Pennsylvania, Fall 2055
Malevolent spirits in the gray.
Monsters.
By themselves, out in the open, so to speak, or riding inside mountain men and women, some cannibals, but not flesheaters, thankfully.
“There were a few. Even an old Meat Parade prelate of the blessed sacrament. Old monster slipped through the cracks somehow. There is some justice in existence in that she never managed to turn that second part into a class.”
Alin’s dad stood next to him on the wall unnoticed by all the other defenders.
The townspeople maintained a kill zone about two football fields end to end all the way to the tree line of the surrounding forest.
Dark and deadly as such things tended to be when not properly managed.
Something the Bountiful Decade had made all but impossible even with all the resources and aid isolated communities like this secretly received from concerned outsiders.
The echoes fought without much prompting on his part.
They punched the monster spirits, battering them until they dissipated. They struck them with colors faintly visible in the night fog, his and the natural kind.
Not counting him and his dad only the most perceptive would even see a hint of the echoes unless he wanted them to.
He felt his dad’s eyes on him.
“Did you get them back yet?”
Despite the years growing more comfortable with the gray he still wasn’t ready to know everything.
His dad felt ready to tell him more, but maybe after the big Quest.
He couldn’t risk uncertainty making him weaker.
“No.”
A dozen different things ran through his head.
Some angry and aggressive, spur of the moment expressions of his frustration over the weeks, going on months that his cousin and others had been held prisoner by the demigod.
These he silenced.
“I’ve been—”
“You don’t have to tell me. Opsec, I understand. I know you’re doing everything you can to get them back without making things worse.”
The emotional part of him wanted to scream. Screw all that stupid shit! Burn it all if it gets them back!
“Your uncle has been doing something like that. Each day a rich and powerful person or two suffers an issue with spontaneous combustion of a valued belonging or hair and clothing. I’ve pushed the worst of my secret agents into risking themselves to find where the demigod is keeping them. Several have been arrested for treason.”
“Couldn’t happen to more deserving people.” He grunted with the effort required to slow a grotesquely swollen berserker-type mountain man. The addition of monster spirits riding him had boosted him to dangerous heights.
“You got him?”
Grit teeth meant he couldn’t answer.
He couldn’t take the life force to replenish what he spent due to the risk of the spirits using it to hitch a ride like a rapid river to get past the wards and into the town.
He wasn’t going to make that same mistake twice.
The mountain man finally stumbled at about the 20 yard line and fumbled the metaphorical ball, which in this case was a person-sized egg of stitched together flesh weeping black goo.
It took 30 seconds of massed fire from the defenders to turn the man into scattered chunks smeared across the bare ground.
The egg followed, erupting into what felt like a hundred wailing monster spirits that fled back into the forest chased by silver bullets, arrows, bolts and spells.
His dad pumped a fist.
“Nicely done, Boy!”
“Thanks. It’s harder to keep this up when I can’t take back at least some of what I expend.”
“You’re doing fine. Just keep pacing yourself. Let the others take what you don’t need to take. Focus on the threats like that one.”
“It might be bad.”
“What?”
“Using up your assets. If too many previously loyal dirtbags are turning traitor, then questions will start being asked. They know you’re the Psionic Prime.”
“Just the demigods and some of the eidolons. They have yet to share that with the Americans. And even if they did, I’ll be tempted to erase it from their memories.”
“Good.”
He felt his dad raise a question brow.
“I mean, it’s war… one they started. You should fight by the same rules they do. That shower of piss likes deleting things from people’s memories, right? Fair is foul and foul is fair.”
“I think you don’t quite have the right understanding of that line.”
He blinked.
“Really?”
“It refers to appearances being deceiving.”
He tried to remember story and the line’s place in it and failed.
Who was it that had him thinking it meant that in war or battle—
A giant shit ball flew out from deep in the forest.
He called it out.
His dad tsked.
“They’re very committed to this tactic. It’s almost admirable.”
“You’re joking?”
“No. Not at all. It takes commitment to save your shit and gather more shit from animals and monsters. Then you have to stew them in these pits for a few days. Followed—”
“Yeah, yeah,” he waved his hands, “we know.”
“Effective biological warfare. So many diseases contained in one large ball of shit.”
An old man dressed in a mix of plate and chain and camo tactical gear raised a staff with a giant candle set at the top.
“O Lord, hear my prayer,” he intoned. “Our father, hallowed be thy name. As it was in the beginning, is now, and every shall be: world without end. Holy Wind. Amen.”
A sudden gust swept from the old man, causing the candle flame to flicker.
The shit ball stalled in the sky as if unfortunate hands had caught it.
It spun, releasing foulness to rain down.
Second ticked away, until it finally lost its momentum.
Instead of crashing, it suddenly reversed direction and flew off over the horizon.
The people cheered the old man, congratulating him on such a powerful display.
For his part the old man’s bushy brows furrowed.
Alin glanced at his dad.
“That certainly was a prayer.”
“He could’ve just said ‘Holy Wind’.”
“Sure, but doing it the way he does gives the spell a not insignificant boost.”
“But is it worth the time it takes to say all that extra crap?”
“Situational.”
“Whatever, Dad. Thanks for yeeting those things. They’re not polluting wherever you’re sending them, are they?”
“I’m pretty sure that the sun can handle them just fine. The question is are you going to be able to handle them?”
“It’ll be fine. We’ve got magic masks and a bunch of anti-disease stuff. How’s the rest of it looking like out there?”
“Same-ish. More spirits and shit balls rather than actual people. That berserker painted across the ground was their one attempt to break the walls. They aren’t going to try another. After all, they don’t have a lot of people.”
Less than 300 mountain men and women according to his dad’s census.
“Don’t worry about the children. They’re very sleepy tonight. Nothing is going to pull them out of their good dreams.”
“I’m not a fan of the cover story.”
“This whole thing was your idea.”
“Yeah, so? I can still not like it. You can just end it all and grab them in a minute. We’re taking an unnecessary risk by definition.”
“All decisions come with risks.”
He searched for another change of subject while watching the ethereal battle below.
“How’s the rabbit people thing?”
“That’s information you, as a Mist Spekter in the wilderness, so to speak, shouldn’t have.” His dad hummed. “Galen’s going to reach out to his old friends in the Golden Eagles after you get to D.C. They will share what they’ve managed to pick up from a variety of diverse sources. Some easy to trace, others less so, but none connecting to me. I can give you a brief overview if you can’t wait that long?”
“Please. It’ll help keep my mind off things it shouldn’t be on.”
“Rabbit people hordes somehow keep popping up a few days run from places that continue to refuse their ‘Rightful Destiny’. There is a complete lack of coverage in the old Americans’ media. Total blackout. Any information that makes it out of those places gets squashed immediately or is spun as fake. Either as CGI or magic or a mix of the two. Depends on which outlet is doing the reporting.”
Said outlets took their instructions from the same place.
“They occasionally insinuate that the Southern California terrorists and their allies of evil are dropping more than bombs and bullets from their flying ‘terrorships’.”
“Seriously?”
“They’re still deciding on the terminology.”
“So, I guess that means things are going to be tense?”
“Bit of an understatement, but yes. Assassination plots are sprouting like weeds. I’ll let you guess the targets.”
“Congresswoman Johnson-Lopez and her allies. That was why one of them asked her to bring us up here.”
It also explained the multiple camera crews that had met them on the way.
“They need to show that they’re on the side of the people. Plus, it looks good if she’s here personally to fight for people that haven’t accepted reunification. Assassinating a returning heroic figure is a recipe for martyrdom. It’ll buy her a shield… for a time.”
“And then the skyships come to evacuate the people anyways.”
“Irrelevant. The old Americans won’t want to show people they claim are their citizens being rescued by ‘terrorists’. She’ll know to be on the road before then. The camera crews won’t see a thing.”
“Like you?” he chuckled.
“Yeah. The camera people are quite skilled at avoiding pointing their cameras at me, aren’t they? Regardless, it’ll be edited first to highlight the congresswoman’s personal fighters in action while minimizing the locals.”
“That sucks.”
“That’s how their world works.”
If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.
His dad patted him on the shoulder.
“Alright. I need to have a word with the town council. Careful out there. I won’t be looking out for you.”
“When will I see you again?”
“Can’t say. You’ll be behind the curtain for the foreseeable future. Although, your mom has angrily demanded a birthday meeting. If not that, there’s Thanksgiving and Christmas.”
Yes.
He had viewed a message from his mom on a tablet.
She had seemed angry.
Not at him, but at the whole situation.
It had been good to see her walking and moving around like she was back to normal.
A lot had improved for her since the last time he had seen her back in the spring.
“I’d like that as long is it doesn’t risk the Quest.”
“I’ll set it up. Good luck out there!”
His dad vanished in an instant.
It never got normal.
Like reality hadn’t been reality or the opposite.
Confusing?
Always.
The radio crackled.
Perfect timing as always when his dad was involved.
“Alin, do you copy?”
“I copy, Dre?”
“How are things on your end?”
The gray was almost an outside context problem for the monster spirits.
Being immaterial beings they only had to fear silver and other esoteric weaponry. Spells also could be a threat depending on the type. It varied for the different types of spirits.
Even then, total destruction wasn’t typically on the table.
It took high levels for that.
Ray and a handful of others were the only townspeople that could reliably destroy the spirits permanently.
Although, they typically fled back into the forest before that could happen.
In time they could return.
The echoes of Alin’s relatives didn’t allow them to flee.
“No issues on my end. Is it time to sortie?”
“Once I check that it’s the same with the other quadrants.”
“Copy that.”
“Gotcha. Dre, out.”
It was a small team that met at the southern gate.
The congresswoman didn’t look pleased about Galen refusing a camera crew.
“They’re a combat camera crew, Captain,” she said in a tone Alin had once heard often when he was a child. “Highly experienced and well-leveled.”
The lead reporter did look more like a grizzled soldier than anything else.
“We’ve been in some of the hottest fighting embedded with the Combined Armed Forces. I’ve been doing this for 15 years. We know how to take care of ourselves and, more importantly, stay out of your way. I understand your concerns, captain, but we’ll prove them baseless.”
“I’m not doubting you,” Galen said. “You’re okay with risking your lives. I’m not. This is a stealth Quest. The last thing I want is to put down body-jacked reporters hitting us from behind.”
The lead reporter petitioned the congresswoman.
“Ma’am—”
“You heard the captain. This is his area of expertise. Not mine. I guess all that’s left is for me to wish you brave men and women good luck.” She nodded and strode off to where it looked like Reg and Milly were setting up with yet another camera crew for some kind of speech or briefing.
“Everyone ready?” Galen regarded them.
8 total to take on a few hundred mountain people and countless spirits.
Ray, reluctantly Silveraxe, nodded at Alin.
It had been the most the man had acknowledged him since they had arrived in town over a month ago.
The man had spent time on his dad’s teams, but not nearly as much after the Bountiful Decade began.
“Any last second concerns?” Galen continued.
“Nope,” Dre said. “Plan’s all set, captain.”
“Alright. Alin, you’re on point. Once we’re past the tree line don’t hold back.”
----------------------------------------
Hearts and minds.
They could change often.
He could change them.
But, not for this.
“Councilperson Rogers, are you changing your mind? You have the right to do that, of course. Though, it is disappointing. I can only wish you the best of luck with your future endeavors, whether it is to bravely defend your town from the various hordes or to make your way to American-held territory.”
The old councilman stared at him for an uncomfortable moment, mouth opened and closed a few times as the words struggled to cross the divide between thought and verbalization.
Cal held no sympathy for the old man’s worries because they came from a place of greed.
Councilman Rogers wanted a guarantee that the status he enjoyed would continue in Southern California.
“Apologies, councilperson, but I have to preempt you. I’m very busy. On a tight schedule. I’m sure it’s the same for you guys.”
Not entirely true.
He was busy and on a tight schedule, but he wasn’t planning on going far until Alin’s Quest was done. It had been a little lie to tell his son that the Mist Spekters were completely on their own.
He couldn’t help himself.
A father understood, intellectually, that he couldn’t protect his child forever. A father also understood, emotionally, that he would protect his child forever.
“If you aspire to political office then you’ll need to follow the rules. Just like anyone else. I understand if that’s a deal-breaker for you, councilperson. But, don’t worry. It won’t affect our agreements with anyone else. Like I said at the beginning, I’m all about the freedom to choose. Your change of mind won’t impact the rest of your people.”
He regarded the councilman expectantly.
A bright flash momentarily lit up the mist-shrouded night. Followed by a boom a split-second later.
He feigned a flinch.
“Wow! That was a bit surprising wasn’t it.”
“I trust in our fighters. Their experience is only surpassed by their bravery.” The youngest councilperson smiled down at him.
“I do as well, Councilperson Booker.”
“Please, Cal. I already told you it’s D’rica.”
Power play from someone less than half his age.
The last councilperson chimed in… well… barged in through the wall like a giant, anthropomorphic pitcher of red sugar juice.
“No one is changing their minds,” Councilwoman Silveraxe said flatly.
All the councilpeople were armed and lightly armored.
At least a handgun and a simple melee weapon.
Ray’s mom, on the other hand, was fully kitted out.
In fact, he could smell the powder wafting from her guns.
Recently fired for she had been on the wall.
The old woman was a legit fighter.
She hadn’t always been one according to Ray’s stories.
“Councilwoman Silveraxe—”
“I told you to not call me that.”
“Oh? I’m sorry. I forgot. It’s just that’s what everyone around here calls you and it slipped my mind.”
It did not, in fact, slip his mind. “As I was saying, if there are any second thoughts then that’s okay. I can ask the rangers to shuffle seating arrangements, so that any cancellations can be replaced. That way the last skyship will have enough spots just in case those second thoughts turn into third thoughts.”
“It’s settled. If there are any damned fools that want to commit suicide then leave them to it,” Councilwoman Silveraxe said. “I’ve got nothing more to say about that.” She left the meeting room at a brisk pace.
Indeed, Ray’s mom hadn’t bothered to take a seat in the first place like the other two.
Councilman Rogers opened his mouth.
“I’m going to cut you off right there councilperson. We’re not interested in paying for your properties. You get the one time payment and an equivalent house to what you physically reside in here.”
The people of Southern California had overwhelming decided against land-lording.
Technically, he and his siblings owned quite a bit of property.
Granted they didn’t rent them out.
When it came time for people to take them they simply transferred ownership.
From that point on the new owner was responsible for the place.
There were still many more homes, apartments, hotels, motels and other dwellings than there were people to occupy them.
“I struggle to wrap my head around it,” Councilwoman Booker said.
“Well, we, as a collective, don’t do renting or mortgages. Home ownership is easily attainable with the minimum of effort put into almost anything. One could simply do the little Quests that repeatedly pop up for their class or classes and receive enough Universal Points to meet most people’s minimum standards for comfort. If one wants luxury then it’s just a matter of pursuing something their passionate about. They’ll invariably be rewarded. By the spires at the least, if not by others. That’s perhaps the one good thing about the spires. It’s not at all like how it was before. You were born after, I believe?”
She nodded.
“There are degrees to which different places have decided to accept the changes. Old America, for example, tries to live in the past. You can ask the councilman about that. I believe he owned several buildings in this very town. Not the businesses, right? Just the buildings.” He feigned understanding. “Leaving behind what you know is tough. I get it. I’ve been there plenty of times. But, we have to look to the future otherwise the tide of history will swallows us right up like a slow tsunami.”
The tide in this case might turn out to be more white-furred and toothy if the spirits didn’t get them first.
“The spires favors conflict. And there are more types of conflict than the obvious. Perhaps, a conflict between what you think you are and what you truly yearn to be, Councilperson Rogers. Think of what brought you some of your happiest moments.” He paused to let the old man’s memories churn. Something bubbled to the surface almost instantly without him having to pull. “You were in a metal band all the way from middle school right up to college, weren’t you?”
Narrowed eyes filled with suspicion. “How did you know that?”
“We do our research. Don’t think we didn’t vet you.”
“I was… I had to stop or my parents wouldn’t have paid for college.”
“And you majored in what they wanted?”
The old man snorted. “Why wouldn’t I? They made an investment. They weren’t going to waste a cent on me taking up basket weaving.”
“None of those things matter anymore, do they? How much are the cash, silver and gold in your safe worth? Everything we ever had in a bank or an investment portfolio might as well have never existed. Old America brought some of those servers back, but who really cares when a baker can bake a cake and get enough Universal Points to cover their meals for the day. A tray of cupcakes and a few batches of cookies and that’s the upkeep fee for a one bedroom apartment for the same day. That’s not even counting the points they can get by selling what they made, heck they can trade them right back to the farmers that were responsible for the ingredients.”
“It’s all some commie shit,” Councilman Rogers groused, crossing his arms over his thin chest.
“Words that are ultimately meaningless to the life lived. And it’s not technically Communism. At least that part. It’s more of a barter-trade thing. If it makes you feel better, you can still profit. It’s just that everyone else can as well. It’s just a lot harder to rig the game now. You’d have to stoop to some evil things to get back to the old days. Magic slave collars and the like if you’re looking to create cheap labor like the old days. Or you can do old America things and withhold supplies that magically appear in stores with a minimal infusion of Universal Points.”
He fudged the truth there just a bit.
There was nothing minimal about the cost to re-stock the stores.
At least for the average person that didn’t do the worst Quests and fight the worst things.
“Or raise prices so that the minimum survival level requires working unnecessary jobs for the majority of one’s waking hours.” He regarded the old councilman with an unblinking stare. “You can have that. It’s as close to a life as you remember from the before days. Or you can take up that vintage bass you’ve got in your safe. Think of it as retirement, to use an old world word.”
Councilman Rogers stood suddenly, collected his weapons and stomped out of the office.
That left him with the young councilwoman.
She leaned forward and batted her eyes.
Yeah… no.
“I believe that concludes our meeting. Excuse me, councilperson. I’ve got a busy schedule. A lot of calls to make. My wife’s expecting an update.”
“Oh… I see. Of course. Thank you for everything, Cal. My fellow council… persons may not show it, but they really appreciate your help in getting our people out of this deathtrap.”
“We’re always ready to help. People just have to ask. Barely any strings attached.”
He slipped into an empty side office while making the people in the building think they watched him walk out the front door.
The first call was to Nila.
“Hey, Love.”
The life-sized holographic projection of the eternal love of his life scowled at him.
“Sorry, a bit late. I had to convince an old man not to commit suicide.”
“Well… did you?”
“I think so… I hope so.”
He could’ve made the old man or nudged him, but he had meant what he had said.
In this case the choice was important and Councilman Rogers was old.
He wouldn’t have treated a 10 year old the same way.
“Okay. Good. How’s our Boy?”
“He’s doing well. But, you know that. You’ve seen pictures and videos.”
“It’s not the same as seeing him in person.”
“That’s true and you’ll be happy to know that I deem him healthy. Sending you a little video he recorded for you… and his scans. I showed him what you recorded.”
“I get why he can’t keep it with him, but that doesn’t mean I’m not salty about it.” She scowled harder. “He’s on the spirit Quest right now?”
“Yeah. Left a little bit a go. They’re doing good so far. I don’t expect too much trouble.”
“Yes. Because you’re there.”
“I’m loosely observing. I can’t interfere in a potentially obvious way since I don’t know where the demigod is, which means I can’t rule out the possibility that he’s also observing.”
“What if you just drop those rod things on all their bunkers? Then our Boy doesn’t have to go into that place.”
“You know why.”
“I still don’t like it and I like it less every day.”
“I don’t like it either.”
“Fine. Okay. I’m going to watch Boy’s message. Keep him safe.”
“Love you.”
“Love you too,” she grunted and hung up.
Well… she was angrier than she had been when he had left a few hours ago.
The next call wasn’t through his PID, nor a phone, but through a magic crystal ball the size of a basketball he pulled from a bag of holding.
The small, rickety desk made for an unstable platform, but he held everything in place with telekinesis.
He said the magic words and the glass surface shimmered for several minutes before a face appeared.
The old witch wore a mask that was almost indistinguishable from a real face even to him.
Grotesque really.
The stereotypical child-eating witch of the grimmer sort of fairy tales, which were all the traditional ones.
Baba, as she demanded to be called, was secretly named Oksana.
From Russia.
Moscow specifically and her real face was much younger and much better looking.
Model-like really.
She served as the main court witch of the tsarina and her harem of tsars.
Or was that a reverse harem?
Yes.
Yes it was.
She didn’t get along with Wytchraven according to Eron’s gossip.
“Like two wet cats in a sack,” Eron had said knowingly once.
“You have been granted a rare audience,” Baba intoned before leaning closer, distorting her visage so all he could see was the hairs sticking out of her long, wart-encrusted hooked nose and a hint of one over-sized, red-ringed pupil. “She’s in a bad mood,” she whispered. “Don’t mess it up for me.”