As soon as they hit the vehicle bay, they were met with applause from all the assembled support workers, the two directors among them. Paragon was carried away to receive urgent care, and a woman came into the truck where Fenris lay whining to take a look at him. In this moment of weakness, he did not fuss over interacting with a stranger, instead accepting the attention with quiet gratitude.
The kid was the first to come up to Jacob after he stepped out of the car.
“There are so few of you left,” he said, looking around the room at the handful of ragged heroes. Nine, if you counted Drakemyth.
“You should see the other guy.” Jacob took out the urgek knife he’d stuck through his waistband. “Here, got you a present. I’m pretty sure it’s not cursed.”
Tarim didn’t look particularly happy, but accepted it gratefully. He couldn’t blame the kid. Today had been a stark reminder of mankind’s fragility. They’d come awfully close to losing everything.
“So does that mean we’re going to Mars now?” Tarim asked.
“Yeah. Unless you’ve changed your mind about coming along. I bet Thatch could pull some strings and set you up with a nice home. He owes me about a thousand favors after everything I’ve fucking—”
“I wanna come with you.”
Jacob nodded. “Well, all right then.”
“But Towman is dead, isn’t he?”
“Towman’s dead. Went out like a chump, too.”
“And Towman was our way off the planet, right?”
“He was, but I’ll sort something out with Thatch right now.”
Upon a second scan of the room, the kid gave a secretive little smile. “Your nemesis, he’s…”
“Digesting in Fenris’s belly right now.”
At least a few of the other heroes must have seen Jacob finish Starman off, but no one had confronted him about it. Despite all his talk about not having any enemies, he sure hadn’t made a lot of friends.
“I saw your grandpa, by the way. On the other side.”
“You did?”
“Yeah. I told him what you said, and it made him happy. He said that he’s proud of you, and he asked you… to live a good life, for his sake.”
Tarim nodded seriously. “I will. Is he okay over there? He’s not suffering or anything, is he?”
“Nah. It’s pretty nice over there, like a big forest. It’s got food and everything. Honestly, it’s not that different from being alive. Your grandpa is doing just fine.”
“Okay. Thank you. That’s really good to hear.” The kid smiled; a genuine smile, as though some of the weight of death and doom had been lifted off him.
Jacob did not feel bad about lying.
He sent the kid off to keep Fenris company and waited until Thatch was done speaking with Drakemyth. The old inventor shuffled off, rubbing at his bruised head, and Jacob took his place.
“If it isn’t my favorite dead guy,” Thatch said. He was wearing a rainbow-patterned tie.
“You owe me,” Jacob replied flatly.
The director raised his hands in a warding gesture. “Okay, hold on. We’ll figure something out.”
“Starman’s dead. I want the ship you promised him.”
“That’s—”
“Perfectly fair, I think, since Towman is wherever cowards go after they die.”
Thatch sighed, fussing with this mustache. “I’ll see what I can do. You’d need a pilot.”
“Fine, get me a pilot then.”
“I said I’ll see what I can do.”
“I also want money. A lot of it.”
“You should have bargained for that in the first place. At the time, you were only concerned about getting to Mars, and I promised I’d help you with that.”
“That was before I killed two of Akor-Goram’s lieutenants and trapped his soul so he didn’t rip everyone to shreds. I think that warrants a few million, don’t you?”
“You did all that?” Thatch asked with a quirked eyebrow. “If I ask others, they’ll corroborate that?”
“I mean, yeah. It was pretty hectic, so I don’t know who saw what, but that’s what happened.”
“That aside, what did you say about his soul? What happened to the ritual of banishing?”
“Well, those people all died, but I found a solution of my own.” He brought the button out of his pocket and expanded it out into the full teddy bear. The plush toy immediately began to thrash in his hand, swinging its arms and legs around, and a hissing stream of alien curses emanated from it. “I guess he’s feeling lively. But like I said, you owe me.”
Jacob allowed Thatch to hold the Deady Bear for a bit. He turned it over in his hands and watched in amazement as the toy-bound demon batted at him with little soft stump hands. “This is a Relic, then?”
“Yeah.”
“I saw you with it before. Where did you get it?”
Jacob winked. “Secret, boss.”
“You stole it, didn’t you?”
“I didn’t steal it.”
“Okay, I include taking it off someone’s corpse as stealing here.”
“Yeah, I didn’t steal it.”
“There’s no other way you could have gotten your hands on a Relic like this.”
“And yet I did.” Jacob sighed. “If I’d stolen it, I wouldn’t feel guilty enough to lie to you about it.”
“What about Starman?”
“What about him?”
“He didn’t make it back.”
Jacob looked around in mock surprise. “Huh, I guess he didn’t. How about that.”
“Did you kill him?”
Jacob shrugged. “All right, yeah, I did.”
“You shouldn’t have done that, Jacob.”
“Why? So that he could ‘face justice’? Either by fleeing off-world, never to be seen again, or by wriggling out of it with some kind of deal after getting caught. Yeah, no thanks. I like him exactly where he is—in the ground. You know, figuratively speaking. It’s not like he got a burial.”
Thatch looked like he was about to have a nervous breakdown for a second, but composed himself with a few deep breaths. “Whatever, whatever. It hardly matters now. Look, Jacob, if you want money, I’ll give you money. I’ll give you the ship, too, and a pilot, and a fucking golden toilet if you want. But you’re letting us keep the soul trap.”
“Deady Bear,” Jacob corrected.
“The Deady Bear. You’re letting us keep the Deady Bear.”
“I don’t think I will.”
Thatch massaged his face for a few seconds, clearly approaching his limit. “Jacob… do you have any idea how many plates I have spinning right now? I mean, as we speak, Drakemyth is prepping Paragon for emergency surgery. I don’t even know what the chance of success is, because I don’t think he knows, but it can’t be high. Akor-Goram might be done, but if we lose Paragon, we are fucked.”
“Drakemyth’s… not even that kind of doctor, is he?”
“No, he isn’t.”
“So you’re just letting an essentially unqualified man cut open the most important human alive?”
“More or less.”
“Uh, what are you expecting to come out of that? He’s going to kill her, you realize.”
“More than likely.”
“You had three healers working on her, and they couldn’t do anything about her injuries. What’s he supposed to do?”
Thatch didn’t reply.
Jacob arrived at the only reasonable conclusion for what an inventor specialized in robotics and artificial intelligence would be doing in an operating room. “Oh my god, he’s going to turn Paragon into a cyborg.”
Thatch parted his lips in an anguished grimace. “Okay, you’re not allowed to say the words you just said to me ever again. In fact, don’t even think that thought again. Okay?”
“So I’m right, then.”
“Of course not,” the director said with a deep sigh, but there wasn’t much credibility behind his tired voice.
In an attempt to avert a breakdown that seemed more certain by the second, Jacob steered the conversation elsewhere. “Hey, have you got an interstellar comms relay up and working yet? I’d like to make a few calls if possible.”
“No Jacob, we don’t. We can boost your calls to get as far as the Moon, but that’s about it.”
“Damn.”
Thatch hoisted up the bear, ignoring its wild flailing. “You’re letting us keep this.”
“Why?”
“So we can banish him, obviously.”
“Do you have any mystics left?”
“We’ll scrape some together.”
“Well, the Relic is attuned to me.”
“We’ll unattune it.”
“Do you even know what happens when you do that? Isn’t there a chance the demon will just pop right out?”
“We’ll have people on standby to subdue him if that happens.”
“Okay, but here’s another idea. Why don’t I take the Deady Bear somewhere that has, y’know, actual living people, and find some mystics there to banish him. Problem solved, and I get to keep my bear.”
“Mars, you mean.”
“Mars, for example, yeah.”
If you discover this tale on Amazon, be aware that it has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. Please report it.
Thatch shook his head firmly. “Jacob, I like you and all, but you’re not exactly the most reliable or well-adjusted hero I’ve ever had working for me. You realize that if you take Akor-Goram to Mars, which has the biggest human population left in the universe, and he gets out, it might be Earth, the sequel?”
He hadn’t thought about that. “I guess I didn’t think about that.”
“Well, it’s…” Thatch mulled things over for a minute, muttering in what sounded like an argument with himself. Then, having made up his mind, he said: “Okay, how about this? I could use a trip to Mars anyway to negotiate with the freeholds about the resettlement of Earth. I come with you on the Quickdraw, and we stop by on the Moon on the way to find an mystic and banish Akor-Goram. The Moon is largely depopulated already, so if he happens to get out, it’s a slightly less disastrous prospect.”
“All right, I’m with you so far.”
“And I’ll be in charge of the soul trap until he’s banished. After that, I’ll give it back.”
“Sure, I don’t care. And the money?”
“One million, after it’s done.”
“Ten million.”
“One million. Jacob, you realize the Guild basically bankrupted itself helping to build those evac ships? There are also no banks anymore. Whatever I hand out I’ve got to scrape together from whatever leftover funds we never got around to cleaning out.”
“Okay. Five million.”
“Jacob, give me a break.”
“Are you really going to haggle with the guy who saved the planet?”
“I’m pretty sure Paragon did that, actually.”
“I bet she’s getting paid big, too. I contributed more than my share, so I should get a nice cut.”
“Two million.”
“Three, at the very least. I’ve got expenses, you know.”
“What kind of expenses do you have that you need three million flora?”
Jacob just shrugged with a sheepish smile. “I dunno.”
*****
The details were ironed out over the course of the evening. Thatch was looking grayer by the hour. Jacob told him about the treasure hoard he’d found, which seemed to perk him up a little, but that might have gotten sucked up into the void when the portal collapsed, so Jacob wasn’t sure if he was setting him up for disappointment.
They went to Thatch’s office for most of the negotiation and planning. Jacob was introduced to Harvey Danger, a support worker who would be acting as the pilot. A guy with a name like that was born to be a space pilot, assuming it wasn't a name he'd given himself. He seemed all right—dressed in a crisp suit and was neatly groomed despite the only slightly less apocalyptic state of affairs. Luckily he didn’t seem too stuffy personality-wise, being fairly jovial.
Jacob asked about Magpie’s business, and found out that the villain had indeed been trying to find his daughter. She’d been somewhere on the Moon, which meant she was more-than-likely dead, but Thatch had promised to try and track her down when System access was restored. He was confident it wouldn’t be too difficult. Since they were stopping there anyway, Jacob offered to look for her if they had the time.
“What would you even do if you found her?” Thatch asked at that.
“How am I supposed to know? He didn’t tell me what to do, just told me to find her. I guess I’d see if she’s alive or not, and if she is I’d give her some money or something to get by. I think that’d be enough to ease my conscience.”
“Your conscience works in mysterious ways, Jacob.”
Jacob just made an absentminded grimace at that.
Continuing on, Thatch explained: “The ship we’ll be using, the Quickdraw, used to belong to the Golden Son years ago.”
“Really?” Jacob asked.
“Yeah. When he went missing, it passed through a number of hands, and eventually ended up with the Dark Division. It’s in their one remaining facility about a day’s drive south of here. It’s a fine ship, or so I’m told, but the onboard AI is supposedly a bit temperamental, which is why we absolutely need a pilot. Can’t trust the autopilot too much on that thing.”
“Ship aside, if the Dark Division is still around, why didn’t they pitch in for the battle?”
“Well, they hire non-Users almost exclusively, so they had none available after the world ended. Despite what rumors you’ve no doubt heard about assassinations and the like, the Dark Division doesn’t really operate through violence unless hard-pressed. They prefer to use softer methods.
“That being said, they did pitch in however they could. Those mystics we sent along for the ritual of banishing were actually theirs.”
“Right. Gotcha.”
“That being said, and I’m serious about this, don’t ruffle any feathers while we’re there. They’re people you want to be friends with, because the alternative isn’t fun. They might not kill you if you get on their bad side, but that doesn’t mean their methods are any more pleasant. They certainly got some of their key people on those escape ships, so if you want a harmonious time on Mars… Well, you get what I mean.”
“I’ll be on my best behavior, I promise.”
Thatch wanted a pinky promise, apparently aware that Jacob held them as sacred, and he reluctantly agreed to it.
They pinky promised.
In return, Jacob received his official assignment to ensure the demon’s banishment.
[ASSIGNMENT: HANDLE WITH CARE]
[OBJECTIVE 1: ASSIST THEODORE THATCH, GUILD OFFICIAL, IN BANISHING THE SOUL OF AKOR-GORAM, HIGH INFERNAL]
[REWARDS:]
3 000 000fl
[ACCEPT?]
[Y/N]
That was a pretty number.
Needless to say, he accepted. He still wasn’t sure if he would actually use it to pay Cullyn back, or if it was more beneficial to keep it and take the extra death. But he’d felt all full of holes since coming back from the battle. Counting his deaths, he concluded that he was up to twelve, probably. He handled his mind with care, not wanting to map out what he’d forgotten and discover how much of him was actually missing now. He was better off not knowing.
Once they were nearing the end of it, Thatch asked: “Think you’re gonna come back to Earth at some point, after you’ve found this woman? As you might imagine, we’re a little short-staffed.”
“Maybe that should be part of your motto. ‘The Heroes’ Guild, proudly short-staffed’. What do you think?”
“I think it’s got a ring to it. As for my question…?”
Whether or not he decided to pay Cullyn back would probably be the big sticking point. He’d have to go back to Earth for that. Unless the thune could manifest on whatever world he liked, which seemed just as likely, in which case a return trip would be unnecessary.
“Honestly, I don’t know. Right now I’m just happy to get off this dump.”
“You’ll get homesick eventually. Mars is all right, but it’s no Earth.”
“Earth is no Earth, these days. It’s like if you turned a car exhaust into a planet.”
“You’ll get homesick.”
“You’re feeling patriotic, I’m guessing?”
“Yeah. Someone’s gotta get Earth back on her feet—might as well do my part.”
“I reckon I’ve already done mine, so I’m good. They’ll need heroes on Mars—probably have less stingy employers, too.”
Thatch laughed at that, for the first time in all the hours Jacob had spoken to him that day. It was nice.
*****
That night, when Jacob lay awake unable to sleep, he opened the unread messages tab of his System interface. There were probably a hundred messages there, most of them from Becca. About as many missed calls. He felt a little guilty that he hadn’t gotten around to it straight away, but there had been a lot on his mind.
There were both text messages and voice messages. He decided to listen to the voice messages first, but had to stop after just a few minutes. He’d never heard Becca sound so sad. Not since the day of her parents’ funeral.
He read the texts instead. At first they were talking about how they were looking for him, and that she knew he’d come back. Then, for a good while, she had just texted him once a day saying ‘I miss you’. Then, on the 18th of October, she’d sent him a message saying that she’d found a way off-world through someone named Grim. Her, Bob, Mr. Beau, Lucky Johnny of all people, and this Grim person. Jacob wasn’t able to make much sense of it all. She would have to explain everything to him when he got there.
After that, there were no more messages.
He considered dealing with his level-up rewards then, but after that he couldn’t quite muster up the energy. He’d take care of it later.
*****
They ended up leaving early the next morning in a truck, headed south. Thatch, Stellar, and Jacob and Tarim with Fenris in the back. Before they left, he managed to get a decent number of signatures for the shirt, sans Paragon and Drakemyth.
The wolf was in a miserable state, either asleep or lying curled up to protect the stump of his leg. He refused food and water. No one at the Resort had been able to tell Jacob what was wrong with him, aside from the obvious physical trauma he’d suffered. All things considered, though, he was recovering well from his injuries. This was something else.
Maybe that demon meat was bad for him, after all. He felt like a bad owner.
They took turns driving. Whenever they encountered a stray demon or two along the path, Jacob would get out to deal with it before they carried on. With all his recent level-ups, they didn’t present much of a challenge.
Carrying on through the night, they made it to their destination by early morning. There was no vehicle bay, so they just parked outside, and… knocked on the door.
The Dark Division HQ was unassuming, as secret bases went. The underground section was small compared to both the Lodge and the Resort, but furnished more like an actual office building, with potted plants and inoffensive paintings on the walls. It completely killed the ‘secret lair’ vibe that the Guild HQs emanated.
The people were normal, too. They dressed like office workers, not even in uniform, and greeted them warmly at the doors. There were no assassins in ninja gear or anything.
Jacob was slightly disappointed. After Thatch had hyped it up with his big warning, Jacob had expected something a little more impressive. The guy in charge of the place—one Site Manager Gurne—took them to the ship hangar while talking about how grateful everyone was about the Guild saving the world. He looked like a human potato, pudgy and wide-waisted, with a goofy smile and small, narrow-set eyes behind a pair of thick glasses.
Despite that, Thatch was uncharacteristically deferential to the man, which was the most disturbing part of the whole experience. He kept calling him ‘sir’, and Gurne kept insisting not to do that, since they were of comparably equal rank, but he continued doing it anyway.
They picked up one more passenger at the Dark Division. Terry Gillis, an ‘accountant’. That sounded like what an organization like this would call an assassin, but he’d question her about that once they were away from her friends.
The Quickdraw was, generously put, a massive pile of shit.
It was maybe twenty meters long and fashioned in a sharp arrowhead V. It had a dull gray color, and had maybe been a fine piece of interstellar conveyance at some point, but in its present state Jacob could not see a single piece of the ship that was not in some form of neglect or disrepair. There were wires hanging off, parts sticking out, loose rivets, cracked glass, along with a host of cosmetic blemishes; countless dents and buckles and scrapes. Its name, ‘THE QUICKDRAW’ was printed on the side in faded black letters, over an older piece of text that someone had tried their best, but clearly failed, to scrape off. It read ‘THE TITS UP’. Jacob could understand why a government agency would want to change that name.
The Dark Division had a dozen workers climbing about on top of the ship and scrambling about underneath it with the frequent crackling and flashing of handheld welders, laboring to get the ship in flightworthy condition.
Thatch looked about as skeptical as Jacob felt. Tarim was the only one who was excited, enchanted by the prospect of going to space. He was running around the room and asking the workers a thousand questions, and after a bit of half-hearted shouting Jacob completely gave up on reeling him in.
Sensing the obvious unspoken question, Site Manager Gurne said: “Don’t worry, she’s a good ship. Solid. Traveled a lot, this one.”
He said the last part like it was supposed to be a positive, but to Jacob that just sounded like a roundabout way of calling the ship an old, worn-out antique.
“How long until she’s retrofitted do you think, sir?” Thatch asked.
“She’ll be done in an hour or two. Wanna catch some breakfast in the meantime? You’ve come a long way, you must be hungry.”
They ate breakfast with Gurne in a bright, clean cafeteria. The food was all right. The site manager was all pleasant small talk until they were just about done and about to leave. Then, he said: “I’m glad to hear Paragon’s procedure was a success.”
Thatch blinked at that with a sheepish look on his face. Evidently, he had not been informed himself. “Uh…”
The message could not have been clearer. See how much I know. I know more than you.
“I hope her recovery fares smoothly,” he continued. “Do give her my regards if you see her at some point, will you? She’s a very difficult woman to meet with.”
“I will?” Thatch said, halfway between a statement and a question.
“Good. Thank you, Theo. We need her now more than ever, especially with the Crusade of Reprisal about to go into motion.”
“Crusade?” Jacob asked. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
Gurne’s beady little eyes fixed on Thatch, but when he displayed no sign of understanding, he gave a small sigh. “I might have said too much. If you haven’t been informed, I don’t think it’s my place to say.”
If Thatch had a wolfish hunger in his eyes, Gurne’s were dripping with snake venom. Jacob saw that now. Every fiber of him screamed it.
See how much I know. And, by extension: See how many strings I’m holding.
“And you?” he asked, still smiling pleasantly as he turned to Jacob. “I’m sorry, I don’t think I caught your name.”
“Jacob…” he stopped himself when he realized he didn’t even know his own last name.
“Ah, that’s right! Jacob Sorenson, one of the famous Nine. They’re already talking about you on Mars, you know. I bet you’ll receive a royal welcome.”
How are they already talking about me on Mars? The Guild doesn’t even have a comm link up.
I guess he does.
“I believe I caught a little of your situation,” Gurne continued. He took off his glasses and wiped the lenses with a handkerchief. “Rebecca Hartley, is it? Your partner?”
What the fuck is wrong with this guy? What does he want from me?
It was clear that the whole thing about not recognizing him was complete pretend.
“Uh, yeah. I guess you looked into me, or?”
Gurne ignored his question. “I don’t know much, but I believe she’s in the freehold of Standing. They have a refugee quarter set up there.”
“Thank you. I appreciate the information.”
“Of course, don’t mention it. I’m happy to help.”
“I take it you’ve established communications with Mars, then?”
“That’s right.”
“Would it be possible for me to make a call?”
“To Rebecca Hartley?”
“Yes.”
Thatch cleared his throat. “Don’t worry about Mr. Sorenson, he can be a little forward. We wouldn’t—”
“Of course, of course,” Gurne said, smiling and nodding. “The comm link is usually restricted to priority communications only, but I think an exception should be made for one of the saviors of humanity, don’t you?” He looked expectantly at Thatch.
“Uh, I… guess? Sir?”
The desperate sideways glance he threw Jacob seemed to say ‘You fucking idiot, look at what you’ve done’.
“To be clear, you’re not gonna make me foot the bill for the Earth-to-Mars call charge or anything?” Jacob asked.
“Certainly not! Just consider it a small token of our humble department’s gratitude.” Gurne stood up from the table and picked up his empty food tray to take it away. “Come on, let’s get you hooked up.”