Gestation

by John Gold

  “Wow, I don’t have that kind of money. Could I offer you something out of the ordinary?”

  The owner knew a kid wouldn’t have that kind of money, though he was bored. Not many people were dropping by.

  “Offer me what?”

  “What would you think about exchanging your books for some that I have?”

  “That depends on what you can give me.”

  “Books on mysticism and magic siege. They’re limited editions, not available for sale.”

  “Are you offering me forbidden books?”

  Ooh, look at his eyes light up!

  “Yes. This is a caliphate, and a port city, so the laws are laxer than the ones in Ovidius. You can always find someone looking for books like these.”

  Gerome bends over and continues in a whisper.

  “Do you even realize the risk I would be taking by buying books like that?”

  “You think I’m trying to turn you over to the guard?”

  “Exactly.”

  “I’ll give you one book today. You can hide it or do whatever else you want with it, and I’ll come back tomorrow. If you’re happy with everything, we’ll talk again. I’m the one with the big risk. These books are really valuable.”

  Gerome straightens back up and walks around the shop before replying.

  “Okay.”

  You’re a trusting soul, Gerome. They use deals like that to blackmail people at the orphanage, and I still have the logs that say how I gave him the book.

  I spend practically the whole night hunting monsters—undead, a giant toad, a ghost, and a black panther. None of them can sleep, apparently. Then, in real life, I grab a snooze for six hours before jumping back into the game. It’s time to pick up the money for the ship and its cargo.

  Geriont is waiting for me at the auction building just as we agreed. The frigate went for sixty-four thousand gold, meaning that my share is an eye-watering forty-eight thousand. Maybe, I should be hunting pirates.

  “I’m leaving in an hour, so you be careful. The pirates may try to get their revenge.”

  “Don’t worry, I can take care of myself.”

  There was a reason I set up the meeting to be right next to the auction: I need a ton of blood malachite. It has some surprising qualities I’d like to exploit.

  It’s used as mana storage in this world, and the fact that it’s hard to find is why it’s so valuable. Uncut malachite is cheaper, so I buy up everything that’s being sold at a decent price. As a semiprecious metal, its low durability makes it a poor option for storing mana. It’s generally used as stationary storage in cities and fortresses.

  After all my purchases, I’m left with three and a half thousand gold and six kilograms of malachite. Geriont held up his end of the deal, too. I have all the strongest monsters marked on my map, along with information about a healer mage and a tattoo master. The first works at the arena; the second lives in the port district. That’s who I need right now.

  Bor, the master, has his shop set up on the second floor of the port administration building.

  “Good afternoon. Could I order a tattoo?”

  “Certainly. What would you like? Which gang tattoo are you looking for?”

  “Gang tattoo?” Where am I? “No, I need something else.”

  “Oh, you aren’t local?” Bor lights up a pipe. He’s a hefty, thickset guy who looks to be from the south. “Almost all the local kids join a gang and get themselves a tattoo. Lots of the clans have their own markings, too. They give you a permanent bonus and let the clans keep track of their fighters—a mark and a clan sign, both.”

  “Quite the customs around here. Hey, what does the tattoo master skill influence? It’s a craftsman skill, right?”

  “Yes, I’m a craftsman. The tattoo skill lets you make bigger and more detailed drawings, and the crafting skill boosts what the ink gives you.”

  “Thanks. So, I can choose my own drawing?”

  “Yep.”

  “And what about keeping the drawing a secret?”

  The master laughs.

  “Kid, I’m a master. I’ve lived this long because I can hold my tongue, and I have the highest skill in this whole caliphate. I’m fourth in the guild, in the world, in other words. Don’t insult me with questions like that.”

  That’s something I noticed back when I was in Hell: with more streams of consciousness comes an improved ability to think, and not just the speed at which your thoughts come. I didn’t go crazy when I lost everything I’d gotten in Hell because I was able to react to the situation quickly and correctly. Right now, it’s the same thing. I know how I can regain the master’s trust.

  “I sincerely apologize. Insulting you was the last thing on my mind, master. It’s just that I need to do a whole lot of different tattoos, and they’re all secret. Your mastery is exactly what I need for the kind of complex, interesting work I’m looking at.”

  What do people need who have the recognition of their peers? They want a challenge for their skills and experience, the kind of thing that pushes them to work to and beyond the limit of their abilities. And that’s exactly what I have for the master.

  “Kid, it’s hard to surprise me. What do you want?”

  “Magic seals right on my body.”

  The master soured immediately.

  “You call that interesting? The seals would be destroyed the first time you use them, and whoever activates them will get a serious punishment for harming a child. You’re no mage. You can’t do that yourself.”

  Eleven flames appearing at once in the room change the master’s mind.

  “What if I give you ink that doesn’t disappear after the seal is used? And, as you can see, I’m a mage, so I don’t need anyone to activate the seals.”

  Bor stares at the eleven flames circling me. Astonishment, stupefaction, interest, and a mountain of questions chase each other across his face.

  “That kind of ink doesn’t exist. Although, if you’re asking about it… Do you know how to make it?”

  “I need to understand how ink is made. I know how to make it impossible to destroy for my tattoos, though I don’t know how to make it in the first place.”

  “I usually make my ink myself, but we can do something a little different. Bring me the basics and pick a color, and I’ll make it. My skill is higher than yours, so the effect will be much better.”

  “Sounds good. Are you sure you want to do this? It’s not exactly…legal, though there’s nothing that terrible about it.”

  “If you only knew what kinds of people I’ve done tattoos for, you wouldn’t ask stupid questions like that. Who do you think a tattoo master working in a port city might have as their main customers?”

  “Got it.” Sailors, pirates, marauders, thieves, killers, and other shady characters. “I’m going to need a month to get everything together.”

  Bor sours again, apparently languishing away from boredom.

  “I can get the main ingredients together in just a few days. The problem is finding the books with the seals and putting together the money to pay for your services, and that’s going to be what takes a while.” The master nods. “I promise, I’ll be back.”

  “Get out of here. I’ll need some time to prepare the ink, so bring me the main ingredients in three weeks.”

  I make it within his timeframe, primarily by taking care of a whole list of contracts at the guild. My boosted reputation gets me a price cut at the book store, and the books I don’t need cover part of the cost. It takes me two weeks to collect a hundred and fifty thousand gold, though I have to pay for the master, too. I spend the last week putting together another hundred thousand.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  There’s yet another knowledge check going on at the orphanage. Vaalsie would do anything to boost our budget, which he’s long since had his dirty hands in, and he presents me as a promising wunderkind. Once a year, his usual distaste for me turns into veneration for a week. Yeah, right! I’m his cash cow, the one who bring
s the shower of golden milk.

  Last year, they took me to a child development center on the fourth level, where I was only too happy to blow the interview. The test was easy.

  This year, I’m dumped into an aerocar and taken to the education center, where I’m given a whole bunch of tests in a separate room.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  Eliza kept an eye on Anji through the one-way mirror in his room. The boy was too busy taking tests to figure out that he was being watched.

  The current education system assumed that citizens would study materials that interested them, and then pick a specialty and start picking up information specific to that field. The general education was just enough to give everyone an overall picture of society and culture, the minimum citizens needed in all the colonies and stations. The course lasted six years. At twelve, children had their basic education, and they spent the next six working on their specialty. That delineation was added to lessen the amount of information being dumped on children.

  Anji finished his education when he was five. Back then, people thought it was just the stars coming together for him: the boy passed one test right after the previous one, and then three more yearly exams over the course of the next year. Currently, he was moving past the general track and starting to put together information on different specialties. The logs at the orphanage’s educational center showed that he was exploring ship-building, engineering, electrification, hydroponic facilities, force fields, and a number of other areas. At thirteen and a half, he had almost finished the basic program.

  He just saved an enormous chunk of information and used a virtual space to master it, not looking to pick up unwanted attention at the orphanage. At thirteen, he had no problem with how fast he learned things, considering it the norm and practically laughing at the other kids’ attempts. Back then, two years previously, he’d got into a fight with a kid taking the test at the next desk. It was then that he stopped talking with anyone else. Because the fight took place outside the orphanage, Eliza had only been able to get information about it two weeks before, back when she was thinking about what the boy had said. “You created a situation that hurt me, whether you meant to or not.” Even if it wasn’t exactly right, it was deep. Children don’t think the same way adults do, and Anji had expressed what was on his mind the only way he knew how. There was no way she could miss that depth of thought, and that was why she had set to work studying the boy’s mental capacities. She’d set up a separate room in the center, Vaalsie having approved her idea. He had an interest in it, too.

  Anji stopped and looked directly at the one-way mirror Eliza was standing behind. His angry scowl was fixed on her, and soon he opened his mouth.

  “Miss Donovan, children don’t know how stationary generators for force fields work, though they’re very good at sensing the electromagnetic waves all living creatures give off. The more tense the person is, the stronger the waves.”

  He tossed the test away and walked out of the room.

  ∞ ∞ ∞

  All I wanted was to leave the orphanage quietly and peacefully. I didn’t instigate the fight, I didn’t make noise, and I didn’t say anything. Basically, I did everything I could to avoid drawing attention. The other idiots have no desire to work for them, and all they want to do is destroy what’s better than them or beyond their comprehension… That’s when I stopped talking. I was moved to another sector in the orphanage, and things worked out there well enough at the beginning.

  But no, those little monsters can never get enough. They slipped me special exams to test my knowledge in different areas, all after I took care to mess up on the modules for the previous academic year to make sure I flew under the radar. I’ve spent the last couple of months looking for ways to get myself transferred to a private orphanage in Arpa. If I passed the tests for my basic education, they might not let me go. There’s a law Vaalsie could use to keep me here as a promising citizen.

  It’s specifically because of that that I do my best to hide my mental capacities. I’ve been thinking a lot better since I picked up the other streams of consciousness. Even if I’m working on external data with just two streams, the multiplier is significant. I can use up to four without threatening my health and causing a nosebleed, so I leave the other streams of consciousness to work within my consciousness by calculating plans and goals.

  It took me two months to set up that thought process. Currently, I’m superior to your average person intellectually, though I don’t want just anyone to be able to use me for their own purposes. Working with a bunch of streams always damages your health, but this way I can at least control it and mitigate the risks.

  Again, I have to force things along. Vaalsie found out from Eliza that I was collecting information on ship-building, and now they’re keeping track of their cash cow—me—to make sure they get their special budget grants.

  I’m free until the end of the day, and there aren’t any punishments, so I can get back to work on freeing myself. I have to put my plan into action now if I want it to be ready in a year.

  Two months ago, I started putting together information on ways to get out from under Vaalsie and Eliza’s guardianship. I’m going to need a different guardian I can control, turning down anyone who wants information about me and my business. Of course, I could flash Eliza and her limitations the red flag and be done with her, but that would require setting up a private orphanage for promising children. It sounds crazy, but that’s how I can trigger the process for moving kids to an orphanage that’s better for their development and well-being. That practice is widespread throughout the space colonies. Governments, after all, do what they can for their best.

  I’m an orphan who holds no value for the colony until I pick up a basic education, and that’s why the transfer protocol for moving me to another orphanage in a different nation should be approved. Currently, I’m ballast the station could buoy itself by cutting ties with. I have to get into other sectors in the station and use an anonymous account to collect information via usual terminals—the same capsules, just for anyone to use. I store all the information I collect in anonymous accounts. I already have an anonymous bank account, but there isn’t any money left in it. Everything went toward covering small purchases via virtual spaces.

  For a plan like mine, I’m going to need a lot of money. Property in Arpa is a lot more expensive than in our colony, and I need more than just a simple room for a child. I need a small building, fake administrators, and other kids. I have my plan, though I need to get the process moving. I even found someone in Arpa who can create the orphanage and look for promising kids.

  Malcolm Shultz takes care of problems in “my name.” The primary advantage anonymous accounts offer is the ability to choose any avatar for a virtual space. Everyone in virtual reality now thinks I’m a man around forty-five years of age, wearing a sharp suit, with a bald head, and round glasses. My face is intelligent, and the space looks like the office of a successful businessman from Lunar. And there’s the person I need to talk to.

  “Hi, Malcolm.”

  “Hi, Mr. Bork.”

  I’d worked my image around an immigrant from Lunar, David Bork. That’s the mask I use in virtual space, and it opens lots of doors usual citizens can’t get through.

  “How are things? Any problems?”

  “No, everything’s good, Mr. Bork. We got permission to found an orphanage for gifted children, and the case we brought earned us some money from the government and a big discount on the building. Your name won’t be anywhere near the list of managers at the new orphanage. We should be fine for people, and we can get to work hiring them as soon as the money arrives. We’ll need a list of promising children to include your protégé in, and there are just two questions. First is the money—seven million credits. I realize that’s a lot of money, and I know you’ll need time to pull it together. Second is the list of kids. We’ll get access to it as soon as we have the building and equipment.”

  “Got it
. You’ll have the money in three months, and I want everything else taken care of by then. It needs to be wrapped up within two weeks of when you get it. That includes the list of kids. We’ll talk over it separately as soon as we have the building.”

  “Okay, that works.”

  “How many kids will the orphanage hold?”

  “Fifty. That’s the minimum according to local law.”

  “Who will be the director, and how much will running the place cost?”

  “My brother Carl will be the director. He has the right experience and qualifications. It will be around fifty thousand a month, including both the administrative side and the personnel. Everything above that will be approved separately, and I’ll be working as consultant and accountant.”

  “Okay, that’s good on my end. I have to go, so I’ll see you.”

  “Goodbye, Mr. Bork.”

  I’d like to take care of myself, but I’m going to have to do that as someone else in order to avoid attracting Malcolm and Carl’s attention. I’ll add myself to the main list of orphans.

  Being an adult is hard! You can’t forget the gestures, the body language, the intonation, the way you talk. I spent a whole week practicing debates to put myself in the right frame of mind. Now, there’s the test at the education center, Eliza and Vaalsie…all at the worst time possible. Malcolm is a smart guy. He wants to find his place at the feeding trough and live off the orphanage, though I need him for now so I can get out of the pickle I’m in.

  There shouldn’t be any problem with the money, since I can pull it out of the game at a rate of two to one. That is, one gold coin is worth half a credit. Project Chrysalis is only too happy to have money brought into it and doesn’t offer information about the financial operations run by the players to third parties. Lunar keeps a close eye on the in-game economy and attempts to launder money.

  I figure that I was able to earn two hundred and fifty thousand gold in the game, or a hundred and twenty-five thousand credits, so I need to boost my income twenty times over to make sure I have the amount Malcolm needs. And I won’t get that just by farming.