Spawn Point Zero

by Nancy Osa

  “Or those soldiers you hold in such high regard will die.” The voice swam with wicked intent. “What is the name of that little, green one you like so much?”

  Rob’s stomach puckered. He didn’t answer.

  “The one who comes from the jungle, who kept you alive when you were powerless as an ocelot kitten. . . . Her name does not matter. Hyeh, hyeh, hyeh . . . And it will fade away—just a glitch in the game program—if you do not leave the biomes’ fate to the powers that be.”

  Rob fished for clues. “What powers? The people are the ones with the power now—or they will be, once the biomes stand together again.”

  “You want to see power?” The question ended in a high note that spelled madness—and held a clear threat.

  Rob waited. He expected to hear an explosion or see some hideous monster conceived in his nightmares leaping out at him.

  But he only heard a click.

  “I have the power. The power to release you. Which I will do, at the count of ten.”

  Then came the dreadful chittering sound again, and then . . . nothing.

  Rob counted to ten. Did he dare step off the pressure plate?

  Death had never seemed so near, or so complicated, before.

  Just then, he heard hoof beats, and a startled-looking Saber ran into view. The horse gave a worried nicker.

  Well, if I go, we go together, Rob thought, stumbling backward.

  There was no explosive report, no flood of arthropods, no pain . . . no evidence that anyone had been there, Rob realized, as he checked the immediate area. But I can’t tell a soul. The others are in danger. Frida’s in danger! It’ll be my fault if they’re harmed.

  What better reason could the cavalry commander have to change his spawn point now . . . and not to change it? Yes, he owed it to his friends—to Frida—to be here for them, at ground zero. Then again, high-tailing it home might be the smartest thing Rob could do.

  *

  The cowboy struggled for perspective. How would his role models respond if they were in his shoes? He knew that horses met a defensive attack by going into fight mode. But, when threatened by a formidable predator, they’d enter flight mode. The ones that ran and didn’t look back might succeed. Those that faltered, probably wouldn’t. Rob decided that the only way to carry this extra burden in front of his troops was to put one foot in front of the other, and fix his sights on the horizon.

  Getting Battalion Zero riled up wouldn’t do them any good, Rob figured, until he could learn who was behind the intimidation. This was no time to be making big personal decisions, either. There was too much to think about. For now, the horses’ example would have to get the captain through the day—and night.

  Rob tucked his bedroll under his un-slept-in bed the next morning and went out to suffer through everyone else’s jolly mood. He grimaced at the strains of classical guitar music drifting through camp, and the happy shouts of children playing. The battalion’s good-natured banter at breakfast made him feel slightly ill. They’re so darn cheerful. Rob had come to depend on the unit facing risks together. He was remembering how lonely his job could be.

  As if to underscore his situation, Turner and Rose, and Frida and Gratiano, invited him to walk with them to the build site. A Beta project meeting and high-rise tour were on tap. “Double dating?” Rob couldn’t help asking.

  Turner wrapped an arm around Rose’s waist. “Lonesome, Cap’n? I can get you a blind date. Ladies love an officer, you know.”

  Rose snuggled closer to him, and he winced, exaggerating his limp.

  “You do know he’s just a noncommissioned officer, right?” Rob pointed out rudely.

  Turner sniffed. “Who cares? Don’t need to go to some academy to learn what comes natural to me. Besides, noncoms got half the responsibility and all of the charm.”

  Rob knew better than to argue with Mr. Right. He hustled on ahead of the others.

  The group stopped in at the jobsite trailer to pick up De Vries and Jools. Rose gave De Vries a meaningful look. Then she pecked Turner on the cheek, leaving a purple lipstick imprint. “Crash and I’ll meet you at the apartments, gentlemen.” She went into one of the offices and didn’t come out.

  Seeing Rob’s inquisitive expression, De Vries spoke up, in his musical lilt. “I did as you asked, Captain. I handed off the interior planning to Rose. I’ve been taking lessons in delegating tasks from Jools.” He grinned.

  Jools said, “Yes, well. He’s finding that it is possible to give up an iota of control without having it surgically removed.”

  “That’s progress, all right,” Rob acknowledged.

  “Oh, there’s more than that,” De Vries said. “He’s got me sleeping now.”

  Rob shot Jools a look. It was well known that the workaholic builder never slept.

  “Had to lock in my spawn point at the jobsite,” De Vries explained. “I admit, I’ve not had such long-term employment. Lead architect, project manager . . . it’s all a huge responsibility.”

  “And Crash?” Rob asked.

  “That knor? She’s obsessed. My sister, the ore nerd, always makes sure to respawn wherever she’s dug her tunnels.”

  Rob felt as though someone were battering him like a piñata. One foot in front of the other, he reminded himself. They went next door to city hall to chezck in with the judge and colonel.

  Beta’s officiates were busy playing an Overworld trivia game in the conference room. During some rare free time, the venerable man and the venerable man’s head had found out they shared a vast knowledge of petty history.

  “‘In what version were wither skeletons first identified?’” Judge Tome read aloud.

  “Oh, please,” boomed Colonel M. “One-point-four-point-two. Ask me something harder, why don’t—” He smiled at the visitors. “Troopers. Gentlemen. Do come in. Back from the wars, eh, Captain?”

  Rob hesitated. “Feels like it, sir.”

  Judge Tome leaned forward. “I am itching for news from the real world. I never thought I would miss riding with the battalion so much.”

  “Then why don’t you join our next training?” Rob glanced at De Vries. “And you and your sister, too.”

  “You never know when you’ll need to be on your toes,” Frida added. “It’ll be fun.”

  They decided they would.

  Kim and Stormie arrived, and Rob asked Frida to fill in the others on their supply mission. She recounted the intel and suspicion that had arisen. Hearing it all in one piece, the tale sounded harrowing, even to Rob.

  Judge Tome frowned. “Let me see if I have this straight. Someone set a silverfish spawner to waylay your troops. When that didn’t stop you, Precious and her men ambushed and then trapped you. Having escaped that, you wondered if the pumpkin farmer you traded with was in league with the griefer alliance. Is that right?”

  Frida met his gaze. “I think she might know something she’s not telling us.”

  Colonel M nodded. “I think she might.”

  “Meanwhile,” the judge continued, “we’ve not had anything go missing here, nor suffered a plague of endermites.”

  “Nothing outside of the odd accident or typical bad luck on a build site,” De Vries confirmed.

  Then talk turned to the construction job status and, finally, to UBO business.

  Colonel M addressed Frida and Rob. “We’ve finished our legal drafting. The new government has a framework, ready to be voted upon. We’re waiting for you to canvass the next six biomes for members, as you had planned.”

  Rob stared at him dumbly.

  “That’s why you found us playing tiddlywinks when you walked in,” Judge Tome explained.

  “Stormie and I have the unification roster,” Frida said. “We’ll ride out to get those signatures whenever the captain’s ready.”

  Rob nodded vaguely.

  Jools spoke up. “Now, lads. To the minecart project!”

  “To the high-rise project,” De Vries countered.

  Turner rose. “How’s
about, to lunch? My food bar’s considerable low on chicken legs.”

  “Speaking of chicken legs . . .” Jools taunted, mimicking Turner’s limp. “I’ve seen baby zombie chickens with a bolder stride.”

  With that, Turner lunged at him, but the quartermaster simply sidestepped the injured man and walked out the door.

  CHAPTER 11

  ROB SLEPT DEEPLY NEXT TO HIS BED AND AWOKE to a babel of voices outside the bunkhouse. When he could distinguish only Jools’s clipped diction, Rob knew he could no longer put off meeting the Thunder Boys. He emerged from the cavalry quarters just as a light rain began to fall, which saved him washing up.

  “To the rear, march!”

  At the quartermaster’s order, six leather-clad tribesmen marched off in six different directions. Settlers going about their business dodged them.

  “No, no, no!” Jools cried, pulling at his close-cut hair. “Like this, Steve: watch!” He pushed several passersby into a line, spun the first one around, and urged the rest to follow the leader across the compound. The Thunder Boys observed, pointing and debating the issue from behind their mirrored sunglasses.

  “Where’s your translator?” Rob asked Jools.

  “Oh, they understand me. It’s military logic they fail to comprehend.”

  Rob chuckled. “I can see that. But why are you training them?”

  Jools sighed. “To keep them occupied. They’re sharp as whips. They had the transit system together before you could say bōsōzoku.”

  “Well, we’re going to need an infantry real soon. Do you think they’ll get the hang of it?”

  “If they don’t drive me crazy first.” He turned back toward the unruly foot soldiers. In the steady drizzle that ran off their hair and black leather suits, they resembled a troupe of performing sea lions. “Now, fall in! Let’s try this again, for the captain’s benefit.”

  Once Jools got them to form a ragged file, he marched them all out of camp. Rob followed them to the roundhouse, an area of the minecart tracks where a loop and side spurs had been added to allow turnarounds and to house the idle vehicles.

  Jools introduced the Thunder Boys by occupation. “Steve, here, is our track inspector. This Steve maintains our existing fleet, while this Steve builds or modifies new carts. He’s a bloody genius.” The last Steve dipped his mirrored sunglasses modestly. Jools continued, “These two Steves are night guards, and this Steve—” He hesitated. “What is it you do again?”

  The minecart driver said something Rob didn’t understand, and then pantomimed hands gunning a throttle.

  “He’s a driver. That’s right. Refuses to do anything else, as of yet.” Jools looked vexed.

  “Good to know you, soldiers,” Rob said, shaking hands all around. “The battalion and the UBO are grateful for your . . . expertise. I can honestly say that you six Steves probably know more about minecarts than I could learn in a lifetime.”

  They regarded him as though he were the most hopeless simpleton and exchanged murmurs of disbelief.

  “Well, I’m—a cavalry and rodeo man from way back,” Rob stammered, feeling as though he had to defend his manhood. “Don’t suppose you all know much about bronc riding, do you?”

  Again, the Thunder Boys consulted one another. Steve the driver pointed in the direction of the horse pasture and pretended to comb an invisible mane and tail.

  Out of the corner of his mouth, Jools whispered, “I believe, sir, that they’re pegging you as a groom.”

  Rob reddened. “There’s more to it than that. . . .” He realized that an explanation was beyond them and gave up. “Carry on, men.”

  They immediately started shouting to each other and took off for their minecarts.

  Jools watched them go. “Dismissed,” he said wryly.

  Meanwhile, Kim had arrived. She wore her pink cap today, to keep the rain off, and she carried an armload of halters and lead ropes. “Morning, Captain! Say, we’ve a shipment of saddle horses coming from Swale this afternoon.”

  “We’re going to need them. I reckon we’ll be amping up our cavalry numbers soon. Who’s bringing the animals in?”

  She grinned. “Me. Jools is letting me and Frida test out the new stock trailer.” She pointed to one of the spur tracks in the roundhouse. In addition to the six modified minecarts, two new railcars sat waiting—one large, open-topped cart and one with benches and a roof. “Want to come along?” she asked. “There’s plenty of room in the passenger cart.”

  The captain shook his head. “I promised De Vries I’d give the new apartments a walk-through.” Rob secretly wanted to poke around the construction site for clues to the dangerous griefer he’d met. As distasteful as another encounter might be, he certainly didn’t want to stray far from the city right now.

  “We’ll ride together tonight, then,” Kim said. Rob had called for night training, hoping to lure any criminal elements out under cover of darkness.

  “See you then,” he said, ready to get in out of the rain.

  Stormie saw the captain shaking off water and joined him, sharing her sapling umbrella as she fell into step. “Looking forward to tonight, sir,” she said. “Good excuse to get my guns out.” The artilleryman had finally accumulated enough material to practice firing her TNT cannon and redstone repeater.

  “We’ll give these townspeople a good show,” Rob promised. He’d intended the armed drill to drum up interest in enlistments. Now, he hoped the show of force wouldn’t be needed for defense.

  “I’ll be sure to save enough pops for some fireworks, down the line,” Stormie said. “For the ribbon-cuttin’ party.”

  If there is one, the commander thought. Still, at least the city was shaping up well, even if the UBO remained in pieces.

  The iron golems gave the troopers yellow caps and let them pass through the main gate. Again, Rob wondered how a griefer was accessing the place. Was he in disguise? Using an underground entrance? The second possibility seemed worth pursuing. He’d find a moment to get Crash’s opinion on the state of things in the mines.

  As Rob and Stormie approached the site trailer, guitar music reached their ears. They entered to find Gratiano down on one knee, plucking another syrupy ballad for a rapt Rose. The decorator had a hypnotic way of locking eyes with a person when she wanted their attention—or, perhaps, something more. Fortunately, the accomplished musician could probably play in the dark, with a sack over his head and both hands tied behind his back . . . a position that Rob wouldn’t mind seeing him in.

  Gratiano finished his song and shook out his mane of curly hair in greeting, still enveloped in the decorator’s mesmerizing stare.

  “Frida otherwise engaged?” the captain asked, all but accusing the guitarist of infidelity.

  “Turner down at the gym?” Stormie inquired, laying the same rap on Rose.

  Rose slowly lifted her purple-fringed gaze from the handsome serenader. She ignored Stormie, and turned to address Rob. “I’ve sent De Vries for some more dyed wool. He’ll meet us at the manors.”

  Rob raised eyebrows at Stormie. They could both see that the domineering woman had wrapped several men around her modified, purple-nailed finger.

  Again, they took a diagonal shortcut through the city, passing the capitol compound, farm, and commercial district. The rain had stopped, and hot sun made a quick steam bath of the air. They arrived at the apartment complex just in time to see workers erect a huge sign embellished with a purple flower.

  “‘Rose Manor’?” Rob read aloud. “Who authorized this?”

  “Oh, some of the higher-ups,” Rose replied. “While you were off on your little pumpkin run.”

  This raised Stormie’s hackles. “Squadron risked their lives to put meat on our tables. That’s no pumpkin run.”

  “Artilleryman,” Rob said, trying to extinguish her lit fuse. “Let’s move on. We have weapons to clean when we’re through here.”

  “Very, very sharp weapons, sir,” Stormie said for Rose’s ears. “And the kind that go boom.�
�

  Rose flinched, but didn’t comment. De Vries met them at the entrance to ROSE 1, as the first building was labeled.

  The builder carried an armload of magenta-and-mauve dyed wool. “Where do you want this stuff, Rosebud?”

  She gazed at the top floor.

  “For Rose’s place,” De Vries explained, with a helpless expression.

  This did not sit well with Stormie. “She gets the other penthouse?”

  Rose gave a smug smile. “Well, the captain didn’t want it. . . .”

  Rob could have cut the tension between the two women with a stone axe. They entered the building. Rose went upstairs to deliver her fabric while the others looked around.

  Rob found the spruce paneling attractive and noted that the uniquely shaped windows let in light without allowing mobster access. He complimented De Vries on their design.

  “They’re die cut, using silk-touch shears,” the builder said proudly. “The rose shape will repel everything but spiders, and we’ll be hanging screens to keep them out.”

  “Safe,” Rob murmured.

  “Yet stylish,” De Vries put in.

  “Frida’ll be tickled pink,” Stormie said.

  The decor was swanky, Rob had to admit. Red-and-black patterned wool draped a four-poster bed and easy chair, and matched the floor rug. A redstone- powered lamp, fireplace, and automatic window drapes were activated with a Clapper, which De Vries demonstrated. Rob noticed that the baseboards had a rough-hewn appearance. Rustic chic. Modern.

  “This is nice, and all,” Stormie mused, “but how come the bedroom’s where the entry hall should be?”

  De Vries thought a moment. “Didn’t we go upstairs? I could’ve sworn—”

  At that instant, Rose burst back into the room. “Devie! Someone’s moved the view!”

  The helpless look returned to De Vries’s face, while suspicion hit Rob and Stormie at the same time.

  “This oughta be the second floor. . . .” Stormie said.

  Rob tried to make sense of the apparent rift in Overworld physics. “If the first floor’s gone, then the penthouse is one story shorter! That’s why the view has changed.”

  They both regarded love-struck De Vries, who was confounded by the reality of the situation. He sprang to the door and ran down the hall, opening more doors and shouting. He came back and reported the scene to the captain. The rustic portion of woodwork showed chew marks, and the building had somehow been cut off just there. The first-story entrance hall, manor office, and laundry room were simply gone.