The caravan rumbled over a wide, flat stretch of red desert before winding down a bluff onto lowlands of yellowish stone. Here, scrubby desert vegetation dotted the landscape, except where flat stretches of yellow sandstone peeked through the dirt. Twice, they crossed gravel creekbeds where Rick was surprised to see running water—not much, but certainly more than one would expect on Mars.

Rick knew something of desert waterways from the area where he had lived around Las Vegas. Marks along the creekbeds indicated flash floods came through, at least occasionally. The pink sky was cloudless. Rick hoped that meant no floods were coming. The wagons turned and went down into the creek, following a wide valley with the trickle of water at its center for a little while before climbing up out of the wash and paralleling the watercourse.

They were traveling upstream but the creek they traveled along seemed to be getting wider and deeper with each passing mile. Rick idly wondered if that meant the system handled evaporation or if the water was soaking into the desert. It seemed like a realistic touch for a desert waterway, but Rick wasn’t a hydrologist.

Still, he’d heard more than his share of lectures from Sam. She’d have known exactly what this all meant. Had she been running dungeons the whole time she’d been missing? How long had it been? Two months? He wasn’t sure time passed the same way in this system as it did outside in the supposedly real world.

Who was to say this world isn’t just as real? It certainly felt real. It had rules that were easier to understand than physics, chemistry, and biology. He wasn’t going to worry about “real” or “not real”, not when he had more important things to worry about. Like where to put his level 6 points. He already had three into Soothing Mist. The healing trial had given him a new ability in the form of his shielding spell, Protection, placing one point into it automatically. Then there were his two points in Force Wave.

If he didn’t want to start down a new path, he had to spend his points one one of the three. He couldn’t go deeper down his current tree until one of his existing skills hit five points, and even then, he might still want to invest further. He knew from experience it was better to have a few powerful spells than a large number of mediocre ones.

So, it came down to a choice between healing, DPS, or shielding—which was, in a way, a variation on healing. Do damage, remove damage, or mitigate damage from happening in the first place. Damage mitigation would be important if the party ever got a tank.

For now, Rick considered healing to be his most important function. The damage coming at them was only going to get worse. Gambit and Daniel would focus on improving their damage output, but if they were to survive, Rick needed stronger healing.

After all this consideration, Rick put his level 6 point into Soothing Mist, bringing it to four points total.

---

Rick climbed back into the seat of the wagon, refreshed. “Had a good nap?” Gambit asked. The Mongolian player had relieved him a few hours ago, letting Rick get some rest.

“Fine. How’s it gone?”

“Badly.” Gambit scowled out over the back of the dinosaur dragging their wagon. “No attacks. I can’t believe you beat me to level 6. Experience hog.”

“Your fault for sleeping through the fun,” Rick said, rubbing his eyes to clear the remnants of sleep.

“Daniel still sleeping?”

“Actually, I passed his room. He’s away. He was building something. I didn’t ask.”

“Probably best,” Gambit grunted. “There’s a heck of a view, don’t you think?” He pointed ahead of them where a mesa with jagged edges rose higher and higher as the caravan approached.

Rick was studying the light and shadows on its surface when he suddenly realized it wasn't a mesa but a ruined city. One instant, the shadows looked like the play of light on crags of rock, and the next, he was seeing windows and doors, terraces and courtyards.

Great spires of rock now looked like towers for observation or defense. The whole mesa-city wasn't quite straight but tilted down to the left, as if it had been frozen mid-collapse. Rick tilted his head, looking up at the sky. It reminded him of a flying city he had seen in a movie years ago—a huge, vast, crashed flying city.

“You see it, right?” Gambit asked quietly. “It’s not just me?”

“It looks like it crashed here,” Rick said. Gambit nodded his agreement.

At its base, Rick made out a network of farm fields and ponds, their geometric patterns faint but unmistakable against the rugged terrain.

The mesa city grew larger and larger as they approached. Vegetation in the wash thickened, turning lush and green. The creek, once a babbling brook, now widened, becoming more placid. Along its banks, the shrubs grew denser and more diverse. Some might almost be trees.

Beyond the wash, the lush flood basin stretched out, crisscrossed with small canals and irrigation ditches.

When they passed their first farmhouse, Rick almost missed it. The red-brown mud hut blended in with the banks along the waterway. Nearby were farm fields resembling rice paddies, though the plants growing in them looked more like cattails—long reeds with thin leaves and bulbous seed pods at the top. The pods themselves were lumpy and reminded him of corn, but not the way corn grew on the plant, wrapped in leaves. Instead, they looked like the shucked ears of corn he’d seen in stores.

Rick leaned closer to inspect the plant. Sure enough, the system identified it as "water corn." He chuckled. "The system calls it water corn," he told Gambit. “Couldn’t they come up with something more creative?”

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Gambit grunted. “What’s wrong with water corn?”

They passed several more farms, small and squalid affairs. Rick didn’t spot anyone working the fields. Then the road turned and climbed the bank, leading them out of the flood basin.

The wash had widened into a floodplain, dotted with fields that reminded Rick of pictures he’d seen of the Nile River Valley. The road climbed a bank and continued above the floodplain. The farms grew more numerous, and in the distance, Rick spotted figures moving in the fields. Six-armed Rork farmers were dressed in flowing garments in bright colors, mostly blue and red. Unlike human farmers, they wore no hats to shield themselves from the sun.Rick marveled at the impressive series of locks and doors used to divert water between fields. The waterworks were impressive, even if the farmhouses weren’t.

"We’re almost there," Dr. Schneider said with a smile. “And perfect timing. Today is the day of the Lantern Festival. It should be a beautiful sight."

The sun had nearly reached the top of the mesa city. The side closest to them was in shadow, but now that they were nearer, Rick could make out dark, empty windows. The whole place looked abandoned. Was this really the next town in the sequence?

Finally, just as the sun kissed the sky past the top of the mesa, a modest town came into view. Perched on the edge of the bluff overlooking the floodplain, the town spread back toward the desert. Some buildings even sat below on the floodplain itself. These smaller, rougher dwellings gave the impression that the town had been pushed back against the cliff, with buildings spilling over the edge.

A group of townsfolk came out to meet them. The six-armed Rorks carried long poles with pyramid-shaped paper lanterns dangling from the ends. The town was now in the shadow of the mesa, and their lanterns glowed in a variety of colors.

The leader of the locals, wearing an ornate sash around his neck, greeted them with a broad smile. "Welcome, welcome to Angel’s Landing!"

Rick climbed down from the wagon. The Rork with the ornate scarf approached and extended two of his hands. "I’m Mayor Granitic. Please, make our town your home." He used both of his right hands to shake Rick’s. “You’re just in time for the lantern festival!”

"It’s always Lantern Festival when a caravan arrives," a Rork standing nearby muttered under her breath. "That’s three days in a row now! What a crock of Guandoc droppings. I barely found enough paper to make another lantern on short notice."

The mayor shot her a glare before turning back to Rick with his practiced smile. "Come, come! You’re just in time for the feast."

Daniel and Gambit climbed down from the wagon, and the mayor’s hospitality extended to them as well. The crowd, with their mix of strained enthusiasm and outright boredom, swept them along toward the center of town. Rick noticed as they went that many of the stick-wielders didn’t actually have lanterns on the ends of their poles. Perhaps they couldn’t find enough lanterns on short notice. Only the mayor seemed enthusiastic. Three festivals in a row, they’d said, and always festival day when a caravan arrives.

Who are the other two teams. Team Technique? The Chinese? Both seemed likely, though perhaps they were referring to an earlier team. Had enough of the Mars expedition survived to form teams? Sam had been solo, but surely they couldn’t all have been killed. While they might not have been professional gamers, they were trained astronauts and scientists—people taught to think on their feet and in prime physical condition. Surely Sam wasn’t the only one to have made it. Rick shook his head, pushing the thoughts aside as the crowd carried them toward the heart of Angel’s Landing.

The mayor was still babbling on. Rick listened with half an ear.

"It is fortunate that you arrived when you did. Never in the many years since the founding of Angels' Landing have our people been more in need of capable outsiders to help us in our trials. Perhaps, if you ask around town, you might find work or people in need. I beg you to give our town your aid. We haven't much, but I know my people will reward you as best they can."

This place reeked of a quest hub. Gambit gave Rick a knowing glance. The mayor trailed off and looked at Rick expectantly. Rick half expected dialogue choices to pop up, offering him options for what to say next.

Since the mayor clearly expected him to say something, Rick imagined what those options would have said. He cleared his throat. "Can you tell me more about the founding of your town?"

The mayor beamed, clearly pleased. Must have been the correct prompt—or one of several.

"Of course! The town of Angels' Landing was founded two and a half million years ago when the city of our august ancestors fell from the sky. We are but humble children of their magnificence."

The mayor gestured toward the now-dark mesa looming over the city, blotting out the blackening sky with its few early evening stars. Rick realized with a start that he had been right. This was a crashed flying city—and one that had crashed millions of years ago.

The implications left his mouth dry. Could it be looted? Was there anything left inside? Would there be quests that took them into the interior? He exchanged a look with Gambit, who seemed to be thinking the same thing.

The mayor had rambled to a stop and was again looking at Rick expectantly.

"Um, what can you tell me about your town's troubles?" Rick asked, playing along. He’d played enough games with dialogue options to have an idea of what he should ask.

The mayor nodded gravely. "Yes, troubles! Both factions have problems of their own. I’m sure they would be interested in your help, but I caution you—they don’t trust one another. You would be wise to take careful consideration of which you choose to assist."

Gambit leaned over and muttered, "Bet we only get to choose one."

Rick had to agree. “We should probably investigate them both before we decide,” he cautioned. “Keep an eye on Daniel while we’re talking, will you?” All they needed was for the eager but inexperienced EOD tech to sign them up with the wrong team.

If Sam was here, had she picked a faction to join? Maybe he could find her before they had to make a choice. Rick kept his eyes open for any sign of her as they went.

---

The mayor brought them to a square at the center of town. Here, some tables had been set up in what was apparently supposed to be a feast, but very few actual dishes or decorations were present. Some of the people standing around looked embarrassed, others just bored.

Two tall Rorks were striding through the crowd—a man and a woman. The woman was dressed in sturdy leather garb. She wore tall boots with straps and had a belt of pouches strung between her two sets of arms. Unlike the other Rorks, she wore a hat—a miner’s helmet with a place for a lamp to be attached at the front.

The man, in contrast, wore flowing garbs of red and blue resembling the farmers in the fields they had seen as they arrived.

"You there! Strangers! Are you the ones from the caravan?” the woman called brusquely. "I have need of your wagons to transport ore."

"Not so fast, Ruby, the man interrupted her with a flourish of his hands. "The Farmers' Guild of Angels' Landing needs wagons to move our grain to market."

The woman glared at him. "Hush, Andrite. The Miners' Coalition can pay much better, and the forces of High Reachers need our ore for the conflict against the reprobates.”

The man folded all four of his arms. "What good is ore for weapons if their bellies are empty? The food from our farms is much more important."

"You, stranger!" the woman barked, turning back to Rick. "Who will you support with your caravan?"

Rick opened his mouth, then closed it again. Who should they support? These were clearly the factions the mayor had meant, but he didn’t like the idea of picking one with so little information and presumably locking out access to the other.

"Perhaps we can come to some sort of arrangement where we move cargo from both of your—"

"Absolutely not!" the woman interrupted.

The farmer representative was nodding. "I agree. The ore from her mines would pollute our grain and make it unpalatable to the forces of High Reaches. Any wagons that have moved levistone ore cannot carry our produce."

Rick sighed. This was going to be complicated.