A Second Chance

by Vasily Mahanenko

  “Let’s work together. You’ll cope admirably, no question. Although the group kill count will increase quicker. That’s what you’re doing here, yes?” Eredani had read the player and was now applying pressure to his weak spot. Neither of us, however, were expecting the response we got from Diabettis:

  “One hour of collaborative leveling up costs two hundred gold from each player. We work for a minimum of two hours without breaks. In that time you’ll get level three. The mobs here are level three, occasionally four. All regular, I haven’t seen any rare ones. You can wallop actively yourselves, or you can stand to the side and kick your heels, there’s no difference. If you agree, pay me eight hundred and accept me into your group. There are three of us. The other two are working inside the ruins.”

  “What about loot?”

  “We have no interest in demon blood. If something significant shows up, we roll the bones. If you need blood, bung in another fifty gold on top and take the lot. Are you in?”

  I looked questioningly at my partner, and he nodded. He was interested.

  Eredani: Brody, I can’t make you. It’s like with the rats, the decision is up to the budget keeper. That’s you. I want to say one thing — gaining level three in two hours is well worth it. Way more than four hundred gold from each of us.”

  “Send the group, businessman.” I made the decision quickly. Leveling up in Barliona was difficult, and it wouldn’t hurt to skip straight up to three.

  “I see nothing offensive in that word.” Diabettis received his money and added us to the group. The frames of another two level-eight players became accessible — Maestro and Yasya Tishkin. It was the first time I’d seen a female demon hunter, and it crossed my mind they’d split us specially into different virtualities in the training camp. But Yasya Tishkin was evidence that girls could also be interested in demon hunting.

  “Everybody swings it to the best of their ability. We can play, so why not make some money out of it?”

  “Are you planning to establish a commercial clan?” The idea was close to Eredani’s heart.

  “It’s already established. Ultium, Free Lands. We work with Kartoss and Malabar. Leveling up, dungeons, rare mobs. Anything you desire, for your money.”

  What happened next I would call, “slaughter of the innocents.” Diabettis, Maestro, and Yasya acted as a well-orchestrated unit, each on their own plot and not interfering with each other. The speed with which the level-eight players massacred the level-three demons was astounding. Kills worked out at two per minute. I gained level two after thirty-four mobs, or fifteen minutes of active farming — the pod bonus experience point and the boost coefficient together showed themselves large as life. There were no complications with distributing characteristics — Luck and Trade gained their own point apiece. Level three came after fifty-nine demons, level four after seventy, and level five, the last one for that day, after eighty-three. I didn’t have occasion to summon Aniram, as I spent the whole two ours collecting demon blood. I didn’t make it to where Yasya was gambolling deep in the ruins, so I had to be content with what Diabettis and Maestro’s demons had left behind. 173 demon blood and not a single gold coin were the results of our leveling up. Although if blood was worth even five gold, those two hours would pay for themselves.

  Achievement gained

  Demonbane 3rd rank: You have destroyed 250 demons, without dying once. The strength of your skills is impressive. Damage to all demons is increased by 15%. To gain the next level you must destroy 500 demons, without dying once (progress: 256 out of 500)

  “Are you going to extend?” Two hours had come around too quickly. Without the pod bonus, Eredani wasn’t advancing very actively, but he had managed to gain level four and, unlike me, he’d helped Diabettis a lot. In two hours his hungry demon had attempted to attack his host four times, but had only succeeded in calling up more beasties. However, with a level-eight player nearby, we had no problems. Quite the opposite in fact — Diabettis didn’t have to run around the ruins in search of new victims, because they came looking for us.

  “That’s enough for today,” said Eredani, not forgetting my time restriction. “And it’s getting pointless leveling up here. Do you go to the other locations?”

  “We do, but it’s hard to find buyers there. We only go there if we have a direct order. To T’Mir and R’Tan’s locations. If you want to get level eight, you’re most welcome. The mobs there are fatter, there are more rare ones, and our services are more expensive. Five hundred per person per hour, and we work for a minimum of four hours.”

  I looked at the updated map and saw that the lands of the two archdemons mentioned were just beyond the Lake of Tranquility. At least ten kilometers away.

  “Leave us a number,” Eredani said. “Will you be in the training camp for long?”

  “Sure, this is my direct number. We plan to work here for another month. Then there’ll be another gang, so the location won’t be without our services. If you decide to level up, warn us in advance. You were lucky today — we finished all our orders before evening and reached all our targets. We usually get hired immediately. You could join us — tomorrow we’re going to T’Mir’s location, two clients, so we could take you two along. Experience doesn’t get cut until there are ten players in the group.”

  “Thanks, but we’ll be staying in the camp for a couple of weeks.” We had to decline the generous offer. It was remarkable how effectively people adapted to life in Barliona. It would take the group two hours to reach the location, where three hours of farming demons would earn the gang three thousand gold. Two hours back, and each would receive one thousand gold for seven hours’ worth of personal development. Because Diabettis would also gain Experience from level-five demons. The guys had got themselves a nice little gig.

  The camp was empty except for a training session on the high-level course. Eredani snarled. Or coughed, I couldn’t tell. The training players were the Vartalinskys.

  “I know who Diabettis will be leveling up tomorrow.” Juxtaposing facts wasn’t a problem for me. The Vartalinskys were working steadfastly on gaining access to the wide world. Not lacking money, they wanted to level up good and proper before trying to get their ring back.

  “They might become a problem.” Eredani said what I was thinking. “Outside the training camp they can attack players.”

  “We’ll be here for three weeks, if not longer. I don’t think those kids will have enough patience to wait so long.”

  “I very much hope not. Since we have no particular plans, you don’t have to come tomorrow. Marcon can only train us in three days.”

  We went to the barrack, and I pressed the Exit button with relish. It was time to relax from Barliona.

  Chapter 5

  TUESDAY BEGAN buoyantly. When the star-to-be burst into the hall, the audience were already seated. Slamming the door for effect, Helen accused me of making her stay at work late and said she couldn’t continue like that. I responded that if an employee couldn’t handle their duties within the specified timeframe, it was their problem. Apparently, if I hadn’t laden the employee with tasks beyond her official duties, she would have been able to go home to her boyfriend earlier. After I strongly recommended that Helen spare me the details of her personal life, we switched to discussing personalities. The girl acted with feeling and abandon, and I genuinely believed she hated and wanted to strangle me. The group observed the scene impressed and silent, and I observed their reactions.

  When a pale Maria appeared in the doorway, it was time to wrap up the demonstration. Moderation in all things.

  “Your blouse is torn.” I told Helen the first thing that came into my head, overtly loudly, before adding in a whisper, “Get behind me, I’ll cover you.”

  She blinked several times uncomprehendingly, but on seeing her grandmother she came to her senses and ducked behind my back. It was so natural I could barely repress a smile. She had immersed herself in her role so deeply that she actually believed in the revolt
against her despotic boss.

  “As you are already aware, my dear listeners, the subject of today’s session is conflict. Thank you to my assistant.” I clapped, and the group joined in. “Thank you, Helen. You may take your seat. Who can name the method I used to snuff out the emotional outburst?” While the audience was answering, the blushing Helen scampered back to her desk, and her grandmother left the room looking relieved.

  The subject of conflict was painful for many. Even the group clam didn’t hold back from the discussion, which I considered a small personal victory. The most heated arguments erupted around the question of whether it was worth avoiding conflict. Some thought it an excellent means of solution, while others saw it as no solution at all, but rather as cowardice. I arbitrated, gave them some homework and, with a sense of commitment fulfilled, drew the lesson to a close. How easy it is to intellectualize when the matter doesn’t concern you personally.

  I arrived home in a fine mood to find Matty in the living room. The steely car mechanic was trying to fathom the art of origami using kids’ Internet clips.

  “You think that’ll help?” I asked, alluding to the legend of the thousand paper cranes and the granted wish.

  “You never know,” Matty grinned and launched his paper bird. “I told the kids that in school you and I used to make paper ships, and they asked me to teach them. I found some paper on your desk and decided to remember our youth.”

  “Childhood, Matty, childhood. Let’s have something to eat.” I was so hungry I could have guzzled half the robocook menu.

  In the kitchen we were bummed out to find the robocook broken — It never rains, it only pours — and I was about to submit a request to have it fixed, when Matty hustled me away from the machine, saying, “Let me have a look.”

  It’s not that I didn’t trust my friend, but I didn’t want to invalidate the service guarantee and have to mend it at my own expense. However, watching the former engineer confidently remove the touchpad, I kept my mouth shut.

  “Duck soup. Make some coffee. This is five minutes’ work.” Matty retrieved a device from his room and connected it to our magic porridge pot. I glanced over his shoulder into the electronic bowels of the machine and was flabbergasted. How the hell could anyone understand anything in there? But he was right. After tinkering for a minute, he replaced the panel, and the robocook signaled its readiness to work.

  “Will you just look at that!” I was blown away. Able only to work with my brain, I was always amazed by people who could conjure with their hands under the leadership of their brains.

  “Nothing to it,” he said, dismissing my wonder, blind to his own skill. After observing him at work, I was more convinced than ever that things would work out for Matty.

  Two days without Barliona had flown by so quickly I didn’t want to go near the pod. Unfortunately, I had to.

  “Bang on time!” Eredani diverted his attention for a second from the gesticulating Marcon. They were working on a series of movements in the center of the barrack. “Don’t plan anything for today. Training’s likely to drag on until morning. Set your pod timer for tranquilizer injection. And positions!”

  My hand reached treacherously for the Exit button, but I checked myself. Plus five to all characteristics had cost me yet another shameful evening. Although I must admit I wasn’t the only one suffering. Marcon and Eredani were trying as they might, but transforming a hippo into a graceful fallow deer in such a short time was only within the power of a deity.

  “Bravo! You’ve stopped treading on our toes!” said Marcon praisingly. “In two hours we’ve worked through ten tests. Have you not thought about Rivaldo’s school? Kick the door in and shout, ‘I have references! I can outdance you all! Prepare the festival podium!’ “

  “For jokes like that I might just give you a little scratch with my horns.” I was finding the training hard, but the festival joke reminded me of my job description, which included participation in two festivals. “Do dancers have festivals?”

  “But of course!” replied Marcon emotionally. “Two or three a month. When I get my master’s degree I’m going to open my own dance school. Festivals are cool. You can earn some cash. I’ll arrive and say, ‘I’m a master of the school of Rivaldo! Everyone bow before me!’ And that’s it — the top prize is mine. I’ll give you second place. You’ve convinced me. Positions!”

  Marcon’s inexhaustible positivity and chattiness were making me lose my composure. He prattled on about seemingly random stuff: dancing; the specifics of cleaning swimming pools in fall without Imitators; the new space shuttle which had ferried the next group of settlers to Mars; ground squirrels, which were becoming extinct. A true fucking man of art!

  After another four hours of intensive training, my torturers decreed I was ready. The fifteenth and last dance I found particularly difficult. Marcon wasn’t able to orchestrate anything practical for a pair, so I had to leave the group and align my own projection with Eredani’s in order to repeat his movements to the centimetre, and that took up most of the time.

  “Welcome to our fans,” laughed Eredani, indicating a small crowd of players collected at the entrance to the basic assault course. Apart from the Phoenix Shukir, there were several level-one newbies and a couple of level-five players.

  “Have you already agreed to sell?” I was gutted my partner had said nothing about his initiative. He could have warned me.

  “Yes. I am bringing our plans to fruition. The Phoenixes, the Heirs of the Titans, the Dark Legion, Ingenium, Exorsus, even the Legends of Barliona showed an interest. In your absence I spoke with them all. Today is open day — we must showcase our wares for the people. If we make it through, there’ll be bidding. If not, we won’t be able to rely on business relations.”

  Shukir stepped to the front and threw us a proposal to join the group.

  “I want to consider your parameters before the start of the test. Don’t think you can pull a fast one on me again.”

  We just shrugged and accepted the proposal.

  The rest of the players joined in. “Include me. And me.” Without reservation Eredani updated the group personnel. I looked at Shukir’s frame and was filled with unwitting respect. Three thousand HP on level six was no mean feat.

  “So you decided to show your faces, you slackers!” shouted master Haldei, the basic course instructor. “Why’ve you been hiding in the barrack? Quick march to the start! Pass less than three and I’ll send you to the Abyss!” The orc muttered something else and stepped aside. “Ready?” Eredani took his position. “On the count of three!”

  I performed the pair routine with full marks, but the individual routine created problems. As we were all in one group, we had to do the fifteenth test one after another. Why the hell hadn’t any of us thought about that? I naturally went second, trying to keep my distance without lagging behind, and maintain the tempo while not losing concentration. A mammoth task. My temples pulsed, but I kept going. When Eredani finished, success was almost palpable, which made losing my balance a meter from the finish and taking a sledgehammer to the face especially galling. I flew high into the air, and after somersaulting at the apex of a beautiful parabola, I felt a sharp pain in my coccyx, and my flight path changed. While all thought scattered like ash, and I struggled to understand what was happening, the ride ended. My partner had managed to catch me and drag me to the finish line.

  “That’s cheating!” roared Haldei. “Kvalen didn’t pass the whole course!”

  Time ticked by, but the system was in no hurry to acknowledge my result, just like the previous time.

  “He’s at the finish line!” Eredani retorted. Circles whirled before my eyes, and I kept prudently quiet. “He passed the test! In full!”

  “Charlatan!” The supervisor was angry. “He got smashed in the face by a hammer! His last obstacle doesn’t count.”

  “Let the chief arbitrate!” said Eredani stubbornly. “I demand a fair trial!”

  “You have no right to dema
nd anything!” Haldei screamed, completely incensed.

  “But I have.” I’d caught my breath enough to join in. “I completed the course! I’m standing on the finish line and I demand my reward! In full, for all fifteen obstacles!”

  My announcement was far more serious than the words of the right-deprived prisoner, so the chief appeared on the square, as if he’d been standing by the entrance waiting to be called. Uldaron looked first at us, then at Haldei, and finally at the frozen recruits with video pictograms above their heads, before asking calmly, “Why is the course empty?”

  Haldei screwed up his eyes and was silent, miffed at his superior’s presence. We didn’t hurry to justify ourselves either, and in the meantime Uldaron continued, “I asked why the testing has stopped. Two demon hunters are standing at the finish line arguing. That’s most irregular. If you’ve finished the course, well done! Now move on to the next one and don’t obstruct everyone else. Enough of this farce. Just so you aren’t inspired to repeat this in the future, I’m placing a ban on doing the course as a group. Only one at a time. Does everybody understand?”