Chương 35: Baked Goods & Beginnings

The transition was almost familiar. That same black nothingness that lasted no time and yet felt like it might be forever. I stumbled out of it into a space that felt equally familiar, that nowhere place the System had taken me after the scenario ended.

"Bear?" I called. I meant to yell, but my voice wobbled a little. The red dot in the corner of my eye was blinking again, and since I couldn't think of anything better to do, I opened my notifications. Congratulations, Rift Keeper, and welcome to the Rift Management Sub-System. As an authorized Class One user, this entry-level tutorial will introduce you to the essential functions of your personalized Rift Management Interface (RMI). Would you like to begin?" What?" I stared at the message.

I'd learned my lesson from the scenario: skipping the instructions was not a good idea. But I needed to find Bear before she got into trouble. The System took my response as a yes, and my notifications window disappeared. In its place: another PowerPoint slide. The perky mascot from the class selection tool bounced into view, waving at me with fake enthusiasm.

"Welcome to Introduction to Rift Management," the avatar chirped.

"By the end of this tutorial, you'll be able to—" It waved an arm toward the empty air beside it, like some corporate HR trainer trying to pretend the annual mandatory workplace safety training was going to be fun, fun, fun. A bulleted list appeared. • Create and navigate your personalized Rift Management Interface • Purchase and equip your introductory rift management skills or abilities • Monitor and interpret basic rift activity metrics The bullets kept going, but… bullet points.

Is it even possible for a human being to read a bullet list? They're like visual chloroform. The moment those dots appear, my eyes glaze over.

"How long will this take?" I asked the empty space around me.

"I need to find Bear. And I need coffee." The PowerPoint stuttered, flickered, and disappeared. The words Personalized Rift Management Interface selected appeared before me, and the nowhere space transformed. I stood in a cafe, with a scattering of tables and chairs, leafy green plants, shelves lining one wall, even a big front window spilling golden light across hardwood floors. A chalkboard menu hung above the counter, and behind it stood Chelsea. Well, System Chelsea, I assumed.

"Interesting choice," she said.

"What is this place?" I walked to the counter. The espresso machine was huge, shiny, and oh-so-tempting.

"Your RMI. Latte?" System Chelsea stepped over to the espresso machine, pulling out the portafilter like a pro. My Rift Management Interface was a coffee shop. A fancy coffee shop.

"I need to find Bear," I told her.

"Do you know where she is?"

"Ah." Chelsea glanced at the chalkboard above her head. I followed her gaze. I'd assumed the board was a menu because coffee shop, chalkboard, menu. What else would it be? Up close, though, the text shifted and scrolled like an airport departure board. Most of it was in scripts or formats I couldn't parse, like those captchas that are meant to stop bots and stop me half the time, too. The first entry on the list, though, was in English.

It read: Thorn's Edge Rift (Formerly N7E12S#1204) Tier 1 Progress: 16% Current instances: 1. Instance 1 occupants: Bear, Zelda. I did not start hyperventilating, although I wanted to. Zelda must have followed me into the rift, but instead of being transported to this place, she'd ended up somewhere else with Bear.

"How do I get there?" I asked. System Chelsea slid a cup under the espresso spout.

"Wouldn't you like to take the tutorial first?"

"How long will it take?"

"A few hours. Longer if you take your time."

"I don't have that kind of time. I need to find my dogs."

"Might I suggest at least using your ticket to pick up your introductory abilities and skill?" Chelsea started steaming a pitcher of milk.

"My ticket? Oh, right." I fumbled in Zelda's treat bag for the prescription Chelsea had given me. Rift Management Authorization Class One Available credits: One common ability One uncommon ability One +10 skill adjustment"Is the rift dangerous?" I asked. Chelsea waggled her hand in a so-so gesture.

"Tier 1 shouldn't pose much of a challenge for you or Zelda. The bigger dog is still only Level 1, though. Solo delving isn't recommended at Level 1.

"She's not alone, though, is she? Isn't Zelda with her?" Zelda would take care of Bear. She'd probably enjoy it. She'd be so smug about being able to defeat anything that threatened her younger, bigger, tougher pack mate.

"They're both in the instance. Whether they're together or not, I can't confirm." This tale has been unlawfully obtained from Royal Road. If you discover it on Amazon, kindly report it.

"Then I don't have time for PowerPoint."

"You should make time to choose your abilities. It won't take more than a couple of minutes, and they could come in handy."

"Fair point," I said.

"Quickly then." Chelsea set my coffee down on the counter and gestured at the glass display case below it.

"Take your pick." The display case looked like it held baked goods, but they were not your everyday pastries. Each one had a name card. There was an almond croissant labelled [Sharpen Blade]; a blueberry scone named [Mini Map]; a bran muffin marked [Identify].

"The Identify muffin is particularly delicious today," Chelsea said. [Identify] was the skill my sunglasses had, and it was undeniably useful. Bran muffins, though, are always so disappointing. Muffins should be tasty, not healthy.

"Is this always like this?" I asked without looking up from the pastries. They were transforming. The [Sharpen Blade] almond croissant was now a cheese danish, its label [Swords +10]. The blueberry scone was gone, but a raspberry scone, its tag reading [Sense of Direction], sat in its place.

"No. Of course, I was only created yesterday so this is my first personal experience with a Rift Management Interface. But most tend to be on the spartan side. An antechamber between a rift and a gate with a control panel giving access to rift data. In low-tech worlds, the control panel is usually a crystal. If the Rift Keeper is lucky, they might get a chair."

"Why is this so different then?" I asked, only half my attention on her words. I was not, obviously, going to choose my new ability based on the deliciousness of the pastry attached to it. But was the System sabotaging me by attaching [Invisible Armor] to a thick, dark chocolate brownie, or did good skills correspond to appealing baked goods? And where were the healing skills? I'd take a bran muffin if it meant saving a dog's life.

"The System adapts to the mental models of its users. This is the first RMI on a newly-integrated world, so it's got plenty of available processing power, and it's pulling its metaphors from your memories."

"We're still in the nowhere space," I realized. I looked around the room. It felt so real. I picked up my coffee and took a sip. It tasted real, too.

"This is just my imagination?"

"Yes and no. Your RMI is a localized spatial zone, designed to your specifications. Everything here is real, simply mana-created." I pointed to the display case.

"So the [Invisible Armor] brownie is going to taste like a brownie?"

"Exactly."

"I'll take it. Also…" I browsed the pastry display, watching as names and pastries changed. Chelsea used tongs to slide my brownie into a white pastry bag. There were so many choices, and the longer I looked, the more I saw. But the [Identify] bran muffin was gone and didn't seem to be returning.

"You suggested Identify, but—""No, I didn't," Chelsea interrupted.

"A personalized interface construct would never compromise their user's autonomy by making unsolicited recommendations." I looked away from the pastries so I could blink at her. What? She'd said the bran muffin would be delicious. And how was dumping a rift in my backyard not messing with my autonomy? Chelsea—System Chelsea—was trying to tell me something, but I couldn't decode it. I took another swallow of my coffee. Caffeine would help. Caffeine always helped.

Okay, maybe she was telling me she was constrained by rules. Operating instructions. If I thought of her as an emissary of the System working as my metaphorical guardian angel… ah, but I had that wrong. That's what she was saying. She was a reference librarian, not a lifeguard.

"What skills do you recommend I take?" I asked.

"I thought you'd never ask. Invisible Armor is a common ability, and not a bad choice for someone in your position." She peeked across the counter at my bare feet.

"Full-body coverage will come in handy, I'm sure, especially if you plan on making a habit of monster-hunting in your pajamas." My cheeks got a little warm. My pajamas were cozy, well-worn, and not clothing I would normally wear in public. But I hadn't gotten up this morning planning to jump into the rift before breakfast. System Chelsea picked up an apple tart with her tongs and gave it a little flourish in the air before adding it to the pastry bag.

"Analyze is the advanced form of Identify, rated uncommon. While you could evolve Identify to Analyze eventually, it would take quite a while. This'll give you a head start."

"As for your skill upgrade…" Chelsea pursed her lips, eyes fixed on the pastry case.

"It's early days. Survival skills always come in handy. On the other hand, you don't want to get pigeon-holed. And you've already got the shovel, the sanctuary, the water bottle… hmm, and your bond…" Her tone was thoughtful, as if she were talking more to herself than to me.

"Yes, that's it." She pulled a chocolate-chip cookie out of the pastry case.

"Another +10 in animal communication. Doubling down on your strengths is a strong, viable strategy."

"Animal communication? Really?" I would've expected Chelsea to suggest something combat-friendly, such as a weapon skill. Animal communication seemed like a luxury in the apocalypse. Sure, I wanted to know what that cat in my kitchen had been saying, but was it really going to keep me alive?

"Communication is a two-way street," Chelsea replied, sliding the cookie into the pastry bag.

"The ability to tell a dog which way to run and have it understand you shouldn't be underrated." The chalkboard behind Chelsea moved. I flinched in surprise, before realizing that it was just the text changing. The bottom line of the entry for Thorn's Edge now read, Occupants: Bear, Zelda, Unknown." Unknown? Who the hell is that?"

"Oh, how interesting. Thorn's Edge must have a long instance window. You should note that in your report."

"Instance window? Report? What are you talking about?" Chelsea sighed.

"You'll understand after you take the tutorial."

"I have to rescue—""Yes, yes." She waved at the door.

"Go rescue your dogs. But don't wait too long on the tutorial. The information in it is really quite useful." I grabbed the pastry bag from the counter and headed to the door, taking another long gulp from my coffee. I was not going to be able to fight goblins with a coffee cup in one hand, pastry in the other, but I'd drink as much of it as I could before I had to throw the remains in a goblin's face. Who the hell could that Unknown be, though? A neighbor? Not likely. My closest neighbors…

well, they weren't likely to check on me. Which was fine by me. I wasn't going to check on them, either. Someone else? But who? I lived down a dirt road in a sleepy small town. I saw more black bears on my property than I did human beings. I paused with my hand on the door and took a breath. For a heartbeat, maybe two, I wanted to have a real conversation with System Chelsea, the kind of conversation I could have had with the original Chelsea. I wanted to tell her that I was scared. Afraid of what I would find.

Afraid of what was going to happen. Maybe even afraid of what I was going to have to do. In that heartbeat, I was also remembering. Jack's fried face. Emma killing Sam. The spurting blood from the neck of that goblin wizard. That moment when I knew I was dead, that split second when all I had left to do was hope for Zelda to survive. Momentum had been carrying me through the past few days. I just kept doing what felt like the next right thing.

Attacking the squirrels, fighting the goblins, chasing Bear into the rift. And the next right thing was through that door. Zelda needed me. Bear needed me. I didn't have time for heartfelt conversations, and I didn't have room to be afraid. I pushed open the door and stepped into the rift. Honestly, it was a disappointment. I was standing by the side of the road in completely generic small-town USA.

Not the Norman Rockwell version of small-town America, with a white steepled church and houses with picket fences and rose gardens. The modern version. From where I stood, I could see that the road led to a Dollar General, a gas station, and a donut shop. I turned and looked behind me. I could see my backyard, the flagstone patio, and the wide-open French doors that led into the sunroom. Great, I'd forgotten to close the doors. But where were my dogs? And where was the unknown intruder?

Juggling my coffee cup and the pastry bag, I pulled out the brownie and took a bite. Yum, chocolate. I took another bite, then checked my status screen. Under Abilities, [Invisible Armor] had appeared. The description read: Invisible Armor: Manifest a protective barrier that surrounds you, absorbing physical and magical damage until its integrity fails or the duration expires. Duration is Will x 5 minutes. Usable up to Will × 10 minutes total per day. Cooldown between uses of 1 minute. Strengthens with Resilience.

Math, ugh. But a little multiplying told me I could use the armor for almost two hours, twice a day. That ought to be enough to find the dogs, I hoped. I tapped the [Invisible Armor] icon, and a wave of something cool flowed across my body, head to toe. The feeling was strongest on my face, almost like one of those tingly facial masks. The sensation faded away, but I could tell the armor was still active. I stuck out my foot and wiggled my toes.

I couldn't see it, but it was there, a layer of protection covering my skin. I jumped up and down a little, testing the coverage on my feet. It felt like I was wearing flip-flops, almost—no arch support, but definitely something between my bare skin and the pavement I was standing on. So, armor on. No dogs in sight. Time to explore.