Chapter 27
Quest: The Cradle of Civilization
Primary Objective Form the Foundation of the Merchants Guild.
(1 of ???)
Secondary Objective Achieve the Primary Objective before greater violence erupts.
Personal Objective Remain unidentified by other Users.
Threat Level: ???
EXP GAIN (L)
Time Limit: ???
Reward: Increased relationship with Kinsley, Merchant. Allies within the Merchants Guild.
Reward: Progression towards Vocation ???
It was a quest chain. My mind was firing on all cylinders as we grew closer to our destination, every thought a spiraling cascade of follow-up considerations and possible outcomes.
There was a serious power imbalance at play between Users and civilians now. The only thing that was saving us was that most civilians were oblivious that the imbalance existed. Otherwise, the anarchy we were seeing would have been catastrophically worse. It wouldnt break out right away. But from what Id seen, the Users werent exactly being subtle, and the first civilian to pick up a gun and kill a User would likely send things into an irreversible spiral.
You might be thinking that none of this is my problem. And youd be right. But as long as the dome was up, I had to live here. And Id much rather carve out my already difficult existence in a place not entrenched in civil war.
I cant believe you gave me a black eye. Kinsley grinned impishly.
I nearly missed a step. Shut up.
With a hammer. Kinsley added seriously.
I took a wide, long look around us to make sure no one had heard that, then glared at her. The black eyewhile merely a shadow of what she had when I met herwas dark red and pronounced.
Thats a gross misrepresentation of what happened. You wanted to sell it. Not to mention, your idea was worse. Who asks for a punch to the face? I scoffed.
Misgivings about hitting someone who had recently been through serious trauma aside, its a terrible idea to give yourself a black eye by hitting your damn eye. Its trivially easy to screw up any number of anatomical balancing acts, messing up your vision or potentially losing it altogether. Id immediately refused the idea, then reconsidered. It had almost worked on me, after all, the first time I saw her. And that was like drawing sympathy from a stone.
A black eye would go a long way to presenting the image we wanted, and all youd really need to do was bruise the delicate surrounding skin.
So, instead of punching her like some neanderthal, Id taken a trim hammer I found in one of the warehouse boxes andokay, relaxgently tapped around her right eye. It was slightly uncomfortable, sure, but not painful. The weight did most of the work.
There was the rickety sound of a shopping cart with three bad wheels. I reflexively stepped off the sidewalk and onto the grass, putting one hand out to tug Kinsley along with me. A man with sun-burnt skin and a dreamy smile came barreling around a corner with the cart at a full sprint, two freely spinning wheels bouncing off every patch of sidewalk. Visit no(v)eLb(i)n.com for the best novel reading experience
I nodded to him as he passed.
Behind me, Kinsley shivered. Everyones losing it.
No, thats just Greg.
She looked up at me, shocked. You know him?
Your family was, what? I side-eyed her. Middle class? Upper-middle? Before all this.
I dont know.
Upper-middle, then. If this works out, youre going to have to learn how to network. People are resources. The more people you know and can call in favors from, the better off youll be.
Kinsley lifted a bag of groceries in a half-wave.
Did you hear what he called me? Im not even fifty. She said, only her eyes visible from behind the door.
I heard, Kinsley scowled at me.
Probably better to hurry this up. Professor Estrada, Kinsley. Kinsley, Professor Estrada. The only teacher to ever give me a B minus. I turned back to the cracked doorway. Shes a friend of a friend, helping with deliveries. Mind if we come in?
She opened the door and I walked past her. Matthias, Im well-stocked. You should take all that to someone who needs it.
Uh-huh. Im aware of what you consider well-stocked, professor.
So disrespectful, Estrada clicked her tongue, but there was no malice in it. I half listened to her chat with Kinsley as I unpacked, shifting the small legion of pitchers filled with meal-replacement shakes in the refrigerator aside for groceries.
For a single person living alone, the apartment was cramped but clean. There wasnt much in terms of clutter or decorations, only a family picture lit by a single candle. Id always found it striking because the professor was actually smiling in it.
Id signed up for a dual-credit history class at the community college in Richland, expecting it to be an easy addition to future applications. It wasnt. Estrada was one of those professors too brilliant to teach, the sort that expected their students to understand everything they did. I ended up dropping the class but staying to audit, dodging the black mark on my record but sticking around to talk to her, finding her insights more valuable than the credit. She had a way of applying her subject to the world at large in a manner I found fascinating and oddly useful.
Then she disappeared. The college was tight-lipped when I asked, overly so. When I finally tracked her down through a combination of social media and old-fashioned footwork, I found a shell of a woman afraid to go outside who needed help with errands. Our conversations resumed. She never told me what happened. But I could guess.
Like Estrada herself was fond of saying, the devil is always in the subtext.
I wanted to go back to the dungeon soon, power through the fourth floor before the open forum. I had a plan. The beginnings of one. But I needed someone to check it against, in case there was a chance Id make things worse. And there was no one better to talk to.
Kinsley announced, a bit too loudly, that she needed to go to the bathroom.
Professor Estradas arms were crossed as she watched Kinsley go. Shes hurting.
I took up a spot next to her. Kind of obvious.
Not just the eye. Estrada shook her head. Body language, Matthias. Theres more going on there, under the surface.
Thought you said your bachelors in psych was useless.
Estrada snorted, then crossed the room into the kitchen and inspected the small bounty. Well, considering how everyone just started seeing strange screens and interfaces, Id say it got a lot more valuable. Whered you get all this, I thought everywhere was sold out?
Got lucky. Kinsleys family is in distribution. That was the story wed agreed on beforehand, so there was no chance of Kinsley accidentally outing us.
Estrada took a jar of pickles out of the fridge, inspecting it, then returned it to the shelf. She having trouble at home?
Yes. I considered what to say next. The truth of it was, if Kinsley was allowed to stay, Id be killing two birds with one stone. Kinsley would be safe, it would be easier for her to coordinate with me without worrying about her being isolated. And Estrada wouldunknowinglyhave a semi-permanent food supply. It was the correct call. But that didnt change the fact that she was one of the rare few people I hated lying to.
I was about to open my mouth again when the professor beat me to it. She can stay here.
Uh.
Youre not hard to read. Estrada gave me a judgmental eyebrow.
I chuckled. You might be, legitimately, the only person in the world who thinks that. Ill take care of the food. It wont be a burden on you.
Wouldnt matter if it was. And its not like its the first time I took in one of your strays. Estrada looked at me knowingly.
I grimaced. Iris stayed with her while Mom was going through withdrawal the first time. It wasnt a pleasant memory. One that was likely to repeat itself if I didnt get home soon.
Estrada sat down at a small round table, picking up a pair of transparent-framed, half-rimmed glasses and placing them on her nose. Then she steepled her fingers, and studied me. Come on, out with it. Theres something else you want to ask.
I sat down across from her and crossed my arms beneath me, shifting forward. During the journey over here, Id been thinking about how to phrase this exact question. I wasnt a history buff, as it didnt factor much into standardized testing. But I knew some. And there was really only one event that met the bill in terms of the potential for unimaginable violence.
A theoretical. Im a young noble in late 17th century France, one particularly attached to the idea of keeping his head on his shoulders. I rubbed my neck. How the hell do I stop the French Revolution?
