Spawn Point Zero

by Nancy Osa

  This book is not authorized or sponsored by Microsoft Corporation, Mojang AB, Notch Development AB, or Scholastic Corporation, or any other person or entity owning or controlling rights in the Minecraft name, trademark, or copyrights.

  Copyright © 2015 by Hollan Publishing, Inc.

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  First Edition

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are from the author’s imagination and are used fictitiously.

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  10 9 8 7 6 5 4 3 2 1

  Library of Congress Control Number: 2015945383

  Cover illustration by Stephanie Hazel Evans

  Cover design by Brian Peterson

  Print ISBN: 978-1-5107-0321-6

  Ebook ISBN: 978-1-63450-0322-3

  Printed in Canada

  For my friend Lil

  The cavalry commander glanced at the soldier by his side. Frida’s smudged olive-green face showed internal and external scars from the misadventure they had just survived. She was tough, but she was also complex.

  In fact, it had been the wiry scout’s sixth sense for truth, not her battle skill, that had impressed Roberto from the beginning. His respect for her had blossomed into a greater esteem that he’d only lately acknowledged. They had become partners by accident. Who could have guessed when they’d met—two individuals from vastly different planes—that they would hold the fate of the Overworld in their hands? Whatever they did next would either resurrect a representative government, and the freedom it promised, or throw the reins of power to the dark forces.

  Would they be forced to go it alone? Their four friends had been delayed, perhaps permanently. A player could sustain only so much damage before respawning became impossible. But the slim chance that rebirth could occur had pushed the other members of Battalion Zero to make the ultimate sacrifice. Rob and Frida had been encouraged to run and not look back, in the hopes of saving the union, dealing out justice, and maybe . . . just maybe . . . reuniting at their base camp.

  Together, the six cavalry mates had successfully defended biome borders and seen a capital city rise from the hills. Now the time had arrived for Rob to define his own boundaries. Knowing where he’d come from and where he wanted to go wasn’t enough. He needed to decide whether to devote himself to this place and these people—or to keep searching for a way home.

  Again he looked at Frida. His mind and heart ached to remain with her; his urge to leave this world was fading like an old pair of jeans. Did it really matter where they were if they couldn’t be together in the moment? If the captain had learned anything from recent events, it was that time might be more important than space in this game. Maybe the future depended on how he came to terms with his past.

  CHAPTER 1

  ROBERTO SCRIBBLED A LINE, CROSSED OUT A FEW words, and sat back with a sigh. This writing stuff was harder than roping, riding, and herding cattle put together. One thing that writing and riding herd had in common, though, he noticed, was the need for stick-to-it-iveness. Slacking off wouldn’t get cattle to market or this advertisement written and posted for all to see.

  “And nobody’s gonna spur me on to finish the job,” the cowboy-turned-cavalry-commander muttered. He returned his attention to the marked-up page.

  Just then, a hairy black spider crawled into view. It scuttled toward him. Trying to concentrate, Rob drew his iron sword and let the arachnid impale itself on the blade. Instinctively, he reached for the string that dropped and the creature’s eye, which bounced on the ground a few times, before it could roll away. Distractions, distractions, he thought, idly wrapping one end of the string around the eye and the other around his hand, and batting the eyeball with his palm.

  He realized what he was doing and threw the toy away. Think! he commanded himself.

  After a bit more work, he’d completed a satisfactory draft. It read:

  PIONEARS WANTED

  New United Biomes of the Overworld capitle city under construction seeks villagers and players looking to relocate. No investment nessissary. City of Beta offers:

  • start-up economy

  • family-friendly atmisfere

  • protection from mobs and greifers

  Approved immigrints recieve free shelter, month’s supply of food, and access to jobs. Beautiful extreme hills location. Apply Beta City Hall.

  “What’s that you’ve got there, sir?” asked Stormie. She’d left her TNT crafting to see what the captain was doing. The fit, dark-skinned young woman appeared capable of providing strong offense or defense, with or without explosives.

  Rob frowned, trying not to gawk at her black crop top and shorts. A cavalry commander’s attitude toward his troops had to be strictly neutral. “It’s an ad for the new city, Private. But I’m not sure about my spelling. . . .”

  She took the paper from him and read it to herself, lips moving. “Just a few mistakes, Captain. Sounds good, though. I’d apply if I weren’t already here.” Her contagious grin spread to Rob.

  “Thanks.” He took in the camp the battalion was setting up, and the larger construction project underway up the hill. These settlements were dwarfed by a mountainous slope that rose in stair-steps to the sky behind them.

  “Just think of the possibilities,” Stormie said to the captain. “At this moment, it’s the perfect city.”

  Rob wished he could share her enthusiasm. There was no telling what type of element his advertisement would attract. He ran a tan hand wearily through his shock of black hair. “City’s only as perfect as the people in it.”

  “Or the ones behind it,” Stormie insisted.

  In that case, Rob thought wryly, we’d better add another coat of paint.

  Rob couldn’t help worrying about his troopers’ dedication . . . not to mention his own. The cavalry had spent months battling griefers and hostile mobs before the city had even taken shape. Now the six players itched to return to their chosen lifestyles: Stormie to rambling the globe; Frida to solitary jungle survival; Turner to exchanging muscle for gems; Jools to selling strategies; and Kim to raising and training horses on her beloved sunflower plains. Rob’s greatest desire lay not in this generated world, but in the larger place from which he’d come, not so long before—a peaceful Western range that he hoped to find again. He’d been flying back there from vacation when he found himself tumbling through space, into a whole new ballgame. Given that his spawn point was a moving airplane above an ocean, going home would be . . . problematic, to say the least.

  Down in the valley, where Rob now stood in his customary chaps, vest, and cowboy boots, springtime flowers had begun to bloom. Their vigor and promise seemed to herald the new city. “This is it, then,” he said. “We’re nearly open for business.” Pride and panic washed over him. This latest effort would bring either salvation or doom to the Overworld—and which one was anybody’s guess.

  “It’s a brave, new wor
ld, Captain,” Stormie said, taking in the landscape.

  At their feet spread a lush vale of flower-specked, turquoise grasses, crisscrossed by sparkling blue streams that tumbled from snow-fed waterfalls. Above them rose the extreme hills—precipitous heights touching the clouds—dividing the world hemispheres and nearly isolating them. From down here, the intricate rock sculptures formed a gallery of cliffs, canyons, caverns, and cantilevers. From up there—as Rob well knew—the unobstructed view created a topographical map of every biome as far as the eye could see.

  The already picturesque spot was being transformed into a site worthy of its purpose—the first capital city built in the Overworld since the destruction of Alpha in the long-ago war. The unified government had operated piecemeal from each of the dozens of world biomes for years. During that time, dark forces had attempted to wrest the land from its residents—until Battalion Zero had ridden in to stop them.

  Now that the opposing griefer alliance had been subdued, a central seat of power had become practicable. Rob and his cavalry were among a handful of hopefuls who debated the idea. In the end, the Overworld’s defenders had come together to boost the project . . . once their arguments had all been exhausted.

  *

  MONTHS EARLIER

  “Only zombie pigmen would want to move to a place like that!” grumbled Turner. Although he was the battalion’s sergeant at arms, the deeply tanned, tattooed mercenary disliked the prospect of enforced order. “Far as I’m concerned,” he said, “town full of lawmen and lawmakers is barely a step up from the Nether.”

  “Which, you’ll recall, is complete chaos,” Jools said, drumming his pale, slender fingers on the long table around which they sat, surrounded by their battalion mates and advisors. Jools’s previous work as a detail consultant allowed him to see the big picture in most scenarios. As cavalry quartermaster, he meticulously kept track of resources and offered a practical voice of reason. He put in his valuable two cents now: “What we need is a happy medium.”

  “Typical, coming from you,” Frida, the company vanguard, threw in. “Just because you don’t like to take sides, doesn’t mean everybody in the Overworld holds the middle ground.”

  Jools hiked up the sleeves of his tweed jacket and leaned across the table. “While you’d prefer to go it alone, right? I’m surprised you’re even considering defending a capital city. If I’m not mistaken, you’re the original renegade, hailing from a long line of bitter loners.”

  Frida’s olive-green face darkened a shade. “Look who’s talking. How long did it take you to pick up a sword and fight with us?” A loner by birth, the survivalist had still given her all to the battalion’s cause—and with less prodding than the quartermaster had needed.

  Frida’s friends, Stormie and Kim, glared at Jools, daring the avowed separatist to continue his attack.

  Captain Rob put up a hand. “Now, now, let’s take it easy. This is a focus group, not a reality show. Judge? Colonel? Where were we on the agenda?”

  The top members of Battalion Zero—Rob, Turner, Jools, Frida, Stormie, and Kim—had met in the conference room with their advisors, Judge Tome and Colonel M, to hammer out a strategy for building a new Overworld capital. First they’d see if it was doable. Then they’d decide whether to commit to the mission.

  Colonel M cleared his virtual throat. He had lost track of the proceedings, and would have shrugged his shoulders if he had any. The old veteran had escaped the definitive First War battle with only his head, which had grown to twenty times its size upon respawning. It now sported a wild thicket of silver hair.

  Judge Tome, a bespectacled justice of the peace, thumbed through the sheaf of papers before him, searching for the group’s written agenda. Although retired from official service, the judge maintained a distinguished presence, with his clipped, whitish-gray hair and neatly manicured fingernails. He adjusted his black cloak and then located the page he wanted. “Here we go. Let’s see. We’ve covered 1-A, location; 1-B, community buildings and residences; and 1-C, food and water needs. We should be on 1-D, transportation and defense.”

  Rob perked up. Horses and horse soldiers, he could handle.

  Judge Tome continued. “I believe the quartermaster has asked for the floor first.”

  This diverted Jools’s attention from his cavalry mates’ shortcomings. The pale teenager opened a file on the laptop on the table in front of him. “You’ll find on your network screens a diagram of the existing minecart tracks that serve the area, and my concept for a more thorough transit system.”

  The group viewed the shared file. On the map of abandoned tracks, Rob recognized the route that allied and syndicated griefers had used to cross biomes and haul loot. Their ruthless sieges on innocent villagers had brought Rob and company together to fight back.

  Jools used his cursor as a pointer. “We already have track connecting Sunflower and Spike City via the extreme hills, through here. With a little maintenance, some spur tracks, and rail stations—here, here, and here—we’ll have a complete loop suitable for passengers or freight. I suggest laying identical track alongside, so that traffic can move both ways at once.”

  Colonel M approved of the well-thought-out plan, but was quick to add a warning in his baritone voice: “This gives us an efficient supply route. It also creates an attractive target for griefers.”

  Jools put up a finger. “Way ahead of you, Colonel. We simply hire transport police to secure the railway, along with building and maintenance crews. Creation of jobs,” he added, citing one of the city’s main objectives for attracting citizens.

  Artilleryman Stormie rose. “I second the colonel’s motion. It’d be a heck of a luxury to ride the rails to distant biomes someday.” The famed adventurer claimed to have already visited all of the Overworld territories in the course of her travels.

  Rob frowned. “Cost analysis, please, Quartermaster.”

  Jools oversaw the cavalry’s communal stores—which still included a vast amount of loot reappropriated from Bluedog, an unscrupulous moneylender they’d had dealings with. It was this fortune, along with Frida’s substantial gift of jungle temple treasure, that would fund the city construction. Jools directed everyone’s attention to columns of numbers that put his rail project well within their means.

  “Public transit will cost money, but it will save money in the long run,” he assured them.

  They accepted the proposal and took up defense issues, eventually considering where to site a base camp and stable for the cavalry and their mounts. Corporal Kim, the company horse master, suggested a lush valley in the foothills, just a few minutes on foot from the city gates. Rob respected Kim’s opinion and relied on her to care for, train, and outfit the battalion’s herd—their most powerful weapon.

  “We’ll be wanting more horsepower, though,” he said. “Incoming workers and travelers will need saddle and pack animals to go where the minecart system cannot reach.”

  “And we should have fresh mounts in our stable,” tiny, pink-skinned Kim added. She pushed a pink leather cap back on her shiny black hair, causing her single golden earring to swing and catch the torchlight. “We’ve asked an awful lot of our horses,” she said, “and so far, we’ve been lucky. I’d like to restart my breeding program at my farm on the sunflower plains—bring in a manager who can supply us with new horseflesh in Beta as we need it.”

  “Hear, hear, O bronc whisperer,” Frida endorsed the measure, using the talented horse master’s nickname.

  “Seconded,” Jools confirmed. His palomino stallion’s deliberate manner wasn’t always suited to hectic combat. Extra mounts would be appreciated. “I do love my Beckett, but from time to time a racehorse would come in handy.”

  Talk turned to iron golems, weapons, and the chain of command—all of which would be crucial in the city’s defense. Colonel M offered to donate a pair of golems from those he had recently imported to guard his Nether fortress. Sergeant Turner, the resident weapons expert, ran down a long list of blades and
other arms held in the company stockpile. His suggestion that he take over the battalion weapon inventories—“for safekeepin’”—was unanimously voted down.

  “Keeping, perhaps,” said Jools.

  Stormie nodded. “Safe, not so much.”

  Turner had played fast and loose with company property one too many times. Rob only retained him as sergeant at arms for his intimate knowledge and application of weaponry.

  Rob looked out the window of the shelter’s conference room and saw that the shadows had grown long outside. The battalion had been here for hours debating the subject. He got up and placed an extra torch on the wall. “What’s next, Judge?”

  The jurist read from his agenda. “Section 2. What are the obstacles, and how shall we circumvent them?”

  Everyone began talking at once:

  “Bloodthirsty zombies!”

  “Griefers’ll steal our building supplies.”

  “Steal ’em? Heck, they’ll bomb our supply lines.”

  “There could be an avalanche . . .”

  “—a plague of silverfish . . .”

  “—a terrible flood!”

  The judge rapped the table with the flat of a wooden axe. “One at a time, people. One at a time!”

  Colonel M added, “This matter may be critical to the success or failure of the project. Let us systematically discuss what might go wrong so we won’t be blindsided.”

  Judge Tome backed up the colonel. “As we say in Latin, Estote parati. Be prepared, my friends. Or prepare for failure.”

  Rob filed this approach away for future reference. The judge was a master at analyzing the game. The colonel knew just how to lead players where he wanted them to go. He had once confided to the fledgling cavalry commander that he understood more about men than about strategy, but Rob suspected that the two elements were connected. The old war veteran had shown him that preparing his troopers in advance developed their respect, which was worth more in the heat of battle than all weaponry combined.

  Darkness fell and the moans of mobs rose outside. The group continued to brainstorm until they’d considered every potential problem that could arise from every possible source—players, mobs, griefers, and even Mother Nature. They were busy debating viable work-arounds when they heard a commotion outdoors.