Chương 78: 76: Earth’s Best

"Let's talk inside," Emma suggested, indicating the building behind us. From up close, the building was a weird amalgamation of modern office and medieval tower. The walls on the ground floor were floor to ceiling shadowy glass, as if it were a corporate headquarters in some busy city somewhere, but they changed to what looked like white plaster higher up. The building itself was the shape and size of a lighthouse. No light on top, no rooftop balcony, but it still somehow had the feel of a beacon.

I followed Emma through the doors into an open atrium with a central column and a ramp curving along the walls leading upward.

"Oh, my God," I said involuntarily.

"I know." Emma sighed.

"I don't think it's my fault. I didn't choose the design."

"Chelsea said something about seeding our cultural data flow, but I didn't imagine she meant this." The enclave core was a bizarre mix of an installation from Star Wars—a tall column with data readouts and displays integrated into it—and a building from World of Warcraft, specifically one of the Elven towers in the blood elf starting zone.

"Chelsea?" Emma asked.

"My Personalized Interface Construct," I replied, putting air quotes around the term.

"You should have one, too."

"The System avatar? The old man?" Emma glanced back at me as she led the way up the curving ramp.

"Oh, you got the God look, huh? Mine looks like one of my old therapists. She started out looking like those creepy Santa Clauses from Doctor Who, which was very not cool."

"You're talking about the person who appeared at the end of the scenario, right? The guy who gave me back the picnic basket?"

"That's the one." I stopped walking to look around the second floor. It was almost weirder than the first floor. Instead of information, this must be where the System shop was located. It looked like a mix of a high-end jewelry store, all glass display cases and focused lights lining the outside wall, and one of those Japanese convenience stores heavy on the vending machines in the center, surrounding the column that rose through the floor and continued through the ceiling.

But the display cases were empty, and most of the vending machines were dark, lights off, no signage.

"This is the System shop?" I asked.

"As such, yeah." Emma gave a tired laugh.

"The only things we can buy are rations and water packs. There's a machine that sells potions, too, including healing potions, but we'll only be able to use it after we reach five percent. Percent of what, I've got no fucking idea."

"How close are you?"

"Four point two."

"Hmm." I walked over to the machines to take a closer look. The basic vending machine was dismal, a bare-bones, refrigerator-style case holding four types of items: metallic blue pouches, and bars in green, red, or yellow. All of them cost a single credit.

"Have you tried the rations?"

"Yeah. They're… edible. Sort of like extremely weird energy bars. The red ones are spicy, the green ones are definitely vegetarian, and the yellow is on the sweet side. Not sugary, really, but like…" Emma's words trailed off as she searched for a description.

"Chewy banana pudding," Nat said with a grimace.

"Some of the kids like it." Okay, I'd be skipping the rations. The machine next to the rations was the potion dispenser. It was a little flashier, not quite so basic, with a sign along the top that read Elementary Alchemy in big white letters with a hint of sparkle. The machine was dark, almost as if it wasn't plugged in, but behind the glass were rows of vials like the ones I had in my pouch. The vials on the top row were all blue, so healing potions, I assumed, for five credits each, the same price as Chelsea.

Below them was a rainbow of colors at much higher prices: 10, 20, or even 50 credits. Fifty credits was five full instance clears of my backyard rift. I wasn't spending that on a random potion any time soon. Of course, in the right circumstances, they might be worth it. But we'd only know if Emma found a way to turn the machine on.

"Four point two percent, huh?" I said.

"Yeah, it's—ugh, no." Emma groaned.

"It's gone down. It's back to four."

"So you kicked out five people, one of whom was Level 7, right?" That seemed potentially meaningful. Maybe I was seeing connections where no connections really existed—correlation not being causality, after all—but still.

"Add me to the enclave," I suggested.

"Of course," Emma said.

"I saved a spot for you."

"How did you get in?" Nat demanded again.

"I thought you had to be a member already. If anyone can just waltz through the door, we need better security." The machine in front of me gave a bright little trill, like a piano scale at the higher end of the instrument, and the lights turned on in a cascade, running up one side of the machine and down the other.

"Holy shit," Emma said, mouth open, staring blankly the way people did when they were reading System messages.

"Olivia, did you know—" She stopped talking, glanced at Nat, and finished with, "We should talk." I did not roll my eyes, but it took an effort. Why did I suspect she'd just gotten a message like the ones Danny and Katie had gotten?

"Right. We'll do that," I said, before turning to Nat.

"I've got a title. Or maybe it's a job, I don't know which exactly. But it lets me enter mana domains, which is what an enclave actually is." But Nat was staring at the potion machine.

"What just happened?" Emma clapped her hands once.

"Team Fellow Survivors is now at 7. 3%, which means we can use the potion machine. Which is awesome, because we've got so many people who need healing potions." The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Wait." I put a hand on the potion machine to stop her from pushing buttons.

"I've actually got a healer I want to bring here, if that's okay. She's Level 4, so she won't be able to heal everyone, but we should see what she can do before investing too many of your credits in potions. If we can get her to Level 5, I can bump her to Level 8 pretty quickly, too."

"You've got a healer?" Emma stared at me.

"A Level 4 healer? A Level 8 healer? I could kiss you. No, really, I could—whatever you want. My firstborn child? All yours."

"Seven point three? What the hell?" Nat demanded. I sighed.

"Assuming that no one is on the verge of death down there, why don't we find a nice place to sit down and talk?" Emma pointed to the ramp.

"That's where we were headed. The third floor is… well, you'll see." She sounded grim, but headed up. I followed, and Nat sighed, but followed as well. The third floor was awful. The third floor was as if someone had merged the worst excesses of every fantasy of grotesque wealth ever made into a corporate boardroom. It sparkled and glittered and dazzled the eyes. And was tacky as hell. I paused in the doorway to laugh because no other response made sense.

Amid the sparkle, the central column ended in a flat plinth, with a golden window floating above it that held data for Team Fellow Survivors. The top half looked somewhat static: Name: Team Fellow Survivors Owner: Emma Chen Tier: 1 Population: 804 Progression: 7. 3% Credit Balance: 102 But the bottom half was a scrolling data feed, sorta like a stock ticker for the apocalypse.

About halfway down a line read, "Resident added: Olivia Thorne, Thorn's Edge Guardian, Level 20," and right above it was the sentence, "Enclave Team Fellow Survivors Achievement: Earth's Best in Residence." I cringed. Fuck, my planet was in so much trouble if I was our best. The chairs were plush velvet on wheels; the table looked as if it were made of crystal; the carpet made me want to take off my shoes and wiggle my toes.

But I collapsed into the nearest seat and tried not to worry about whether my clothes were dirty.

"Olivia, did you see—" Emma started.

"Oh, my God, it's awful, let's not talk about it." I dropped my head onto the crystal table before me, refusing to worry about potential smudges.

"Okay, but—""Yes, our planet is fucked," I said, sitting upright again.

"If I'm the best we've got, we are in so much shit, it's not even... just… let's not go there."

"Okay, but Level 20?" Emma was trying hard not to smile and failing utterly.

"Stuff," I said defensively.

"There's been stuff. Bugs and slimes and people who needed help. And aliens." I rubbed my forehead, trying not to remember those Dendrysian adolescents.

"Aliens? Not the immigrant kind, but the big heads, grey skin, huge black eyes aliens?" Nat asked. Emma made a scoffing noise.

"Little green people are just as likely."

"None of the above. At least not yet," I said. But then I straightened, remembering what I carried. Fumbling in my pouch, I pulled out a translation stone.

"Here." I tried to hand the stone to Emma, but she didn't take it, just eyed it warily.

"What's that?" she asked.

"5000 XP plus a permanent 10% XP boost, if we're still within the achievement window."

"Yes, thank you." Nat practically grabbed it out of my hand. Her eyes went glazed for a second, and then she made an exasperated noise.

"Ugh." She held the stone out to Emma.

"What is it?" Emma asked, still not reaching for the stone.

"A universal language ability stone," I told her, giving Nat a sympathetic smile.

"But you've got to be Level 5 and have at least 5 Intelligence to use it. Once you do, though, you should get an achievement." Emma looked dubious, but she took the stone from Nat. It dissolved in her hand, and her eyes widened.

"Oh. Oh, that's weird."

"Welcome to the Multiverse," I said wryly.

"Citizen of the Multiverse (1)? What's the 1 for?"

"I saw someone who had Citizen of the Multiverse (2), so I think—and this is just wild speculation here—that it's a title with levels. That angel out there called it Rank One. Helen, the woman with the 2, had the translation ability, and she'd also visited another planet. I think that's why she got the 2." Emma stared at me.

"She'd visited another planet?" Nat practically fell into a chair.

"We can visit other planets now? That's part of the crazy?"

"Damn it. I've been arguing with people and trying to find enough food to feed hungry kids and fighting with this stupid interface—" Emma waved at the column.

"—and other people are meeting aliens. Friendly aliens?" I waggled my hand in the so-so gesture.

"The ones who gave me the ability stone are. I think. I hope. They do want to talk, anyway. Some others, maybe not so much."

"Great. That's just great." Emma sighed.

"Okay, can't worry about that right now, because I've got too much else to worry about."

"Yeah, you do." I opened my mouth, then closed it again. I took a breath, then let it out. I'd come here expressly to tell Emma that she was mismanaging her enclave, but now that I was here, finding the words felt like one of those difficult conversations that you practice for days ahead of time. And I hadn't practiced. It's not you, it's me. The judge sentenced me to 90 days. I want a divorce. Those conversations. Emma gestured, fingers folding into palm.

"Hit me."

"You're trying to save the kids. But an enclave grows and gains stability from mana." Emma looked at me, uncomprehending.

"Yeah, so?" I swallowed, my mouth feeling dry.

"That percentage progress is the amount of mana you have. At this point, the mana inside an enclave comes mostly from its residents. From our levels. Our XP is the measure of our bound mana." Emma blinked at me, her face going still. I continued, forcing the words out.

"Every person out there who doesn't have any levels is a liability. A drain on the domain, taking up a space but not giving anything back."

"But they're babies," Emma whispered.

"I know. I'm not saying…" I looked away from her. I wanted to claim that I wasn't telling her to stop rescuing children. But like it or not, that was exactly what I was doing. It made my stomach hurt.

"We've been taking in a lot of injured," Nat said, pragmatic.

"If we can do the magical healing thing, we can kick them out. Or at least put them to work."

"But doing what?" Emma dropped her hands, leaned back in her chair, and stared at the ceiling.

"It's such a stupid catch-22. You've got to kill monsters to get levels, but there are no monsters in the enclave. That's the whole point."

"How did you make it to Level 13?" I asked. If my presence was worth over 3%, then getting adults to higher levels could balance out the cost of keeping children.

"How did you know—" Emma started, then shook her head.

"It's been slow. I was almost at 12 after the challenge, and since then I've gotten XP from some enclave-related things. One hundred people, five hundred people. Registering you as a resident was worth a sweet five hundred points, thank you."

"Five hundred?" Nat shook her head.

"Dang. It's like the rich just get richer." I winced. She wasn't wrong. I wouldn't mention the XP boosts my various achievements were giving me.

"You need to start using the rifts," I told them.

"Using the rifts? The mana leaks? What are you talking about? How are we supposed to use them?" Emma asked. Yeah, I was definitely going to need to memorize a rift speech, no question about it.

"What kind of creatures have you fought here?" I asked first. Emma snorted.

"Do politicians count?" But Nat took the question more seriously.

"On the first day, a herd—or maybe a flock? —of things that looked sorta like ostriches with scales appeared by the mill." She spread her fingers wide, then clenched them into fists.

"It was my first call after it started. They killed… well, we were mostly clean-up. That's where we lost Brent. And then there were these shadow things at night. I didn't see 'em but I guess you need fire to kill them? We think they're all dead now, or at least we didn't hear about any more deaths last night. Although maybe we just haven't gotten word yet." She stared at her hands.

"One of the housing developments looks like it got hit by tornadoes," Emma said quietly.

"We don't know what happened there. Monsters or weather or something else. No one's had time to recover the bodies, but there weren't any survivors as far as we know." She glanced at Nat, who was still staring at her hands, and continued.

"Some animals came out of the Pine Barrens. I think the worst might have been the pine snake. They're big snakes to begin with, but this one was huge. At least twelve feet long. I didn't see it alive, but the guy who finally killed it dragged its body into town. He said the sound of its hiss made people freeze in their tracks. He had earbuds and an axe."

"Plus it was slower, because it was digesting." Nat gave a shudder of revulsion before asking, "Why do you need to know this? Everyone's got a horror story." For a moment, my thoughts flashed back to Pen's brother impaled on my bougainvillea. Whose horror story was that? But Nat wasn't wrong. Still. As long as we were still here, our stories weren't over.