by Nancy Osa
“Kind of like you and Lady Craven,” Turner said evenly to Termite. “Pals, ain’t ya?”
“She’s your boss, isn’t she?” Frida needled the griefer.
Termite remained unruffled. “Boss. Employee. The distinction eludes me.”
“So, you do what you do because you like doin’ it?” Turner said disparagingly.
“Like, dislike. Just words. Kind of like life and death.” Her lips compressed in a parody of a smile. She poked her sword at Frida. “I understand how running with this battalion can make you feel . . . claustrophobic. Groups are tricky things. For instance, a unified Overworld? Example of a bad group. Unified hostile mobs? Now that group suits me just fine.”
Unifying the zombies and skeletons through enchantment was how the Griefer Imperial Army had divided the biomes. Rob’s battalion had repeatedly fought back, first against Dr. Dirt, and later, against his successor, Lady Craven. As Jools had observed, she was probably responsible for the eastern mob export that Gaia had warned them of.
“So, if you’re working on your own, why do you care about the GIA or the UBO?” Rob asked.
She gave another dry, lifeless chuckle. “My relationship with Lady Craven goes as far as her powers can help me. Of course, she thinks it’s the other way around. And now, I must go meet my legions of undead worshippers at the minecart station. Will you be so kind as to empty your inventories?”
The troopers knew a mandatory request when they heard one. Their sundry food, weapons, ammo, armor, and crafting ingredients were swiftly moved from their possession to Termite’s. Then she calmly and deliberately sheathed her sword, and made for the door.
“I’m sorry you’ll miss the fireworks,” she said in a voice so utterly full of condescension that Rob thought he’d be sick. Termite stepped into the dark corridor. “Oh, and don’t open the door.” She paused. “It’s booby-trapped.”
*
Now the troopers knew where the bomb materials had gone—to rig the chamber as a death trap. Being free to move about but stuck in the small bunker gave Rob a feeling not unlike his fall from thirty thousand feet. He’d had time to admire the view on the way down, but those last few blocks were doozies.
With no other ideas, Frida and Turner waited for their commanding officer to take charge.
“What do you think, sir?” she finally asked him.
Turner raised his eyebrows. “Well?”
Rob opened his mouth, and then closed it again. The evil griefer was loose, hordes of zombies were on their way into town, and the celebrating villagers would have no warning whatsoever. Despite that ugly equation, all Rob could think about was that he hadn’t yet slept in a bed. “What’s going to happen to us?” he said out loud.
Frida was still hopeful. “The others’ll notice we’re missing and come looking.”
Turner snorted. “After they fight off an army of hostiles on their own? I doubt it. Naw, it’s up to us to find a way out.” He marched over to the dungeon. “Could be somethin’ useful in here that I can whack stuff with.”
“I wouldn’t whack too hard,” Frida advised. “We don’t know what the trigger perimeter is.”
Turner crept back toward her and Rob, his face shiny with sweat. “Then I’ma whack him.” He feigned a punch, and Rob instinctively put up a hand to block it. “You got us into this mess. Great plan, Newbie. Guess the bomb is on the other foot now.”
Frida glanced at him. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Turner grunted. “Just, he’s the one wanted us all to change our spawn points in case o’ death, and now he’s gonna get a taste of that. Ain’t no tellin’ where you’ll end up,” he said, his eyes drilling into Rob’s.
As she watched the two, the truth dawned on Frida. She turned a hurt face toward Rob. “You mean, you never changed your spawn point?” He didn’t answer. Anger crept into her voice. “And you planned for us to be the ones carrying the flag, if something happened to you?”
Her words pelted the captain like buckshot, careening off the walls in echoes of shame.
“I just . . . wanted to be able to go home, someday.”
Frida’s voice held a note of pleading. “And I wanted this to be your home.”
Rob couldn’t meet her gaze. The chances of getting out of this chamber alive were small. The odds of Rob respawning elsewhere were huge. And now, with the battalion split up and the others in grave danger, his failure to stand by his troops was complete.
*
The minutes ticked away. Somewhere above ground, a train of undead predators was unloading on a hundred men, women, and children who had only been looking for a better life. Belowground, three troopers were gradually coming to terms with their shortened futures.
This made Rob focus on his past. “If I was back home right now, we’d be moving the herd up to summer pasture,” he said out loud, not caring if anyone was listening. “Pistol would be shedding like crazy. And Jip’s coat’d be so full, I’d have to shear him like a sheep. . . .”
The likelihood that these were their final moments caused Frida and Turner to soften toward the captain—enough to speak to him, anyway.
“Then what would you do?” Frida asked.
The three sat in a row, cross-legged, against a wall. Rob stirred. “Well, now. There’d still be snow in the mountains. A few of the cows would’ve dropped calves, and the little ones can have a hard time crossing snowfields. We’d have our work cut out for us, bringing them up to the highlands safe and sound.” He peeked at Frida and found he held her attention. “Heck, sometimes we’d lose a mama. Many’s the time I’ve carried an orphan calf like a sack of potatoes over Pistol’s withers. . . .”
Turner spoke up, less gruffly than usual. “You really b’lieve that? Think it’s a real memory?”
Rob caught his eye. “I know it is. Don’t you have ’em?”
The mercenary hesitated. “I do. Ain’t as purty as yours, but I do.”
“You never told me that, Meat. Like what?” Frida asked.
Turner thought. “There was times, after a big storm, when I’d go huntin’.” He thought some more. “Monster hurricane’d let loose folkses’ pets.”
“Ugh.” Rob drew back. “You’d shoot people’s pets?”
“Not Fluffy and Fifi, mind you,” Turner said hastily. “No, there was folks’d put a python in a fish tank and let it grow. Thought it was cute till it got outdoors, started breedin’ in the swamp.”
“You shot people’s snakes?” Rob said.
Turner nodded. “Once the local authorities dried out their basements, they’d put a bounty on them giants. So’s they wouldn’t eat people’s kids.”
“What’s a—snake?” Frida asked.
Rob regarded her. “You mean, you don’t remember?”
“I don’t know.”
Rob shot Turner a questioning look.
“Some players been in this game so long, they don’t remember their old life,” he explained.
Frida frowned. “That’s not it. I come from the jungle.”
Rob touched her arm. “Maybe another jungle. We have them in my world, too. That’s where snakes live.”
Turner shifted on the floor. “Bayou’s a lot like a jungle,” he said.
“No,” Frida protested. “This jungle. I’m sure of it.”
Just then, they heard noise outside the bunker. The door slid open, and a body was dumped at their feet.
CHAPTER 16
THE TROOPERS SAW TERMITE’S FACE EMERGE FROM the shadows. “Now, this one will pay for your little trick!”
To Rob’s relief—and dread—she didn’t wait around for a reply.
The door slid shut and they heard a menacing click. But Rob thought the griefer’s voice had sounded slightly strained.
“Jools! What happened?”
The quartermaster groaned and lifted his head. “Captain! What are you chaps doing in here?” He joined them in their row against the wall.
They gave him a summary of their silverfish
melee and retreat, and subsequent capture. He told them that Turner’s minecart scheme had worked—to an extent.
“My Thunder Boys were able to place roundhouse tracks just south of the city, leaving the old ones as dummies. Termite had no idea the incoming carts would be shunted right back the way they came. What we failed to anticipate was that she’d still make her original rendezvous point . . . and that I’d be there, twiddling my thumbs. More’s the pity. The control tower would’ve been an excellent seat for the fireworks.”
“And the Thunder Boys?” Rob asked.
“After their hard work, I gave them the night off. They were last seen nibbling on candy floss and elephant ears.”
“But, what about the others?” asked Frida, fearing the worst.
“None the wiser,” Jools said. “Kim was in the center ring with her horses, and Stormie was prepping the whizz-bangs when Termite got to me. The judge and colonel had been playing those dreary games of chance with the settlers, but they seemed to be enjoying themselves.”
This illustration of the carefree scene caused fear to knife through Rob’s gut. Not only had he put dozens of innocent people in harm’s way, his mentor—the colonel—and his friend—the judge—might meet the fates they had dodged so many times before.
“What do you think Termite’s intentions are?” Rob asked Jools.
“Impossible to calculate. She’s . . . unpredictable, to say the least.” He got to his feet and started checking out the confines. “So, how about getting out of here?”
No one said anything.
“We . . . are getting out of here,” he said less decisively.
“The door’s rigged with a bomb,” Frida explained.
“I reckon old Termite’ll keep us in here till the ribbon cuttin’,” Turner added. “Then blow the thing.”
“I see,” said Jools.
“You might want to get your affairs in order,” Rob suggested.
Jools gave a weak laugh. “And to whom would I leave my things? You are all right here.”
The implication sent a faint warmth through the cavalry commander’s icy body. “You must have someone else you care about. You know, we were just talking about our other lives,” Rob said. “In the other world. Before the game started.”
“What? That? Oh, my. That’s ancient history.”
“Yeah, but it’s something no one can take away,” Rob asserted. “You must have a past. A . . . mother. We all do.”
Jools deflected the comment, tilting his head at Turner. “You’re not saying he’s got a mum.”
Turner sat up straighter. “Who’d ya think give me these good looks?”
Frida leaned across Rob. “Come on, Jools. We all came into this world. My beginnings were with—Apple Corps.” Her voice broke as she used the nickname for her family clan. “I expected my end would be there, too.”
“Well, I’m not going back,” Jools remarked with bitterness. “That’s why I switched my spawn point like Rob asked. Even if I die a thousand deaths, I’ll not rejoin that lot of unfeeling wretches. Dad was a tax man. He was never home. Mum only had eyes for my little brother.”
“But . . . didn’t you have friends?” Frida asked timidly.
“It’s them that were the worst! There I was, off for an afternoon of multiplayer gaming with the lads. It’d be fun, they promised. We’d be a cracking team. Next I knew, they hung me out to dry like a fortnight’s worth of dirty laundry.”
Jools described one mate as obsessed with amassing gems, the other with increasing XP—and neither of them having his back when it came time to fight off hostile mobs.
“Did you . . . die?” asked Rob.
“Did I ever. Over and over, like the world would never end. I didn’t know it at the time, but my so-called mates used some fancy cheats to avoid death. Every time I croaked and came back, it was me setting out to find them. When I finally did, they’d fix on some personal agenda, only to let me get snuffed when I held off the zombies for them.” He failed to keep the note of bitterness out of his voice.
Turner scoffed, “Sounds like men who ain’t got no code.”
“Not a shred of decency,” Jools confirmed. “Eventually, I vowed to ally myself with no one, rather than be sold out again.”
Rob and the others were shocked to hear these intimate details from the normally stoic quartermaster. “So . . . that’s why you became a contract worker,” Rob concluded.
“A freelancer, yes. Detail management was already in my blood. I acted as a consultant to any organization that would pay me, before I met up with you.”
“Them as can pay generally don’t give a rat’s behind whether ya live or die,” Turner reflected.
“But at least they’re honest about it,” Jools said.
Rob tried to make him feel better. “You’ve done well for yourself in the Overworld, though. Put your skills to good use. We couldn’t have made it this far without your genius for strategy.”
“If only I had been more on point this time around,” Jools said sadly. “I will miss Mum’s mincemeat,” he admitted. “And little Ian’s somewhat exasperating behavior.”
“Ian? Is that your brother?” Frida asked.
“Yes. He’s a good lad. I’ll miss him.”
Now Turner’s voice rose by a half-octave. “You ain’t givin’ up, are ya? What about all that genius-brain stuff? So my plot coulda been . . . tighter. Why don’t you give it another whirl, Sir Thinks-a-lot?”
Jools put his hands on his hips. “You’re telling me to bail us out? It was your daft idea that put us here.”
“Troops,” Rob said tiredly, “I don’t think arguing will open that door any faster.”
They heard a scuffle outside, and a shout. Then the barrier between the troopers and freedom slid open again. This time, Stormie and Kim, trussed with spider string, were pushed into the chamber. They fell heavily in a heap. The door swung shut, and they heard footsteps on stone retreating down the tunnel.
Frida and Turner unwrapped their captive friends. Kim and Stormie rubbed their wrists, took a few steps, and then slumped to the floor.
“We put up a fight, Captain,” Kim said wearily.
“But the griefer had help,” Stormie put in. “Could’ve been that Volt character.”
Everyone’s health had suffered, and their inventories had been emptied. Now, the entire battalion was weak, trapped, and weaponless. Their situation had never been this dire.
“I hope the colonel and the judge are all right,” Stormie worried. “Maybe they can get us out of here.”
“They’re probably next on Termite’s list,” Jools predicted.
Kim moaned. “Who’ll take care of the horses?” She dropped her head and buried it in her arms.
This jolted Rob out of his melancholy. As usual, the selfless horse master had put the animals’ welfare before her own. He owed it to her to ease her pain, if he could.
Colonel M had taught him that company morale was a double-edged sword that could be used for or against him. Rob had to keep spirits up and make sure that if anybody was going to die, it wouldn’t be by their own hands. “Say, Corporal,” he said gently to Kim. “We were just talking about old times. Before the game. Why don’t you tell us how you got into horses?”
She didn’t respond.
“Come on, bronc whisperer,” Stormie urged. “We’d like to hear about it.”
*
A true horse master can’t resist talking about her equine friends. After some more encouragement, the group persuaded Kim to tell her story.
“We lived up north,” she said. “My family trained the national breed of horses, but I was just a little thing.” She realized that she still was, and gave a tiny, hollow laugh. “I wasn’t big enough to ride yet, and I wanted a puppy dog for my very own.”
Jools appeared touched. He murmured, “So did I, once.”
Kim dove further into her tale. “Well, Appa and Omma—that’s what I called my dad and mum—they wouldn’t let me have a
dog. They said I wouldn’t be able to take care of it.”
“Why not?” Frida asked.
“Don’t know. I decided I’d show them.” Kim gave a small smile. “I ran away from home—I knew where there was a pet shop. I went in and picked out the puppy I wanted, and the nice owner said he’d send it home with me. He went and called my folks.”
Rob interrupted. “I don’t see how this got you into horses.”
“Shh!” Turner waved an arm and leaned forward. “Then what happened?”
“While I was waiting for Appa and Omma to pick me up, the pet shop man let me play games on his computer. I got lost, and killed, and respawned—in the middle of a horse pasture,” Kim explained.
“And what—you’re saying wild horses raised you?” Jools joked.
She nodded seriously. “They did. This one stallion—I named him Jim—he was smarter than most people. He taught me everything I needed to know.”
“And you’d lived out in horse country ever since? Until you found us?”
She nodded. Satisfied, she sat back against the wall.
“I can’t imagine staying in one place like that,” Stormie mused.
“But you must have started out somewhere,” Rob prompted.
“I was an army brat. We moved all over. Guess you could say I had six or eight homes—or none, really.”
Turner cocked his head. “So, becomin’ a professional tramp weren’t much of a stretch then.”
She gave a wry smile. “If you want to put it that way, yeah. Once I hit the game, I started walking and just kept going. Turned out I could make gems by sellin’ information I picked up along the way—locations for the best farming, ore deposits, view properties . . .”
“And you could steer people off of witch swamps, et cetera,” Jools said.
Stormie nodded. “I’da kept goin’ forever, but then I ran into Lady Craven, and then I ran into y’all . . . So, here I am.”
These words brought them back to reality.
“Here we all are,” Rob echoed.
“Well, not all of us . . .” Stormie pointed out.
As if to emphasize this, the door slid open yet again. But this time, no one but Termite entered.
