by D. Rus
"I've got here fifty cleaners to put under your authority," I said. "Your task will be to clean up the castle. All the non-standard debris has to be collected and stored in the inner court, sorted out where possible: metal and ores into one heap, artifacts into another, unidentified miscellany into a third one. What else... yes, no dismantling any compound objects. You'll see two statues of trolls, please don't touch them but try to transport them into court if you can."
"What's the surface area?" Harlequin asked, all businesslike.
"Everything up to the outer walls. In case of any danger, address the head of castle guards. Let me know when you're finished. I'll need you to arrange a work party to the fort. That's it. Get on with it!"
As he dashed off, eager to apply himself, I had one belated idea. "Wait! One more thing. On one of the north towers," I gestured in their approximate direction, "there's a Bone Dragon's batch of eggs. You need to find it."
He scratched his head. "What does it look like?"
I very nearly did a facepalm, amazed at his stupidity, when it dawned on me: did I have any idea myself how the eggs—whether bone or phantom ones—looked like? Not good.
"Eh, a nest and, you know, two eggs, yes, sort of round ones," I made an OK sign with my finger and thumb. "I think. Just play it by ear, dude. I don't think the place is packed with dragon eggs."
He shrugged, as if saying, the boss is always right. Obeying my nod, he finally dashed out of the room. Right he was, too. I could bet my bottom gold piece his subordinates were already at each other's throats, busy ripping each other's overalls.
I suppressed a smile and activated the portal spell. Bang.
I greeted the Portal Hall guards, one of them a very bored Eric who roared like a happy bear as he descended on me with an equally bear hug. Immediately he began telling me about some really cool piece of bear gear he'd seen, if only-
There he was interrupted by a messenger—the sergeant who'd been shifting his feet by the door as he waited to take me to the General's office. I shook Eric's enormous paw and hurried down the stairs after him.
The NPC guards saluted me indifferently, showing no reaction to my hatred relationship status. By then, I already knew how easy it was to change the guards' friend/foe settings from the castle interface. The Vets' clan didn't differentiate by race or faction, they had plenty of players of both Light and the Dark. You couldn't surprise anyone here with a Blood Orc whose face otherwise graced all the quest boards elsewhere in the Lands of Light.
Finally I reached the carved oak doors of the General's office. The sergeant knocked and opened one side of the door, letting me in.
Inside, Dan and Frag were choking on their coffees. You can't really enjoy the poison of your choice twenty cups in a row. Dan squinted at me, tired but cheerful. The General's poker face didn't change; he nodded and beckoned me to approach.
"Come sit down. Take the weight off your feet."
I obeyed. Both stared at me expectantly. Pointless beating about the bush with two seasoned sharks like those. So I moved straight to the point.
"General, as far as I know, you were considering the possibility of dedicating the clan's entire contingent to Macaria, offering two million for the rite. Is that correct?"
Frag raised an eyebrow, soundlessly enquiring about my information sources but neither confirming nor refuting my words. Dan gave me an encouraging smile.
I took in a lungful of air and said with a TV-soap actor's lilt, "The Dark Priest you wrote to is me."
I wasn't prepared for their reaction. Dan guffawed, clapping his hands. Frag shook his head, unbelieving.
"You didn't believe me, did you?" Dan turned to him. "So you owe me one more staff member for my seventh department. Sorry, Sir, a bet is a bet. I want Brown's Lieut, please."
"You want too much. Find someone from your kindergarten group and train them up yourself," Frag turned to me and lay his heavy fists onto the fragile tabletop. "Report," he ordered, boring me with his glare.
I scowled. "General," indignation was welling inside me, "I have come here as a clan leader, First Priest and your friend. But not as your subordinate."
"First Priest, I knew it..." Dan muttered, ignoring my escapade.
Me and my big mouth. These sharks had me just where they wanted. I was fed up with their rotten tricks. "Please. I know very well you have guys like myself for breakfast every morning. But I'm afraid, I'm the only First Priest you have, at least for quite a while. I may be a bit simple but there's no need to rub it in. Let's just work with what we have."
Dan grew serious. He raised his hands in a peace-making gesture. "Stop grumbling, Max. We're all friends here. We're only laughing because we want to make you see it's time to tie your simplicity up in a few knots. You're flying way too high these days, and still you're trying to remain Laith the simple guy playing a new and funny game. They'll scoff you up before you can say Ding!"
Poor Fallen One. How I understood him right now. This wasn't life: this was some stupid downward escalator, its steps sweeping you right down into a sea of lava, its top riding high in the thunder clouds, and you keep running up the stairs simply to avoid being swept into the fire.
I took a deep mental breath and looked Dan in the eye. "I've heard you. I really appreciate your advice, thank you. But my life has long ceased being a leisurely walk in the park. It has since taken me up and down all sorts of funny little trails. Just give me some time. I might end up such a smartass bastard you'll regret ever saying this to me. You'd better knock on wood it doesn't happen soon."
Dan chuckled and tapped a bony knuckle on the wooden tabletop.
"So, First Priest," Frag cut us short, "what can we do for you and what can you offer us in return?"
Taking the bull by the horns, very well. I concentrated, lining up the items I was going to discuss with them. "The First Temple will need protection. Its restoration will also demand a considerable injection of funds. Although the official version of the Temple's devastation is not exactly correct, its outcome is the same: the place is in ruins. I don't think you're going to question the importance of having the Temple properly defended. The advantages of Macaria's gifts are too obvious."
Dan's eyes had glazed over the moment I'd mentioned financial problems. Now he sat up, offended, "Not everything is as rosy, I'm afraid. Our clan's siding with the Fallen One might bring us some serious pain in the butt."
"So what?" I said. "We'll still have our XP bonuses plus the Goddess' skills..."
Dan and Frag exchanged glances. "How many deities are there in the Pantheon of Light?" Dan asked softly. "Your guess?"
I frowned. "Dunno. I was sort of too busy to find out. My life has been a bit hectic in the last few weeks. I thought you knew that."
Dan shook his head, refusing to accept my excuses. "Six—six gods, each with his or her own specialization. It's true that they don't have the High God or the First Temple: they've got some democracy there, or anarchy, whatever. But they're quite generous with their skills, not to mention their fourteen temples and their respective XP bonuses to all the worshippers of Light."
I slumped in my chair. How could I ever have missed it? True, I'd given their temples a wide berth, unwilling to worship one particular god: my chosen class cast plenty of shadow as it was. But how come no one had told me that? I desperately needed an analytics department of my own.
"So I hope you don't think," Dan went on, "that all the players will now march to join the Fallen One's ranks? True, the smarter among us—those who are either capable of independent thinking, have the necessary information or possess good self-preservation skills—will ignore the Light Ones' toys and will be more than happy to dedicate themselves to Macaria. Over time, we might look at a figure of several tens of thousands. Add to that those who'll follow him out of conviction or racial solidarity—there're bound to be a few. But those of the players who choose their religion by dumbly comparing the available bonuses will all remain on the other side of the barricades. And what do you
suggest we do when, after a few tentative attempts, the Admins call for an event and a hundred thousand-strong crowd will arrive at the First Temple's walls? Who's going to face them—you and I and ten thousand die-hard permas? Because that'll be all the force we'll have."
He kept speaking, probably trying to bring me back down to earth by making me see the sheer vastness of the task at hand. And I—yes, I guess you could say I was a different person already because the problem's scope didn't scare me any more. To each of his arguments, my mind came up with a possible solution and a potential counter measure. Too many temples of Light?—we could always thin them out. Not enough manpower to defend ours?—Well, humans weren't the only AlterWorld's inhabitants. Gnolls and Hell Hounds were prime examples of the opposite. Our Pantheon too modest, the XP bonus too small?—It only meant we had to summon more gods and build new temples.
Had I bitten off more than I could chew? But that was the only way to do it. You had to have ambitious goals. Saving enough for a new couch would hardly motivate one to move his backside. But if his objective were to buy a Porsche Cayenne in three years' time, that might motivate him to move it and be proactive, seek so he could find.
I nodded to Dan, "I appreciate the sheer scope of the problem. But we'll make it. What solution do you suggest, personally? I'm not going to charge my allies seven million; I'm not even going to accept the two the General has already offered. I need friends and allies more than I do trade partners. I intend to make one of the Vets a priest so he can dedicate the entire clan to Macaria. I also invite you to sign up for my alliance, The Guards of the First Temple, in order to join our defense forces. I don't seek a commanding post. There are some people here who deserve it more than I do."
Again they exchanged glances. Oh yes, I was full of surprises: first my new confidence that seemed to defy the complexity of the situation, then my rejection of a very lump sum, and now the news of the alliance I'd created. They froze, apparently discussing their decision through some closed private channel.
I had told them the truth. I needed allies more than anything. Money, too, but judging by the auctions' trends, I had staked a gold mine with plenty of potential to pay off my castle mortgage. And one more thing. By refusing their money, I hoped to reset my clan obligations to zero. Because if one day they had asked me for a service in return, I'd have had to drop everything and comply. This way, I was debt-free with them.
Clink, a money transfer dropped into my inbox.
You've received a money transfer: 100,000 gold.
Sender: The official Veterans clan account
I raised a quizzical eye to Frag.
"We appreciate your proposal," he said. "We're more than happy to accept it. We also give our preliminary approval to joining your alliance, but this will need more discussion and working through all the agreement details. As a gesture of allied good will, we return to you the sum you paid us for helping to solve Taali's little problem. We'll pay our men from our own resources. Moreover, we'll monitor her problem closely: I can already tell you that we're going to replace her gun. The civilian Tiger is good enough but a Vintorez will suit her purpose better. I'll also make sure some of my men will cover her at the most difficult stage: a retreat."
At that point I couldn't keep my emotions in check any longer. Taali's problem was something I couldn't help her with which worried me quite a lot. These old dogs knew my weak spot, cleverly manipulating my nicest points. But I still had something up my sleeve to rub into their poker faces.
"I can't thank you enough for this," I said. "But as you've mentioned the guns, I think I've got something for you."
I reached into my bag, pulled out the steel invaders' heavy shooter and slammed it on the table. Nothing was going to happen to it. Mithril could take much more than that. One-nil, guys. I would claw through the Valley of Fear for another technogenic artifact just to see their expression again.
The General jumped from his seat and grabbed the gun. He studied it in disbelief. He unlatched the clip, pulled back and cocked the hammer a couple of times, then ran his sensitive fingers along the embossed frame. Still unbelieving, he exchanged glances with Dan and pressed the gun to his chest like a father who'd found his long-lost son. Was it my imagination or his eyes glistened moistly?
"Where-" his voice gave. He cleared his throat. "Where did you get this?"
"Just an echo of war," I answered in my best indifferent voice, enjoying the pun.
"Fuck the echo of war!" Dan exploded.
Frag gestured him to shut up. "Wait. Max, I hope you understand what it is you have here. Firearms can radically change the balance of power in the game."
"Actually," I said, cutting their greed down, "the game's definition of a gun is a lump of mithril ore ready for recasting. Secondly, ammo is a bit of a problem, especially as I doubt that gunpowder or whatever it uses to generate the gases has retained its properties after eight hundred years. And thirdly and mainly, where do you see this imbalance? Are you sure that bullets can be a stronger argument than a regular level 1 self-guided firebolt? I don't even mention the Meteor Shower Spell or Armageddon which is easily comparable with a volley from a multiple rocket launcher."
Dan shook his head. "I don't intend to start a flame war on whether firearms are cooler than magic. Wait till you get a fifty-gram slug up your ass from a sniper about a mile away. Or when your castle takes a direct hit from the aforementioned rocket launcher—then you can compare them to level-1 firebolts all you like. Magic and firearms are two unique tools at opposite ends of the same branch of evolution. If someone manages to merge them, the Universe will shudder. Then everyone who doubted our peaceful intentions will drown in the resulting bloodbath."
That got me thinking. He could be right. He had to be. I definitely wasn't going to look into all of the consequences of, say, all of our players going back to the real world while preserving their characters' abilities. What had Frag called it, 'Israel and the end times'? It could well be. Actually, the former risked being the first to disappear from the world map. No amount of security walls or breakthrough technologies could save you from a stealthed nighttime 'well-wisher' smothering the sleeping streets and houses with clouds of Choky Death. I shuddered. God forbid.
"Imagine that?" Dan asked, watching the sequence of emotions run across my face.
"Yeah. A different scenario, actually, but it doesn't change the facts."
"So it looks as if you got it. How much of this stuff do you have?" he nodded at the gun in Frag's hands. The General had already ejected the contents of the magazine and lined it all up on the table in front of himself. "Have you unearthed the Ancient Ones' storeroom or just broken into some gaming millionaire's armory packed with made-to-order artifacts?"
So! I paused, trying to take in his random suggestions. This guy had some sick fantasies.
"Apparently not," a faked disappointment in his voice, Dan kept watching my face. "I will never believe that you've given us the only gun you had."
I'd have given everything for a shot of botox to paralyze my facial muscles. His soul-searching stare was getting to me. I wasn't a TV, after all.
I shook my head. "You don't need to believe it if you don't want to. This shooter is a real echo of war. With compliments from those technogenic dudes who tore the Temple apart eight hundred years ago. Oh, I got this thing, too."
I rummaged through my logs for the two screenshots of the dead trolls with a tank barrel as a club and forwarded them to the two.
"Holy shit," Dan whispered. "That's impressive. That's them just standing there? You think you could sell them? These are proper warriors, you understand, and they have this... firearm. This way the soldiers will have something to worship."
I shook my head. "They can worship Macaria if they want. Sorry but I have my own ideas about them. You can take the screenshot and have a painting of it made in the City of Light. If it inspires you that much."
Dan nodded, deadly serious. "I will. I need a copy of this
for myself."
"Two!" the General broke his silence.
This was how it happened that the two unknown heroes had shed the dust of time, their act of desperate bravery acquiring a new lease of life before my very eyes. In another five hundred years, some Drow boy scouts would stand, open-mouthed, before the painting in some local art museum as the Troll guide would shed an involuntary tear, narrating the ancient legend.
Chapter Fifteen
As my associates recovered from their art appreciation experience, I rose and, searching their eyes for their permission, poured out a generous cup of coffee for myself. It was almost two in the morning; the accumulated exhaustion was weighing my brain down, I was sleepy as well as hungry. I looked over the conference table: nothing edible, only piles of paperwork. With a sigh, I slumped back into my chair. Dan who'd never lost control of any situation, read me with ease and snapped a couple of commands into the castle's control console. He really should play poker: he'd make millions. Having said that, he wasn't that poor: take the recent scheme with the two brokers at the tournament when a good hundred thousand US greenbacks wriggled their way into his pocket. I already had a funny feeling he'd creamed off more from the cigarette boom than even I had. Well, I didn't mind. Having good role models was never a bad thing. Being the smartest guy among idiots may be flattering but it didn't get you very far. Becoming part of a good team so you could profit from the old dogs' experience, now that was well and truly useful.
Soon, the table was laid with several platefuls of cold cuts and starters. After five minutes of laborious chewing, life was looking up even though now I was even sleepier. Both Dan and the General welcomed the pause as they got busy making changes to the clan's prospective roadmap in view of the intelligence received. I even forgot about the rabbit pie I was holding as I watched their master class in strategic thinking and solving mammoth tasks. How do you eat a mammoth? Easy: you keep nibbling until there's nothing left of it but bare bones. Same here: the seemingly unmanageable task could be broken down into smaller segments that could be delegated to actual workers or relevant administrators.