Part of me reels at Noland’s story. He just admitted to killing a lot of people. And even though it's missing some details, his story rings terrifyingly true to what I remember happening. The purifiers and electronic coatings were what started the world on the path back to being slightly livable again.
Without him, it wouldn’t be the world back on the path to normalcy. It would be one or two countries that bent the knee and a lot of rich people. I can’t bring myself to fault Noland for it. Somehow, I was lucky enough for almost all my family to live through the apocalypse. We lived in a small-ish town, after all, and only had to destroy a few cars and appliances to survive.
People in big cities weren’t so lucky. Sure, it wasn’t wanton slaughter, but there wasn’t anywhere safe. Death wasn’t a possibility–it was an inevitability. The question is… was Noland’s family responsible for those deaths by doing nothing? Just because they had the means to save people, were they required to?
Technically, no. They weren’t. But who the hell argues semantics when millions of lives are on the line?
“Noland… how much control over the company do you have?” I ask as the gold falls away, returning us to normal processing speed.
He purses his lips in thought. “Technically, I’ve got fifty percent control at most. March and I have to agree to do the thing to end all things, and even if one of us could overpower the other, we respect each other too much for that. In reality, I’ve got twenty percent control. Same as March, Gil, Ursula, and you.”
I frown in confusion. “The hell are you talking about? I’ve never done–”
“It comes with the job description, no getting out of it now.” He grins and gently knocks his knuckles against my shoulder. “We barely do anything with it now, just manufacture the stuff and distribute it. I think we’ve got… eight-ish million employees across the world in a lot of different fields, but pretty much none of them know they’re working for us.”
Eight… eight million. Holy shit. I was expecting, like, a thousand employees. But eight million… that’s like the population of a small country. If Noland owns the thing, and he’s putting everything he’s got into the resort… why the hell aren’t we more important? Why are we running scared from the Preservation? Hell, why do we let HuSt exist with their past?
“I see you’ve got a lot to think about.” Noland says as Gisela grabs onto my arm once again. “Pretty much all your questions can be boiled down to the answer of one extra question; why did we start the resort?”
That’s easy. “To normalize magic in everything, not just for fighting.”
He nods. “There’s your answer. We aren’t tyrants. We aren’t gods. All we want is to somehow get the world to survive this living hell the system threw us into and come out the other side intact.”
“So why…” I trail off in thought. That answer isn’t satisfying. He’s still holding something back, because I don’t believe for one second that Noland is this pragmatic. Sure, he’s a good person deep down, but he still murdered hundreds of people to further his agenda. Would that kind of person be this… idealistic?
No. No way in hell.
A razor-thin grin splits his lips, and the image of a charitable saint dies in the reflection of his teeth. He couldn’t make it more obvious that he has an ulterior motive if he outright told me.
He turns on his heel and leads us away without another word. Leaving me with a single question and a thousand possible answers swirling in my mind. It could be something as simple as revenge against HuSt and the Preservation. Maybe this is an extreme long-con, and he’s going to pull the plug the moment everyone else thinks they’ve won. Or… maybe…
Gisela’s grip tightens around my arm. I look down to see her painted nails dig deeply into my skin, hard enough to draw blood, but my rebuilt body doesn’t even bruise. Whatever idea I’d had moments ago leaves in a whirl of brand new thoughts worrying about whatever just happened to make her do this.
I gently grab her wrist and squeeze. “Gisela?”
She startles, and for a second, I’m reminded that this is Dora on my arm. “Yes?” She looks over at me, then down at her own hand. “Oh, I’m sorry!”
Her grip loosens instantly, and she unlatches herself from my arm completely. Something shifts in the way she looks at me, and for a split second, Gasp’s memory manipulation scratches at the forefront of my mind. But I haven’t felt any magic like that since. So unless she got infinitely more subtle since last time, I don’t think that’s it.
“What’s wrong? Having second thoughts?”
“Second… no. I’m not.” Gisela takes a deep breath to gather herself, sets her mouth in a line, and laces her arm through mine. “I’m… I’m in way over my head, aren’t I?”
Over her head? The hell is she talking about? “You came here knowing pretty much exactly what was going to happen. How are you in over your head?”
A small, nervous laugh sneaks its way out of her. “You, Shelby. And Noland. And Ursula. I thought the resort would be a good neutral party to oversee this, but I’ve seen how wrong that line of thinking is. That… business card… I only saw it for a second, but…”
“Ah. Noland?”
He shakes his head. “Don’t talk openly about it. I don’t really care who knows, but we don’t want any more assassination attempts than we’re already going to have to deal with.”
This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.
I nod in understanding, as does Gisela. She seems convinced now, but far less confident than before. If I had to guess, her world’s probably just been turned upside down. Our positions didn’t reverse–she’s completely unimportant now. A billionaire in the face of someone who could actually destroy the world with a snap of his fingers.
“Does this change your plans?” I ask.
“I don’t know.” She sighs. “Everything I worked towards seems… less important now. The Preservation wants to highly regulate the coins. I wanted to prove that we’re important enough to be one of their distributors while building ourselves up even more in the shadows. But you just told me the shadows are deeper and darker than I ever knew, and they’re already full to bursting”
“Hey, we don’t work in the shadows. All our goings-on are easily accessible for anyone and everyone.” Noland smiles and pats Gisela’s free shoulder. “Just because most people don’t make the connection between our two very public organizations doesn’t mean we’re some kind of shady cult. It means we’re powerful enough that we don’t care who knows.”
Gisela shrugs off his hand and exhales. “You don’t know the privilege you need to operate like that. If we went as public as you are, we’d be crushed by a hostile company in a few days. One of our secrets gets out, and suddenly we lose our market share. We can’t afford to be transparent.”
“Well, what if you could?” Noland asks innocently.
“Then we wouldn’t be ourselves. We’d be bought out by something big enough to protect us, and that’s not going to happen.” She says flatly, seemingly interpreting Nolan’s offer before he made it. “If we ally with anyone, it’s going to be as equals. Not as a pity acquisition or a hostile takeover.”
He shrugs and turns away. “Suit yourself. But when you’re confident in your influence and power, you know where to find us. Or where to find the Preservation, if you prefer the taste of boot leather and dirt.”
Gisela wrinkles her nose in disgust. “I’ll die before I let the Preservation rule me.”
“That sounds very different from what you said a minute ago.” I point out antagonistically. “Don’t you want to be a good little distributor for them? Hand out the coins to all their chosen ones, control the flow of magic with an iron fist?”
“I… we…” She growls in frustration and balls her fists. “That’s the best we can hope for. If they trust us, we can make a–”
“Nope, you can’t.” Noland cuts in mercilessly. “The second the Preservation gets a foothold, it’ll slowly turn into a stranglehold. If you don’t want magic to be given to the highest bidder and ridden with nepotism, you’ve got to be more than just a distributor.”
Gisela frowns, but I can see her mind working. “What are you suggesting?”
Noland shrugs. “Nothing in particular. Just that you make your own choice and stand behind it no matter how wrong or hard it ends up being. To that end, tell me your starting point and your end goal.”
“What? No.”
“You don’t get a choice. Spill it.”
She looks like she’s about to argue, but she seems to decide against it. “It started with oppression. We want it to end with freedom.”
I can’t help but snort. “You think putting yourself under the Preservation’s thumb is going to do that?”
“No, but freedom needs rules. Regulations. Nobody else is trying to make them!” Gisela nearly screams that last word, her body trembling with rage. “Magic is dangerous! Just because you can use it for good, it doesn’t mean you can’t use it for evil. We… I… know that better than anyone.”
“A chef’s knife will dull without ever tasting human flesh. A murderer’s knife knows nothing but.” Noland looks over his shoulder, his eyes glistening with gold. “Most people are good, Gisela. Regulations keep the small percentage of monsters from killing everyone else. But the most insidious killer of all is the situation.”
“The… situation?” She asks, her voice undercut by confusion.
I clear my throat to cut in. “In his example, the situation would be what turns a chef’s knife into a murderer’s knife. Poverty, drugs, hatred; you know the deal.”
He nods and points at my forehead. “Exactly. Some magic is like a knife, some is like a gun, and some is like a nuclear bomb. But if you found a knife, and a really sharp and beautiful one at that, would your first instinct be to make a good meal or bury it deep in someone’s back? Truth is, if everyone’s happy and taken care of, you don’t have to worry about knives. Then you just have to start worrying about people.”
Gisela shudders. “You can’t make people happy. Some people only want more.”
“Mmhm. Yeah, that’s true.” Noland nods in agreement. “I’d be fully for having to take a background check before you’re allowed to take a Class Coin, or for there to be harsh laws against using magic to commit a crime. That’s perfectly reasonable. But there’s one major issue I don’t think you’re factoring in.”
“What?”
Noland shifts and raises an eyebrow at me. I guess that’s my que to join the conversation again. And luckily, I know exactly what he wants me to say.
“Coins are random.”
He nods. “They fall in completely random places, contain a set random class, and don’t care who picks them up. How the hell is one corporation–even with the help of a thousand governments–going to regulate that?”
Gisela opens her mouth, then closes it. She doesn’t have an answer for him. I don’t blame her; he’s obviously leading on for a specific answer, but unless she’d seen the side of the Preservation that I have, Gisela wouldn’t have it.
It’d be a registry. Everyone that would be allowed to have magic by the Preservation. And if you weren’t on it, like I assume a whole lot of people would be, they’d be criminals. Even if they never once thought about hurting anyone. Even if they never took a single attack-oriented spell.
And, like Noland already proved, it would give them a very easy way to get rid of the people they don’t like.
“Noland… what if it wasn’t the Preservation?”
He and Gisela both turn to look at me, though their expressions couldn’t be more different. Hers is confused and conflicted, while his is the cocky grin of someone who just sent me down the thought path he wanted to. And found that I came to the conclusion he wanted.
“Dick.” I sigh, but a glance over at the giant mech brings me right back to it. “So what’s the goal here, Noland? Some kind of idyllic magic council that selflessly works for the benefit of all humanity without a single thanks?”
“Eventually.” He laughs, then points at the HuSt members who’re just starting to talk with the Preservation. “For right now, I’ll settle for stopping tyrannical monsters who pretend to be working for my goal. We’ll find the magical unicorns and selfless powerful class-bearers later.”