by Nancy Osa
They made their way to the village gate, where a snow golem was tethered. The guard paid them no mind. The horses followed Rob and Jools down the main street of town, which was neatly paved with packed ice. Greens and colorful vegetables spilled from a covered garden near the town well. Large ice spikes of various dimensions lined the path, and every now and then a resident or worker would enter or exit one of the hollowed-out structures. Rob noticed that many of the buildings had been renovated since he’d last been to the city, sporting a new front porch or covered flowerboxes. Even the passersby appeared more flush, in their crisp aprons and tidily patched robes.
“Here’s the church,” Rob said, relieved that Frida’s low-life brother, Rafe, no longer presided over the congregation. He had been defrocked and replaced with a more reputable cleric. Through the efforts of Judge Tome, the new church director had agreed to act as biome delegate and urged the citizenry to embrace unification.
A plump woman answered the bell and embraced them like long-lost friends. She wore a flowing, wine-colored robe and a garland of roses in her long, thick black hair. “I am Gaia,” she said.
Rob introduced himself and Jools, and mentioned that they were on UBO business.
“Delightful,” she said. “Come in, come in! Bring your horses.”
The priest ushered them into the packed-ice chapel—a dazzling space with sparkly walls, an arched ceiling, and lovely stained-glass windows. Benches filled only half of the vast space, so the horses were parked near a pillar and the troopers invited to a cozy conversation pit carved into the ice. They settled down on some cushions set around a decorative lava lamp.
Gaia brought an armload of hay for Beckett and Saber, and some sweetened elixir for the men to drink while they discussed government matters. Jools delivered the official papers. Rob asked about the cleric’s background.
“I come from an order dedicated to the poor,” Gaia began. “Unlike the previous pastor here, who dedicated himself to easy money.”
Rob nodded. “Old Rafe turned out to be a cleric without a soul.”
Jools stroked his chin. “I wondered what happened after Frida gave him a taste of his own medicine.”
Gaia replied, “Conscience prevailed. Folks got tired of black market dealings and wanted to improve Spike City’s image.”
The village outpost had been known to attract the fringe element—griefers, con men, and desperate people who’d fled more lawful or more dangerous environments. These groups often clashed, and there was no police force to quell them. When the citizenry ousted Rafe and looked for a more legitimate replacement, Gaia had stepped in to help them find their moral compass.
“We’ve made progress in restoring order,” the cleric said proudly. “Prosperity helps. Without the syndicate siphoning off resources, folks have more means and less incentive to pilfer.”
“What about that welcoming party we saw on our way in?” Rob asked.
Gaia glanced in the direction of the minecart gang. “We still have a ways to go,” she admitted. “Our few hired security guards aren’t enough. The Thunder Boys moved in awhile back, looking to take advantage.”
Jools murmured, “Thunder Boys, Thunder Boys . . . Wait. I know them! One of the bōsōzoku gangs. That means crazy, out-of-control speed freaks. Basically scofflaws on wheels.”
Rob’s eyes widened. “Are they dangerous?”
“More like, unpredictable.”
“How so?”
“I hear they enjoy thrashing innocents with wooden swords and lobbing flaming debris through windows. Generally making a pig’s ear of things, just for kicks.”
“But they’re really only kids,” Gaia said, defending them. “Kids who have lost their way.”
“Sounds like they can still cause a lot of damage. We won’t be able to send in peace officers for some time.” Rob worried that one of their two supporting villages would pose a bigger threat than they could handle from afar. “In this unification phase, ma’am, we need . . . predictable allies. How do you propose we handle these guys?”
“Simple.” Gaia’s eyes twinkled. “Employ them.”
*
Like a wolf with a fresh skeleton bone, Jools seized on Gaia’s idea for taming the youth gang, and he wouldn’t let go. Put to constructive use guarding the new UBO transit system, the Thunder Boys could satisfy their wanderlust and stay out of trouble at the same time. As Gaia had said, prosperity could be a great motivator. Even Rob had to admit that he’d rather channel their energy than be victimized by it.
Jools checked the church’s computer network connection, and the cleric offered to fetch the minecart gang for an introduction.
“We have to get back to camp,” Rob apologized. “But they’re welcome to come to Beta for interviews. Would you tell them? There’d be room and board and pay in exchange for their . . . expertise.”
“I’m grateful for you being open-minded,” she said. “And for your part in bringing the Overworld back together. Life in the southern hemisphere has been trying since the breakup.”
She rose and went to a side table and returned with a glass vessel. It contained an unusual green liquid that Rob had never seen before.
Jools knew its value, though. “A bottle o’ enchanting! Where’d you get that?”
“For you. In gratitude,” the priest said.
“Just what I need! I’ve died so many times and enchanted so many things that I have a devil of a time collecting XP.”
Rob looked from Turner to Gaia. “XP?”
“Experience points. Needed for weapons and armor enchantment,” Gaia explained.
At Rob’s blank stare, Jools reached for the gift and said, “Don’t worry about that. Leave the enchanting to me.” He turned the bottle this way and that. “It’s so pretty, I think I’ll set it on the mantle in my bunk for a bit before breaking it.”
Huh? Rob didn’t want to appear more ignorant, so he didn’t ask how the thing worked. He assigned potion brewing to Jools, who was always happy to share his concoctions. Surely the battalion would benefit from his added XP and enchantment powers.
The cavalry commander preferred to get his experience in person, anyway. He thanked Gaia for her hospitality and collected the horses. Then he and Jools headed back to Beta to assess the building progress, exiting through the village’s far gate to avoid worrying the horses.
“Guess we’ll have to get Beckett and Saber ‘Thunder Boys’ broke,” Rob said to Jools, “if we do hire them.”
“Oh, we must!”
The quartermaster babbled on about railway matters as the horses picked their way to the summit and down the northern slope of the extreme hills. “I’m keen to see what the colonel and judge have to say about our new transit blokes,” he said.
Rob’s concern for those they’d left behind drifted over him. “I hope everything is okay with the city. Can’t wait to get back,” he said, without confiding his reasons. Ever since Fate had removed him from his home environment, he’d enjoyed returning from travels to whatever temporary base camp they’d staked out. He needed that moment of recognition and comfort now to put his niggling doubts about the Beta project to rest.
But rest did not await him.
The riders meant to put the horses up in cavalry camp first, but a disturbance at the village gate caught their attention as they rode by. A noisy crowd of people had gathered, and the twin iron golems could barely hold them back. Rob noticed that many of those gathered waved flyers and carried sacks stuffed with inventory.
He eyed Jools. “You don’t suppose . . .”
“. . . your advert! Appears to have done its job,” Jools said.
“And then some. You think all of these folks are pioneers?” Rob asked weakly. “There must be a hundred of them! But . . . we’re nowhere near ready for moving day.” The reality of having more souls to shelter overwhelmed the captain, who—up until now—had found it difficult to keep a mere handful of cavalry soldiers in line.
They rode toward the gate,
and the crowd parted to let Saber and Beckett clop past.
“Take a number!” Stormie’s forceful shout sailed over the clamor. “Everyone’ll get a turn. Now, ma’am—”
“Artilleryman!” Rob hailed Stormie, who was attempting to pacify a large, red-faced woman while handing out tickets to the crowd and peeling the grimy fingers of three small, yelping children from her ankles.
She jerked her head up impatiently, then smiled when she noticed Rob and Jools. “Am I ever glad to see y’all,” she said, dislodging the ankle-biters, who promptly began to cry at the top of their lungs. “We’ve got a situation.”
“I can see that,” Rob said, trying to keep a straight face as amusement broke through his worry.
The children noticed the horses and set upon them. One shoved a handful of prickly cactus needles in Saber’s face, yelling, “Eat! Eat!” The other two attempted to climb up Beckett’s tail.
“For the love of mods,” Jools said to Stormie, “open the gate and let us in!”
She did as he asked, narrowly averting a stampede by yanking the chainmail barrier shut behind them. Then, she turned her back on the unruly throng, leaned backward, and slid slowly down the gate to the ground.
Rob and Jools dismounted and stared through the mesh fence at the pandemonium on the other side. “What in the Overworld is going on?” Rob asked.
Stormie rubbed her temples. “It’s a long story, sir.”
“Give me the short version.”
She told him that soon after he, Jools, and Kim had left for the plains, people had begun arriving. Some wanted to deliver their residency applications in person, some wanted jobs, and some folks had simply packed up all their belongings and shown up, ready to move in.
“It would seem that support for biome unification is more widespread than we thought,” Jools observed.
“It’s true,” Stormie said. “We’re too popular. Frida’s been interviewing prospects for two days straight.”
Rob groaned. “This is one problem we didn’t think of in advance.” He cast another glance at the restless mob. “How’re we gonna feed all these people?”
“Well, Captain, we can either feed ’em or let ’em become fodder for the mobs tonight.”
For an instant, Rob actually considered the latter solution. But Jools had already put his mind to work.
“Leave it to me,” said the quartermaster. “I’ve got the keys to the pantry. Besides, with a little food for bait, I’ll have all our manpower issues solved in a tick.”
“Right, team,” Rob said. “Let’s catch up with the others and get them on board ASAP.”
The crowd outside started to chant: “Let—us—in! Let—us—in!”
Rob faced them, waving his arms, and raised his voice. “You, people! Just be patient, and we’ll find food and shelter for everyone.”
This only agitated them. Some began rattling iron ingots against the chainmail gate. “Let—us—in! Let—us—in!”
Rob turned to Stormie with apprehension. “Looks like their patience is shot. Is Kim back yet?”
Stormie motioned in the direction of the modest stone building they were using as a city hall until the capitol campus was done. “Everybody’s in there.” She turned to Jools. “You’d better come up with lunch fast, bro, if you want to avoid a riot.”
*
They left the iron golems to deal with the crowd and found Judge Tome, Colonel M, and Kim helping Frida with her paperwork at a table in the conference room. When Rob asked, Kim reported that Swale and the ponies were doing fine. Rob sent Stormie for De Vries and Crash.
“Any news from our delegates?” Judge Tome inquired Rob while the group waited.
“They’re up to speed and ready for action. We’ve got Aswan checking the grapevine for any griefer activity directed at us. Gaia is providing some . . . qualified staff for Jools’s transit venture. There’s still some unrest in Spike City, but she’s of the mind that steady work will pacify any yahoos or malcontents.”
“A wise move,” Colonel M said. “Precisely what I would have done.”
Jools filled in what he knew about the renegade minecart gang and described his plan to transform them into law-abiding transit police. They could double as a railway building and maintenance crew. “Given the present situation, we should fast-track that development.” He saw Kim wince and added, “Pun intended.”
“How’s the application screening going?” Rob asked Frida.
The vanguard was living up to her position as scout. “I’ve rejected some known griefers that were in our system, and I’m about halfway through the stack,” she said, pointing to the documents that had accumulated. “Since we’ve got folks here asking for work, I started personal interviews so we can hire new hands right away. Maybe step up the pace of construction.”
“Good. I imagine we’ll be able to move up our ribbon-cutting date.”
Stormie arrived with the brother-and-sister building team, and Rob asked them for an update on the project status.
De Vries strode over to a 3-D model of the proposed city that covered one end of the long table. He pushed his sandy hair out of his eyes and pointed at various wooden blocks. “We’re in this building here, next to the site HQ. We’ve laid a foundation for the capitol’s legislative chambers and administrative offices—here and here. The well has been dug and a patch for the veggie farm leveled, over this way. I’m assuming you’ve brought the first items for planting.”
Jools nodded, now especially grateful for the seedlings Swale had given them to carry back. “More to the point, De Vries, old chap, what about the residences?”
The architect frowned. “We only expected a few dozen immigrants at first, and certainly not so soon. Nothing’s ready.”
“Well, what have you designed?” Rob asked.
De Vries gestured to a couple of cul de sacs off the main street of the model, where single-family dwellings were to be built.
Rob pictured the raucous scene at the gate again. “That won’t cut it. What we need are apartments. Now.”
Crash got up and pointed to an adjacent area on the model, and then drew three imaginary towers in the air with her pickaxe.
“High rises!” Jools interpreted. “Wicked smart. But how long will that take?”
Crash raised her eyes to the ceiling.
Jools slapped his palms on the table. “We’re on the verge of mutiny. We’ve got to increase the workforce straight away. Meanwhile, we’ll need to take some emergency measures to mollify the masses.”
Stormie raised a pinky finger. “And step up defense, pronto. Otherwise, those good people are gonna be some monster’s midnight snack.”
Rob’s head spun with the number of pressing tasks that all needed to be addressed at once. “We’ll talk security in a minute. First, we’ve got to come up with a way to get those pilgrims off the city’s doorstep. We can’t have villagers living in a construction site.” He glanced at Colonel M. The old ghost probably had the most experience in dealing with large groups. “Any ideas, sir?”
The colonel gave a judicious nod in Jools’s direction. “Your quartermaster is adept at detail management. I suggest he begins delegating.” The sound of shouting settlers rose in the distance. “And quickly.”
CHAPTER 5
THE ADMINISTRATIVE COMMITTEE DECIDED THAT an emergency shelter adjoining the cavalry camp should be raised right away. It was the only piece of ground near Beta that was large and flat enough to accommodate so many people. Housing the homeless in tents there would allow Battalion Zero to defend them from hostiles at night . . . and police any unsavories who might cause trouble. Rob ordered Stormie to get a head count and De Vries and Crash to work on the tent city immediately.
Jools continued delegating. With Stormie’s help, Frida would document and process the incoming residents, issuing each able body a job in camp or construction. “Kim, you’ll take a crew to harvest those huge mushrooms we saw in the underground circular cave. Mushroom stew will extend
the most in feeding folks until we get that garden up and running. If we craft enough bone meal for fertilizer, we could be picking veggies within a few days. As far as importing farm animals and other resources, the minecart system should enable adequate transport soon. I’ll get right on it.”
“Excellent, Quartermaster.” Rob felt himself relax slightly, now that the gargantuan undertaking had been broken down into simpler parts.
“That just leaves defense,” Judge Tome reminded him. “We’ll still need to safeguard the miners and builders, as well as the new residents.”
“We’re stretched thin as it is,” Rob said. “I’ll get Turner to recruit volunteers for a night guard.” He stood up. In the confusion he had overlooked the sergeant’s absence. “Has anyone seen Turner?”
Nobody had.
Frida suggested checking in on the new hires—Turner had said something about getting up a card game with them. She, Kim, and Jools took off to go help Stormie move the settlers downhill to cav camp and get them organized. Rob walked over to the trailer that housed the job offices, to look for Turner.
As his foot touched the porch steps, he smelled smoke and heard laughter coming from within. He threw the door open without knocking and entered, surveying the scene. A plank had been laid on a block to fashion a card table, and several players sat around it, engrossed in a game. Rob recognized only Turner, who had a tall stack of wooden chips before him and an attractive woman seated at his side. A redstone aroma diffuser filled the air with smoke-scented fragrance.
Turner, his back to Rob, took off his yellow miner’s cap and plunked it on the woman’s head. She giggled. He addressed the men: “So, finally, the fella walks into the butcher shop and says, ‘Two cow patties—hold the cow!’ Ya get it?” He waited for laughs, but the others had noticed the captain and gone silent. “I know you get it, Rose.” Turner tickled the woman, and she giggled again.
Then his eyes slowly followed the gaze of the players at the table. He turned around to see the captain regarding him with displeasure.
Anger shot through Rob as though his body were a creeper’s short fuse. “Sergeant?”
