Reapers and Repercussions: (Book Four) (Sci-Fi LitRPG Series) (The Feedback Loop 4)

by Reapers

  “Athos is the capital of Ultima Thule,” he says. “And trust me, I know where he lives.”

  “But you said that … ” I snap my mouth shut and return to the point of our meeting. “Look, Your Former Hugeness, I’m here for my wish, so let’s get that over with and I can do what I came here to do.”

  “I watched the tournament, you know.” He lifts his wine glass, tips it at me. Some of the wine spills onto his fur. “I especially liked that life vest – it made for some interesting matches, although the crowd didn’t seem to appreciate it as much.”

  “Tough crowd, I agree.”

  “If I may ask, where did you get the vest?”

  “A buddy of mine named Doc.”

  “Doc Paulin?”

  “Maybe. He never told me his last name and I didn’t ask.”

  “Is he still up to shooting shit, hacking Proxima Worlds and raising geese in the taint of America?”

  “Jeez, lady, that’s some mouth you have on you!”

  “Sez you. Taz was a lady, King Coromon is a man.”

  “Good, let’s not turn this into a North Carolina thing.”

  “What do you mean?” he asks.

  Rocket: I don’t get it either.

  Me: The right person will.

  I show him my hands, ready to get a move on. “Alrighty, Sir Kingsabit, do I get my wish or what?”

  He nods. “That is the prize of the tournament, so yes, you do. What do you wish… Steamboy_889?”

  “I wish for you to call off the attack on the Griffin Festival.”

  He grimaces and squeezes the wineglass in his hand until the bulb shatters. “Why would I want to do that?”

  “Because you’re an honest dwarf and you keep your word?”

  “Not so fast, Andretti. Let’s talk about this for a minute.” Another wine glass appears in King Coromon’s hand, fills, and he throws the contents down his gullet. “What did you come here to do?”

  “In a nutshell: we’re in Polynya and we want to get to the next continent. We’re looking for someone, and have been reliably informed that we may find the person there. Hell, I’ll even put in an enlargement request with the Sage of Gotha if you play nice.”

  King Coromon’s eyebrows settle. He relaxes his grip on the wine glass, sets it back onto the armrest. “So it is your wish to level up? And I am assuming Empress Thun has promised to do this for you if you thwart my attack.”

  “You’ve assumed correctly.”

  The king laughs. The statues lining his throne room join him until the entire space is filled with deep, guttural snickers. Finally, he speaks. “Well, if that’s what you want, why don’t you ask me to adjust your guild’s stats? Tight-ass bitch that she is, I’m assuming the Empress wasn’t going to raise them more than twenty levels. Am I right?”

  “Correctemundo. She said she’d bump us up to thirty-five.” I shoot the king a sly smile. “Do I hear level fifty? Fifty-five? Make me an offer I can’t refuse.”

  Sophia: What are you doing?

  Me: Negotiating a better deal.

  The king frowns. “I don’t have time for this.”

  “I hate to be blunt again, but you’re dead – what do you have time for?”

  He thinks for a moment as he finishes yet another glass of wine. “I suppose you’re right, although your tone and asshole demeanor don’t really make me want to go out of my way for you. Okay – best and final offer – level ninety, no questions asked.”

  I nod. “You know, that ain’t a bad idea. It would definitely cut the middleman, I mean middle-Empress out.”

  Sophia: WHAT ARE YOU DOING?

  Rocket: ONLY IDIOTS USE ALL CAPS!

  Me: Yeah, what the Big R said. Empress offered thirty-five. Old Kingsley here is offering to bump us up to level ninety. What’s the better deal?

  Sophia: You won’t make any friends with this! You’ll alienate the Empress!

  Veenure: Verify that he said level ninety.

  I look over at the king. “You said level ninety, right? As in nine zero?”

  “Yes,” says King Coromon. “Ninety, as in one hundred minus ten.”

  “As in forty-five times two?”

  “Yes,” he says, waving his hand. “As in 9.49 squared. Ninety. I will move your entire guild to level ninety.”

  Me: Level ninety confirmed.

  Veenure: That’s an amazing offer!

  Sophia: They’ll come after us.

  Veenure: Let them! There won’t be many who are stronger than the Knights of Non Compos Mentis!

  Sophia: But Empress Thun!

  Me: I hate to break it to you, but your misplaced concern about a make-believe NPC empress’ make-believe feelings could cost us seventy levels, and yes, I know you’re level sixty-one, but still, getting thirty levels on the up and up ain’t exactly a bad thing.

  Sophia: You people don’t understand how the game is played, do you?

  Veenure: I understand how the game is played. I realize that enemies we face will now be at our level or just around it. I get the AI aspect. We can’t pass this opportunity up.

  Sophia: But the Empress, the griffins!

  Me: Veenure is right. This is what’s best for the Knights.

  Sophia: We should have a vote! It’s not what is best for us!

  Me: Sophia, you gotta look at the bigger picture – at level ninety, we’ll have more attacks, more strength, more spells and sure, our enemies might be a comparable level, but player characters we come into contact with won’t. This gives us the upper hand, and personally, I’m not too interested in Tritania politics.

  Sophia: But I am! I spend a lot of time here. If we aid the Empress, I … we’ll practically be royalty! I mean, we’ll have access to all sorts of stuff. I like this particular continent. I even took out a mortgage on my place in Porthos.

  Me: I get it, really I do, but this isn’t about you, this is about the team.

  Sophia: The entire team is about you.

  Veenure: Team?

  Me: We talking Knights here or something else?

  Sophia: You know exactly what I’m talking about. You’re the founder, you were stuck, you got out, your word is golden. We do what you want, when you want, and how you want, regardless of whether or not it’s a good idea!

  Veenure: Stuck?

  Rocket: Long story – later.

  Me: I’m thinking strategically here; I’m trying to give us the upper hand. You’re trying to protect your … did you say mortgage? A make-believe mortgage on a make-believe home in a make-believe city in a make-believe fantasy world to get in with … with a make-believe NPC Empress! That sound about right?

  Sophia: You aren’t thinking this through! If we do this, if we break our word, we’ll be branded as renegades and the entire continent will be gunning for us. Remember what happened in Steam? You want more of that?

  Veenure: Who cares if Polynya is after us – we’ll spend time on Hyperborea or Ultima Thule. Simple. Problem solved.

  Sophia: There are other repercussions!

  Me: Like?

  Sophia: While we may have higher levels, our spells’ attack powers will still be at their current levels. Increasing us to level ninety will only affect certain stats. Imagine this: we are fighting some Attla Spiders who are level 85 with level 85 attack power while we – at least the spell casters – have our current attack stats.

  Me: But it wouldn’t affect mostly melee fighters like Aiden, Zedic, Rocket and me?

  Sophia: No. Although it would affect how much R and Z can heal.

  Me: Another win-win. You are already at level sixty-one, Veenure would be affected, but I’m sure she’ll keep playing enough to get her magic attack up.

  Veenure: Why would it only be magic attack that’s affected?

  Sophia: Because a PC spell-caster could theoretically devise a spell that increases all stats – which is what King Coromon is offering – so there’s a stop measure that limits magic attack power.

  Veenure: But all other stats are i
ncreased?

  Sophia: Yes.

  Veenure: Easy, I cast a spell on a weapon and then use that weapon to attack, the spell has a lingering effect, possibly even increases the weapon’s power.

  Me: Would that work?

  Sophia: I haven’t heard of it not working. But I’m telling you all, this is a bad idea. A BAD IDEA.

  Me: We have four on comms right now. I vote for level ninety.

  Veenure: I vote for it as well.

  Sophia: I’m against it. You know I’m against it.

  Me: Rocket? What do you think? You’ve been awful quiet in all this.

  Rocket: I was monitoring … um … iNet Pokémon porn.

  Me: Well?

  Sophia: Rocket, of all people, you should be on my side in this matter. You know just as much about Proxima hacks as anyone I know and the bad that can come of it.

  Rocket: Hate to say it, Sophia, but Quantum’s right. It’d be better for us to hop to level ninety in terms of the rest of our stats and catch up our various magical abilities. Quantum and Aiden’s boosted attack strength alone is worth this.

  Veenure: That settles it then!

  Sophia: But we are crossing Empress Thun!

  Me: You keep saying that. I know it’s hard, Sophia, but you have to quit thinking of these NPCs as people.

  Sophia: What about Aiden? Weren’t you defending him just a little while ago?

  Me: That’s different.

  Sophia: Is it? What about Dolly? What about her? Do you think of her like a person?

  Me: Keep her name out of your mouth!

  Veenure: Who?

  Sophia: What about her? Huh? TELL ME.

  Me: Dammit, Sophia, you don’t know anything about her! She’d take this deal in a heartbeat.

  Sophia: Would she? Would she really?

  Me: She’d do it because it is for the good of the team, the same way that she sacrificed herself to stop the source code bomb. She was selfless, and you could learn something from her. We all could.

  Sophia: You’re making a mistake.

  “We’ll take it,” I tell King Coromon, who has since started in on yet another glass of wine. “Level ninety for the whole guild, The Knights of Non Compos Mentis.”

  “Good.” He grins a most sinister grin. “I was hoping you’d say that.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “Why didn’t Doc just take the RV to the extraction site?” I ask as Sophia and I step into a taxi. She ignores my question, and continues with the cold shoulder as she has been for the last thirty minutes. Real world drama mama – no other way to put it. I did what had to be done – greatest good for the greatest number, and all that.

  And yeah, it was a stupid question, I get that.

  As soon as I ask, I know why Doc didn’t take the RV – he doesn’t want his Airstream linked to the extraction.

  The female Humandroid taxi driver smiles at me in the rearview mirror. “It will take an estimated twenty-seven minutes and thirty-two seconds to reach Boulder,” the driveress says. “Would you like to catch up on the daily news or listen to music? If so, feel free to select whatever you’d like via the panel just below the security barrier. Please note: additional charges may apply for usage of the panel, even if you ultimately decide not to use the service.”

  “We won’t be using the service,” says Sophia.

  “If you would like to sit in silence, please let me know and I will activate noise cancellation. Additional charges may apply.”

  “That’s fine.”

  Frances Euphoria: Are you meeting Doc now?

  Me: En route with Sophia giving me hell.

  Frances Euphoria: Rocket briefed me. Level ninety or level thirty-five and some royal NPCs intangible gratitude? I think old Frances might have gone with Sophia’s argument, but you’ve had an effect on me over the last few weeks. I don’t know if this is good or bad.

  Me: Good to see you’re letting your hair down. In all seriousness, I did what I felt was best for the team.

  Frances Euphoria: I hope.

  “Well, Sophia?” I lift my eyebrow in her direction. “Wanna say something?”

  The driveress chimes in. “It appears as if she doesn’t want to speak to you, Mr. Hughes.”

  “Yeah? If I want your opinion, I’ll slap it out of you. Otherwise, keep it to yourself, droid.” I cross my arms over my chest, turn to the window. “Fine, be that way, don’t talk to me.”

  “I’m not.”

  “You just did,” I tell her in a derisive tone.

  Rocket: Where are you guys? Why aren’t you there yet?

  Me: We aren’t there yet because Sophia decided to take a shower after diving.

  Rocket: Did you shower?

  Me: What, are you suddenly my FDA Hygiene Monitor or something? Yeah, I took a long hot bubbly-bath and I did my hair and make-up too, but deciding which shoes and purse went with the outfit was what took the longest. Gimme a break, Peanut Gallery.

  Sophia grunts, scoots further away from me. “I had a mortgage in Porthos, in Valhalla,” she hisses. “Your little action just cost me several grand.”

  “So this is still about you? The guild can give you money. We got more cash reserves than AppleSoft.”

  “Real money, Quantum, not in-game currency.”

  “That makes no sense. I’m trying to feel all boo-hoo for you, but nothing’s coming. I still don’t understand why you would ever pay real money for anything in a pretend Proxima World. ProxiCo makes more money from in-game advertising and product placement than China does from counterfeit merchandise on Ebaymazon. Why would you want to give them any more? Hell, you could have probably just collected the stuff you need for Sophia’s Malibu Dream House and built it outside the city limits.”

  “But that’s not in the city. It’s not in Valhalla.”

  “So what.”

  “It’s the difference between living in New Jersey and living in Manhattan. Sure, you’re close, but it’s not the same. The atmosphere is gone.”

  “The atmosphere? Who are you trying to impress – all your NPC and RPC friends?”

  Bingo. She looks away and says nothing.

  “Okay – look Sophia. I’m sorry it didn’t work out to your personal advantage and you lost out on your … ” – I stop myself before I say ‘make believe’ or ‘pretend’ – “ … your home in Valhalla, but I did what I judged to be best for the team.”

  She answers with the exaggerated and world-weary sigh of the unfairly put-upon.

  Rocket: She still tripping?

  Me: Dude, it’s like she’s from another planet. She’s worse than Hoffman on his infamous bike ride.

  Rocket: ???

  Me: NM.

  Sophia lifts her chin, tilts it to the window. Beyond the window, aeros race by carrying people outside the City of the Plains and across the Centennial State. Mountain peaks on the horizon add a touch of Albert Bierstadt to the terrain. Snow at the top reminds me just how high and cold the place is, regardless of global climate change.

  I try to make nice with her one last time. “Just sell your place then, and buy something in Hyperborea. It seemed nicer than Polynya anyway. I’ve heard the northern shore is pretty nice, at least that’s what Aiden told me.”

  “The Goblin Riviera?” she asks with a look of disgust.

  “Is that what it’s called?”

  “Yes, and it has mosquitos in the summertime that are the size of hummingbirds. Hummingbirds!”

  “Oh, that’s not so bad,” I say. “Sounds tropical. And seriously, how bad can a goblin be?”

  “They make orcs look like graduates of the Emily Post-Manners Academy of Etiquette and Good Taste.”

  “Just think about it like this: you could be the Queen of Goblins with your mind control abilities.”

  “Quantum, shut up.”

  My eyes dart to the Humandroid driver, who is doing her damndest to analyze our body language through the rearview mirror while driving the vehicle. Jitters – I feel uneasy every time one of
these droids gives me the once over. It’s like they’re trying to be me, to pick up my little idiosyncrasies, figure out what makes me and my fellow mammalian sentients tick.

  Technically, these vehicles can drive themselves, but the various taxi companies like UberFord and a few others get a tax write-off if they keep a driver. The devil is in the details – when this law was passed, Humandroid drivers weren’t a thing. They’ve since replaced the human workforce yet the law has somehow remained in effect. Methinks someone just bought a new estate in the Cayman Islands at the taxpayer’s expense.

  I point out the window to a FroYo sign anchored to the top of a rooftop. A blinking arrow indicates the direction of the shop, an advertisement flashes across the inside of the windshield asking us if we would like to reroute our vehicle. Try our Chocolate Chip Cookie Dough S’more Yogurt today! GMO-free, low fat, Kosher, no high fructose corn syrup, low sodium, ethically sourced and cultured from grass-fed cows! Only 70.009576 calories per serving!

  “How ‘bout some FroYo? Will that cheer you up?”

  “Hardly.” She doesn’t even look at the driver when she says, “Stay on course.”

  Fine. I’m all done with the nice-making. She can take a flying … leap … at a rolling Proxima bagel. “I’m finding it hard to be empathetic here due to the fact that you mainly seem interested in your Proxima mortgage and your fancy-schmancy magical bungalow, rather than the Dream Team.”

  “As I said before,” she says as she bites her lip. “There is more to it than that. I don’t believe we will see the repercussions of this decision until later on.”

  ~*~

  We land in a parking lot outside a food truck court. It’s amazing how damned popular food trucks have become: there’s one dedicated to halal cupcakes; another that sells gyros with an Indian twist; Tofu Turkey’s Daily Thanksgiving Feast; Blue Buns Hot Dogs with, well, blue buns; Cajun Frappe and a very suspicious looking establishment at the back called GoatCakes, that sells cheesecakes made from goat’s milk. The GoatCakes truck is emblazoned with a smiling cartoon Sally in an apron and chef’s hat; she stands upright and balances a tray with a GoatCake on it. If that wasn’t enough clue, von Richtofen the Imaginary Friend drone is perched on the vehicle’s SkyNet dish.