by Nancy Osa
“That’s right,” Turner said, securing a block of TNT from his inventory. “Let me help you two get packed.” He tossed it in the air and caught it. Then he clicked on it with some flint and steel. “There. It’s primed. It’ll make your minecart journey a real guessin’ game.”
“M-minecart?” Gratiano echoed.
“I hear the ocean is lovely this time of year,” Frida said grimly.
The immobilized Rose realized the vanguard was talking about using the newly laid tracks. “You wouldn’t run us out of town on a rail. . . .”
“Wouldn’t we?” Turner stood in front of her, casually tossing the TNT block from hand to hand.
“Wait! I have information!”
Gratiano whimpered, “W-we can tell you what’s coming in on those tracks.”
The threats shook loose the news that the griefer army was planning to load enchanted mobs in minecarts and unleash them on the city, when the celebration was in full swing.
“Who’s behind it?” Frida demanded, turning her blade over against Gratiano’s neck.
The musician squirmed. “We—don’t know!”
“Then you’ve just bought yourselves a one-way ticket!” Frida cocked her head at Turner.
He reached for one of the axes that pinned Rose to the wall and freed it, menacing her with it.
She caved. “No . . . wait! All we know is who we’re supposed to report to. We’ve never even met him. He’s the one in charge of the mobs. He’d kill us if he knew we’d said anything.”
“A name?” Frida demanded.
All Rose would say was, “He’s one of the GIA operatives.”
Turner used the razor-sharp diamond blade to slice off one of her false purple eyelashes.
“Okay! Okay! The only thing I know is, he’s called . . . Termite.”
Turner and Frida exchanged glances. Then Turner set down the block of TNT and removed the other axe from the wall. Before Rose could stir, he wrapped both tattooed arms around her and, as she struggled, threw her down on one of the new rugs and rolled her up in it.
Frida took advantage of Gratiano’s surprise to give him the same treatment. The two players kicked and screamed, but Turner and Frida held them tightly in the woolen wraps.
“Hey!” Rose yelled. “You promised to let us go!”
“No, I didn’t,” Turner said.
“It was implied,” Gratiano argued. “Inferred, anyway. You certainly gave us a great, big hint—”
Frida knocked him in the head with the butt of her sword. “You talk too much,” she said to the unconscious man.
Rose blinked at her captors through the rolled-up end of rug.
“You got somethin’ to say, too?” Turner dared her.
She did not.
“That’s what I thought.” He wrapped some spider string around the two human bundles. “C’mon, Corporal,” he said. “Let’s get ’em out of here.”
*
The two helpless spies were placed in the waiting minecart along with the block of TNT and sent off up the hill. One of the Steves had programmed the vehicle for a nonstop trip to the end of the line. As far as the troopers were concerned, the snitches deserved to meet the very mobs they’d been paid to attract.
Their misfortune helped considerably to heal Turner’s wounds. “Every time a woman weasels out on me, turns out she’s doin’ me a favor,” he said with satisfaction. The troopers now knew the purpose of the new length of railway plus the name of the griefer who had infiltrated Beta city.
“I guess clouds do have golden linings,” Frida mused.
The jilted troopers reported the success of their mission to the captain and the rest of the battalion as they gathered in the common room for dinner.
When Rob heard the griefer’s name, he exclaimed, “Termite? So Aswan got half of the name right. It’s perfect for that insect.”
“What’s a termite?” Frida asked.
Jools explained its close relationship to silverfish, which made her grimace. “But, don’t worry, Corporal. Termites are extinct in the Overworld.”
Pleased, Rob said he’d add an emerald bonus to each of the survivalists’ paychecks—which they could claim whenever they met the battalion’s . . . requirement.
Turner gave Rob a long look. “You sure you’ll be there to pay up once this is over?” he challenged.
“I promise,” Rob said, choking a little. “So, the only remaining questions are, who put this Termite on our tails? Who ordered the mob hit? And who is it that’s trying to bring down a unified Overworld?”
Jools pounded the dining table. “Don’t you see? The M.O. points squarely to Lady Craven. Consorting with vermin. Enchanting zombies. Dividing and conquering. It’s got to be her.”
Kim threw down her chicken leg. “And she’s hiding behind layers of griefer scum.”
“Maybe her new HQ is somewhere out in the ocean,” Stormie said. “What with the tracks headin’ off that way.”
Kim drew her pink sword. “You want us to go after her, Captain?”
Stormie clenched a fist. “I’m with Kim.”
Rob couldn’t help but be amused by the horse master’s quick temper and Stormie’s determination when it came to rooting out injustice in the world. “First things first,” he said. “We need to take down Termite.”
“Maybe that’ll put an end to this,” Jools added.
Stormie glared at him. “Doin’ right ain’t got no end.”
“She has a point,” Rob agreed.
“That’s square with me,” said Turner. “Leads to steady work.”
“But you’ve made most of your money by working for the other side,” Jools mentioned.
“I like to keep my options open.”
“Then tell us, Sergeant,” Rob broke in. “What’re our options for tonight? We’ll need enough firepower to blast our way through a mountainside while avoiding setting off a bomb and being overrun by swarms of potentially enchanted silverfish. Meanwhile, we’ll hafta keep the horses and settlers from being slaughtered and all of De Vries’s and Crash’s hard work from being destroyed.”
If Rob expected this brainteaser to silence the egotistical mercenary, he was dead wrong. “Glad you asked, Captain,” Turner said. “I been thinking things over. Here’s what we’ll do. . . .”
CHAPTER 15
A MESSAGE FROM GAIA ARRIVED AFTER DINNER informing Battalion Zero that the spy-laden minecart had passed Spike City on its way east. “By the time you get this video,” she said, “any griefers on the other end will have found them.”
“That’ll make Lady Craven madder than a stuck pig,” Stormie said to her cavalry mates.
“That means she’ll be sending the mobs this way!” Kim cried.
“Just as we planned,” Rob reminded her. “If our moles were telling the truth, Termite will have to meet them. That’ll give us a chance to get inside his nest, trap the silverfish, and figure out how to disarm the bomb.”
“Are you sure you can stop Termite from doing his job?” Frida asked. “He’d likely target our horses and the pioneers’ tent camp before coming to polish us off. Then there’d be nobody to stop the bombing.”
Jools crossed his arms. “Leave that to Turner and me. It’s all taken care of.”
“Then let’s win this,” Rob said with finality.
The cavalry commander hoped Turner’s scheme was sound. There would be no time for sleep or spawn-point reassigning before tonight’s invasion of the cavern. But as soon as they took care of the silverfish, Rob intended to make good on his promise to Turner—just in time for the city’s inauguration. The cowboy-turned-cavalry commander might be from another world, but he owed his allegiance to this one.
*
The sunset that evening was spectacular. Rob hoped his strategy would be, too. As gold, pink, and orange rays deepened into shades of purple-gray, Battalion Zero went into action. Jools, Kim, and Stormie stayed behind in cavalry camp to play their roles while Rob, Frida, and Turner headed for the city�
��s caverns.
The twin iron golems let them pass through the chainmail fence, and two alert wolves with black diamonds on their foreheads escorted them to the construction site. Rob felt an eerie sensation as they approached the cliffside. This place had seen so many of his victories and defeats. It was almost as though it were a player, itself—or someone behind the game, writing software that could change lives.
Turner must have felt it, too. “Believe I’ve had enough of the extreme hills for a while,” he remarked.
“Yeah, Meat?” Frida said. “What’re you gonna do when this is all over?”
“Let’s see, now. First thing, I’ll draw my pay and get me a stack o’ steaks. Then, light out under cover of night and take a nice, long holiday. Somewhere . . . quiet.”
“Unless another job comes up,” she teased.
“Well, a lucrative one—sure.”
She knew the man well.
Near the entrance to the caves, De Vries and Crash let out little whines. The troopers would wait there, hidden by stacked blocks, until the wolves barked, signalling when they saw Termite leave.
Rob and company settled into silence.
The captain tried to push all thoughts from his mind, wishing his heartbeat would ease up, but he couldn’t help wondering what Frida was thinking. She had an amazing capacity to focus and put survival first, herself second. I’m probably way down her list. When this mission ended, Rob swore he’d change that.
Three sharp yips bounced off the cliff wall, then a huddled human form scurried by.
“I could take him out now,” Frida offered in a low voice.
“Stick to the script,” Turner scolded and emerged from the hiding spot.
Rob said nothing and followed them into the cave—and into total blackness. Crash had already extinguished all the torches.
Too many lights would scare off the silverfish, so the group relied on Turner’s “borrowed” mining cap to cut through the dark. Rob and Frida kept their swords drawn and, without breaking stride, quickly dispatched the zombies and skeletons that spawned in the gloom.
Rob directed Turner down the tunnel toward the silverfishes’ honeycomb hideout. “Okay. Set out the bait.”
Turner emptied his inventory of stacked sticks beneath the wall riddled with tiny holes.
“Now, let’s lure ’em in.” Rob picked up a stick and started gnawing on it loudly. He motioned for the others to start chewing, as well.
Frida hesitated, clearly icked out by the idea of asking the silverfish for a meeting, on purpose.
“That’s an order,” Rob said, and she reluctantly chose a stick and did as he asked.
Soon, a muffled chittering flowed through the tiny cave shafts. The sound made by scuttling arthropods made Rob flash on that barn-mending day on the ranch, and on how his memory of the termite nest had led to his conclusion about the silverfish. It seemed odd that insects would cause his two worlds to collide.
The noise grew louder. The mobsters were nearing the ends of the tunnels. Goosebumps rose on Rob’s skin as he and Turner exchanged their wooden lures for swords. Frida dropped her stick and froze.
Rob saw her go catatonic, like a parachuter who’d lost her nerve and needed a push. “Corporal!” Rob said harshly. “Don’t be a wimp. You’ve got two choices now: you can live, or you can die.”
There was a suspenseful pause; then Rob saw anger light up Frida’s face. She snapped out of her reverie and leaned into him, growling, “Don’t you ever call me a wimp . . . sir!” Then she drew her favorite sword and a gold axe, and called into the tunnels: “C’mon out, now. It’s suppertime!”
Turner added quietly, “And you’re the main course.”
Right on cue, the silverfish spilled out of the wall.
Jools had finally broken his bottle o’ enchanting and used his increased XP level toward bane of arthropod enchantments for the battalion swords. Using them would slow the bugs’ movements and deal them greater damage than usual. Even if the swords broke or the troopers pulled another weapon, the spell would still work—as long as they held the enchanted sword while they hit the silverfish.
Frida appreciated this edge. As it turned out, she also appreciated the cave’s transportation system: the tiny tunnels acted as candy dispensers, spitting out arthropods like gumballs. Here they came, one after another, as though asking to be instantly sliced, diced, or impaled.
T-ing! T-oing! TONG! Frida’s short and long blades accommodated all sizes of silverfish. Each stroke dealt a death blow. Her sword arm became a guillotine. As her technique became mechanically efficient, she called, “I’m starting to like shopping in bulk like this, guys!”
Turner was enjoying the kill rhythm, as well. “Big discounts, large economy size!” he barked, swinging his enchanted sword like a sickle of death.
Rob recalled his earlier target practice with the insects and employed the skewering technique, grateful that he had sharpened his blade well.
The troopers’ skirmishing skill rivaled the bugs’ prolific spawning ability. The three soldiers worked so quickly that piles of dead silverfish stacked up before they could disappear, until they nearly reached the outlet holes.
“Hey!” Rob yelled. “Maybe we can suffocate the rest of ’em in there!”
Frida considered but dismissed the notion. “No way. We can’t risk it! If there’s an exit at the other end, it won’t work.”
“Cover me,” Turner said, and he left his stream of prey to scoop the dead insects away. Then he resumed the melee.
Time passed. Bodies accumulated and disintegrated. Still, the silverfish kept coming.
“They must’ve heard about my manly allure,” Turner said, amazed at their numbers.
“Maybe they heard about the cavalry and wanted to enlist,” Rob offered.
The metronomic slice of Frida’s blade began to slow. Rob and Turner had to stab at a few mobsters that made it through her gauntlet. “I don’t know how much longer I can keep this up!” she admitted.
Her health began to diminish. Then Rob and Turner started to lose hearts, and silverfish began to slip past them.
“Captain!” Turner called. “This might be one o’ those times to fall back and regroup!”
They’d have to retreat to safety. “Give me your cap, Turner!” The sergeant tossed him the lighted helmet, and he jammed it on his head. “To the bunker!” Rob motioned for the other two to cut and run after him.
They dashed for the secret chamber in the rock, which was, fortunately, not too far down the cave corridor. On came the arthropods, some of them slowed by glancing blows, others scurrying to catch the players.
On the verge of panic, Rob felt for the seams in the wall and heaved himself against the spot. He stumbled inside, then quickly gave his friends cover as they spilled through the door with silverfish at their feet. Turner managed to replace the secret stone, and Frida helped Rob slay the remaining attackers.
Then all was silent.
When she dared to speak again, Frida said, “I could swear we’ve been through this before.”
Rob wiped a few stray legs and antennae off his enchanted blade. “I guess that’s why you’re so good at it.”
Frida shivered in disgust. “This is one skill I wish I didn’t have.”
Turner nodded. “I wish killin’ silverfish was more like fishin’.”
“Well, cowpokes,” Rob said, “if wishes were cattle we’d all be eating hamburger.”
*
When they had rested for a few moments, Rob pulled some torches out of his inventory and lit the room. He switched off his headlamp.
“Now . . . let’s find out what our friend Termite is crafting.”
In the corner of the chamber stood the furnace and crafting table, and a few discarded sticks. But the pile of incendiary materials Rob had seen before was gone.
“That stuff was right—here. . . .”
Turner squinted.
“Maybe someone moved it?” Frida suggested.
> This possibility sent a wave of misery through the group. How would they search for the bomb without a clue?
“Maybe the dungeon has some evidence!”
“Let me, sir.” Frida insisted on scouting it out first, even after what had happened the last time.
She approached the square stone enclosure and entered it . . . and a few seconds later, she backed out.
Rob asked, “All clear—?” Then he saw another player advance, holding an iron sword level with Frida’s heart.
“Not all clear,” the unfamiliar individual said in a cool and calm voice, and then laughed, “Hyeh, hyeh, hyeh . . .”
Rob stared, the hair rising on the back of his neck. “You’re Termite?”
“In the flesh.” The woman who held Frida at sword-point appeared absolutely ordinary. Her short, dark hair matched her dark eyes, which were framed by squarish, plastic-rimmed glasses that sat on her freckled nose. Her nose was neither large nor small. But something about the set of her lips gave away her true character. These were lips that could scold a crying child, insult a little old lady, or order an execution with equal relish.
“But . . . you’re not supposed to be . . .”
“Here?” she put in mildly. “In my own room?” Evil filled her blackish-brown eyes. “I think it’s you who are not supposed to be here.” She advanced another step, and Frida tripped over the pile of sticks.
Rob sprang forward to help her up, but the griefer homed her blade in on Frida and said, “Not so fast, Roberto.”
How does she know my real name? For some reason, that thought scared him more than anything else he’d heard from her so far.
“Let her go!” Rob said.
Again came that horrible laugh from the type of harmless-looking woman he would’ve punched a door open for if he’d met her in town.
Termite shook her head slowly. “If only you would have done as I asked.”
Frida and Turner glanced at the captain, wondering what he hadn’t told them.
“Selling out the Overworld isn’t something I could do,” Rob retorted. “I’m just one guy. The United Biomes act together.”
