ale on the tables. A pretty blond, she looked to be in her late teens. “Never been so scared in my entire life.”
“Haven’t heard a peep as to what happened since they left,” the proprietor said. “You’re the first that’s come that way since Cyril marched north.”
“Cyril’s dead and his army defeated,” Karl said.
“Thank the gods,” the man said with a relieved sigh. “What happened?
“Cyril depended too much on those who need the night to fight,” Karl replied.
“And he didn’t know that we were there,” Annabeth grinned, “especially him.” She hooked a thumb at Dieter who was absorbed with Elena and not paying attention.
“Yes, I can well imagine,” the man nodded with approval. “Who is he?”
“His name’s Dieter,” she answered, “Dieter the Berserker.”
At the sound of his name, Dieter looked up.
“I have heard of him,” the man said, impressed.
“You have?” Dieter said, cocking an eyebrow.
The man turned his gaze to Karl. “You must be Karl the Viking. I am honored that you and your band have chosen my humble tavern to spend the night.”
Giving him a friendly smile, Karl asked, “How far is it to Legurn?”
“Another day’s journey. You should arrive this same time tomorrow.”
Turning his attention to the group, Karl said, “We leave early tomorrow, as soon as we can see the road. We need to make time. So get your rest or whatever, but be ready first thing.” Turning to the proprietor, he asked, “What time can we be served breakfast?”
“Whenever you want, m’Lord.”
Karl was about to say, ‘I’m not a lord,’ but decided the title resulted in faster responses and better service. “I want to be finished eating by the time you can see the house next door.
“As you wish, m’Lord.”
“Tell me what happened,” Felix said, hoping Mister Landon hadn’t found out yet.
“Raquel shot and killed Ross,” Scott replied with amusement. “Then Sakura finished the job.” He slid a thumb across his throat. “It was awesome. Ross had been a pain in the ass from the get go. Karl finally had had enough. He and Raquel and probably the others had to have arranged this beforehand, because no one seemed all that put out. It was like everyone was glad he’s gone.”
“Respawn spot?”
“Westhaven.”
Standing at the window, his arms folded across his chest, Felix gazed out at the golf course on the other side of the Chattanooga River. He watched a golf cart slow down to a stop in the fairway. A man got out, selected a club and lined up for a shot. Felix waited until the swing and hit then followed the ball as it arced in a low trajectory on the other side of the green. With a wistful sigh, he turned around.
“This is indeed interesting news. Raquel unquestioningly takes out one of her own. She’s coming along quite well.”
“I have to admit,” Scott said with respect. “You were right about her, though there is the little fact that she knew Ross would respawn. Would she be as accommodating if she knew he’d never come back?”
“Excellent question. Can we arrange it in the game? Should we arrange it?”
“Not with a player. Well… actually, I suppose we could with a player, the problem would be making sure the other players knew it was final. Unfortunately, that would impact their own trust and morale. I think it would be to our disadvantage to allow that, at least for now. I think what we’re doing with molding a team together that obeys orders without qualms is the greater objective.”
“I think you’re probably right,” Felix agreed. “What about Ross?”
“For one, the man is gonna be royally pissed. I figure he’s gonna make it his life’s mission to get back at Raquel, and especially Karl who ordered the hit.”
“Good. See what you can do to help him out. We need to see how Karl deals with players coming after him.”
“What’s to see?” Scott chuckled. “Karl knows Ross is pissed and he’s gonna be on his guard.”
“That’s why I want you to team Ross up with another group or another player who might have a vendetta against Karl. Karl might know that Ross is out to get him, but he won’t know about the others. This will be a good test of his analytical skills.
Scott immediately understood. “I think we might be in a position to make that happen very soon.”
“Excellent. What’s the update on the bodies?”
“Bodies?”
“The players’ bodies,” Felix replied.
Scott stared blankly at him a moment before it dawned on him. “Oh, you mean the ones cryogenically frozen?”
“Yes,” Felix said, “and the clones. What’s the status?”
“Like I told Maggie, there are some that we need to leave alone. Karl for example. He’s already a martial arts master, so why change that? Raquel is a marketeer, so we’re gonna have to do something about that. It’s that way with the rest of them. Some we’ll leave as is, others we’ll have to use new bodies. What’s important, from my perspective at least, is that we give them bodies that closely match what they have now.”
“Why?”
“Morale and desire,” Scott replied. “Think of the confidence and attitude when you come back and you not only look awesome, but your new body is already trained to perform. You’re an assassin in the game and now an assassin in real life.”
Felix pondered the idea and raised an eyebrow, yet with an added smile. “So the dwarves become dwarves in real life?”
“Of course not,” Scott grinned, “but their rogue skills become valuable.”
“So it comes back to my original question: Why not just train the clone from the start? Seems to me to be more effective. That way you get what you want from the beginning.”
“I’ve wondered the same thing,” Scott said shaking his head. “But after doing a little deeper research, it’s actually more cost effective to do what we’re doing, training a killing team within a game. There is nothing like it in real life, so we gain a significant amount of training in a short period of time. Second, using reproductive donor clones, though incurring some initial long term cost allows us to physically train an individual to standards while waiting for the occupant to finalize.”
“I still don’t see why you couldn’t train a clone to act as an assassin or an accountant for that matter.”
“That’s the point,” Scott agreed. “What we need are assassins who obey orders and are good at what they do.”
“You can find people like that already, without having to put people into games,” Felix countered.
“With respect, Felix, I think you’re missing the point,” Scott said. “The gaming world is the future. But that aside, look at it like this. Take Karl as an example. IRL –”
“IRL?”
“In real life,” Scott smiled though inwardly rolling his eyes, wondering how long Felix would last. “IRL, Karl is a martial arts master. It’s taken him years and years to get there. Likewise, he’s combat trained and has no problem killing people. He’s also a leader. People like him are hard to find.”
“So why the charade that he’s dying of some incurable disease?”
“Because that’s the only way a rational person would allow himself to be placed into a game.”
“Why the game in the first place?”
Scott inwardly sig
hed, concealing a hint of frustration. How could Felix be so obtuse? “Like I said, a game provides us far more parameters and options than real life ever could. Further, it puts together a tight team that can respawn whenever someone gets killed. You can’t do that IRL. So what we have here is a failsafe method of training a team to peak efficiency without the trouble of losing members.”
“Then what?”
“Once we decide they’re ready, we bring them out, they conduct the hit, and we put them back into the game. It’s perfect. The target is dead and no one knows where the killers are, because they leave no prints behind and they’re safely back in the game where no one can find them.”
“Except us,” Felix said. “What happens when other players see an entire team disappear and then suddenly reappear?”
“We take them out at the right time.”
Felix quietly mused a bit. “What’s the status on your personnel strength?”
“Pardon?” Scott frowned, momentarily confused.
“You personnel strength,” Felix said. “You’ve lost another seven this past week to immersion. You’ve done well counterbalancing the loss with the increase in AI. And I noted that you’re already working on redundancy in anticipation of losing more.”
“I have to,” Scott moaned, “if you want Designers Branch to still be viable.”
Felix leaned forward. “You do realize that you are eventually putting yourself out of a job.”
“I know.” Scott let out a slow sigh. “The AI is advancing so quickly that there is little left for us to do these days other than to see if there are any hiccups in the process.”
“Which brings me back to the point of our team, Karl’s team,” Felix said. “If the rate of immersion continues like it is –”
“We’re not the only ones,” Scott objected.
“True and you make my point,” Felix replied. “If the world as we know it is disappearing, why the need for an assassination team? Why bother?”
Scott shrugged. “I’ve asked the same question. Despite the ‘we need someone behind just in case’ response, my take is that not everyone is going to escape into a game. There will be holdouts, those who still fear technology. While AI can protect itself for the most part, there is sure to be some evil genius left behind who will want to manipulate the system and rule the world.”
Felix chuckled. “I suppose so.” He turned to gaze out across the river again. “Have you thought about your future?”
“You mean, what game am I looking to immerse in?”
“Yes.”
“I’m still undecided,” Scott wistfully replied. “Choosing only one game for the rest of eternity isn’t a choice lightly made.”
“I understand,” Felix sympathized then turned around. “Thanks for the update. Keep me posted on the status of your department. We’ll need to make some tough decisions very soon.”
Chapter 8
Legurn was a small town though larger than some of the towns they had wandered through since leaving Marbeck. Often, a town was no more than four or five houses close to each other at a crossroad. Legurn was a veritable city in comparison as it contained almost forty houses grouped around a crossroad.
The town was silent when they passed by the first home and continued up the main road. The only evidence of life was the bouquet of smoke curling out of the chimneys and the occasional rim of light around a window that hadn’t shut properly.
In the middle of the town was a larger building with a road sign that creaked in the wind. As the evening was too dark to read it, Karl approached and ran his hand over the engraved letters, trying to feel the name. In the process of fingering a letter, the door opened and light spilled out along with the clamor of tavern revelers as a man in his cups came staggering out, singing a bawdy ditty and laughing. His song abruptly halted when he saw them.
“Is the ale good here, friend,” Karl asked with smile.
“Good enough for the likes of me,” he replied, still warily regarding them, especially Dieter before his eyes happily settled on the women. “Yer kinda late. Tavern’s gonna close in a hour or so.”
“Just looking for a place to get something to eat and drink and spend the night.”
“He’s got ‘em enough alright. Why you out so late? You ain’t from ‘round here.”
“No we’re not,” Karl answered with a quiet chuckle. Though tipsy, the man wasn’t drunk enough to be unaware. “Just passing through.”
“Where ya headed?”
“South.”
“Ain’t nuthin much south of here ‘cept you be getting’ to Cyril’s lands.”
“Close the damn door,” a voice called out from inside the tavern.
Using that as a que, Karl motioned the team forward when the man peered up at him.
“Say, did you see an army of trolls and orcs when you was headed this way?”
“The troll and orcs were sent up to Westhaven,” Karl replied, stepping past him. “They won’t be coming back.”
The hubbub ceased as soon as they entered the tavern as heads turned in unison to stare at them. Karl strode boldly forward to the center of the room.
“My name is Karl the Viking.” He watched with satisfaction as heads nodded in recognition. “We’ve come from Westhaven where Cyril’s army is defeated.”
A boisterous cheer erupted and the taverner, a short roly-poly man, flapped his arms for quiet. “And Cyril?”
“Dead, his head on a stake at the gates of Westhaven.” Cheers again erupted. Calling out above the din, Karl added, “Gwen now rules Montgrec.” Though the cheers were not as raucous as before, there were the plenty of grinning faces.
“How do we know what you say is true, Colonel,” a voice called out.
There was something in the way the question was asked that caused Karl to cock an eyebrow. It was a man’s voice and the tone was that of a sneer. He scanned the room looking for the doubter. He found him leaning back in a chair on the other side of the room, dressed in the black of an assassin. He was well proportioned with coal black hair and a handsome face with a pencil moustache. An elf Ranger and a human sorcerer sat at the table with him. The way the man stared at Karl aroused an immediate dislike.
The room grew quiet as Karl narrowed his gaze on the man. “You know what I say is true because my friends and I were there. We were there when Cyril’s army attacked. We were there when Cyril was captured and sent to the castle. We were there when we walked by to stare at his head jammed on a stake, the flies already circling. We joined with the armies of Westhaven and Montgrec to defeat their enemies. We killed trolls and orcs. So where were you?”
Patrons grunted and nodded respect and admiration, waiting for the answer.
“I was here. I had no dog in that fight... Colonel.”
The response was a mixture of disapproval and apathy, many thinking he was smart to not get tangled in the affairs of state.
“You keep calling me that. Why?”
“Because you are, or at least once were a Colonel… a Lieutenant Colonel.” The man turned to those in the tavern. “Let me tell you about the Lieutenant Colonel here, or as he is known in these parts as Karl the Viking. The Colonel was a battalion commander with the infamous Widow-makers in the Tiwanaku War.”
“How do you know about that?” Karl demanded.
The man paused and focused his stare at Karl before replying, “Because I was there.” He then addressed those in the tavern. “They were called the Widow-makers because they killed so many men in their prime that an entire generation of children would grow up without fathers. They were called the Widow-makers because they left a smoking path of destruction behind when whole villages were destroyed, crops ruined, livestock slaughtered. They were called the Widow-makers because they had no problem killing children if they thought it necessary.”
Karl saw the faces in the tavern change from respect to shock as jaws dropped, and the once friendly smile slipped away, replaced with grim apprehension. He studied the
man, replaying the voice and the words when the epiphany hit. He was surprised they would put the man into the game.
“I know you,” Karl mused aloud. “I was there at your court-martial when you were found guilty of desertion and cowardice, not to mention espionage and selling secrets to the enemy. I don’t know what name you’re using now, but then you were called Kevin, Kevin Bristow.” A sneer curled the corner of his lips as he turned to the other patrons, lifting an arm and pointing. “This man was a member of my group in a former life. He was a lieutenant at the time, in charge of a special ops team.” He turned back to face his accuser yet his voice carried throughout the room.
“This man traded the lives of his team for money. Then, when he decided he’d had enough, he ran away, like the coward he is –”
“That’s a god-damned lie,” the assassin bellowed, thrusting his chair back and jumping up.
“ – leaving his team heading to an ambush that he knew was about to happen. He ran away.”
The mood of the patrons changed once again in favor of Karl and Kevin felt it sway against him.
“He’s lying,” he yawped.
“Because of you,” Karl proceeded, “my best friend was captured, tortured and butchered. I ought to kill you here and now.” He took a step forward.
“Stop,” the taverner cried out, placing his small pudgy body between them. “Please,” he implored. “Not in here. I have a fine establishment. If you must kill each other, do it outside.”
Karl and Kevin glared at each other, but neither moved, waiting to see who would blink first. Dieter came up beside Karl followed by the others, fanning out in a semi-circle, ready to pounce. While Raquel and the ranger next to Kevin sized each other up, Annabeth cast a Charm Person spell on the sorcerer whose face abruptly morphed from vigilant antagonist to happy-to-see-you when he caught Annabeth’s eye.
Scooting his chair back, the sorcerer ambled over to towards Annabeth, giving her a friendly wave.
“Where the hell are you going?” Kevin burst as he watched Annabeth and his supposed ally join up in friendly conversation.