The System Apocalypse Books 4-6: The Post-Apocalyptic LitRPG Fantasy Series

by Tao Wong

“Ah…” I lean backward. “Any ideas of the numbers?”

  “If they were to vote for Ms. Chowdury? Maybe half,” Rob says.

  That means we’d lose two percent of the vote. Not huge, but still significant since that’s about ten percent of what we can afford to lose. It doesn’t help that so much of North America is already taken by the Truinnar and their allies, forcing Rob’s half-formed government to work around it.

  “What do you want if you do throw your backing at her anyway?” I say softly, doing the math in my head. It’s still not enough, not by far. Not without the Truinnar and more of the independents. Which probably dictates my next trip.

  “Nothing major. We’ve already spoken somewhat about this. But I can sell a further portion of my people on supporting her if she would commit to lending her support on an expedition.”

  “You mean war,” I say, cutting through the bullshit. “Where?”

  Rob doesn’t say a word, gesturing and flicking a map to me, highlighting the state of Oklahoma. I don’t ask why that state—I’m sure there’re good reasons. What I’m more concerned about is who owns the settlements there. Sadly, I’m once again right. He’s looking to clear the Truinnar from Oklahoma, which would put us in direct conflict with people whose vote we probably need.

  “That’s not going to work,” I say, my eyes tight. “Or I don’t think it will.”

  “I understand.”

  I sigh, standing and offering my hand to Rob. He seems a nice man, but with the state the country is in, the wars he must fight, I’m not sure why I came now. Perhaps I’m intrinsically biased to think of the Americans as a major power, but in this new world, they’re too scattered. When Rob stands, there’s a little of the same understanding in his eyes. A tiredness and a resignation that I never noticed before.

  “Thank you. And good luck.”

  “You too, Mr. Lee.”

  ***

  East. The Portal to Whitehorse drops me off in the lobby of the City Center, startling more than a few Adventurers. A part of me wonders what it means when I’ve got full access to Portal anywhere I want within Roxley’s settlements. Not just Whitehorse, but even all the way up to Alaska. Well, theoretically at least, since I don’t have any waypoints in Alaska yet. Another, more cowardly, portion decides, as always, questions like this about my relationship with the Truinnar should be set aside for a more appropriate time. Like never.

  “John,” Roxley greets me with a smile at the elevator after I ascend. “I was wondering when you’d arrive.”

  “Well, I’ve been thinking you’d tell me when you’re ready, but tick-tock, man.”

  “Tick-tock?”

  “The sound a clock makes…” I shake my head. “No distractions. I need an answer. Are we going to make the vote this time, or am I going to have to plan for another six months of politicking?”

  “And settlement conquest?” Roxley asks, an enigmatic smile on his lips.

  “If necessary.”

  “Very well,” Roxley says. “I’m glad that I read you right. The Duchess has agreed to backing your efforts, with certain caveats. Firstly, we’d like Earth to officially join the—”

  “Nope.”

  “You didn’t let me finish.”

  “Didn’t need to.” I place my hands on my hips. “You didn’t spend all this time to make an offer you knew I would turn down immediately.”

  “I did not. But I had to try,” Roxley says, giving me a belly-flopping, stomach churning smile.

  Damn it. I check my notification logs but don’t see a damn note, so either his Charisma and other Skills worked or it’s all just me.

  “It’s just you,” Ali sends to me, obviously having seen me open my notification logs.

  “Get lost,” I send to Ali then fix Roxley with a look, pushing my other thoughts and feelings aside. “So?”

  “We will require you to vote with us for certain bills. Ten such times, we will compel your votes—and those will not be negotiable,” Roxley says. “In addition, we will want you to levy additional duties and taxes against the Movana and their allies. Truinnar are to be exempt from entry charges, while—”

  “You want us to double or triple the charges for the Movana and their allies.” I wave. “If those are the biggest sticking points, it doesn’t sound horrible if we can get all of you on board. We’ll want to adjust them a bit, like making sure those bills don’t directly impact us too badly and maybe set a time limit on those duties and taxes, but it’s something for Lana and Katherine to handle.” I hesitate but add, “And Bipasha.”

  “You have made your decision then?”

  “I’m actually more interested in what took you so long,” I say, tapping my foot. “You obviously have been considering this for a while.”

  “The delay has been for your benefit. Our meetings have been of particular interest to our enemies. Confirming the agreement before this would have placed you and your efforts in greater danger.”

  “But now we’ve got less than two weeks to get the rest of your people to agree, then they’re going to have to argue about what we’ve decided.”

  “The agreement you make with me will be sufficient,” Roxley states confidently.

  “How…?”

  “Can I be confident of the matter? It has already been agreed on.”

  “You’ve been talking to them already? But if you were, won’t our enemies know?”

  Roxley looks slightly miffed. “Please, John. My compatriots and I have been politicking under the System all our lives. This is a minor matter.”

  I pause, then shut my mouth. Fine. They know how to game the System and their opponents. And I’m the blunt idiot who was kept in the dark for his own good. I grit my teeth, drawing a deep breath and exhaling slowly, forcing calm on myself. When Roxley puts a hand on my arm, squeezing my bicep for comfort, I growl and shrug him off, stalking away to stare out a viewscreen which acts as a window.

  “John…?”

  “One second,” I say, holding up a finger.

  I force myself to breathe, to run through the emotions and slowly, slowly push down the anger. Because in the end, they were right. I just hated being handled.

  When I have better control of my emotions, I say, “Why are we having this talk now?”

  “The assassination attempt on you has escalated matters. It is obvious our stall tactics have been seen through.”

  “By the Movana.” I say without inflection, curious to see what Roxley thinks. I turn back to the Truinnar and open my Skill. Threads appear, dozens, hundreds. I avoid the obvious one, the thread which leads to me, and instead focus on the others.

  “Most likely,” Roxley acknowledges. “Of the factions present, it is only theirs which would be threatened by Earth. Facing the Fist directly and winning their respect has blunted the danger from their faction. So long as you allow them access to Earth and its dungeons, they should not act against you. In fact, they might support humanity’s growth. After all, you and Ms. Sato are prime candidates for recruitment.”

  “What? A battle maniac and a cheat?”

  “Yes. But to return to the point, the Artisans do not care enough to act against you. And well, you have a deal with us.”

  “Which leaves the Movana,” I say. “Or other humans who don’t believe I don’t want the seat for myself. Or any independent Galactic group who’s willing to blow enough Credits to hire a Master Class assassin.”

  “Which are few.”

  I hate to say it, but the logic is impeccable. In fact, outside of Bipasha and perhaps Rob, I can’t think of any group who might want me dead that badly. Among other things, while I’m important to this movement, I’m not the only mover and shaker. After all our efforts, it’d take a lot of assassinations and Credits to stop this train.

  “I will speak with Ms. Pearson about the details of what we require and the number of seats I can guarantee. It is, of course, not everyone,” Roxley says.

  I nod in acceptance of his warning. No surprise the
re. As much influence as the Duchess might have, as charming as Roxley might be, and as much as the species is going to vote for its betterment as a whole, there will still be those who disagree. But most is good. Most is better than none.

  “Thank you,” I say, flashing him a grateful smile.

  With the Truinnar votes and the ones from the Fist, we should be close. At some point, I need to push Cheng Shao again, just to make sure what I heard from Bipasha is true, but if so, we might have this. Or close enough. But still, I see the message in my notifications, the request from Wynn for a meeting. And I find myself wanting to give him the benefit of the doubt.

  “You’re welcome, John.” Roxley visibly hesitates, looking uncertain for once.

  I wait, knowing he has something to say. I wonder what kind of bomb he’s about to drop.

  “Would you care to join me for dinner?”

  “Nah, I’ll just grab a bite in Kamloops—”

  “John.” Roxley’s voice grows slightly heated. “Would you like to join me for dinner?”

  “You just…” I stutter to a stop at the way he said it, the hesitation and uncertainty and yes, the slight blush. Oh. Oh… “Ummm… right. Got to go…”

  You Are Quantum Locked

  “What!?!”

  “No running away,” Roxley says, crossing the distance to me and staring at me heatedly. “I want an answer. A real one.”

  “And if I don’t give one, you’ll keep me trapped?” I growl. “Very Misery of you.”

  “Wha…? No. You will not divert me from this. I know of your plans. If you succeed, you intend to leave Earth. I have responsibilities which will not allow me to go. We have danced around this matter for years. I wish—no—I require a resolution.”

  “Roxley…” I shake my head. “I’m leaving. Gone. Stars away. And what happens next, I have a feeling it’ll be worse than taunting a dragon. There’s no point to this. To us.”

  “No point?” Roxley says softly, almost gently. “No point in joy? In happiness? Are you so fixated on the future you will avoid the present? What is your Taoism then, your pursuit and acceptance of the now?”

  “Not fair,” I mutter. “You aren’t supposed to use our conversations against me. And joy isn’t the goal…”

  “No? Well, perhaps you could educate me further. Over dinner.”

  Roxley is right next to me now, so close I could touch him with the barest motion. But he doesn’t move to cross those final few inches and neither do I. With his last sentence, Roxley lets the silence take over, giving me time to think.

  I hate this. Hate contemplating this giant ball of emotions, the fear, the worry, the desire. The immediate, chemical reaction to the man—the alien!—before me. But… what is, is. Isn’t that what I’ve tried to embrace? Sometimes, the right choice isn’t what I think or what I believe. Sometimes, to see the whole, you need to step outside of the boundaries of your own views.

  And hell, I haven’t been laid in four years.

  ***

  I don’t make it out of Whitehorse till the next morning. Late morning. But when I leave, it’s with a smile and a secret from Roxley. Because for all the logic, all the clear and indisputable circumstantial evidence pointing to the Movana’s guilt, I can’t believe it. The teleportation portal to Paris rips me apart and dumps me out in the City of Lights, in the square right outside the Notre Dame de Paris. It’s not exactly how I ever expected to revisit the city, but at least I managed to come back.

  Paris is beautiful. There’s something about the city which gives it a certain charm, the grey block buildings, the picturesque centuries-old architecture, the giant bestial mounts. It’s a city which demands attention, even after the ravages of the System’s arrival.

  “Wynn.” I greet the Guild Leader with a smile.

  In the corner of my eyes, I note the multiple Quantum Lock symbols, denoting the numerous teleportation barriers in place. Over the entire city, a Settlement Shield is in place, lightly flickering as the occasional low Level monster flies into it. Numerous flying mounts glide and flap above me while flying cars float among the hovering beacons, taking their passengers through the large metropolitan. Hundreds of Galactics and humans move around me on their feet, ducking between gigantic beasts of burden and larger humanoid feet, treading to jobs, schools, or Quests. It’s an amazing show of prosperity, though a part of me knows it’s a false front too. Paris is the center of the Movana’s push. Outlying settlements are not nearly as busy.

  “Redeemer,” Wynn says with a smile, offering me his hand. “I’m glad you accepted my invitation.”

  “Color me intrigued. I hadn’t expected to be invited to Paris of all places.” After all, the guild master’s guild is based in Vancouver.

  “It was considered a better option,” Wynn replies and waves me toward a waiting hover car. “If you will, we have only a brief window.”

  We take off, giving me a view of the sprawling city. Like Dhaka, I notice how many neighborhoods have retained their older, human architecture. Of course, not all of Paris is made of heritage-worthy architecture, nor do all Galactics care. And so, the city is dotted with the occasional incongruently placed building, like the floating oval, the hexadecimal-structured building, and one I swear was made by Dali himself. Strangely enough, it suits the city.

  “A beautiful city,” Wynn says, waving below. “We were able to restore much of it after the initiation. It seemed to satisfy many of the locals. As well as our adoption of their language. I am told it is linguistically similar to our native tongue, though with less gender definitions.”

  I open my mouth then shut it, declining to comment. While I took French in school like any good Canadian, I have to admit, mine is beyond rusty. Add the fact that Canadian French is not really considered “real” French by the French themselves, and well, I’m not one to comment. Come to think of it, I’m finding myself holding my tongue more and more. I wonder if it’s a sign of maturity or cowardice?

  “How many?”

  “Pardon?”

  “How many humans are left?” I ask, looking below. “I know the Movana purchased the settlements a little after the apocalypse. And even took a few Cores by force. So. How many?”

  “For the region? Just under a million. But we’ve had significant immigration from outlying areas,” Wynn says without sugar-coating the truth.

  I shut my eyes for a second, pushing away the wave of emotion. It’s too complex, too dense for me to pick apart right now. Though the aching grief over all the loss is still there. Still. A million. That’s a lot.

  “Chatter on the local boards indicates they’re relatively happy. And Wynn isn’t telling the whole story—there’s been a constant level of immigration from the city too. They’re using more and more of the locals as go-betweens in other cities to help mollify the local populace.”

  “How’s it going?” I’m trying to imagine the conversation between a Frenchman and German, then I decide perhaps I shouldn’t be basing my imagination on bad Hollywood movies. After all, they are neighbors and were in the EU together for ages. Surely it isn’t as much of a farce as Hollywood would have me believe.

  “Insufficient data to provide a statistically relevant conclusion, as bits would say. It’s not as if the local boards go into exhaustive detail over something like this.”

  I send a mental affirmation back to Ali. Since I’m here anyway, I open my new favorite Skill, staring at the numerous threads that criss-cross the city. Rather than give myself a migraine trying to actually understand the information before me, I just watch the shift and twist and let it seep in. Hopefully my subconscious mind will be able to make use of it. Or not.

  “I am somewhat surprised you agreed to come,” Wynn says, breaking the silence.

  I turn back to the guild master, staring at the halo of threads around him, and do a brief check on the thread which leads to me. It’s not particularly thick. The obligations we initially shared as settlement owner and guild leader have disappeared, leavi
ng just our normal interactions. While there were traces of friendly, even respectful interactions, it’s mostly a business relationship.

  “Why? Because it’s rumored the Movana are the ones who set the assassin on me?” I say bluntly.

  “Yes.”

  “I figured if you really want to kill me, I’d make it easier. Rather get stabbed in the front than the back.”

  Wynn bursts out laughing. “Oh, you definitely are an Erethran Paladin.”

  “You’ve met one before?”

  “Once. A long time ago, when I was still a child,” Wynn says.

  Damn. Our legends are right—these elves live for centuries at least, considering what I know of the Paladins.

  “It was on a space station above Linx 4. He had been chasing a crew of space pirates and finally found their ship docked at the station. The pirates had switched out the transponder beacon on their ship and fled to Movana space. But the Paladin refused to let it go. He took on the entire station’s security forces and the pirates by himself.”

  My mentor had spoken about a few of my predecessors, told stories and discussed what was expected. But she’d never mentioned anything like this—just major battles and sometimes a few illustrative events. So was a fight with an entire space station’s security team and a gang of pirates considered a day in the life for a Paladin?

  “Did he win?” I ask.

  “Depends on your definition. He tore up the space station, killed all the pirates, and destroyed their ship,” Wynn says. “But he also hurt relations between Linx and the Erethrans for a century and forced the Empire to pay repatriations higher than the damage the pirates could have done in a decade of raids.”

  “A blunt instrument,” I say, letting the Skill drop and allowing my Mana to regenerate.

  Yet I detect a hint of admiration in Wynn’s voice. A fond recollection of the unnamed Paladin. For the rest of the flight, I ponder the contrast between the pragmatic and the emotional, the needs of the now and the future.

  ***

  No towering, hollow trees greet me when we finally arrive. Instead, the building is what I call Galactic-norm, a stylized grey rectangle thrust into the sky without care for physics or decorum. I absently note even more quantum locks in place once I enter the building, shutting down any chances of me porting in or out of this area. I’m not surprised.