Chương 75: CDM 2, Chapter 11: Write-Up

9 a. m. Sunday morning was brutal after a night of drinking with Nathan and Cortez. I rubbed my eyes, hoping that wiping the sleep away would also drive away the headache. It didn't. Then a sudden snore had me nearly jumping out of my skin. Oh, yeah. I forget Cortez stayed here. He was passed out in the recliner. Nathan always said drinking would hurt less with "practice." I wondered how much more practice I needed. I forced myself off the couch and into my car.

Letting a bunch of citations sit on my desk, unfiled, wouldn't be a good look, so a painful morning at work was a necessity. And that was fine. Last night was fun, and Cortez seemed to relax more as the night went on. I mean, we were drinking, so that helped ease his mind, but he still seemed to be more comfortable and more open the longer he hung out. I hoped he enjoyed it. Dungeon gates don't take weekends off, so even though it was Sunday, the CDM was still relatively busy.

The admin staff and the analysts, people whose jobs could comfortably be scheduled for weekdays only, weren't there, though. I got to park right by the stairs in the garage, and it was not as thrilling as I thought it would be for all the times I glared jealously at anyone who got a good space. I waved to the enforcers on duty in the RAID command center and slipped into my desk. Okay. Get these entered into the system, and then you can go back to bed.

"Enforcer Gray, this is a surprise." Chapman was right behind me. I hadn't seen her when I came in, and I didn't hear her approach.

"Good morning," I replied. She leaned over my shoulder.

"Are those citations from yesterday?" Fuuuuuuuuck.

"Yes," I admitted.

"And what, you decided going drinking was more important than your work?" At first, I thought she must have seen me at the bar, but no, I was quite obviously hungover.

"It was late when we finished, so I came in first thing today to get it done."

"I don't care how late it was. If your inspections ran long, that's because you worked too slowly. You had plenty of time to have your work done on time. Instead of owning your shortcomings and staying an extra hour, you chose to party." I knew these kinds of arguments well. The harder I fought it, no matter how good I believed my reasons to be, the deeper into the quicksand I sank.

"Understood, ma'am," I said.

"It won't happen again." She shook her head at me, disgusted.

"As soon as I get hopeful about your progress, you find a way to take two steps back. If this is who you are, fine, but don't drag Enforcer Osheski down with you. She has a promising future, and being friends with you threatens that, I fear." Hearing Megan's last name was like shifting gears. At work, she was Osheski. I was still in personal mode and needed a second to understand who Chapman meant.

"I won't hold her back," I offered.

"If those are more empty words from you, I'll have you removed from this project."

"Yes, ma'am." Chapman walked to her office. I dropped my face in my hands. Just when I was making progress with her too. I should have listened to that brief twinge I felt last night, the one that said I should get this all turned in before I left. If she was part of the Unsung Heroes selection process in any form, no way was I ever getting in. I really hoped she wasn't. Really, really hoped. Later that night, on my way to close an early evening D gate, a number I didn't recognize called me.

"Hello?"

"Yeah, hi. This Dorion Carmino?"

"Yes, who is this?" But I already knew. Frank's voice was easy to recognize. It had a distinct raspiness with a permanent twang of disappointment, as if he wished the conversation had ended already.

"Frank. From Steel Town Bows & Arrows."

"Ah, nice to meet you. Beth's at work right now. If it's urgent, I can get you the number for the bar."

"Nah, called to talk to you," Frank said.

"I don't like getting in other people's business, but I had to give you a ring. Beth's not been herself lately. She's still working hard, but the girl had a spark to her. Not seeing it now and thought I'd ask you if she's alright." I really hoped Beth didn't find out about this conversation. If she knew that Frank had noticed a change, she would feel ashamed for putting an opportunity like an apprenticeship at risk.

"Well, she was seeing this guy and-" You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

"Oh, so this is puppy love gone sour."

"Not at all," I said.

"He went missing. Presumed dead."

"What?"

"Yeah."

"Christ. That poor woman. No hope they find him?"

"No, doesn't seem like it." He exhaled into his mic.

"Wish she would have told me."

"Her apprenticeship is the most important thing in the world to her. She's scared to death of losing it."

"Ah. Okay. Well, I appreciate you speaking straight with me. We agree that this phone call never happened?" Frank was a good dude, after all.

"Agreed."

"Great. You take care now." He hung up. I exhaled a cloud of stress I hadn't realized I held. Beth's anxiety over losing her apprenticeship gave me the same concerns. Hearing Frank be empathetic was a huge relief. He didn't sound the least bit frustrated, in fact. The way he talked, he already assumed something was wrong, well before he picked up the phone.

Seeing Beth as irresponsible or unprofessional could have easily been his conclusion, which Chapman had recently proven with me, but he assumed the best of her instead of the worst. I couldn't tell Beth this conversation took place, but I could be much more convincing in my reassurances. Seeing me be calmer and less worried could help her to feel the same. Yeah, this was good news. Really good news. Maybe the next time Frank and I talked I could find a reason to ask him about his build.

That call was obviously not the time, but I'd be lying if I said that question didn't bubble up in my mind. On Monday we got pulled into an all-hands meeting about major policy changes going into effect, starting the next week. One of those changes upset everyone in the office, and Megan was still incensed when I ran into her in the parking garage later. I almost asked if she had been waiting for me but decided not to poke at the angry brawler in front of me.

The last time I did something like that, a barbarian broke my nose.

"We already get too few gates," she said.

"I don't understand how they can just decide to change how that works. It's part of our contract." I shrugged.

"I thought you'd be angrier than me about this." She wasn't wrong. In fact, she was right on several levels. Our day-to-day at the CDM was changing because of the New Eden campaign, which felt like the church following me closely to stick a finger in every drink I got the moment it was in my hand. No, this was worse. The church was stealing my drink. As part of the U. S.

government's promise to help the prophet Rick Young found a Christian nation in South America, the CDM was making voluntary culls available to anyone who had officially committed to relocating. In other words, when the CDM went through the list of who to offer a run to, a certain portion of those slots would go to settlers, which was what we were instructed to call the doomers at all times in our personal and professional lives. That meant fewer gates for everyone else at the CDM. The intent made sense.

This new country would need crawlers capable of closing gates if it was going to survive, and though South America had been "reclaimed" for humanity, wild monsters were still a threat. Settlers would need to defend themselves on the surface as much as they needed to close the gates that appeared.

"As long as none of the CDM people mention me being a doomer- I mean, settler. I can survive," I said.

"If a settler hears I left the church? For some reason they really drill into you, more so than they would a normal nonbeliever."

"Will being around them suck?"

"Very much so."

"Sorry, Dor," Megan said sincerely.

"It's okay," I said.

"I'm happy we got assigned to RAID rather than the new crasher tipline. I'm trying to count my blessings."

"You don't think they'll get anything useful from it?"

"I think once the new penalties go through and RAID is running smoothly, there will be a lot less crashing to report." Those penalties were outlined in what Pittsburgh crawlers were calling "The Baker Bill." In DC, it was known as the "Dungeon Freedom Protection Act," which was also what motivated the policy changes about settlers. The bill moved quickly through the legislature to redefine gate crimes as "interdimensional acts of aggression."

Gate crashing would be treated as exceptionally severe assaults and as extreme destruction of property. Where a gate crasher would spend a year or two in prison before for a first offense, they would now get a minimum seven-year sentence, but that sentence extended based on the value of the crash and came with a number of other consequences. When we first heard them, Enforcer Wilson whispered, "one offense basically bricks your life," and I thought that was the perfect way to describe it.

In addition to fines and prison time, you were permanently considered a violent felon. Your credit score got nuked. Your wages were garnished to pay for the fines you owed. And upon release, your driver's license was suspended for a period equivalent to your jail time. Yeah, that bricked your life real good. But a crasher might not ever get to that point. The bill also clarified that gates were considered the property of whoever purchased the rights and that armed trespassers could be assumed to be hostile.

In other words, CKing was about to become legal. If the bill passed. There was a chance it wouldn't, but if the CDM was already making changes based on the coming policies, they must have believed it was a certainty. Megan kicked the front tire of her car.

"Makes you want to go full-time sooner rather than later, huh?" By full-time, she meant quitting the CDM to focus exclusively on Dungeon Divas.

"Yeah, it does," I admitted.

"Sorry, Beth is calling." Which was weird. Beth never called. She only texted.

"I should get back anyway," Megan said, stepping toward the stairs.

"Hey uhh…" Beth began.

"I know this is crazy, but how quickly can you get that vacation package deal from work?"

"How quick do you need it?"

"Frank has to go out of town for something, so the shop will be closed the rest of the week. Since we're bartenders, it's way easier for Leah and me to get weekdays off. She said she can drive us. Have you met Leah?"

"Probably. So, tomorrow and Wednesday, come home Thursday morning?"

"Yeah." For as frustrated as work had made me, I felt nothing but peaceful contentment in that moment. There was finally a lift in Beth's voice, and Frank's maneuver was above and beyond anything I would have expected from him. No way did he actually have somewhere to be. He was closing so Beth would actually take time off. I teared up right there in my car. Not only was that an incredible act of kindness, but Frank did it without taking credit.

Beth was pretty perceptive, so maybe she figured it out later when her mind was clearer, but doing something so nice anonymously was a special kind of classy. The only thing he got out of it was the knowledge that he helped. No praise. No recognition. Not even a show of gratitude as simple as "thank you." Fuck. I'm tearing up again.