by Tao Wong
“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 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…”
&n
bsp; “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 t
own 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.”