by Ryan DeBruyn
“All right, I get it. Thank you for making it painfully obvious I only have one option, Crash,” I mutter.
“Sometimes a nail needs multiple hits before it’s all the way in, sire,” Crash responds annoyingly.
“Only when the person using the tool is new.”
“Why yes, sire. Are you referring to you and your workouts?” Crash retorts, and I huff out a breath. I really do suck at workouts but I can’t give the comeback the appreciation it deserves. There is something heavy in my stomach making me feel ill.
“Great, awesome. Good talk. Glad we both agree on the move to a suburb. Now . . . how do you move this hunk of junk?” I say resignedly. Now that I’ve agreed, my stomach lurches and I try to find something to take my mind off the spinning organ. Right, the subspace. . .
I place my hand in the outlined spot on the table as I wait for a response from Crash, who is strangely quiet after my retort. A small tingle runs up my arm, and I swear it is accompanied by a strange, almost electric-like qi, but it is gone before I can try to study it with my mind’s eye.
“Crash?” I prompt.
“Yes, Master?”
“How do I move this place?”
“Master, if you wish to move the Training Room, we can pull up a map of the area, and you can choose its next location.” I don’t miss the emphasis my AI places on the official name of the room. I reckon I pushed a button . . . I sigh—did I go too far? I thought we were just poking fun. My worry vanishes when another shift of the rubble pile echoes through the room.
“Please do,” I say hurriedly. I’d really prefer not to have another pile of rubble and seven days to wait.
The screen changes, and a map of what I assume is Toronto takes its place on the table. There is a sprawling gray area, which almost looks like rivers, lakes, and streams surrounding islands of varying shades of orange. From the little legend in the corner, I can tell that the gray demarks the ruins where no humans live. The orange denotes areas populated by humans, and the darker the orange gets, the more populated. Each suburb looks a bit like a sun with a bright orange center and fading peach that eventually becomes gray.
I point to the smallest orange area on the map. “Let’s go with the smallest Suburb.”
“Master, may we suggest choosing the largest Suburb?” Crash counters.
“What? Why?”
“Master, the larger populated areas will be less scrutinous of someone coming in from the outskirts of town to begin adventuring. If you tell the group you are younger than you are, it will make your low cultivation less suspicious. We think you could pass for a twelve- to thirteen-year-old.”
“Crash, how many humans have you actually interacted with?” I ask offhandedly. I know he’s likely only met me and the previous owner. I look up when silence is my response. Crash’s facial expression has morphed into something I might call dour, and he is studying me with a head tilt. “Never mind. Sorry, Crash,” I add, hoping I didn’t cross a line again. I need Crash’s help because I know nothing of the Northern Territory, its citizens, or how they all function together. I don’t believe for a second that Crash knows either, but he seems to have a better handle than me. . .
“Sire, I’ve only interacted with two humans. If you count?” Crash says flatly, and I sigh. Just as I thought, Crash has next to no experience with people either. My worry returns twofold and my stomach threatens to eject its contents. There is so much orange! How many humans does that represent?
Crash zooms the map in on the largest Suburb. I swallow a lump in my throat and examine the map as it slowly enlarges. Look at that building there, it practically glows. The site is called Beach according to the map and sprawls along the lake’s edge for a few miles.
Strangely, the areas closer to the water seem slightly less orange, and I wonder if that is for fear of aquatic monster attacks. It would make sense. Why are certain areas of the map so much more populated than others? I just don’t understand the concept of humans squeezing into a small area like this. I guess the area near the fires was always the most contested in camp. I nod my head. That must be it! Something appealing is in those areas.
The farther we zoom in, the more interesting the map becomes. Individual houses begin to appear in varying states of disrepair, but each home has numerous orange dots moving around within. I massage my ears, and point to the individual dots.
“Those are humans, and the blue dots are monsters that are outside their dungeons,” Crash explains.
I glance at the blue dots nearby and blink. I hadn’t even noticed them before, I was so fixated on the orange ones.
“Can we tell the types of monsters or see the dungeons nearby?” I ask curiously while scratching my head. With my eyes, I follow a group of blue dots that seem to be patrolling a few hundred meters from human beads. Seeing the dots as individuals that I can track allows me to truly look at the area. It really is very sparsely populated when compared to the Suburb itself.
“I can mark dungeons on the map once you have discovered and identified them, but not before,” Crash states as the map zooms in on a crumbled house. “Master, this house here has fallen in such a way that the stairs from the basement are still accessible, and the roof is still protecting the space from the rain.” I look up at the portal and the collapsed rubble outside of it.
“I’d rather put it out in the open. Like here, for example.” I point to a narrow alley behind the house Crash suggested. Neither of the structures on either side of it have any orange inside and I feel a slight tension in my chest release.
“Sire, connecting the Training Room to the soil is a terrible idea,” Crash responds, and I snap my head toward him. I guess being out in the open would make the portal entrance really obvious to anyone looking for it. Duh!
“Oh yeah, I guess we would get seen out in the open. Okay, well, maybe we can find something less likely to fall on us.”
“Master, you misunderstand. Subspaces need to be affixed to an area. If you do anchor this subspace to soil or something natural, it is much more likely to be destroyed.”
“What would get destroyed?” I ask, trying to figure out how someone can destroy a subspace.
“Sire, when a subspace’s anchor gets destroyed, there are numerous things that can happen. The most likely is that the space pops, ejecting its contents into the area where the anchor resided. Other possibilities are that the subspace will slip through space and re-affix itself in an unknown location, and let’s just say that, compared to the other options, those two are probably the most desirable.”
“Wait, so someone could destroy the Training Room by destroying the anchor?”
“The Training Room is a very unique example, Master. It would likely just slip through space if the anchor is destroyed. Still, yes, there is a possibility of it being destroyed.”
“So, you’re saying we should affix it to something hard to destroy?” I ask, and Crash nods.
“All right, let’s anchor in the concrete there,” I state, pointing at the house Crash first indicated.
“Excellent choice, Master. The move will take fourteen hours and twenty-three minutes. Closing the portal now and preparing to move the Training Room.”
The portal winks out with a buzz, and once again, I am suddenly on my way toward a suburb. Are we flying through the air? Space? Maybe it’s that weird black swirling darkness. . . At least Crash is in here with me.
Chapter 14
August 30th, 151 AR
Jeff Turle
I stand on the top landing of the stairs, in a representation of the clothes I wore with Leah and the mercenaries. Crash destroyed the originals after that first shower. Still, with some trial and error, he was able to recreate them with the holes only in the places they’re supposed to be. Like for my head, arms, torso, legs—you know, appendages. I stare through the portal into the darkness of enclosed space. It’s strange since I would assume the light from inside the Training Room would illuminate the area.
“Si
re, should we remind you of any books on cultivation?” Crash asks, already having recited all of them an hour before. I get it. Don’t try to break through. In fact, one of the book’s suggestions was about only cultivating for fifteen minutes at a time when you are new to it. I shake my head to tell the AI I don’t need more reminders. I get it.
“Excellent, Master, after you’re finished, don’t talk to strangers. Head straight for either an Adventuring Guild or the Dungeon Meeting Square. Once you have an idea of how the Suburb runs, come right back, and we’ll discuss,” Crash says, reiterating the plan it mostly came up with. The tone of its voice and the repetition make me think it’s worried on my behalf, and I’m not sure whether to be offended or touched by the gesture.
“I’ve got it, Crash,” I say hurriedly and walk up the final few steps and out into the world beyond the blue portal.
“Be safe!” Crash calls after me, and I shake my head ruefully at the AI’s concern. As soon as I pass through the portal, the Training Room’s relative quiet is gone. Instantly, I can hear crashing sounds of men or women at work in the distance—the clang of swords, report of guns, and the hubbub of people milling about.
Standing there, my feet on the top step, I look down. I can see right through back to the metal stair my feet rest upon. But no light from the portal enters the room? The basement is black. I blink and turn my head in other directions, hoping to find some way of getting my bearings in this place. I almost duck back through the floor and into the Training Room as my heart beats with irrational fear. Just before I retreat, I notice that this place isn’t actually pitch black; I can see a wall. Is that some type of furniture? A staircase? My eyes slowly adjust to the low levels of light, and from one blink to the next, I can see.
The air in the room is stale, old, and smells of must. There is a hint of wet wood in the scent as well. My eyes flick around the basement to find the concrete of the foundation mostly intact. That’s a good sign and something Alrick taught me to look for right away while sleeping in a house. If the foundation is cracked, then the whole thing could come down on your head—or so he claimed. A few broken and rotting pieces of pressure-treated wood have fallen down here, some two by fours, some four by fours, but all of them are warped, torn, or rotten. Above me is a patched and rotting floor, but surprisingly, the stairs are made of steel and are still intact despite being rusty in some places.
Cautiously, I test out each step with my foot before I place more weight upon it, and I slowly make my way to the top. The screech the stairs make with each step sounds loud in the darkness, but I’m sure it’s just my proximity. Once on the first floor, I see the roof Crash noticed in the holo-map. While the roof is definitely not on top of a house, the interior trusses that once held it there seem to be dry and whole. No rot is immediately noticeable in the plywood, nails, and two by fours at least. I hate to admit it, but Crash was right that this was a good option.
Once I take my eyes off the bottom of the roof, I notice there is brighter light coming from my right and left. I choose the left and move toward it, dodging debris. The ambient noise grows louder as the muffling of the layers of wood and concrete is slowly removed. Suddenly, I move around a crumpled wall and am squinting from the shaded sunlight of the area. The smell of old damp wood and dust morphs into something visceral. Having lived only in the wilds, and ruins, the smell of human filth is disturbing. It’s so heavy on the air that I think I taste it. And I scrape my tongue on my teeth as my eyes adjust.
I can hear the sounds of long-haul vehicles to my left, and a hum of activity. Maybe it’s people moving about? I can see people in the distance moving about, and a few bringing packages into houses from hand drawn wooden carts. A few people drag those carts, and the wheels rumble on the road.
A glance skyward tells me that we are under one of the Elysium True Silver Arrays. The shadows of the Elysium Cities that ring the area are slightly different as well. They’re connected with something like a suspended bridge. The thought of crossing one of those, that high up in the sky, will likely give me nightmares tonight.
Still, I can see a break in the shimmering umbrellas in the distance. My face can’t help but crack into an excited smile as my breathing quickens. This is a suburb, and that’s real sunlight up ahead.
I’ve seen the sun and patches of sunlight plenty of times in the wilds, and that closeness is something I recall with mixed emotions. I can still feel the reflected rays off the grass, water, and dirt—the warmth from the reflection entering the shaded areas Leah forced me to wait in. That still felt fantastic as I tried to greedily drink it in. Of course, the reflected sunlight probably didn’t let me cultivate at anywhere near the same speed as direct sunlight, but I wouldn’t know. Now, this close to standing under the sun, unimpeded? I can feel my whole body vibrating with anticipation.
For a moment, I forgot about my immediate surroundings, too caught up in the sun. I scan the houses near me. The nearest brown brick homes are standing, but just barely. Each house has a structural issue that Alrick would quickly point out and even I can recognize. One of them that I can see seems to be tilted at an angle, looking almost like it’s slowly sinking into the ground. Each building has a collapsed garage beside it, or two boarded-up yawning openings from where garage doors attach under the house. I’ve seen houses like this often but in far worse shape. It’s clear that each of these places has people living in them from that alone. The siding on others is chipped and cracking, even ripped clear off at times. That quick look highlights which houses people prefer, too. Some structures are collapsed in between ones that are standing. And each one that is still being cared for has a chimney. Many chimneys are old but each one has been cared for to a far greater degree than the house that surrounds it. It’s not uncommon to see a boarded-up hole in a wall but a professionally patched flue. It makes sense since it gets so cold up here in the winters, and while I see signs of electricity scattered throughout the houses, additional wood heating would still likely be needed.
“What a gorgeous day,” someone says from twenty feet to my left, and I jump, taking a step back into my collapsed house without fully thinking about it. A chuckle comes from the same direction. “Sorry, did I scare ya? I just figured I’d try to greet our newest squatter.”
I peek around the corner and see a man wearing a stained white shirt and torn jeans smiling jovially from the side door of the house to my left. What is he smiling about? The man has cut his own bright blond hair, likely with a knife or pair of shears. His patchy scalp makes him look almost comical or insane, as hair sticks straight out in some places and seems to not exist in others. Is he planning some sort of prank or nefarious action against me? Perhaps I should go back downstairs. For all I know, this man could be dangerous. My continued stare, as I deliberate, triggers [Identify].
Larry Cobb
Rank: E-6
My brain stutters. E-6? Living this close to the Suburb, the man is only E-6? My image of how suburbs function is turned entirely upside down with this simple discovery. While I am still far weaker than this man, I gather my courage and step back outside. At least I won’t be blown backward into a tree or house from a sneeze—trust me, it has happened before.
“Uhh, sorry. . .” I swallow hard and wave at the man without looking up from the ground that seems to hold my eyes. “My name’s Jeff, and I was just wondering where the Adventuring Guild or the Dungeon Meeting Square might be. . .”
“Sorry, son, I can’t hear you if you whisper and speak to the ground,” Larry calls loudly over the distance between us. I glance from side to side and notice that other people are mostly ignoring us. I sigh and look up at the clownish man. Now I just need to move closer and ask him my question. I march up to him and start trying to repeat everything but get distracted. His hair isn’t the only awful thing about him. I stare at his clothes, which are similar enough to mine in design but are coated with stains. On top of other stains! It’s like someone tried to paint a picture on his yellow-ti
nged white shirt, but with different types of food. I can tell it’s food because the smell of the man overwhelms the hanging odor of sewage once I’m this close.
His cargo pants are more black soil than fabric in places, and they lead to a pair of heavily worn boots. Can I see his toes? I look down at my own brand-new pair from Crash, and blink. Am I going to stand out for being too clean? I cough to hide my distraction and force the questions back out.
“Name’s Larry. . .” Larry begins and gives me a squinting appraisal. “Why are you being so quiet? We’re neighbors now if you are staying in that house,” Larry responds, and I wonder if that’s a good association or not. I feel my heart rate increase as my nerves take over. He ignored my questions. . . What am I supposed to do in response to that?
“Oh, uhh Jeff,” I say gracelessly, introducing myself before looking back at the crumbled roof that sits on the ground. “Yes, I plan to stay here. Is someone else living here?”
“No, boy, that house is as close to being condemned as it gets. Even Jenna and Joseph are better off, and their house is slowly sinking! But who am I to judge, I guess?” He points back at his own house, which is missing a wall on the second story, has a tree growing through the roof, and doesn’t have a window that’s not boarded up from what I can see. “Look, just be careful. Old Man Willow used to live there, and it nearly collapsed on top of him. Luckily, he slept in the basement. . .”
“Thank you,” I respond hurriedly and then ask about the Suburb again.
“Oh right,” Larry says, scratching his unkempt beard and even dislodging some flakes of stuff in it. He points down the road that leads straight toward the sun patch and I step back to avoid the hand he just extricated from his ‘beard.’ “If you follow this here road, it’ll take you right to the center of Beach. You’ll walk right by the Dungeon Square. No one calls it Dungeon Meeting Square no more,”—Larry scratches his head further, making his already bad hair worse—“and the Adventuring Guild is the big building with da clock tower.” I nod and rush away. Talking with people is going to take some getting used to.
