by Domino Finn
For the first time, Christian Everett was successfully running an EXSIL. Extrasensory interlink. Equipped with three neurosensors—two for the temples and one at the base of the skull—the EXSIL essentially translated brain impulses into ones and zeroes and carried them across a series of wires into a computer. A literal vacation of the mind.
Christian double-checked the man's vitals. Despite some unexpected muscle stimulation, he had successfully hijacked the brainwaves from the body. The tech CEO sighed long and loud and leaned back into his chair. On this momentous occasion, he couldn't resist a sidelong glance at the solid-state drive on the shelf above his workstation. Christian wiped the dust off it.
But sentiment was for another time.
This was progress.
This was reality.
The drive was attached to a stand-alone backup, with a small screen displaying a debugging console. Christian typed on its attached keyboard.
>>Input>> Brain experiencing full immersion. Body response down to 6%.
Christian avidly studied the data logs that would be the key to his breakthrough, occasionally inputting notable observations into the console. Simply mapping the human mind wasn't enough—a cold export of the analog had been possible since his EVR days. The real key was interface. Communication.
The human brain fires neurons at a frequency of 200 per second and at speeds up to 268 miles per hour. Any real-time interface needed to not only accept those electronic requests but be able to translate them into useful data and send a suitable response. And with over 100 billion neurons in a single brain, the task was gargantuan.
When the test was over, Christian powered down the EXSIL and waited as Pete returned to his senses.
"That was the most amazing thing I've ever seen," he reported through a drowsy haze.
Christian smiled. Coming from Pete, that was high praise. The man was absolutely plugged in to entertainment. He'd written for several tech magazines, hosted a popular podcast, and knew what the public wanted. If Pete was impressed by Haven 0.3, the people would follow suit. That was why Christian had just promoted him to his new community relations manager.
"I have to admit," said Pete. "I was hesitant to sign on with Kablammy Games, but this is classic Christian Everett, back to your true genius form. I could never pass up working on something as cool as this. Did you see that AI?"
Christian opened his prepared questionnaire. "I've told you, Pete. It's impossible to see into the simulation from the outside. What you experienced wasn't sight, or hearing, or even touch. There's no view frustum, no near and far clip planes or any of that."
Pete scrunched his face at the programming jargon. Christian unstrapped his head and arms so he could take over the rest.
"It's a neural interface, Pete. You experienced everything just as if you were there. The only way in is through your brain."
Pete sat up, swung his muscled legs off the bed, and rubbed his wrists. "Okay, but the AI is impressive. Not just real in sight and form. There's some real thinking involved."
Christian glanced at the solid-state drive on his shelf. "It's primitive. Not nearly as advanced as I'd like. But we'll get there. Tell me, before we dive into the standard questions, did any noticeable problems crop up?"
"Just..." Pete scratched the stubble on his cheek. "There were times when it felt like a dream. You know, things were in slow motion, but they weren't. Like maybe it was just me."
"You're perceptive. The world, of course, didn't slow down. The interface is a little laggy. Dropped packets, throughput bottlenecks. Essentially, you were thinking faster than you could act."
"That's exactly what it felt like!"
Christian noted the peculiarity.
>>Input>> Neural lag due to latent inefficiencies.
The anomaly was thoroughly expected, and as they ran through the questionnaire, the excitement of exactly what he had accomplished grew within him. The live link would still need to be optimized, but that wasn't the end goal. The data he was recording now would take him there.
"I'd love to go back in," said Pete after they were finished.
"We'll pick it up tomorrow. It's important that I process the data. And that you rest."
Pete nodded and stowed his disappointment. "Baby steps."
"As we follow the footprints of giants."
1240 Pirate Adventure
Crux's newfound secret was something to keep an eye on, and it wasn't just the armory. Izzy was psyched to discover the bronze key's application granted access to a secured closet in the library. A quick inspection uncovered blueprints for some kind of defensive caltrops. There were likely other goodies buried somewhere.
That said, we had more important matters at play. Starting tomorrow bright and early was a must. Passive health and skill points replenished according to rest. I'd pushed my limits enough in the past to see ability debuffs from fatigue firsthand. Without being sure how much rest we'd get on our impending voyage, I made sure to enforce lights out after just a bit more exploration. This involved peeling my girlfriend away from books and locking up her new secret stash.
We all woke up surprisingly shiny. Izzy had taken a potion, and Kyle and I were seasoned pros by this point. While the roguish band of pirates I collected hadn't shown similar levels of discipline—or personal hygiene—they eagerly reported for duty. Nothing would keep them off the water.
The party was four strong including Errol. Trafford often made up the final member, but I charged him with watching the headquarters. The salty bastard made a show of protest but I suspected he was secretly relieved. Trafford didn't take to the sea.
Bravo Team also remained behind. Lash vehemently objected in what was the most awkward meeting ever. She was still sore with me over dressing her down. I explained the importance of keeping the business with Nooner and Chadwick from erupting into war and left it at that.
Everything else accounted for, I sealed up Dragonperch. Bandit and her new companion Artax would watch the place. We took the last skiff up the Albula River and into the tunnel beneath the wide wall of Stronghold. I didn't personally have the keys to the north river gates so Gladius and the city watch helped us out. We joined the rest of the crew aboard the boat waiting outside the city.
Sunlight beamed across the deck of the flagship of the Black Hat navy. The frigate was technically the only seafaring vessel in the navy, but who was counting? Errol rejoiced as the wind hit his face. He scaled the mast to the crow's nest and swung between sails and did other things expected of flashy pirate captains.
As with Lash, Errol Oates was vital to the morale of the Black Hats. Until recently, his band of twenty pirates had made up half the membership. We were now running with a skeleton crew of ten so Trafford wouldn't have my head. He needed grunt work to finish the vault, and the boat needed a crew to swab the decks and sing pirate ditties. I brought the two pirate parties of five into our brigade and hoped the ones staying behind wouldn't mutiny. As an extra bit of insurance, I'd promised them free vouchers to the brothel pending a full day's work. Everyone was happy. Ish.
Unlike Lash, however, Errol was a good friend. He was a knave and a scoundrel through and through, replete with a questionable past and link to Shorehome, but he was undoubtedly an ally.
The Cutter was a fine vessel, too. Four cannons, a harpoon station, something called a turbo sail, and enough barrels of grog to make a salty wench blush. We winded downriver toward the northern sea.
The going was slow, but not as slow as it could've been. Shorehome was an easy two days' journey on horseback, including a dicey stretch through the volatile Ashen Moor. Not only would sailing avoid dangerous terrain and marauders, but we'd arrive in just under a day. There was no question about it: this was a superior form of transportation when available.
After some time, the mainland ended and a horizon of blue took over. The river mouth widened and we joined the rough waters of the sea. Salt air greeted our lungs and a powerful breeze filled the sails. The experien
ce was breathtaking.
"Ain't she grand?" beamed Errol, hooking an arm over my shoulder.
"The Cutter? Yeah."
"Course she is. I was talkin' 'bout the sea."
I shook my head because I didn't have words.
The admiral's puffy white shirt flapped in the wind. "This be the life, I says. Pure freedom."
I chuckled. "I can't believe I've never sailed an extended voyage with you before."
"Ar. The open seas be in the heart o' ev'ry pirate."
"It's an incredible passion."
"Ain't a passion so much as oxygen is."
I nodded. Remind me never to keep the scoundrels off the high seas for so long again.
Once we made deep water, the Cutter bore east. Errol's commands were colored with flavor that included several insults and at least three mentions of rum. I wondered how any of the scallywags knew what he was talking about at all. Whatever worked.
Our goals were twofold: Spread word of the possible threat from Oakengard and find out what Lucifer knew of the situation. I had a feeling the self-proclaimed devil would be open to conversation. Papa Brugo's help would come more reluctantly. He was the proud head of the largest gang of criminals in the city, the bearer of the Squid's Tooth, and the Protector of Shorehome.
Oh, yeah—and there were decent odds he was responsible for the attempt on my life. It wasn't lost on me that Saint Loras was the one who'd given Brugo his power in the first place.
The dark thoughts, for the moment, were easy to shrug off. Bustling wind, a draw distance farther than I'd ever seen, and the soothing sound of water against the Cutter's hull.
Soothing, at least, until the pirates started singing. Numerous tunes with personal anecdotes ranging from gallant swashbuckling to sea monsters—and even a mention of our local brothel hero.
"Grom never rebuffed a woman in need,
Conquests from fouler t' foulest.
While his standards are endlessly questioned,
No one doubts his sexual prowess."
Errol wiped a proud tear from his eye. "Sailin' brings out the creativity in me boys."
"If you say so," I muttered.
"Don't knock it, Talon. It passes the time. When yer on the open sea, that's half the battle."
"I guess you have a point." I surveyed the endless waves. "You guys must have a song for everything."
"Ye don't know the half o' it."
I crossed my arms and sidled beside him. "Any chance there's a ditty about a brave explorer who single-handedly slayed a cyclops?"
"Nah. Killin' titans be overrated. Besides, none o' us witnessed the event." His eyes lit up. "But there's this one about Grom an' a lass who was blessed with three shapely—"
I stormed away as Errol engaged in a pantomime that involved a bear hug, a brassiere, and some kind of glazed confectionary. There was no accounting for pirate taste.
I spent the next hour assessing the capabilities of the ship and the crew. I surveyed the deck and the quarters below. The pirates relaxed into familiar comfort once we were at cruising speed. They threw down dominoes and dice and heartily laughed, yet every one to a man remained vigilant. Eyes in the backs of their heads. The crew was ready for any and every emergency, and I had the feeling their readiness didn't come from training but experience.
By the time the novelty of the surroundings wore thin, a few dolphins began flanking the vessel. We watched from the deck as jubilant porpoises playfully skipped over the waves in merry greeting.
"Wonder what kind of XP they give," pondered Kyle.
"I don't think I could bring myself to kill something so innocent," I said.
He shrugged. "Yeah. Probably drop crappy loot anyway."
The show lasted a good while. It seemed to me the sea experience wasn't interrupted by many passing ships. Just as we settled into enjoying each other's company, a few of the lead dolphins squeaked in alarmed bursts. The group of fins veered sharply from the Cutter and dove. In the span of ten seconds, our escort abandoned us.
"Don't mind them," said Errol at our back. "They never cross the Singing Spires."
I took my eyes off the water to scan his face. "Any reason for concern?"
"Nay. But ye best wax yer ears all the same." The admiral handed each of us a pliable ball of goop.
[Sailor Wax]
Thick multipurpose goop for sailing.
I blinked dumbly. "Extremely informative item descriptions lately."
"The stuff has too many uses t' list, an' most o' them be trade secrets."
Errol took a healthy glob and applied it into an ear. He noted our befuddlement and explained. "Either wax yer ears or tie down. It's yer arse if ye don't."
My gaze shot to the horizon. The Cutter was bearing toward a series of land masses, spires jutting from the sea like pillars. They formed a porous wall that stretched from the coast across our easterly path.
"The Singing Spires," I grumbled. "Are they dangerous? Can't we just go around them?"
Errol paused, one ear still unplugged. "This be the sea. Everythin's dangerous. An' ye can sail 'round anythin' if ye be committed enough."
"Then shouldn't we sail around?"
Errol shrugged. "Accordin' to the ladies, I've always been lackin' in commitment."
The pirate crew guffawed and started plugging their ears. Others jumped and cursed, pointing to distant waves.
"Undine!" they yelled.
"What?" asked Errol.
"Undine!"
"I can't hear a damn thin' ye be sayin'!"
Izzy lumbered over and unplugged his ear. "Not with this gunk in your ears, you nitwit."
"That be Captain Nitwit to ye."
Kyle scrunched his brow. "I thought you were an admiral now."
"I can be both."
I sighed and hurried to the handrail.
Fins again, only these weren't the soft gray of the porpoises. Blue-green scales glinted between water crests. Two figures, then three. Humanoids with thick teal skin and long fish tails.
"Mermaids!" spat Errol. "Why didn't anybody say so?"
Izzy rolled her eyes and counted to ten.
I grimaced. "Are they a threat?"
"They harry sailors close to shore." Errol equipped an extended hooked pike, polished to a fine sheen and traced with fancy runes. He was a fan of all types of blades, but this one was ridiculous. The rest of the crew cackled and brandished similar weapons, as if this were routine. "Mermaids be fast swimmers an' ruthless marauders, with claws sharp enough t' gut a whale. Ye cut one down, two more swim into their place. And when—not if—they draw blood, yer wounds will wither with sickness to the point that, if ye were not dead, ye'd wish it so."
My jaw dropped in horror. "Oh my God, then why are you laughing?"
Errol showed his teeth. "Because 'tis been weeks since we sniffed a good fracas!" The pirate patted my back, spun his boots with swagger, and called to his crew. "Hearty-ho, men. 'Tis hull-cleanin' time!"
The sea burst from under us. A mermaid shot halfway up the hull before hooked claws spiked into the Cutter. Bloodshot eyes fixed upon us.
"Look," said Kyle, "nipples!"
[Undine]
100 Health
Clak, clak, clak.
Matted paws rapped the wood as the mermaid scaled as deftly as a monkey, reaching the handrail in the span of seconds. A pair of pirates crossed hooked poles in a supporting V and caught her in the chest. Besides opening a nasty wound and dishing significant damage, they uprooted the mob from the hull. She plummeted downward and disappeared with a splash.
Kyle shrugged. "Anyone else have a chub right now?"
Izzy spun the winter staff in her hands. "I'm surrounded by idiots."
"What? They don't look so bad to me."
Ten more undine erupted from the water and clamped to the boat. Pirates cried in alarm from the other side as the crew split to evenly defend the deck.
Izzy scowled. "And now we're outnumbered two to one." She raised curled fingers and
icicles rained from above.
[Izzy] cast Icicle Blast
Cold resistance!
[Izzy] dealt 12 damage to [Undine]
"Damn sea creatures." Despite the modest damage, the frost mage managed to dislodge a few from the hull. The pirates cheered at the sight. Several of them banded together to pitch another two enemies back to the watery depths.
"Keep it up," I urged, picking up on their strategy. "Killing them is secondary. We need to focus on keeping them off the boat."
"Now yer catchin' on," said Errol. His impressive weapon swung down and struck a hapless mermaid like a nine iron.
I drew the dragonspear and locked eyes with the nearest mob. The long weapon was ideally suited for this kind of combat. Unfortunately, my skills were traversal based. Dashing, vaulting, and scaling didn't do me a whole lot of good as a static defender.
The merman below me lunged. Being unfamiliar territory, I didn't take chances. I shoved the spear straight down and activated deadshot, pretty much guaranteeing a center-mass hit.
You dealt 57 damage to [Undine]
The mob yelped and plunged into the water. I barely had time to recover before two more came at me.
This time I tried a normal attack. Scoring a hit was easy enough, but the mermaid managed to hang on. Her companion leapt past her and took a swipe at me. With the higher ground and the railing between us, I easily backstepped.
Another rain of icicles slammed into the threats. She fell away and the original one I'd hit hung on by only one hand. I spiked the spear into her knuckles. The damage was low but accompanied by a snapping sound. One of her fingers was severed. The single claw remained embedded in the Cutter as the rest of the undine fell away.