There’s no way to control a dinosaur population when chaos reigns. Moonlight certainly came across as chaotic to me. Sure, Gak claimed to have been a reformed barbarian, and says he chose civilization in the end, but I wasn’t certain the village embodied what I thought of as ‘civilization’.

How could it when dinosaur attacks were accepted by the local population as just a part of every day life? Wouldn’t an actually civilized place have made better efforts to limit those awful, random incursions?

Every time a T. Rex, or any other dino rampaged completely unchecked, it potentially cost the lives of countless residents, and meant widespread destruction to their homes and businesses. How could I expect to run a successful baseball franchise in this environment?

Of course, a lot of these thoughts were in hindsight, but I still had the instinct to question along these lines while speaking with Gak. It wasn't hard to see an unsustainable reality while it was staring you in the face. Being forced to leap into a freezing well for safety can also do wonders for showing you what’s what.

“A hiring fair for barbarians,” Zane said. “Now I’ve heard everything.”

“We have to do something, obviously,” I said. “We’re here for a reason.”

“And, you think the reason is to what, tame this place?” Zane said.

“I wouldn’t put it that way, exactly, but do you want to constantly worry some T. Rex is going to come through, and stomp you into oblivion? Imagine these people have been living that way for who knows how long?” I said. “This whole operation I’m expected to get up and running isn’t going to work either, if I have to just allow it all to be destroyed by those things at a moment’s notice.”

Admittedly, no one else seemed to care, at least nowhere near as much as I did. Understandable.

“I guess,” Zane said. “It helps Flint’s got his gun. That’s an advantage no one here has ever had.” He turned to Slate with questioning eyes. “Speaking of which, Flint, where is your weapon?”

Slate didn’t answer right away, and Aubrey and I threw worried looks at one another. I wasn’t sure in the moment if I should’ve just filled everyone in that this guy wasn’t Flint, but it was also important to let them all know not to try firing Flint’s weapon if they happened to see it sitting in some random place in the village.

For reasons only known to him, Slate didn’t choose to come clean either. “Oh,” he said to Zane, “I left it in a safe place.” He didn’t bother elaborating beyond that.

Zane just shrugged it off. “So, how do you plan on doing it, Adam?” He said. “The hiring fair, I mean.”

“Have to get the word out, obviously,” I said. “Dillard, you think Whinging Thom could act as a sort of town crier?”

Dillard sputtered with laughter. “He could do what with a town? What did you call it?” He said. “Never heard of some such. You talking about that base ball thing again? Whinging Thom's never heard of nothing like that. Promise you.”

“I don’t think Dillard’s ever heard of a town crier,” Aubrey said.

“Clearly.”

Chai put her hand up. “Me neither,” she said.

I frowned at this. “They don’t teach history anymore?” I said.

Chai rolled her eyes. “We’re never getting back for stew, are we?” She said.

“Dillard,” I said, “I’m wondering if we could get Thom to do his usual thing, you know, the yelling and all of that, only right in the center of the village, and you could ask him to yell about needing hunters to protect everyone from the thunder lizards. Tell him we’re going to have a fair, where anyone who wants to be paid can come and we’ll see about hiring them. We’ll pick a day and time to do it.”

“Again, Adam. Where's the money coming from? And, do they even have days and times here?” Aubrey said.

“You’ve been hear nearly a month,” I said. “You tell me.”

“Sure, I can get him to do it,” Dillard said to me. “Thom’ll bloody scream about whatever you like. But, Judith’s already tried to keep out the thunders, yeah? She wanted to keep the village safe too, like you’re saying, not like it’s nothing new. Didn’t work when you had Vaz and his people getting into fights with the Quallons, and half the time they were trying to eat Loam, and the people he’d set up to guard the other end of Moonlight. ‘Twas non-stop battling, I tell you. No one could agree on nothing. It was a bloody mess. Had to give it up. Nothing you could do.”

Not exactly what I wanted to hear.

“Well, maybe Judith hired the wrong people,” I said. “I don’t know Vaz or these other people you’ve mentioned.”

“Mostly, you don’t wanna know ‘em,” Dillard said. “Unfortunately, you will, you stay around these parts long enough. Thing is, Barkley made all the hiring of the thunder killers himself. Judith had to go through him if she wanted it done. Something I ain’t supposed to talk about. You know, the payment and such.”

Ah, Barkley. Right. I knew I got a bad vibe off that guy when we met outside the Givers. Sounded like ancient and medieval Moonlight had an organized crime problem. I’d say as much to Dillard, but I knew he’d probably ask me what that meant, and then it’d be a whole other conversation. We’d been standing out in the fields, and exposed to the cold wind for too long to bother.

“I’m just going to do my own hiring for it,” I said.

Dillard had made a habit out of chuckling at my supposed incompetence. “Ya fool,” he said. “No way in toad spit Barkley’s gonna let you go and hire none of his folks for whatever you’re planning.”

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It’s not that I didn’t believe Dillard, but again my willingness to press the issue then and there wasn’t high.

The day was dragging on, and I could see Slate twitching off to the side. He wasn’t saying it, but he really wanted us to get to the tomb.

We’d figure out the hiring later. We carried on behind Slate up the rise into the forest where a hole at the base of a fir tree featured an archway shaped from its roots. The hole was large enough any one of us could walk into this thing the locals call “the tomb”. Any one of us not named Gak, that is, but the reformed barbarian had hung back where we’d found him before.

“You all should wait here,” Slate said to the group. “We’ll be right back.” He motioned for me to join him.

“This going to be a regular thing?” Zane said.

“You guys get all the fun stuff,” Aubrey chimed in.

I didn’t exactly relish the idea of walking into a hole that could’ve been made by a giant ostrich-eating spider for all I knew in this strange, and terrifying place. But, I understood Slate’s secrecy.

“I’ll fill you in once we’re back,” I said. “Promise.”

Chai folded her arms, and made sure everyone knew her level of annoyance.

Slate disappeared into the void, and with a bit of an awkward wave to the group, I soon joined him.

As soon as I stepped beneath the bent roots which formed the archway, the underside of the large fir tree smelled of wet clay, and moss. I could hear Slate’s footsteps maybe ten feet ahead of me, but I couldn’t see him. We weren’t that far from the entryway, and it got really dark in there, really fast. The temperature actually felt a bit balmier than it had been outside, exposed to that blasted breeze.

“Hold up,” I said to Slate, my voice sounded like it was being eaten by the dirt walls. Like a soundproof recording booth made from earth. “I can’t see a thing.” Each breath inward felt like bits of dust went in too.

Slate didn’t answer. I stopped to see if I could still hear his steps. Instead, all I heard was my blood rushing through my ears. My eyes were wide open, but it was dark enough I couldn’t see my fingers right in front of my face. If you were filming me with night vision goggles for sure you’d have seen my pupils were likely the size of my entire eyeball. I kept trudging, imagining the ceiling caving in behind me, and cursing my own stupidity for agreeing to walk in here in the first place.

The words: ‘trust the process’ kept running through my mind as I proceeded. Why those words specifically? No idea, but I told myself it’s good to have a mantra, right? Especially, when you’re intimidated, or finding yourself in an adverse situation. Whatever works to keep you moving forward.

Yeah, Adam, you’re a regular Navy Seal.

Still, the mantra seemed to work. I kept saying ‘trust the process’, ‘trust the process’, over and over in a whisper, and then, voila! I reached a point where a faint golden glow brought the dirt floor into focus. Another twenty feet, and I joined Slate in a circular chamber lined with tree roots, where a torch burned in its iron wall bracket. How do they keep these things burning in these low oxygen environments? Who lights them in the first place? And, how often do they have to check?

This is just where my brain went, and I didn’t bother Slate with it. Silly questions, I’m sure he’d say, or he'd at least think it, however much an android 'thought'.

Wouldn’t you know it? We were greeted by another oak chest. I’m assuming oak. It just sounds good. You see a big wooden chest, you think: ‘oak’. No? Maybe it’s just me. I'd never make it as a wood profiler.

“So that’s another you in there,” I said.

“Effectively,” Slate said.

We lifted off the lid, and sure enough, another sleeping android. Same clothes as the other two. Straight off the set of “A Fistful of Dollars”, or movies like it.

I noted right away, the one sleeping in the box had a strange black rectangle next to him. A bit larger than the device Slate had been carrying.

“What is that?” I said.

“He’s got the device I’m supposed to have,” Slate said. “And, vise versa.”

“Confusing.”

“Yes, there’s definitely been a System error,” Slate said.

“So what you’d said before about your programming?” I said. “Was that incorrect?”

“Perhaps.”

“Great.”

Obviously, in order to sort this out, I was going to have to do the kinda gross hip-mole thing again.

“He’s supposed to have your device then,” I said. “The scanner, or whatever.”

“Correct,” Slate said. “At least, I think that’s correct.”

“Look,” I said. “You’re hooked into the System. If you’re not sure about this, that’s not good news. What the heck am I supposed to do when he’s awake, and you’re not? What if he has something Flint’s supposed to have? Mind you, Flint seemed as though his gun was his issued equipment.”

“I suppose it was, yes,” Slate said.

“You suppose?” I said. “Why are you sounding less confident by the second here? My head’s starting to hurt.”

“We were deployed to help you,” Slate said. “We’re here for you. But, something’s triggered a malfunction. Ideally, we’re all consciously working simultaneously, but that hasn’t happened. There could be a diagnostic issue. I’ll have to look into it.”

“You’d just told me at the other place you didn’t run diagnostics,” I said. Then I began to doubt myself. No, I was certain that’s what he’d said.

“Did I say that?”

Imagine, an android asking you this, sounding like a senior who’d forgotten where he’d parked.

“I don’t want to panic here,” I said. “But, I’m feeling like we’re in trouble.”

“It’s not an ideal situation,” Slate said.

“I’m not even sure we should wake this guy up, just yet,” I said. “What’s he going to tell me? Who knows?”

“Okay, well, the System has allowed for this sort of scenario,” Slate said.

“Allowed for it?” I said. “Allowed for it, how?”

“I’m thinking you may want to contact the Help Desk,” Slate said. “They can send someone along. A guide of sorts. A tutor, if you will.”

I practically jumped out of my skin. Help Desk? Tutor? As in: a System tutorial?

“What the?” I belted it out loud enough the rest of them might’ve heard me back at the entrance. “That’s a thing? There’s someone who can help with this?”

Slate nodded. “If you think it’d be useful,” he said. “They can help you build your franchise. Guide you along the way. They may have some input on what’s going on with me, and my colleagues, as well. Not to mention their knowledge of magic, and dragons. You may find that useful.”

I didn’t know whether to kiss the machine or to punch it straight in the face.

“Now?” I said. “You’re telling me this now? I’ve been consulting Dillard the Village Idiot for advice, and all this time I could’ve been talking to the System itself?”

Okay, I immediately felt bad referring to Dillard in that way, I think I was just caught up in the emotion of hearing this from Slate.

Slate, true to his ‘nature’, remained unaffected. “If you’re seeking Help Desk, I believe you’ll have to do it through him,” he said, pointing at the slumbering android in the box. “Barring, of course, some unforeseen malfunction in his programming as well. But, communication with the Help Desk is under his purview, I'm certain. I'm 90% certain. I wish you luck.”

With that, he began unbuckling his trousers.