> Travel Access Request:

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> Sentient: Xenophon Aristoteles (lvl 1)

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> Pylon of Origin: The Academy, Sophos

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> Destination Pylon: Earth Settlement 1, Earth

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> Reason: System Studies Research

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> Do you grant access? [y/n]

Bob dropped his biscuit. Yes, I know. Serious business. Bob reached down and picked up his biscuit. He rubbed off any loose rug-hairs and put the biscuit in his mouth. He started to chew on the biscuit. It was a thinking chew.

Bob wasn't an idiot. He could read between the lines. He could see what's up. He could see what's down (and to the sides). The destination pylon was "Earth Settlement 1, Earth", or in other words right here. And the address format was "Settlement Name, Planet." Conclusion: The Academy, Sophos was a city on some other planet in the interverse. Or more succinctly, Xenophon Aristoteles was a bloody alien. An alien who wanted to visit him, Bob. And why? System Studies Research. Whatever the hell that meant.

Bob was faced with a choice. No not Sophie's choice. Bob's choice. Let in a random alien. Or bar the gates to Bob's city. Diplomacy or Isolationism? Bob's first gut instinct was hell no. It was also his second instinct and his third instinct. Bob's migration policy could be reduced down into a simple mantra. Asylum seekers, if I have to. Immigrants, case-by-case. Aliens, never, ever, ever.

And yet, miraculously, humans are more than their instincts. Bob hesitated. As world avatar, he was trapped in the system hamster-wheel until the bitter end, spin, spin, spin. And he had so many questions about how things worked. He felt like he didn't understand anything. And it would only all just get more and more complicated from here. If the system had had some kind of help page or a customer service representative, there would be no problem. But no, the system was all libertarian, discover-yourself bullshit. A guide. He needed a guide.

Xenophon Aristoteles. From the Academy. From Sophos, a planet whose name literally translated to "wisdom." Xenophon the scholar, here on a research expedition. Level 1 Xenophon. He didn't sound like a fighter. But experience taught that level 1 golden retrievers were weapons of mass destruction. That reminded Bob. It never hurts to have a canine-flamethrower on your side. Bob nudged George with his foot. The dog woke up slowly and moodily.

Are you really going to do this? You're going to regret this Bob.

I always regret everything anyway; what does it even matter any more?

Can't argue with that.

At the end of the day, isolationism only works if you're the strongest. Bob might be a big fish on the little blue planet. But the interverse was a sea of stars. There had to be a couple whales out there.

Bob pressed Y. There was a follow-up prompt asking Bob to select the precise location of arrival. He could have selected anywhere within the pylon's range of influence. But Bob was lazy. He'd just sat down. There was tea and biscuits. He designated a spot just in front of the cactus. And the next moment, on that very spot, a blue shimmer of light.

Yes, a life-form was materializing in front of Bob. One Xenophon Aristoteles. He was humanoid, mostly. Kinda of a sheep-man. He stood on two hooved legs. His voluminous white chest hair doubled as clothing. He was black faced with a fluffy, full-on beard-cloud and the curling horns of an adult ram.

"High Greeting. I am one, Xenophon Aristoteles of the Academy." Xenophon raised two forelimbs to cover the points of his horns and lowered his head. He paused there for a moment, but before Bob (who still recovering himself) could reply, the bow had ended and Xenophon was continuing smoothy: "describe to me, as best as you are able, the nuances of the word 'system.'"

Xenophon eyed his silent audience, some planted figure of curious proportions, green-faced, prickly in expression. But no answer was forthcoming. Xenophon endured. Xenophon waited. Xenophon stared eagerly at his conversation partner. And the green cactus stood there helplessly. Xenophon would be waiting a long time before his succulent interlocutor evolved into a being capable of speech.

Now, of course, Bob ought to have interrupted. Ideally straight away. At any rate, long before things could go so far. But, you know how these things works, he found it hard to interrupt. Something about the gravitas of the man-ram. He was the kind of person who could do something stupid but with a dignity, grace and confidence that made it impossible to point out: "I think you might have fucked up."

Xenophon stood maybe seven feet tall. He held a little, black notebook in his right forelimb. His horns were very impressive, curling down and around his neck, a shiny, copper ring decorating the right one. And then he had a little fluffy tail. Expressive appendages, tails are. Bob might have got lost staring into its swaying movement.

Stolen novel; please report.

"Ahem."

Bob managed a sputtered throat-clearing. Xenophon turned around. He saw Bob. His eyes widened slightly. Then he looked back at the cactus. Then he looked back at Bob. And then he decided maybe the sound had come from the cactus after all and was just about to turn back to the green chiefdom, when Bob repeated his ahem. Xenophon caught himself mid-turn and refocused on Bob.

"Greeting." He repeated his ritual of horn-covering. "I was addressing myself to your companion."

"Yeah he's not a talker."

Xenophon glanced over at the cactus to make sure it hadn't said anything in the meantime. And then decided to devote his attention to the vocal sentient in the room. "Describe to me, as best as you are able, the nuances of the word 'system.'"

"Maybe later. Like don't you want to know my name or something? And you know I have a couple questions for you Xenophon."

"Remorse. However it is imperative I receive as unpolluted an answer as possible"

"Don't know what that means. But how about a trade. Answer one of my questions and I will answer yours."

"Acceptable."

Well played, Bob. A free answer from some interverse alien researcher. So, what to ask? There were so many. Like, absurdly many.

"What are you?" seemed a sensible first choice, but that was just idle curiosity.

"How to game the system?" As if the level 1 sheep-thingy knew that.

"How do stats work?" Important, but not super pressing. Bob reckoned he had a rough idea already.

"How do I change my class?" The answer, "You can't," would come back, and that would be a question wasted.

Bob could confirm evolution logic. He could get clarification on this world avatar business. Or he could ask something about magic. "What did authority mean?" Or "where does mana come from?" But Xenophon hadn't claimed to be a mage. Maybe he wouldn't know. He was a level one after all. And his research topic seemed to be the system. So Bob would be better off asking something about the system. The sponsorship quests? Or the world evolution treadmill? Or...

Whatever Bob asked, it would have to be something crucial. Something very important. Something that would affect his long-term future. Xenophon waited patiently. But Bob noticed he was gazing at the chocolate digestives. Bob smiled indulgently. Even aliens can't resist a good chocolate-covered biscuit.

"Do you want a biscuit?" Bob asked politely.

Bob held out the plate for him. Xenophon picked up a biscuit gingerly with his forehoof, his dewclaw substituting for the human thumb. Xenophon edged the biscuit into his mouth and chewed thoughtfully.

"Gratitude. Now, please, describe the nuances of the word 'system.'"

"What? But my question..."

"I thought it was a grand question. Well chosen."

Bob eyed Xenophon confusedly. Then the lightbulb came on. Smart move Bob.

"Fair enough," he groaned, "so the system, the system. I mean, hm..., it's kinda suggests a machine, or no, a set of instructions, a process maybe. Like the setup to a situation. How things works. The rules and the organization that enforces them... You get what I mean."

Xenophon eagerly wrote everything down in his little book.

"High interest. So no implication of a divine being or heavenly parent?"

"Nope, system has a much more impersonal feeling to it."

"Interest."

"But don't you already know what it means? After all you are using the word correctly."

"Remorse. I do not speak your Earth-language."

"Now I hate to disagree; wouldn't want to be rude; it's our first meeting and all. But I beg to differ."

The sheep-men baaed, a repeated, deep chuckling sound. Yes, Bob was being laughed at.

"Remorse. You are the unsystemed. Of course, you would not understand. The system live-translates all sentient communication to facilitate inter-species exchange. For example, I hear you speaking in the noble tongue, Logotheia, which is the language of the herd."

"What do I sound like?"

"Hm... Needlessly wordy. Grammatically lazy. Vulgar. Self-interested. Easily distracted. You do not sound like a native of my people."

"Well my deepest apologies for that."

"Forgiveness. I would hear more on the system as machine. Your race's perspective is highly atypical. For context, most cultures understand "the system" as God or the heavens. Sometimes the word will suggest a father or mother figure. Other examples," he flipped through his notebook, "the eye, the unknown, the spirit, the darkness, the Word, high king, lord tyrant, the throne, moonlight, etc, etc... Nothing like a machine or mechanism."

Xenophon pivoted his jaw from left to right. Was that a pensive expression?

"Interest. Interest. Can you hypothesize any reason for your culture's interpretation of the system in this way?"

"Maybe. Yes I think I can. I have a few thoughts. How long do you have?"

"High interest. A new system interpretation might be a pivotal discovery. At very least it will be monograph worthy. Please, as long as you need."

"Good. Good. You'll enjoy this Xenophon I promise. Come on now. Don't be so stiff. Sit down, sit down."

Bob ushered Xenophon down into the seat next him. Xenophon wasn't really a sitter. He did walk on two legs, but his knees didn't have quite the bend of human limbs. Not to mention sitting on your own tail is not comfortable. Instead he lay on his belly beside Bob on the couch. Bob couldn't help grinning a little. Xenophon looked awfully like a sheep when he lay down like that. Of course he was a sheep, but that was one thing and this was another.

"So Xenophon, describe to me the nuances of the word, 'litrpg.'"

"Confusion. The system is struggling to translate that word. I'm getting fantasy sub-genre involving a gamification of experience, commonly defined by an overpowered protagonist."

"Derivative drivel. System doesn't know what it's talking about."

Xenophon was scribbling away in his notebook.

"Litrpg is a high art form. On Earth, it is considered one of the highest art forms, if not, this is somewhat debated but I think commonly agreed, the highest."

Xenophon was nodding along, lapping up every word.

"Now, just between you and me, I've managed to get my hands on one of the masterpieces of the genre. A true masterwork. One of the greats. It's a novel called Jonny the Man. Now, unfortunately, I'm still reading it. You know, you have to properly digest these things. But I promise I'll let you read it once I'm done."

"Sublime gratitude."

"Don't mention it. Don't mention it. I guarantee you it will you give a profound insight into the genre as a whole as well as the origins of the human interpretation of the system."

That was when the bathroom door cracked open. There was ear-splitting scream and the door slammed shut again. Sophie must have finished up her shower.