Raine VS The End of the World (10 page)

VI. Crossroads

“Wise men make more opportunities than they find.” – Sir Francis Bacon

Shortly after Gerrit took his leave, Raine continued her trek up the carpeted path, avoiding the odd little monsters that materialized off to the side and the people who were destroying them.

A farmer informed her that she could avoid random encounters by staying on the road and keeping her hands free of weapons; the small risk of an ambush didn’t faze the girl – the goal was to find SBB before waking up. Then whatever advice Raine’s subconscious was trying to impart might give her some direction in life; or so she hoped, anyway.

Mostly she was happy to be in a large open space without ads or billboards, and to catch her breath. There might be no concrete sign of her quarry, but for the time being she didn’t really mind. She had a lead, no matter how faint, and that was something.

Seven of the nearest paths matched up with the colors of the rainbow. It was difficult to see where they led to in the blazing sunlight. She inspected one of many floating prism-maps.

“There’s tons of stuff to do here, Chance,” she beamed. “Let’s see what they’ve got to offer.”

The familiar floated up and joined her inspection of the 3-D tableaus on the regional map.

“The green path seems to go straight towards those snow-covered mountains. It looks like there are frozen zombies there. I don’t quite have the clothes or stomach for that. And the violet path…” She considered the odd video loop of several dinosaurs tearing a person to shreds, complete with a pile of crudely drawn human body parts. “It looks to end in a violent encounter with prehistoric reptiles.”

Raine took a step back from the violet path. The blue path, she noted, ended in an underground mine. It would be terrific to ride a mine-cart, but she was having too much fun enjoying the sunshine. The yellow carpet led to a structure that resembled Stonehenge, except it hosted a large swimming pool with multiple water slides, surrounded by a deluge of RVs.

“We’ll save that for last, so that when I wake up,” Raine said to Chance, “The memory will be vivid enough that I can cross visiting Stonehenge off my bucket list.”

As far as the rainbow pathways were concerned, that left the orange road, which ended in a fiery volcano by a mountain resort, and the indigo and red ones, neither of which featured on the map.

“Excuse me,” she called to an Orcish merchant pulling a cartload of expressive masks. “Where do these two roads go?”

“Under construction,” came the curt reply from behind bored eyes. “Something to do with the war. Trade taxes or whathaveyou. No place for a newbie.”

The orc’s gruff manner did nothing to quell Raine’s sense of wonder. Gerrit did mention that the paths to Atmoya were in disrepair, after all. But if that was the fastest way to her destination, it was the way she wanted to go.

She took out her theater binoculars and had a look down the indigo ribbon. It went straight into a large forest. It didn’t seem nearly as lovely as the red carpet, which ran a lonely circuit through golden fields for miles on end. But most of all, it hewed closest to the desolate hills where she spotted SBB. An inn beckoned at the end of a long valley near a massive wall, its limestone turned salmon by the descending sun. With any luck, they could make it to the lodgings by sunset.

Going by her first impulse, Raine set off down the red path, and didn’t look back.

Ω

At dusk, Gerrit left his guild’s private lodge, where the merry platoon heartily engaged in drink and the local entertainment, and hobbled over to the ramparts of the Castle Town’s outer wall to munch on some tangerines. There were too many women angling for his attention, and for all the wrong reasons. They seemed to desire nothing more than to watch his sword tricks and pick his infamous mind for battle strategies. Maybe he was too desperate, or too awkward. A part of him regretted not having partied up with that girl he encountered, perhaps guiding her towards a few quests. He’d heard a saying somewhere, third time’s the charm, and thought it quite sound.

This was his third guild on this server since his last memory wipe, and it had been quite a lucky one – at least in terms of spoils, if not companionship. He’d had vague memories of being rejected by pretty girls twice. So this would be the third, as well.

Not to mention he’d saved Raine twice now; maybe one more time was what it would take.
Just one more time
, he realized,
but it’s risky
. He caught one or two of her glances at him, but damn if he knew what any of them meant.
Was she just toying with me?

If this third time wasn’t the charm, that would disprove his entire theory. It might be months before he felt bold enough to chase a woman again, or he might just give up and wipe his slate clean, resetting his confidence level to default like most everyone else.

It was never fun, playing these mind games and expecting them to end in something concrete, but it was certainly more exciting than anything the
Metaverse
had to offer. He wondered how thorough the memory cleanses were, for every other pursuit seemed to bore him.

The next day his guildmates who spent the night would return to home base under Helrang Mountain with the battle spoils. There would be maybe one or two days’ rest before their rivals, Ioan’s guild, would invade their castle and try to take their loot.

“Lance’s got the place completely outfitted, mate, there’s no worries about an invasion while we’re gone.”

Gerrit turned to see the squat, rugged dwarf Peter lounging on a hammock, picking dirt out of his nails with the tip of his axe. As Staff Sergeant, Pete was second in command, but he wasn’t the kind to pull rank over his good friend.

“Peter,” Gerrit said, after being initially alarmed. “Aren’t you afraid a quake might strike or a packet of data will lag and you’ll snap a nail off? We’re on a sixty-foot wall.”

“Eh, you can’t be so paranoid. Life happens. In fact, I kind of wish something exciting would happen to me,” Peter replied.

The dwarf jumped suddenly as a spider crawled up his arm, and a spurt of blood emerged from under his nail. It looked painful, but Peter just stuck it in his mouth.

“Careful what you wish for, man!” Gerrit laughed.

Peter mumbled something urgently, motioning to his friend.

“I can’t make it out, dude. Type it.”

Rolling his eyes, Peter flicked his wrist, pulled out a virtual pen, and drew a bandage in mid-air.

“Gotcha.” The swordsman tossed his buddy a bandage from his pack. Peter wrapped it around his finger nonchalantly, and applied some healing salve from his own stash. Gerrit raised an eyebrow.

“Thanks. It’s fine. Doesn’t hurt.”

“Tampering with your nerve settings, eh?”

“Don’t tell Lance on me, mate. Please.”

“Of course not,” Gerrit said, a little offended that Peter would even presume that of him. “Hell, you know as well as anyone I do the same thing on a regular basis.”

For a while, the duo sat quietly. Then Gerrit pitched a tangerine into the air and clove it in two, catching the pieces with his blade on their way down.

Peter offered some mock applause as his bro lobbed over half of the fruit.

“You know… to be honest, Petey, I was thinking, maybe you guys should go on without me for a while.”

“Oh, not this again. You’re our secret weapon, mate: the third best swordsman in all of Clyde.”

“I thought West held that title.”

“Check the Hall of Warrior Fame.”

Gerrit slipped on his goggles and pulled up the rankings. Indeed, of all the swordsmen in the region, he was ranked third.

“Huh. You’d think I’d be getting duel requests left and right.”

“You’re too unpredictable, man. Not to mention you’ve got that lightning-fast one-two strike combo that everyone thinks is a hack. No offense.”

“None taken.”

“We’ve got it set, man. By the end of this war our territory will expand and you’ll be the finest fighter on the continent.”

Gerrit allowed himself a pithy smirk.

“Yeah, you’re probably right, but it’s just… I really think I might need a break.”

Peter stood and walked over to Gerrit, picking up a mug of ginger ale with his good hand. He shotgunned the drink and slammed it down. With the tap of a button on the keg beside him, his mug filled right up again.

“Ye can’t just up and leave the guild now, mate. We need ya.”

He hung his head, peeling another tangerine. “With my luck, I probably won’t even be gone that long.”

“Is it another girl?”

The boy’s silence told the whole story.

“Oh, heavens, not another one. You gotta stop putting the petunias up on that pedestal.”

Gerrit crushed the tangerine peel in his hand as Peter plopped back down.

“I doubt you even know what that means. In all likelihood, I’ve been here longer than you have. Soon, you’ll understand. A guy’s just got to move on, start thinking about the future. About something real.”

“Real. Hah. Again with that word. I don’t think it means what you think it means.”

“I’ve heard that line before. And hey, there’s someone out there for you, too, brother. Aren’t you curious as to the nature of love?”

“Love is an undefined property,” droned Peter.

“Another hand-me-down nugget of wisdom. Have you ever kissed a girl? Ever held hands with one? Do you know what it’s like? It’s positively intoxicating. It gives you, like, a special kind of warmth, a happiness you never knew existed.”

“Easy, easy. Keep that monster on a leash ‘til after we defend the tower,” Pete pleaded, twirling his beard in between his fingers. “We had a good haul today. It won’t last if we get robbed before we can invest in a high-powered laser cannon. After that I’m sure Lance’ll understand.”

“No, because by then he’ll want to farm the Goblin Prince under the Silvril Mines for Rune Stones, and he’ll keep me there till I say yes. Then he’ll contract us out to the war effort again. Don’t you see,” he argued. “It never ends.”

Gerrit realized this was an important juncture. Before this, he could always deny that he even tried to pursue a lasting relationship if he didn’t really put any effort into it. This time, this time he was going to break free of the mold, really stand on top of the railroad tracks and try to smash the oncoming train into pieces.

“Well, if you’re this serious, mate, I’m conceding. I know I can’t stop ya.”

“Thanks, man.”

“What can I say? It’s in your eyes, Gher-bear. You’re not like us.”

“Huh? How so?”

“Best not to clutter up that thick noggin o’ yours. Might wanna swap out that old Tigerskin Muffler, too. It breaks like every fashion rule.”

“It’s a Legendary Muffler! A legend never dies,” joked Gerrit, posing with the gaudy pelt warming his neck and shoulders.

“Yeah, but it can be put on indefinite life support by fools like you. Ugh. Why am I even helpin’ ya? You’re a lost cause. If your lady friend walks out, just don’t say I didn’t tell ya so. Get outta here, mate,” Peter mumbled, staring off towards the virtual sunset. “Oh, by the way, Yossa wanted me to--”

“I know,” countered Gerrit. It was best not to mention the anarchist’s name aloud, in the open.
Still, he’s better off not knowing anything.
“You take it easy, bud.”

╪

“So, Holdfast, you gunning for the new position?” Wrathman inquired while queued up at the Senior Developers’ upscale cafeteria in the
Nexus’
dome penthouse. It was lasagna night with fine wine, and the recipient of the comment, thirty-year-old Henry Holdfast, was caught off-guard by the well-connected man behind Mister Senior’s curtain, and not just because he was still inspecting the server reports.

Henry switched off his Holo-Lens computer, a polite gesture to prove that he wasn’t recording the exchange, and scratched his stubbly chin, evidence that he’d been working too long without having headed back to his suite.

“Ah, so you’ve been listening to the rumors, sir?” Henry laughed. “I wouldn’t take too much stock in those.”

Wrathman wrung a wayward arm on the man’s shoulder and dropped his voice to a whisper. “No, seriously, kid. I happen to know it’s yours to lose. We could really use a code cracker with some pedigree. Your talents are wasted on those clowns in QC.”

As Quality Control Assistant Manager, Holdfast had long dreaded this day, though the news of his impending promotion had been broken to him by his own people that morning. An open Developer spot now meant that yet another Earth Defense Coalition mole had been compromised.

It was starting to look like a trend; EDC spies didn’t have much of a shelf life around here. But Henry was only ever meant to be a supporter for the higher-ups. With less than a week to go until the culmination of
Op End Verse,
he’d had to assuage his own doubts as to whether the Sky Admiral’s outrageous gambit would unfold as expected. It was looking very possible that the whole house of cards might crumble.

The androids served their lasagna, buttered baguettes, French onion soup, and Caesar salads with careful precision. Henry considered declining the wine, but Jon would certainly find it suspicious.