The Apprentice of Arabella
Page 1
Contents
contents
CHAPTER ONE Chapter 1
CHAPTER TWO Chapter 2
CHAPTER THREE Chapter 3
CHAPTER FOUR Chapter 4
CHAPTER FIVE Chapter 5
CHAPTER SIX Chapter 6
CHAPTER SEVEN Chapter 7
CHAPTER EIGHT Chapter 8
CHAPTER NINE Chapter 9
CHAPTER TEN Chapter 10
CHAPTER ELEVEN Chapter 11
CHAPTER TWELVE Chapter 12
CHAPTER THIRTEEN Chapter 13
CHAPTER FOURTEEN Chapter 14
CHAPTER FIFTEEN Chapter 15
CHAPTER SIXTEEN Chapter 16
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN Chapter 17
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN Chapter 18
Title
Copyright
Dedication
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
The Apprentice of Arabella
Arabella Online; Book One
By Matthew Kent
Copyright © 2018 by Matthew Kent
All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof
may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Peregrine Epress
peregrineepress@gmail.com
I would like to dedicate this
to my wife Heather and son Wesley.
To the two people I need to think of most.
Love you both
-Matthew
James slammed his palm against the door frame as he looked through the door and cursed into the empty space of what had once been his workshop. Only hours before the Ecological Protection and Repatriation Department (EPARD) had come in and shut down his business, confiscating material his family had gathered over the past century and a half, all of it preban: from pink coral from Madagascar harvested in the 1970’s, to hedgehog quills they had received in trade. They had also taken everything he had used to create his pieces, from the awls to the Zad Diane spindle sander his great grandmother had made.
That morning he awoke to a house and land that had been paid off and a job of nearly pure creation he loved. Now he was leaving his family land with hardly more than the clothes on his back. Since the elections two years ago when the liberal fascists had taken over, and that bitch had become president, the world was in decline. James remembered his grandmothers commentary on the political correctness from back in her day - now it was on steroids. You couldn’t say what you thought or talk about your feelings unless they were the approved thoughts and feelings of the majority party.
He shouldered his canvas bag and turned to the road as he made his way to the state highway. He saw the cultivators being brought in. The government was all for preserving the environment unless they needed the land themselves for pet projects. He didn’t know what they intended but he knew that it was true - he could never go home again.
X X X
“We should have arrested him,” said a small blonde woman to her partner. “Look at all of this…” She gestured to the carefully bagged and stored items inside the shop.
Her partner flicked a glance at her. “Charges would never have stuck.” He said and pointed to the filing cabinets. He was tall over six feet providing a contrast to the woman by his side “He has invoices and receipts for all purchases and trades.” He said as he handed the latest invoice over to the woman she opened the folder and scanned it.
“The hell?” She said then read more thoroughly before looking up at him. “The Smithsonian?”
“There are also invoices in there from the Prado, the Hermitage, the British Museum in London and half a dozen more.” He shook his head. “We shut down one of the few artists in the world that can repair, replace or recreate artifacts from those museums.” Gesturing at the racked goods, resignation filled his voice. “Did you look in the house? He has books on just about everything including the complete first edition of D&D”
“What’s that, some kind of a sex game?” The small blonde wrinkled her nose. “So if he’s innocent what did we do this for and why did he leave?”
He looked at her, shaking his head and sighing at her naivety. “Because he’s smart. We showed up out of the blue this morning and put a gun to his head. I hate it when they are smart. It means we are going to have to worry about him coming back on us”
The blonde nodded in agreement. “Then we’ll just have to see about that.”
CHAPTER ONE
Chapter 1
I sat at the terminal and sighed. I had had a long walk, nearly a six miles from my home into Fox Valley. As I went to open a link to a friend, I found that my credit account was frozen. I figured this was an effort to place more pressure on me to accede to the government’s demands, not that I knew what those really were. I knew I had some floaters and hard currency in my bug-out bag, but I might need those later. I Looked around as I stretched, and saw that I was alone. I knew this terminal, hell I’d fixed it a time or two for the owners. It had been built in the last century, its technology was solid but out of date for a modern city. I leaned forward, keyed in a code, and hit a switch on the underside of the Board. The screen came to life. Quickly I typed in an address then made the call.
I waited a few minutes until the screen cleared and a man’s face appeared. “Hi, Rebi” I said to the familiar grey haired face on the other end of the call.
“James, you are calling very late.” The cultured voice replied.
I nodded. “I know, Rebi, but the call sign is Damocles here.” I pursed my lips as I looked at him. It wouldn’t do to let him know how broken up I was about losing my home, nor could I tell him I knew I’d never get it back.
“I see” he gave me a thoughtful look. “You know, your grandmother and great grandmothers would have killed to keep the farm.”
I nodded. “Yes and they would have been killed.” I looked around to make sure I still had privacy, or at least as much of it as the new government allowed us. “They came hoping I would resist, that I had a weapon to fight them.”
“What will you do now?” Rebi asked.
“I don’t know. I need to disappear and find a way to make some money.” I shrugged, “There aren’t any jobs for people like me right now. The forests are off limits and I don’t have a degree, belong to their party, or in a union.” I shrugged again. “I’ll find something…I’m still owed money for a few projects but the question is how to collect.”
“Do you have any resources at all?” He knew me pretty well and he was right I needed to take stock of the situation.
“I have a few caches of stuff. Nothing I want to advertise.” I said again, scanning the area around me. I knew that the com was probably bugged. Rebi had been a New American citizen but had moved to Canaan - what used to be Israel, Jordan, Lebanon and the lower third of Syria. After the great plague forty-two years ago the Muslims had tried to exterminate Israel while the world was traumatized. In the space of a year, nearly two-thirds of the worlds population perished, mostly in Asia and the middle east. I’ve heard some places are still deserted.
“Yes, yes. Do you happen to have any of that metal left you used for my grand-children’s yad’s?” He said tilting his head t
o the side.
I nodded. “A few ounce coins of it anyway. Why? It’s been in my family for close to a hundred years.”
“The world’s governments consider it a strategic resource. It is used in nanites, and most electronics.” He said, beaming. “And gaming companies can’t get enough of it.” Rebi gave me a thoughtful look.”Have you ever considered becoming a fighter?”
“A prize fighter” I asked, confused.
“No, a video game fighter. I could give you a letter of introduction to Psysoft they run Arabella online. You could become very wealthy farming there.” He said earnestly. “It is a virtual world, they are in need of all kinds of workers and craftsmen. They also are in need of people to gather materials.”
It was my turn to look thoughtful. “I don’t know much about video games,” I said hesitantly. “How much can you make?”
“Enough to keep you off the BLS and maybe enough to find a lawyer willing to take on the government for you.”
I nodded and figured I might as well look into it. Personally I didn’t think there was anyone stupid enough to take the government on in court. Hell that was one of the reasons Rebi and his synagogue had left to Canaan.
“Where are they located” I asked.
“Not far, up in Carolina. I think there is an office inside of Old Atlanta” He said thoughtfully. “If you need money I can send you some.”
I shook my head. “It won’t work, anything you send would have to go through my accounts. But I can get up there. Send them your letter.” I said, signing off.
Armed with Remi’s information and introduction letter, I found myself waiting on top of a bridge getting ready to catch a train into Old Atlanta. It was closer and a relatively safe destination.
I planned on catching the ten fifteen. It was a freight train that headed further north into the Old Atlanta area. I’d have loved to get a seat on one of the passenger trains but they didn’t stop in Fox Valley, to be honest neither did the freight train except during picking season. Why then you ask would I be hopping the train? Well, there was no car service; private vehicles had been outlawed fifty years ago; and the bus service ran twice a week Wednesday and Saturday. I had a feeling that if I didn’t make it out of town the chief of police would have orders to pick me up on vagrancy charges. You’d be amazed about the stupid laws that were still on the books and the leeway that the authorities would grant themselves in selective enforcement.
Before I left, I cleaned out the caches that I had around town and spent a few minutes checking the prices for silver. My great-grandmother had bought twenty pounds of silver coins and rounds. The coins were legal tender, but round were produced by a company to be exchanges in a more “unofficial” capacity. Silver was selling at three thousand credits an ounce and I had close to three pounds of it. I had also found seven ounces of gold maple leafs in one of my dads caches, thankfully I had known where that was. It was a lot of money, but I’d need a lot mroe to succesfully start a nre life out of the governments eye.
Part of that would include getting a new identity. There were stories that had been going around for years about dissidents disappearing, being found dead and other dirty deeds the government had been doing since the last election. All it took to be labeled a dissident was to get on the bad side of a party member. Before you say anything let me remind you Adolf Hitler was elected before he seized power as chancellor. I’d tell you to look it up but most of those books were burned.
Finally it was time for me to get on the train. Its sounds a lot easier to do than it is. The freight trains usually reach speeds of forty miles an hour, but the ten fifteen on Monday traveled through the middle of downtown but it had to slow down as it went into town. Once it left it would hit a curve and then it would pick up speed after that. At that curve they usually hit ten miles an hour, and just before the curve was an old bridge. I surveyed the area and realized my first plan had “does not end well” written all over it. I think that was the alternate title to Game of Thrones.
I waited just behind the bridge. It was about thirty feet to the tracks. I checked my crono, but just as I did I heard the train coming . I waited for the engine to pass gave it a few seconds, and then sprinted for the sides. I spotted a car with an open door and jumped for it. I grabbed onto a handle, slick with grease - well I hoped it was grease anyway - and felt myself starting to slide. My other arm windmilled off the side as we started into the curve. Fortunately, it curved away making it harder for the engineer to see me, but it also made it harder for me to get into the box car. Finally, I was able to get another handhold and pull myself, huffing and puffing, into the box car. As luck would have it, the car was empty except for piles of leaves blown in the back.
I settled in to the pile, put on my breathing mask and pulled out my notebook. Before I’d left I had downloaded all that I could on Psysoft and Arabella Online. It was one of those virtual MMO’s. Five hundred million subscribers worldwide, which is impressive considering the human population was still recovering from the pandemic.
As I read, I found out that Arabella was both the name of the capital city or a capital city and the rest of the gaming world. I wasn’t sure if there was a main world quest but it seemed like it was a fairly standard sword and sorcery type world. Just about every race you could think of from folklore to fiction was represented. There were really more options than I could choose from. I, of course, was more interested in the crafting side of things. Each player was limited to one character, each character was limited to two main professions and three secondary ones; fishing, cooking, and first-aid and many more. It looked like there might be a few exceptions fore specialized races or classes.
Rebi was right, there was money to be made. The world of Arabella was portrayed as an alternate to earth where anyones dreams could be made real. From articles I had read People were paying huge sums of money to live in the game their bodies stored I suspended animation or cryogenicly. They didn’t want to leave what they had in this world so like the Pharaoh's of old they decided to take it with them. I would have to play it by ear but, I was comfortable in the skills that I had. I could make just about anything given the right supplies and equipment.
After about an hour my timer went off. We were nearing the outskirts of Old Atlanta and it was time for me to disappear. The train was once again slowing down on it’s way to an automated yard for the night. I waited until the train had come to a stop, then dropped down from the car opening, faded into the shadows, and made my way to public transportation to head further into the old city.
CHAPTER TWO
Chapter 2
The buildings to the farm were dark, the driveway was crowded with machinery and trucks to haul off materials. The bright lights of the car reflected off metal and plastic, revealing the house and illuminating the yard. If anyone had been around to see, they would have wondered what the dark figure was doing as it sprinted through the light to the front of the home and then used a tool to open the police seal on the home.
If her partner knew that she was there, he would have been even more curious what Agent Dombroski was doing in the house of a man already condemned by the state. She turned on the light, noting how clear the bulbs were. She’d thought the house was old but, while it was, it was in good repair, and had been cared for with maintenance and repainting. She shook her head. She had work to do. She looked around the front room, what many would call a parlor. She noted the number of book shelves and lack of entertainment devices. She then searched deeper into the home.
The kitchen was neat, with old larger appliances, an actual oven and stove, though no dishwasher and no heater unit. There were actual plates stacked neatly in the cupboards, fruits and vegetables in the cooler. There was a lack of prepared food packs in the pantry area, it looked like he had prepared his own food. The upstairs was again neat and cared for, clothing folded and just about every crevice crammed with books. Boxes of supplies and a mystery she couldn’t quite fathom. How had this man been all
owed to get away for so long and why hadn’t he been sent to a facility for retraining? He was clearly a throwback and quite dangerous for just the ideas in his head.
She grew more apprehensive when she started reading the titles and running them through her system she found many if not most of the books were on the unofficial prescribed and banned lists. She found books on politics, religion, faith, war and arts and crafts. She didn’t know who James Bond was or what it meant to be a Poor Mans James Bond, but she was suspecting Mr James Aleric Blake Wulf was far more dangerous and crafty than he’d been given credit for.
“Who the hell are you.” She wondered aloud before typing a code into her phone. Then just as she had come, she left with no one noticing her passing in the night.
Hours later another vehicle pulled up backed onto the house and a group of figures exited the rear and cleaned out the house. The next day the foreman would report the house had been ransacked before they started deconstruction to recover the materials. Not knowing or caring what wealth of knowledge might have gone missing, he had orders and those must be obeyed.
CHAPTER THREE
Chapter 3