by S. R. Witt
It was Robert’s turn to chuckle, and he raised his hands defensively. “I’m not laughing at you. I’m just laughing at the message. Sizemore’s tried to kill me twice now, and I’m sure he’s going to make that three times very soon. So this isn’t exactly news to me.”
Carrera gave a long, slow nod. “That is good. I’d hoped you weren’t blind to the schemes swirling all around you. He approached me, you know. Wanted me to be his, how do you say it, enforcer?”
A cold ball of dread tightened around Robert’s heart. He didn’t need this man gunning for him. Not now, not ever. “And what did you say?”
“I told him I have a lot of experience dealing with traitorous little puppies who think they can take meat from the big dog’s mouth.” Carrera’s eyes shot past Robert to the door.
“Thank you,” Osmark said, “for being honest with me.”
“I am always an honest man,” Carrera replied, running one hand over the pommel of a dagger at his belt. “I always will be. But don’t mistake my honesty for weakness or gullibility.”
Robert extended his hand to Carrera. “Honesty is all I ask. Shoot straight with me. I’ll shoot straight with you. We’d be good allies, you and I.”
“Easy, hombre,” Carrera said as the front door opened. “Let’s not get ahead of ourselves. Besides, we don’t want anyone getting the wrong idea about what kind of friends we are.”
Peng’s table burst into applause, and Robert turned to see Sizemore step through the door. He’d chosen a Dawn Elf, some sort of mage. He wore robes of gold and red that flashed like fire as he moved. His every motion attracted attention, and he shook hands and kissed cheeks in rapid succession as he worked the crowd like a seasoned pro on a reelection campaign.
Osmark moved in Sizemore’s direction, his jaw clenched, his eyes narrowed to venomous slits. He wanted to reach across the room and choke the life from Sizemore. He wanted to kill the man and stomp on his body until there was nothing left but a greasy smear to be cleaned up by the waitstaff. He wanted Sizemore dead, and he wanted to do the deed himself.
But, for the moment, he had to content himself with the next best thing.
As he approached the senator, Sizemore extended a hand covered with jeweled rings. The senator’s thin lips quirked into an evil smile and he opened his mouth to greet Robert.
But Osmark didn’t accept Sizemore’s hand, and he didn’t wait to be greeted. Instead, he pushed through the crowd surrounding the devious little prick and lifted a drink from a serving maid’s platter. Then he climbed onto the bar top and raised his glass toward the roof. “Greetings, fellow members of the Imperial Advisory Board. It is my pleasure to welcome you to Tomestide, and to a new future.”
A few others raised their glasses in return and thumped tables with fists.
Osmark took note of those who cheered and those who sneered and vowed to even accounts before the day was over. He took a drink from his mug, steeling his resolve. “And now that our tardy friend has managed to find his way to our meeting, I believe we can begin with the business at hand.” He smiled with more cheer and confidence than he felt, daring Sizemore to do anything.
For a long, tense moment, the two men watched each other warily, like a mongoose and a cobra trapped in a cage together. Finally, Sizemore raised his glass and drank deeply from the flute. Osmark smiled over the rim of his mug, hiding his grinding teeth from the rest of the crowd.
THIRTY-SIX:
Threats and Promises
Osmark finished his drink and tossed the mug aside, his stomach a knotted fist of anxiety as he prepared to speak; he knew the speech he was about to give would draw a line in the sand for better or worse. On one side would be Robert and his allies, and on the other Sizemore’s cronies. Given his lack of political support, Osmark had no doubt his friends would be sorely outnumbered by his enemies. And that was assuming any of his friends were even brave enough to stick their necks out in the first place.
He might just be sticking his head through a noose.
Every eye in the house locked on Osmark, and the crowd grew still while he paced the length of the bar with his hands clasped behind his back. Clad in his Artificer’s armor, Robert knew he cut an imposing figure. He took a few moments to collect his thoughts, a brief span of time that felt like an eternity. He’d written and memorized his speech last night, but it no longer seemed adequate for the task. Osmark took a deep breath and trusted the words would come to him. Then he put on a brave face and turned to the Imperial Advisory Board.
“Not so long ago, most of you thought I was crazy. Or, at least, not well acquainted with reality.” He took the sting from his words with a wide, soothing smile that never quite reached his eyes. “Some of you doubted Astraea would hit—you trusted everyone but me. Furthermore, many of you believed my attempt to turn a fantasy game into a digital haven was foolhardy at best, and dangerous at worst. And it was an ambitious project, I’ll admit.”
Osmark glanced at the smug faces of Sokolov and the rest of the Russian contingent. His fingers closed into fists when he remembered their arrogant disregard for his initial overtures.
“My friends in the back there thought all of our money would be better spent arming missiles to try and blast the asteroid from the sky before it could reach us. Even some of my closest allies”—and here he offered a charming crocodile smile to Erin Gallo—“were reluctant to accept the reality. Up to the very last minute, many of you sitting in this room diverted precious resources from this project to prepare ill-fated asteroid bunkers or science fiction laser shields.”
Osmark tisked in disapproval, eyeing each of the guilty members in turn, then gave a weak, small smile. No hard feelings. He’d offered them digital salvation, but even he had to admit it had sounded like a science fiction novel. Still, he wanted his remarks to remind them that he remembered everything.
“And yet, here we all are. The last leaders of an old world gathered together before its destruction in this sanctuary I built over the last ten years.” Robert paced back and forth for a moment before continuing. “But what kind of leaders are we?”
“Some of you are here because you’re afraid,” he offered, voice devoid of judgement. “Afraid to lose your wealth. Afraid of losing your social status. Afraid of dying.” Robert accepted Murly’s offer of a full mug of mead. He drank deeply from the honeyed brew before continuing.
“What lies at the root of all these terrors that haunt you? A fear of change. But, despite this dread of the unknown, you came anyway. You put your money and your influence and your lives in my hands. You trusted me and my people to shepherd you from the shadow of the destroyer into the valley of peace.”
Osmark sought out the faces of the uncommitted in the crowd. He locked eyes with Hank Carter, an American steel magnate who’d once been Robert’s bitter rival; he’d come around in the end to become one of the project’s most generous donors and most committed advocates. He smiled at Abubakar Mubarak, an Egyptian arms dealer who’d joined the project without protest, but who’d never once committed to an alliance with Osmark. Robert needed people like them to stand against Sizemore, and he wanted to remind them that he was the one who’d protected them and sheltered them when literally no one else could.
He hoped they would remember that with some gratitude.
“There’s a second kind of leader in this room. The kind who isn’t running from anything.” Robert raised a glass to his kindred spirits. “You’re running to a new future. You came here not because you feared what would happen to the old world, but because you hoped could make this new one even better.”
Carrera led a round of applause that a scattered handful of others joined with enthusiasm. A few of the neutrals were even caught up in the excitement, and Osmark was pleased to see Chiara Bolinger from Switzerland and Steven Williams from the UK cheering him on. It wasn’t much, but every board member who tilted in his favor would make things easier later.
“I salute both kinds of courage. This new
world needs leaders who remember the old ways and cherish them just as much as it needs visionaries who can carry us into a new age.” Robert raised his mug high overhead to a chorus of raucous cheers. “Together, and only together, we will make this new world a home we can be proud of.”
A polite round of applause followed his statement, and even Sizemore and his cronies couldn’t help but agree with the sentiment.
Next, Osmark met the eyes of his enemies, one by one. Peng Jun stared back at him with the flat and deadly gaze of a shark. Sokolov smirked—the kind of a grin that precedes a shot of whiskey as often as it does a fist in the face. The other men and women gathered around them watched from the shadows like pit vipers coiling to strike.
And Sizemore beamed back like the cat who’d eaten the canary: fat, full, and unconcerned.
But Osmark wasn’t finished with his message. No, not even close. He poured mead down his throat and braced himself for the stinging words he had for anyone who wanted to oppose him. “I want you all to know that there is also a third kind of leader among us tonight. Neither a refugee nor a builder. This third kind is as insidious and dangerous as cancer. And that’s what this leader is—a malignant growth with nothing of value to offer the world.”
Robert’s eyes never left Sizemore as he let the cold, bitter words pour over his lips. “This third kind will tell you everyone else is a fool. That the refugees who came here seeking shelter don’t have the strength to save themselves. That the visionaries who see a new way forward will destroy everything with their altruism and compassion.
“This third kind schemes against the rest of us, spreading lies and corruption—even going so far as to send assassins after you when your back is turned. They mistake tyranny for strength and freedom for weakness. They seek not to work with us, but to steal from us. They don’t want partnership, they don’t deserve leadership, and they don’t honor allies. They seek only power, and they want only slaves—and believe me when I say this leader will make you into a slave.”
As Osmark spoke, Sizemore’s cheeks reddened, and his eyes narrowed to sparking slits. The crowd shifted nervously, glancing between Robert and Sizemore. Osmark tried to read them—to gauge their response and receptiveness to his message—but there were too many conflicting emotions and too much confusion in the air. There was nothing left to do but roll the dice and hope for the best.
“Let me end my little commencement speech with this thought: If you’ve thrown in your lot with this third kind, with the men and women who carry shackles behind their backs while they smile to your faces, ask yourself this simple question. If they’re willing to betray me, what makes you think you’re safe from their ambition?”
And, with that, Robert stepped off the bar and took a massive chest from Garn, who’d slipped from the shadows behind the bar. Osmark dropped the sealed container on top of the table at the front of the room and gestured at it with a stage magician’s flourish. “And now I’m done preaching. It’s time to get down to the real reason you’re all here.
“Inside this chest are your individual dossiers, each of which includes the following: a single-use port-scroll to your restricted location, details about the dungeon in that restricted area, and the passphrases for the mercenary teams on location, waiting to assist you once you arrive. You can do whatever you want with this information, but it’s critical that you understand that anyone who possesses it can, and most likely will, try to beat you to your restricted area and claim its rewards for themselves.”
Robert placed his hand on top of the rune-encrusted chest, and a blue light flared from its enchanted lock. He wiggled the fingers of his other hand in the air, and a soulbound key appeared in his grasp. He inserted it in the lock, and the lid of the chest popped open to reveal twenty-four black vellum folders.
“Carter, Schuler, Williams,” he said, pulling folders at random and reading each name as it came from the chest. “Come on down.”
An excited buzz passed through the crowd as the first members of the board rose to claim their prizes. The buzz grew louder as Osmark called more names; he passed out the black vellum sheaves with a smile and a handshake to each member of the board. There were more sneers, and very few smiles. The odds were shifting in the wrong direction, and Robert wondered how much of that had to do with his speech and how much with Sizemore’s toadies working the crowd, even now.
Finally, Sizemore stood before Osmark. Everyone else had claimed their folders, returned to their seats, and buried their noses in the critical information. The senator extended his hand and raised one eyebrow expectantly.
“Hmm, sorry, Travis, I don’t see one for you in the chest. I guess you’re on the naughty list,” Robert said with a venomous grin.
“Maybe if you spent more time focusing on your work and less time making pointless and juvenile gibes, you wouldn’t be having so many problems, Robert,” Sizemore responded without emotion. “Now hand it over.”
Osmark stuck his hand into the chest and retrieved the last folder. He tapped its edge against his chin and eyeballed Sizemore for a long moment. “It doesn’t have to be this way, Senator.”
Sizemore sighed, as if already bored with the whole conversation. “You’re a very skilled technician, no one denies that, and the work you’ve done here is truly amazing. But you’re not a leader—not in the real sense of the word. Heading a business isn’t the same thing as heading a nation, and my allies simply don’t have faith in your ability to see us through the tumultuous days ahead.” He shrugged, a cocky grin on his lips. “They want someone with more experience to lead the way. Frankly, it’s hard to blame them. Now, my folder.”
Osmark extended the dossier.
Sizemore pinched it between the knuckles of his thumb and index finger, but Osmark didn’t release it from his grip. “They did have faith. Until a certain snake started hissing in their ears. You can turn this around, Travis. You want to turn this around. Before it’s too late.”
The senator tugged on the folder again, but Osmark held fast to the black vellum; with Osmark’s incredible Strength Score, the senator would never win this round of tug-of-war.
Sizemore’s eyes flashed with hatred, his lips pulling back in a snarl. “We’re far too far along to turn anything around. My plans are in motion, but how they end is at least partially up to you, Robert. Hand over the reins of power to me, take a back seat, and you’ll still have a chair at the table. It’s time for the adults to run things, but you can still save yourself. We can be allies, even if we’ll never be friends.”
Those words tumbled through Robert’s mind like embers dancing across gasoline-soaked timbers. They ignited the fires of his rage and sealed both men’s fates. Osmark said nothing and released the folder so suddenly Sizemore took a stumbling step back.
Osmark grinned, Sizemore glared, and they parted ways like old West gunslingers heading to opposite ends of a dusty street for a showdown.
After everyone had a few minutes to review the contents of their folders, Robert banged his fist against the top of the bar to get their attention. “The folders in your hands are the keys to a new future, but they’re also a hell of a to-do list. As you all know, our time is running short, and if we want to succeed in our goals, you’ll need to move quickly.
“For now, things are relatively calm. Our current residents are trying to get their bearings, but in a little over a week, that’s all going to change. We’ll be hit with a flood of new citizens, and most of them will be frightened, confused, and angry. Some of them will also be ambitious. To avoid chaos, we need to establish a firm government and an orderly system of law. And that all needs to happen before our friend in the sky pays us a visit.”
Sokolov raised his voice from the back of the common room, his thick Russian accent almost obscuring the words. “Which city we take?”
Robert responded briskly. “Virtually all cities are available to use as bases for founding a faction. Keep in mind that you must have an Honored reputation with the lo
cal governing official before you can plant your flag. To make things a little easier, those officials will recognize the first Faction Seal they see and will offer a quest to its holder. Completing that quest will elevate you to Honored status and allow you to claim the city as your home base.”
Tang Zhelan—one of Peng Jun’s Chinese allies—stood and raised his hand, then waited patiently to be recognized. Zhelan had chosen a Murk Elf avatar, and Robert was surprised at how well the Overminds had modeled the exotic race’s features to resemble the Chinese man’s original face without falling into crude caricature. Once again, he was amazed at the game’s adaptability and flexibility.
When Robert nodded to Zhelan, the man began speaking immediately in fluent, scarcely accented, English. “What if we fail in any of the quests associated with our membership on the board?”
Osmark shrugged indifferently. “Failing a location-based quest, such as the one to gain control of the city, just means you’ll need to move on. The local official will have his quest reset and will offer it to the next person bearing a Faction Seal. Failing your restricted area quest is unlikely, but in the unfortunate event you are killed, you’ll simply respawn and get another crack at it.
“Keep in mind that even restricted areas respawn their monsters, so if you botch your first run, you’ll need to come up with a better plan for the second and subsequent attempts to avoid defeat. A few caveats, though. Once you’ve obtained the Faction Seal at a given location, it is gone and that restricted area will rebalance—it will become even tougher—though it will still be locked to the general public. With that said, most of these quests shouldn’t be much of a challenge to anyone with any experience at online games.” He paused, glancing around. “I hope you all did your homework.”
That earned Robert a few chuckles, and then another flurry of questions from the crowd. He answered them quickly and with comfortable ease. Robert wasn’t a politician, but he knew more about V.G.O. than any other single person.
