Chương 102: 99: Unread

Not the real Jules, of course. A hologram, life-size, full color, and only somewhat transparent Jules. I could see through her if I tried, but if I didn't try, I could almost imagine she was real.

"O," she said, "I couldn't believe it when I saw your name on the screen." She laughed, and it sounded just like her. I took in every inch. No sign of injury, no blood, no horrors lurking in the back of her eyes. She looked like herself if we'd been camping all week. Not the polished, professional self that she could pull off without blinking, but the casual, outdoorsy self.

"I hope this is really you," she went on, "because part of me thinks there must be two Olivia Thornes in the world, and the second one must be very, very different from the one I know and love." She laughed again.

"Yeah, if you're a total stranger reading this message, you've got a namesake who makes beautiful art and cooks a mean pot roast. But if it is really you, O…" She shook her head.

"Good job, I guess? No, seriously, good job. This whole thing is awful. It was terrible timing for us. Toby and I are in Texas, if you can believe it. Derek—" She glanced over her shoulder.

"Yeah, long story. We're in an enclave for the moment, but… well, I don't know what's gonna happen." She smiled again, and this time it was wry, a little sad, a little scared. I wanted to curse [Uncanny Insight] for showing me that. Jules wasn't supposed to be sad or scared: confident competence was her middle name. Okay, names.

"I guess nobody does. Crazy times. I wish… well, it was so good to see your name. Stay safe, keep on kicking butt, and Toby and I'll try to do the same." She kissed her fingers and turned her hand, pressing it out. She must have touched the camera, sending the kiss to me. I lifted my hand, closed my fist. I couldn't catch a kiss from a recording but I could imagine it.

"Love you," she finished, and her hologram shimmered and disappeared.

"She's in an enclave!" I whirled to Chelsea.

"Which one, do you know?" I could be there in minutes. I glanced at my pajamas and slippers. Okay, maybe I'd put on real clothes first. But Chelsea looked like a therapist whose client just told her the suicide note was already written. (Yes, I know exactly what that looks like.) Stricken. Subtly appalled. Horribly dismayed. Take your pick.

"She… she was in an enclave," Chelsea said, swallowing.

"The enclave—it's gone."

"It's gone?"

"It was in Briar Hill, Texas. And yes, it's gone as of 8PM yesterday." 8PM. Yesterday. It was a kick to the gut as hard as any I've ever taken. Worse than 90 days, worse than 'it's terminal.' If I had looked at my messages yesterday instead of… The keening sound I made upset all three dogs, even Bear. Zelda was leaping up on me before I could do more than fold from the pain, while Riley shoved his way between my legs. Bear barked, once, twice. What? What? I kill it!

I covered my mouth with my hands, keeping the rest of my scream inside, and straightened.

"Why? How?"

"The enclave owner must have died without establishing a line of succession. That's the usual cause of a Tier One failure."

"They should have been in perfect health," I said. The enclave owner must have gone through the scenario, must have leveled up. They would have been the healthiest they'd ever been in their entire life. It was denial.

"Yes. Perfect health and death are sadly not mutually exclusive," Chelsea said.

"The people inside the enclave at the time, though, would have been fine. They would have simply been ejected at the enclave's anchor point." It was a full night later. More than twelve hours. No shelter, no supplies. But people. She wouldn't have been alone. Surely someone would have helped her and Toby. Other people in the enclave might have had homes nearby. Or maybe they'd gathered at a local school, the way people had in San Celeste. She'd mentioned Derek, too, and he was… well, not totally useless.

They couldn't have gone far.

"I need to get there," I said, stroking dogs, wordlessly telling Riley and Zelda that I was okay, that it would be fine. Bear was standing at the door, ready to go kill whatever was bothering me.

"Soon, Bear," I said for her benefit, before turning back to Chelsea.

"Where is it, though? I've never heard of Briar Hill. What the hell was Jules doing there?"

"I'm afraid I can't answer the latter, but while you go and change, I'll find the rift closest to the enclave's former location for you," Chelsea said.

"Thank you." My words were fervent. Dogs are awesome companions. But when they're your only companions, all logistical decisions and efforts have to be your own. You're the only grown-up in the room. Having Chelsea offer to help was like having her offer to carry the water six hours into a three day backcountry hike. I headed for the door and then paused, turning back for a second. Was I ever going to learn my lesson?

"Were there any other urgent messages? Anything that I need to know before I leave?" This story originates from Royal Road. Ensure the author gets the support they deserve by reading it there. Chelsea hesitated, before wincing.

"One message that might—well, your mother called." Oh, fuck.

"I will think about that while I am getting dressed," I said, my voice so even that all three dogs immediately got more worried. I did think about it, too. I thought about it while I pulled on a clean pair of jeans, a t-shirt, socks, my hiking boots, and the Wayfarer's Jacket. I thought about it while I stuffed the companion pouch with kibble for the dogs, snack bars for me, and even some poop bags, just in case they seemed needed.

I even thought about it while I sorted through Jules' scrapbooks to find the most recent. My mother—okay, first things first. Bipolar disorder often runs in families. It's not always genetic, but there appears to be a strong genetic component. Additionally, people with bipolar disorder have spectacularly high rates of addiction. Supposedly, 50% of people with bipolar are also addicts. Comorbid is the morbid word for it. Honestly, I find it completely understandable.

They—we—often try to use substances to numb the pain, suppress the mania. It is not an effective coping mechanism. It's also not a coping mechanism I ever used. But was that because I had a stellar example of that slippery slope shining before me? Maybe. My mother never remembered what she'd said in the morning. And maybe I could have lived with that, but she married a guy who never owned up to what he did in the evening. When I was twelve, I begged my dad to let me live with him.

The custody fight could have been ugly, but my mother said if I told the judge I wanted to live with my father, she'd never speak to me again. I replied, "Glorious." And so it was. Admittedly, she was drunk when she said it and I wasn't. But drunk words hurt just as much as sober ones. Lest you imagine that this means my mother was some homeless addict, pawning our possessions and prostituting herself, nope. They were "functional alcoholics" and as far as I know, they stayed functional.

Martinis on the sailboat, vodka tonics at the country club, that kind of thing. I was glad to get away, never regretted my choice, and hadn't spoken to my mother in years. Not decades. We had been in contact a few times. She'd let me know when my grandparents died and I'd gone to their funerals, and she'd sent me a very generous present when I graduated from college. I'd actually told her when my dad died, too. She hadn't come to the funeral, but she'd sent flowers.

Okay, admittedly I suspect she had Emily Post on retainer to ask, "What is the impeccably proper thing to do when my estranged child's father has died and I've been informed of the funeral?" but they were nice flowers. Fuck. I was gonna have to listen to her message, wasn't I? The dogs and I made it back to the RMI. Chelsea gestured toward the bulletin board. The pinned message was on cream card stock, the heavy-duty paper that no one on the planet uses anymore.

Once upon a time, people like my grandparents would have written their formal business correspondence on it. The manufacturers had probably gone out of business fifty years ago. I ripped the note down and opened it up. She looked older. It was the first thing I noticed. Did that mean she hadn't entered the System? As far as I could tell, every level brought you to a perfect state of health, which for people past thirty or so meant some level of youthful regression.

"Olivia, I…" She put her hand on her chest and then pulled her shoulders up. I could almost see her thinking, 'Posture. Posture.' Her lips twitched up in an almost smile.

"I understand that you have achieved immense success. Congratulations. I'm glad your stubbornness has finally paid off for you." I grimaced—gotta love the backhanded compliments—while the hologram glanced to the side, as if someone else was there just outside of view. Her smile tightened.

"They've given me access to this machine so that I can inform you of my location, I believe with the idea that I will plead for your help. I will not." She put her hand onto the screen, exactly the same way Jules had touched her own except without the kiss and said, "Live. Well. And let the naysayers burn in the hells of their own making." The message cut off immediately, although I had the impression that she'd been yanked off-screen. Fuck. Goddamn. Shit. I was going to have to rescue my mother, wasn't I?

I took a deep breath. One thing at a time. First Jules, and then I'd consider my mother. Did I want to rescue my mother? No, I goddamnit did not. And yet… when I was twelve years old and said "glorious," she was thirty-three. Five years younger than I was right now. Was I the kind of person who might have said, "Fuck you until the end of time, then," to my child? Well, honestly… maybe. She wasn't wrong about the stubborn. We can hate our parents right up until the moment we realize we are our parents.

"Where is she?" I asked Chelsea.

"One of the enclaves in New York City," Chelsea replied. Of course. Of course, she was. I held back my sigh and said, "Jules first. Did you find a good rift?" Chelsea gestured at the menu behind the counter. Rift N6W14S#923 had replaced the fire elemental rift on the list.

"It's probably at least a mile away from the anchor point of the enclave that fell, because the System would have tried to keep that kind of separation between rifts and enclaves where possible. But it appears to be the closest."

"Good enough," I said.

"I've got plenty of credits, right?"

"728, yes. Not enough to buy anything incredible, and between [Invisible Armor] and your shovel, I'm not sure you need anything within your price range," Chelsea replied.

"Healing potions," I said.

"I seem to find uses for them wherever I go."

"Ah, of course." Chelsea crossed to the counter and pulled out the jar of healing potions.

"These don't go bad, do they?" She blinked at me.

"No."

"Okay, I'll take a lot then. Enough that you should give me a bulk discount."

"A bulk—" Chelsea made a funny face, sort of pained and confused at the same time.

"The System says you may have a 20% discount on amounts 20 or more and commends you on your fiscal prudence."

"I will take 20 then." Was the System being nice to me because I had been so upset earlier? Could the System even do that? Chelsea emptied the jar onto the counter and started pushing potions over to me in increments of five. I slipped them into my companion pouch, watching them stack in the quick access slot. Twenty-one was apparently not the stacking cap because the twenty Chelsea gave me added to the one that I'd had. Should I buy some more? See what the stacking cap was?

"No," Chelsea answered my unspoken question.

"You don't have enough credits to buy a healing ability yet, but you should save for it. A common ability such as a basic Heal shouldn't cost more than 1000 System credits, so by the time you've used these potions, you might be able to afford the skill. And—" She hesitated for a moment, then smiled.

"Oh, I can tell you this. How nice. Your Sarathi friends probably have a Heal Ability Stone. I have no idea what they'd charge, but, you know, under the circumstances…" She shrugged. Fiscal prudence. Damn it. I'd just spent 80 hard-earned credits when I could have just jumped over to San Celeste and asked for an ability stone. Fine, so be it. I obviously couldn't give away my future [Heal] ability, so the potions would still be useful, one way or another.

"Okay, I'm ready to go." I looked at the dogs. Bear was waiting by the door. Finally, she said with a shoulder shrug. Jujube? Zelda asked.

"I hope so," I answered her. We come. Riley stretched and slowly paced to the door. He gave Bear a sniff, a nudge, and she licked his muzzle in response. His tail wagged. Good girl. With the dogs around me, I opened the door and stepped into the nowhere space, choosing #923 from the list that appeared. My jacket immediately started turning blue. It was another overly warm rift, but this one was more desert than cave. Fortunately, we weren't staying. We turned back to the gate. It looked like the rift was in a park.

Or maybe a golf course? It was all perfectly polished green grass on the other side.

"This works," I said to the dogs, and we stepped through the shimmer. And some fucker shot us.