by Macronomicon
Man, I hope this works, Jeb thought, blowing imaginary dust out of the wand. He opened the panel and clicked the engine into place, making absolutely sure the fiber optics made contact and there was no grit between them and the engine.
Once Jeb was done, he rolled up a scrap of cloth and shoved it in his ear, covering the other with his palm.
“You might wanna cover your ears!” Jeb shouted, holding the wand above his head.
“What’s that supposed to—”
BOOM!
A gigantic flower of bright flaming explosion appeared above them, the impact rattling their bones and setting off a few of the honking car alarms.
Inspired, Jeb adjusted the range and pulled the trigger again, exploding the air above a dense patch of cars.
Any car that still had battery left immediately began crying bloody murder, assuming someone was trying to break into it.
“Gods!” the lead guard shouted, slapping his palms over his ears.
Now that everyone was sufficiently spooked, Jeb jumped into the Jeep and cranked the engine, which turned over with a victorious roar.
Oh thank god Smartass didn’t ruin everything.
“What’s that awful racket?” Smartass demanded, hauling herself out of the water by the cup holder.
Jeb glanced over his shoulder. “Sorry.”
“Sorry for wha—AIII!”
Jeb gunned it.
The fairy and all the water surrounding her was violently sloshed into the back as Jeb charged the pirates, finally able to open up the engine now that he was off-road.
Kinda like a metaphor for my life.
Jeb stuck the wand out the open top and began pulling the trigger non-stop, creating a string of explosions above him, marching straight toward the approaching pirates at roughly sixty miles an hour.
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM BOOM
Jeb laid on the horn with his thumb as he approached, filling the space between the explosions with the Jeep’s piercing wail.
BOOMEEEEBOOMEEEBOOMEEEBOOMBOOMEEEEBOOMEEEBOOMEEEBOOM BOOMEEEEBOOMEEEBOOMEEEBOOMBOOMEEEEBOOMEEEBOOMEEEBOOM BOOMEEEEBOOMEEEBOOMEEEBOOM
***Krag the Unswerving, Warrior level 32***
“Payday, gentlemen,” Krag said, lowering the spyglass from his eye. “We’ve got a caravan loaded down with artifacts from the Stitching, and a new place to pick over. They’ve got so much loot, we may not have space for prisoners.”
“We’ve always got space for the right prisoners, captain!” one of the sleazier crewmen shouted, eliciting a roar of approval.
Morale is always a factor, Krag thought, eyeing the dumb bastard. “Aye, that we do,” Krag said with a smirk.
The cheering redoubled as they turned the jets on.
The ‘jets’ were Myst engines stolen from the military strapped to oil lenses, the resulting spray then atomized as it shot through a spinning grate.
The resulting black mist was lit on fire, and they were off, cruising over the bushy surface of the alien desert fast enough to drive the wind through their hair, tugging at their loose clothes. Boulders and other large impediments got shoved under the sand by the faradan stone coating on the bottom of the boat.
Krag was hoping they had a gold lens the size of his thumb. With the right application of a Myst engine, they could live like kings.
Well, not all of us, he thought, eyeing the rest of his crew. If he found a gold lens of sufficient size, they would start dropping like flies. Less shares to split. They would die and he would become Mr. Krag, Legitimate Businessman.
Krag was contemplating murder when there was a flash of light above the caravan, followed by a rumble they heard above the sound of the jets.
What in the Roil was that? Krag thought. If he didn’t know any better, Krag would have guessed it was a light anti-infantry weapon straight from the empire’s military.
Those were only wielded by powerful aristocrats who showed up simply to flick their wrist and cause mass destruction amongst the rank and file.
He should know, because he’d spent nearly a decade working for the bastards.
A moment later there was another flaming explosion above the caravan, followed by another rumble, elsewhere above the caravan, a moment before he thought he heard something.
“Hold! Kill the jets!”
The pirate manning the steering wheel pulled the oily lever with a clunk, stalling out the ship as the stream of burning oil stopped. The boat slid to a gentle stop, their ears adjusting to the sudden silence.
“What is it, captain?”
“SHH!”
Krag cocked his head, pointing his good ear toward the caravan.
Eoeoooeooaoaooeoa!
The cacophony of noise sounded like eerie wailing from this distance, making the thick hairs on the back of his neck stand up.
“What in the Roil is going on over there?” Krag muttered, bringing up his spyglass.
The eyes of the strange human wagons on the road were blinking open and closed like living things while giving off terrifying wails, and one of them was moving.
The boxy thing pulled off the road and turned to face them before it began moving toward them. It began moving toward them fast. Another flash and rumble sounded as the box wagon charged toward them, at speeds that outpaced their expensive faradan-clad boats.
“I don’t like the look of that,” one of the men, Smer, said, shaking his head.
“Who—”
BoomeeeboomeeeboomeeeBOOMEEEBOOOM!
The rumbles got louder as the strange contraption flew toward them, creating its own cloud of dust as it flew over the rough terrain, gouts of flame bursting in the air above it as it charged.
Krag had a decision to make. He had to decide right here and now whether the value they would get out of the caravan was worth the damage to his boat and crew.
“Turn the ship around. We’ll go after easier prey.”
***Jeb Trapper***
“And that,” Jeb said as he came to a lurching halt in front of the caravan, “is how you perform a threat display.” Jeb craned his neck to study the retreating cloud of dust.
“Much appreciated,” Brav’s dad said, nodding.
“We should get the fuck outta here before they realize it.”
“Agreed.”
Chapter 10: Road Trip
Jeb loomed over a map of the west coast, practically butting heads with Smartass as they both surveyed the details.
“Okay, here’re the POIs,” Jeb said, circling the three oil refineries in California, the candy factories between here and L.A., and Silicon Valley.
Jeb found his eyes sliding to the east, where Las Vegas stood. Only two hundred miles away from L.A.
“What’s in Las Vegas?” Smartass asked, following his gaze.
“Sex clubs. Lots and lots of sex clubs. They’d be my number two choice for places that can spawn good vibes lenses, right after hippy music festivals and right before SCA meetups. Except these are fixed locations.”
“You realize these places are actually twice as far away from each other as they would normally be because of the Stitching, right?”
Hmmm.
Jeb located himself on the I-5, then used a Blue’s Clues ruler he’d taken from the back of a car to measure the distance.
Eight hundred miles to L.A., where Solmnath would have dropped into existence. Double that number for stitched-in wilderness, and you got about sixteen hundred miles, as the crow flies.
Of course, it would be a lot more, because Jeb wasn’t flying, and he didn’t trust himself to learn how to land a plane that had been left in disrepair for three months on the first try.
Jeb used the cartoon-dog ruler to estimate the total distance of the trip if he hit each of his POIs.
Twenty-seven hundred miles, give or take….
Let’s see, if we drive Mr. Jeep at about forty miles an hour off-road, ten hours a day… Just under a week to check all the place
s I want to check. I could check all my POIs and be to Solmnath two weeks ahead of these chumps.
Jeb tapped the map with his pen a couple times.
He would be a lot safer in the caravan, but he would also miss out on a—potential—boatload of sweet loot and lost time value.
As Jeb was weighing the pros and cons, Brav’s dad approached Jeb's lonely corner of the caravan, glancing down at Jeb’s map.
“Are you planning on heading east?” the caravan leader asked, tapping the map where Jeb had circled Vegas.
“Thinking ‘bout it,” Jeb said, nodding.
“Better be absolutely sure that’s what you want to do, because the Roil is roaming those parts right now. It’s a bit north of there, last I heard, but you can never be a hundred percent sure.”
Jeb frowned. “I’ve heard people swear using ‘Roil’. I just assumed it was the local equivalent of ‘Hell’. It’s a real thing?”
“Young man, I spent fifteen years chasing that storm as a youth. It’s as real as it gets, and twice as unpredictable.”
“So what is it?” Jeb asked, leaning against the Jeep.
“It’s a living storm that’s plagued Pharos since the first Stitching. Some people say it's a tiny mistake in the tremendous magics that stitch one world to another.”
“What’s it look like?” Jeb asked.
“It’s invisible, sort of,” the melas said, holding his hands apart. “It bends and refracts light.”
“Like the predator,” Jeb said, nodding.
“...Sure,” the melas said with a shrug. “If you see the most awe-inspiring rainbow of colors on the horizon, you better steer clear. If you hear something that sounds like a voice, you need to get the fuck out of there.”
The melas clapped him on the shoulder. “Good luck out there, Jeb, whatever you decide to do.” A moment later, the aged caravaneer headed off.
Well, that’s creepy, Jeb thought, his gaze returning to Vegas on the map. Choosing discretion as the better part of valor, Jeb crossed off Sin City.
Whatever lenses they had probably weren’t worth risking his life for.
What about my gas? Do I even have enough to travel all the way to L.A.?
Assuming a paltry fifteen miles to the gallon, because Jeb had no idea what Mr. Jeep’s actual numbers were, the gas was old, and they were off-roading, Jeb needed…
A hundred and eighty gallons….
Jeb glanced into the back of his car, where two fifteen-gallon plastic jugs full of unleaded rested. Plus, the car’s tank is full. That only accounts for about a third of the trip….
Thankfully, there was a lot of road between here and there. Jeb was fairly sure he could scrounge up the fuel as he went, as long as he didn’t try to cut a straight swath through the wilderness and stuck close to the I-5.
Jeb adjusted his trip plan to stay as close to the roads as possible.
“How do you feel about visiting the candy factory first?” Jeb asked.
“Eeehh, it’s fine, I guess,” Smartass said with a shrug.
“Fine? I thought you’d be losing your damn mind.”
“I do love candy, but the thing that makes your candy really taste good is the effort you put into acquiring it,” she said. “If you no longer need to spend any effort, I won’t get as much Impact out of it.”
“Ah.” Jeb put down his ruler. “Wanna renegotiate?”
“I don’t know, after you screwed me out of ten bulbs in the last Deal…”
“Hey, we weren’t actually in an agreement with Grenore when I claimed those bounties, so tough luck.”
Jeb took a breath. “How about we renegotiate the monthly candy payment to a two percent share of any Impact gained...”
“That sounds great!” Smartass said, leaping up in the air and zipping around in excitement for a moment.
“…with a few strings attached.”
“Aw….”
“General assistance and tutoring clause,” Jeb said. “Small tasks, basic information, teaching. Stuff that doesn’t cost you inordinate Impact or put you in danger.”
Smartass puffed her cheeks up and scowled at him.
“Come on, I know two percent is way higher than a pound of candy, especially if I find a sugar lens.”
Smartass scowled even more, her face wrinkling up comically.
“You’re gonna have to make a decision soon, because when I find that sugar lens, getting you your monthly payment will become effortless.” Jeb smiled, letting that last word hang in front of her.
“Gah, fine! Two percent of your Impact per month for a standard Familiar contract,” Smartass said with a huff.
“Hell no,” Jeb replied, shaking a finger at her. “Two percent of Impact gained, not two percent of my total per month, you sneaky fae.”
Smartass gave an irritated grunt.
“I don’t know, Jeb. This is a long-term investment, here. You can’t gain a lot of Impact right now, but if you regained your strength, your growth might make it worth my time. How do I know you’ll be able to go the distance? You might get killed by sand fleas tomorrow. I want five percent.”
“Please, I beat the Impossible Tutorial. You know I’m good for it. Two and a half percent.”
“Deal!” Smartass cackled. “I got you to raise your offer by a full twenty-five percent, you gullible fool! Two and a half percent is worth hundreds of times more than a pound of candy! Ahahahaha!”
Now to test it.
“Here, help me out and cross off the candy factories,” Jeb said, holding out the pen.
“Oh, sure,” the fairy said, grabbing the pen and crossing out the candy factory locations, easily shaving a couple hundred miles off the trip.
The oil refineries should be first. Even if they don’t have a gasoline lens, they should at least have fifty-five gallon drums of gas I can load into the back of the car.
“I’m getting thirsty. Snag me one of those root beers?” Jeb said, taking the pen back.
“Of course.” Smartass fluttered away toward the back of the Jeep.
“And run some river water over it until it’s nice and cold,” Jeb called after her.
“Sure—Hey, WAIT A MINUTE!” Smartass glared at him the entire time she rummaged through the supplies for the soda and river stone.
Jeb returned his attention to the map, plotting out the best route. A few minutes later, a can of soda was thrust under his nose, condensation beading down the aluminum sides.
“Here,” Smartass growled at him, holding it out with both hands, her cheeks twitching madly.
Jeb glanced down at the soda.
“Set it down over there.” He pointed to the edge of the hood of the car they were using as a table.
“Okay.”
“Open it.”
Smartass’s eyes went wide even as her fingers went for the tab. “You know, I really don’t think that’s necessary. You can jus—”
PSSHHHH!
Smartass gasped as ice-cold soda exploded all over her front. Thankfully the fairy was wearing a plastic Snickers-wrapper tunic, which was mostly waterproof. She stood there in shock, eyes wide and shivering, dripping root beer from head to toe.
“Smartass, I’m going to make you a promise right here,” Jeb said, picking up the can and taking a sip. “I promise from this point on, I will not intentionally give abusive commands. This promise will last until our arrangement with each other has run its course or such a time as you try to sabotage or monkey-paw me. If something I’m asking you to do is abusive, simply let me know. With words. Does that sound good?”
Smartass nodded, staring into space.
“Excellent. Root beer?”
“I don’t like root beer anymore,” Smartass whispered.
“Alright then,” Jeb said, marking the new route down.
Jeb was wavering on the decision to go solo for a while, and the deciding factor was the time value. If he could get to Solmnath two weeks earlier, then he could catch the bad guy two weeks earlier, and that meant on
e or two not-dead children.
Plus, with Smartass now obligated to follow orders and invested in his survival, he wasn’t completely alone, and that made a big difference in his survivability out there.
Jeb heaved a breath, looking down at the map one last time before rolling it up and shoving it in the back of the Jeep.
“I’ll go say goodbye.”
******
The next week was a long string of nervous tension punctuated with butt-clenching moments here and there, when they had to speed away from desert monsters and pirates.
Smartass’s new job was scout and lookout. She muttered a bit about menial jobs, but it wasn’t abusive, and they both knew it. She would scout out a place and see if anything was living there, and Jeb would loot it.
While Jeb was looting, the fairy would then watch the outside for any signs of monsters or bandits, informing him as soon as she saw something.
Three times, this stopped Jeb from walking out the door loaded up with loot while a horde of monsters wandered by.
Once, she found a school bus-sized lizard Jeb had no desire to tangle with sleeping inside, and they avoided the location entirely.
Jeb shamelessly appropriated gold bars and coins from safety deposit boxes in banks across the west coast, tossing them in the small trailer he’d snagged for loot.
Rummaging through the safety deposit boxes didn’t just yield gold bars and expensive jewelry. Jeb found all sorts of things that people found valuable, from letters from grandma, baby teeth, and even a snarl of gunk and hair that looked like it’d been thrown up by an owl. He even found some old blackmail material of various kinds, photos taken by P.I.s, a disc with ‘Night with Tim’ printed on the front, old Nazi paraphernalia…
Some truly weird stuff that Jeb shoved back in the boxes without hesitation. One would hope the Tutorial cleaned that kind of person off the face of the earth, but things usually didn’t work out that way.
A few things, Jeb didn’t have the heart to steal. There was a gold necklace from a dead grandmother along with a heartwarming note that Jeb put back in the box and left for someone else. Anything that looked like it belonged on a rapper was fair game, though.
As it turned out, gasoline lenses did exist. Jeb found one in the second refinery he visited. The place was torn in half by the Stitching, and one of the massive steel vats they used to refine oil was cut in half, its contents long since spilled out into the dead brush and dried up until only sticky tar remained.
