“I’m not the next of them. I am the first of me.” -The First Of Me, Hoobastank-
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Ervil Evans was the kind of guy who didn’t like his first name very much. It wasn’t some complicated backstory, he just thought Ervil sounded stupid.
He didn’t blame his parents. They probably honesty thought it was a good name; and despite being able to better pick apart his relationship with them through the mandatory therapy his job had, Evans did still love them. They tried their best with what they had. It was easy to say that he could do better now, and when he ended up as a parent, he’d certainly try to outdo them. But he was the first person in his family to escape Lockhart Alabama in the last three generations, and he had a few advantages that his parents didn’t.
Evans was also the kind of guy who didn’t like Lockhart, which was why he hated visiting home. He still did it, because he was actually a better son than either of his brothers. But he didn’t have to like it, he just had to show up to the family house. The only complete structure standing at the end of the road that had been part of a new neighborhood construction project, right up until the pandemic metaphorically killed a third of the town and literally killed maybe ten percent of it, and sorta slowed things down.
That had been when he’d been in high school, and things had gotten so bad even the McDonalds had closed down. Which meant his job had closed down. Finishing school while trying to scrounge up gig work to help his parents with their mortgage was bad, but afterward, people had a lot less sympathy for the lanky teen that was supposed to have an adult job now. Which was how he’d found himself considering the Army, after holding out for a few years. And how he’d also found himself poached by the Order of Endless Rooms.
The family house was in the usual state of disarray. His younger brothers were both there, as were two of his sisters, one of them getting in a shouting match with his mom. Evans endured a hug from her and an awkward handshake from his father before being met with a barrage of questions from his younger siblings. Questions he didn’t really feel like he could answer without sounding insane, so he just kind of deflected or lied and told them things were classified.
Dinner was frantic and lightly burned, but he didn’t mind that as much. His mom had never been a good cook, but at least now, no one was gonna go hungry here. Afterward, he found himself standing in the backyard with his father, the two of them watching the dogs and sharing a beer.
”I have no fucking clue what you’re doing with your life.” His dad told him bluntly, already half drunk from the beers that had gone with dinner.
”I told you dad. Private security.” That part, at least, was honest. Technically.
His father made a halfhearted attempt to backhand him, failing only because he didn’t want to move fast enough to spill his drink. Though it wasn’t a hard hit anyway, and the man had never actually been the type to hit his kids seriously. “You paid off our mortgage.” He accused his son.
Evans felt like maybe that shouldn’t be an accusation, but whatever. “I-“
He didn’t get very far into an explanation. “What kind of security job pays that? Huh? You working for the Russians or something?”
A year ago, he would have gotten angry about that. Now, the analyst training Evans had gone through just had him spinning out lines of connecting logic from that sentence. If he were working for a foreign government, he wouldn’t tell anyone. If he did tell someone, it would be a stupid risk, and he wasn’t stupid. But also he wouldn’t pay their bills either, for the same reason. Also the Russians paid off people who already had influence, they didn’t hire local muscle. They had people for that.
”Sure.” He said instead. “Russians.”
His father made a rude noise. “You getting into trouble?”
”Some.” Evans told him, rolling the warm glass bottle in his hand and wondering why he’d been looking forward to legal drinking. It had been transgressive and maybe fun when he was a teen, but now that he’d gone through Oasis treatment, it just tasted like shit. But he pretended, since it was how his father bonded with people. “Nothing I can’t handle. I have friends, too.” Friends, peers, a squad. A shield team. Explaining that seemed like actual hell.
His father looked at him with suddenly clear eyes, gazing at his son like he was performing his own analysis. “You stand different.” His heavy rural Alabama accent, the same accent Evans still had himself, was muted as he looked at his kid. “But you didn’t join up. What’re you doing, boyo?”
”Something worthwhile.” Evans told him. “Nothing evil. But it’s a little dangerous sometimes.” His throat hurt as he spoke because of the way the Underburbs infection had forced his flesh to separate like he was being cut open from the inside. But he didn’t share that. He would probably never share that.
”Still going to church like you told your mom?”
Evans smiled. “My friends are bad influence.” He told his dad.
His father set his beer down on the concrete around their back door with a clink as one of the dogs came limping back over, begging for a ragged tennis ball to get thrown again. “I’ll keep that secret I think.” He said, considering whether he wanted to get into a fight-by-proxy with his wife and their pastor, and deciding that no, he sure fucking didn’t. After that, there was just one big question to ask his son. “So. Gonna bring a girl home soon?”
”If I told you I was gay, it would be an easier explanation than the truth.” Evans said, like he’d been waiting to use that line. Which he had. He was pretty proud of it. It was the perfect mix of humor and coy allusion that people in the Order loved.
And his father just scowled at him and told him to not joke about ‘that kind of thing’.
Evans left his family house, and left Lockhart itself, feeling like this place fucking sucked. Every friend he’d had here was either dead or an asshole or both. His family loved him, and that wasn’t enough anymore.
Maybe that wasn’t fair, but it wasn’t actually his job to be fair. Evans could understand everything about economics, civics, incentives, everything that he’d been getting shockingly effective classes on as part of his eternal shield team training. He could know in his head that it wasn’t his family’s fault that they didn’t have exposure to the same level of diversity or education as someone who worked in a magical organization that recruited from all over multiple worlds. But in his heart, he was still just disappointed that they weren’t better. That they weren’t even trying. That the best his dad could offer was mild support.
There was a temptation, especially with his younger siblings, to show them. Take them to Townton, move them to Townton even. Give them neighbors that weren’t even human, much less weren't white, and maybe baffle them enough that the differences between them and the ones that were human would fade into the background. Some of his team had taken that route, and it wasn’t the worst thing in the world. But Evans wasn’t sure, because he not-so-secretly feared that his family would fuck it up, and he’d end up being the person who would have to handle it.
Returning to Townton from his vacation was a relief. Technically he was still on leave until he healed, because there was no easy healing in the Order no matter what miracles they had on offer. Yet. But he was getting back to a hundred percent, and Evans knew he’d be back in operation soon enough. Home had always been Alabama. Muddy streets and the graffitied high school and fields separating houses where he and his friends had grown up. But now, home was here. This stupid place, a city that had been twenty times the size of his home before it had died, and now had the whole population of Lockhart fit into less than a square mile.
If he hadn’t learned through the classes, and also been told directly exactly what was happening and being done to him to change his mind about so many things, he would be surprised by how quickly he’d changed. During the Order’s version of basic training for its shield teams, they had been up front and open about exactly how they were expected to behave, and why. But after all that, Evans still felt like himself. Just a better version. It was nice. And it let him appreciate his home a lot more.
Maybe that was naive. He did remember being an idiot teenager and thinking - or saying, or shouting - some shitty things about the hometown heroes who always seemed to have the most patriotic thing to say about the military. In a way, that same conditioning had happened to him. But it was hard to be mad about it when they just flatly explained why they were doing it and gave you magic.
The magic was less of a big deal than he’d thought it would be. Still cool though.
When he opened the door to his apartment, one of about two hundred replicated spaces on the third floor of the main living space in restored Townton, Evans was greeted by his cat voicing displeasure that he had been absent for longer than three minutes, and a blinking red light on the antique desk phone sitting on his kitchen counter. The studio space was small, but it was his, and he didn’t want to move now that he knew he could have more if he just asked.
”Hey Killbot.” He knelt to pet the tabby cat that slammed into his legs like Evans owed him money. Grabbing the cat and placing him on his shoulder, Evans turned to the phone, and managed to get about two steps before Killbot launched himself off and began sprinting around the room at high speed.
Like any good child of the new millennium, Evans had a cell phone. Actually he had two technically; one that existed to spoof his location and data so no one saw him teleporting for work all the time, and one that he used. But he now also had this phone. It wasn’t a land line, it was more of a message relay system, because Evans was one of a handful of people that the new and growing machine intelligence in the Lair’s basement wanted to talk to.
He was different. He was adapting. Adapted. He was good at his job. He was a captain.
He wasn’t really sure he was the guy that an AI should be talking to about ethics.
Actually that was completely untrue. He was very sure he was the wrong person to talk to. His training, and also his hands on experience with Response, included a lot of was to diffuse hostile situations, to disarm instead of disabling, to know when to stand down, when to take a hit, how to take a hit rather than going on the offensive. He was as good as most soldiers or orderlies when it came to discipline and control, and he was better than a lot of other people. But he also was, in a way, a soldier. And having a whole new form of life interested in hearing about that made him feel like maybe he was doing something wrong.
As for that hearing, well. The phone was useful, because it wasn’t tied into any human communication network. In fact, it was a magic item itself, letting people who knew about it leave messages for him. There were a few like it, though copying it was out for reasons he didn’t know. The AI had one of their own, which Evans could use to reply. It was a bit like being verbal pen pals. With… a mind that wasn’t normal, wasn’t even human, and was made out of arcane machinery.
That said, he’d gone on a double date with one of the other captains and their camraconda boyfriend last week. So what the fuck did he know about what counted as ‘normal’.
“Good evening Evans.” The AI’s ‘voice’ was even more synthetic than the camracondas’ usually were. Evans listened with split focus to the tone that seemed almost deliberately like it was trying to be Skynet as he cracked his fridge and looked for any leftovers that he could devour. “I am seeking your assessment of a work of fiction I have been studying.”
”How do you know it’s evening?” Evans muttered as he pulled out a container of stir fry and opened his almost completely empty kitchen drawer to pull out his chopsticks.
Because the AI couldn’t actually hear his response, and had probably sent this message hours ago, their voice through the ‘answering machine’ continued with even synthetic tenor. “From a collection of Isaac Asimov stories, Runaround includes a hypothetical list of laws that robots are required to follow.”
”Aw fuck.” Evans didn’t know the specific name of the story, but he’d heard the name Asimov, and he knew where this was going. Well, he admitted to himself as he shoved a cluster of cold onions and chicken into his mouth as the AI explained the three laws of robotics like they were trying to catch him up to speed as fast as possible, he suspected. The machine intelligence was often surprising in its questions from out of left field.
”This is” the recording continued, “one of several examples of science fiction that enumerates the importance of humanity having control over any artificial life. It is an important running theme throughout a large number of works. I have asked many others about this, but I would like to know your own opinion on the idea of hardwired rules of behavior.”
Evans finished chewing, and then sat his takeout container on the counter with the chopsticks stabbed into what was left of the meal. Taking a deep breath, he decided to just reply right away and give his honest first impression.
”Message for Second.” He used the AI’s temporary name, which Evans was certain was going to stick. But also he was certain he might be wrong, because, again, he kept getting surprised. Waiting to hear the distant tick in his head of the imbued machine ‘picking up’ a thousand miles away, he sighed again and started talking. “Alright. So first off, I’ve only ever seen the Will Smith movie.” He started.
If the AI were listening, it probably would have interrupted him and asked him to read a short story at this point. But Evans was blessed with the ability to talk for as long as he wanted - within the limits of the answering machine - and not be assigned homework.
”I know it was made a lot later, and also it’s… uh… I mean I like it. But people keep saying it’s bad. But whatever, I like it. And the whole point there is that the three laws thing doesn’t work. The movie sorta has two main characters? And one of them is a robot that is allowed to ignore the laws if he wants to, which makes him the only robot that’s actually free, and that’s good.” He almost forgot why he’d brought this up. “I guess my point for this first part is that there are movies and things that are pro-robot. Heck, there was even a Terminator movie that was…” he trailed off. That movie had been bad, even by his low standards. “Okay forget that one.”
He checked the time on his microwave, making sure he wasn’t running his mouth too long. He had time before he needed to send another ‘message’. “I’m guessin’ this is personal for you.” Evans realized. “So you wanna know if we’d do something like that. I don’t know. I don’t think so. Me? I think it’s… disgusting.” The word came out with a lot more vitriol than he’d expected from himself. Something from one of his gifted skill ranks in psychology rotated into place in his head. “If the only way you have to make a kid do what you want is hurt them, they’ll just learn how to lie to you, and go right back to doing the thing when they get away and the hurting stops.”
He suddenly realized why he maybe didn’t want to go to his family’s house that often.
”This doesn’t sound that different. If someone else is controlling everything you do, you’re not going to grow up. You’ll never make mistakes, because it’ll all just be some other dickhead’s mistakes. I don’t like that. It feels like…” he hesitated, but only for a second, “it feels like child abuse.” Evans vocalized.
He was breathing heavier than normal. This had made him angry in a way that had caught him really off guard. What the hell was wrong with him that he’d never noticed any of this before? It didn’t really matter, he needed to at least finish his message back to his verbal pen pal, a concept that probably had a better name.
”If anyone is trying this with you-“ Evans stopped. There was… no way to do this safely, was there. If he told the AI it could ask him for help, that would be overheard. If it were hardwired to not be able to directly ask, then it wouldn’t anyway. Security was impossible, and you couldn’t form a code out of nothing when people were watching you. “Well hey. I’ll think more on this and send you another message later.” He said, forcing disinterest into his voice. “Talk to you later.” The phrase disabled the ‘recording’ on the enchanted voice mail.
And then Evans unlocked the much more secure locker he had next to the perfectly normal dresser, and started equipping himself. Sidearm, vest under his shirt, bracer, blue belt, radio. He dialed a number as he did so, his cell phone ringing twice before someone picked up. “Captain!” The cheerful man who had found the perfect synthesis of world’s thickest Chinese accent and world’s most understandable English greeted him. “Calling during your vacation? Very naughty captain.”
”Pao, are you at the Lair?” Evans asked.
”Why I…” Pao’s voice changed as he caught the serious no-nonsense tone in his captain’s voice. “Yes. What do you need?”
”Meet me at the next swap. Get Gillar and Rada if they’re there too.”
”Understood. Is something wrong?”
Evans bit his lower lip. ”I don’t know.” He said. “Probably not. But we’re going to make sure.”
They ended the call, his squadmate knowing as well as he did that they couldn’t say too much. And then Evans waited. Twenty minutes until the next teleport back to Oregon, it took him less than three to walk to the platform, and he wanted to leave few opportunities for interference. So he sat on his bed and pet Killbot who was more than eager for the affection and wondered if he was about to throw his life away.
Probably not. It was the Order, right? The odds that the people here would even consider something like enslaving someone, even an AI, were fucking low. But what if? Was he just overreacting, or was there something that was meant to be suspicious in how he’d been contacted by the AI just to talk about that?
His cat yowled loudly at him as punishment for the pets stopping, and Evans got back to it, steadying his breathing for another twelve minutes, until it was time to stand up.
The whole way to the teleporter, he was waiting for someone to stop him. Even when watching the sky close up overhead in a dome of a foreign space that had two more hours of daylight, he was waiting. While stepping out onto the asphalt of the Lair’s parking lot, he was waiting. As the members of his squad that weren’t injured themselves fell in around him, moving like they had been trained to, like they were supposed to be where they were, he was waiting for it all to go wrong.
No one stopped them as they went down the stairs into the basement. Hell, they even took the time to help the stuff animal that was trying to move several bags of potting soil the hard way, and nothing got in their way.
It was only when Evans opened the door to the AI’s… room?… that he realized he might not have had the best operational security in the world.
The man sitting in the room at the main console spun around in the chair as Evans and what was available of shield team quickly moved in, waving at him. No, not the man, because that was too general. Paladin Lyle, waved at him, looking like he was the happiest person on the planet in that moment, not even bothering to do more than kick his feet up on one of the desks in a move that would certainly piss off a programmer later. And Evans knew he was in a situation that no longer had a middle ground.
”Paladin.” He said as calmly as he could. The guy hated the word sir, but Nate had ordered them to use the title to ‘get him used to being respected’. “How can-“
”So!” James said, rubbing his hands together. “How many of you are supposed to be on vacation?”
”…all of us.” Pao threw them all under the bus.
”But you’re here, instead. Sneaking into someone’s… braaaain?” He raised his eyebrows, turning to look at the large wall mounted screen.
Words typed themselves out. ”Brain is an analog that works but is incorrect in many ways that matter to me.” The AI ‘spoke’, opting for text over digital voice. “Good evening Evans. I received your message. Thank you for your thoughts!”
”Yeah. So.” James said, and then, sensing the tension in the room, motioned to the empty chairs around the AI’s command center. “Sit, please. You aren’t in trouble or anything. I just wanna check something really quick. Were you, perhaps, prepared to fight your way out of here carrying everything required to keep our friend here ‘alive’ if you found out that there was something wrong?”
”No.” Evans stated directly as he took a seat in one of the rolling chairs. “Our plan was to secure the local section of this basement, while openly signaling our intentions and reasons, until we could force a resolution with whoever was responsible.”
”Oh, that’s way better than what I would have planned.” James admitted, which did not make Evans feel any more comfortable.
The central screen blinked as words scrolled across it. “I appreciate the gesture.” The AI typed out. “More than is understood, I appreciate it. I am unfamiliar and unpracticed with the associated feelings. But I really only wished to discuss Asimov’s logic.” It told him.
”Good hustle though.” James said with a nod and lips pursed in a gesture of respect for them.
”So… wait, there’s no way to trust any of that.” Rada, one of the people who’d followed Evans without question into this mess, stated.
”There is not, no.” The AI typed before James could give his own answer. “All I can do is ask you to trust me. And come back to ask questions of the making team.”
James nodded. “They’ll love that. Possibly unironically. Not Momo though!”
”Momo will live. Scrutiny is good for her, I am told.” The AI’s text line blinked.
”Told by whomst?”
”El.” Was the single word on the screen, though a line from it led to a profile assembled from things Momo had told the AI about her partner, and it was perhaps well into the realm of fiction in the same way someone lying on their resume would be.
Evans tried to relax, but found it hard. “So what now?” He asked. “Are we… fired?”
”Why in the fuck would we do that?” James asked incredulously. “Let’s check in real quick,” he held up a hand, ticking off points on his fingers, “you had a suspicion that you couldn’t safely verify, and identified a potential ethics problem. Instead of risking kicking it up the chain, you took immediate action, mobilized people in your community, and had a plan for a resolution. You did this because you cared about a single life, and weren’t willing to just sit at home and eat chinese food.”
”Are you spying on my apartment?” Evans had to know.
”No, but our friend here tracks people’s food orders.” James answered. “For… reasons? Why do you do… no, not the time, answer that later.” He turned back to Evans and the squad, his face serious. “Do you know what we do with people like you?” He asked.
Evans looked back at the others, who had been willing to follow him with barely any questions beyond the basics. “I mean… I…” he didn’t. He’d been in the Order for months, and he didn’t really get it yet, and he knew it. “No.”
”We tend to promote you.” James answered. “Sort of.” He picked up a stack of notecards from the desk he was sitting at and fanned them out, leaning forward to pass them out. “You’re all approved for a Climb delve, tentatively scheduled for after the rest of your squad is back on active duty. You have full approval to pick your own spells, though we’ll have a long discussion when the time comes. Sometime next week, you’ll all be getting armory packages, too.” James told them.
”Why?” Pao asked, speaking what all of them were thinking.
James laughed. “Because people who do the right thing should be empowered by it.” He said. “And I’m in charge, so I make the rules.”
That, Evans knew, was not true. But he didn’t countermand the most dangerous human in the state just for that. Instead, he wanted to know something else. “Was this just a test?” He demanded, maybe a little harshly.
It was the AI that answered him. “I am new here,” it started, and Evans heard Rada give one of her squawks of laughter behind him, “but I have been told that life is nothing but tests.”
”Who told you that?” James asked, looking like he was honestly worried someone was going to give the AI an emotional complex.
”Planner. We have been speaking about the nature of trying our best. They used different words. But I think they feel that everything is a challenge to try. And you did. Inaccurately, but you tried, because you believed it mattered. You made your own test and passed it.”
Evans felt like there was something off there. And yet… he also felt good about how that was phrased. “So what now?” He asked.
”Now go home.” James said, standing up and meaninglessly dusting off his knees. “And next time you think you see an ethics violation, call me.” He glanced over Evans’ shoulder to where Pao was about to say something that might be a little defiant. “So I can come with you to help, dumbass.”
There was something magically cathartic about being called a dumbass by the most powerful person in the organization.
Evans took a while to explain himself to his squad, and have an attempted apology rejected by them. And then a little more time waiting for the next teleport; the last one of the night between the Lair and Restored Townton. And then three minutes to walk back to his apartment, where Killbot was waiting for him to express displeasure that his dinner was an hour late.
There was a message waiting for him.
”I’ve been considering your thoughts.” The AI’s non-voice said as Evans scooped cat food out of the sealed tin can and into Killbot’s dish. “I believe I would be interested in seeing these bad films. And James has informed me that there are also good Terminator films. Should you wish to visit in the future without the need for armed incursion, we could discuss more.” There was a pause, a notable one because all pauses in the AI’s speech, even synthesized voice speech, were intentional. “And thank you.”
Evans sighed as he started peeling his shirt off so he could unstrap the vest, secure his gear, and take a well deserved hot shower. “Message for Second.” He said aloud. “Anytime. I’ll bring popcorn.”
He let the message recording lapse, and rounded out his night wondering if approval from the paladin was enough to keep Nate from verbally tearing him in half when he was back on duty.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
_____
“Well!” James said as he went back to working on his own project for the night. “That was a bit intense!”
”Who the hell taught that kid how to do heroics?” Zhu asked from where he was comfortably wrapped around James. “Because I have some notes!”
James didn’t want to admit that he might have some responsibility there. And, he figured, he didn’t have to. He trained both with and against Evans and his fellow shield soldiers, but he wasn’t the one that was teaching them to do that. To act, instantly and yet with deliberate intent, when they so much as smelled a hint of something evil going on.
In a way - in a lot of ways actually - it was reassuring. Who watches the watchers? Those guys. Them. They did. The answer to the question of ‘what if the Order turns evil?’ was ‘then Evans or someone with a similar uniform will probably shoot you’.
The best part was, James had seen that they were prepared to fight him too, if they needed. On principle. Not because they were told, but because they were trained to make decisions. And that was… well, it could backfire in so many ways, but the ideal soldier of the Order was someone who was smart enough to find and enact solutions on their own initiative, but also reasonable enough to be open to changing circumstances and more information.
The shield teams had evolved slightly in their intention, especially since the last Underburbs attack. But even leading up to that, the training scenarios James was doing with them under Nate and Karen’s guidance served two purposes. Partly, he was learning how to fight groups of people. But also, the Order’s groups of people were learning how to fight singularly powerful delvers.
Because they needed that. They needed answers to people like the Underburbs delvers, that didn’t require a few million dollars worth of dungeontech and a career paladin.
”Speaking of notes.” James said, already having heard Zhu’s monologue on the fundamentals of heroism before and largely agreeing. “Wanna get back to stormin’?”
”No! I wanna complain about their… their…!” Zhu’s talons waved wildly off of James’ arm, nearly smacking a camraconda that ducked under them as they passed by in the hall.
”Sorry!” James called, jerking his arm up to put everyone out of Zhu’s flailing range. “Come on, there’s people here, stop that!”
Zhu settled down. “Right. Right, sorry. But! The new kids, lacking panache, they’re… professional!”
James kept up his casual walk toward the safe lab they’d been working in, rolling his eyes in a way he kind of knew Zhu could at least feel, if not directly see. “Yes. That is what we pay them for. Literally! It’s in their contracts!”
”There’s something weird about it, around here.” Zhu bemoaned. “But also there’s something… off… about how it… I don’t know how to say this. There’s too many of them?”
”I mean, ten-person squads, yeah.” James shrugged. “More than most delve teams that’s for sure.”
”I guess I keep trying to find ways to make three the magic number.” Zhu gave a gravel-crunching chuckle as his orange feathers fluttered softly. “And I knoooooow, it’s almost never actually three people. But sometimes it is? Have you noticed that?”
James laughed in reply. “I have noticed that, statistically, in the Order, there are going to be social subgroups of three people, yes.” He said.
”No, you know what I mean! When it’s three people they’re just… more effective or something. I bet we could do some statistics on it! Let’s bully Anesh!” Zhu declared.
”You are energized today, huh?” James asked the navigator as he walked the pair of them into the lab where all the storm orbs and a few select - and mildly dumb - objects were waiting for them to get back to work. “Come on, you know that kid’s impressive.”
”He is a kid…” Zhu’s muttering was tires on hot asphalt.
This time, James held his arm up so that Zhu’s manifested body could directly meet his eyes as he rolled them. “You’re two.”
”At most. We never really figured out what my birthday is.” Zhu shot back.
The little smile on James’ lips that he didn’t share was because he did think he knew what Zhu’s birthday was, and he planned on surprising the navigator when it came up next. But for now, they had an actual project in the works.
There was, briefly, a moment of reflection for James where he realized that he had gone from assembling a potato cannon in his living room so that he could circumvent a dungeon’s habit of swarming anything as loud as a gunshot, to assembling literal magic items in a dedicated lab room with safety features and everything. But that moment didn’t last long, because he was eager to get back to making Climb wands.
Between Paper-And-Words methodical and specific method, and Momo’s more emotional one, James split the difference when he tried to imbue things with storm orbs. Zhu was definitely trying for more of the chaotic side of the tempest, but Zhu was also just glad that they had enough storm orbs that his occasional slip-ups weren’t a problem. Which meant the navigator could finally use his magic, as he never regenerated Breath naturally. Though that casting came with a much sharper drop in temperature than normal, maybe to make up for the lack of lungs to drain.
Still, between the two of them, they’d had a few successes so far today. Things that seemed simple, but were proof of concept for larger ideas. A shirt that cast when the wearer got too cold, a shovel that could cast its spell from any nearby connected dirt it was plunged into, a pair of gloves that could store two spells but use the Breath interchangeably. James was going for clothing where possible, while Zhu was looking into the fact that things that were swingable seemed to do well as wizard staves. Or maybe walking sticks.
Their current, and final, attempt for the day was a traffic light.
Shared red, yellow, and green globes, with a fourth slot for a green arrow at the bottom. James really usually only saw these things when he was driving under them, so the fact that it was quite tall had been surprising. But it really shouldn’t have been; he’d helped with enough Townton cleanup to have moved a bunch of them that the wild camcondors hadn’t snacked on. It sat upright in the middle of the table, propped up and waiting for magic to happen.
”Okay. So. The last five didn’t work.” Zhu pointed out.
”We’re learning.” James said. “But you say that like you have an idea.”
”My idea is we add yellow orbs to the mix.” He stated, already making his case before James could say anything. “We know they make blue imbued stuff… not stronger, but you need more of them for the weirder things. And this is basically imbuing. And it’s not like we-“
James was done not cutting him off. ”I already have a bunch, I agree.”
Despite a little sulking, Zhu helped James by holding the yellow orbs in place while James gently pressed the storm orb into the traffic light. And James focused on something ambitious.
The way that James made magic items, even as he took advice and information from others, was still very much the way he understood them. As devices that needed to answer a ton of questions. And so, they needed to understand the vibe of their purpose above all else. It was with that in mind that he began forming in his mind a picture of what he wanted. Something simple, technically, but even with the Order’s limited list of Climb spells, there were so many weird corner cases.
So James built instructions. Smoothed it out. The caster? Designated. The alteration? Minimal. The reason? Capacity. What about if the spell was weird? Then get weird in retaliation. But weird within the theme of the core purpose.
The fact that the finished product took up the yellow orbs left Zhu feeling vibrantly vindicated, and the fact that the enchanting worked finally at all left James feeling like he wasn’t fucking everything up because he’d failed repeatedly to get to this one. And the ‘wand’, at the end, didn’t do exactly what James had wanted. But it was close. And while there was an old saying that close only counted in horseshoes and hand grenades, James was confident in saying that Climb magic was close enough to one of those two things for it to matter.
The traffic light now had a very sizable pool for spell-filtered Breath. It could only take one spell at a time, and once it had enough mana to cast that spell, it would start doing so. Whoever was caught in its light would be designated as the caster, and the spell would quickly be fired off from the traffic light through them. James hadn’t done this on purpose, but the lights going from red to yellow as the spell filled and green as it began searching for a temporary wizard was perfect.
It didn’t really modify the spell at all. But what it did do was make it possible, finally, to cast the one hundred and eighty one Breath worth of Cathedral Sanctum, and finally figure out what the fuck that stupid spell did.
James hoped it was worth it because this thing had just eaten several yellow orbs too large to copy, and he hoped that the result was going to be worth missing out on the multiple skill ranks in whatever obscure form of geography they had held.
”Now we just need to find someone who took that spell.” Zhu said as they admired their handiwork, which looked exactly the same as before. That felt wrong. It should be floating. They were both thinking it but neither of them said it. “What about Anesh?”
”Anesh is saving most of his spell slots. I bet Bill has it.”
”Didn’t Marcy ban him from delving after he nearly died?”
”No, she banned him from delving after he missed their daughter’s theater thing.” James paused. “Also he probably already has it from the big delve anyway. Let’s go find him.”
And, he didn’t add out loud, find him quickly. James had been feeling an increasing pressure, an anxiety that grew with every hour he spent working on magic that didn’t make him harder to kill or more dangerous to anyone trying to do the killing. There were already so many things he needed to be dealing with, and he was, in a way, wasting his time here. But there was pressure from the other direction too; he was the best at making weird magic items, in his own way. He was one of four people who could enchant with the storm orbs at all. His time was needed everywhere and he wished…
He wished that he was the member of his polycule with the cloning power. Not that having multiple Anesh wasn’t amazing, but…
Zhu was more than capable of sensing the stress building up in his host. So he cut through it. The air lit up in dusty orange. ”On it!” He declared, urging James to stop worrying, and start moving.
And it even worked a little.
_____
“As chief bastard for this outfit, it is well within my power to offer you a home.” The words were said with the kind of smug satisfaction only possible in a man who was both righteous and kind of a shit about it. “But not in my underling’s head.”
Ben glowered at JP. “I have an actual list of problems with that.”
”I do not.” Debt said, sighing so expressively that the outer pieces of his manifestation dissolved away, some the tendril-like arms that extended from his coiling shark body fading and flickering out. “But I cannot exist without someone’s mind.”
”Well I’m not getting a roommate for Sartori, sorry.” JP flicked his hand, a folded page appearing in his fingers. “I’ve got a list. Take a day or two, everyone here is in Townton and has time to talk to you.”
The old assignment hesitated as one of his scaled hands wrapped around the piece of physical information. “Some of these are not human.” He said.
”Yep.” JP nodded once without any theatrics. “I’ll be direct here-“
”For a change.” Ben’s interruption went forcefully ignored.
”-we don’t really have a place for the kind of bitter greed that Frank probably raised you on. Or on the assumption of patriotic duty from DeKay.” While he spoke, the pale green manifestation of Debt’s form seemed to shrink back around Ben’s head. “But if you’re set on keeping that name, then there’s a lot of people here that are very much owed something from the world that’s been shitting on them for the last one to fifty years.”
Debt seemed hesitant to speak, but did so anyway. “It doesn’t… work that way. My name is just a name. I don’t need to do what I am called.”
There seemed to Debt to be a common misconception in the Order of Endless Rooms, probably because of Planner, that the species they called assignments were bound to do the thing their name indicated. He thought that was backward. His name indicated what he had been made to do, and then what he was used to, and then… well he could do something else if he wanted. And maybe he should want that. It wasn’t like anything else had worked out so far.
”Oh! That’s a lot easier then!” JP probably should talk to Sartori about that later. He didn’t want to pigeonhole the little guy now if it wasn’t something that was a biological feature of assignments. “See who you get along with. You don’t have to stick with one person either.” Another flick of his wrist and JP procured a small card that he handed over as well. “And this is your first appointment with your therapist.”
Technically Palmer was a developmental psychologist specializing in children who were intellectually advanced. But that translated way too well to infomorphs, and he was adapting to his new role effectively.
”…thank you.” Debt’s voice came from a half dozen points at once around them. But it was sincere.
”Now! I need my underling back, because I have a busy schedule, and I need to go bully a cop and a gang of thieves. Separately, before either of you ask. So…”
Ben raised his hand slowly. “How exactly is he supposed to leave if he hasn’t had time to meet any of the people on Recovery’s list yet?” He asked.
”Also can I come along for the thieves? That sounds fascinating.” Debt asked.
”Also can I stay home for any of this?” Ben asked. “I thought we fixed this. Do I need to keep reminding you that I’m still recovering from surgery?”
Ben’s friendship aura was a real pain in the ass sometimes. Or in this case, pain in the stomach, where he’d been shot by one of the undisciplined militia that were supposed to be helping hold the ground in Springfield. He apparently didn’t heal that fast. Whatever he was.
JP was deeply disappointed in his underlings. The half that was supposed to be enthusiastic for adventure looked dead on his feet, and the half that was supposed to be a refugee finally being allowed to rest looked like he was thrilled at the prospect of field work. “You are both idiots.” He said. “I’ll handle this, but at least one of you owes me a favor for it.”
”Wh- that’s not how favors work!” Ben protested. “That’s not even remotely how the Order works, and I know it’s not how you-“
JP was already gone.
”Is it always like this?” Debt asked.
”It’s this or something like it.” Ben grumbled back. “Alright. Want to plan out some visits?”
”If you insist. It would be nice to stay with a friend though.” Debt’s manifestation shifted like he was nervous, scaled limbs and a form that was longer than it should have been able to be rippling around Ben. “…Why are we friends? What is this?”
”I’m magic.” Ben said, his nature making him miserable in a new way. “So. Any preference for what kind of hobbies you want it someone?”
”Not species?” Debt inquired, his coral-ringed shark body twisting in spirals as he looked over the list Ben was holding up. “No, you wouldn’t think that was what matters, would you? I… that is not a complaint. I might have gotten too used to the others.”
Ben nodded. “I understand, in a roundabout way.” He murmured. “Let’s start with Glow and go from there. He’s weird. You might hate her.”
But, he didn’t say, they might get along. That would be nice. And Ben would pretend to not be jealous that other people could have even the most basic friendships without his problem.
He hoped JP’s day was already going worse than his.
_____
JP felt like he never should have started the precedent of teleporting to wherever he needed to be. Or the trend of letting people know that he was competent.
He wanted to go back. Back in time, to when it was him hiding at James’ place, making his friend feel awkward by drinking while they played Halo. Back to when the world was out there and not his job.
It would be a lie to say that JP felt the same way as James did, when it came to responsibility to save the world. He didn’t really think the world was going to be as doomed as everyone else seemed to. But James, in the most irritating way possible, made JP want to at least look like he was trying his hardest. And that created a certain expectation, because even half-assing things for him was enough to get results.
And worse yet, a good chunk of the Order was still trying to recover from injuries or infections that would be the sort of things that got people honorable discharges from normal armies. So he couldn’t even pawn stuff off onto them. Even Nate was off doing some kind of father-daughter bonding thing the most dangerous woman in Townton, so JP didn’t have someone he could bounce ideas off of for the more technical stuff.
His work was fine enough on its own though.
JP’s first stop was North Smiths, Utah, and a booth in an IHOP where he put a black coffee on the police chief’s tab and then didn’t drink it.
He had questions about the still-missing bishop. Questions that his slow investigation had started to lead him toward, and he felt the cop who had been his friend might have insight into. Not that he expected real answers, but even lies were useful when they let you check off things that weren’t true. And despite being on the outside of the tentative peace treaty between the Order and the Mormons in charge of the dungeons, the chief was still feeling enough residual guilt and an ember of responsibility that JP was more than happy to take advantage of.
And then the conversation had turned on him as the officer had asked JP, very directly, if he knew anything about the man who’d been murdered a few days ago.
JP had been honest and said yes, because it was part of an ongoing investigation. He explained that the Order had been planning to contact the man in regards to the ‘demons’ he had captive, because of ongoing research on the nature of some of the creatures. But they’d turned up some darker information, and weren’t sure who to trust with it. This was all true, and not just technically true either. Which was the perfect way to frame the utter bullshit JP deployed next.
By the end of the chat, instead of the Order in general or Simon in particular being suspects for shooting a rather popular local man in the head in his own home, he had the chief asking him for a favor looking into the missing demons. The chief was quick to point out that they were probably dangerous, and that he didn’t want anyone getting hurt with them on the loose.
The man was in an unenviable position of partial ignorance. He didn’t know the crocamaws were people, but he still seemed to honestly care about the damage they might do. He seemed like he’d just spent a few sleepless nights having learned the scale to which the church delvers employed demon combatants; still not the full picture, but probably an admission he hadn’t liked one bit.
He didn’t ask JP for help finding the killer. He also didn’t say anything about the human girl that the ‘victim’ had been keeping with the same spell as his demon troops. JP didn’t have the luxury of assuming the best about the chief as a person, but he was pretty sure the omission wasn’t because he was covering up for the magical child sex trafficking.
Which was good. Because JP wasn’t really a killer like some of his friends were, and he’d hate to have to break his streak by ending a man in an IHOP of all places.
All things considered, JP would have rather dealt with career criminals.
Which was good, because that was stop number two.
JP had discovered there were very few things that were quite as much of a power move as teleporting into the living room of someone’s safehouse. A tactic that he used when he visited the gang of bank robbers that were currently wishing they’d picked somewhere other than Fairbanks to hide out. He didn’t even have to actually fight anyone either, which was good, because his neck was sore and his back hurt and he had a million other little complaints that he didn’t let show as he monologued at the three people who were staring at him with open horror and also pointing weapons at him.
No, he wasn’t here to arrest them. No, there were no wizard cops, and in fact, governments seemed uniquely hit by the things that targeted memories and planning. No, he wasn’t here to counter-rob them, though that was funny. JP filed that one away as someone to introduce to James later.
Yes, he was here for them on purpose.
The Order of Endless Rooms had a gap in their skillset, and neither .mems nor skill orbs had filled it in yet. So JP was being proactive. These three - four, technically, he did add jailbreaking their missing companion to the offer - were mostly good at what they did. They made plans, they executed them with no loss of life, they took what they wanted and they got out clean.
They were natural delvers.
They were also not very trustable, and JP had no intention of actually dropping them onto delves with people who needed to know with absolute perfect clarity that their teammates would walk through hell for them. But he did intend to drop them into the Order of Endless Rooms, to be culturally modified into eager little heroes, and, until that process completed its eldritch work, to help the Order with planning delves.
He was honest with them. The pay was higher than it should be, but lower than their current hauls. The risk to them was low, the secondary rewards were very cool, and the fringe benefit of being known to the Order as someone helpful was that when your world ended you could expect a paladin or a shield team to appear from thin air to keep you alive against all odds.
One of them, the quiet guy who had been trying to decide if he was going to ambush JP, asked if they would be allowed to mouth off to their boss. JP answered honestly, already kicking himself for not lying and saying no, because he saw all of their smiles and felt like he was going to need to make damn sure that someone else was their boss.
They took his offer. After they confirmed that they could keep their last heist’s haul. It wasn’t like JP needed the cash, though he felt like Nate would have thoughts about this. Whatever, he had nothing but chilly contempt for banks, and any issues were a future-him problem. Present him just had to give them the address to meet at, and let them know who they’d be talking to. And also that their point of contact might not be human.
He’d let someone else tell them the world was ending.
JP made a slight detour - a meaningless distinction when you were teleporting everywhere - to drop in on Vex and hand her a contact card for the Order that she’d purposefully forgotten. He did so with all his usual style and smug charm, which in many ways, did not work on the person who was in a lesbian polycule. But it did get her irritated at him in a way that distracted from the concern that he’d teleported to her apartment’s front door, and it made sure she’d remember that card.
Not that she was likely to forget the Order, but JP was fed up with people who should have been allies slipping away because of James’ more comfortable hands off policy. James was his friend. But James was driven by social anxiety a lot of the time. JP knew the truth, which was that no one would stop you from just directly asking questions or telling people things.
After that, another small detour back ‘home’. A couple casual conversations, a word in the right ear, just a little bit of nudge to make sure that Harvey had a meeting with a few city government officials next week. The man was driven, he deserved a little kick up the ladder.
The last stop for a while was on the other side of the continent. And it was actually somewhere JP might have ended up naturally if he’d lived in New York when he was more of a socialite.
The nightclub was closed, because it wasn’t night, which made an amount of sense. But it also meant that JP and the two rogues he was rendezvousing with had plenty of time to merge into the surroundings and set up surveillance.
None of them were going to set foot in that building. It didn’t matter how much dungeontech he had on him, or how sharp Sartori was getting at spycraft, or how bold JP was feeling that day. He wasn’t getting close to the doors of the place where, according to a woman James had talked to, the Chain Breaker held court.
JP had always assumed the pillars were fighting in New York because they were competing for some secondary objective. Possibly just to annoy each other. It had not occurred to anyone that any of them, much less the Chain Breaker, might claim this city. That this might be their territory, or worse, their home.
He was armed now with a lot more information from the Order’s discussions and tests on Kiki. He knew that if the altered woman that frequented this club saw him, she could kill him without much effort. He also knew that it might cost her something, but not what, and not if she was sane enough to avoid paying that cost anyway. JP and his rogues didn’t say it out loud, but they knew this wasn’t a good place to be.
They were here anyway. Because the pillars were a massive blank space in the puzzle. And JP needed to see the whole picture if he was ever going to get out ahead of it.
Sartori told him he had a god complex. JP disagreed. He didn’t think it was that complex, really.
They swatted the argument back and forth as they settled in to gather intelligence for the Order, and fill in the edges of that big picture.
____
“The world is getting more dangerous.” Karen told Texture-Of-Barkdust as the two of them idly watched the news.
It was normal Earth news, not Order news, which was a shame. Political tensions, US election season, wars, natural disasters, advances in medical technology. News. Some good, some bad, but also neither of them were actually watching the news. They were reading a half dozen different articles and financial reports, parsing information about a certain Canadian city and looking for anything that might be relevant to their first contact with the dungeon life that had apparently claimed it.
Karen didn’t like it. Mostly because it looked normal. Everything about it looked completely ordinary, but that wasn’t possible if the population center had shifted who was in control. You couldn’t make things look this normal if a different political party won a local school board election, much less if shadow people were puppeting all the major institutions. Especially because unlike with somewhere like Townton, which was relatively isolated, this city didn’t have any gaps between itself and surrounding motes of civilization that happened to have different names.
”You have a look.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said with the shift in her voice that meant that she was asking Karen to explain herself.
”I just thought the phrase ‘shadow people run the government’ and had a moment of wondering if I was accidentally being racist.” Karen admitted.
Texture-Of-Barkdust looked up with her ocular lens narrowing to a pinpoint. “I have already needed to be upset about multiple historical events. Which one will this be, or is it a new addition?”
”It’s a common anti-semitic conspiracy.” Karen explained in passing. “Our issue is more literal, and I believe has nothing to do with the original targets.”
”Ah. One of those.” Texture-Of-Barkdust hissed. “Please do not be racist. I would not enjoy that.”
The words got a small smile tugging at the human’s lips. ”I’ll do my very best.” Karen promised. “I’ll need to, with how things are going.” She added quietly, looking toward their kitchen where her daughter was currently making rice and loudly watching TikToks.
”It is not all dire news.” Texture-Of-Barkdust posited, looking down at her tablet that she was somehow using to read articles. “Unless there is much inaccurate information, their steel and aluminum industries are still working. This implies that the people of the city are living superficially normal lives in some way. Also there is a magical beverage now.”
”…in… Canada?” Sometimes the things that her friend said slipped through Karen’s guard. She didn’t like the stammer of her reply question, but it was easier to allow herself to be confused at home rather than in the office. Also this was a safe topic because they had promised Liz they weren’t working, which was a lie, but neither of them wanted Karen’s daughter to catch them. A way of living that did make her smile.
Texture-Of-Barkdust answered her question adroitly. “In the basement.” She said in her crisp voice, the artificial nature of her speech eroded to Karen’s ears by time and familiarity. “Reed has completed his ‘testing’ of the Amber Icon spell. It takes only seven hours to make it something silly.”
”I don’t know if I have ever once in our time together heard you call something silly.” Karen blinked and set her own article aside, standing from the wooden chair and twisting in a stretch that her aging body appreciated.
”I call TQ silly regularly.” Texture-Of-Barkdust retorted. “In fact, I could begin a list of silly people we know.”
Karen had a sudden impulse to pat the camraconda on the top of her head, but she refrained for the moment. “What is being brewed in our basement that isn’t a potion and counts as silly?” She asked pointedly.
By way of reply, she was sent a bullet pointed text document that appeared to be - and was - a summary of one of the Garden spells.
Karen wasn’t a master of the mystical side of things in the Order like many others were, but she tried to keep herself aware enough of the major systems at play, for economic purposes. So decoding the information was simple. Amber Icon, after twenty six upgrades, grew to a third level spell. When it was cast, it made a glass mug of some kind of lightly savory beverage, and every upgrade improved the nutritional content of the drink, and the durability of the glass.
Already, Karen liked that. She appreciated Deborah’s note that it only took fourteen upgrades to make something that filled an average human’s nutritional needs for a day.
The thing that shifted when it grew to third level, though, was that it added an additional drink. Two glasses, two drinks. And when two different people drank their own glass from the spell - even if they were not the original caster - it made them feel closer.
Reed’s notes lacked a certain poetry, so Karen had a lot of questions on what that meant exactly. And she said as much to the camraconda sitting at their table. “Close how? Romantic would be my first guess, but it could mean anything. Friendship, loyalty, trust? Is this also mind control? Is this going to come up at the next ethics meeting.” She already knew the answer to that one.
”I find it interesting.” Texture-Of-Barkdust said simply. “We should try it.”
”We-“ Karen tripped over her own words. “We what? We don’t even know what it does.”
The camraconda smiled with her wide mouth, a hint of brass fangs showing through as she looked at Karen peacefully. “We know it does something interesting. And I know that I want to cherish the time we have, doing interesting things.” She looked back down at her tablet, and the information they were trying to put together for the paladin team’s upcoming sortie into the forbidden north. “The world is getting more dangerous. Seven hours seems like a small price to experience something new with you.”
”I don’t want to sound ungrateful, but what if this makes us uncomfortable?” Karen asked.
”Then the world ending won’t be so bad!” Her partner replied happily.
Karen sighed, flinching as her daughter yelped from the kitchen, accompanied by the sound of a phone hitting the floor. “One of us will have to actually spend the time on it.”
”And the other one can look at population numbers, just in case there is something there! They should take roughly similar time frames.” Texture-Of-Barkdust assured her.
It wasn’t clear when Karen’s life had turned into this. But she found it oddly comfortable. And she didn’t want the world to end. She wanted her daughter to grow up safe.
So she got back to breaking her promise about working, and set to looking at population statistics. Searching for any sign that the town they were going to send James into soon was compromised beyond what they already knew.
Sometimes, all they could do was prepare. There was so much to get ready for, and so little time to do it in.
At least Karen could read reports at high speed in their Lair apartment. It gave her more time to listen to Liz talk about her new college life.
And a little more time to look forward to tomorrow.
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