Aspirant 2: A Sci-Fi Harem Adventure

by Maxx Whittaker

  We pass from bright sunlight into dim warmth that I associate with every bar I’ve ever been in. The lights are low, and the tables are intimate with high backs and soft leather seats. The walls and ceiling are bland and nondescript, and aside from a few swords mounted above the tables there are no decorations of any kind. A single TV is mounted the wall across from the counter. At the moment nothing plays but static.

  It would be roughly the least appealing bar I’ve ever been to if it weren’t for one detail that we can’t help but miss. Bright lights span the ceiling above a counter that momentarily takes my breath. Solid marble veined with gold; it stands out like a sore thumb in the otherwise boring room. It’s huge and looks to be one solid piece.

  I whistle. “Damn. That’s incredible.”

  “Yeah,” Wick says, nonplussed. “Nice, I guess. He calls it The Slab.”

  “You don’t sound impressed.”

  “I mean, there’s a lot of amazing shit in Acheryx. In Lifestream. When you’re only limited by your imagination…” He whistles. “Some of the stuff people come up with on their estates is nuts.”

  “Estates?” Astra asks. “Where are they? We didn’t see any signs of them, or even a place they’d fit in a city this big.”

  “Instanced,” Wick says like she’s an idiot for asking. “There are millions of people in Lifestream, and everyone gets a personal estate when they hit level twenty. Just pop through the portal and you’re in your own little world.”

  “Instances.” I chew on the word. It sounds familiar. “What are they?”

  “You played World of Warcraft back in the day, didn’t you?” Mika asks. “Remember running dungeons? When you’d hit it with your party, you weren’t sharing it with everyone else. You were in your own little version.”

  “God, you fossils played that?” Wick shakes his head.

  “Wasn’t that game still going strong like five years ago?” I ask, crossing my arms.

  “I guess.” Wick’s whiskers fall. “Lot has changed, since then.”

  That quiets us.

  There’s no one in the bar but us. No customers I could understand; it’s like two PM. And it feels like a Tuesday to me. I have no idea how I come up with that conclusion… Something about the street traffic as we made our way over here along with how slow business seems just screams Tuesday.

  What’s weirder is that there are no employees. No bartender polishes the gorgeous marble and no waitresses hustle around cleaning tables. It’s dead.

  In fact, the smell of food disappeared the moment we walked in.

  “I heard glasses clinking from outside,” I say slowly. “Where is everyone?”

  “Yeah, this is weird,” Mika says, picking up a bottle of ketchup from a nearby table. She examines a label that says something like Dragonsblood Red. “I mean, I’ve never been to a bar, but I hear they’re usually livelier than this.”

  “Don’t need servants when you’ve got magic,” Wick says. “Most places like this use illusion magic to lure people in. Smell, sight, sound… You can fake ‘em all. Which Three does. But once you’re inside… Well, he doesn’t generally show up til you’re ready to order a drink.”

  “In that case…” I set the Corroc head in the corner and then walk up to the bar.

  The second I get with five feet of it a back door quietly opens. The man that strolls through is as plain as the rest of the place; he wears a suspiciously clean white t-shirt and blue jeans, has a bar towel slung over one shoulder, and his close cropped black hair is cut in possibly the most vanilla style I’ve ever seen.

  Only two things stand out about him: grey eyes like sleet that seem to weigh and judge me in one cursory glance, and a simple yet elegant katana strapped to his back. The grip that juts above his shoulder is the same black and gold as his bar.

  He whips his towel out and starts polishing after sparing everyone else the barest glance.

  “Heya, Three.” Wick gives me a maddening grin. “How’s it hangin’?”

  Three doesn’t respond or even raise his head. He just runs the rag over the already clean surface.”

  “Uh, hello?” I glance at the others, baffled. “Sir?”

  Still nothing.

  I turn to Wick. “Okay, what’s the deal?”

  His cat eyes glint with mischief. “Touch the bar.”

  “Wait,” Syl says as I turn and raise a hand. “If this is some sort of trap…”

  Wick huffs. “I could have led you into like twenty traps on the way over here. If I had slipped away in Kara’s and she’d found you there, you’d be piles of slag right now.” He stands straight, folding his hands innocently. “Trust me.”

  “Yeah, last time we did that, we played tag with the Corroc,” I say with a snort. “But this doesn’t feel like a trap, so…”

  I reach out and lay a hand on the bar.

  The towel stills. Grey eyes like a storm at sea raise to mine, waiting.

  “Uh, can we please get a few drinks? Maybe some food?”

  Three gives me a nod that’s so subtle I’m not sure I don’t imagine it.

  I glance to the others. “What would you guys like?”

  “Whatever,” Mika says quietly. “I’ve only been drunk once. Astra never has. Syl can’t get wasted. And who cares what Wick thinks?” She pokes him.

  For once, the Palico doesn’t rise to the bait. His hands stay folded as he watches our interplay with a little smile.

  I turn back to Three. “Okay. Not sure what you have, and you’re not… You know. The most forthcoming type. So.”

  No response to my little jab. Interesting.

  “Four shots of your best bourbon. Four glasses of something cold. Beer would be amazing. And four cheeseburgers.”

  There’s a little cough from behind me. Wick stands a little taller, eyes brimming with hope.

  I sigh. “Fine. Five shots. Five beers. Five burgers.”

  Another nod that’s more like a tremor, and the rag starts moving again. Three doesn’t move to the kitchen, doesn’t man the taps that jut from a wooden back counter a little ways down. He doesn’t even grab a bottle from below the counter to pour the shots.

  He just keeps polishing.

  “Let’s go,” Wick whispers.

  “Go?”

  “To a seat,” he says. “Don’t question it. It’s weird, I know. But you’re gonna find a lot of that in Lifestream, so get used to it, kiddos.”

  “Kiddos,” Astra murmurs as we shuffle across the dining room. “How old is he, again?”

  “Older than you, actually,” Mika says thoughtfully.

  “Oh. Wow.” Astra pauses. “That’s right.”

  “Crazy, right?” She pats Astra’s shoulder as we slide into one of the booths. “If it’s any consolation, you’ve got a much older soul.”

  “You guys are weird as hell,” Wick says, watching their interplay with an eyebrow raised.

  “I thought there was a lot of that in Lifestream,” Syl says. “According to you.”

  “Yeah, but you all are, like… Extra special nutbars.”

  “Great. Thanks.” I point a finger at him. “You want me to pay for your drinks, you be nice.”

  “My money anyway,” he grumbles, running a little claw along the wooden table.

  “Speaking of which…”

  “Ah, here.” Mika pulls a little sack from her belt and opens it. She reaches in and pulls out something that looks like a miniature credit card. A tiny 100 is printed on its surface. “These are chips. Apparently.”

  “They don’t look like much.”

  “They’re convenient, though.” Wick reaches for the bag, but Mika slides it out of his reach. He huffs. “Just wanted to show you… Well, whatever. They’re indestructible, lightweight, and you can change the denomination of ‘em at the goblin run bank at the center of the city.”

  “Are they bound to you once you pick them up?” Mika asks, perking.

  He gives her a level look. “You stole them from me.”


  “Ah. Right.”

  Syl looks like she wants to slap the kid for giving Mika shit, but luckily, Three arrives with a platter of drinks before I have to defuse the situation. He balances the massive disc on one hand and is surprisingly nimble as he slides the drinks along the table. Each of us get a huge glass of bubbling golden amber and a shot of bourbon that looks and smells like honey.

  His movements are efficient and too perfect, almost android like. I cock my head but keep my mouth shut as he finishes with Syl’s beer. Mika watches him, too, eyes narrowed with suspicion.

  When Three moves off, I nudge her. “What is it?”

  “Just realized,” she says. “I can’t read his level. It’s just a blur.”

  I swear that Three startles for a split second as she speaks despite her whispering and him being out of earshot. It’s more like a glitch in the Matrix than an actual pause, though, and after a moment he’s back behind the bar, rag sliding back and forth endlessly.

  I turn back to her. “What do you mean?”

  “With everyone else, I can see their name, their guild, and their level. I can see his first two fine. Name is Three. Guild is The Ten. But his level is like…” she wiggles her hand. “Weird. Like a blurry spot on his character panel.”

  “Strange.” Syl watches Three from the corner of her eye, and as usual isn’t’ nearly as subtle as she thinks she is. “What do you make of it?”

  “No idea.” She pokes a finger into the thick foam of her beer. “Probably just a programming error or something. Right now, I’m way more interested in this.”

  “Amen,” I say, raising my glass. “A toast? To everything we’ve been through so far? To survival?”

  “Nah, screw that,” Mika says. “Too serious. Let’s just enjoy this moment.” She raises hers, too.

  Astra picks up her mug. “To the moment.”

  Wick raises his so fast beer sloshes out. “To the moment!” he pipes with an embarrassed duck of his head.

  Everyone looks to Syl. She examines her beer like it’s some kind of bizarre insect. “Sam, I have told you… I cannot become inebriated. Water would be much more efficient if I am–”

  “Syl, Syl,” I say, putting a hand over hers where it rests on the table. “Hon. Sometimes it’s not about getting tore up from the floor up. It’s not about what’s more efficient. We drink for enjoyment. For fellowship.” I smile at the others. “For the moment.”

  Syl picks up her glass gingerly. “In that case… For the moment.”

  We click our glasses, then take long sips. The beer is delicious; perfectly carbonated amber ale with a hint of honey and something else I can’t name.

  Everyone but Syl slams their glasses down at least half empty. She keeps drinking, throat working as she takes huge gulps. When she finishes, she sets the glass down almost daintily and wipes foam from her slim lips. She realizes we’re all watching and freezes. “What? It was delicious.”

  “In that case, you’re gonna love this,” I say, hefting my shot. “Ready, everyone?”

  The bourbon is smooth as hell and burns with the slight aftertaste of cinnamon. I plop my glass down, smiling happily as Wick chokes and sputters. Astra slaps his back as he gives me a thumbs up, eyes red. Mika shoots hers a moment later, eyes tearing up as she swallows. “Goddamn…”

  “Right?” I say, clinking my glass on hers.

  “I love it.”

  Once again, Syl goes last. She takes a long sniff from her glass before recoiling. “This is much stronger.”

  “That’s kind of the point,” I say, head already a little swimmy. “Try it.”

  She takes a sip that’s far more careful than when she slammed the beer. Her eyes widen and she swallows, but not before shooting me an accusing glance. “That is vile,” she gasps, flicking her tongue out. “Humans drink this?”

  “Ohhh yeah.” I smile happily.

  “S’good,” Wick wheezes. “One of my favorites.”

  “You’re so full of shit,” Mika laughs. “Something tells me you have more trouble finding alcohol than you let on.”

  “Pfff.” Wick shrinks into the booth. “Get drunk alla time… Jerks… Crazy…”

  The burgers arrive almost instantly after. They look and smell incredible, and no one has any issue with digging in aside from Syl. Again. She narrows her eyes before removing the lettuce and tomato.

  “Not a salad girl, eh?” I pluck her tomato and add it to my burger.

  “No,” she says disdainfully. “Though this pungent ring is intriguing.”

  “That’s an onion,” Astra supplies around a dripping mouthful. Her eyes are half rolled up in ecstasy.

  “Wait, you won’t drink hard liquor but you’ll eat an onion?” Mika falls against me, giggling drunkenly. “It’s like she’s an alien or something.”

  “Well. I am,” Syl says solemnly.

  That makes us all laugh.

  I realize our slip. No one knows that Syl’s not a human wearing a Threvian skin but us. I eye Wick, but he’s staring intently at the table in that way that all drunk people who are trying to play it off do.

  Just in case, I decide to distract him with a question that’s been bugging me. “Wick, I saw children on the way here. Families. Are they real people?”

  “Mostly,” he says, waving a paw toward the window. “I mean, you can create NPC’s if you want, but most people don’t. Enough goddamn people in Lifestream at this point as it is.”

  “But do they ever leave? Do you?”

  He pauses, eyes distant. “Not really. World kinda sucks, you know? And ever since the Threvs made the full immersion units available to basically anyone that wanted one, what’s the point in going back? You jack in, it feeds you, keeps your muscles from going all nasty, etc… It’s pretty amazing.”

  I eye my companions. “Keep the people placated…”

  Mika smiles sadly. “Exactly.”

  I shake my head. “None of that now. No more depressing talk. Right now, I’m full and happy for the first time in days.” I take another long sip of my beer.

  We finish eating and fall into companionable silence, fiddling with our glasses and just existing. It’s the first time I can remember that we’re not fighting or running for our lives or fucking, and just sitting and enjoying a meal with them is so novel. The only sounds are my companions enjoying their food and Three’s rag endlessly polishing. The booth is soft and comfortable, the lights perfectly dim, and the smells of burger and beer almost make me forget that we’re not in some gastropub somewhere on Earth. Mika rests her head on my shoulder and the strawberry scent of her hair is the perfect complement to all of this.

  It’s so wonderful. I don’t want it to end. Don’t want anything to ruin this moment.

  Which is why the door slams open. Of course.

  We turn as one and take in the newcomers. One is a behemoth of a man, almost as muscled as Bombor. That’s where the similarity ends. His face is cruel; a sneer that looks like it never leaves his face sits below slit eyes that scan the room as he lumbers in. A riot of rings bracket his fingers, at least thirty of them at casual glance. He’s shirtless, wearing nothing but pants, and his body and head are completely hairless.

  It takes a moment for him to move from the doorway, but when he does, my heart stops for the briefest moment. Behind him strolls one of the most beautiful women I’ve ever seen, which is saying a lot considering the girls I share my table with. Blond hair like flax shines in the sunlight as she ducks into the room, tied into twin tails that cascade along black leather armor that tries and utterly fails to hide a body too perfect to be real. High, thick tits jut like they’re reaching for me, and her cleavage is deep enough to fall into where the leather crosses dangerously close to where her nipples must be. Her body’s tall and trim, her ass a perfect curve, and her black clad legs are the shape that beg to be explored and memorized.

  But her beauty’s stymied by a face that matches the muscle man’s. Her face is flawless, high cheekbones and full red l
ips painted the color of blood. But her smile is cruel, and blue eyes like chips of ice search with the same cold disdain as her companion’s. There’s something else, there… Something days of quick observation tries to reveal to me. Something below her haughty demeanor, but I don’t have a good enough view or enough time to decode it before they spot us.

  She slides into the room like oil over water, and behind her is…

  Shit.

  The handless Obsidian that tried to shake us down shuffles into the room after them, clutching bandaged stumps to his hands. “There!” he crows in triumph. “I told you they went in here!”

  Mika clutches my arms. “Obsidians.”

  “I figured,” I say, suddenly cold sober.

  “Careful,” she says, standing with me. “He’s level 22, and she’s 25.”

  Great.

  Wick moans. “I told you. We’re dead. Oh God…” he slides limp below the table to hide.

  Syl is already up, of course. Her claws are fully extended, and she crouches near a tabletop, ready to use it as leverage. Or a weapon. Astra stands behind her, unassuming in her thick glasses and lab coat. She looks like a bystander, shrinking in on herself like she’s terrified. Clever. Throw them off. Mika stands her ground at my side, fists balled and ready to explode into flame.

  It’s incredible how quickly we’ve changed. How quickly we adapt to danger. I would never repeat what we went through in the Citadel, but standing here with the girls at my side, I’m thankful.

  I throw a quick glance to Three as the Obsidians move in. His rag never stops moving, and his eyes… He’s not even watching. I guess shit hitting the proverbial fan in his bar isn’t something he gives a crap about. We’re on our own.

  Muscles stops in front of me and stares me down. He’s got at least two feet on me. His arms ripple as he crosses them under pecs that look like goddamned mountains. “This them?” he asks unnecessarily.

  “Yeah, Armstrong.” Handless points at us with one of his stumps, his whole body trembling with rage. “These are the assholes that jumped me.”

  “Whoa, whoa, whoa,” I say, hands raised. “That’s not how it happened.”

  Armstrong ignores me. “You let this new blood take you by surprise?” He tsks. “Pathetic.”