Spawn Point Zero

by Nancy Osa

  Crash fixed him with a glare.

  “They’re loaners, Meat,” Frida translated. “Safety first.”

  “Nice to see you, Private,” Rob said to Crash. The contractor and her brother had ridden with Battalion Zero during the previous campaign. They’d been pressed into service on the Beta project to take advantage of their architectural prowess. Rob knew that mining building materials was Crash’s passion and area of expertise. “We’d love a tour of the foundation and any . . . secret passageways we should know about.”

  Jools sidled up. “Nothing like an escape hatch, I always say.” He had been instrumental in reviewing the city’s building design and making sure there were no loose ends.

  Crash opened a laptop she was carrying and brought up the working blueprints to show him.

  “Get some screenshots, will you, Quartermaster?” Rob asked, breaking away to look around the grounds.

  To the uninformed eye, the site resembled a battlefield that had seen recent action. Trees lay blackened, uprooted, and tossed aside. The earth bore scars from restless pickaxes and heavy machinery. A handful of leather-clad workers marching through the lot might as easily have been carrying bodies as building blocks. Portions of a boundary wall, a grand capitol, and a variety of household dwellings rose, half-formed, from the stripped ground. These could well have been either bombed-out remnants or works-in-progress. A jobsite trailer and stone conference hall were the only completed structures.

  Crash cut off Rob’s questions about them by raising a horizontal palm above her head and hooking a thumb in the direction of the office trailer. Her taller brother, De Vries, would have the answers. De Vries, the lead architect, was known for his lavish interiors and exteriors. Crash, though, was more interested in the work belowground. Even now, she chopped and stacked cobblestone, pockmarking the path along which they walked.

  The zealous miner led the group past the city center and into a cavern where the growing citadel was set into the cliffside. The site had been chosen for its protection by the towering extreme hills, as well as for the ores that they contained. Much of the building material could be mined directly from the caves and player-made tunnels.

  “This place gives me the creeps,” Stormie confided to Frida as they walked into a many-armed cavern. It lay very near the spot where the adventurer had lost her life in the epic Zombie Hill battle.

  Frida squeezed her arm. “That’ll pass once De Vries has dolled it up. You’ll see.”

  They descended a stone walkway lined with torches, its walls cratered with half-dug stores of coal, iron, emerald, and gold. A spur track alongside the incline allowed the minerals to be hauled to the surface by minecart. One of these vehicles spilled over with lapis and diamond blocks.

  “Lookit the loot!” exclaimed Turner.

  “Impressive,” Rob said.

  “Certainly cuts down on the materials overhead,” Jools remarked.

  Crash tugged on the sleeve of Rob’s western-style shirt and increased her pace, taking a dirt-floored corridor that branched off to the left and farther downward. She motioned for the others to lift torches from the wall to carry with them.

  The dots of light were not enough, though, to prevent mobs from spawning. Two baby zombies crawled quickly up the slope toward them on rotting hands and knees. “Guuuuhh . . . gaaahhh!” came their high-pitched moans.

  The sound of six iron swords being drawn sliced through the air.

  Kim motioned the others aside. “Allow me,” she called. “I love kids.”

  Crash and Rob let the horse master pass to charge at the treacherous tykes. She’d had it in for the undead ever since her horses had been zombified by Lady Craven’s predecessor, Dr. Dirt.

  Kim flew at the mobsters with her naked blade, her arm a blur in the half light. “Didn’t your mommies teach you not to play in the dirt?” she taunted as she borrowed from Turner’s playbook, striking the zombie babies in quick succession. They expired, dropping several brand-new shovels before they disappeared.

  Crash smacked her forehead with a palm and went to collect the tools.

  “Equipment went missing?” Stormie guessed.

  Jools muttered, “Typical construction site.”

  Crash stowed the shovels in an idle minecart and resumed her tour. At last, they reached a circular underground room that made several of the visitors catch their breath.

  Lit by a stagnant lava pool at one end, a square stone dungeon was clearly visible within the vast space. Enormous red and brown mushrooms sprang from the floor and walls, amid thick veins of redstone ore.

  Rob stared. “Good griefer! Is this what I think it is?”

  Turner muscled his way to the front. “You’re darn tootin’. This room alone is worth a fortune!” He turned to Crash. “Does anyone else know about this?”

  She shook her head.

  Kim, Frida, and Stormie caught up with the rest of the group. The artilleryman waved at the dungeon. “Can we take a peek inside? Might be some gunpowder in there I could use.”

  “Or some horse armor or golden apples,” Kim said hopefully.

  Crash swept an arm open, in invitation.

  They started for the structure, but Frida stopped them. The vanguard considered it her duty to scout out danger. “Let me search for monster eggs first. Might be where the zombies came from.” As her work boot touched the porch steps, though, an ominous rumbling filled the cavern.

  The next second, the stone beneath Frida’s feet gave way. She screamed.

  Rob watched in horror as the entire dungeon sank rapidly away, the vanguard sliding after it, clutching at the air with her hands. She managed to hook four fingers on the ragged edge of the hole and dangled in midair.

  “H-help me!” Her free arm waved wildly, causing her fingers to slip.

  Rob started for the opening, but Turner leapt toward it first. “Hang on, pal!” He dropped to his stomach at the edge and leaned farther over than gravity would seem to allow, groping for Frida’s free hand. The movement knocked her grip loose.

  “Turner!” she screamed.

  “I gotcha,” he said, grabbing her around the waist before she could fall, but now teetering with the extra weight.

  Rob’s heart jumped into his throat, and his stomach plunged to his feet. Then he heard a chopping sound, and Turner’s prone body stabilized. Crash had pinned his pants to solid ground with her pickaxe.

  “Quick thinking, Private,” Rob said, hustling up to grab Turner’s ankles.

  Jools joined him, and together they pulled Turner and Frida to safety. Frida gave Rob a grateful glance. It was all the captain could do not to cradle her in his arms.

  “Let’s get out of here!” Stormie cried, making an about face and not stopping to wait for them.

  Back on the surface, the friends stood at the mouth of the cavern, trying to regain their composure.

  “That was close,” Turner acknowledged, poking his finger through the hole that Crash had ripped in his pants.

  Frida balled her fist in pain where her fingernails had broken off.

  “A flipping sinkhole!” Jools said. “That’s a death trap if there ever was one. I about had kittens, and I was nowhere near it.”

  Rob’s guts sloshed like stormy seas. If anything had happened to Frida . . .

  He put a hand on Crash’s elbow. “Has something like this gone down before?”

  She hesitated, then dipped her head.

  “What? How many times?” Frida pressed.

  Crash held up five fingers.

  “Dang,” Stormie said.

  Rob moaned. “Why wasn’t I informed? Could be every inch of this site is structurally unsound!”

  “But the data says otherwise. . . .” Jools argued.

  “Might not be unsound.” Stormie’s dusky face showed suspicion. “Could be someone wants us to think it is.”

  *

  The incident illustrated the need for Rob to have a candid talk with his troopers. Clearly, the Beta project was in je
opardy. Frida and Turner had nearly died. And if they had, they could have respawned anywhere. They’d shared their origins with no one, and could get lost in the Nether or pop up in some distant biome where they couldn’t be traced. Rob knew the moment had come.

  After dinner that night, as the battalion sat around the campfire, he got their attention. “Listen up, folks. Before we go any farther with this city thing, I have a request.”

  “More cake?” Kim asked, offering him seconds of dessert.

  He thanked her, but declined. “It’s more serious than that.” He got to his feet. He’d rehearsed his speech many times. “As your captain, your safety is of the utmost importance to me. Consider that we are now in a position to influence Overworld history. Each one of you—and me, too—is crucial to the success of the free world.”

  They murmured a bit, Turner elbowing Frida. “Told ya I was indispensable.”

  “Indispensable, yes,” Rob echoed. “Also . . . unfortunately, human and expendable. Today showed us that. It’s a dangerous business we’re in, and at any turn, any one of us could—”

  Stormie beat him to the punch. “Die.” She raised a hand. “Done that, sir.”

  Frida reached over and squeezed her shoulder.

  “Yes,” Rob said, his throat tightening. He tried to mask his feelings. “And we were incredibly lucky to have met up with you again.” He took a deep breath. “When Colonel M talked to us about planning ahead for contingencies, it got me thinking. What if one or more of us dies and doesn’t respawn within range? What if we’re in the middle of battle or at a critical stage in a mission?”

  Kim understood. “It could doom the rest of us.”

  “The rest of us—heck, it could mean villagers’ lives,” Stormie replied.

  “And once the biomes are united, every corner of the Overworld could be left unprotected,” Frida said.

  Turner grunted. “Hey. Not sayin’ we ain’t great fighters, but, beggin’ the captain’s pardon, we hardly got tabs on the whole Overworld.”

  Rob reclaimed the floor. “You all took on this job because the whole world’s future is at stake.” He looked at Turner. “Because you care. Whether it’s the people or their pocketbooks you’re interested in, you do care.”

  Jools piped up, “So, what is it you want of us, Captain? Not to die? I am so on board with that.”

  Rob didn’t smile. “We can’t control if we die. But we can control where we’re reborn.”

  Now everyone figured out where their leader’s speech was heading. The joking stopped.

  Rob said solemnly, “I’m invoking my authority as commander of this unit to ask everyone here to change their spawn points to Beta, effective immediately.”

  This stunned the group silent.

  Frida’s and Turner’s spawn points had always been kept strictly secret, according to their survivalist codes. Jools and Stormie had died and respawned so many times that they never intended to let that happen again, ever. And Kim and Rob wanted to avoid both dying and respawning elsewhere, so they’d be able to see to the horses—either here, or on Rob’s alternate worldly plane.

  “I know it’s asking a lot. . . .” Rob said.

  Turner shot him a look. “You askin’? Or tellin’?”

  “Consider it a mandatory request. Can I have your word?”

  No one replied.

  Rob sighed. I was afraid of that. He’d have to play his only remaining card. “I’ll withhold your pay until I get an answer, then.”

  CHAPTER 3

  THAT NIGHT, THE INTERIOR OF THE BUNKHOUSE, which De Vries and his crew had built for the battalion, was uncharacteristically quiet. Rob made ready to turn in, fully intending to sleep in a real bed for the first time in this version of the world. He’d been making do with a woolen bedroll, which suited him fine but wouldn’t change his spawn point.

  He removed his vest and boots, the reality of what was about to happen foremost in his mind. “Can’t ask my troops to do anything I won’t do,” he said to himself. If he didn’t uphold his end of the bargain, he’d gain neither compliance nor respect from the cavalry team, and he was skating on thin ice already.

  The clamor of skeletons and zombies rose to its customary level outside as Rob spread his bedroll on the handsome wooden cot that De Vries had crafted. How he wished he could swap the lowing of cattle and crackle of a dwindling campfire for the monsters’ din. If he were back home, he’d be sleeping under the stars with his old dog, Jip, curled beside him, anticipating another peaceful day of riding fences. The air would smell of sweet, wild sage and of hearty coffee waiting in the pot for tomorrow’s breakfast.

  He pulled back the bedroll. Once he slept in a proper bed there’d be no way to return to his entry point into the Overworld. Rob hadn’t had the presence of mind to fix that spot in his memory as he tumbled from the aircraft into the ocean, or as he swam for his life toward an unseen shore. When he hit the beach, his only thoughts were for survival. By the time he wondered where he was, it was too late to recall where he had actually been at that critical moment in time. Something had gone wrong with the plane, but he had never found out what it was or what had become of the other passengers.

  He’d thought he was alone on an island—until Frida trapped him and gave him the third degree, trying to find out whether or not he was a griefer. Although he and Frida had since grown close, Rob never forgot that he was far from home. And he had never felt farther away from it than he did right now.

  He stared at the bed a moment longer. He could still hike up to the tip of the extreme hills to try to spy the place where he’d entered the ocean or made it to shore. That had been his intention before the Battle of Zombie Hill, when he and his cavalry mates were forced to retreat through the Nether, or die trying to hold the clifftop. The stakes in this game were always so high.

  Rob grabbed the edge of the bedroll decisively and yanked it off the bed. I can’t! I just—can’t. Not yet.

  He settled on top of the soft fleece stretched across the plank floor next to the bed. It took a very long time to fall asleep that night.

  *

  Then it seemed as though dawn would never come. To avoid placing windows, at Frida’s request, De Vries had devised a light-level monitor using sugarcane tubing, mirrors, and a pinhole through the roof. Rob awoke several times and checked this “periscope” for daylight, without success. Then he finally fell into a deep sleep when it was nearly time to get up, so he missed seeing dawn’s early light. A rattle on his door woke him.

  “Sorry, Captain,” came Frida’s voice. “Your meeting at Beta is set in half an hour. You’re supposed to ride out afterwards.”

  Rob sat up on his bedroll, dazed, until he remembered what had gone wrong the night before. Then he scrambled to his feet, slipped into his vest and boots, and exited his quarters. An officer couldn’t dwell on his mistakes.

  Rob entered the bunkhouse’s common room, where the others were filling their food bars.

  “Late night, sir?” Stormie asked. He shrugged.

  Kim brought him some bread and pork chops. “Morning, Captain! You’re going to need this.”

  Rob had asked for an emergency consult with Colonel M, Judge Tome, and the builder regarding the sinkhole episode. Afterwards, he planned to take a squadron out to the sunflower and ice plains to connect with their new UBO delegates in the villages. So far, they had enlisted the two biomes as allies, and they had put in requests to a dozen more. While on the plains, the squadron would look in on Kim’s horse breeding operation.

  “Pack some rations for the road trip, will you, Corporal?”

  Kim nodded, excitement lighting her pink face. “I can’t wait to see my horses. Thank you for letting me get the farm squared away. I’m sure Swale will do a good job.” She had hired a dirt-poor farmer they knew who could use the job and who was a solid hand with horses. “I was so relieved to have someone capable there,” she added, “that I went ahead and changed my spawn point last night.” She grinned. “Sle
pt like a baby zombie.”

  Rob tried to cover the shame that seeped through him. “How about the rest of you?” he asked the others gruffly.

  Jools swallowed some breakfast and looked up from his computer. “I’m still weighing the pros and cons.”

  “Me, too,” said Stormie, turning away from the captain.

  There was a pause.

  “Frida?” Rob prompted.

  Another pause.

  “Thinking about it,” she mumbled.

  Rob faced Turner. “Well?”

  The sergeant scowled. “Uh . . . thinkin’ about thinking about it.”

  “You do that.”

  Rob took Jools and Frida with him to meet the others at Beta. Today, Crash’s brother, De Vries, met them at the gate. He passed out yellow helmets.

  “Can’t be too careful!” the builder remarked in his lilting voice. In addition to his cap, De Vries sported the safari-style jacket and clogs that both he and Crash had favored when they’d traveled with the battalion in months past. He led them to the office, where the colonel and judge waited.

  Rob asked Jools to show the others the screenshots of the building blueprints Crash had sent. They compared these to a detailed map of the terrain crafted by Stormie and a rough sketch of the cavern where the sinkhole had opened up. Next, they plotted the other known sinkhole occurrences on the map but found nothing clear that might have caused them. The natural cave network did not appear vulnerable to collapse, and Crash had taken pains to mine the tunnels sustainably.

  De Vries said, “We’ve been over and over the specs. The margin for error was miniscule. This ground’s stable.”

  “Which makes an outside influence more likely,” Jools said.

  “A mole?” Rob asked.

  Colonel M pursed his large lips. “Maybe a human one.”

  Frida considered this. “Someone knew exactly where to open up a tunnel to get at that dungeon. No telling what all was in there.”

  Judge Tome spoke up: “Anyone after a monster spawner or loot is probably not the sort of colonist we’re seeking. Speaking of which”—he pushed a stack of papers toward Frida—“I believe these are for you.”