by Tao Wong
But I stay seated, happy to play along for now. The last thing I need is to be associated with an assassination attempt while trying to get other settlement leaders to meet with and vote for me.
The interrogation continues for another couple of hours, but eventually Jacques gives up on getting any further information from me. He shows an amazing amount of Willpower and commitment, but I somehow get the feeling the entire interview process isn’t much different than what he’s used to. Unfortunately, the interrogation ending doesn’t mean I’m released, so I get to sit in the courtyard for a few more hours.
As I’m guided out of the courtyard, I receive a rather sternly worded statement that boils down to “Your presence is not wanted” before I’m sent back to the teleportation portal to be bounced out. They don’t even bother paying for a long-range teleportation, dumping me at the nearest settlement outside their borders. It’s a bit annoying actually, considering it probably cost them nearly as much to drop me in a non-padded location as it would have to send me back properly. It’d be a major inconvenience if I didn’t have my Skill.
For a moment, I stare at the notification that informs me I’m in the Town of N’Djamena with the usual listing of facilities. A quick perusal of my map shows I’m pretty much in the center of Africa, my sudden appearance already attracting the attention of the locals.
“About time,” a familiar voice drawls, making me crane my head to the side and back to spot the First Nation woman and ex-party member.
“Ingrid. Are you the one who got me deposited here?” I say, putting two and two together.
“Yup. Amazing what happens when your entire society is built on corruption,” Ingrid says with a smirk and drops from the squat building she was sitting on, landing beside me. “Hungry?”
“I could eat,” I answer, eyes narrowing as we walk toward the conveniently located restaurant. The paranoid part of me points out that this could be dangerous, but I push it aside. Ingrid’s a friend.
“Thanks for not interfering too much,” Ingrid says as we get a seat. She holds up a hand as I look to speak, instead ordering in rapid-fire French. “Hope you don’t mind me ordering. Their Chef here is amazing, but limited.”
I wave to dismiss her statement, instead wanting to focus on the more important part. “Why did you, well, do what you did.” I pause, realizing we’re still in public. A part of me winces as well, considering everything we could say could be purchased. But she’s got her Skills and I’ve got my necklace. So it should be fine. Right?
“Relax. I didn’t just choose this restaurant for its food,” Ingrid says, seeming to read my mind.
Sometimes, I really hate how the women around me seem to be able to do that with such ease. Then again, maybe I should stop worrying about the obvious things and trust my friends.
“The owner has a Skill that blocks information gathering in this restaurant.” When I raise an eyebrow at Ingrid, she smirks. “I’m pretty sure he’s connected. If you know what I mean.”
I grunt, waving her on and ignoring her bad mob talk.
“Right. Always so impatient. It’s simple really. I got paid,” Ingrid says.
“Paid. You a merc now?”
“With the mouth.” Ingrid smirks then sobers up when I don’t react. “Yeah, not funny. Real pity he died… but yes, I do some jobs when I’m free.”
“Who paid you?” I ask, a slight amount of heat in my voice. “And how did you manage to do it when I was right there?” The level of coincidence involved seems way too high.
“Firstly, don’t know. And even if I did, wouldn’t tell you. I do everything via cut-outs,” Ingrid says, tapping her fingers. “Safer that way. Secondly, it wasn’t a coincidence. Well, not exactly. I’d been planning this job for days, waiting for him to use that office. That isn’t his usual one—his other office is even more secure but a lot less pretty. When you showed up, I knew he’d be meeting with you in his show office, so I made sure to sneak in while they kept you waiting.”
“Just my luck that I showed up instead of someone else,” I say, grimacing. “How many days?”
“About three,” Ingrid says.
So after I got back and started making my presence known. Interesting timing, but there’s not much I can do about that, beyond keeping it in mind.
“Any guesses on who?” I ask.
“I don’t make guesses. Bad habit to get into,” Ingrid says. “But the people I take jobs on? Most of them have a very long list of enemies. A very, very long list. Even if you take out those who can’t afford me, it’s still a lot of people. My targets are really not nice people.”
I smile slightly, glad to hear that Ingrid’s still got some form of morals. I’m actually a bit surprised at myself that I’m not angrier or more upset at her. Perhaps it’s the apocalypse, perhaps it’s the time on the other planet, but I find little outrage in me at her actions. A trace of disappointment, but even that fades at her proclamation about her targets. I know some might discuss the sanctity of life, of how important giving people a chance is, of allowing karma or a higher power to mete out judgment. But the truth is, there’s been so much blood on my hands that I find it hard to throw stones of any kind. So long as she isn’t coming for me or mine, I’ll give Ingrid the benefit of doubt.
I wish she hadn’t killed Ikael. After all, his murder set his entire kingdom aflame and destroyed the coalition he had been building. That leaves me with having to contact the numerous individuals under Ikael’s banner individually. It’s a waste of time, one that frustrates and angers me. I push down the frustration and anger, reminding myself that what is, is.
“Fair enough,” I say. “Any particular kind of list for Ikael?”
“Political enemies. Sons, daughters, fathers, and mothers wanting revenge. Workers tired of being forced to work overtime for no benefits. Frustrated businessmen.” Ingrid shrugs. “And that’s just those in this kingdom. Ikael’s been making noises about a war against some of the other settlements nearby. Galactic and human. Anyone who wasn’t willing to play ball.”
Before I can speak further, the dishes arrive. The cuisine is a range of high-falutin’ French cuisine and more traditional African fare with beans, mashed meat, and vegetables I can’t even name. Potentially because they might be Galactic. We dig in, our discussion turning to less contentious subjects. Ingrid fills me in on her life while I was gone, one that mostly encompasses a lot of fights, occasional assassinations, and even more scouting missions.
“Sounds like you’ve been busy.”
“Things have changed a bit since you’ve gone,” Ingrid says as she shifts peas around on her plate, separating a single pea before stabbing it with her fork. “Cheaper and more effective to deal with a single asshole and make him an example than to go in and take over entire settlements. You can always do that later if they haven’t learned the lesson.” The fork shifts, separating another pea. “Or you can just repeat the process if they don’t get the lesson. You’d be surprised how many don’t.”
I cock my head to the side, considering what Lana mentioned to me about Ingrid hanging out with Miller more. Sounds more like what the CIA would do than the army, but without the CIA any longer, I wonder if Miller’s taken over those tactics. Or maybe I’m giving them too much credit. There’s no reason Ingrid isn’t picking these targets herself with this idea in mind.
“Well, this was enlightening,” I say finally when the dishes are finished.
“And you?” Ingrid asks, then points at Ali, who’s taken a seat at the bar and is imbibing glasses of spirits like a college student on St. Patrick’s Day. “I see the Spirit got bigger.”
“He did. Consequence of my new Master Class.” I consider what to say about my time away. I haven’t spoken of it much. Not to Lana or Roxley. Not to anyone. But somehow, I have a feeling that Ingrid might understand. Her experience in the last few years parallels mine, being lonelier and bloodier than most. “It was difficult. I was thrown into a Forbidden Planet…”
<
br /> I outline the basics. Long years of fighting, of not Leveling. Of having to learn to use my abilities in ways I’d never considered before, of upgrading my spells because I had to learn to manipulate Mana without the aid of the System. By the time I’m done, it’s late and we’ve finished another pair of bottles of wine.
“And that’s it…” I say when I see Ali yawning, floating off his chair and staring at a pair of visible System screens. This time, it’s a baking reality TV show. “I guess we should get going.”
“Hold up.” Ingrid twists her hand and a watch I had last seen on Ikael’s wrist hours ago appears.
“What is that?” I frown.
“Ikael’s dimensional storage chain and AI,” Ingrid says, tapping the watch. “The storage is locked, but it can be broken.”
“And the AI?” I ask, curiosity getting me. If Ikael used the AI anything like I did Ali, this could be a huge boon.
“Maybe,” Ingrid says with a shrug. “I can’t. Sam… might have been able to.” We fall silent at the old man’s name, his death still a little raw. But soon enough, Ingrid looks up. “But I’m almost certain the details of the settlements he had deals with are in here.”
“What do you want?” I ask with a frown. It’s obvious that she mentioned all this with a purpose.
“I can have it cracked, but you’ll owe me,” Ingrid says. “One request at a later date. No questions asked.”
“No. I don’t do open-ended favors like that.”
“Really…?”
“Hush, you.”
“Just ask me,” I say to Ingrid, meeting her gaze directly.
She grimaces, not meeting my eyes for a time. Eventually, she looks up with a harsh exhalation. “Fine. I want to join you. On the trip out.”
“Trip?”
“To the capital. I want to be part of the entourage,” Ingrid says, glaring at me. “Deal?”
I consider her question then raise a finger. “One thing. No killing anyone I don’t agree to other than in self-defense on the trip.”
“Deal.”
I nod and point at the watch. “Then get it cracked and we’ll see what we can do about getting that seat.”
Ingrid flashes me a smile and I return it. Curiosity bids me ask though…
“Why do you want to go?”
“Why not?” Ingrid says with a shrug. Something dark flashes through her eyes before she looks at me, her lips twisting slightly. “I know you’re not going to go sightseeing. I figure if there’s violence to be had, you’ll bring it. And those bastards, they need to be paid back.”
I know which “those” she means. And truth be told, I agree with her. Damn Council. For a time, I stare at my friend and see the shadows of the past, the losses she’s suffered. We’ve all lost friends and family, but Ingrid lost her entire town, her entire tribe. She’s the last survivor of Dawson City, maybe even the last of her people. For a moment, I see the gaping hole she covers up with sarcasm. Then she smiles and stands, making the watch disappear, followed by herself.
“Now what?” I ask the open air, considering what more there is to do.
Ali appears beside me, picking at the remnants of the meal. “The usual of course, boy-o. Just more work. You’ve met the human players. Now it’s time to talk to the Galactics.”
I let out a low groan, but Ali’s right. Still, I decide to push it aside for a bit. Better to Portal home first. There’s going to be some fallout from this assassination. And truth be told, there’s an elf I need to speak to in Vancouver, if I want to speak to the Movana.
“Home.”
Chapter 13
As I guessed, the fallout from the assassination spreads almost immediately. While others have been killed before, it was always cross-species or smaller fry. Ikael is the first true leader to be killed by another human, and the new threat throws everyone into a tizzy. It takes me ages to convince Katherine and Lana firstly, to take additional precautions, and secondly, that I don’t need any additional security measures. It’s not to say I think I am invincible, but my particular Skillset as an Honor Guard gives me significant defenses against an assassination attempt. It would be really, really tough to lock me down long enough to end me, not unless they throw the kitchen sink too.
Once matters calm down, the next few days are spent on the phone, if you will. Long-range communication towers have been set up all across Earth, linking City Cores to one another. While communication is still limited to City Cores, at least now humanity is once again connected. It makes everything, from commerce to relationships, so much simpler.
My job, over the next little while, is extending a friendly hand to these human settlements. Truth be told, it isn’t even my plan. Within a few hours of my return, I receive one call after the other. It seems that a side effect of being involved in Ikael’s murder—however peripherally—is that I have become significantly more popular among the more spineless settlement owners. In their minds, it makes more sense to befriend me than face a possible assassination.
“Then we’ve got a deal. I’ll have a pair of bodyguards sent to you once the Contract is finalized,” I say to the dark-haired, big-nosed gentleman who smiles nervously.
“Good. Good. I’ll have it signed right away. I’m sure your bodyguards will keep the assassins off,” the man says.
“They’re all very well trained. We’ve doubled down on training with both ex-members of the US Secret Service and members of the Erethran Honor Guard. I’m sure they’ll do well.”
A few more words of pleasantries pass before the man fades away. I slump back in my chair as I stare at Ali, who is seated across from me, feet up on my table.
“I believe a major export of ours has become bodyguards,” I say, chuckling. “Good thing Ayuri agreed to let her people train ours.”
“You’re not exporting bodyguards. You’re exporting peace of mind,” Ali says. “I’m proud of you, boy-o. You’ve even got that insinuating silence down to an art form in the last few days. Dropping Ingrid’s name once in a while is doing wonders. Let’s just hope she doesn’t take a job on any of them.”
I snort. No surprise, but Ingrid’s identity was eventually revealed. Of course, I then had to deal with demands to come back for another interrogation, which I refused. I knew the investigator had a Truth Tell Skill of some sort, otherwise he’d never have let me go. And so I repeated my denials of having anything to do with the murder. But somehow, no one believed me. It didn’t help that the actual source of the contract is yet to be found.
“What are we at?” I ask Ali while Lana strides in, looking at the pair of us, the bowl of snacks on the table, and the mess of carvings I’ve left on it.
“Eight point seven percent. Another four percent are wavering from Ikael’s people. They’re probably waiting for an actual bribe,” Ali says, ticking off on his fingers. “And the rest of his supporters are actually angry at you. I doubt you’ll get them. Not directly.”
“Good thing I’m not looking for them to vote for me directly then. I’m sure Bipasha and Roy are making their own moves too,” I say before turning to Lana. “Problem?”
“No,” Lana says, shaking her head. “But we do have a visitor. Wynn’s here.”
I grin slightly. Finally. The damn elf has been off running a dungeon delve for the last few days, which is the other reason I’ve been stuck waiting. “Show him in.”
“Of course.”
“And stay, if you can,” I add.
Lana smiles at me at the invitation and disappears around the corner.
While we wait for Lana to get Wynn, Ali looks between the door and me. “You guys doing okay?”
“Of course,” I say softly. “I’m a big boy. She’s moved on. It’s more than fair, especially since, well, you know.” I point upward.
“I notice you haven’t asked anything about her boy toy,” Ali points out.
“Don’t need to know that,” I say snippily and then exhale, shaking my head. “Just because I’m okay with her moving
on doesn’t mean I need the details.”
“If you say so,” Ali says doubtfully.
As footsteps near, Ali fades, turning invisible once again rather than be forced to actually participate and pay attention to this meeting.
“Wynn,” I greet the Guild Master with a smile as I stand.
Wynn a Maro is the Vancouver Guild Master of the Burning Leaves, a powerful Tier II Guild whose members originate from everywhere but who are headquartered in the capital of the Movana Kingdom. They might not be directly backed by the Movana Kingdom, but they certainly draw a large number of their people from the noble class. In fact, the surnames of their Guild leadership could read like a Who’s Who.
“Redeemer.” Wynn bows, smiles, and takes the indicated seat.
Lana slides into one too, angling the chair so that we each sit in one corner of a triangle.
“You wished to speak with me?” he asks.
“I’m not going to beat around the bush,” I say. “I’m looking to get enough votes for Earth to gain a seat on the Galactic Council. To do that…”
“You’ll need the support of many Galactics,” Wynn says. “But I’m surprised you’re speaking to me and not your Lord Roxley. I am, after all, only a minor guild leader.”
“I have,” I say flatly. “But I’m an equal opportunity opportunist. If your people can and are willing to work with us, I’m willing to talk. And you can drop the garbage about your position. We both know you’re more than just a minor guild leader.”
“It is troublesome,” Wynn says simply. “Your actions against the Zarrie before you left angered some. Your close relations with the Truinnar are another concern. Even if I were to open lines of communication, it would be extremely troublesome.”
“But if you work with us, you can help decrease our reliance on them,” I say, offering him a half smile.
Wynn returns it and doesn’t directly contradict my words.
“Earth is caught between your kingdoms,” Lana says, drawing Wynn’s attention to her where she sits demurely, hands crossed on her lap. “But all we want is the right to choose our future. We’re willing to work with whoever is willing to help us achieve that goal. And we’d love to have the Movana as an ally.”
