He stopped dead, staring at the message.

[Connection found. Do you wish to connect? Y/N]

Holy shit. Was he really seeing this? Had it really—?

He stopped thinking about it and smacked [Y] so hard he probably gave the neural interface whiplash. Data streamed briefly down in a column, the security protocols running their tasks too fast for him to read.

Then, a different ping—lower, more serious—chimed with a warning.

[Error: Security unidentified. User unknown.]

This time, he was frozen with more of a frown than shock. User unknown? For a few seconds, he thought the HUD meant him, and he did a quick scan through the menus in case he’d somehow been logged out—that perhaps the upgrade had updated something but hadn’t updated the fact that he was the one accessing the system.

But—no. Everything was fine.

It wasn’t referring to him, but to someone else.

Nerves darted through him. Flecks of hot and cold, like darts of snow mixed with swirling embers. His chest tightened, breath pausing as he churned the possibilities.

Someone else? Who?

And why was their security registering as ‘unidentified’?

He wracked his brain, trying to remember if the upgrade had pushed through the communication network credentials before he’d been Wizard-of-Ozed out of Nashville. He thought they had, but maybe something had messed up during the Wizard-of-Ozing?

“Matteo?”

His name, and a touch on his arm, brought him back to the room around him. He’d been so focused on the HUD messages that he’d almost completely blocked out his physical surroundings.

A rookie move, except—he trusted Doneil with his life, at this point.

Concern touched the elf’s brow as he gave Matteo a glance-over. Warmth from the elf’s fingertips on his skin told him he was doing a subtle prod with his healing magic, scanning Matteo’s body for injury. “Are you okay?”

A smile tugged the corner of Matteo’s lips. Are you okay?—one of the first phrases he’d learned in Janessi.

“Yes. I am okay.” He made a tapping gesture to the side of his head, just in front of his ear. “Brain machine.”

He’d told them about the HUD. It had been hard not to. By the time they’d defeated the demon’s undead army and made it back to Pemberlin Castle, almost everyone had noticed it flashing in his eyes. Treng had been the first to bring it up. Catrin had told him about it, apparently, referring to it as ‘something in his eyes’ and ‘possible night vision’.

So, they knew it existed.

Explaining it to people who had no concept of its technology, however, had been interesting. He’d expected a struggle to describe it, but they’d mostly just looked intrigued, then asked if it was goblin technology.

Yeah. He’d had to look up the word for ‘goblin’.

Doneil looked at him curiously. “Brain machine okay?”

Matteo almost laughed. Was his brain machine okay? No. His HUD hadn’t been okay since the second he’d landed in this new world. Technically, it hadn’t even been okay before then—it had been halfway through its onboarding sequence.

Still, he offered a weak smile and nodded, then indicated for Doneil to continue on. The elf turned his touch into a pat and did so, and they entered the inn’s common room.

The area spread, a blend of hotel lobby, rest area, and restaurant. The woodwork continued in the form of thick ceiling beams and well-worn hardwood on the floor. The tables were partly carved, a floral pattern around the trim and some form of hopefully-mythical-sized wolf claws for feet.

Away from the serving bar, the floor changed from wood to polished flagstone, the front of the inn jutting smoothly into a solarium where more of its patrons could sit. Another ancient, gnarled wisteria tree trailed its vines along the inside of the structure, the violet of its flowers standing out against the rich, polished wood of the ceiling joist.

Matteo surveyed the area and the people within it. A bar keep, a waitress, several loose clusters of patrons. He dismissed the non-humans—the party of small, wiry people and their green-skinned troll-like companion at one table; the lone elf at a corner table.

They wouldn’t have a HUD.

A brief scan of the humans, however, didn’t fare much better. None wore the obvious uniform of the US Guardian Corps. Nor did any wear the slightly-less-obvious buzz or crew cut typical of a service member. Not even an overgrown one.

Most, in fact, had long hair.

He followed Doneil to a table at the side, slid his bag underneath, and sat.

Catrin was already staring at him. Analyzing.

Nothing got past that one. He didn’t bother to hide it, either. Not from them. As he sat back in his seat, already hearing Doneil already explaining his oddness, he slid a few more commands over the HUD’s interface, then turned his attention back to the room, casually surveying its inhabitants for a second time while the computer completed its queries.

[Command: Report ‘User unknown’.]

[Searching… Searching… Found. Analyzing…]

[Report: Unknown user. Individual communication unit. Security platform not recognized. Communication unit not recognized. Identification not recognized.]

Well. That was a whole lot of nothing.

Was this actually an unknown user, or was his HUD’s upgrade borking it?

He checked the connection. It was still there, hanging in his HUD’s catch-basin like a lure.

If he wanted to, he could override his HUD’s security protocols and force the connection. Or—

He slid through the menus again, looking for its sandbox programs. There was a way to connect with unknown users without allowing deeper access to one’s HUD. A secondary program that segregated the communication into its own sub-partition—it’s ‘sandbox’—separate from the rest of the software running the neural interface in his brain.

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The HUD flashed him another warning, in case he was an idiot.

[Error: Security unidentified. User unknown.]

He didn’t blame it. He was an idiot.

However, because he was smart for an idiot, he activated the sandbox application before directing his HUD to connect.

[Connecting… Connecting… Connection established.]

So, the Unknown User had let him in.

He sent them a ping.

<>

He waited. Then waited some more, shifting his focus to the people in the room again. He looked for some sign—any sign—that one of them was more focused on the inside of their head than the surrounding room.

But, if they were, he couldn’t tell.

Hell, the Unknown User probably wasn’t even here. HUDs had a five mile range. More, depending on the terrain. And if they had a satellite to bounce the connection, which they didn’t. Unless the goblins were much better at technology than he figured.

He eyed the group of non-humans at the other table. A few of them eyed him back.

He sent Unknown User another ping.

<>

He stared at the sentence, mind churning.

Come to think of it, given the five mile range—it was more likely Unknown User wasn’t in the inn. Otherwise, his HUD would have discovered the connection while they were still on the road.

Interesting.

His HUD chimed.

[Error: Connection no longer available.]

Damn. Had they wandered out of range? Had they even received his message?

No. They must have.

Had they purposefully disconnected?

He had his HUD search again, only to come back with its now-familiar message.

[Searching… Searching… Searching… Error: Connection not found.]

He let out a sigh and slumped back in the chair.

The others stared at him. All three of them. Plus a few of the maybe-goblins at the other table.

Yeah. He had been acting weird, hadn’t he?

He gave them a dismissive gesture and tried his best to explain, speaking the words in a halting, broken string of Janessi:

“There was… maybe friend. In brain machine. But they left.”

Catrin pinned him with a stare. “A maybe friend? Friend like you?”

Like Doneil, she’d taken to speaking a slow, fragmented version of Janessi with him.

“Yes,” he said. Then, sensing her potential worries, he went on: “Don’t worry. Far away friend.”

“Far away friend?” Her eyebrows twitched. “How far?”

“Five miles,” he said.

All three of their eyes widened—partly in surprise, mostly in doubt.

“Five miles?” Doneil said, emphasizing the miles.

Ah. Right. He hadn’t actually told them its range, had he? He’d talked about it connecting to a type of star, but not its local range.

“Yes,” he said. “Miles.”

“Your brain machine is—” Matteo quickly lost what Prince Nales was saying, his words coming too quickly, but Doneil dumbed it down for him: “Your brain machine can talk that far away?”

“Yes,” he said. “It can.”

***

The inn curled around her senses like a cloak, comforting and concealing, with touches of familiarity.

It was the flowers, she thought. And the wood. And the stone. The way everything seemed to meld together. Erlin was fond of its flowers and, like the elves, chose to interweave them into as many places as possible.

Well, as humanly possible, anyway. Though she was tempted to give them a large, unexpected boost. The dogwood in the courtyard kept slipping its presence toward her in woodcraft. Like a small creature enfolding itself inside the cloak the inn felt like.

Still, what Erlin had done was impressive. The inn itself was impressive. Even more so for it being human.

Someone here, perhaps multiple someones, clearly loved plants.

The day’s journey had been well-traveled and uneventful. No demons nor brigands. She could perhaps take credit for the former—they’d passed through the same woods she and Doneil had been hunting in yesterday. The forest had felt like a well-fed beast today, languishing with a full belly. Its ease and contentment had made her relax. She’d found herself enjoying the sunshine more, the trill of insects and birds. The scent of pine and moss had stayed with her nearly the entire trek.

But eventually, in bits and pieces, patches of half-tended fields and half-hidden homesteads, they’d left the forest behind. By the time they’d rode out through Erlin’s growing fields, all her old aches and worries had resurfaced, and she turned a more-watchful eye onto the changing of their landscape.

Erlin was larger than Brighton. More of a waypoint, and less familiar.

More chance of trouble, especially in these times. Especially with a Lorkan prince in tow.

Someone would see them, and they’d talk. Tell others.

And… so what? She’d known that would happen. It was inevitable. Would have happened with Prince Tarris, too. Fewer people would have talked about her being abroad with Tarris, however. Raidt elves protecting Raidt elves was normal. Raidt elves protecting Lorkan royalty were far less normal, especially alone.

She’d considered whether she could use Matteo to bluff a more normal-seeming semblance, but it had become quickly apparent that would not work.

The man was too… strange. Too open. And didn’t speak enough Janessi.

Definitely not a believable bluff. Especially when he was loudly talking about his ‘brain machine’ talking to people.

She stared at him, barely processing his words.

The thing in his head could talk to people five miles away?

How?

He’d said it wasn’t magic—been vehement it wasn’t, actually—but… how?

Even Treng couldn’t get that much out of him, though the two had doubtless tried. Something to do with sound being waves and the waves somehow… communicating.

She was half-tempted to pester the table of goblins about it later. Indeed, a few of them had already looked curiously in Matteo’s direction, no doubt drawn by overheard mentions of ‘brain machines.’

They looked to be Luima Guild, too. Artificers of some specialization. The ogre sitting with them—the brute strength part of their personal defense—had a Guild crest, too. Sworn loyalty.

She and Catrin had assessed each other when they’d first entered.

Perhaps she could talk to her first. Get information, and perhaps an introduction. Going through bodyguards rather than direct made them like you better—as long as you weren’t going through them with a blade.

“Maybe we’ll find Matteo’s ‘maybe friend’ tomorrow,” she muttered to Nales.

“I’d be interested in meeting them,” Nales said.

“You realize,” she said in the same low tone, carefully enunciating the words so he could feel every syllable. “With his abilities, they could snipe you from a distant treetop and you’d be none the wiser?”

“That sounds like a problem for you to worry about, rnari.” Nales’ tone was light, teasing. He stifled a yawn. Humans, she found, wore out quicker than elves, and even she was tired from the day’s ride. Tired and ready for one of the four beds they’d booked. Nales went on, more seriously: “I’d be very interested in what a ‘friend’ of his might have to say about the situation we find ourselves in, and what we are going looking for.”

Nales’ alleged ‘dimensional weak spots’ were another two days’ ride away, but it had been three weeks since Abiermar. If anyone from Matteo’s world had found themselves in this one due to a weak spot, they’d had more than ample time to find their way to Erlin.

Even if they couldn’t read Janessi, the signposts had arrows. And the numbers, according to Matteo, were the same.

Plus, Matteo’s ‘friend’ may have found himself randomly planted here, just like what had happened to Matteo.

He hadn’t appeared in any alleged ‘weak spots’. Not ones Nales’ demon book had documented, anyway.

“I’ll endeavor to find some ‘friends’ for you, prince. For now, I’d like to find us some food.”

She made to stand, but Doneil was already getting up. And he used her shoulder to do it, pushing her back into the chair as he rose.

“Sit, rnari. I’ll take care of it. I know the cook.”

Of course he did. He’d been this way before. Multiple times, probably. Even before he’d left the Raidt.

Rangers got to do the fun things. She should have been one.

Too bad her bloodline had other plans.

That doesn’t matter anymore. I’m undersworn now.

Still a guard, technically, but… it felt different. Like she was less a guard and more a… partner.

She scoffed inwardly at herself for the thought.

Yeah, right. Royals do not partner with their underlings. I am nothing more than a sharp, well-honed tool.

Yet—Nales did heed her opinion. He did listen to her. Sometimes. But that ‘sometimes’ was more serious heed than anything Prince Tarris had shown her in her all-too-brief tenure as his assigned guard. He’d treated her as no more than a toy, or perhaps one of those cute small, puffy dogs the human courts occasionally gifted them.

Small. Amusing. Safe to play with.

She saw that now. Time had, at least, given her that hindsight. He’d buttered her up, soothed her ego. Made her feel as if she were a friend, as if he took her blood oath as seriously as she had.

Then he’d gone and forced her hand. And she’d broken his.

But despite that—despite all that and her now-probably-forsaken-blood-oath… the past three weeks, she’d felt more rnari than she’d had in years. She’d certainly done more than she would have if she’d stayed at the Raidt.

She watched Doneil lean against the tavern bar and strike up a conversation with the barkeep. Within a few seconds, the man’s smile had turned genuine, and he leaned in as well, as if the two of them were sharing a secret.

Then, she felt a looming presence over her shoulder, and both her remaining companions looked up. Far up.

“Rnari,” the goblin’s ogre guard said in a mountain accent. “I want to speak with you. Outside.”