Chương 17: The Egghead Frontier - 1

And so, WARHOL told Frank of everything he did to gain entry to the Oldest Complex and the massive mana dumping he had to do to revive the ancient structure's buildings. Frank listened with rapt interest, even when he described the crystals as in the style of jewelry Frank's ex-wife used to adore... before the affairs, that is.

"You wouldn't happen to have a crack academic team on standby, would you?" he asked but he wasn't expecting anything. In fact, part of him hoped that Frank hadn't tried to put a team of intellectuals together without his input. He was the one with decades of book learning under his belt, after all.

"I have a lead but that's it," Frank told him.

"I take it you have some ideas?" Warhol smiled and though Frank's stature remained as cold as ever, he saw a glint of warmth in his eyes, perhaps relief at not needing to put together a research team by himself.

"Oh, you bet I do, old pal. Leave it to me!" Hours passed and he and Frank talked over the scale of the undertaking. They talked about the type of folk they needed on the research team as well as the kind of evidence they wanted to collect before they presented anything to the international community. Difficult though it be to swallow, the mere existence of a mega-structure like the Oldest Complex did not, in itself, prove anything.

Merely that there was something very old and very big that was buried very far under the ground. Old, big underground structures weren't exactly unknown in the world.

"That sounds fine, Warhol," Frank said, a massive yawn escaping his mouth.

"I will sign off on the team. Once I do, I need get on the next airflight to, well, anywhere who will listen to my pleading. I can't afford to rest if we're going to build this alliance."

"I agree," Warhol replied. The words 'can't afford to rest' tingled something in his memory. Had he not recently spoken such words, or words like them, to someone. Who?

"Take my hand and I will teleport us to the university." Frank groaned but took his hand. In a blink, they were outside the supreme dean's office, in a building whose decor was at least half-a-century out of style. The rugs smelled good, though.

"I can see you're happy," Frank quipped.

"Remembering the good old college days?"

"Ha!" Warhol grinned.

"How couldn't I? Me, the studious magic geek. You, the athletic captain of the guard. We were practically a couple!" Frank rolled his eyes.

"Practically. But sure. Not that I recall much from so many years passing, and the many boozes from those illustrious bygone days. Surely you do not?" A shrug of his shoulders told Frank he had remembered more than him.

"I remember joyous nights spent flipping tomes and spanking my own! Like any lonely higher educated student." He joked but Frank took the other route with such humor: "I do not recall much in the way of 'lonely desirous nights,' not when I have the distinct memory of ladies sharing my bed!" Love this novel? Read it on Royal Road to ensure the author gets credit. The two middle-aged men grinned and chuckled at reliving their college days.

"Oh, where did the time go," Frank gasped, the laughing over once the dean's office door opened.

"Sire! Apologies for the loudness of our conversation."

"Gentlemen," the dean spoke.

"Can I help you? You have been chatting outside my door, interrupting my meetings for long enough." Once the dean recognized who he spoke to, his attitude changed.

"Oh, Frank of the Defense Council. And why, if it isn't the Omni-Wizard himself, oh my! What do I owe the pleasure, sires?" Meeting the dean went well... mostly. Though both he and Frank were embarrassed of their chit-chatting outside the dean's door, the dean himself was also reddened in the face because they were caught off-guard by two dignitaries. In all, the meeting went well because each side wanted to show off how pliant and honorable they could be despite their embarrassment.

"So, we are in agreement, then?" Frank spoke near the meeting's end.

"Your university will aid our cause through, predominately, the means of trained academics and techy-mag specialists?"

"Yes. It is a major proposal for a major threat." The dean agreed to help their effort in any way he could, the threat of a Cosmic Horror from beyond far too much for him to fathom.

"Here is everyone at the university," the dean told them, handing them a faculty list.

"Who might be able to help you. If they are reluctant to join the cause, let me know, and I can throw my weight around to convince them. This horror is something beyond us, so there isn't excuse for us not working together, yes?"

"Hopefully, it will not come to that, sir," Warhol said, smiling professionally.

"I like to believe that when confronted with a real and present danger, even the most stubborn of fools will budge." Intellectually, Warhol knew that wasn't actually the case. When presented with real and present danger, fools did foolish things, like bury their head in the sand. After they met the dean, they hit the campus and talked with many professors. Much had changed about the campus since Frank and he had been lowly students here, dreaming of ways to sneak mead and girls into their dorm.

And yet, though much had changed, the bespectacled students, the look of hungoverness, the quad where students played, that all was the same. As Warhol thought, not many of the academics resisted the idea of a world-saving intellectual mission. Though more than a few were curious about the compensation provided. When they learned about the compensation being their normal pay from the university, and that the mission would be conducted in place of teaching courses, they were less enthused.

Yet no one backed out, curiously. With a couple of dozen professors from a wide range of disciplines, Warhol thought now was the time to bring them to the complex.

"Is everyone ready?" he shouted. They were in the school's underground auditorium. The room quieted. All eyes were on him.

"Good. I am going to create a standing portal in the center of this auditorium. Everyone in the team will be able to freely come and go through this portal at any time. The portal, however, is sealed with impression magic, so only those authorized entry will be able to enter — do not bring anyone who is not supposed to be here, then, understood? I am not always going to be around to monitor the details, so I am trusting you all to behave like the responsible professionals I know you to be. Questions?"

No one had any questions. All such queries were answered when Warhol and Frank talked to each individually, earlier in the day.

"Very well, then." With no questions or concerns, Warhol chanted, his voice low and deep. It was the ancient language he spoke, one which implored the gods to hear his plea; creating a standing portal required a bit more finesse than a typical teleportation portal. He managed it easy enough, though, and before long, a bright blue oval shape formed in the center of the room.

"Let's get a move on!"