Oblivion's Peril

by M. H. Johnson

  Val blinked. “You have a job?”

  The boy nodded enthusiastically. "Yeah. Same as you, right? Our new president, he's actually paying those of us with a knack for this sort of game real cash for in-game currency! You know how hard you have to work to farm just minimum wage playing your favorite games? Well, it's crazy, man, but everyone I know who plays or used to play Endless got the e-mail that all the servers were back online! And everyone can get top of the line VR-helms for free if they don’t already have one, and not only will they pay you room, board, and 15 bucks an hour just for playing, but you can turn in ores and Dominion currency for real-life money! Dude, I thought it was a scam, but everyone on Readit was screaming it was true. So all of us who have been playing who earned any credits or Elementium or that alchemist stuff, we traded it for real US dollars!

  “My dad was floored when he saw my bank account balance, and the Blackenthorps are paying me a thousand credits a week. That’s ten thousand US dollars! Can you believe it? Mech-warrior is the absolute best class! The Interface skill gives me bonuses to all my pilot skills, and I’m making a crapload more than most of the folks I know just messing about, looking for quests, dwarven ruins, or wizards to teach them spells and crafting. I’m actually making more than my dad playing this game. Way more!”

  The boy suddenly looked nervous, gazing anxiously at Val. “Hey, you’re not going to fire me or anything, are you? I can work full-time for you. Everyone who can jack into the game gets a free pass! No more school days wrecking my flow. I even got my high-school degree mailed to me just yesterday. I don’t ever have to go to school again if I don’t want to!”

  Val solemnly shook his head. “I have no intentions of firing you, Jake. In fact, I would be grateful to have you on my team. But you do know this is all real, right? If you kill someone here, you’ve taken a real person’s life.”

  Jake frowned. “Oh. You’re another NPC then.” He took a deep breath and saluted. “Jake Thatcher, reporting for duty.”

  Val smirked. “Where are you from, Jake?”

  Jake frowned. "Really? I'm from Chicago, but I know that means nothing to you. My official story is orphan adopted by a mech pilot who died in the line of duty, but not before teaching me everything he knew.”

  Val felt an odd chill. "Chicago? No kidding. Strange how many of us jacked on from there."

  Jake stilled. “Wait, you’re a real person? Okay… who won the World Series?”

  Val smirked. “It sure as hell wasn’t the Cubs.”

  Jake blinked before doubling over with laughter. “Oh gods, yes. I love watching the games, but damn it hurts when they wipe. Why can’t we catch a break?”

  Val smiled. “And why do the dogs always give such bad gas?”

  “I don’t know, man, must be the relish. I just keep it clean with ketchup and mustard, same as my dad.”

  Val patted the kid’s shoulder. “Smart man. But, Jake? Seriously. This is for real. We didn’t jack into a high-tech game. Our helmets ported our psyches into Dominion generated synth-drones. In other words, you might be chilling in your bed with the helm on, but your avatar is on a real world with actual living breathing people. You kill here, you killed someone for real.”

  Jake’s gaze grew intent. “Why the fuck did you have to say that?” he sighed.

  “And Caesar isn’t your president. He’s just the Overlord who took over our planet. All that crap about corporate restructuring is a bunch of bullshit, and you know it. It’s just to make our own utter defeat that much easier to swallow. To make the knowledge that every damned corrupt politician in the world sold out their countries without even a fight more bearable. To better keep a world of happy slaves docile and content, working for their new masters without a hint of rebellion.”

  Val squeezed the trembling boy’s shoulders. “You know that in your heart, don’t you, Jake? Tell me half your friends’ eyes aren’t filled with fear behind their smiles. Come on, Jake. The real reason why you jack into this game. It isn’t just about the money. It’s to feel powerful and wanted. It’s to escape the bitter melancholy of a world that gave up without a fight.”

  “I know!” Jake paled, lowering his head, clenched fists shaking. “I know.”

  Val flashed a bleak smile. “So now it’s our turn. I’m going to take over this planet and make it my own. So the whole damned Dominion can see that a Terran monkey can play Overlord every bit as well as they can.”

  Jake was trembling, gazing at Val with tears in his eyes.

  “We have an edge our enemies don’t. You already know what it is, don’t you?”

  The boy jerked a nod. “We can level up.”

  Val nodded. “Exactly. I need you, Jake, and I need people like you. People who aren’t afraid to fight for a cause. People willing to fight by my side when I claim this world under Terran rule. People willing to play this game for real.” He squeezed the boy’s shoulder. “Are you willing to fight by my side, Jake? I could use a pilot like you.”

  “You know it,” Jake whispered, wiping his eyes. “You damn well know it! Let’s kick their fucking asses!”

  Val smiled, ignoring the odd glances Lucius and Angelica flashed, knowing the pair would take care of the wide-eyed technicians gazing at Val with horrified wonder.

  “Good,” Val said. “Together we’ll forge the most epic kingdom this world has ever seen. And Terrans will be at the helm. Do you think you can find a few other players who might be interested in a little world-conquest?”

  “Shit yeah!”

  Val smiled. “And you can tell them I won’t stint as well. 20,000 credit sign-on bonus, and 1000 credits a week for every player willing to fight under my banner. And I’ll double that for every mech pilot willing to join the campaign. Do you think you can pass that along, Jake?”

  Jake was shivering with awe and excitement. “Oh hell yeah, Valor. You’ll get people leaving their other employers in droves for that kind of cash!”

  “Good,” Val said. “Pass the word, but for fuck’s sake, be discreet. Tails and TOR, and I'll break down how they work if you don't already know. And keep the fact that I'm Terran on the down-low for now. People will figure it out soon enough. But feel free to spread the word far and wide. We’ll take every player we can get.”

  Jake nodded. “Damn right I know how to ghost, big brother taught me before he left for college. No one playing nowadays is stupid, I’ll tell you that.” He gazed curiously at Val. “This could cost you a serious fortune if we get enough people’s attention. What if a hundred people wanted to sign up? Do you really have that kind of money just lying around?”

  Angelica’s eyes widened. Lucius frowned. -Valor, we don’t have that kind of capital!-

  Val just smiled, pulling out a bar of solid Elementium from storage. “I think I got us covered,” he said, as much for Jake’s benefit as theirs.

  Jake whistled. “Jeezus. Is that what I think it is?”

  Val smiled. “This bar alone is worth 2 million credits, 20 million US dollars. And there’s a hell of a lot more where that came from. There’s no telling how far we can go, and now I’m making a play for the Overlord’s throne. But there are a couple things you have to be aware of, Jake. First off, it’s real. All of it. Every damned bit of it. The bitter and the sweet. The people you save, the girls you love, the men you kill. All of it is real. In a world just like our own, save for bizarre physics and awesome magic. But what you also have to understand is that for most people jumping now, they start with maxed perfect resonance. Stat increases now affect both worlds. You really can become quicker, stronger, and smarter, just by playing this game. But there's an ugly catch. If you die here, you die of cardiac arrest, or worse, back at home.”

  Jake paled.

  “But don’t panic. As long as you have a black cat helm or any top-tier helm with an escape word, it should pull you out. So long as you avoid necromancer traps, anyway. Do you have a helm like that?”

  The boy nodded. “As long as I say P...”


  Val slammed his hand over the kid’s mouth. “Don’t say it!”

  The boy flushed and quickly nodded.

  Val sighed. “But did you see what I did there? If I had been an enemy intent on killing you, you’d be dead before you could escape.”

  Jake winced. “Damn. You are pretty hardcore. And your reflexes are off the charts! What level are you?”

  Val grinned. “Level 18 Dauda Assassin, Level 4 Overlord Mystic.”

  Jake whistled. “No shit. That’s epic!”

  Val smiled. “And if you tell anyone, I’ll kill you.” The pair laughed at that. “No, seriously. I will.”

  The boy swallowed.

  “Yes, I’m kidding. But I will fire you in a heartbeat. So please keep it to yourself, deal?”

  The boy nodded.

  “But you can tell your friends I’m a player, and I’m more than capable of doing this…” He jutted out his finger. “Glacie Pilum!” he roared, a massive spear of ice streaking past the wide-eyed boy to slam so hard into the wall it tore through the metal plating.

  “And this.” Val gripped his Psiblade, summoning a four foot sliver of absolute blackness surrounded by crackling purple lightning, looking for all the world like the deadliest longsword imaginable.

  The already pale-faced Jake gasped when Val used his blade to effortlessly slice into the pristine mech he had just repaired, eliciting gasps of awe and horror from multiple throats.

  “You can tell your Readit contacts I’m a serious contender, and I play for keeps. I reward loyalty with lucrative bonuses, and betrayal with death.”

  Jake swallowed. “But not really, right? You wouldn’t really hurt anyone? Any player, I mean?”

  Val turned to gaze at the crackling sparks ricocheting off the gaping cut his Psiblade had inflicted upon his battle-mech. “Do you want to know what I used to do before I jacked into Endless, Jake?”

  The boy flashed an anxious smile. “Not really?”

  Val grinned. “Fair enough. How would you like to earn some extra credits, Jake?”

  The boy nodded. “I’m game.”

  “Good. Every player willing to fight under my banner with you as a referral earns you an extra 500 credits. Which translates to an extra 5000 dollars. And everyone they sign on earns you an extra 100 credits, or 1000 dollars. What do you say?”

  The boy flashed a thousand-megawatt smile. “I’d say it’s time for me to earn some money!” He stuck out his hand.

  Val solemnly shook it. “It’s good to have you on board, Jake. I’ll see you soon. In the meantime, the Blackenthorps will handle things as before.”

  “Understood!” The boy saluted and dashed off.

  Val closed his eyes and smiled. Now bonded to this territory, he immediately sensed where the Blackenthorp gate was, allowing players to instantly jump in and out of the game.

  Angelica was gazing at Val in wide-eyed disbelief. “What are you thinking? Now all of Earth will know who you are!”

  Lucius nodded. “The child’s ability to quantize his experiences and feed upon his kills does him much credit as a mech pilot. But he is little more than a boy. You did not oathbind him. I have no doubt your every confidence will be shared, including your absurd wealth, by the time the week is up.”

  Val flashed a cold grin. “That’s the plan.”

  Angelica’s brow furrowed. “What are you up to, Valor?” Before lurching back, a shocked expression upon her features. “That’s madness, Val. Madness!”

  Val held her gaze. “All tools are valid in the crucible of war. Don’t shirk now, Angelica. The dance has just begun.”

  Even Lucius looked stunned. “You would dare much, Valor Hunter. Beyond even my brother’s most avaricious dreams.”

  Val nodded. “Damn right I would. And that’s just one prong of our attack. We also need mercs. And as many armored units as we can acquire. But more than anything else, we need battle-mechs. What’s the best way for us to acquire them?”

  Lucius frowned thoughtfully. “If money is not a deterrent, I know of four top tier merc companies that will fight under our banner. As for battle-mechs, that might prove… challenging. I am still waiting for an order to be completed myself. A shipment I fear may never come through. Caligula, Phoebe’s Overlord, has been attempting to profit over Jordia’s succession by putting a significant tariff on all military hardware brought through the jump gate both our worlds share. A tariff onerous enough that the supply of battle-mechs has dried to a trickle. This suits Caligula quite well, as it allows him to both profit from our struggles and weaken Jordia’s overall military power to ultimately gain influence over the succession.”

  Angelica nodded. “Though they keep their cards close, the High Council dances to Caligula’s tune already. If we do not strike fast, the conniving bastards will try to scheme the board from right under our feet! No doubt one of the players on the board is courting the council’s favor even now, and will soon find himself with the best-equipped army on the field. More than willing to be Caligula's puppet, so long as he or she can wear the crown. Now we just need our spies to report back with all the details.”

  Val gazed thoughtfully at the towering monoliths of pristine alloy before him, a pair of battle-mechs that could easily turn the tides of any battle. He frowned at the vicious gash, still sparking, that he had inflicted upon one. Putting his hand on the mecha and casting Dominion Catalyzation was almost as easy as breathing, the cost in mana recovered in seconds. Angelica’s gaze widened at the sight of the silver-gray alloy repairing itself. “I am still in awe, Valor, to see such powerful magics wielded to repair our most sophisticated technology.”

  Val grinned. “I maxed out my PRM skill, so I don’t fry the very things I’m trying to fix. But that does bring up an interesting point. New battle-mechs might be ridiculously expensive and hard to come by, and we should still do all we can to buy whatever’s available, regardless of its state. But more than that, we should be sending out feelers for used mecha. Battle-mechs that are damaged, worn down, no longer cutting-edge. Even battle-mechs consigned to scrap. Once we’ve repaired them, they just might serve as the backbone of our future armada.”

  Lucius nodded. “Well thought, Valor. But there are technological hurdles as well. A number of decommissioned mecha lack various defensive capabilities more sophisticated models have.”

  Val’s mind flashed back to the original conflict between their two Houses, the slight difference in appearance between the mecha that had made it to Christine’s barrier, and those that had been shorted out by the numerous mines Christine had laid down.

  “Older models are susceptible to surge mines or viral mines, is that it? I take it newer models are immune.”

  Lucius dipped his head. “Correct, Valor.”

  “Alright. That just means we will use older models as longer range artillery and support, reinforcing the front line without being on the front line, at least until we know any mines are shorted out.”

  Lucius frowned. “Possible. That is how the reserves Angelica commands are set up. But they are highly mobile with specialized laser cannons. If we were to use the older models as long-range snipers alongside them, particularly if they are equipped with nothing more than standard autocannons, it would take a master pilot just to score a hit.” The powerfully built man blinked, a slow grin coming to his imposing features. “Of course. Who better to pilot such than Terrans who would dare the Mech-warrior’s path?”

  “My thought exactly,” Val said. “I take it you have contacts in all sorts of interesting places that can put out feelers for every mech unit out there? No matter how old, or even if it’s been consigned to scrap?”

  Lucius nodded. "Indeed I do. Every rogue, smuggler, and high-end merchant that I know will soon get discreet calls from my agents claiming to represent any number of parties, pursuing any number of goals. Should fortune favor us, we should have a dozen within a week, and a steady stream thereafter."

  Angelica’s graceful features furrowed. “Unt
il our enemies catch wind of our plans, of course, or inquisitors grow suspicious and sniff out our ultimate designs.”

  Val frowned. "I thought inquisitors were hands-off during the succession. Especially when it came to those daring the King's Path. Otherwise, it would be construed as interference, no?"

  Angelica flashed a jaded smile. “Come, Val. We all know there was a play for Christine’s head even before you came. Fortunate indeed she is to have a Dauda by her side.” Angelica froze. Gazing at Val strangely. “The girl my uncle hired was your sister?” She closed her eyes and chuckled. “I am both ashamed for my family, and grateful you blaze so bright from ashes that would be the urns of lesser men.”

  Val clenched his fist. “I forgave your clan the moment I saw you dying in your father’s arms. Let’s never speak of that again.”

  Angelica paled. “I’m sorry, Valor,” she whispered. “And you’re right. No inquisitor would dare be so bold, conniving against a red. In some ways, it is worse to be a blue if you have enemies. As a red, everyone will assume evidence or accusation of crimes to be evidence planted by enemies and automatically discounted. And of course, should a red join forces with the eventual winner of the succession, all their past crimes will be forgiven by the future Overlord.”

  “But?”

  “Even if no charge they press will stick, inquisitors can still use their clout to spy for their ultimate masters, the Jordian High Council, whose strings are now pulled by Caligula, Phoebe’s Overlord.”

  Val nodded. “So the inquisitors spy for Caligula, and Caligula’s eventual chosen will be fed highly detailed accounts of all the strengths and weaknesses of all the other players on the board. And if the cards are against us, Caligula and the council have already chosen the puppet they would put on the throne.”