World Unbound

by Tao Wong

  “A blunt instrument,” I say, letting the Skill drop and allowing my Mana to regenerate.

  Yet I detect a hint of admiration in Wynn’s voice. A fond recollection of the unnamed Paladin. For the rest of the flight, I ponder the contrast between the pragmatic and the emotional, the needs of the now and the future.

  No towering, hollow trees greet me when we finally arrive. Instead, the building is what I call Galactic-norm, a stylized grey rectangle thrust into the sky without care for physics or decorum. I absently note even more quantum locks in place once I enter the building, shutting down any chances of me porting in or out of this area. I’m not surprised.

  You have entered Paris City Center

  Facilities available:

  City Core

  Shop

  Meeting rooms (+18% experience increase in administrative skills)

  Training rooms (+8% experience increase in skills trained)

  We’re led into one of those meetings room, a large board room which hosts four different Movana. Three men, one woman. Like Wynn, the leader and the female look like Lord of the Rings extras, thin and slim and perfectly coiffed. One of the extra males is, interestingly enough, portly and unkempt with a mohawk for a hairstyle and nose piercings which gleam in the diffuse light. As for the last man, he looks like an elf given steroids, sporting a sleeveless tunic to show off his arms.

  “Redeemer. It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Bhale a Bhode, the leader of the group, says as he stands and offers his hand to shake.

  I take it while activating Social Web and watch as the thread between us grows. Within seconds, I’m introduced to the rest, whose names I forget almost immediately in exchange for an interesting insight into the interpersonal politics among the group. For example, Mohawk’s jealous of everyone in this group as he’s the only non-Combat Classer and non-Master Class. He’s also slightly afraid of Musclehead, who in turn has an extremely thick, twisted thread to the female elf. It’s filled with numerous dealings over a long course of years, with familial and personal feelings messed up in it. I’m scanning through it all, gathering as much information as I can, while we do the small talk thing.

  “Once again, we have to thank you for being willing to meet with us directly,” Bhale says, waving around the meeting room. “It shows a degree of open-mindedness which is refreshing.”

  “You’re being too generous,” I say.

  Wynn coughs slightly, hiding his movement behind a sip on the blue juice we’re drinking. Quite tasty actually.

  “But I do think we should talk about why I’m here,” I say.

  “The Planetary Vote,” Bhale says. “We are willing to provide you the votes you require. All our votes.”

  Surprise obviously shows on my face because Bhale smiles and continues. “We understand the position you are in. And ours. So we do not ask for much.”

  I find myself leaning forward, listening to Bhale as he lists their demands. In the end, they come down to a series of small concessions, none of them much greater than what we’ve provided to other independent and smaller kingdoms thus far. At least, none are much greater individually, but as a whole, it’s a significant package of concessions. Still very reasonable considering they’re offering nearly nine percent of the votes. More interesting is the way they’re asking for it. Most of those we’ve spoken to have requested immediate benefits —economic and military concessions which take effect immediately, Credits and materials sent over. Here though, the Movana are basing their concessions on a future where we win the Vote. A show of confidence perhaps—or of good faith.

  “It’s relatively reasonable,” I say once he’s done. Smiles cross all their faces, but I hold up my hand. “Details can be argued by those under us. But the problem is, your votes aren’t enough.”

  “It is all we have,” Bhale says. He doesn’t look surprised by my words at all.

  “Aye, and the Truinnar want you out,” I say, opening my hands. “You see the position I’m in?”

  “We do. It’s why we’re willing to compromise on what we will accept. And I’m sure the Truinnar have requested significantly more,” Bhale says. “I can offer nothing more.”

  “Nothing…?” I say.

  Bhale meets my gaze calmly, refusing to back down from his words, and I let out a low huff of exasperation.

  “Yah gots enough. Yah want our baybies next?” Musclehead speaks up, his arms crossed as he flexes the large biceps and leans forward. “I told y’all it ain’t worth speaking to the damn monkeys.”

  “He got a speech impediment or something?”

  “I think it’s an accent. An affected one.” Ali is looking at Musclehead a little incredulously, and I admit, I’m embarrassed for the Movana too.

  I close my mouth and run the numbers, using the Neural Link to aid in the calculations and the voting scenarios. With the Truinnar, and assuming Bipasha is telling the truth, we’ve got roughly seventy-five percent of the seats. With the Movana, the number drops by nearly eight percent, putting us at sixty-six percent. We could, with a little elbow grease, eke out another percent of space by taking some of the unclaimed spots. I might even be able to get a percent or two from the independents, but in both cases, I’ll still fall short. With the Movana, it’d just be a little shorter.

  “Thank you for the offer,” I say softly. “But it’s not just my decision. I’ll pass it on.”

  Musclehead frowns, but Bhale raises a hand, quieting the other man before he can say anything. He, however, leans forward and fixes me with those turquoise eyes of his. “Redeemer, we are not your enemies. No matter what the Truinnar have told you, our actions were not personal.”

  “I’m imagining a giant but here,” I say.

  “But if you persist in declining our overtures of friendship, we will have to take action.”

  “And the blades come out,” I say, smiling at the quartet who sits opposite me. Wynn shifts uncomfortably in his chair, his presence a footnote here. Bhale doesn’t back down, not that I expected him to. “We’ll let you know.”

  On those foreboding notes, I’m allowed to leave. Wynn is quiet when he sees me out and back to the teleportation pad. I don’t bother using their pad though, triggering my own Portal once I’m inside the exclusion zone. As I nod goodbye to the troubled-looking guild master, I can’t help but feel somewhat satisfied with what I’ve learned.

  Unless the Movana are really playing a deep game, they aren’t the ones who set the assassin on me.

  Chapter 18

  “You’re going to have to explain that again for us,” Lana says while handing me the basket of bannock.

  I take two pieces and reach for a third before my hand gets slapped and the basket stolen by Carlos.

  “What are you doing here?” I grumble at the man. “You weren’t exactly invited.”

  “Bannock,” Carlos replies and puts a piece on his plate before the bready, doughy goodness is taken by Mikito.

  “You don’t think the Movana are the ones who set you up. Because you didn’t see anything connecting them to you in an aggressive way?” Ingrid says slowly as she waves a pair of long wooden chopsticks while standing over the pot full of oil. “Am I right?”

  “Sort of,” I say. “It’s also because they were willing to work with us. Even if they know they can’t get the vote.”

  “Could be a ruse,” Lana says, waving a drumstick to punctuate her point. “You know, make you think they’re your friends while sending assassins to kill you.”

  “See, that’s the other thing. Killing me won’t stop the vote. We’ve done enough groundwork, you guys could finish the job,” I say. “I’m not that important.”

  “Then who sent the assassin?”

  I shrug, not having an answer. I could put together a million and one conspiracy theories, but in the end, I just don’t know.

  “I don’t think it matters,” Ingrid says while we all sit there, considering matters. “There’s not been another attempt as yet. And no one’s reporte
d an attempt on them.”

  “Good. Just one problem,” I say. “If we confirm with the Truinnar, the Movana have pretty much guaranteed they’re going to try to stop us.”

  “Did they indicate how?” Mikito asks, concern in her voice. “If they intend to go after the local human settlements, I’ll need to inform Hugo and the other champions.”

  “No.” I shrug. “But you might want to do it anyway.”

  Mikito nods, and we fall silent for a little while as we dig in.

  It’s Carlos who breaks the silence. “Are we actually going to succeed at the Vote?”

  “Not yet,” I say. “We’re still short.”

  “Then…” Carlos frowns as he sees the slight smiles among the team. “What am I missing?”

  “There’s always a but with John,” Lana explains with a smile.

  “But with the Truinnar, we’re close enough we might be able to get the other independents who have been on the fence.”

  “If we choose Bipasha and the Truinnar,” Lana states firmly while holding up a finger. “Is that what I’m hearing, John?”

  I nod reluctantly. I don’t trust Bipasha. Something about the outwardly friendly, internally cold woman worries me. Perhaps it’s because she reminds me a little of my own father—a man who learned to “fake” the appearance of an extrovert while still being entirely reserved inside. I understood why he did it, and it had been effective at letting him climb the corporate ladder, but still, the dichotomy had made for an unpleasant childhood.

  “Damn. Here I was hoping to pick up more work,” Ingrid says, sitting down beside me. “But once we’ve chosen, you know there’s going to be a bit of a mess. The Movana will act, as will any other group that thinks you’re going to shut them out.”

  That means all the Movana and their allies, as well as a few independent species we’d gotten on the bad side of—or who we’d visibly disapproved of their practices. The entire Serfdom thing still grates against the vast majority of humanity’s morals, and the species who twist the rules to make it slavery in all but name know we’ll be targeting them. And then there are the species who aren’t much better than the monsters out there, killing, eating, and smashing their way through life. Who, even in “normal” Galactic society, are relegated to the edges. Like Dungeon Worlds.

  “What do you think they’ll do?” I ask the group in general.

  “Settlement attacks,” Mikito says.

  “Assassinations on vulnerable settlement owners. Or where the second-in-command is weak,” Ingrid adds.

  “Political and economic pressure.” Lana raises a finger. “Don’t forget many of the Galactics have interests outside of Earth.”

  “Bribes?” Carlos says, shrugging. “No reason they can’t try to entice the others away.”

  Everyone proceeds to throw out ideas of what might happen, but it mostly boils down to variations of the initially stated ideas. Once we exhaust the brainstorm, we shift the conversation to what we can do. In the end, our plan of action is limited not only by the number of personnel we have and can trust but also our timeframe.

  When we finally clear the multiple plates and pots of food, I sum up our conversation. “Right. For the most part, we’re going to have stay on the defensive. We target settlements owned by enemy independents with military strikes. That’ll be Mikito, the champions, and my job. We use Ingrid and any of her friends—I assume you have friends in the business—to target some of the other groups if we think it’ll work. Or at the least, it’ll keep them busy and looking over their shoulder. Kim and Lana can provide the necessary list to you, as well as the budget.”

  Ingrid grins at the offer.

  “And as for the rest, Lana, Bipasha, and Katherine will work on reinforcing our contracts and working on the edge cases among the indies,” I say.

  “What should I do?” Carlos asks after I fall silent.

  The rest of us share a look then chorus, “The dishes!”

  Of course, we don’t just delegate kitchen duties to Carlos. Carlos is designated our spokesperson with the Artisan’s group and a few other non-aligned Artisan settlement owners. While pigeon-holing the man as a non-Combat Classer isn’t really nice, he is likely to have more luck chatting with them than we would. If nothing else, developing a relationship could be beneficial for future trade.

  Once we make up our minds, we get to work. And we definitely have a ton of work to do. I find myself bouncing from city to city, settlement to settlement, talking and occasionally fighting while my friends scramble to get their own tasks done.

  I find myself portaling back from Kisangani after another fruitful discussion days later. The African city has many similarities to Whitehorse, including the presence of a Galactic owner, a location in a high Level zone, and a major river flowing beside it. Of course, it’s located in a temperate forest, had more than fifty times our population prior to the apocalypse, and has an all-round moderate climate. But, you know, outside of those things, it is very similar to my old home.

  Amusingly, the Galactic owner is another Kudaya, though it is closer to a giant, stork-like reptile than a hippo. The creature uses a series of thin legs to stand and move about and is not a fighter at all. For a Mid-Level Administrator though, the creature has a clear grasp of the realities of combat, with our major negotiation including a deadline to clear a half dozen of their dungeons each quarter. Luckily, we don’t need to commit our own forces to this directly, so the moment I step through the Portal, I issue a series of Quests for Kim to pin to the Adventurer’s Board. I even include an all-expenses paid Portal to the location.

  When I’m done, I flash a grin at the trio of grumpy occupants in my office. They’re all seated in their respective seats, their System screens floating visibly in front of them.

  “Sorry. Forgot I gave up this office,” I say, nodding to Lana, who lets out a theatrical sigh.

  Katherine sniffs slightly, making her displeasure quite clear. As for the last participant, I’m surprised to see him here actually.

  Peter Steele (Level 38 Planetary Diplomat)

  HP: 980/980

  MP: 1780/1780

  Conditions: Aura of Temperance, Scale Balancer, Diplomat’s Shield

  “Peter,” I greet the Diplomat with a grin, shaking the trim African American’s hand. The man has a great smile which shows all his pearly white teeth while enveloping you in a comforting warmth. In the corner of my eyes, I see the ping of a resisted Mental Influence, his Charisma breaking against my mental resistances. “It’s been ages.”

  “I know,” Peter says with a smile. “I was thinking you were avoiding me.”

  “Just busy,” I say, shaking my head. Not as though we’re major friends, but we met and talked in my capacity as settlement leader and before, when he negotiated the agreements in San Francisco.

  “Of course,” Peter says, glancing back toward the ladies who are already chatting on their own calls, dealing with recalcitrant settlement owners.

  One of the side benefits of the office is its ability to seal off external visual and audible distractions while on a vidcall, allowing us to speak freely. Even as we speak, Peter is busy eyeing the smaller notification screens for the two young ladies.

  “I won’t bother you guys. You seem busy,” I say graciously.

  “No, I have a few minutes. My last call finished faster than I expected,” Peter says.

  “It went well, I hope?” I say.

  “Nope,” Ali chimes in as he picks at the snack table the trio have set up in one corner. “I just got their name added to the Ingrid list.”

  Peter nods amiably at Ali’s words, his face perfectly serene. “They were particularly upset we would even consider speaking with them after our recent moves in Brazil. It seems we missed the fact that the Iwik Corporation which owned Lucas do Rio Verde is actually owned by the second brood mate of the Third Head. Taking the settlement was considered a breach of the peace.”

  “I wonder how we missed that.” My voice drips
with sarcasm.

  “Diplomacy is a matter of knowledge and understanding. A proper diplomatic mission should take many factors into account. Your—our—recent actions have been extremely rushed,” Peter says with a grimace.

  “You’ve had four years.”

  “And hundreds of Galactic parties to investigate,” Peter counters. “It is already a miracle we’ve managed to do as well as we did. Thankfully, greed and arrogance are still universal traits.”

  I chuckle, a reaction which is obviously to his liking.

  “Helps when you and the girls are all Charisma junkies,” Ali adds with a wry grin. “And your Skill, the Greater Good, has worked wonders. I never realized the upgrade of the Skill was so powerful.”

  “It is,” Peter says, smirking.

  I shake my head slightly, impressed the man was willing to dedicate so many of his Class Skill points to a single Skill. While I know, theoretically, Skills upgrade once you dump ten points into them, I just never had the ability to do so. It takes a certain single-mindedness to be willing to choose one path and stick to it like Peter.

  “John, hi. Now, bye. Peter, I want your take on these guys…” Lana interrupts before we can chit-chat more.

  I chuckle and deposit bars of chocolate in front of everyone before I head out of the room to the sniff—and crinkling of plastic wrap—from Katherine.

  I find the Assassin in a room a short distance from my office, in a comfortable chaise lounger, tight pants showcasing her legs, and an ice cream sandwich in her mouth. When I step in, she starts slightly before she relaxes, continuing to chew on the sandwich.

  After swallowing, she says, “Want one?”

  “I’m good,” I say, popping out a chocolate bar of my own and finding a chair to sit on. “You called?”

  “Yup. Got the list,” Ingrid says and waves.

  A moment later, I’ve got the notification with the list of names for the targets and, most importantly, the cost. My eyes bulge out slightly as I spot the final line item. “Are you serious?”