Blue shakes her head. “You can certainly take the dragon to the city, but the air space around Athos is very heavily controlled, and those who wish to enter the city must first be thoroughly vetted. Since Mr. Hughes here, oh, how shall we say, chose to display a most blatantly non-traditional and unorthodox combat methodology in his contest with Princess Renata that many Thuleans feel not only violated the spirit of Tournament Competition, but indeed besmirched the honor of all Thuleans as well, you’d surely encounter air security forces that would be only too happy to hinder you in every way possible.”
“It’s not the first time someone’s wanted my hide.”
“The air security forces have more power than a regular security officer on the ground,” Red explains, “which means they can strip you of your visa.”
“Looks like we’re walking,” Rocket says. “Or we could simply ride Mirror like a big, reptilian donkey. I’m sure she’d love that.”
Me: You’re joking.
Rocket: I was trying to be sarcastic, like you.
“We’ll walk,” I tell our Thulean guests.
“And be subject to thieves and other encounters along the road?” Blue chortles. “It isn’t that simple! You must pass through Chachat to get to Athos, and let me be the first to tell you how dangerous that city is.”
I wait for her to tell me.
“It’s, like, dangerous!” she finally says.
“Which is why we,” Red places his arm around his wife’s shoulder, “think you should travel with Tom.”
“He’s kind of a stick,” I tell them.
“You’d be surprised at Tom’s strength. He’s much, much more than a stick, as you say. Plus we have the perfect way to get you to the city gates. Once you’re in, people may view you with disfavor, but no one can attack you within the city limits.”
“And as promised,” Blue chimes in, “we’ll visit the Great Library of Player Records and see if we can uncover anything about this Veenure character. Tom, lead them to the wagon.”
Me: So we’re getting smuggled in?
Rocket: This will be fun!
~*~
In a crate with my mates and yes, I’d have it any other way. “Doc, I love you like a brother, really I do, but if you dig your sharp little goat hoof into me one more time, I swear on the sweet, sweet name of Ray Steampunk that shit’s going to hit the fan.”
“Bring it,” Doc says, and kicks me for good measure. Rocket laughs.
Five Knights in a crate? Frances said it wasn’t possible, that there was no way we’d feasibly fit in a crate already half full of graboid hides yet here we are, packed like sardines in a pod. The good news is that the hides make a not-bad cushion, but the bad news is that there’s another crate on top of us and Sophia is claustrophobic.
“I can’t breathe!”
“Oh for Glob’s sake, yes you can,” Doc reminds her. “Your body is in a dive vat back in the real world. And how is it that you’re claustrophobic in the game but you’re perfectly okay-fine floating in a tight little coffin-sized space in the RW? Just relax and breathe normally, otherwise you’ll trigger your vat’s medical emergency sensors and the ArachnaMed will intervene. I’m sure Frances would prefer not to deal with that right now.”
Frances Euphoria: Not have to deal with it ever, thank you very much.
The crate shifts and moves, and I hear the sound of a Mûmakil depleting Tritania’s ozone layer. Who’d a thunk that the Ivys owned a Mûmakil? I guess it’s a good thing they do, because Rocket wasn’t lying when he said he killed a crap-ton of graboids.
“I can’t – I just can’t. It’s too much,” Sophia sobs. “I can’t take it.”
“Well, log out,” Doc tells her.
“I didn’t think of that.”
I can’t see her eyes in the dark of the crate, but I’m pretty sure they just lit up.
“I didn’t think of that! I’ve already been to Athos; I can just spawn at the city gates outside of Chachat. Oh my God, I’m so stupid. Byeeeeee!”
And with that, Sophia disappears into pixie dust.
“Finally it’s just us boys,” Rocket says. “Just us cool guys.”
“And you, Big R, and you,” I reply.
“Dude! Who got you the breakfast tacos, extra cheese extra sausage?”
“You’re right – by the Power of Grayskull, I pronounce you cool!”
Tom Myspace shouts something in Thulean outside of the Mûmakil-drawn wagon. The mahoosive loxodonta responds and the wheels rumble beneath the wagon.
“So, what are we talking about?”
“Boy stuff, totally,” Doc says in his best Sabrina the Teenage witch voice.
Got anything to add, Aiden?” Rocket asks.
“I don’t believe we’ve ever spoken,” comes Morning Assassin’s reply. “I don’t know if this is a good thing or a bad thing.”
“Go easy on the kid.”
“What?” he asks as he elbows me. “It was an honest statement.”
“And we do have a lady in the crate,” Doc reminds us. “Frances is monitoring, which means Sophia is probably watching too.”
“This ain’t too bad,” I tell them. I equip my Montecristo No. 4, that was allegedly hand-rolled on a virgin’s thigh, item 30, and it sparks on its own. “Doc, you want one?”
“I quit years ago, but the Faun o’ Death hasn’t, so … ” the inside of the crate lights up as Doc sparks up a ‘Black Death’ cigarette with a brass lighter fashioned from one of Cedric Popkin’s expended .303 shells. He sucks the smoke in deep and blows it out with considerable satisfaction. “Ahh,” says he, “I like ‘em, and I’m going to smoke ‘em. Ain’t nothing like it.” Aiden produces a Sherlock Holmes-style calabash pipe the size of an alto sax, stuffs it with a fist-sized wad of Borkum Riff Cherry Cavendish, and fires it up with an oversized Bryant and May wooden match. Clouds of aromatic, carcinogen-laden smoke billow and swirl around us, and all eyes focus on Rocket.
“I’m not a big in-game smoker,” he says, as he does the passive-aggressive non-smoker cough-cough, wave-wave.
“You wanted to be a cool guy and spend time with the big boys.” I hold the cigar between my teeth like I’m Wolverine and blow a smoke ring.
Too bad no one can see it.
~*~
Everything is hunky dory until we feel the Mûmakil come to a halt. A deep voice bellows out a command in Thulean.
Doc: Smoking lamp is out, boys! Looks like we have company.
I take one more luxurious puff from my stogie and return it to my list.
Doc checks that crazy-looking gun with the three inch diameter tube for a barrel. “What?” he whispers. “Bring enough gun. A man should always be prepared.”
“Good call.” I equip my BFG 9000, item 100, which is a tight fit, to say the least. The gun’s all charged up and ready to go; the ready light confirms it.
Frances Euphoria: Overkill, don’t you think?
Me: There is no ‘overkill.’ There is only ‘open fire’ and ‘time to reload.’
The Thulean conversation heats up outside the crate. I can’t tell if it is Tom Myspace speaking or not; his common tongue voice is high and whiny, his Thulean voice not so much.
Aiden says, “I can take a quick sneak ‘n’ peek, but if they’re NPCs, they’ll see me.”
“They can’t see our player indicators in the crate?”
“Nope,” Rocket whispers, “that would ruin the fun of the game. Any action taken in Tritania can be assumed to be a part of a quest or somehow related to a quest.”
Me: Get Sophia on the horn. She can translate.
Rocket: Better idea. Frances, use the translator. Zoom out of the crate.
Frances Euphoria: I am out of the crate.
Doc: Well then, if it’s not too much trouble Ms. Euphoria, couldja maybe update us just the teensiest bit? Are they NPCs or not?
Frances Euphoria: Sorry Doc, I was just so distracted by the He-Man Woman Hater’s Club and Testosterone Fest you’ve got going on
. There are six Thulean guards; three are NPCs, the others are RPCs. They’re showing Tom some papers. Screenshots to follow.
Me: And what are they talking about?
Rocket: Hover over them and the translations will appear.
Frances Euphoria: Oh, too funny – the papers are WANTED posters for Steamboy_889. Okay, now they’re talking about our guild and how Empress Thun and Princess Renata are highly interested in our whereabouts.
Doc: So the Thulean governing body is cooperating with the Empress on this? Great.
Sophia: SEE! I told you! I TOLD YOU there would be repercussions!
Me: If you’ve been on the chat this entire time, why didn’t you help out earlier?
Sophia: I wanted to see how the guild would fare without me. I JUST WANT TO REMIND YOU THAT I TOLD YOU THERE WOULD BE REPERCUSSIONS.
Rocket: ALL CAPS! ALL CAPS!
Doc: Sophia, be advised – once more with the all caps and I’ll have Rocket lock out your caps function.
Frances Euphoria: One is getting in the wagon.
Doc: Weapons up, He-Men.
Frances Euphoria: One of them says he smells smoke.
Rocket: We were having a boy’s day out!
The sounds stop. I listen intently for any noise that may indicate they’ve discovered our hidey-hole. The Mûmakil grumbles like my stomach after too much pollo con mole.
Frances Euphoria: Whew! Good news, they’re turned away!
Sophia: Why? What did they say?
Frances Euphoria: Tom Myspace told them you were at the Ivy’s home.
Doc: Looks like the Ivys got some ‘splainin to do!
Sophia: He sold them out? WTF.
Me: The way I see it, we saved the Ivy’s asses from that Gesundheit critter which should have gotten us Athos entry visas in the first place. Then they ‘asked’ us to exterminate their garden vermin, which took a lot longer than we expected, and now they’re going to make a handsome profit from Rocket’s hard work by selling these graboid hides without even offering to cut us in. And, they served us worm piss tea, remember that? So, Kay Sarah, Sarah, as Nana Hughes used to say, I’m sure they’ll be fine, and Tango Fox Bravo if they’re not. I’m betting that RPCs get a lot of leeway up here. Am I right?
Rocket: You ain’t wrong, Mugsy. Is that how they’d say it in The Loop?
“Worm piss tea,” Doc snorts. “Somehow, it sounds worse out loud.”
Sophia: But they’ll still have to deal with the Peace Enforcers whenever they return from the Hall of Player Records. They are there for us, remember?
Me: Worry less, Sophia. I’m sure they’ll be fine.
Once Tom mounts back up in the driver’s seat and the wheels on the cart go ‘round and ‘round as the Mûmakil picks up the pace. After waiting a good thirty seconds or so just to be sure, the Bad Boys of Non Compos Mentis light up fresh smokes.
~*~
No walls around Athos per se; instead, the city is protected by a series of linked guard towers. Dragons patrol the sky and tiny, fairy-sized dragons move in and out of the people waiting to get in. No mountains here, or none that I can see due to the heavy snowfall. Funny too, this snow is visible yet it never lands. If I reach out to grab a flake, my hand goes through it. Yet there is snow on the ground, maybe not enough to host a Yukigassen, but definitely enough to make snow angels and yellow snowcones for those that displease me.
We’re out of the cart now and are joined by Sophia, who has already got her snark on about oral fixations, little boys trying to be all cool, and the ill effects of smoking. Doc looks at her like she’s something he’s had to scrape out from between the split in his hoof and very pointedly lights up another ‘Black Death’. She raises a hand to cast some extinguishing spell, and quickly turns the motion into a nose scratch when Doc quietly advises her, “Bad idea.”
Strangely enough, it isn’t cold here, which is just as well for a couple of elven-ettes in white Dr. Frank N. Furter cosplay outfits. Rocket blinks rapidly, taking screenshots with his eyes. I give him a less-than-subtle thumbs up. One of them spots me and glares at Rocket.
Rocket: Yo, Q-Pops, why’d you dime me out, yo?
Me: Yo, seriously? Your voyeurism is going to bite you in the butt one of these days. You really should get a handle on it.
Doc: Aw, leave the kid alone – maybe he has a Voyeuristic Disorder; he’s probably a victim of something.
Me: It seems just about anything can be a disorder and everybody’s a victim these days. Rather than tell someone to get over it, or keep their weird little bullshit fantasies to themselves, we label it a disorder, and strip the person of their responsibility of keeping their shit under wraps. So you’re into voyeurism? Great, watch some iNet videos, get your jollies, and move on. Why label it a disorder? Why create a medicine for it? Why pay a psychologist?
Sophia: There are so many things wrong with what you’ve just said, so many.
After Tom Myspace ties off the Mûmakil and arranges for its care and feeding, he approaches us. “Would you like me to go with you? I am aware of several shortcuts that lead directly to the Sage’s location; I can help, really.”
I turn to She Who Thinks She Knows Everything. “You know how to get to the central forest, don’t you Sophia?”
“It’s called Athos Forest Park and yes, I know how to get there.”
Doc’s hooves clop against the snow-covered pavement as he adjusts his tactical vest. “Sorry, Tom. Thanks for the offer, but I think we’ve got that covered. I’m guessing you ain’t exactly itching to get back home, especially since Johnny Law will be there. If it were me, I’d hang out in the city for the rest of the day and tell the Ivys you were helping out. We’ll back you up.”
The manservant chews the idea over for a moment. “That would be a bit unconventional, but I do need to get these hides sold … ”
“Speaking of which, how much are they worth?” I ask.
“Each hide is worth a considerable amount.”
“How much is considerable?” Doc asks.
“At the very least, and from a trader on the down market side of town, mind you, each hide should fetch upwards of a thousand rupees.”
“And do the Ivys know how many hides you have?” I ask.
“Probably not. They leave that sort of thing to me. Hmmm … ” Tom’s voice trails off as he considers possibilities.
Frances Euphoria: Quan-tum!
Me: What? I’m trying to get us a piece of the action; after all Rocket and our NPCs did all the work! And what with all the forfeiting we’ve had to do lately and the Lobby Boys’ recent ho-fest, our team bank account has taken a beating.
Sophia: No time for your petty scams and grifts now, the visa authorities are coming over to us.
“Never mind,” I tell Tom as a Thulean in a collarless blue robe stops in front of Doc. The Point of Entry officer is an NPC with a stern and humorless visage and sideways Thulean tattoos for eyebrows.
A trio of tiny dragons descend upon us. They stop to Doc’s right and form a line.
“Cute little guys,” I say as I reach my hand out to one.
The gecko with wings emits a fireball large enough to roast a supersized ManBearPig. No time for me to equip item 115, my firefighter helmet with a five-inch face shield. My life bar dips a couple of percent and I step back into line.
Sophia doesn’t even pretend to cover her laughter.
Doc coughs, ‘Dumbass! Dumbass!’ into his fist.
A scroll appears in front of the POE officer and a pair of half-lens glasses form on his face. “Please DO NOT touch, make eye contact with, make recorded images of, or otherwise interact with the droogans. They are particularly feisty this time of year; it’s their mating season.”
I lower my hand to my side pocket and secretly give the droogans the bird.
Doc presents our visas, or maybe it would be better to say they present themselves. The scrolls materialize in the air and snap to. They line up, side by side, in front of the POE officer.
&n
bsp; “Yes … um … yes … um … ” He goes through each one and starts at the first one again to double-check the details. “And you’re familiar with the rules of Athos?” he asks, as he looks over the top of glasses and focuses directly on yours truly.
“What? Me?” I ask. “Do I look like the kind of guy who would break the rules?”
“Yes, you sir, your world record has been flagged several times.”
“Flagged? Who’s flagging me?”
“Pretty much everyone who comes in contact with you! Please remind him of the rules, officer,” Sophia says.
“With pleasure.” The port of entry officer clears his throat. “The normal Tritania rules apply in Athos. There is, however, another rule that may affect your behavior. Weapons are not allowed in Athos. You won’t be able to equip them nor will you be able to use them. Do you have any weapons?”
“Yeah, lots. Why, you need some?” Doc asks.
“It doesn’t matter if you have weapons or not,” the POE officer says. “The entire city is an enchanted no-weapons zone so weapons won’t equip from your inventories. I ask that simply as a courtesy.”
Doc scratches one of his horns. “Huh – a courtesy to who? And that ‘no weapons’ thing always works out real well, everywhere it’s been tried, pussywillow.”
The POE officer glares at Doc, and then studiously ignores him.
“How do people fight, then?” I ask.
“They don’t,” he says flatly.
“That sucks!” Rocket pounds his fist into his hand. “I was looking forward to a bar brawl. Isn’t that right, Aiden?”
Aiden rolls his eyes.
“What? I thought you’d be down with that?”
Aiden’s hyena grin is visible even beneath his mask.
Rocket: I can never read him!
Doc: That’s kind of the point.
“What kind of medieval fantasy city doesn’t have a good brawl every now and then?” I ask the blue robed official.
His response is curt and filled with irritation. “The kind that you are about to enter. If you don’t like it, don’t go in.” After he’s reviewed each scroll again, they spontaneously combust into turquoise flame and fall to the ground. “Your entry documents are in order; entrance is granted to all of you,” his tone of voice makes it quite clear that he wishes it were otherwise. “Ms. Wang,” he says once the last scroll flames out.
The Mechanical Heart: (Book Five) (Sci-Fi LitRPG Series) (The Feedback Loop 5) Page 18
