"Of course I would," Elowin whispered.
Mason's shark-like smile grew. "Then I'm sure you wouldn't offer less for the children of any of the other good citizens you're representing, right?"
“One thousand for every child you bring back to us that my husband can rescue before that damn infection takes them over! It may already be too late, and damn you for making me face that bitter truth!" Elowin crumpled in her seat, tears leaking freely down her cheeks. "And two hundred credits for every fallen you must take out to save our children. But don't go butchering our people if you can help it!" She swallowed. "If we can somehow put a stop to this infection, I'll make sure you're paid 400 credits for every infected citizen you don't kill that we can cure of this horrible disease.”
Mason held Elowin's bitter gaze for endless tense seconds before finally nodding. He spat in his hand and held it out. "Done and done. I assume their ears will be enough?"
The mayor nodded and shook his hand.
Still holding her grip, Mason spoke on. "And the offer of land still holds if we can rescue at least a few children or take out the source, whatever it is. Yes?"
"Make it ten children, Mason, and I don't care how many trips it takes you. But yes. Ten children before they're beyond our healer's magic, or the head of whatever necromancer is responsible for this nightmare!" Shaking hands pulled out a locket, showing a beautiful little girl with sapphire eyes, golden hair, and an impish smile. "But no matter what happens, if you can save my daughter, you will have my gratitude for life."
"And we appreciate that. Especially if that gratitude includes land or gold."
The mayor choked back a sob, and John could sense her utter exhaustion, how desperately she was fighting just to hold herself together. "Should you manage to rescue my little girl, I will make sure you receive both!"
John scowled but kept his focus on his plate. Though he was finding Mason's predatory negotiating tactics extremely distasteful, he had no idea what the correct path to take was. Was it ethical or cruel? Would his interrupting be virtuous, or the height of idiotic folly, alienating the only two adventurers he had seen on this world? Damn if he wasn't going to accept the mission, even if it was just himself, and this might be his only chance at working with halfway competent people who could keep him from getting killed. At least in time to rescue those kids.
Unlike all the players porting in via black cat helms, he couldn't parachute out. If he tried to solo things and got in over his head, he was in for a horrible death, and that was that. No desperately uttered words and the loss of everything except credits or arcane or psionic gear that had touched his palm or whatever he had equipped since the last time he had saved or ported out.
If zombies swarmed him, his own desperate screams would be the last thing he ever heard.
It was that truth as much as anything else that stilled his tongue.
Yet when Mason's ruthless patter crossed a line too far, and John realized that no, he wasn't going to just sit there and let it go unchallenged, it was done.
Mason and Sophia were grinning, and Mayor Elowin looked like she had just eaten bitter rinds, for all that her eyes now shown with desperate hope. "Emil, our tracker, will show you the area we think they're coming from when you are finished your repast. If there is nothing else..."
A suddenly flushing John raised his hand. "I'm sorry, Mayor Elowin, but I ported in a bit unexpectedly," he said, thinking on his feet. "I don't want to log out and risk losing this quest or not being able to return, but as you can see, all I am wearing at the moment is a shift and, well, the blade at my hip. I don't suppose you could spare any basic starting equipment?"
The mayor blinked at that.
"I mean stuff like basic clothing and armor, perhaps some camping supplies." He looked at the pair of adventures giving him odd little smiles. "Maybe a shield?"
Elowin furrowed her brows before at last jerking a quick nod. "At least that request is reasonable. I'll have Emil bring over some gear from the old barracks. If there is nothing else?" With those words, she all but stormed out of the meeting hall.
Mason grinned when Elowin left the hall, the players having a moment to themselves. "Thanks for not botching the deal, kid. If we play our cards right, we'll be rolling in credits before we're finished farming this quest."
Sophia nodded her agreement. "If you're not sure about the right move to make, best to sit tight and shut up until you can see which way is up. That's what Mason says, and he's always right."
Mason smirked at that. "Not always, babe. But at level 3, I've been around awhile. I know better than to play the naive sucker or let myself or you get steamrolled by whatever idealistic garbage they'll sprout, trying to get us to work for fucking peanuts. As if we ported all the way from Earth just to be their lapdogs."
John shrugged. "I've been playing for less than a day, so I'm not going to pretend I know enough to say whether you were being a shrewd bargainer or just an asshole."
Mason glared at John for long moments before his tattooed features eased into a smile. "You got that right, kid. On both accounts. You do right by me, I'll do right by you. But I sure as shit am not taking crap from anyone here. We get enough of that bullshit back home."
Sophia nodded sadly at that. "But here, we got a second chance. A second chance to live a life like in the storybooks. And if I can level like Mason?" She gave a happy little sigh. "I'd love to be strong, fierce, and beautiful just like Xena, and put my past behind me for good. And do you know the best part, John?"
"The best part of what?" John asked.
"Of being here! That's why I love our new president. Anyone who can play this game, anyone who can help the cause by furthering cutting edge integration software and AI matrices and all that crap gets a free pass. Their slate wiped clean! It's like the perfect do-over, when you can't actually go back and, well, live your life over."
John gave her a sympathetic smile. "I'm a big believer in do-overs. If playing Endless is giving you a second chance at being whoever you want to be in life, then play on, I say."
Sophia positively beamed. "I knew you were a good person, John. I could tell that just by looking at you." She turned to Mason. "He's a total innocent. I doubt he's even gotten a speeding ticket, let alone served time."
"No shit," Mason smirked. "Question is, do you got the sand to play this game, or are you gonna 'chute out the minute shit hits the fan and leave your teammates hanging?"
John couldn't help chuckling at that. "You don't have to worry on that account. I have absolutely no intention of 'chuting out on anyone, as long as they're not looking to stab me in the back in the middle of our run.”
Mason smirked. "Don't worry, kid. I'm all about making money, not unnecessary bullshit. Question is, what are you looking to get out of this quest?"
John shrugged. "Maybe I'm looking to test my mettle against these necrotic abominations, and if I got what it takes, I'm going to do my best to take out whatever force is behind them."
Mason furrowed his brow. "I see you didn't say shit about making money. You an idealist, kid? A dreamer? Let me tell you right now, that's a good way to get killed. There's no fucking way we're taking out any fucking necromancer. And unless you're going to tell me you actually lucked out with the Battlemage class, I'm guessing you're a straight-up fighter, or mercenary adventurer, like me and my girl. But so fucking what? That's true of most players. We're lucky as hell just to be able to log on and get 3 character points every level to make something of ourselves. So no, we're not idiots out to risk our necks over stupid shit."
Sophia nodded enthusiastically, eating her soup like she was famished. "You can trust Mason. He knows how this game really works."
Mason grinned, looking around, speaking softly. "Getting her all hot and bothered over the land and those kids was a distraction. Did you see how I got her to finally give us a bounty on these fucking zombies? That's what it's all about. Farming those fuckers for all the credits we can get. Sure, we'll see if
we can scout out where these kids might be being kept. That'll net us a sweet 2000 credit bonus. But that's it. At our levels, without being one of those high-powered freaks that start this game boosted with all sorts of exotic 'hey, I'm special, look at me!' powers, we'd best play this game smart, or not at all. You dig?"
John blinked, slowly nodding. "Sure," he said. "We'll get a feel for the terrain, try to hunt some of these horrors down, and from there? We'll play it by ear."
Mason frowned, about to say more, when a burly servitor came in, carting along a chrome table with coasters and clear plexiglass siding showcasing carefully stacked armor and weaponry alike.
John blinked at the odd juxtaposition of modern tech meshing so well with gear last used centuries ago on Earth before spending many minutes happily putting together a set of armor that would help him survive this mission. Not surprisingly, his gear was comprised mostly of Dominion trooper armor. It was, he assumed, much cheaper to make by automated assembly lines in the higher tech northern continent than forging plate or chain armor was here in the South.
Nevertheless, the sturdy gambeson and shirt of mail he wore under the Dominion breastplate fit like a dream. The shield he had equipped was a typical Dominion shield, and from what he had read on Readit, it was just as strong as most of the thin, light shields used for centuries by Scandinavian tribes, long ago. Then again, their shields hadn't been designed to last for more than a few skirmishes before they would need to be replaced. Light and reflective as it was, John could only hope his shield would last as long as was needed for him to survive this, his first quest.
"Mayor says take whatever gear suits you, and not worry about cost." The man flashed a cynical smile. "It's coming out of your share of the bounty, after all."
John nodded. "More than fair. And this shirt of mail must have cost a pretty penny to make. I'm grateful."
"You damn well should be, boy. Here. Take this. Basic adventurer kit, and dry rations for a week. And if you have any kind of strength at all, the pack shouldn't hinder your pace."
"Thank you," John said, quickly sensing the care that had gone into carefully packing his bag from the camping trips he and Mitch used to take together.
Mason frowned. "You better not be charging my partner an arm and a leg for that shit. And except for blocking laser fire, Dominion armor isn't much stronger than ABS plastic. What if his gear breaks?"
John threw him a curious look. Sophia grinned. "ABS plastic is like the sturdiest stuff you can use for cosplay. Mason says it will even stop most knife cuts in a street fight unless someone's strong and really slams it hard into you. Against cleaving swords and axes, though, you’re better off with real steel. Anyway, I used to love cosplay back when I was in high school, before I totally fucked my life up."
Emil shrugged. "We're not charging you anything more than it cost us to acquire the gear. You break it fighting for our kids? You can exchange it for free. Most of us are holed up at the keep now, so I'll leave the armor here. Take what you need, but no more. You lot ready? Come on, it's already midday. Any longer and you'll be stuck in places you really don't want to be, after dark."
Mason flashed John a grin, his hard eyes twinkling with unmistakable excitement. "Better than any video game, isn't it, kid? We're about to start off on a fresh new quest, mastering this world one level at a time. Come on, let's get you blooded and our purses filled with some goddamned gold!"
7
Despite knowing what was coming, John breathed deep of the fresh, clean air, taking in the picturesque town, notable only for the complete absence of people, and the deep forest all around. He couldn’t help grinning with wonder at the fact that he was really here, viscerally experiencing a world most people still thought was just part of a game, as they began trekking up the thick woodland trail that was almost a road.
Belly full, with warm socks and thick, wool-lined boots on his now clean feet and the comforting weight of armor no heavier than the padded gear he and Mitch had once sparred with, John felt no more encumbered than he would be with a full backpack, enjoying what amounted to a good hike in the countryside.
He couldn't help smiling at the imagined groans of gamers everywhere, absolutely convinced that if the game was realistic, they'd be suffering significant movement and quickness penalties for their armor. But mail shirts and other armor were actually far lighter than what most gamers thought, and the trooper armor really didn't feel any heavier than plastic cosplay gear. Which made sense as it was designed for blocking inertia-free laser fire and not, say, a charger's lance.
Overall, he had done the best he could with what was available to him. The sturdy polymer breastplate should spread out the force of any blow while the padded gambeson underneath cushioned the impact, and the mail shirt between them should catch any points that might burst through the Dominion armor. The combination just might save his life, even in a serious fight.
As time passed and it really began to sink in that he had actually traveled to another world, John couldn’t help but feel a growing sense of awe and wonder. From the cries of eagle-like birds overhead, soaring against a backdrop of billowy white clouds and deep blue sky, to the sharp piney scent of the evergreens they passed before stopping to forage by majestic trees dropping a nutty bounty tasting exactly like chestnuts cooked in brown sugar and butter, it was an absolute feast for the senses and unmistakably real.
How people could think the sensations experienced here on Jordia had anything to do with cutting-edge graphics was beyond him. But perhaps it was an easier leap of faith to make than to accept that they had actually been transported into an alternate universe where magic was an integral part of the forces and fields that made up this reality.
Only the occasional annoying yank of his shield against wayward branches made his forest hike less than perfect, that odd little inconvenience actually serving to make the experience as a whole that much more visceral. That much more real. Yet, for all of John’s excitement, a tired-looking Emil had slowed their pace to little more than a cautious walk, his skin taking on a grim pallor as they approached a clearing, John noting several paths branching off deeper into the forest.
Emil pointed to one of the trails ahead. "The leftmost path. That is the direction they took our children." John's eyes widened as the man began to sob. "I could follow them no further. I dared not! And the cries of those babes now haunt my soul." The man seemed to hunch in on himself, eyes filled with a bitter melancholy John could barely fathom.
"The children. I heard their screams. I caught their gazes, and I could do nothing." The man clenched his trembling fists. "Even as those horrors, those demons wearing the masks of my brothers took our children away, I could do nothing!"
"Not true," John said. "You had the courage to tail them at great risk to yourself, and you're now giving us the lead we need, which is more than anyone else in your village can say."
The man swallowed, jerking a nod. "I try to see it that way, but if I had been any kind of man..."
"You'd be dead, and we would have no leads," said Mason, "so quit worrying about it. Go back home and tell your mayor to get the credits ready. Whether we can rescue your kids or just make your woods a bit safer, either way, we're expecting to get paid without any fucking delays."
Emil glared and spat. "You'll get your credits, merc. Don't you worry. Now let's see if you can rescue our kids and actually be worthy of your contemptible arrogance, ape."
Mason spun around so fast Emil only had time to blink before the larger man had bunched his shirt with his fist. "What did you call me, you stupid piece of shit?"
"Mason, who gives a fuck?' John snapped. "We got gold to make, and messing with the mayor's pet isn't going to win us any favors. You played that bitch so hard, she'll be coughing up a fortune in credits by the time we're through with them. Who cares what they call us? We'll be laughing all the way to the bank." He caught the man's gaze, giving a cold shake of his head. "But if you kill this clown, we don't make shit."
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Mason glared, slowly releasing the terrified servant who jerked away, his hot gaze bouncing between John and Mason both.
John swallowed a curse. The very words of jaded contempt Mason had needed to hear virtually guaranteed that the townsfolk would hold John in as low regard as they did Mason. But it's not like he had had a lot of options.
Highlord blood always tells in the end, and you could all but taste the words needed to influence your ally! You already know that the best way to negotiate with high-strung PvPers is to keep all eyes on the prize. And studying Mason's ability to manipulate the mayor makes it that much easier to manipulate him in turn!
Congratulations! Mercantile is now Rank 1!
Congratulations! Persuasion is now Rank 1!
"You're lucky we need you, Terrans." Emil spat. "Damn lucky. As Phoebe is my witness, if you don't do what you swore to, I'll make sure no Dominion officer or Highmage ever hires you lot again!" And before Mason could do more than curse at the man's back, their guide had sprinted back towards town.
Mason clenched his powerful fists, breathing rapidly, glaring in the direction Emil had dashed off to. "Fucking bastard, daring to call us apes. I know that's what they think of us, what all these assholes think of our kind." Hot eyes glared at John. "You can't let these fuckers unman you, boy. No matter what it costs, you get them to respect you. Even if it means spilling blood. Because if you don't have respect, you're just someone's whipping boy, someone's bitch, till you sink so low they find you strung up in your own cell, unable to take the stench in your own mouth for a single minute longer than it takes to fucking end it all."
Cold gray eyes peered into John's, and he almost thought he saw a flash of whatever horrors haunted the tough-talking mercenary. John frowned and turned his gaze to the leftmost path, where their target was supposed to be headed.
"Come on, we're burning daylight," he said, happy to take the lead and end the conversation.
"Do you see anything?" Sophia asked a short while later, her husky voice nervous.
Queen Killer Page 7
