by J M Hamm
“… and I didn’t get one because?”
“The dungeons are still under quarantine, until that is lifted all access is restricted. You shouldn’t have been able to enter at all, but the system restrictions still prevented you from obtaining a class. It is an anomaly, and a troubling one.”
“I see. You said, ‘most popular way.’ What are the other ways?”
“Well, you could join the Peacekeepers, or another one of the Hegemony controlled organizations or Orders. We get access to unique training, skills and even classes. The privilege of service.”
She glanced at me. "Though, I hardly believe you'd qualify."
“Thanks. I’ll hold out on that one, for now,” I said. “And the other ways?”
“Those are typically the only ways, Finn. Some achievements or high-level feats will grant classes, but such rewards are generally only obtained at extremely high levels and even then, only with luck.”
“How high level are we talking about?” I huffed between words as we began to climb over ruble. Large chunks of concrete were littered across the road.
“Well, I’ve heard about legendary ranked feats giving classes when mastered. Maybe rare feats could, as well. Classes sometimes merge to create new ones, but that’s about it. Almost it, anyway.”
“Almost?”
“Well, yes,” She paused, even stopping her walk. “There is a method of crafting classes, but it is extremely unlikely to work. You’re much more likely to be stuck with a sub-par class that will hinder you for your entire career, and at the expense of your best feats and skills.”
“Explain, please.”
“Well, by sacrificing abilities - usually an equal number of feats and skills - you can create a unique class based around those abilities. The trade almost never results in a class worth the sacrifice, however. Generally, the higher the level of the abilities and the more closely they are related, the better the class.”
“No one creates classes this way?”
“Oh, I didn’t say that. Again, the ancient families all do this. The skills and feats involved are all secrets, as are the ways of acquiring them.”
“In theory, if I wanted to try, how would I go about it?” I continued walking, forcing her to keep up with me for a change.
“It’s called Soul Forging, and you should have access to a manual through your status screen. I don’t know any more about it then you will find in there. Now, let’s keep moving. Quietly.”
We continued our slow march towards the bridge. It would have taken no more than an hour to arrive, even at a careful pace, but Catalya insisted on using a route that circled around and brought us through trees and behind cover. This snaking path kept us safe, but it was nearly dusk before we arrived.
The current growth of trees we were traveling through ended in a line roughly one-hundred meters from the barricade blocking access to the bridge.
Seven men and three women stood atop the encampment, all armed with rifles and an eclectic variety of melee weapons. I saw a woman holding a club almost as large as herself. One of the guards, a man with a red mohawk and a bushy beard, had two swords strapped to his back. He looked like a low rent Witcher. The rest carried a collection of spears, longswords, and axes. Most of the weapons were probably looted from monsters, but the axe was clearly a fire axe from before the system.
“It’s probably better if I go alone and introduce you later after they know we aren’t a threat,” I said.
“Acceptable,” Catalya said. “Remind them, however, of clause B of the eleventh amendment of the planetary charter. They should be aware of these restrictions and rights from the tutorial simulation.”
“Right,” I coughed, “Of course, rule 11B. Anything else?”
She just stared at me, shaking her head. I put my hands up and slowly made my way out of the trees and towards the bridge. It didn’t take long before I was spotted, and soon I saw ten rifles, all trained on me. I stopped.
“Hello,” I yelled. “Can we speak? May I approach?”
The large man with the red mohawk and two swords held his hand up as a signal to the others. They all seemed to relax but didn’t take their guns off me.
“Who are you?” The man yelled.
“My name is Gus Finn. I’m from here. My family lives in there.” I pointed towards the peninsula on the other side of the bridge.
“And you’ve survived out there for two weeks, alone?” His voice got higher in pitch as he completed his question. It was obvious that he didn’t trust that anyone could survive the wilds.
I wondered what had happened in that time. It must have been terrible and had obviously been traumatic. I tried not to think about everything they must have had to do to survive. Or how many had died.
“I haven’t been entirely alone, no,” I said. “Can I come closer, so we can talk about it?”
He lowered his rifle slightly and turned to talk to one of the men next to him. I couldn’t make out what they were saying but it was obvious that they didn’t agree with each other.
“Alright,” Mohawk said. He frowned and turned to look at the man next to him before continuing. “Slowly. And keep your hands where we can see them.”
“Alright,” I said trying to match his speech. “I’m coming over now.”
I considered removing my weapon, but they hadn’t told me to and I didn’t want to get shot for doing something unexpected. I suspected that my jumpsuit was bulletproof. It would still hurt to get shot, however, and my head was definitely not immune to bullets.
If I increase Might enough, would I be able to shrug off bullets? I wasn’t sure, but I wasn’t ready to test it. Nor would I ever; Superman cosplay was better left to others. I always preferred Batman, anyway.
As I got closer, Mohawk climbed down and approached me alone. He had slung his rifle over his shoulder, but I still had nine more trained on me. If anything, it guaranteed I stayed polite. Perhaps they were smarter than they looked.
“We’re gonna need your weapons,” he said. “You’ll get ‘em back later, once you’ve been cleared.”
I unstrapped the belt holding my collapsed staff and threw it towards him. He caught it easily with one hand. He glanced at it admiringly for a second before slinging it over his shoulder.
“All right,” he said with a smile. “Welcome to New Charleston.”
Chapter Twelve: Port Authority
We turned south, after being led across the bridge. Three guards walked in front of us, while the man with the red Mohawk and dual swords followed closely behind. I glanced nervously at their rifles. The barrels had remained pointed down, but I couldn’t help noticing how tense the guards seemed and the cold glances they gave Catayla. Mohawk, in particular, seemed tense and never removed his finger from the trigger.
I caught him muttering something about ‘aliens’ and ‘scaly frogs.’ The rest of the guards remained silent, but their eyes held the same level of friendliness.
“So, ah,” I said, turning my head to look at the red-headed Witcher wannabe. “Where are you taking us?”
“Old cruise port.” He never made eye contact, keeping his gaze on Catayla the entire time.
“Are there a lot of survivors there? I’m looking for some people.”
“We’ve got some. I imagine the Captain can help you find your people, but not until he’s had his face-to-face. Like that with newcomers.”
“You expect some trouble along the way?”
“We’ll be there soon. Then I’ll let the captain decide if there’s gonna be trouble or not.”
Twilight was just beginning to fade by the time a high wall of stacked cars and shipping containers came into view. Spotlights swept the area, and quickly fixed on our position as we moved closer.
“So, uh, Mohawk,” I said.
“Names Worthy,” he growled, finally caring enough to look at me. The only female in our detail, a tall blonde, snorted as Worthy made his introduction.
“You got a problem?” Worthy snap
ped at her.
“No … no problem at all, Sam.” The other guards started laughing.
As the guards started yelling back and forth I turned to look at Catayla. She smiled slightly and seemed relaxed. I hadn’t expected her to so easily give up her weapons, and I was even more amazed at her level of calm when surrounded by those who were so obviously hostile to her.
Why had she been sent alone? I had little experience with the military, only my dad’s old stories. I did know that they never put their own in danger without a reason. The Peacekeepers could have sent an armed convoy with a full detachment of trained diplomats, and yet they sent one girl. An admittedly badass girl, to be sure. I just couldn’t shake the feeling that she was here for something else.
I knew one thing. She would do whatever it took to complete her mission, whether it was good for Charleston or not.
The blonde guard held up her hand, signaling a stop as we approached a large, makeshift gate. It had been made from a chain link fence welded to car tires and had metal scrap added as reinforcement.
“So, Sam,” I said.
“Call me Worthy,” he spat.
“All right, Worthy. Anything you can tell me about who’s in charge?”
“You’ll find out soon,” he said. “Boss man’s not the type to keep you waiting.”
He narrowed his eyes as he turned back towards Catayla, “’specially not with such an interesting traveling companion.”
Catayla’s mouth tightened slightly, but she was otherwise unaffected. She matched stares with Worthy, giving him a slight smile. The wide, toothy smirk he gave in return unnerved me. It was the smile of a predator, one that never touched his eyes.
“All right,” I said. “So how about telling me how much longer we have to stand out here.”
“Radios don’t work, They’ll send a runner. Just a little patience goes a long way.” He rolled the ‘l’ in ‘long,’ drawing out the word.
I was growing bored when I finally heard orders being yelled from the top of the gate. I could detect movement as well, but it was too dark to make out details.
“How many are inside?” I wanted to plead, but I was able to keep my voice neutral.
“We’ve got a few thousand,” Worthy said. “Might be more in the rest of the city, but we don’t find many survivors these days. We’d come across them in the beginning, but …”
“Heard the Navy base up in Goose Creek has survivors,” said the blonde guard. “Just rumors, though. No one has made it that far north.”
“What about the Air Force base?” I said. “They’re closer, and if I remember bigger than the Navy base.”
“Bridgette,” Worthy angled his head toward the blonde, “was with a group that passed by there. Completely wiped out. No trace, just weapons strewed about like everyone just up and vanished.”
“Strangest thing I’ve ever seen,” Bridgett said. “No telling what’s out there. Guns are useless half the time. Skin’s too thick, or they heal too fast. Some of the things out there don’t even have bodies you can hurt. They’re just shadow.”
“How’d you fight something like that?”
“Fire hurts most of ‘em,” Worthy said. “That, and we’ve got a few mage types with some tricks.”
“That’s —” my comment was cut off by the grinding sound of the gate rolling open. Several men on the inside were pushing it but stopped once it was open enough for a single person to walk through.
A tall brunette in black slacks walked out. Her hair was put up in a bun, with loose trails flowing down her neck and shoulders. Her glasses made her look a bit like a librarian, but it was offset by the pair of knives strapped to her waist and the bandolier that looped around her waist.
“Worthy,” She called out. “Please report.”
“Survivor Ma'am,” Worthy said. “Had this one with him.” He pointed to Catayla with one thumb.
“She’s—” I began.
“Welcome, Peacekeeper,” the woman walked towards Catayla and offered her hand. “My name is Patricia Sterling, but I prefer Pat when talking with friends.”
“Pathfinder Orvilio,” Catayla said, shaking the woman’s hand. “I am an official representative of the Hegemony and I request an audience with your leaders.”
“Of course. We were not aware you would be coming, or we would have greeted you properly. Please, wait here while I go get my associate and send word to the captain.”
The woman stepped back through the gate, motioning Worthy to follow her.
“Well,” I said. “What was that about?”
“It’s only proper they’d recognize me,” said Catayla. “It would be quite concerning if others lacked your proper level of … initiation.”
“What? Oh, you mean the tutorial. I wanted to ask about that, but Sebbit just—"
The gate began to open wider, and Pat reappeared with someone new. Worthy, or “Sam,” must have still been inside. I found myself hoping he’d been taken down a peg … or three.
“Alright, please follow me,” she said. “This is Sergeant Tiller. He’ll escort you to the ship, the captain will be waiting for us there.”
Sergeant Tiller was a tall, skinny black man. He looked more like a pencil pusher than a soldier. He didn’t wear any identifying uniform, just a pair of khakis with a blue button-up shirt. On his hip he wore a thick leather belt and holster, it rode low on his hip just like in the old cowboy movies.
“Please,” He said, “Follow me.”
The three guards that had escorted us from the bridge began to follow, but Tiller waved them away. Either they felt we didn’t need an armed escort, or they knew such precautions would be meaningless if Catayla grew hostile.
The other side of the gate was dark. There were no lit windows or streetlamps. The faint smell of smoke and grilled meats filled the air, but any fires had long since been doused.
We passed through a city of tents and ramshackle huts that had been strewn about over a large parking lot. Eyes peered out at us, and I could hear the quiet whispers of children, but no one came out to greet us.
My stomach grew cold as I realized they were afraid.
Eventually, we came to a ramp that led up to a massive cruise ship. It seemed like a city by itself. It easily should have been able to fit all the survivors that were now crammed into shacks and tents.
“This way,” Pat said. “The boss will meet us in the dining hall.”
The interior was gaudy, decorated to appeal to those that had never seen real luxury. The floor was fake white marble, and the chandeliers were massive structures made of glass. Everything was coated in a thin layer of cheap gold paint.
I instantly disliked it.
Pat walked up a spiral staircase to the third level of the ship and we followed her through a set of double doors.
In the center of the room was a large wooden table. Three chairs had been placed on the side closest to me, and a large man sat alone on the other side of the table. His face was weathered, with thick grey eyebrows. His shirt had been rolled up to reveal forearms covered in corded muscle and deep scars.
“Hello,” the man said, raising a glass to his lips. “I’m Captain Smith. Welcome to my ship.”
Chapter Thirteen: Shore Leave
The man stood and began to walk around the table. He was almost as tall as I was, but easily twice as heavy. He had a prodigious belly, but an even larger chest and shoulders. He had that combination of strength and fat often found in elite powerlifters … or bears.
“Sorry about the runaround,” he said, offering his hand to Catayla. “Normally, I would have met you at the gate, but I was a bit tied up when you arrived.”
“No offense taken,” Catayla said. “Your people provided an adequate escort, and I require no ceremony.”
“Well,” the large man said, pulling out a chair. “Gus, Pathfinder Orvilio, please take a seat. We’ve got some business to discuss.”
“Catayla is fine,” She bowed her head slightly.
&n
bsp; “Of course,” Captain Smith said. “Then please, call me Arthur.”
“Before we start,” I said. “I’m hoping you can help me find some people.”
“Of course,” he said. “Give their names to Pat here once we’re done. She’ll be happy to check them against our records and put out the word. Won’t you Pat?”
“Of course, Sir. Not an issue.”
“First thing most folks want to know,” the captain continued. “We even started up a bit of a census, tried to get a count and the names of everyone in the camp and … last known locations of the lost. Tiller here is working on a program, trying to catalog skill and feats. It’s very promising.”
Sergeant Tiller nodded his head but didn’t speak.
“Now, back to why you’re here,” the captain said.
The captain’s chair groaned as he sat back into it. He looked over at Catayla and steepled his fingers in front of his mouth. “We were ‘advised’ to cooperate with your people. I’ll be honest and tell you I was hoping it never came to that. So, can you tell me why you’re here?”
Catayla stepped forward, clasping her hands in front of her before giving a small bow.
“My mission was to escort Finn,” she gestured towards me. “I have also been tasked with establishing friendly relations with the loc … residents of Charleston, as well as to assess your situation.”
“Assess?” Pat raised an eyebrow. She pulled back her shoulders and placed a hand on one of her knives.
“Let’s not jump to conclusions, now Pat,” said Captain Smith. “To what ends were you tasked with making contact?”
“I am part of a force of Peacekeepers assigned the duty of containing and destroying eldritch lifeforms and to enforce the quarantine. The Peacekeepers wish to discuss the requirements of that quarantine, and to offer some assistance in return.”
"Quarantine?" The captain asked. "Are we prisoners here?”
“No,” Catayla shook her head. “Our mission is not to keep the natives in. You are free to come and go as you please, though the Containment Facility, or dungeon, is still off limits. Our objective is simply to maintain the proper ecosystem and contain the strongest of the eldritch creatures."
