I mediate a lot of disputes. Most are benign, personal spats between grumpy people. Once in a while there’s a doozy. Like today.

“Your cottage is too close to mine, damn it!”

Randall Johnson, the surly old man who used to live on the outskirts of Carcosa’s Control Zone, stands before me in the ranch house’s basement. His denim bib overalls, worn boots, and toothless mouth paint a stereotypical picture. He’s recently sold his home, purchased one of the Tier X Single Occupant Cottages, and moved closer. The recipient of his wrath, a Farmer named David Edelbrock, has about as much enthusiasm on his face as one would imagine.

David, even in his medieval peasant clothes, looks respectable. His dark hair is long but neat, he shaves regularly, and he is perpetually clean. Impressive, since he’s always in the fields plowing.

“How many times do I have to tell you? I built mine in accordance with the zoning guidelines. They state there has to be over six feet between buildings. There’s ten feet between our cottages at the closest point. Ten is greater than six.”

It’s all I can do not to laugh at Randall’s scowl. What is it with old people and their exaggerated expressions?

“I don’t know what you’re measuring with, but that’s not ten feet!” Randall huffs and points at me. “You tell him he needs to move.”

Raising my eyebrow at the aggressive move, I stare Randall down. It only takes a few seconds for his surliness to die off.

“First of all, Mr. Johnson, all building placements are not only regulated by the aforementioned guidelines, but checked before placement to ensure compliance.” I try to give a non-smug smile. “Would you like to go measure the distance right now?”

Of course he did. I was hoping he’d call my bluff, but alas.

We locate a tape measure and check the distance between the two cottages: nine feet and eleven and three-quarter inches. Definitely over six.

“See, I told you, Randall, it’s more than six feet.” David shakes his head at the old man.

Realizing he’s wrong does nothing to help Randall’s mood. He crosses his arms and lowers his head like a petulant child. As I go to speak, Randall huffs again and storms off.

“Fucking hell, he’s got some problems.” I watch as the surly man disappears into his cottage.

“No kidding. He just hates everyone.”

I look at David and nod in agreement.

There are two more issues to handle, both of which are cake compared to the last one.

The first is a non-combat resident complaining they’re not being taken on leveling trips. What the man’s name is I can’t remember, so I call him sir. He says he’s been signing up as required, but when the time comes to go out, someone always takes precedence over him. It’s a simple matter to fix. I have someone find one of the combat group leaders, then inform said leader he’s taking what’s-his-name on the next two trips.

Boom, done.

My second issue is far, far simpler. The Settlement’s four children, Justice, Harper, Jackson, and Mason, have a request: they want to help more. Currently, they’re relegated to staying within a hundred feet of the ranch house and aren’t allowed outside during the night. It’s been weeks and the kids are getting restless.

“Ok, I’m glad you want to help. That’s very thoughtful of you. What exactly do you have in mind?”

Harper, Donnie and Sarah’s daughter, is nine years old. Her strawberry blonde hair and pale complexion are in stark contrast to her parents. She steps forward and hands me a piece of paper with a flair of attitude.

“We want to be in charge of the chickens.” The child nods her head matter-of-factly.

“Harper, I hate to break it to you, but we don’t have any chickens.”

She gives me a look like I’m an idiot. “We know. If you read our document, we have a six-step process laid out.”

I look at the paper and find a well-written plan of action. I look at Harper, then to the oldest boy, the fifteen-year-old Mason. He shrugs. Jackson, the next youngest at thirteen, smiles and nods. The eleven year old daughter of Justin the Paladin, Justice, stares at me the way only a kid can.

“I see. This is very well thought out.” It actually is. “You’ve got a layout for the coop, supplies already set aside, and a spot picked out against the south side of the barn. All you need from me is permission?”

“Yep!” Harper beams.

“Seems like a simple enough request. Why chickens?”

Harper turns around and the kids speak in a low tone. They all look back at me for a moment before continuing their discussion. Straightening up, Harper turns back around and clears her throat.

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“This is a business and we’re going to charge for the eggs.”

“Hmm, fair enough. Who’s building the coop?”

“Mine and Justice’s dads. We’re paying them with eggs once the chickens come in.”

I nod my head. Now for the curve ball. “How are you going to get chickens? You’re too young to go out on missions.”

A sly smile shows me they’ve come prepared. “We’ve already worked out everything with Andy. He’s been searching for chickens since last week.” Harper sighs. “So far, no luck.”

“It seems you’ve thought of it all. I approve.”

Before they leave, I’m required to sign their action plan. As my pen leaves the paper, Harper grabs it and the kids rush off to enact their business.

Three problems down, an infinite number left to go.

With much of the day gone, I decide to do some scouting of my own. It’s far too dangerous to go it alone at night, so I run down Andy. The African American Rogue is cashing out his loot from the day’s adventuring at the Shop.

“Yeah, this’ll work. Actually, I’ll take two.”

Andy’s holding a yellow potion in his hand and gives me a friendly nod as I approach.

“Spending it as fast as you can make it?” I motion with my head towards the yellow phial.

“Not really. This is a Tier X speed boost potion. Costs twenty Credits and doubles my movement speed for two minutes.”

“Planning on running away from something?”

“Absolutely.” Andy chuckles as he pays for the items. “Earlier, I was chased by one of those micro-titraptors. Fucking things are fast.”

I finally looked up what those were before System changes. The tufted titmouse, a common songbird in the area, had its ancient dinosaur genes reactivated. What once was a cute bird is now a terrible death machine.

“I take it they’re not too common around here?”

Andy shrugs. “I’ve only seen a handful, mostly in the distance.” The Rogue squints at me. “What’s up?”

“Been dealing with Settlement stuff all day. I’m hoping you wouldn’t mind a nighttime excursion.”

“Interesting. Where to?”

“Have you been much further past the fairgrounds, or over to Harmony yet?”

“Not really.” Andy motions for me to follow, and we head over to the communal storage building. “The industrial park’s got some nasty monsters, so we’ve been avoiding it like the plague. Harmony is on our list to hit later this week.”

We make it to the storage building. Moving all the food and supplies out of the ranch house, this new central repository is far more convenient. Thirty feet square, the walls are lined to the ceiling with shelving, with numerous bins and tables in the center to hold all manner of things.

Andy pulls item after item from his inventory and sets it on the appropriate shelf. Most of it is canned food, with some dry mixes sprinkled in. If the kids can get eggs produced, we’ll all be eating cornbread and cake for weeks.

“Think we could make it to Harmony tonight?”

Pursing his lips, Andy lets out a long hmm as he continues to stock the shelves. “It’s more than two miles away. During the day, it wouldn’t be a problem, but at night it’s going to take us a few hours just to get there.”

“Damn.” I let out a frustrated breath.

“Yep.”

Finished with his offloading, Andy and I go back to the ranch house and into the bunker. If I can’t get out, I might as well stay in and drink. We sip on cold beers while lounging on the comfortable furniture.

Being the leader isn’t all bad.

“Kinda sucks we’re so far out of town.” Andy blinks once. “Then again, maybe not.”

“Right? I wish we had some info about what’s going on inside Springfield.”

“You think we should risk it?”

I look at the Rogue for a long moment. “What do you think?”

Andy takes a drink as he considers his answer. “Yeah. We’ve got no idea how many people are left alive, what threats there are, and if any other Settlements are active.”

The tough part about there being no modern technology is the lack of communication options. Even sending a foot messenger to someone ten miles away is an all-day event. And that’s without monsters trying to kill you the entire time. Magical messages are a thing, though we’ve got no one to send them to. Randomly contacting people might be a bad idea.

“It’s what, three miles until we reach any residential areas? That’s a long way on foot.”

“Yep.” Andy curls his lip in frustration. “Too bad we haven’t been able to find any working bicycles.”

“What’s with all the rubber rotting away, anyway?”

“I have no idea. Think it’s System shenanigans?”

“Probably.” I squint in thought as I polish off my first beer. “I’ve noticed plastics falling apart as well.”

“I had a watch band rot away. Weird it’s only targeting those two things.”

I give Andy a sideways look. “Those might be the only two things we’ve noticed.”

“True. Has anything in the house broken down like that?”

“Beyond rubber and plastic, no. Since System utilities were added, and the building itself upgraded, that could be affecting other materials.”

“True.” Andy finishes his beer and gets us both another round. “Hard to believe we’re stuck in the sixteen hundreds. Well, sorta.”

Save for System utilities, which are a weird amalgam of clockwork, magic, and tech, nothing else we have access to is more advanced than the seventeenth century. Thank god for the ranch house and its HVAC. With summer fast approaching, I have no desire to live without it.

“If we’re making a trek into Springfield proper, when are we going and who’s coming with us?”

Andy checks a nearby clock. “How about first thing in the morning, and we take at least the main group?”

“I like it.”

We clink our bottles together and enjoy the rest of the beer in silence.