by Tao Wong
“Is efficient. Them saying that bothers you?” Ali chimes in. “Even if it’s true?”
“Yes.” Lana’s lips thin again. “It’s like most of the ones we met see this as a game. The way they kept going on about our ‘prestige’ Classes, builds, and how to ‘game’ their Advancement.”
“They might,” Ingrid says, “but their leaders don’t. From what my friends say, part of it is they’re angling for better relations with their government. There’s talk about making the campus an academy for Mages. I think they’re still thinking about profits, really.”
“Academy?” I ask, curious if it has more meanings. Or what, if any, bonuses the System might offer.
“System-registered dedicated learning institution. You get bonuses for learning and research. It requires, well, Credits and land and a few other things,” Ali says. “They can’t do it right now. It’s like a Tier II building.”
“So, they need help building upwards,” I say slowly. And of course, being the largest and most developed settlement around, having us as allies is probably useful for them. It might even be part of their requirements to get an Academy in place. I make a note to check on that later, but at least now I have a better feel for the group. Idealistic gamers on the bottom end, fast-moving sharks on the top. So, perhaps not the best kind of allies, but probably reliable until things go completely to hell.
“Who’s next?” I call, deciding to put this issue aside for now. Whatever the case, getting more help is the goal.
“The Baristas.”
***
“You want to start a chain,” I say slowly and carefully.
“Exactly. We get land for free. We’ll do the buildup ourselves. We operate tax-free and train your people in your settlements. One per Shop,” Kaylee, the pink-haired, punk-rock-styled girl, says with an impish grin.
“Leased. And taxed,” Lana says, leaning in.
“No way. We own the place and twenty years tax-free.”
“Leased. Tax- and rent-free for ten years.”
I roll my eyes, sitting back and letting the pair argue. At least this is reasonable. As I sip on a latte, I can’t help but think that we’re getting the better part of the deal.
***
“We’re mercenaries. We get paid for our help.”
“I see,” I say slowly, while thinking that they really, really aren’t. A ragtag group of ex-weekend warriors, gang members, and thieves is what I’d guess. Capstan and his people, the Major, they’re mercenaries. These guys are wannabes. “What are your rates?”
“Well now, that’d depend on how many of our people you want and at what Levels.”
I grunt, sighing. “Got a rate sheet? And a frequent user reward card?”
“No… but we could look into that,” Laila, the African American woman with the big, big hair says uncertainly, not entirely sure if I’m kidding or not.
Truth be told, I’m not sure either.
***
“I hear you’ll be fighting more of those aliens,” Desmond, the greying, bearded man, says before spitting to the side. He’s in charge of a group that formed from one of the suburbs, a mixed group of upper-middle-class folk. His group isn’t the strongest, but being far enough from the front lines means they’ve managed to survive and prosper.
“That’s the plan. Freeing the cities and pushing them back,” I say.
“And what do you plan for the alien crafters, the non-fighters?”
“They’re called Artisans. Galaxy-wide, that is,” I say, curious where he’s going with this.
“Artisans then.”
“Well, I haven’t really considered it much yet,” I say, frowning. “We didn’t have many to deal with in Vancouver.”
“And the few you did? Those aliens?”
“Most aren’t Sect members, so they’ve been allowed to stay.”
“I see. And if they were part of the Sect?”
“We’ve been leaving the Artisans alone. They’ve mostly shipped out anyway. The few who stick around, we’ve restricted their movements and dealings, but they are unharmed.”
“And prisoners?”
“We had none,” I say, grimacing. The Sect fought to the last man in Kamloops. The needless deaths soured my emotions, reducing what little patience I have for all this politicking. “Why don’t we stop dancing around? Tell me what you’re asking.”
“I understand that they made our people Serfs in Vancouver. Seems like a good, profitable solution. We certainly could use higher Level Artisans,” Desmond says.
Rather than answer him—not that I physically could with the way the anger chokes up my voice—I stand and walk out. Asshole.
“Mr. Lee—” he cuts off as Lana shoots him a disgusted look, the pets growling in unison to her change in emotions.
If I had to listen to him speak further, I might do something he’d regret.
***
Meetings after meetings, that’s our next few days as we make our way through the groups willing to talk. Everyone wants something. Assurances, alliances—informal or formal—or even the right to immigrate. Trade deals and training, it’s all there. And while I work over the ones who indicated earlier that they were willing to talk, Lana’s on the others, the ones who refused, working her Charisma and charm.
All because we want to help them out. Gods, sometimes I hate people.
Chapter 5
I survey my friends, my teammates, my fellow dungeon delvers one last time as Sabre slides into place over my body. Mikito is already fully armed and armored in her own PAV, while Lana finishes checking over the harnesses on her pets. The harnesses are for the mini portable shield generators which will act as additional armor for the pets. Instead of a single generator, Lana commissioned a custom harness with each generator, providing a smaller area of overlapping coverage. It’s basically the force field equivalent of scale armor, but projected an inch or so above the pets’ bodies. The shields themselves are ablative protections, meant to absorb a small amount of damage before failing and restarting.
Behind Lana, Sam’s doing his own last-minute fixes. All around him are dozens of drones. Rather than a few larger drones, Sam has decided to test out a new theory, chaining together multiple small drones via a “hive” mind process, giving him more flexibility but with lower damage output individually. Theoretically, they’ve got a higher overall damage output but are significantly more vulnerable. As the man put it, it’s a bit of an experiment. Still, having dozens of skittering, spider-like drones with a variety of weapons makes the older gentleman look just a touch scary.
Ingrid is Ingrid. The assassin sits quietly, buffing her fingernails while waiting for the rest of the team to get ready. She’s clad in her usual getup of light armored jumpsuit, a pair of emergency portable shields on her hips, knives and a blaster awaiting use. The First Nations woman looks perfectly calm, waiting for us to get moving.
“We ready?” I ask, my gaze finally falling on the last and latest addition to the team.
The Latino object of my regard grimaces as he swigs down another potion. A series of small vials is strapped across his body in bandoliers and belts, making him look like a weird mixture of Danny Trejo and a glassmaker. Propped against his feet is a weapon that looks like a slender grenade launcher.
Carlos Garcia (Level 48 Apprentice Alchemist)
HP: 380/380
MP: 1780/1780
Conditions: Stoneskin, Aura of Flame, HP Regeneration Buffed, MP Regeneration Buffed, Perception Buffed, Strength Buffed, … (more)
“I’ve a few potions for everyone,” Carlos says, waving at the green and grey vials that are hand-labeled and propped up on the ground in front of him. His Mexican accent is mixed with American after the years he’s spent in Seattle. “Stoneskin is grey. Gives you a little increase in your armor rating. The green is Eagle Eye; it’s a Perception buff. They’re my best potions, outside of the healing ones. Ingrid said that I should just sell the rest…”
“A few more minu
tes,” Lana calls back as she works on the straps. We’d help, but our helping is what caused the initial delay as Lana fixes our mistakes.
While I wait, I pick up the Stoneskin potion and eye it for a second before downing it.
Stoneskin Buff Gained
+23 Armor Rating
Duration: 6 hours 18 Minutes and 4 Seconds
Thirty Levels ago, this would have been amazing. Twenty Levels and it’d have been a nice boost. Now, it’s a small drop in the bucket. Still, a small drop is better than nothing. Mikito picks up the potions, tossing them underhanded to Ingrid and Sam, the last almost fumbling the second catch. Carlos winces at the casual abuse of his work.
“Good choice,” I say. If these are his best, then I can understand why Ingrid got Carlos to sell his other work. Until Carlos can get his skill—and Skill—higher, his support potions aren’t that useful. “So your Health potions are better?”
“Of course—387 Health each,” Carlos says proudly.
“That’s not bad. Why the difference?” I ask.
“It’s complicated,” Carlos says, looking uncertain.
Before he can attempt to explain it, Ali pops into existence, snorting. “Let me simplify it for the boy-o. You know how making items works right, boy-o? Artisans get Skill Trees just like you, but the Skill Trees are a bit more complex. On one branch, you’ve got production Skills—making things faster, cheaper, or just replicating. Then you’ve got the assessment or analysis Skills—things that let the Artisan get better at what they’re doing. Lastly, you’ve got the actual product Skills, which dictate what you can produce. Within each of those product Skills, you might have classes of items or tiers which can improve how well you produce items of that sort.”
I note how more than a few people look at Ali as he explains things.
“That’s right. I’ve got—”
“Hush, noob. I’m talking,” Ali says, running right over Carlos. “Now, when noob over there produces a potion, he’s going to be limited to some extent by the materials he uses. There’s only so much you can do if your materials suck. After that, his skill and experience at making the most out of the material comes into play. The more experience, the better he is, the more he can use the materials to their utmost. And then, you layer his Class Skills on top of that, boosting whatever he makes by his Skill. Master craftsmen can easily triple or quadruple the effects of even a low Level item due to their Skills.”
“Shortbus is correct,” Carlos says, nodding. “I’ve focused most of my Skills on Healing and Mana potions, so my support potions aren’t that powerful. But they’ll improve as my production Skills get better and I get more experience. Right now, I’ve got a thirty-eight percent efficiency with producing support potions.”
“Shortbus!” Ali starts up.
I send him a glare, shutting the Spirit down.
“Thank you,” I say to Carlos before glancing at Ingrid, who has returned to buffing her nails.
I grunt, wondering what she meant by dragging the man back with her and dropping him into our party with a single sentence as an introduction. “Meet our Healer.” Sometimes, that woman…
“So are you ready for this?” I ask him.
“I’ve been in dungeons before,” Carlos says firmly. “However, it’d be nice to know what the plan is.”
“We’re going to port in. Ingrid scouts ahead, finding traps and dealing with single Scouts. Everyone needs to have a shield up at all times—otherwise, the Yurk Scouts will poison you—and we clear the dungeon. Mikito and I are the front-line fighters, Lana and her pets are the flankers, and Sam fills in with his drones. You stay behind with Sam, healing as we need it,” I say, shrugging. “Pretty simple. It’s not that tough a dungeon.”
Carlos stares at me for a second, a faint look of disbelief on his face. That’s when Lana calls out she’s ready and impatient to get going, so I cast my Portal. Ingrid darts forward, the nail file stowed away in a flash. Roland and Shadow, not to be outdone, race through the Portal, followed by Mikito and Sam’s drones. Within seconds, the group is streaming through while Carlos stares at me, dumbfounded by my brilliance.
“You can heal, right?” I say as I gently pull him by his elbow across the Portal before snapping it shut.
“Sort of. I don’t have inherent Class Skills, but I’ve put most of my profits into buying Healing Spells and Skills. Most of my Class Skills are more suited for use outside the dungeon,” Carlos says.
“Good. Try to keep up then,” I say, looking around the university square.
It’s not really a square, more of a rectangle flanked by a squat faculty building to the right with an overhang farther down and elevated walkways to the left. Stairs lead down into the rectangle itself, the light brown squares dirty and overgrown with weeds.
Unlike our first time, there’s no large gathering of monsters, no grouping of nastiness. Sam’s drones are laying down mines and traps under his direction while others take off into the mist-enshrouded darkness to give us a better view. The digging drones are fast, laying out a mine field in minutes. I briefly wonder if we could use him to help build / rebuild some locations in town but dismiss it. Not the right time. Clearing the dungeon is a sideshow to our main objectives.
“Incoming,” Ingrid’s voice cackles softly over the communicator.
I’m grateful that Galactic tech comes with “smart” tech, transmitting messages to the correct recipient automatically. The more we use them, the “smarter” the tech gets.
On Ingrid’s warning, Lana falls back toward us, Anna and Howard taking stations a bit ahead, while Mikito stands as the spear of the group. No surprise that Roland and Shadow are nowhere to be seen. I step forward, joining the Samurai, while Sam crouches, deploying a portable shield around himself and Carlos as he controls his drones.
On my minimap, I watch the monsters streaming down roads and out of buildings, forming up, seemingly able to see or sense one another through the mists. Groups appear and disappear as Sam’s drones move around or, in some cases, get shot down. A few Scouts try to get close, but Ingrid and the pets strike and kill the Scouts long before they reach us to get a decent view. Luckily, we’re not near the forest or else it’d be more of a problem.
When they’re two-thirds of the way to us, Sam pulls his diggers back or hides them in the ground in an attempt to preserve the element of surprise. I finish my buffs, having tossed Soul Shield on myself, Lana, and Sam. I figured Carlos has enough buffs to keep himself alive. And if he doesn’t… well, we’ll find out.
At first, it’s just one or two Yurks, seen through the parting of the mists. They become more visible, more stable as they near us. Singular Yurks transform into groups moving in lockstep. Shield-bearing Yurks in the front, bow-wielding Yurks behind, and Yurks over twelve feet tall are scattered throughout. They march forward slowly, getting closer and closer to where our traps are set, then they stop as they shake out their lines.
“Boss…” Sam mutters, eyeing the group, obviously uncomfortable with their actions.
“Wai—”
My words are cut off as the Yurk mages make their appearance. Or at least, make their presence known. Lightning bolts reach down, striking the earth in front of the reptile-frogs with booms of fury, electricity dancing in the air and destroying our carefully laid traps. I wonder why they didn’t call the strikes down on us. Unfortunately, I thought too soon—that’s when the lightning rolls forward, bringing electrical death.
“Hell…” I say, hunching slightly unconsciously as the lightning bathes us.
Electric fire reaches from the heavens, striking all of us as quick as a little dog’s temper tantrum, and just as quickly, it’s gone. Twisting around, I spot Carlos looking a little worse for the wear, steam rising from his cracked and burnt flesh. Even as I watch, his health creeps above half, but that’s not enough, so I throw a Soul Shield on him. He looks relieved, overloaded nerves in his body slowly recovering as he downs another potion. After a second, he stands stra
ighter, burnt and smoking skin healing before my eyes. I absently wonder how he’s able to keep consuming so many potions without suffering from potion poisoning, but that’s probably a Skill.
“Damn. Your shield is down,” Lana says to me, running a hand along her long hair and fixing her ponytail. “And I’m going to have to see a hairdresser after this.”
I stare at the young lady, my mind splitting for a second as I realize I haven’t actually seen one in the past year. Outside of my hair growing slightly longer, I haven’t had to deal with it. For a moment, I wonder how the hell that works—before the plink of arrows hitting Sabre’s shield brings me back to the present. Deal with that question later. Later.
The rocking boom of Lana’s shotgun, the shrill whistling sound of gauss projectiles fired from Sam’s drones, the grunt of exertion as Carlos fires his potions down range anchors me to the moment. Ahead of us, our assault on the Yurks leads to death and fire, clouds of gas and shrapnel raining around us. Mikito absently swings her polearm, cutting arrows from the sky, the clearest traces of her movements the shattered shards of wood and bone.
I raise my hand, unleashing projectiles from Sabre’s rifle, each shot drilling into the Yurks. Anna pitches in a few seconds later as the army closes again, tendrils of flame whipping along glistening shells. A thudding boom, a change in rhythm, and the army charges even as the drums shift once more.
Musical Fear Effect Resisted
Without breaking step, Mikito counter-charges the group. I grunt, taking off after the insane woman, eyeing the range estimator in my helmet. Five meters later, I trigger the mini-missiles, the tiny explosives flying forward to tear and disrupt their ranks. A step later, Mikito shines, ghostly armor layering on top of her PAV, her body speeding up and becoming a living spear. The shock of her clash with the already disrupted vanguard throws back the front ranks of the army, the unlucky couple directly in front of her exploding apart from the transferred kinetic force of her attack.