by S. R. Witt
Finally, he saw the sun setting through the windows and knew it was time to wrap up the meeting so the members of the board could be on their way. “All right, I think that’s enough questions. You have all the information you need. Please report in as you complete your tasks, and be sure to let my assistant know when you’ve secured your Faction Seal and are ready to proceed to the next phase.
“I want to thank you all for your willingness to work with me, and for your generous donations of time, energy, money, and influence. I wish you all the best, and look forward to our achievements.” With that, Osmark closed the chest with a bang, and the first meeting of the Imperial Advisory Board was over.
THIRTY-SEVEN:
Final Vote
The board members left the Saddler’s Rest in an excited, nervous rush. For the first time in many of their lives, they were truly standing on the brink of something new. Something great. Something visionary. Here, there were no families to rely on. No businesses waiting to back up their decisions with money and personnel. Every choice from this point forward would impact the world around them in ways they couldn’t understand.
Osmark watched them leave with the combination of pride and regret. No matter what happened once he stepped through those doors, he’d changed the world. Certainly, Sizemore and the rest of the board had shaped his decisions, but, in the end, Osmark had saved millions and formed a new way. A whole new world. He waited for several seconds after the inn’s common room emptied, then turned to address Dorak and Garn.
“Get into position,” he said, voice low, “just like we planned. If this goes south, you know what to do.”
Garn hesitated for a moment then nodded. “Sir, Mr. Osmark, I just wanted to say—”
Osmark grinned and rested one hand on each of their shoulders. “No goodbyes. Not yet. We’re going to win this thing, and when we do, you’ll be rewarded for your hard work and loyalty.”
The duo shook hands with Robert, then quietly slipped out the inn’s rear entrance. They had to move fast, and Robert was pleased to see them doing just that. Once they disappeared from sight, Osmark squared his shoulders, adjusted his armor, straightened his top hat, and headed for the front door, confidence marking his every step. This was his world and he owned it, despite what Sizemore may have thought.
He retrieved his cloak from the peg and carefully draped it over his shoulders before stepping through the doorway and into the last rays of the dying sun. The setting sun cast a dazzling red glare across the town square, blinding Osmark as he left the Saddler’s Rest. Before he could raise a hand to shield his eyes, he heard the hissing rasp of blades leaving their scabbards. A handful of horrified gasps rose from the crowd standing in the square, and by the time Robert could see again, he was surrounded by hostile faces.
Zhelan and Peng flanked Sizemore and used their long, spiked clubs to isolate Osmark and corral him into the center of the square. Behind Sizemore—on the far side of the crowd of board members—Sokolov and Petrov used their crossbows to keep anyone from making a break for it. Obviously, the senator wanted an audience for what was about to happen, and he was willing to use violence to make sure the board witnessed the last phase of his nasty little coup. Several of Sizemore’s allies had their weapons trained on other board members, adding tension and confusion to the gathering.
Most of the weapons, however, were fixed unwaveringly on Osmark. Weber, Hamada, and Novotny all had spears leveled at his throat, while Berg and Romano had their hands raised, spells prepped and ready to fly with a thought. If Osmark made a move, he’d be skewered and blasted out of his boots in the blink of an eye.
The enemy board members alone would’ve been a serious threat, but to top things off, they were backed up by a small army of Coldskull assassins. The masked figures appeared from the shadows like murderous wraiths, forming a deadly steel fence surrounding the board members. There had to be close to thirty of the assassins, including one lieutenant with the top half of her face tattooed to resemble a skull and a black, braided ponytail rising from the crown of her head like a scorpion’s stinger.
For the moment, all Osmark could do was stand quietly and wait to see what Sizemore had in store for him. After a long pause, Sizemore cleared his throat and addressed Osmark—though he was really addressing the rest of the uncommitted board members. This was all a show, designed to consolidate his power.
Osmark knew that, because he was going to do the same thing shortly. Assuming everything went according to plan, of course.
“Kneel, and hear your sentence,” Sizemore declared, his voice magnified by some magic spell or item. His words echoed through the square loud enough to silence the murmuring crowd.
As distasteful as it was, Osmark obliged, dropping to his knees, staring death and hate at the senator the whole time. He needed to let this thing play out so he could be sure who was on his side and who wasn’t.
On cue, Tang Zhelan stepped away from Sizemore and took a position behind Osmark, jabbing something sharp and deadly into the nape of his neck, just above his cloak. Tang was a Rogue, which made him perfectly suited for being a backstabbing bastard. If Osmark tried anything, that knife would punch through his spine right at the base of his skull. He’d be dead before he knew what had happened.
Sizemore smirked down at Osmark and crossed his arms over his chest, his red robes rustling as he moved. “I gave you a chance,” he said. “All you had to do was step away from the throne. Put down the scepter and let someone more qualified and more mature lead these people into a glorious new age.”
Robert’s muscles ached for action, but the weight of the blade against his neck kept him frozen in place. He couldn’t do anything until the time was right.
“But not you. Not the wonder boy of Silicon Valley. You couldn’t swallow your pride, and now look at where you are.” Sizemore shook his head and tutted at Osmark. “You say you want a better future for us all, but that isn’t what you’ve offered us. You took our money. You took our favors. You took our lives, and you gave us a sneak peek at the glories of your new world. A—what do you software developers call it?—an early access beta test?”
Osmark wanted to tell Sizemore he’d given him as much as he could, but he bit his tongue.
V.G.O. had been deep into development when the asteroid appeared, and there was no way to subvert the AIs and other systems without jeopardizing the rest of the code. Osmark and the rest of the development staff had done everything possible to give the members of the Imperial Advisory Board a head start, but they’d been hamstrung by the nature of the world they were constructing. There were a dozen examples Robert could have given, but he knew the senator wouldn’t care.
Sizemore was grandstanding, whipping his followers into a frenzy so they wouldn’t think twice when he gave the order to kill.
“That’s. Not. Good. Enough,” Sizemore continued, and a ragged cheer rose from the majority of the gathered board members. “You were kind enough to open the door for us, but this isn’t your world. It’s ours. Bought and paid for with our resources. The very heart of this world, the server farm we’re all living in, is located deep within the salt mines I procured for you. If anything, this world is mine.”
Osmark let his shoulders slump in false defeat. “You don’t understand, you moron. V.G.O. isn’t hardware. It’s not just lines of code. It’s alive. The Overminds that underlie everything can’t be controlled or altered. I wouldn’t turn the reins over to you even if I had the power, but I don’t. No one does. That’s not how any of this works, you brain-dead, tech-illiterate neophyte.”
Sizemore seethed at Osmark’s harsh words. His hands balled into tight fists and he shook his head as if disappointed by an unruly child. “Call me all the names you want, but don’t expect any of us to believe your lies. Maybe I’m not a programmer, but no one here is gullible enough to believe that Robert Osmark—the visionary who conceived and created V.G.O. through sheer force of will and iron determination—doesn’t know how to ch
ange the rules of his world.
“Now, I’m going to give you another chance to do the right thing. Open the gates of V.G.O. for all the members of the board. Give us your private access codes so we can set up our own kingdoms and rule them the way we want. There’s no need for a unified empire. There’s no reason we can’t all be gods in our own territories.”
Osmark stared up at Sizemore, feigning open despair. He needed these mindless dolts to think he’d lost. “I already told you, I can’t.”
“Very well,” Sizemore said, jabbing a finger at Osmark’s face. “You’re unfit for the office of emperor. You’re unfit to even run a faction. But you do have your uses, and I’m unwilling to let even a flawed tool go to waste in these desperate times.
“Turn over your Faction Seal, now. You’ll serve as my advisor until we’ve all established our rightful kingdoms here in V.G.O.” Sizemore withdrew his hand and steepled his fingers. “Then, when I’m satisfied with your work, you’ll be released. You can live out your days here, in Tomestide. Perhaps you can even run this inn behind you. I think that, at least, suits your leadership capabilities.” The cutting remark drew a chuckle from Sizemore’s allies.
Osmark didn’t care, though. He’d even the scorecard soon enough. Just one more thing to do.
“Let’s put it to a vote, Sizemore,” he said. “All or nothing. The board can decide which of us should lead, and the other will be banished.” Robert glared at Sizemore, daring the man to oppose the measure. If the senator denied Osmark’s suggestion, it would prove beyond any doubt that Sizemore didn’t have the board’s support.
Sizemore smiled as if he’d been waiting for Osmark to walk into a particularly malicious trap. “Yes, let’s do that.” He leaned in close. “You might be a better gamer, but I know how to win a vote.” The senator turned, his robes fluttering out around him, and raised his hands like a king addressing his subjects. “All in favor of my assuming the duties of emperor until we can establish our individual kingdoms?”
For a long, tense moment silence hung in the air, pregnant with possibility.
Then, the majority of the board raised their hands and responded with a resounding “Aye!”
Robert took note of each and every person who had raised a hand to support the traitor. He was surprised to see the Indian and Saudi alliance shift to Sizemore, but he supposed he shouldn’t have been. As Sizemore admitted, he knew how to get votes. Leave it to him to turn some of the West’s most bitter enemies to his cause.
Osmark’s eyes drifted toward Erin Gallo, who had her hand raised. A shame, that. When their eyes met, however, her head shifted slightly from side to side, a careful negation that gave him some small hope she might rally to his side if she had the opportunity.
Still, though, that left thirteen board members plus Sizemore that had turned against Robert.
“And those opposed?” Osmark called out, his voice clear and calm despite the seething knot of tension surrounding his heart.
“Nay,” Carrera said, stepping forward with his thumbs hooked into his broad leather belt. He stared at Sizemore and spat into the dust.
“Nay,” Alice Smythe, Elizabeth Schuler, and Chiara Bolinger said at once, all stepping forward in a remarkable display of courage.
Robert’s eyes swept across the crowd, stopping briefly on each of his allies as he made a mental note of who stood with him, who was against him, and who remained neutral. He glanced one last time at Erin and mentally moved her name into the column with his allies. He hoped it wasn’t a choice he was going to regret in the days to come.
If there were days to come.
Sizemore turned back to Robert and showed him a devilish grin. “You see? While you scurried through holes in the ground in search of personal power, I’ve been talking. Just talking. And look where we are.” He spread his hands wide. “Last chance, Osmark. Hand over your Faction Seal and serve me. Or”—he paused, a slow grim spreading across his face like cancer—“or my allies will cripple you, I’ll rip the seal from your broken body, and you’ll spend the rest of your days sequestered beneath Ravenshall.”
Osmark lowered his head, staring at the virtual dust beneath his virtual knees. How had his plans to unite the world’s last leaders into a new utopian empire become such a squabbling viper’s nest?
“You know what, Sizemore?” he said as he lifted his head to meet the senator’s cold stare with a fiery glare. “Why don’t you take your best shot?”
THIRTY-EIGHT:
Showdown
Osmark stared past Sizemore’s head at the shaded window on the second floor of the building across the town square. Sandra peeled the curtain away, revealing the very long barrel of the very large gun he’d crafted the night before. The instant he made eye contact with Sandra, he activated the Micromanage skill, slipping part of his mind—his essence and will—into her head. Light flashed like lightning from the darkened window, obscuring Sandra’s face as thunder rolled across the square.
The air rippled as a heavy bullet narrowly careened past Robert’s head, burying itself in Tang Zhelan’s neck. Blood, hot and sticky, splashed across his cheek, streaking his new armor with gore. That, more than anything else, bothered Osmark. A PM dinged in his head as he wiped the speckles of blood from his skin:
<<<>>>
Personal Message:
Tang is down. Moving out before Sizemore’s thugs come hunting for me.
—Sandra
<<<>>>
Osmark dismissed the message with a blink, then—in the shocked silence that followed Sandra’s shot—Osmark made his move. He leaped to his feet, putting more of his dirty tricks to use, and he didn’t even feel a glimmer of remorse. After all, this was Sizemore’s fault. He’d killed Horan, undermined Robert’s authority, and forced this confrontation from the get-go. What happened now was on his head.
Osmark stomped hard with his left heel, activating the caltrop dispenser he’d attached to the mounting bracket concealed by his britches. Four gray grenades bounced free and burst across the cobblestones of the square. Board members shouted in shock, eyes wide, arms flailing in panic as smoke and hooked spikes erupted under their feet, biting into their HP and holding them in place.
The repeater mounted in the bracket attached to Robert’s right arm sprang free with a twang and landed in Osmark’s outstretched hand at his mental command. Before anyone could react, Robert cranked up the buzzsaw beneath the repeater’s barrel and grabbed the stabilizing grip. He twisted to his right and dropped to one knee, lashing out with the screaming blade.
Petrov screamed in sheer agony as Robert buried the roaring buzzsaw in his abdomen. Osmark pushed in, putting his full weight behind the attack, then followed through by reversing course and whipping the saw to the left. The howling blade ground through the Russian’s guts and exploded from beneath his ribs in a shower of very satisfying gore. That would wipe the smirk off his condescending face.
Petrov screamed one final time, hands groping at his ruined stomach before he toppled, his eyes glassy with death. His body lay in the street for a moment, before simply vanishing in a burst of digital sparks. Robert pointed the bloody weapon at Sizemore and shouted, “You’re next!”
Unfortunately, Osmark wasn’t the only one who’d come to the meeting prepared. Sizemore and his allies had recovered from their initial bout of surprise, and already they were on the move. A small contingent of bodyguards—Lerch, Sokolov, Chukwu, and Berg—formed a fence around Sizemore, who hurriedly barked commands to organize his bewildered forces. The senator’s retreat was slowed by the caltrops, but it wasn’t stopped. Given time, Robert knew the snake would slither free of his trap and disappear into the wind.
He couldn’t let that happen.
Four Accipiter threw themselves into the sky, wings beating at the air, kicking up great swirls of wind as they flew out of sight, avoiding the caltrops altogether. Osmark wasn’t sure if they were preparing a counterattack, or if they’d simply gotten out while they still coul
d. A quick head count told him all of those who’d taken flight were Sizemore’s allies, which Robert assumed was bad news for his side. But he couldn’t worry about that now.
Osmark lifted his left hand high above his head and a flare of crimson light burst into the cloud-strewn sky—a signal for Garn and Dorak to commence their grisly work. In response, shutters on the east and west sides of the square burst open as Robert’s employees activated the first of the devices Rozak had installed the night before. High-pitched whirring noises erupted from both buildings as powerful engineered automatons booted up, slowly coming alive.
I hope you’ve got those calibrated right, Rozak, Osmark thought.
And then his thoughts were consumed by the need to defend himself. The need to survive long enough for the automatons to get moving. Peng brandished his enormous spiked club and advanced toward Osmark with Hamada closing in on the left and Weber closing in on the right. Novotny advanced behind the trio, her voice raised in a triumphant hymn, which Robert recognized as a variant of Karzic’s Stream of Life spell.
Amber light flowed from her, surrounding the group in powerful magic that would heal all but the most grievous of wounds. Classic MMO strategy. That would make things a bit more complicated, but only a bit.
Osmark drew a bead on Peng.
Slowed by the caltrops, the big man would never reach Robert in time to avoid the shot. A predatory grin spread across Osmark’s face as he prepared to blast the Risi’s head from his armored shoulders. And if ever there was a man who had such a fate coming, it was Peng.
Suddenly, Hamada sprang across an impossible distance, reaching Robert faster than should’ve been possible. He realized too late that she was hovering on a magical field, her soles a few inches off the ground, well above the caltrops that had slowed everyone else. Hamada’s spear left a comet-tail of fire in its wake as she drove it forward, right into Osmark’s leg. Caught off guard by the woman’s supernatural leap and speed, Robert was easy prey for the attack.
