Returning to life back in my coffin. The lights all blinking in their predictable sets, the connections returning into the walls and the exit open. Testing the motion in my hands and arms, back in my ordinary body, disoriented and groggy. Six days was a long time. Starting my normal calisthenics routine to get blood flowing. Seems normal. No lasting effects, and muscle memory seems fine. Opening up a small panel on the wall and reattaching a connection. The display reads 5:45 already. Need to make this quick. Workstation access- oh, she beat me to it.
From: Carolyn Hunter
To: William Macarthy
CC: Director Harold Shaker
Re: Unauthorized Revocation of Access
Mr. Macarthy,
After your shift we need to speak. 00:30 tomorrow morning. Thank you. Carol
Terse. Likely doesn't want to commit more to writing. Sending a response in the affirmative and then crawling out and down the ladder. Yeah, things seem to be working normal, like all of that was some crazy dream.
Work is work. Crumbling, waxy food in bar form. Recycled, reconstituted and repurposed water in the thermos. Maintenance on the mining equipment in the morning. The usual. Midafternoon, an emergency request coming in on my electronic itinerary for one of the transports over on the far end of the base, near the reactor. Inop. That'll be quite a hike, maybe someone else will grab it. Letting the request sit. Twenty minutes later, with the air filter clean and some wiring soldered and taped, the request still sitting unclaimed. Grabbing a tool bag and claiming it. Using the opportunity to clear my head. Gliding along the empty, quiet tunnels to find the abandoned transport. Doing a precautionary check, but finding nothing amiss and no one waiting. Running a diag. No codes that seem related. Resetting the computer and the transport coming back to life. Huh. Okay. Running a self test. Tests good. Maybe... no, everything is fine. No cause found and the issue seems resolved. Hmm. Given the proximity to the main junction there could be some electromagnetic interference from the nearby power lines. Possibly? Submitting my report and recommending additional shielding for the lines. Getting back to the hangar much quicker than it took to get out. Grabbing another thermos and another bar for dinner. Finishing up the day. Returning the cart, tossing the clothing down the chute and finding a free pod in a different section. Waiting a few minutes and then arriving in Carol's office.
The interior still a high rise penthouse, but the view much different. More otherworldly. The blackness of space, with twinkling stars and a planet below. Looking down at my clothing. Normal coveralls, and the former penitent's stool in front of the desk a normal office chair. She isn't playing any games this time. Taking a seat and looking at each other. More me looking at her, with her spending most of her time studying her screen, studiously avoiding me.
“So what's the deal?”
Squinting, trying to concoct something. “There's been a complication-” she starts.
“Yeah? No shit. Was that before or after you put me in that girl? For laughs, right? Amusing yourself.”
“That girl was everything you requested. Good affinity, first and foremost. Casts magic.”
“And missing some important bits, I'd say.”
“You seem like you made it here in one piece. I can't imagine you had all that bad a time.” Smarmy. Her smirk making it seem like she knows the answer.
“Well it was going fine until the last day. What the fuck was that all about?”
“That would be the complication.” Waiting for me. Waiting her out. “The system saw your Thief as being unassigned and decided to assign it to itself.”
“So? Get it back. Reassign it.”
“It's no longer available. It's not there anymore. It's gone.”
Predictable worst case scenario. Maybe not the worst, no kidnapping or hit squads on initial entry. Managed to get mostly out of the danger zone, and can somewhat hold my own. Had thought this was the case, the first day in. The only question is if what she's saying is true. Mean old computer glitched - hooboy! - these things have a mind of their own. In which case, whoopsie, no one is to blame and therefore no one is at fault. Unlikely. That scenario sounds a little too convenient.
The more likely scenario? They deliberately assigned my Thief to the computer and then whatever ended up happening, ended up happening. Shaker wouldn't choose to have what happened at the gala happen, but if he took a snip to a butterfly's wings, and the flap that should've happened never did, and that ongoing tragedy cascaded, the eventual fallout couldn't be blamed on him. It'd be pure coincidence, with plenty of plausible deniability. Or maybe it was only her, acting at his direction, his winks and his nods. Then again, he did look very surprised and he seemed very upset. Perhaps upset at himself for choosing such a reckless course of action? Is this too paranoid, or not paranoid enough?
“Mr Macarthy? Mr. Macarthy?” She'd been saying my name.
“Sorry, I was lost in thought. You were saying?”
“Mr. Macarthy, I was saying that Director Shaker wants to permanently revoke your access to the grid.” Holding her hand up at my furious start. “I've explained to the Director that your employment contract clearly makes that an impossibility and, as such, his desire to do so is completely unjustified. The mission comes first. Therefore, under my authority, I want you to know that your access will remain unimpeded.”
“Your authority. Who are you, exactly? I've been here a long time and I've never met, or even heard of you before all this.”
“I've been here since the first expedition. If you don't recall ever meeting me, that might be more attributable to me than to you. I'm primarily responsible for personnel decisions, but the Director usually has the authority to supersede me, except when a clear conflict with mission objectives is present. His personal animus against you has made it obvious he can't be objective and, on your side, you have an essentially spotless record and high evaluations for the work that you do - valuable work, I might add. I also think that revoking your access would be extraordinarily unwise.”
The implications of that last statement filling the space between us.
“All of those factors are contributing to my decision,” she says.
The first expedition? Hunter. Was there a name like that in the first expedition? Yeah, maybe. A lot of names and a lot of faces. Didn't realize that Paula woman was actually Shaker's wife until seeing them right next to each other. We probably just travel in different circles. Only knew about Matheson because of those fliers back in my second year, selling some service. Oh, and then Melder had his little success, and then a few months later no more fliers. After seeing her apartment it all makes sense now. That's a real shame.
“Mr. Macarthy?”
My eyes focusing. “So your claim is that you're helping me.”
“This isn't about you. It's about the efficacy of the mission. But yes, without me you'd be locked in a pod right now, or who only knows what.”
“Well," clearing my throat, "I suppose I have thank you, then. You know, I've managed to make a number of enemies over the years, big and small. Most petty, but some extremely vicious. That's one thing I was worried about when I was in there, but none of them ever came. Not one. So, if we're being straight with each other, I'd like to know something. Who else knows about this?”
“The only people who know are the Director and myself, and we're going to keep it confidential. This situation is extremely irregular.”
Does she even know she's lying? Add Shaker's wife to the list, and Avery, and whoever else they end up telling. Breaking eye contact and looking off to the side. If this was their plan all along, at least they're not completely unkind. They're sidelining, not exterminating, me. Actually, taking her at her word, it isn't kindness. She's simply following the rules to the letter. Maybe they expect gratitude? No, doubt it. More like they think they've got me nice and secure under their thumb. No harm in letting them think that. For now. Gonna teach you not to underestimate me.
“If that's how it is, then that's how it is. If we're done here I'd like to get back in, grab a midnight snack and sleep in a real bed.”
“Wait, what?” Blinking rapidly while trying to collect herself. “I- that is, I'm very surprised. You didn't ask about getting something different.”
And give you the satisfaction of refusing? You'd have offered up front if that was even a choice. Or, even if it is a choice, that'll make me start over again at zero. Again. And then you'd make me wait out here another few days for the transfer process. Again. Do you think you're get me to beg for the privilege of getting robbed? Never. Not happening. You may have stolen the last six plus years of work in the guild away from me, and now you've taken my Thief entirely, but don't imagine you're going to steal the last remnants of my pride. There are people in there waiting for me and, above all else, you gave me a taste of magic. That's something you're all going to regret.
Her expression only growing more annoyed at my grin.
“You're very resilient, aren't you?” Perhaps trying to pass it off as a compliment, even as her expression makes it clear it was anything but. “Initiating disconnection.”
Reawakening in the pod, and then connecting to the grid.
The first time getting in had been horribly disjointed, trying to fit myself into a vessel too small and not right. This time, effortless. Back to being the other me. Wait, no, that isn't right. Flexing my fingers. Back to being me. This is weird, this feeling in reverse, like everything out there had been a dream. Seven years is a long time. Me out there right now is definitely more haggard than me in here, but the transition is even more obvious now. Jarring. But the difference being so different is almost better, in a way. That reality, that sterilized, metallic husk, seeming less real and more like a bad dream makes everything a bit less hopeless.
Jumping out of bed and turning on the light. Going through an easy set of calisthenics. Everything's fine. Light and agile and lithe. Tracing. Runic Shield. Using the crackling energy to lift my pack off the ground and then throwing it around. Knocking over a chair and throwing around the pillows. Letting out a joyful giggle. Taste my wrath.
Calming down and reveling in the aftermath; the room looking like it had been hit by a small tornado. Oh, almost forgot the most important thing.
Name: Lucilia Macarthy Profession: Runemage Level: 8 Sex: Female Experience: 26,575 (3,964) Age: 20 Until Next: 1,925 Health 65 Mana 56 Stamina 30 Spirit 8 Strength (STR) 55 (2) Constitution (CON) 62 (6) Dexterity (DEX) 67 (13) Agility (AGI) 86 (18) Discipline (DIS) 75 (12) Aura (AUR) 80 (15) Logic (LOG) 71 (15) Intuition (INT) 74 (17) Wisdom (WIS) 44 (-3) Influence (INF) 75 (12)
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Name Trainings Bonus Armor Use 6 29 Physical Fitness 9 41 Simple Weapons 9 41 Arcane Symbols 14 54 Magic Item Use 9 41 Harness Power 9 41 Mana Control 9 41 Runemancy 9 41 Arcane Lore, Shaping 9 41 Arcane Lore, Transference 2 10 Survival 9 41 Perception 9 41 Climbing 9 41 Swimming 9 41 First Aid 9 41 Trading 9 41 Stalking and Hiding 9 41
Increased skills and a new spell. Copy. No associated rune, either. Maybe the answer to every financial difficulties, or maybe not. Has a cooldown based on whatever gets copied, and a chance of failure. What happens to the thing you're trying to duplicate if it fails? Probably not nothing.
It has a three pound weight limit. Something small, something cheap. Digging through my pack and getting a single match. Shouldn't incur that much of a cooldown. If it fails in the worst case it bursts into flame. Looking around the room, filled with linen and other flammables. Maybe the match isn't the best candidate. What else. Ah here, a needle. But its made of metal, so a longer cooldown than the match. But maybe the matchhead material would do the same thing? Too many unknowns, shouldn't waste it on something worthless. Okay, got it. Sink or swim with this one. Returning both to the pack. Heading to the bathroom and combing out my hair. Braid? Nah. Putting on socks, underwear and tanktop. Pants and then boots. Grabbing some silver and heading down to the bar.
Pretty late getting in, so missed the rush. Not too busy tonight, and the few people still here look depressed, or sloshed. They won't complain about a show. Taking a seat at the mostly empty bar and ordering the midnight special and a pint. If this goes well, two for the price of one. If not, maybe an explosion of glass and no drink. That's proper high stakes.
“Here you are, miss,” says Nightfall, bringing the pint. Putting my hands around the mug, the liquid a nice dark amber, and concentrating intently. “Are you alright?”
“I'm trying to do some magic. You might want to stand back, I'm not sure what exactly this is going to be like.”
The man smirking, then taking a deliberate step back.
Concentrating on the mug, cupped inside both my hands. Casting Copy and feeding the energy into it, filling the glass, filling the liquid. Waiting for something, but the mug only sitting there. Nudging it with a finger. A ripple, a slight double wobble. Back to one. Interesting. Pinching the handle with on hand, and then pinching with the other. Slowly pulling in two different directions. The mug's handle splitting. Two distinct handles rotating in separate directions. Feels... slick. Getting a firmer grip with both hands and pulling apart. Slowly. Deliberately. Really slick, and a feeling of resistance. Adding a touch more pulling them apart. Separating completely. Two distinct mugs filled to the same height with the same amber liquid, one in each hand. Exhaling a deep breath, had been holding it the whole time.
“That was great,” says Nightfall, giving a few polite claps, “but you looked really nervous. Why?”
“I think it might've exploded if I failed. Something bad, anyway.”
“Wait, what? Why'd you do it here?”
“How else am I supposed to get free drinks.” The man giving me a funny look. “Anyway, the most important part is the taste test. Which one do you think is the copy?”
Both of us considering the two identical mugs. Trying some from the left. Tastes fine. Some from the right. Also tastes fine.
“So which is the real one?” he asks.
“Damned if I know.” Picking up the one on the left and chugging the whole thing. Slamming it down. Looking at the bemused Nightfall. “Hey, sorry 'bout how I'm going to phrase this, but what are you doing wasting your time working here?”
“I enjoy talking with all of the extra polite guests,” he says, dryly.
“Uh huh. This work seems kind of beneath you.”
Considering me for a moment. “You just get here?”
“Something like that.”
“If that's the case, you're still in the honeymoon phase. All this seems real pretty and new. But you should enjoy it while you can, it really is something.”
“That why you're working here? You lost your edge?”
“My edge?” Starting to laugh. “That's great. You got a belly full of fire, so you're gonna do good here." Shaking his head. "No, nothing like that. My previous circumstances changed, and I didn't like the available options, so after looking around I decided to buy this place. Well, me and my wife did.”
He'd been dating Widow. Dang, him and Widow got hitched. Lost his edge? Doing that he'd got a set of brass ones.
“Congratulations.”
“Well, thank you very much. Actually, here she is now.”
Sure enough, out from the kitchen comes Widow, holding my plate of food.
“Here you are, young lady,” she says. Murmuring my thanks. The woman addressing her next comment to Nightfall. “The kitchen's closed, please start getting these drunks out of here.”
“Yes, dear.” The two sharing a quick peck on the lips.
Carelessly lifting my fork to my mouth, then stopping myself and reconsidering. Widow cooked this? Here I've been eating these meals without a detox on hand. Taking a bite. Well, she knows how to cook, her talents seem to be entirely transferrable. Finishing the meal and my bonus pint while the two of then carry on through the common room, sweeping, pushing in chairs, shooing out guests - carrying one - and finishing up for the night.
“W- uh, I mean, excuse me, do you want me to put these dishes in the kitchen for you?”
“You can leave them right there,” she says.
Getting up to get to bed. Whoa, drunk, that second one did it. Getting stopped by Nightfall halfway across the room.
“You know,” he says, “I was thinking that if you just got here and you wanted some adventure, a large merchant caravan is going to be heading out next cycle. Apparently on their last trip they came back with some popular items, so it's a big group heading out this time. House Ishtar put out the word they're looking for more people to help with it.”
Ishtar. Those weirdos? You're sending a young girl over to Ishtar, of all places? Maybe my wise cracks pissed him off more than he let on. Then again, isn't Ishtar run by a woman? That would be a better environment than some boy's club like Stormhawk. If the men at Stormhawk are only interested in hunting and fighting, the women they keep around are only interested in being the pig they want to roast, with the actual, deceased pig probably being smarter than both.
Have to start thinking long term now. Haven is out. Right out. No way, no how. Stormhawk, likewise. Mink. Avery is at Mink, that's out as well. Which leaves the other three. There's no reason not to inquire at Ishtar. Get a feel. Helping with a merchant caravan is a good middle ground - see if there's any truth to the rumors - and getting out of town right now is simply good sense.
“Okay, I'll head over there sometime tomorrow and see what they're about. Thank you.”
“Have a good night.”
Heading back to the room, disrobing and getting into bed. Quick check on Copy to see the remaining cooldown. Less than an hour. Not awful. Going to try with a gold coin tomorrow morning, see if it works, and if it does, see what that cooldown is like. Have a feeling its not going to be short at all. Stretching out spreadeagle. Another benefit of this body, these beds all seem huge. It's really nice.
The drunkenness gently lulling me to sleep, Interrupted by an unpleasant, sobering thought. My cover will eventually be blown. But with no outstanding warrant on my head, there's a lot more freedom. Can go wherever, make myself useful, somewhere, and get more people in my corner. When everything comes crumbling down who would cut a more sympathetic figure: the wrath filled wraith from the Thieves Guild, or the cute, five foot Runemage? This needs to be played real smart.