Truth lightly sighed and made his way down into the city below. He was quite sure Starbrite wasn't here, but he had to start somewhere. He had the nagging sensation that he was missing something. There were some elements of what he was seeing that didn’t add up. That usually meant he was either missing information, or misunderstanding the perspective of the people who set everything up.

He hadn’t kept very close track of the news since… well, since he started the war. It would all be propaganda, of course, but it would be interesting to see exactly what propaganda they were promoting. He slipped into the bland mediocrity of Gamphe with barely a ripple.

There were roadblocks, of course, military roadblocks with plenty of surveillance and a few internal security officers discreetly stashed nearby. It’s not that they were doing a bad job, it’s just that they were never built to catch someone like him. He just walked right past them. Watching them hassle people about trying to travel without the right permit, or with an expired permit, or using the wrong sort of waiver request.

Not a single polite smile to be seen. Still conscripts manning the traffic stops, which was interesting. That was usually the kind of work they were assigned, of course, but the regulars wouldn’t have been committed to the front lines yet. Were they all setting up defensive positions outside the city?

Gamphe was the same bleak gray it looked like from the outside once you got to the inside. Surprisingly broad streets, he noticed. More like highways running through the middle of the city. Army wagons were running up and down them, bullying the smaller carriages out of the way. Not much in the way of pedestrian traffic, Truth noticed. Though that might just be because he was still on the major roads.

Quite a queue of southbound carriages though. Everyone in the vehicle got their sigil checked, then were waved through. Interesting. A partial evacuation? It would make sense, but there was no way they would evacuate the whole city. Just too big, and just too much production capability here. He didn’t know what was being made in all those factories, but something sure was.

Truth slowed as he thought that one through. Just how hard would it be to convert a factory producing… say… water talismans, to producing needler ammo? Or would it make more sense to keep on making water talismans, but tweaked to Army specifications? When you got right down to it, the civilian market would still need them too. They didn’t last forever, and the rolling mana-storms must be playing hell with them.

He could feel his face twitching as he jogged along the road. It was another one of those problems he could sort of identify, without really getting a sense of the scope of it.

Like a strategic curse projector- Truth knew it was a system of systems. He could identify some of the systems. But what all of them were, or did? How to use the whole system-of-systems? How to use it all as an integrated part of the war? Not a chance. That wasn’t the kind of thing the Army taught during your one-year mandatory national service. It certainly wasn’t covered by the SAT.

Wasn’t covered by PMC training either. At least, not for him.

Someone out there, probably a lot of someones, were working hard to keep the wheels turning and the country moving. Someone out there was keeping an eye on the systems of systems. All those shipping containers, tracked from their point of origin, to their point of delivery. He tried to imagine what it would be like- to stand in a place where you could track each tonne of iron to each component, to the wagons and carriages they went into.

Someone was doing that, or something very like it. They would have to be- you couldn’t have an industrialized society without it. No one was going to send the apprentice to nip ‘round to the ironmongers for fifteen thousand tonnes of mild steel.

It was a heady notion. He slightly regretted not picking the Doomsday Book as his Level Five spell. There was something undeniably seductive about seeing all the connections. About understanding, truly understanding, how everything fits together.

Truth looked around the gray, bland authority of the gray bland industrial Gamphe, and grinned. He had just arrived, and couldn’t wait to leave. Earth Folding Step was clearly the right choice for the Fool on the go.

First things first- food. He was jonesing for an egg sandwich. Nowhere did egg sandwiches like Jeon did ‘em. There was, however, an absolute dearth of carts or vendors around. Hmm. He found a shop selling cleaning talismans, and asked the nervous looking clerk behind the counter.

“Hey, any idea where I can get an egg sandwich around here?”

“At home!” The clerk snapped. This got a slow blink from Truth. Customer service culture was no joke in Jeon. In fact, speaking to a customer like that would generally be an instant dismissal.

“You said what now?” His voice was deceptively mild. He wasn’t going to scrag the poor bastard for being short, but he was entirely willing to spend a little time on some creative unpleasantness.

The clerk had the decency to wince and bow.

“I apologize, you must have just come into town. All the food carts were ordered closed. Military order. Food hygiene and rationing violation concerns, apparently.”

Ah. And presumably he had family that ran a cart.

“Understood. I had wondered how that would work. Is it just the food carts, or all restaurants?

You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

“Just the carts for now. You can still buy food at convenience stores, and the more expensive restaurants are still open. Though, I should warn you that they are essentially all taken over by soldiers now. You might have a hard time getting a table.”

“Damn. Wish that didn’t make sense.” There was a silent moment of shared commiseration. The food cart was a staple of life in Jeon. Losing them was a surprisingly personal sort of pain.

“Guess it’s going to have to be a convenience store. Anything nearby?”

“There is a Happy Happy Mart two blocks that way.” The clerk pointed. “Their stuff is… fine.”

Truth nodded sadly. “Fine” was, in his experience, about the nicest thing you could call it.

“It’ll have to do. Nothing good is going to come of fighting for a table with the Army.”

“Good luck. Once again, I apologize for my rudeness.”

Truth smiled at him, a quirky little thing. “Hey, it’s Red Sky days. Not so strange that we all lose our temper a bit. We just gotta have a little tolerance, right?”

Truth hung on to his temper with the thinnest, ragged edge of his fingernails. “What kind of idiocy is this?” He demanded. The golem was unphased.

“I’m sorry, I don’t recognize [PRODUCT NAME] [IDIOCY]. Could you please phrase that another way?”

He took a slow, rasping breath. “I cannot touch the food.”

“As part of our Happy Happy commitment to consistently improving food hygiene standards, all comestible goods are now hermetically sealed in our custom “Vita-Chest” food preservation and display system.” The golem was more or less a mannequin, dressed in the usual Happy Happy Mart clerk uniform.

The so-called Vita-Chest was naturally just a sealed glass case with a heating element and lights built in. Very sealed. He had seen thinner armored glass on Army carriages.

“There is no meat available.”

“Happy Happy Mart is proud to be doing its Happy Happy part to support the nation’s nutritional needs during the ongoing crisis.”

“And while I can buy food from you, it has to be credits, through my sigil, and you will also be deducting rationing points.” He could feel his grip slipping. His hands were itching to feel the Tongue’s hilt, ready to deliver justice.

“That is correct [VALUED CUSTOMER-INSERT NAME HERE].”

“I’m essentially paying twice.”

“This is a common misapprehension, [VALUED CUSTOMER-INSERT NAME HERE]. The rationing points are a government mandate imposed on all food providers, and reflect deductions for the relevant amount of food ordered. The credits are what it costs to prepare the meal, from testing and ordering the very highest quality products, to cooking the food to the very highest standards, and packaging it in the very finest paper bags. A Happy Happy price for a Happy Happy belly!”

The golem did its best to sound chipper. Truth felt something in him snap.

“Not a jury in the world would convict me. Not that Jeon had a jury system. Still, any just magistrate would understand the rightness of my cause too. Any human being, any sapient rat, can see this is the only way.”

The Golem jolted and a network of glowing red formations started emerging on its body.

“Warning. Based on your language and demeanor, you are contemplating damaging property belonging to Happy Happy Mart. This Customer Service Interface is programmed to respond with proportionate force based on B-Tier Property Protection Privilege. Happy Happy Mart, its parent companies and its employees are not responsible for any injuries or death you may suffer as a result of this Interface’s lawful actions.”

Truth nodded. That was more or less the same level of protection upper-mid tier corps had for their property. Somewhat comforting to know some things didn’t change.

It would be beyond easy to disable the golem. Barely a slap required, really. More of a tap. Ditto the glass. And then he would be left with… a Happy Happy Mart Bean Curd Noodle Bowl.

Oh boy. Wow. So tasty. Oh wait, there were some alarmingly thin sandwiches, containing more air than fillings. That was an option. These were not the big, jaw-straining egg sandwiches of his memory. Nowhere was the heaps of cabbage, the multiple sauces, the gratuitous amounts of cheese. Nowhere was the crusty brown exterior evident. Just bland white on white, like a sandwich made from packing foam.

The fury drained out of him. It was just too damn pointless. He turned on his heel and marched off. Someone, somewhere, would have some decent Jeon food. He just needed to find it.

He jerked to a stop as a thought wormed its way irresistibly into his mind. There was one often uncontemplated turning point in his life, a chance to miss Starbrite entirely. He could have gone career in the Army. They invited everyone, of course, but given his service history and military merits, it would have been a reasonably quick rise through the NCO ranks. Wouldn’t have got him the “nice” apartment or the benefits for the sibs, but it had been an option.

A beneficent smile blossomed on Truth’s face. Time to see if they had a uniform in his size. He might need to shop around in the camp for a while. But that was fine. He would find one eventually.

Three fruitful hours later, Sergeant Blouth Merichi strolled into the Blue Ox bar. “Hey bartender! Any chance of an egg sandwich for an honest service man?”

“None.” The bartender looked like he had been formed from scraps of shoe leather. “For you, however, I may be able to find something.”

“Good enough.”

“Beer?”

“Tea. Iced for choice. Hot as balls out there.”

“Truth.” The bartender nodded. Truth was proud of the fact he managed not to flinch.

He looked around the bar. Pretty standard for a crummy bar anywhere. A bar, cheap booze displayed like it was worth something, bottles in a reach-in chill chest. A few small tables with small chairs. A crummy scryball in the corner.

The bartender threw some butter down on a griddle and fished out some bread. “Must say you are looking pretty relaxed, given the news.”

“Eh? I was just up at the base, and haven't gotten any new orders. What news?”

The bartender grinned at him. A horrible sight.

“Why, all the other countries jumping in on the war. Looks like this fight’s going to have more sides than a bowl of noodles.”