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Dream Drive Ch. 01

By: Over_Red



Author's Note:

This is intended to be a story-driven tale with sexual aspects, rather than a sex-driven tale connected by pieces of story. Some chapters may not have sex scenes at all.

All aspects of the story are fictional. All characters that participate in sexual activity are over the age of 18.



Dream Drive Ch. 01



"...that's really sexy," Jackson said.

"What? This?" She folded her legs back the other way.

"No. When you bite you lip."

"Huh?" She blinked. "I didn't even realize. I do that in real life too, I guess. So...you like it?" She bit her lip again and batted her eyelashes.

"Yeah. I do."

"What else do you like?"

"A lot of things," Jackson said. He walked up to the bed and pressed himself between her legs. He pushed her onto her back with a kiss. He raised himself back up and cupped her cheek. "Just about everything."

"...would you...say that I'm hot?"

"Yeah," Jackson said. "Definitely."

"You want to fuck me?" she whispered.

The question was blunt, surprising. He found himself immensely turned on.

But maybe they were the same. Playing in a dream, an endless masquerade, still wondering if their masks would fall off and it would all vanish.

The thoughts only flashed for an instant. His body was flushed; his mind felt hazy. He didn't have any room left for self-doubt.

"Yeah," he growled. He kissed her neck, and hissed the words. "I want to fuck you."

Her legs wrapped around his waist. He explored her body with his his lips, kissing her neck, her shoulders, her chin. He felt at the curve of her hips and her breasts. She arched her back, exposing herself to him as he ran his hands over her body.

"Take off your shirt," she said.

Jackson stood. He pulled his shirt up over his head. It stuck on his elbow. He fought with it for a moment, then flung it off.

When he looked back down, she was naked, except for a thin black thong. Her smile was back. "You know there's an option for that in private rooms. Taking off clothes, I mean."

"...I do now."

"Heh."

The dress had been revealing, but seeing her revealed was approaching a religious experience for him. Her body was perfectly proportioned. Her skin was smooth, flawless. She was perfectly symmetrical in a way only a computer could emulate, almost doll-like.

She made a sexy pout with her lips. "Like what you see?"

"Yes."

"So..." She extended her foot and gently pressed it to the bulge in his pants. "Do something about it." He brushed her leg aside, leaned down, and kissed her naked breast. She groaned. "Mmm..."

Her flesh was soft in his mouth. He licked her nipple a few times, then let it fall from his lips. It hardened as he watched, the little nub rising up above tiny pink areola. He dove back down and licked, sucked, bit at it. It was salty, musky. He liked it.

He moved to her other breast. He was more aggressive, sucking, using his teeth. She murmured encouragement. He tried taking as much of her breast as he could into his mouth, pulling the flesh with a hard suction, harder, before finally letting it snap back with a wet suckling sound.

He felt a hand on his crotch. She was stroking him through his jeans. She gripped him tight until his erection formed a clear outline in his pants. "I want that," she said, "in me."

"Then why are you still wearing a thong?"

"Because I want you to take it off."

Jackson felt a slight nervousness as he undid his belt buckle. He hadn't modified anything down there. The options had been available, but it had seemed crass to even look at the genitals menu when he was designing his avatar. He hadn't exactly predicted this situation.

He pulled his underwear and jeans down together. He was hard enough that his cock flicked out of his clothing. He glanced up at her, watching for a reaction.

She bit her lip. Her neon eyes glowed.

He felt a surge of confidence. He stepped out of his jeans and placed his hands on the string of her thong. She lifted her legs as he drew the cloth back over her thighs, then her ankles. And then they were both naked.

He could see her pussy. Her vagina. It was small, and tucked in. There was a trimmed brown patch of hair just above it.

"Put it in," she said. "I want it in me."

He lowered himself over her. He didn't need an explanation. He slowly pushed the tip of his cock into her sex.

That first penetration was almost frustrating. She couldn't take him very far. He could feel the warmth, a hot, wet softness tingling the tip of his cock. He wanted all of it.

He drew back, and pushed in again. She stretched a little further for him, wrapping up a good third of his length. "Oh, shit." Her hands clutched at the comforter. "Fuck. Just, slow, at first. Please."

He drew back out, and then pushed back in. She felt hotter, and he got in farther. On his fourth slow stroke, he bottomed out inside of her.

He inhaled as her heat engulfed him. She moaned. "Fuck. Fuck, that's good. You're so fucking hard."

He drew back out most of the way, then plunged in again. She gave a muffled yelp. He did it again, then again, setting a steady rhythm. Her breasts quivered as his hips met hers. "Oh, fuck yes. Fuck me like that. Get that big cock in me. Just like that." 

Her stream of words urged him on. He kept it slow, full, and steady. Her ankles crossed behind his back, locking him close. She groaned as he bottomed out again. She grabbed her left breast and worked it in her hand. Taking that as a cue, he leaned down and took her right breast into his mouth as he slipped in and out of her.

"Ooh, yeah," she said. He felt her hands run through his hair. "Suck on my nipple while you fuck me. Mmm."

An idle thought drifted across his head-it was lucky he had a talkative partner. He didn't have to guess at what he was doing.

He'd been so concerned with getting it right that he'd barely paid attention to himself-but now that needy burn was back. He could feel it building with each push into her pussy. Her hole was wet, slick, accepting. He could see the point in the distance when he wouldn't be able to hold back. It was getting close, fast.

"Fuck me harder," she said.

He suckled on her breast on last time, then let it go so he could push into her harder. Her mewling turned into a high, short moan as he repeated the stroke. He shoved into her again, harder, faster. Her hips rocked against him, meeting his thrusts.

"Yeah baby, mmm, ooh, shit. Fuck, you're so deep in me. Fuck me. Faster. Fuck me harder! Shit, yes. Fuuck..." Her last shout morphed into a bestial groan. She was panting. A red blush bloomed across her skin.

He was lost in the moment, pounding himself into her, driven by the pleasure building in his crotch as much as the words shouted at his ears. Their pace filled the room with a hard wet slap, slap, slap. Her breasts shook every time he slammed into her.

He leaned down again, and he was kissing at her chest, then her neck, half-biting, gnawing in a mindless sort of possessiveness. His toes worked for purchase on the carpet as he shoved into her again and again. He felt her nails rake his back. Her perfume wafted over him, mixed with the aroma of sex and sweat.

"Fuck me! Fuck me until I come! I'm gonna come, don't stop, don't stop, just like that, just like that!"

His words were hard grunts. "Me...too."

"Come with me!" she shouted. "Come inside me! Fuck meee...!"

Her last 'me' turned into a shriek. She transformed into a knot of tension, arching up, legs squeezing his back, nails scraping. He felt the tight walls of her sex flutter around his cock. That set him off.

He growled something through his teeth. He buried himself into her, as deep as he could go, and came hard. He could feel his muscles clench up, release, clench again. He squeezed off bursts cum into her until the spurts turned into a sluggish dribble.

He fell over her, propping himself on his elbows so he didn't crush her. They were both heaving their breaths. They sat there for a time, breathing, slowly recovering from the high.

"...shit..." Sophia shifted her hips. "...are you still hard?"

Jackson blinked. He was still inside her. He'd softened somewhat, but not that much. "Yeah...mostly."

"All that for me?"

"It's definitely for you."

She bit her lip, then licked it. "Want to go again?"





Dream Drive Ch. 01



At the base of the giant's trunk, there was a city, nestled in a ring around nature's leviathan. The buildings looked like toy houses at this distance. He could see the pointed roofs of church belfries, the crenellations of watchtowers.

"This is my world. Isis."

Jackson turned. Standing next to him, wearing the navy robes of some sort of wizard, was none other than Emil Mohammed himself. The man's ink black hair was splayed down his head. He had a salt-and-pepper beard. He looked at Jackson with grey eyes.

"Let me show you."

Emil raised a hand. A pale green orb formed around himself and Jackson. It floated them up and off the ground, and they soared down the hill. The water in the river was tossed back as they rushed forward.

Their bubble blasted through the gates of the city and down a brick road. People jumped out of the way as they flew by. A horse reared up, stopping the carriage it was pulling. The townsfolk pointed and shouted.

They flew up to the fortress that ringed the very base of the tree trunk, and then over the wall, and up, up the tree. He could feel the pressure on his cheeks as their bubble accelerated. He glanced over his shoulder. The ground was rapidly shrinking behind them.

"Let me show you!" Emil shouted.

They punctured the cloudline. White fog blocked Jackson's sight. Water collected on his skin. He closed his eyes and wiped his face.

And then, Jackson was above the clouds, floating, drifting in a blinding blue sky. Branches like roads twined around him. Huge leaves stood out from the branches like ferns.

He drifted down and settled onto his feet. Thick rivulets of bark jutted up into his shoes. A lone wind made the giant leaf next to him creak and shift. Emil was gone.

Jackson heard metal sliding on metal. He looked in the direction of the sound.

An angel was hovering nearby. It had no mouth. A red halo floated above its head. It was wearing shining armor. It had two great, feathered wings, but they didn't flap to keep it aloft.

It had just drawn its sword.

Its words resounded inside Jackson's head. [You should not have come here.]

The angel exploded forward, sword ready. Jackson flung his hands up.

He reeled back and sat down on asphalt, breathing. He was back in the Hub, back in the city. A little prompt asked him if he wanted to replay the trailer.

Jackson stood. He felt like a live wire. He clenched his fists. "Holy shit!"

He smacked the replay button.





Dream Drive Ch. 01



You can access the game menu by saying 'game menu' at any time.

A red bar was sitting in the corner of his vision. Either he hadn't noticed it before, or it had just got there. He cleared his throat. "Game menu."

A slightly translucent screen appeared in front of him, hanging in midair. On one half of the screen was his avatar, looking at him with a neutral expression. He'd expected empty boxes-spots where he could put equipment-but he didn't see anything.

The right half of the screen was just blank. At the bottom were a few numbers, and underneath them was an options button, and another button that read 'skill trees'.

Carry Weight: 0.00/35.00 (0%)

Health: 50.00/50.00

Status Effects: None

He tried the options button first. The only thing that came up was the ability to quit the game. He tried it, experimentally. A smaller box with red text flashed in front of him.

Warning: If you log off without secure shelter, your avatar will remain behind for 30 seconds. During this time, you will be completely vulnerable. Think carefully before taking this risk.

That was a dangerous level of persistence. If he quit the game in middle of nowhere, a monster could come up and kill him. Or, hell, another player could kill him. He didn't know anything about player-on-player combat, so he had to assume the worst. Come to think of it, he had no idea what would happen if he died.

He'd be alone for a little while. Jackson had signed on to be in the beta, but so did millions of other people. Crux was only taking five thousand, chosen by random lottery. Jackson didn't like those odds, so he'd ensured he'd get a copy through the Top Gamer contest. He'd quit early, forgoing his scheduled match so that he could play Isis. He might be the very first person in the game.

He canceled his logout and tapped the skill tree button. Another box opened in front of him, this time asking him if he wanted to view active or passive skills. He hit the active panel. It was entirely blank. 

He closed the active skills box by hitting an X in the corner, then opened the passive skill box. There was a single tab that showed an image of a man's running feet. It was labeled 'Sprinting'. He tapped it. Yet another box opened.

Sprinting: Run at high speeds. Skill level effects maximum speed and duration. (Modifers: Vit, Agi)

Level: 1

Progress: 0.13%

Alright. So the only skill he'd used was the only skill that showed up. Maybe trying different things would fill in the gaps. He assumed that the 0.13% was from his escape attempt. But this was neat-if he ran a lot, he'd get better at running. Made sense.

He wondered how good at running he could get. He wasn't very athletic-hell, he couldn't remember the last time he'd sprinted in real life. But would he cap out at Olympics levels of running? Or could he go further?

And the bit at the end-modifiers. Vit and Agi. Jackson had played a lot of games, and he recognized the shortened version of those statistics immediately-Vitality and Agility. So, he did have stats, and they affected his performance, even if he couldn't see them. At least, for the moment.

"Close menu." The layers of boxes and screens vanished. A moment later, more floating blue words scrawled themselves in front of him.

You were a slave to angels. You worked to build the next level of the tower, Babel. Human generations have been born and died before a single level of Babel has been completed, but the angels have an eternity to wait.

It is written that the star-marked pose a grave danger to the angels and normal humans. Such cursed individuals, marked by darkness, are banished to the base of the tower.

The tower is vast. Its breadth was made great, and its height must be still greater. The angels built themselves cities in which to live upon each level, as did the humans. 

Those humans left behind when one level was completed created their own cities, countries, and civilizations. Some thrived, while others died. Some scraped together what they could from the ruins of those that came before. Perhaps some have forgotten from whence they came.

Powerful magics course through the tower, remnants of the passing angels, their artifacts and guardians, their essence forged into the walls and rocks. Magic unchecked gives rise to things both great and terrible. For magic is the power of change, and change begets change.

And change...well. Change can be good, and it can be bad.



The text vanished.

He glanced up and down the tunnel. The water kept dripping. He was alone, naked, and relatively helpless. If he was going to survive, he needed a weapon.

Jackson picked a direction at random and started walking.



Dream Drive Ch. 02



 Author's Note:

I was very flattered and encouraged by the comments on the first chapter of the story. Thank you for the feedback.

This next portion is twice as long as the first chapter. It's juicy on action and characterization, but if you're looking for something more like erotica, and less like literature, you may want to return later.

This is intended to be a story-driven tale with sexual aspects, rather than a sex-driven tale connected by pieces of story. Some chapters may not have sex scenes at all.

All aspects of the story are fictional. All characters that participate in sexual activity are over the age of 18.





Dream Drive Ch. 02



He proceeded deeper into the maze. The rooms were all made of the same aging stone. What little furniture there was looked like it would collapse if he so much as breathed on it funny. One of the rooms had several flat pallets of straw - five, in total. He'd only killed two. There might be more of them.

He found his way to another hallway. A rat squeaked at his feet. He felt like it had been following him. The creature's chipped buck teeth reminded him of the rattok's snarling maw. He lined up his spear, then jabbed down, skewering the rat.

It was dead instantly. A tiny white wisp merged with Jackson. He'd gained a point of essence.

He began killing rats whenever he saw them. He accumulated 8 essence in a few minutes. He didn't see any more rats. He wasn't sure what bothered him more - the fact that he was slaughtering rats for experience points, or the idea that they were actively avoiding him.

He was making steady progress through the tunnels, but without any sense of direction, he had no idea if that was a good thing. As he walked, he realized that his health bar was slowly regenerating. It was hard to get a sense for the timing, but every minute or so, it seemed he gained back a few points of health.

An open arch with no door caught his eye. He poked his head around the corner. There were two individuals inside - a rattok was seated at a table, reading. Another one was sleeping on a pallet across the room. As Jackson watched, the rattok turned the page. It didn't look up at him.

Jackson slowly lowered his spear against the side of the arch. He drew his iron dagger and crept forward. The rattok was still focused on its book. He crept closer.

Jackson lunged. His knife sank into its neck. Its eyes bulged. He twisted his knife and ripped it out the front of its throat. The creature sagged back, dead. Blood dripped down its neck.

6 more essence. Jackson crept back for his spear and then made for the sleeping rattok. 

It rolled over to face him.

Its eyes were closed. A dribble of spit came out of its snout as it snored. Jackson slowly exhaled the momentary panic.

When he was close enough that he was sure he wouldn't miss, he jammed the spear into its throat. He planted his foot on its chest, tugged his weapon free, and stabbed again, twice, three times, ensuring it was dead. It never even had a chance to open its eyes. 7 essence, this time. That gave him a total of 21.

You have created a new skill: Triple Thrust

Triple Thrust: Stab forward three times in quick succession. Requires a weapon that can perform thrusting attacks.

Essence Cost: 15

Level: 1

Progress: 12.3%

Neat.

Jackson opened the menu and dumped 6 essence into his health, bringing it up to a total of 70. Just from his slow recovery, he was already back at 55 health. He kept the rest of his essence stored up, just in case he-

A shriek met his ears. A rattok was at the end of the room. It ran at him, claws raised. Jackson leveled his shield at his foe, prepared to bash it in the face.

Wait. How did he do that?

No time. He was already committed. Jackson ran forward, putting his shoulder against the wood. If he couldn't use the ability, he'd just do it the old fashioned way.

His shield glowed white. The rattok slowed and squinted. Jackson pushed the barrier out in front of him.

The shield slammed into his enemy. The rattok was blown off its feet. It tumbled into another rattok that was coming in just behind it. They collapsed onto the ground. Jackson's essence dropped ten points.

Jackson rushed the struggling rat men, stabbing into them with his spear. They shrieked and squeaked and flopped about. In a moment, they were both dead, and he earned back his investment - fifteen more essence was his to command.

Another rattok turned the corner. Jackson lunged without thinking. His spear took it right in the heart. The light in the rattok's eyes faded as its blood spirted down its chest. Jackson stepped over the bodies as more essence flew into his body.

Holy shit. This was awesome. He was killing the damn things left and right. His health was still recovering. He'd be up to his new maximum in a few minutes.

He heard shrieks in the distance. Squeaks. Some light, some more gruff. He figured that was the rattok language. Taking them on one at a time wasn't too hard, but dealing with multiple foes could be lethal. He ducked into the first room he saw closed the door.

He almost ran back into the hall.

Two human corpses were opened up on the table before him. They'd been sliced into sections and gutted. Innards were collected in sealed jars on nearby shelves. Various sections of legs and hands, packed with salt, were hanging from the ceiling. He grimaced, then ducked behind a few barrels in the back of the room.

The smell was terrible. Sharp, pungent, like vinegar. Pickled feet were floating in the brine. Jesus Christ. He'd almost felt bad about earlier, sneaking up and murdering that rattok, but the feeling was quickly evaporating.

The heavy squeak-speech reached the outside of the butchery. He saw movement through the hole in the door. The dead bodies were shifted and dragged away. There was a heavier grunt. He heard more scampering.

The door to his room creaked open. He crouched low behind the barrels, his spear flat on the floor. He kept his shield propped over his head.

He heard sniffing. Sniffing? Shit. They probably had a great sense of smell.

Footsteps padded closer. The sniffing sound grew louder. Jackson grit his teeth. He felt for the handle of his dagger.

He heard an annoyed grunt; sudden motion away from him. The door to the room opened and shut. Jackson gingerly raised his eyes above the level of the barrel. He was alone. 

That made three times lucky. He'd picked the room where the smell was so thick that it couldn't tell him from the rotting corpses. He went up and pressed his eye up to the hole in the door. A single rattok was standing at the intersection, contemplating the spot where the bodies had lain.

Jackson shouldered the door open. The wood slammed the rattok in the back, knocking it over. He gripped his spear and angled it at the creature's neck.

The spear tip glowed white. Was it the triple thrust? Jackson didn't move, more concerned with wasting essence than finishing off the rat.

The glow subsided. Jackson stabbed his spear into the rat's back, over and over, until it stopped shouting. Hearing more movement from the rooms he'd first come from, he dashed down the hallway.

Ok. So, his physical skills responded to his will? That was convenient.

He turned a corner and ducked through another archway. A breeze struck his face. Jackson inhaled deeply. It was sweet and humid. Delicious, wonderful fresh air.

His passage had opened up into a cavern. Blue moonlight shone down through a great hole in the ceiling, illuminating a pond surrounded by moss. A wooden structure was built around the underground oasis, a series of ramps that climbed up through the hole and out to the surface. Thank fucking god. He was getting really sick and tired of ratmania.

"Help!"

Jackson turned. Against one wall was a series of long cages. Three people were locked inside one of them - an old woman, a young girl, and a boy. They were all naked. Dirt and grime matted their hair and skin. They looked like they'd been through hell.

The young man threw his body against the side of the cage. "Please! Help us! They'll eat us!"

The girl was huddled in the corner, staring at him. Her brown eyes were as wide as dinner plates. She didn't move.

"Please!!" the boy shouted.

The old woman crawled to her feet. She grabbed the boy's shoulder and pushed him back. "Warrior, I beg you," she said. "Pease, lend us aid. My soul is old, but theirs are innocent. I beg you." Her hands wrapped around the wooden slats. "Do not leave us for the rattok. Not those things."

There was only one question in Jackson's head: were these real people? Or where they just computer characters?

The cold hand of logic settled down back over him. They had to be computer characters, NPCs. Just very realistic NPCs. That was the whole point. 

Emil Mohammed's words resounded in his head. He could do anything he wanted to do. He could walk up that ramp and make his escape. It wasn't as if anyone would ever hear from them again.

When his gaze returned to the cages, the girl was still looked at him. Jackson looked back. He could see a light return to her eyes. She stood up, never breaking their stare. Her fists clenched. He realized he was watching someone who had lost hope find it once again.

Could he walk away from that?

"Warrior," the old woman croaked. "Please."

"Quiet down. They'll hear you."

The old woman shut her mouth and clapped her hands over the boy's lips. Jackson walked up to the cage. It was all made out of wood, slapped together with nails. The slats were spaced wide, but not wide enough for a person to slip through. A door on the opposite side as locked with an iron padlock. He didn't have anything to try and pick it with.

"Get back."

The woman pulled the boy back from the side. Jackson stepped back, then turned and shoved his foot at the wood. It creaked, but didn't break. He swayed to catch himself.

He tried again, and again. The wood didn't give. Shit.

Wait. Maybe...

"Game menu." The menu opened up. Jackson selected the pentagram. He had 27 essence. He dumped 12 points into strength. His carry weight jumped three points. "Close menu."

Jackson lined himself up and slammed his foot into the cage. Same result. He slammed it again, and again, grunting with the effort. His leg burned. Sweat beaded on his forehead. The sound of his bare heel smacking the wood thumped through the cave.

It wasn't any good. He dropped back and put his hands on his knees while he sucked in air.

He could hear garbled squeaks - not rats. Rattok. He heard it again. It was louder. They'd heard what he was doing. Shit.

Jackson glanced at the ramp leading out of the cave. If he had to choose between living, or dying uselessly in an attempt to save some NPCs, he'd pick living.

"They're gonna eat us." The boy was crying again. Tears ran down through the dirt on his face. "They're gonna eat us, he can't break it!"

"Hush, child!" The old woman folded him into her arms, and looked back at Jackson. "You did what you could. Go."

Jackson found his eyes drawn back to the girl. Her lips were quivering. He hands were still balled up, but now she was staring at the floor.

Something in him snapped.

"Fuck this!" Jackson shouted. He roared, dug his back foot in, and kicked again with everything he had. His heel bounced away. He grunted through his teeth and kicked it again, then a third time. He backed up a step, jumped forward, and slammed himself into the wood, foot-first.

He collapsed into the dirt. Nothing. He was too weak. A few points of essence couldn't make up for a lifetime of sitting in his room, cobbling over motherboards and video cards.

He slumped his forehead against the slats of the cage. He gripped them with his hands. "...I'm not strong enough. Sorry."

A shriveled-up hand was placed on his. He looked up to see the old woman. "It is enough, child. Sing of us to mother earth. Our spirits will be with you."

Jackson slapped his hand against the slat next to him. It rattled angrily. He couldn't break a damn piece of wood, and now he was going to run away. They'd be diced up and hung to dry like pieces of ham.

Wait. That slat had rattled. Jackson stood straight and rapped his knuckles on the slat he'd been kicking. It didn't budge. He tried slapping the other one again. It rattled about in its slot.

"Child, please. You should not share our fate."

"Shut up a second."

The woman blinked at him, but stepped away from the edge. Jackson sighed. He was always too...blunt. It just spurted out. But he needed to think.

He glanced at where the slats met with the roof of the cage. The one he was kicking was nailed in - shoddy, rusty bolts, but iron all the same. But the other...it was only held in place because it was inserted in a bevel cut into the roof. That's why it was rattling around. The only thing holding it in place was the weight of the top of the cage.

He crouched, then grabbed it with both hands. The wood was rough and splintered. He checked his grip, then grunted, lifting with his legs and back.

The heavy section of wood above the cage creaked slightly. His lips curled over his teeth as he pulled harder. His hands slipped. A splinter stung his palm, and he fell back onto the ground. A tiny tick of red was missing from his health bar.

He set himself again and lifted. All he had to do was get the wood to bend about half an inch, the height of the bevel. The sound of snapping splinters cracked from the roof.

He dropped it again. Squeaks were coming down the tunnel he'd come from. He couldn't tell how close - the cave made them all echo. He set himself again.

Another pair of hands joined his on the wood. The girl was crouched opposite him. Jackson caught her eyes, then nodded. She sucked in her breath, then grunted. He squeezed his legs and pushed from his heels.

There was another snap. Jackson flew back as the wood popped free of its slot. The long slat clattered to the cave floor next to him.

The girl slipped through the bars. She grabbed the boy and pulled him through. The old woman was next, but she was slow to move, hobbling. Jackson spotted a nasty red gash on the back of her ankle. It looked bad, definitely infected.

No time for that. He waved them forward. "Come on."

Jackson went for the ramp, scanning the cave for any sign of rattok. It sounded like they were about to pour in from every direction, but none had reached them yet. The girl supported the woman under one arm as they stumbled after him.

A louder shriek came from above. A rattok was racing down the ramp from outside. Jackson ran upward, holding his shield high.

At the last moment, he crouched, bracing his body against the shield. The momentum worked to his advantage. The rattok slammed into him, but it flipped up, over, and rolled down the ramp. Jackson popped out of his crouch and stabbed it to death before it could get up.

He glanced over at his new baggage. They were watching him, wide-eyed. "The hell are you doing?! Move it!"

"I...thank you," the woman said. "Thank you."

"Go!"

The girl steered the woman up the ramp. They hobbled along at an excruciatingly slow pace. The boy darted ahead of them, peeking up over the edge of the cave. "I think that was the only one! Let's go!" He ran forward and scurried out of sight.

At the top of the ramp, the girl stopped. "What about you?"

Jackson was watching the tunnels. When he turned to face her, he inhaled sharply. Her back was covered in puffy, bloody marks. She'd been whipped.

"I'll figure it out," Jackson said. "Keep going."

She shook her head. "You did not abandon us. I will not leave you to your death."

"If you don't hurry it up, you're going to be rat food."

"Then rat food I shall be!" she said, louder.

"Chaki," the woman said, "listen to him, and take me onward."

"But - Shaka, he's -"

"Now!"

"...thank you," the girl said. A moment later, they were over the ridge of the cave.

Jackson slowly backed up the wooden walkway. The first rattok to reach the room shrieked and spluttered and waved its hands, but it didn't attack him. Another one came, and then another, until five of them were slavering at the bottom of the ramp.

The walk could fit two people side by side, but with his shield and spear poised in front of him, Jackson posed an intimidating chokepoint. With those injuries, the girl and woman were going to need some time to get any safe distance away. He had to hold them off. His health was just about at maximum. He could do this.

He heard a sound like a high-pitched growl. It was deeper than the usual squeaks. The group of rattok immediately scampered away from the ramp.

A monster emerged from the dark. It was half again as big as the next biggest rattok, easily taller than Jackson. While the others wore bits of tattered cloth, this one was smart enough to make use of sturdy leather. It held a spiked wooden club. It growled under its teeth up at Jackson. He held his ground.

The rattok looked over its shoulder and snapped its fingers. It pointed at him and growled something.

Two rats as big as dogs leapt up the wooden ramp. Jackson stabbed at one. His spear pierced into its open mouth, killing it, but also lodging his weapon in the beast's throat. The second one dashed under his reach and bit into his ankle.

He let go of his spear and drew his dagger. He plunged his weapon into the rat, stabbing through its hide again and again. It remained stubbornly latched onto his leg. His health bar dropped alarmingly fast. He stabbed it again, right in the eye, and pried it off with his fingers. The corpse rolled off the ramp and into the pool of water.

When Jackson looked up, a club was in his face.

It felt like being hit with a pillow - a pillow that held a brick in its center. He flew back. His head smacked the wooden ramp. Ringing filled his ears.

The rattok hefted the club for a crushing blow. Jackson rolled left as it came down, letting his shield fall from his hand in order to dodge the hit. The club smashed through part of the ramp.

Jackson got to his feet and scrambled back. He still had the height advantage, but only half his health. Another hit from that club might be lethal.

His spear was still lodged in the corpse of the rat. The rattok kicked his fallen shield down into the cavern. Jackson drew his iron dagger.

The rattok made a coughing grunt. Jackson realized it was laughing. The situation was comical, in a way - Jackson, armed with what amounted to a tiny knife, stood facing a monster almost twice his size, wielding a club that could probably crack boulders.

Jackson found himself grinning.

This was exciting.

He was on the ropes, sure. But Jackson had been dealt shitty hands before. The fear, the panic - that was all gone. He was playing a game, and he intended to win. The rattok leader was tough, sure. He'd seen worse in plenty of video games. Instead of a controller, he was using his hands.

He needed a surprise.

Jackson leaned back. He raised his hands, holding his dagger up. He took a long breath, then bellowed the biggest war cry he could manage. His scream tore into the cave, echoing off the walls. The smaller rattok, watching down near the pool, covered their ears. The leader hesitated.

You have created a new skill: War Cry

Jackson pushed off the ramp and leapt, throwing himself bodily at his enemy. His arms and legs wrapped the stunned creature. Jackson jabbed his knife into its back, pulled it out, stabbed again, dragged and twisted it through leather and skin. The creature made a pained roar.

The rattok grabbed Jackson's shoulder. Needle claws pierced around his collarbone. Jackson kicked and scraped and stabbed, but the rattok was still stronger than him. It peeled him off and tossed him down the ramp with a growl. It reached behind its neck and groped for the dagger still protruding from its back. It pulled it free and tossed it down into the pool.

The distraction gave Jackson enough time to pull his spear out of the rat corpse. He held it in both hands, the tip pointed at the rattok's snout. The leader regarded him warily now. They stared one another down, weapons ready.

Jackson flicked his spear forward to test for a reaction. The rattok immediately stepped back. It narrowed its eyes, and slowly took the space once again.

It brought the club up and lunged. Jackson was ready. The tip of his spear glowed white. He thought the words in his head: Triple Thrust.




Dream Drive Ch. 02



His spear shot forward. He was still moving his hands, still doing the pushing, but a higher power was guiding him, as if the point of the weapon was riding on invisible rails. It stabbed into the rattok's stomach.

As fast as Jackson thought he was capable, the force made his pull his spear out, and he stabbed the exact same spot, this time puncturing all the way through the leather armor and driving into the creature's abdomen. He drew back again.

The club was coming down diagonally, aiming to crush Jackson's neck. The third thrust seemed to know about that even before Jackson did. His spear leapt up to the rattok's exposed upper arm and jammed itself into the bicep. The club stroke fell short as the rattok growled and retreated from the pain.

Jackson stabbed again, going for its face. It smacked his attack aside, but kept retreating. It clutched at its stomach wound with its free hand.

Jackson noticed that blood from the slice on its arm was running down over its club hand. He swept the spear like a bat, aiming for that spot. The side of the iron point smashed into its wrist.

You have created a new skill: Polearm Swing

The rattok dropped the club, hissing. It growled and snapped at Jackson with its jaws. That was an empty gesture trying to get him to hesitate - Jackson had the momentum.

Jackson held the shaft of his spear steady and charged down the ramp. His mouth was open. He was roaring something. His heart pounded in his ears. The only thing running through his mind was that he had to kill this thing, and kill it dead.

You have created a new skill: Charge 

Jackson gashed it across the snout, but it managed to twist its head out of the way of a straight-on blow. It grabbed the spear below the tip and pulled it from Jackson's hands.

Jackson saw it coming. He let go of his spear as the creature tugged, and it took a step back, off-balance. He tossed himself at the creature again - and he drew his second dagger, the one he'd picked up from the first rattok he'd killed. It was made of bone, sharpened to a wicked point.

He jabbed right for the rattok's eyes. He struck home, and the bone sank in to the hilt. Jackson's momentum carried him onward, and he rolled down part of the ramp, slapping hard into the wood before coming to a stop.

The rattok stumbled about, trying to collect itself. Open wounds in its back, a hole in its stomach, a ripped up arm, and being half-blinded were too much. It tumbled into open air and planted face-first into the rocky shore of the pool. The ugly sound of bones snapping hit Jackson's ears.

He heard a sharp plinking sound, like a bell dropping onto the floor. A white orb, bigger than the others he'd seen so far, drifted out of the monster and into his chest.

The gathered rattok looked down at the corpse of their fallen leader. They looked up at Jackson. Jackson looked back, and then he let out a War Cry.

His shout had been effective - but this was different. There was a scream inside of his scream, a primal, projected fear that echoed along with the sound. It blasted at the ears of the rattok. They shrieked and ran off into the caverns.

Jackson stood there for a moment, arms raised over his head, his hands shaped into fists, and basked in his triumph. He went to gather his gear together - spear, shield, and two daggers. He tried the club, but it was incredibly heavy. Not strong enough yet.

The giant rattok had shriveled up. A sort of black ooze surrounded the corpse, seeping steadily into the water. Nestled in the rocks near the pool was a sparkling crystal. Jackson stooped and picked it up.

The crystal looked like a shard of black obsidian. A tiny white fire burned in its center. He turned it in his fingers. The edges of the gemstone glimmered in the moonlight, but the white flame stayed the same. He gripped the stone tightly, then went up the ramp and climbed out the roof of the cavern.

The cave opening was surrounded by a thick, leafy forest. The full moon lit everything with a pale light. The night air was warm. A breeze washed over his skin. The fresh air felt good.

A small wooden watchtower was at the top of the ramp. He climbed the ladder to get a better view. The forest was more of a large stand of trees, rather than a true wood. He could see a section of wall sticking out from the ground - part of the ruins that wasn't buried. He was standing on some sort of sunken city.

A stream emerged from one end of the woods. He could see a lake in the distance. The woman and the girl were either upstream, or downstream. Deciding that down was the easiest path for an old crone with a torn-up ankle, he started in the direction of the water's flow, toward the lake.

He stopped for a brief drink, then kept on through the trees. He stayed alert. Where there were rat people, there were sure to be plenty of other fun things.

The exhaustion was starting to hit him. He'd been through a lot in the past...hour? 2 hours? It might be a game, but his aching muscles were telling him it was real. He leaned against a tree and took a quick break from walking. He had 34 essence, now. Pretty good. "Game menu." 

Polearm Swing: Whip the tip of a polearm in an extended swing. This maximizes reach and strength, but the force of this attack can break weaker shafts.

- Essence Cost: 15

- Level: 1

- Progress: 12.3%

Charge: A full-body rush. Risky, but can overwhelm an unprepared enemy or turn the tide of battle.

- Essence Cost: 20

- Level: 2

- Progress: 26.7%

War Cry: Push essence into a mighty battle cry. Rally your allies, strike fear into your enemies.

- Essence Cost: 25

- Level: 1

- Progress: 20.4%

Jackson winced when he saw how expensive War Cry was. He could have a whopping 59 essence. But, coming off of the fight, he hadn't been paying that much attention - and getting the rattok to flee was definitely a good thing. It was worth the cost, this time.

His abilities weren't all just hard numbers. The rattok had seen him brutally maim their leader; that had a definite affect by itself. The War Cry was just the trigger to get them to run. Maybe he just needed to get used to the system, but the programming of the monsters was so good he couldn't discern any patterns.

That was the thing about video game enemies. Because they were programmed, they all had patterns. Some were very complex or obscure, but it could all be reduced to variables, to hard math. Given situation X, the computer-controlled baddies would react with Y.

That fight had shown him that any such patterns in Isis would take him a long time to unravel, if he could figure them out at all. In most role-playing games, enemies would swarm and mindlessly attack as soon as they spotted the player. In that fight, the rattok had thrown cannon fodder at him first, and, realizing that a crowd would be at a disadvantage on the thin ramp, had taken him on one-on-one.

More than that, there was endless variation to the attacks. It didn't use the same motions again and again. It was thinking, actively looking for weak points. It kicked his shield away so he couldn't use it. It tried to scare him into backing off when it was injured.

It might as well have been totally real. And those NPCs...goddamn. Now that the moment had passed, he didn't feel as...well. He didn't have a word for it. But it was like saving real people. They responded to what he said, to what he did. The girl had actually helped him when he came up with a strategy for the cage! That meant a programmer had predicted that a player would use that kind of strategy, and had programmed the ability of the girl to help. Hell, it meant the programmer had allowed for that strategy to work in the first place.

It was a freakish level of clairvoyance. Emil Mohammed was a fucking genius. Isis was going to change the way video games were made forever.

He glanced at his passive skills. He was building quite a list. He had Sprinting, Daggers, Shields, Spears, and now Grappling, Kicking, and Sneaking. They all had their own modifiers. He still wasn't sure how his passives affected him, or how his statistics actually modified his passives.

Jackson rolled the black crystal in his hands. Another mystery.

He opened up his statistics panel. 15 Strength, 16 Vitality. 0 Agility, Compulsion, Persuasion, and Spirit. He considered for a moment, then threw another 5 points into Strength and 4 into Vitality, bringing them both to 20. That left him with 25 essence - enough for a War Cry, if he needed it.

Jackson's OCD was well satisfied by the move. His health was at 75 - a nice milestone from 50. And his carry weight had topped out at 40. Apparently his spear, shield, daggers, and leggings amounted to '15.4' of weight. It wasn't marked by any units.

Finished taking stock, Jackson closed the menu. He looked down at the scar on his left hand. The twisted black star was merged with his skin. The only thing he knew was that the mark was supposedly bad, making him a threat to humans and angels. As a result, he'd been banished to the bottom of the mighty tower called Babel.

Jackson recognized that name. It was from a biblical tale. Mankind, in arrogance, tried to build a tower to the heavens - the tower of Babel. God struck down their attempt, and smote the tongues of the offenders so that they all spoke different languages and couldn't continue to work together. This was the divine explanation for lingual differences.

He felt at his scar with his other hand. The warped black pentagram looked ugly, but the texture was just like normal skin, as if it was a badly-drawn tattoo. According to the men that banished him, he'd carved it into his own flesh while sleeping. It was more than a little creepy.

When he lifted his fingers from the pentagram, a transparent prompt appeared in front of him.

Do you wish to travel to the 9th Circle?

"No," Jackson said, "I do not want to travel to the 9th Circle. I do not want to do that. Definitely no."

The prompt vanished. His scar pulsed white. Jackson flinched.

The light died.

The forest was quiet. Nothing happened. He steadily exhaled.

Alright, what the fuck was going on? Humans alone were supposed to have built the tower of Babel - angels had nothing to do with it. The base of the tower was apparently an old fucking ruin in the middle of nowhere infested with rat people. He didn't see a tower anywhere, and he didn't know where the fuck the giant tree was supposed to fit into all this. And now, his scar was a direct connection to the lowest tier of Hell. No fucking wonder they banished him. He was marked by the devil.

"Fuck!" Jackson grunted. He pushed himself up off the tree. Too many questions whizzing around in his head, and not nearly enough answers. He felt like he was treading water, barely keeping his head above the waves. He'd killed some rats, but he still had no idea what he was supposed to do.

What had Emil told him? Be himself. Do what he wanted to do.

As much as Jackson worshipped the ground that Emil walked on, he hated the phrase 'be yourself'. Ok, sure, he hadn't changed his appearance. But what the hell good was that advice when you were still trying to figure out what you were? Did adults all suffer from some sort of chronic memory loss that patched out what high school had been like?

Do what he wanted to do - those were less offensive words, but still uncomfortably vague. He could start walking, but he had no points of reference, no sense of the land. Usually, in video games, there was a very clearly defined goal. In a racing game, you raced. In a first-person shooter, you shot other people. Even in a role-playing game, you played a role. You were generally the hero. You saved the damsel in distress and kicked ass. Story points were relatively obvious. Go to the beleaguered king, accept his quest to find the sacred doohickey of power and save the world. That sort of thing.

Even in totally open sandbox style games, they usually directed you toward a story-related mission, or pointed out a few spots of interest. And those would naturally lead to other spots, other missions, and you'd start planning your game around them. Sure, you could do whatever you wanted, but after being told that a pot of gold was just over that hill to the north, most people started climbing the hill. Pointless dicking around in virtual space could only entertain for so long. Eventually, everyone ended up playing the game that the developers had made.

This was different. It was an entire world, ticking along with or without him, and the developers could care less about what he did or when he did it. Jackson held the mighty power of self-determination, and as a result, he felt like a dog that had finally caught its own tail. His only quest hook was transporting himself to the 9th Circle, which sounded suspiciously like a one-way trip to the lake of fire.

So, what the hell was he supposed to do, exactly?

He looked down at his pants. Getting a change of clothes would probably be a good start.

There were still those NPCs. The old woman, the girl, the little boy. Maybe the old woman could lend him a hand. She seemed to know what was up, or something. Probably.

Jackson sighed and kept on downriver.





Dream Drive Ch. 02



"Toward the lake." Chaki stepped out from behind the tree. "Thank you, for saving us. Thank you. I owe you a tremendous debt."

"Can you show me how you did that magic trick?"

Chaki frowned. "Tree-talking? I cannot teach you. Shaka is our spirit guide, and she takes only one student. It is forbidden for me to pass the knowledge to others. I'm sorry."

"Well, maybe I can convince her. Payment for lives."

"...maybe," Chaki said. Shaka took her role very seriously. She would not be easily convinced. Chaki was torn between telling him that outright, and not wanting to upset him, so she said nothing more on the matter. "My name is Chaki. Again, I thank you for saving us."

"I'm Jackson Vedalt."

"A long name." Chaki considered something. "How do you know our language? Are you from some distant tribe? Outsiders I have encountered had their own tongue."

"...I didn't realize I was speaking another language. I'm just talking in English."

"I don't know what Enk-lish is, but you are speaking clearly to me."

Jackson frowned sharply for a moment. His eyes narrowed. "Huh. Alright. So, want to lead me to the lake?"

"It's this way." Chaki gestured and moved forward. He had not really answered her question, but she decided not to press it.

As they walked through the wood, she watched him sidelong. She expected him to take a tad more advantage of her somewhat shoddy modesty, but he kept his gaze to himself. She found herself oddly disappointed. Did he not find her attractive?

His eyes were a sharp, calculating green. They were surrounded by dark circles. His hair was a mess, floating above a whitewashed forehead. She felt intensely curious about him. "So, then, you are a stranger to these lands?"

"Yeah. You could say that."

"Spirits!" She snatched his left hand, examining the twisted black scarring. "Does this hurt? I have to heal you immediately!"

Jackson tugged his hand away. "It's an old scar. Just looks bad. It's fine."

"Are you sure?"

"I'm sure," he said. He cleared his throat, and they started walking again. "What about you? Where are you from?"

"Our tribe should still be nearby, I hope," Chaki answered. "It was a good twist of fate. We were sold to a place closer to home than where they took us for the selling." She looked at him. "I am of the People of the Plain-Under-the-Mountain. We travel the flatlands, following the bison. We take from their lives for ours. The boy you saved was my little brother, Palla. I am student to Shaka, my tribe's spirit guide. She leads us in matters of essence, where the elders cannot."

"So, like a medicine woman."

Chaki tilted her head. "She does know much about medicine. But more importantly, she is our living connection to the Mother Earth, our link to the world spiritual. She retains knowledge of our the past, our ancestors, and the sacred runes, which use essence to bend the spirits in the land and living things to her whim."

"Awesome," Jackson said.

"It is worthy of awe," Chaki agreed.

"Wait," Jackson said. "If you can do all that, why didn't you escape from the cage yourselves?"

"...the wood was dead," Chaki said. "It could not listen to our runes."

"Oh." Jackson's face grew pensive. "So, you're Shaka's student, then. The next spirit guide?"

Chaki puffed up her chest a bit. "She selected me for my natural talent with essence. It is to me that she shall pass all her knowledge, and when she returns her spirit to Mother Earth, I shall become Shaka in her place."

Jackson's attention was firmly on her, then. Chaki realized that the way she was moving, her chest out, made the leaves ride up quite high on her body. She felt a sudden nervousness and hunched over the other way.

There was an awkward quiet for a moment.

Jackson broke the silence. "So, is Shaka a title?"

"Title?" Chaki was unsure of that word. "The spirit guide is named Shaka. When the role changes hands, the new guide becomes Shaka."

"Weird."

"It isn't weird," Chaki said. "It just is."

"I mean..." Jackson shook his head. "Never mind. I'm not good with people. Talking, I mean."

"...that is fine. I do not like people who speak frivolously." She smiled brightly at him. "Actions speak far louder than words, Jackson Vedalt. You have already shouted to me what kind of person you are."

"I'm glad you think so," Jackson said. And there was a small smile on his face, too, a half-lift of his lips. Chaki felt a little thrill in her heart. "You..." His lips searched for his words. "You would have really stayed there and fought with me."

"I would have," Chaki said emphatically. "I am as good a fighter as anyone in my tribe. Though, injured as I was..."

Jackson's face changed. It turned into a deep frown. "I was worried when I saw your back. But it looks better, now."

Chaki was torn between gratitude over his concern and panic that her back was completely exposed to his gaze. Her modesty was being torn into tiny shreds. He'd think her some sort of slattern! She angled herself away from him, trying to get as much leaf between his eyes and her body as possible. "Shaka healed it, as she could."

"You better watch we're you're going."

The words had barely left his mouth when Chaki's foot caught a root. She tried to catch herself, swayed, arms out, flapping in circles.

Jackson caught her under her arm. He brought her back straight. "Jeeze. You alright?"

He was close. Too close. His bare skin was pressing against hers. She tried to fight her blush. No use. He was staring right at her. "I'm fine. I'm fine!"

Jackson laughed and stepped away from her. "You're kinda cute when you're flustered." Chaki could say nothing past the lump in her throat. "Hey, are we getting close to the lake yet?"

She took a breath to steady herself. "We're nearly there."

"Chaki, is that you? Chaki!" Palla came crashing through the bushes. His eyes widened. "It's the warrior!"

Jackson's voice had a flat amusement. "It's Palla."

Palla gasped and clasped his hands over his mouth. "How did you know my name?!"

Chaki rolled her eyes. "I told him, you hollow tent pole."

"Oh. Um, thank you, great warrior!" Palla placed his hands together and bowed in a child's mimicry of respect.

Jackson rubbed his neck a moment. He shrugged in a strange acceptance of Palla's thanks. "You're welcome."

"Is Shaka alright?" Chaki asked.

"That's why I ran when I heard you," Palla said. "She's sweating more, and her face is really hot. I think she has a really bad fever!"

"A dead sun," Chaki swore. "I knew it."

Palla covered his mouth again. "You can't say bad words," he hissed through his fingers.

"Be quiet now, Palla." Chaki stalked toward the lake. When she cleared the trees, she saw that it was as bad as Palla had said. Worse. Shaka was on her side, groaning.

"Shaka! What's -" Chaki saw the ankle as Shaka rolled the other way. It was even more swollen than it had been. A pus was oozing from the wound, around which the skin had blackened. Red lines trailed away from the source of the infection. "Shaka!"

"Chaki..."

Chaki fell next to her teacher and grasped her hand. "What is this? Didn't you treat your ankle?!"

"...your whipping...it was infected. I did not have the energy to spare."

"How long did you hide this from me?! You wasted your energy on me!"

"I made...a decision."

"I can heal this. Shaka, I can still heal this!"

"No."

"I can!" Chaki shouted. "We have to cut it off, but - we need a fire. We need to boil water, boil bandages. I will use what you taught me."

"Chaki..." Shaka's hand cupped her face. "Do not cry for me."

Chaki felt the water on her cheeks. She slapped Shaka's hand away. "I am not crying! I know how to heal this."

"...haa..." Shaka groaned, and grit her teeth. "You will return to the tribe, and live happily. Cutting my foot off may save me, but out here, I would only die from the blood loss. You do not have -" Shaka sucked in a breath. "...you do not have enough essence to do everything."

"No. I do."

"You are weakened by our captivity. I will not see you kill yourself with runes that take from you more than you can give."

"I have enough essence!"

"No you do not!" Shaka shouted. Her face tightened. She breathed for a moment. "Take Palla, and go."

Chaki stared at the thin old woman before her. She had never once considered Shaka feeble. All her life, Shaka had been strong. She was Chaki's invincible teacher, wise in the ways of the world, at peace with the spirits of the earth. Even with wrinkled skin and a clouded right eye, she could outshoot Chaki with her bow and arrows.

Shaka couldn't die. She was a pillar of Chaki's world. She was the soul of their tribe. When father had died, she had pieced Chaki's heart back together.

"I," Chaki said, "have had enough of abandoning people!"

"By the spirits, girl," Shaka said. "See reason."

"The only reason I'll see is the one that ends with you on your feet and outrunning me!"

"Warrior," Shaka said. "I see you, there. What is your name?"

"...Jackson Vedalt."

"Thank you, Jackson Vedalt. May I ask of you a favor?"

"Sure."

"Take Chaki and leave. She cannot do what needs to be done."

"It needn't be done!" Chaki shouted.

"Hey," Jackson said. He kneeled next to Chaki and reached into his tattered hide leggings. "It's a long shot, but do you think this would help?"

Chaki's eyes might have burst from her head. Resting in his hands was an essence crystal. She could see the fire, feel the burning power locked inside the black stone. "Mother Earth!" She prostrated herself before Jackson, clasping her hands together. "Please, allow me use of your stone, please!"

She looked up at him from where she was bent down across the ground. She could see the calculating look in his eyes - the same look he had when he asked her to learn runes. He had already given them so much for nothing in return. He felt no need to give them more.

Could she blame him? She had no right to demand yet more salvation. But she needed it. She needed Shaka to live. "Please, warrior. If you have any heart at all, Jackson Vedalt. Grant me the use of the stone!"

"...it will let you cast powerful magic."

Chaki nodded. "...essence, taken solid form. Crystalized. I have no right to ask more from you, but please. She is as a mother to me."

"...I wish I knew how you felt." Jackson held out the crystal. "If it will save her life, take it."

Chaki reverently lifted the stone from his palm. Cupping it in one hand, she began to trace lines across Shaka's ankle. They were crude words, simple, forceful. There was no prodding, here, no conversation, no bartering with this disease. Chaki held a fire strong enough to burn away such considerations.

She clenched the stone, tight. It shattered in her grip. White light glowed from her skin. She channeled it down into the runes. They rose up and raged against the infection. A ring of white light shone down Shaka's leg, leaving it unblemished and normal as it passed.

The magic died. Chaki slumped, spent from the effort. She laid her head on Shaka's breast, and she cried.

Shaka shifted. Normal color had rushed back to her face. She looked at Jackson. "That is four lives we owe you, Jackson Vedalt. And two of them are my own."

Jackson nodded. "Would you teach me runes?"

Shaka rumbled a sigh under her breath. Her wrinkled face settled down low over her eyes. "Hmmm."

She said nothing else.





Dream Drive Ch. 02



What would happen if he died here?

Jackson finished his float in peace. After organizing his thoughts, somewhat, he climbed out of the water. He scooped his hair out of his eyes. He realized Chaki was watching him. When she saw him watch her back, she turned her head away and blushed.

She didn't look like much back in the cage, but now...he was definitely feeling a little jungle fever. She had a slim, tall body, not petite, but compact, almost muscular. Small breasts raised the little crest of leaves around her neck. Her skin was a rich mocha brown. Freckles dotted her shoulders and nose. Her hair was darker shade of brown, almost black.

She was cute as hell. He wondered if he had a chance. He wasn't exactly impressive...as himself, but her blushing teased at his fantasies. He wasn't sure if she was just thinking about earlier, stumbling across her in the woods, or if she actually had a little thing for him.

Well, he could try and flirt with her.

He'd probably fuck it up.

Shaka led the way through the forest. Palla fell in behind her; he seemed distant. Maybe he was just tired. He couldn't be older than 12, at most. The situation was starting to catch up with him.

Chaki looked to him. Her eyes were still slightly red from when she'd cried. "...Jackson Vedalt...about earlier. I was emotional."

"You were."

"It was unbecoming of me. I can offer you nothing in return but what these hands can give you. I hope, in them, you will find some recompense."

"You've already given me something."

"...I have?" Chaki asked.

"Yeah," Jackson said. "You have."

"What?"

He walked past her. "...doesn't matter."

Chaki lingered behind him for a moment, then moved to catch up. She didn't ask him what he'd meant. He was glad for that. He didn't really know how to put it into words.





Dream Drive Ch. 03



Judging by the comments on the last chapter, I've set a high bar for myself. Here's hoping I keep jumping it! Thank you for taking the time to write your thoughts. It's a great feeling, and it encourages me to outdo myself.

Please see my author profile for other personal updates.

Author's Note:

All aspects of the story are fictional. All characters that participate in sexual activity are over the age of 18.





Dream Drive Ch. 03



The fire dimmed. There was a strong breeze. The flaps of the tipi fluttered. Jackson felt his spine shiver.

Shaka looked at him, and her gaze was like the dimming fire. Dark. Unreadable. "Shakhan spoke to us. The Great Guide said that people would begin to appear from another world. This world is itself the final gateway to the Above, what will soon become the pinnacle of Babel. We would know them immediately, for they would be marked with the symbol." She pointed a finger at him. "You are a chosen warrior of Shakhan. For five years, he has foretold of your coming. You are the first. Others shall surely follow. We are to bring you to the place Under-The-Mountain, where this world touches the Beneath, and there you shall meet with Shakhan, and the Great Guide shall grant you a vision."

"What vision?"

"Shakhan has not seen fit to tell us. We have discussed the matter at length, and I believe your actions have confirmed what we suspected was the case. You, and the others, shall be warriors sent to scour Babel of demons, and spare the world that connects to the Above."

"Damn." Jackson took a breath. That was definitely a hell of a mission. "So, what now?"

Shaka slapped her leg and leaned back. Her croaking laughter filled the tipi. The grim spell that hung over the room broke, as if the sun had moved out from under a cloud.

"What?" Jackson asked. "I wasn't joking."

"Ah, Jackson Vedalt," she said, "I tell you the gravest thing I have ever heard; I tell you that the demons are warring with the angels, I tell you that you are to march in the army of Shakhan, and you merely ask what comes next. You have no sense of self."

Jackson wasn't sure how to react, so he did the thing he usually did when that was the case. He shrugged. "I guess."

"At the end of the Mountain Meet," Shaka said, "the spirit guides gather to journey Under-The-Mountain with the tribe elders. There, we commune with Shakhan; it is there that we receive visions most strongly. When that time comes, we will bring you with us, and you shall meet with Shakhan face-to-face."

"I have a feeling I'll hear what you just told me."

"Indeed," Shaka said, "for Shakhan is the guardian and foundation of the tower. I should think that those he marked with his symbol would share this purpose. But new revelations are likely. Shakhan tells us only what need be known, and no more."

"Hang on," Jackson said. "I already know that I was banished from the top of the tower because of this." Jackson pointed at his wrist. "Supposedly it makes me a danger to people and angels. Why would I get banished from the tower for being made a guardian of the tower?"

"It is a strange contradiction," Shaka said. "Perhaps demons convinced the other men that you were not to be trusted as a means to get rid of you. Or perhaps it was a device to bring you here, so that Shakhan could meet with you. The spirits sometimes work in ways that seem contrary, at first, their purpose only later becoming clear."

"Huh. Maybe." Jackson wasn't convinced, but he didn't have any better theories. "So I meet with this Shakhan guy, and then I go kick some demon ass. Sounds good."

Shaka chuckled. "Shakhan guy? I suppose that after you meet her, yes, you'll go 'kick demon ass'.

"Shakhan's a chick?" Shaka raised her eyebrows. "Uh," Jackson said, "not that I have a problem with that, or anything."

"Be careful with that tongue, or Chaki might shorten it with her knife," Shaka said. "Now, I expect it to take us ten days or so to reach the mountain, where the Meet shall be held. In the meantime, I will teach you runes."

"When do we start?"

"Not today," Shaka said. "I think half the tribe believes me immortal, but our ordeal has exhausted me. I plan on sleeping until the feast. We will start tomorrow."

"Sleep..." Jackson's yawn came on suddenly. He covered his mouth. "...sounds real good. Is there a spot I can crash?"

Shaka patted the furry floor of her tent. She stood up and rummaged in a corner, then threw him a blanket. "I hope you do not snore."

"Err, both of us, here?"

"Chaki is young, but I have seen more than 60 winters, Jackson. I am beyond modesty." Shaka promptly rolled over and drew the blanket around herself. "Someone knows to wake us when evening has come on in full. The feast will be after sunset. Sleep."

"I will. I'm just going to go home, first."

"Ah, back to your world?" Shaka opened her eyes and watched him. "How long?"

"Just a few minutes," Jackson said. "I'm not too worried, but it's been more than half a day. I need to check in."

"Will you return here?"

"Yeah. I think it puts me back more or less where I was."

"Do not be long."

"I won't." Jackson started to say the words, but he stopped. "Shaka. Say Shakhan wants me to leave this part of the tower..."

"Mmm. You would be leaving us behind. We might make war without you. Her edicts will supersede any promises you make to me."

Jackson wasn't sure if he liked that idea. He liked Shaka. He liked Palla. He definitely liked Chaki. And...these people were good. Strong. He wanted to know more about them.

Jackson didn't fit into the tribe, yet. He was a square peg being pushed into a round hole. But compared to home, it was the best thing that had ever happened to him. He could see a future here. He could see life here.

"Game menu," Jackson said. He logged out.

The process was a lot faster, this time. He supposed the software - or magic, or whatever the fuck it was - recognized Shaka's tipi as a secure location. He was back on earth, lying on his mattress, staring up at the roof of his room.

He drew his Dream Drive off his head and set it down on the bed next to him. He looked down at his hand. The pentagram scar wasn't there anymore.

The alley out his window was nearly pitch. He went to his desk and sat at the computer monitor. The clock told him it was 4am. That meant Isis was a little over half a day ahead of real life. Or behind. He decided not to worry about that part.

A few clicks brought up his camera's recording. It now had several hours of footage. He skipped back to the beginning.

He saw himself lying on his bed. His helmet clicked into place, pistons locking it to his head. His body went still, and his breathing evened out.

A rune appeared on his red helmet. A pentagram. It flashed white. A matching symbol flashed on his hand. His body melted away into thin air, starting from his head. It was as if he was ink, and someone was washing him away with the universe's whiteout. It only took a few seconds.

Well then.

Jackson deleted the video footage. As an afterthought, he ran a scrubbing program to permanently clear his optical drive of the data, just in case. A little paranoia went a long way.

The implications really were staggering. Magic existed in the real world. He was being transported somewhere else.

On an impulse, Jackson said the words again. "Game menu."

A light flashed on his wrist. He flinched away from it - but it was just his scar. It unraveled across his skin, revealing itself. The translucent screen of the Isis's menu appeared in front of him. It showed a picture of him standing, arms at his sides, in his white T-shirt and blue jeans. He was equipped with a smartphone.

A chuckle bubbled out of Jackson's mouth. It was the half-ecstatic, half-frightened laugh of a man that had just discovered his life had been turned into a video game by magic.

He spent a few moments flicking through the panels. Everything was still there - his skills, his statistics. He still had 25 essence left. In the upper corner, he could see his health bar again. Did that all still apply in real life? He could try to use a skill, but he didn't want to waste the essence.

Jackson stayed in the screen for a moment, flicking through his options. He entered the user interface section. There was almost three scrolling pages of choices to adjust his heads-up display, including a few things that hinted at a party system and individual enemy targeting. He promised himself to go through it more thoroughly at a later time and kept on for what he was looking.

There was a slider to display his health and essence, but it had two segments: Isis, and Overworld. The Isis side was on, but the Overworld half was off. Assuming that Earth was the Overworld, Jackson flicked it on. There was another tab, too, that enabled him to turn on a minimap. And at the very bottom, he noted an option that would fade out his HUD after a few seconds, to keep his vision clear. Hey, was that a...

He stopped himself. He'd be there all day if he kept it up. He allowed himself to turn the fader on. "Close menu."

The screens vanished. His sight was now overlaid with his health bar and essence counter on the upper left. In the lower right, there was a small map of his immediate surroundings. It was labeled 'Jackson's Apartment'. He was a little green arrow in the center. He turned toward his window, and the arrow rotated, pointing the way he was facing.

He tried reaching out and touching the map. Immediately, it expanded in his view, a full-color blueprint of his home. A compass pointed out which direction was north. The rooms were all labeled - Jackson's Room. Mom's Room. Bathroom. Living Room. Kitchen. A little blue pointer marked the front door.

Jackson tapped the map again. It shrunk back into the corner of his vision. He went for his door. The green arrow followed his progress. Another giddy laugh burst out of his mouth.

Jackson went down the hall. The door to his mother's room was closed. He was wondering how he'd test the fader option when he noticed that his health bar and minimap were gone. As soon as he thought about it, they reappeared, as if the game was reading his intentions. It didn't make much of a difference at the moment, but if he turned on a lot of the HUD options, having a clear field of view would be important at times.

He made his way into the kitchen. He scrunched his nose at the smell of scummy food. She still hadn't cleaned up. There was a sticky note taped to the fridge.

Went out. Be back later.

It was rare she even bothered leaving a note. Sometimes he wondered if she'd just leave one day and never come back. Sometimes he wondered what he'd do if something happened to her. Probably report it to the police, or something.

He sat at one of two chairs at the little plastic table. He didn't like this place. His apartment was grey. Colorless. There wasn't any life in his life. But there was life in Isis.

He saw a knife sitting on the counter, the same one he'd used to open the package his game came in. An idea struck him. He snatched it up and raised it near his hand.

Wait. If he was wrong about this, he'd kick himself. Several times.

Jackson went to the sink. He thoroughly scrubbed his hands, and the knife, until it was sparkling clean. Still not satisfied, he located the bottle of isopropyl alcohol under the sink, doused a paper towel with it, then scrubbed the knife sterile. He sat down, then swabbed a big spot on the front of his right forearm with more alcohol. The bone would stop him from going too deep. Probably.

Jackson padded the table with more paper towels. He took a few breaths and settled himself in the chair. He positioned the point of the knife next to his skin.

He flicked it across his forearm, cutting as lightly as he could. He winced and drew back. Fuck. He should have known better than to -

He blinked. No more pain. He pushed the skin around with his hand. Nothing. No sign of a cut.

"Holy shit." His eyes went to his health bar. It had dropped almost imperceptibly. He looked back at his arm. "Fucking shit!" He stood from his chair so fast he knocked it back to the floor. "I'm invincible! Holy fucking shit!"

Jackson felt like he'd just won the Olympic gold for...for something. He picked the chair up and sat back down. He made another cut, then another. No blood, no wound.

He decided to get a little more daring. He swept the knife deep into the soft space between his thumb and forefinger. It felt like getting a vaccine; a sudden, uncomfortable jab, then nothing. He flexed his hand. Not even a scratch - though his experiments had nicked his health bar a bit more.

He set the knife down on the table and leaned back in his chair. He ran his hands through his hair. What did this mean? How was it possible? What would happen if his health bar ran out? Would he start taking injuries, like normal, or would he just keel over?

Emil Mohammed had been working with Crux on this game for five years. His message to Jackson back at the start of all this was clearly intended to communicate that this was not just a game. What did the man want from all this? What was the point? Demons, angels, the Tower of Babel? Magic? Had he discovered magic somewhere on Earth, then set all this in motion? What for?

And then it hit him. Five years. That was the same amount of time that the spirit guides had been getting visions from Shakhan.

Jackson felt a crawling sensation slide over his neck. He swallowed. Everything seemed connected, but he had no idea what it all meant. For a moment, he considered the idea that he really didn't want to be involved in any of this.

He dismissed it almost immediately. He didn't exactly have any other pressing appointments. What he'd told Chaki was the truth - if he died right then, right there, no one would care. He was empowered by the world's apathy. The world didn't care about him, so he didn't need to care about the world. He could do whatever he wanted.

His life was empty. Isis filled it.

He'd meet with Shakhan. And then, well...he'd figure it out.

Crux's Top Gamer competition would be over in one more day, but half of the finalists were already eliminated. They'd be getting their packages in the mail soon, if they didn't already have them. Jackson wondered if they'd pop into the game in the same place he had, or even if their data chips would be enchanted as his was. Shaka seemed to think that there would be others like him.

Assuming they did come into the same world, if the base of the tower was a whole planet, or even just a continent, the chances of a small handful of people coming into contact were extremely low. He didn't really get any hints to start out with; the fact that he'd lucked into finding Shaka, Chaki, and Palla was just that - blind luck. Or...maybe what Chaki said had merit. Maybe it was fated. In a world where magic was real, who knew what was possible?

Wouldn't they all have to go to the mountain, in the end? That was the gate up to the next level of the tower - the obvious step forward. Then again, there could be more than one route.

Jackson decided not to risk trying a triple thrust with the kitchen knife, but it seemed all but certain that the remainder of his skills would carry over to the real world. If that was the case...

His head started roiling again. If the other players gained the same abilities, then who knew what they could all get away with? He could probably take a bullet or two and walk away. He could fight crime. Hell, if he had the motivation, he could be a criminal. Superhero, or supervillain?

The finalists would enjoy exclusivity in the game for two weeks. After that, every other beta player, selected in the big lottery, would be getting their copies. Isis would be flooded by over 5000 players. Emil Mohammed was creating thousands of superhumans to fight demons, sure. But who was watching the watchmen?

Jackson's eyelids felt heavy. His brain protested against thinking any harder than he already had. He grunted, pushing himself out of the chair, and walked back to his room. He'd consider life, the universe, and everything at a later time. Right now, he wanted sleep.

A few moments later, he was back in Isis. The tipi was quiet. Shaka's head rotated. She cracked an eye to take him in, grunted a half-breath through her lips, then rolled back over.

Jackson pulled his blanket over himself and went to sleep. It was black and dreamless.





Dream Drive Ch. 03



Chaki stopped. Her eyes traveled down, then up. They widened. Jackson felt like a deer in the headlights.

"OhmyspiritsJackI'msorry!" She fled, stumbling through the entrance flap in her effort to get away as fast as possible.

Jack swallowed, forced his blush down, and finished putting on his clothes.

So, that was a thing that had just happened.

The pants were actually a good fit for him, this time, and the hide shirt felt comfortable. The shoulders were padded with fur. Shaka's husband must have been about his size. He tried to mat his wet hair into a state he imagined was slightly more presentable. As soon as he moved his hands away, it fell apart again. He sighed, then stepped out into the air.

It was dark; the camp was lit by fires scattered through the tipis. Chaki was standing on the other side of Shaka's tent, facing away from the light. Her hands were balled into fists and tucked at her sides.

"Chaki?"

She whirled. Her lips were scrunched together. Her face was flushed dark. "I - Jackson, I apologize. I just, earlier, and then I walked right in - usually, there's not -"

"Chaki."

"The thing is, I mean, well, I mean to say that Shaka and I are very casual, and I didn't realize you'd be -"

"Chaki!"

She settled on her heels. "Jack?"

"Do me a favor."

"...yes?"

"Don't mention this to anyone."

"Done," she said immediately.

Jackson smiled. "You know, if it was the other way around, I'd be bragging about it."

Chaki's mouth churned. "There's that foul mind playing tricks on itself. I'm surprised I put up with it."

Jackson teetered on a knife's edge. Was he just going to fool around with Chaki? Flirt forever? Or was he going to make a move?

Most of the women he encountered had come to him - his perfected fake-self in the Dream Hub, anyway. That didn't feel like it counted for much. There hadn't ever been the give-and-take he had with Chaki. He needed to take a step forward, make a serious statement. 

It wasn't as if he'd never spoken to girls. He'd chatted with a few gamer friends online that revealed their gender to him. It wasn't quite the same, but when you were young, sometimes those anonymous outlets became sources of revelation - moments in which you felt safe to share things you wouldn't share elsewhere. He'd learned a thing or two from those late-night conversations, especially about smart girls.

Like Chaki.

Maybe it was that which pushed him forward. But - a little more than he cared to admit - Boonta's words had affected him. He had to step up his game. He had to stake a claim, make sure that asswipe didn't muscle in on his woman.

Jackson blinked when he realized that's how he honestly felt. He'd only known Chaki for a short time, but somehow, his mind didn't classify her as a free agent. She could be his, but unless he did something about, she might not be. He felt it on instinct. 

"Jackson?" she asked. Her head was titled at him curiously. "I only meant to tease you. I was, ah...deflecting, a little, maybe."

"I bet you like the thought, though," Jackson said. He smiled at her. "Of me walking in on you. Like I did in the forest."

"Intentionally?" Her lips thinned again. "Perhaps I'd take your eyes as recompense."

"Really?" Jackson stepped closer to her. He was just tall enough that she had to tilt her head to keep eye contact. He smiled. "If you did that, I wouldn't be able to see how you look in that little dress."

"...I'm not sure I appreciate this line of conversation."

She said the words, but she didn't move away. She didn't break their gaze. He kept smiling. "You like playing games," Jackson said. "Word games. I do, too. I'm not good with people, maybe, but one person, I can handle."

"Sure," Chaki said, her voice quieter. "But I wonder if you can handle me."

Jackson raised his arm. He touched her side. She stiffened, but didn't move. He shifted his hand until it was at her back. This was something he had learned in the Hub - how to touch. How to approach. How to introduce hands to skin. "I think I can."

"...what makes you say that?"

"Because you're an intelligent woman," Jackson said, "and if you didn't want this, you'd just tell me."

Chaki exhaled slowly. "Maybe I'm just letting you get your hopes up."

"Maybe," Jackson said. "I find it infinitely more likely that you like it." Jackson slid his hand up her back, over her shoulder. He rested it at the crook of her neck. His thumb rubbed a small circle there.

She licked her lips. "So what else do you think I'd like?"

Jackson moved his hand back down her dress. He brushed close to her breast, but didn't touch it. He stopped his hand at her hip and gripped it gently. "You'd like to know how this feels when you aren't wearing that dress."

"That," Chaki said, "would require me taking it off."

"Or me taking it off you."

"I might not let you."

"I might do it anyway," Jackson said.

He leaned closer to her, until they were almost touching. Her hand was suddenly on his arm, the same one he had resting on her hip. Her fingers slid over the sleeve of his shirt. Her eyes were so close they were like little pools of chocolate.

She looked to either side of them. Shaka's tent was near the edge of the encampment. They were on the side facing out into the plains, away from prying eyes. When she looked back at him, Jackson smiled again.

"That's..." She paused. "You..."

She trailed off again. She didn't know what to do next. Jackson had to take the initiative. "You know the reason I like smart girls?"

"Why?"

"Because," he said, "their minds wander. They think, and fantasize. They like words, all kind of words. Dirty, nasty kinds of words. They like kinky things because they've put more thought into it. They've imagined everything that could happen, and they want it to happen." Jackson's hand slipped lower, until it was holding her ass. He started rubbing her with his thumb again. "What sorts of things do you want to happen?"

Chaki's eyes searched his face. "I - I don't know."

"What?" Jackson's lips were a hair away from hers. His whisper was on her skin. "Not even one thing?"

"...sometimes...I - I wondered what it would feel like. Inside."

"Inside?" Jackson said. Slowly, he moved his other hand. He brought it between her legs. He pressed it into her crotch, feeling her through the dress. "Inside there?"

"Jackson..." Her other hand pressed flat against his chest, as if to push him away. "That's - we don't..."

"Don't what?" Jackson said. He slid his hand down, then back up.

Chaki inhaled sharply. "You can't - you just can't do that."

"I can't?" he said. He leaned around her until his lips were at her ear. "I can't touch the girl that told me she wondered what a cock would feel like inside of her?"

Chaki's arms fluttered at her sides, waffling between getting in his way and beckoning him foward. "...my modesty -"

Jackson squeezed her ass tighter, drawing her against him. Her small, pert breasts were pushed against his chest. The only thing between them was his hand and their clothes. He worked three fingers across the space between her legs, pressing her dress up and into her sex.

"What else?" Jackson said. He was clutching her body to his, now. He inhaled as he rubbed his nose across her ear, taking in her scent. "What else have you wondered about?"

"I...I haven't really -"

"Bullshit," Jackson whispered. His lips slid across her ear. On impulse, he licked it. She sucked in another sharp breath. "What else?"

"There was..." She swallowed again. Her arms weren't searching for something to do anymore. They were locked tight around him, holding her against him. He kept stroking his fingers across her. She was beginning to move down there, too, rocking slowly on his hand. "I've seen, the horses...the stallions mate the mares from behind. And - I wondered if it was like that."

"It can be," Jackson said. He was kissing her, now. He made his way over her ear and nibbled at the line of her jaw. "There's a lot of ways to do it."

"There are?" A tiny moan came from her lips as he kissed her neck. His teeth nipped at her skin. He wanted her taste in his mouth. "Like...what?"

Jackson took his hand off her rear and brought it to the back of her head. He grabbed a fistful of her hair. He bent her back, stepping forward with one foot to keep them supported. She gasped.

He pressed the hand running between her legs harder. Her dress heaved where her breasts creased it. Her breaths were coming deeper.

"The one you mentioned is a good one," Jackson said. His words came in the gaps between his kisses. He was at her shoulder, now. He flicked his tongue around the edge of her dress's neckline. "I'd hold you down from behind as I mounted you like that. Grab your hips. It doesn't let me get as deep. But I can go hard. Fast."

Jackson dragged his hand down across her dress again. She shuddered against him. Her hips lifted up higher; she was balanced on the balls of her feet. "Don't stop," she moaned.

Jackson wasn't sure if she meant what he was doing, or what he was saying. He assumed both. "Another one is from the front. Like this. I could take you standing, or lying on the ground. I can get deeper with that one." He started rubbing her faster. "I'd pull one of your legs up against me, use it for leverage. It's simple...but good."

"Oh..." She swallowed hard. Her breath was coming short and fast. The brown skin he was kissing had turned even darker with her blush. "It...sounds interesting."

He drew his hand back. She looked at him, blinking in confusion. He slipped it under her dress. Her underwear was soaked. He pressed his fingers under her clothes and felt at the lips of her labia. They were hot and slick, almost slippery.

"Oh spirits," Chaki said. Her arms clenched harder around him. She let her head fall back. "Jack, that's...how are you -"

He ran the tips of his fingers up and down around the edge of her hole. "You're really wet down there."

"What...what does that mean?"

He slowed for a moment. "You don't know? Have you...ever touched yourself, down there?"

Jackson didn't think Chaki's blush could get darker, but it did. Her dark-cream skin was now a vibrant, rusty red. "I...a few times. But it wasn't like this. I never got wet."

"It's to make it easier for me to get inside you," Jackson said. "Your body wants me."

Jackson was surprised with what happened next. Chaki fixed him with a predatory gaze. A fire had ignited in her eyes. "So do I."

Jackson kissed her full on the lips. Her tongue attacked him so ferociously she actually pushed his head back, pulling against the grip he still had on her hair. She bit his lip so hard it hurt.

She broke the kiss and grinned at him. "Maybe there are some things I don't know, but I have kissed before, Jack. You should - oh. Oh, oh spirits. Keep...keep doing that."

Jackson had renewed stroking the slickened outer lips. He couldn't see her, but he could feel her down there; a thick outer fold around a hot center. He planted a kiss on her neck, then licked up to her chin.

"I'm surprised you don't have any...hair, down there," he said.

"Use a rune...to cut it...keeps it clean," she panted.

"I guess magic is pretty useful, huh?"

"Unmmf..." Chaki's was caught between moaning and biting her lip. "This is...it's so..."

"So what?"

"So...I...I don't know. I don't - I don't have a word for it."

He slid a finger right down the center of her sex, pressing it harder than he had before. She shivered. "Hot," Jackson said. "The word you're looking for is hot. Or sexy. So, I guess you like this, then?" He dragged the finger back up.

"Yeah," she breathed. He added another finger, stroked across her center. And then another, and stroke, and another, until his whole hand was gliding back and forward across her. She sucked in another breath. "Keep doing...that."

He intentionally slowed to a crawl. "Keep doing what?"

"You know...what."

"Ask nicely."

"Come on!" She wriggled against him, trying to create friction. He just rested his hand on her thigh. She gave a frustrated growl. "Risen demons and dead suns!"

"Say exactly what you want me to do," Jackson said, "and ask nicely."

"I want you to put your fingers back on my womanhood," she hissed. "Please!"

"Good enough, I guess." He pressed the full weight of his palm against her sex and started rubbing.

She groaned and bucked into him. They stood there, in the darkening evening behind Shaka's tent, as Jackson flicked and toyed with her pussy. A prairie wind whipped. It didn't cool him off for long.

He fixed his grip on her hair again and dragged her head back, exposing her neck. He lined it with kisses, almost dragging his lips along her throat. He pressed two fingers into the entrance of her lips. She moaned something that sounded like words.

It had taken some searching, but judging by the way she almost yipped when he touched it, he'd found her clit. It was smaller than most girls he'd been with, just a tiny flap above her slit - or maybe her wide fold made it seem that way. He rubbed it in circles, stopped, rotated back the other way.

Her breath started coming in sharp rapid gasps. "What - what are...what is that?"

"This is what it feels like," Jackson growled, "when a man owns your body."

"Ungh..." Chaki grit her teeth. Her back arched. Her eyes unfocused. All her attention was on her crotch and what he was doing with it.

Jackson loved it. He loved the control he had over her. He loved the contrast in the way her body both fought and accepted him, her head twisting against his hold on her hair, her hips struggling to grind themselves onto his fingers. The power gave him a confident, heady sensation.

He nuzzled back to her ear, folding himself against her. Possessing her. "You've never felt this before, have you?"

Chaki shook her head as best she could in her position. "...no, what...spirits - something's almost...I can feel something, like it's...keep going..."

Jackson lifted his thumb off her clit. "What?"

"I said keep going!"

Jackson licked his lips as he watched her quivering body. His next words came to him from a primal node of instinct at the bottom of his brain. "Beg for it."

"I...just...what?"

Jackson trailed the edge of his nails up her folds, avoiding her clit. "Beg me to do it."

Chaki's breast rose, fell, rose, fell. She closed her eyes. "Please?" she whimpered. "Please keep going?"

"Jackson!" came Shaka's voice. "Are you still in the tipi?"





Dream Drive Ch. 03



"Yes," Makali said. "Everyone is waiting on the princess and her attendant."

Chaki eyed the girl. She was quite possibly the tallest woman in the band, and thin. And pretty. And she didn't care much for Chaki. "I did make you wait," Chaki said. "I'm sorry."

"She isn't sorry," Drana said. "She was kissing Jackson!" The girls gasped and burst into whispers. Makali's mouth dropped open.

Chaki slapped her forehead. "Demons and dead -"

"If you finish that oath," Shaka shouted, "Your rump won't soon forget the caning it receives! Both of you get inside and change before the rest of the band starves to death!"

Chaki and Drana shuffled into the tent. Chaki swatted Drana's arm. "You just couldn't resist!"

Drana covered her mouth and snickered. "Did you see the way Malaki was looking at you? I thought her head would fall off and roll away!"

"I don't pay much attention to that one." For a moment, Chaki hesitated, remembering her...wetness. But the tent was steeped in dark. She'd probably be fine. She pulled her dress over her head and reached for the her feast-dress.

There were only two left. She lifted one, then the other. She frowned. "Drana. Where is my dress?"

"Hmm...that one with the blue feather is mine." Drana took one of the dresses Chaki was holding and started working it on. "That other one...seems small."

Chaki held the dress up. "What is this? Mine has green and red beads on the neck. My family's colors."

"I don't know," Drana said.

"We're waiting!" Shaka called.

"Shaka, I can't find my dress!" Chaki called back.

"Make do with what you have, no one will mind!"

Chaki glanced at her friend, considering asking her to swap dresses, but Drana was built stoutly. Her dress would look even worse. Chaki swallowed her pride and pulled the dress on.

It was tight around the waist and chest, almost making breathing difficult. Her breasts were pushed up, uncomfortably so. The center flap was usually at least below the knees, but hers was at the middle of her thighs!

Drana giggled. "Yeah, it's definitely small."

"Ugh. It's like wearing a child's dress. This is practically indecent."

"It is indecent."

"Coming from you, that means a lot."

"We are late!" Shaka shouted.

They ducked back outside. Chaki prayed that the dim lighting would cover for her. If Shaka noticed the problem, she chose not to mention it. "Good. Now come along. The drums are almost -"

Even as she spoke the words, they could hear a beat begin in the distance. It was a steady, even rhythm, six drummers pounding together in the night as one. The quick, rhythmic tap floated over the camp and struck them in their chests. Shaka slapped her thigh and marched forward.

Malaki was at Chaki's side. Chaki studiously ignored her. Malaki's grin, however, would not be denied. "That dress seems awfully small."

"It is small," Chaki muttered. "My dress has been mis..." She narrowed her eyes. "Misplaced."

Malaki chuckled. "Shame," she whispered. "I suppose Boonta and Jackson both will think you some sort of immodest slut, seeing you prancing around in that thing."

"You did this?"

"Me?" Malaki fluttered her eyelashes. "Why would I do something like that?"

"You tell me."

Malaki leaned in close. "I always disliked you, Chaki," she whispered, "but I did not care to act until you casually rejected the finest man in the band. It's clear you think yourself woven from finer clay than the rest of us. It's time you be knocked from your little pedestal." She leaned back. "I hope you dance well," she said, more loudly. And then she retreated back to her own friends.

"Unbelievable," Chaki muttered.

"I heard some," Drana said to her. "That horse-faced bitch ought to be pincushioned with arrows."

It was times like these that reminded Chaki why Drana was her best friend. When push came to shove, she was loyal. "I'm sure to embarrass myself," Chaki said. "I should avoid the dance altogether. I can protest that I am still recovering. I was whipped, after all."

"I thought you said that Shaka's runes healed it."

"Not everyone knows that."

"Hmm. Clever." Drana nodded. "I'll back your story. Once we're there, make a show of holding your back in pain, and I'll escort you away."

"That should do."

"Um...Chaki?"

Chaki glanced to the side. Little Jula, born no more than 12 winters past, was suddenly at her other flank. She was a bright little girl, and very polite. Chaki had been teaching her to sew, of late, and she smiled warmly at seeing her. "Jula? What is it?"

"I...um, this is...the first dance, I will be in, in public, because Shaka said I should. But..."

"There's nothing to be worried about," Chaki said. "I've seen you practicing. You're ready."

"That's what Shaka said, too."

"And you still don't believe it?"

"It's different in front of people."

Chaki nodded. She could sympathize. "Have faith in yourself. Forget the people and feel the dance."

"Do...you mind if I follow you?" Jula asked.

Chaki stiffened. 'Following' in a public dance was simple; you stood closer to the center of the group, and watched a more experienced girl. It was a way to confirm your own moves without being obvious about it, but it was also seen as a crutch and, generally, quite frowned upon by the women of the tribe.

Just Jula asking for it was a sign of deep trust. Chaki clenched her fists. "I..."

"I'm sorry," Jula said quickly. "I shouldn't have said. Um, forget I said anything. I -"

"It's fine," Chaki said. "Stay close."

Jula's eyes lit up like little torches. "Really?!"

Chaki gestured with her palm. "Shh."

"Oh. Sorry." Jula lowered her voice. "Really?"

"Yes. Really. Just this once, and I mean it. Don't make a show of it."

Jula gave a vicious nod. "I won't!" She raised her chest and pumped her fists with a renewed gusto. Chaki couldn't help but smile.

Drana leaned her head close. "What happened to your whipped back?"

"It experienced a miraculous recovery," Chaki said.

Drana hacked a laugh. "Don't regret it." 

And then they were at the ring of the feast.

Three fires were arranged in a triangle. They had been built high, then allowed to burn low. The space between and around them was matted down to dirt. The clearing protected the plains from the heat; the low, constant light allowed one to see clearly, without the wincing brightness of a full flame. The coals cast everything in a deep, orange-red shadow. It was as if the blood of the earth had been drawn up and painted across the world.

At the base of the triangle, a heavy, three-foot drum was surrounded by a ring of ten tightly-packed drummers. They each held one drumstick. They tapped in rhythm at the edge of the drum, creating a quick, high thwak-thwak-thawk that struck the ears hard.

Chaki and the rest of the girls gathered with Shaka near the drummers. There rest of the band was scattered in a larger ring that surrounded the fires. Some milled about quietly in the deeper shadow, seeking friends or family. Others were settling into quiet conversations. Further outside the ring, there was a large series of cooking fires, where soup and wasna were being prepared.

Shaka arranged them into their lines. Chaki held Jula's hand, ensuring that they would be placed together. She could feel the girl's nervous grip play in her fingers. She gave Jula a comforting squeeze.

Chaki looked out into the crowd. She squinted. This close to the fires, it was difficult to see into the darkness. Where was Jackson?

She spotted Yukatan's headdress. Perhaps he was near the elder? She saw Boonta crane his neck to try and catch her eye and quickly turned her gaze away.

The lead drummer called out in guttural tones. "Hoooo...AH! HA! HOouuuAH!"

The drumming halted. The men leaned in over their fat instrument, staring at it like hunters sizing up a bison. The shadow of the fires lined their features. The noise in the crowd settled to silence. Those still looking for spots to sit quickly found them.

Shaka stepped forward with Landri and several of the other older women. They ringed the drummers from below in a half-circle, between them and the girls, facing the majority of the tribe. Shaka tapped her thigh once.

She called out over the empty space in a long, melodic cry. It was centered at the back of her mouth; the sound was harsh, almost a shriek. After her long note, the other women joined her, forming a chorus of female voices. The pale, cold notes wandered into the night above the fire.

They stopped briefly, and when they started again, then drummers sang with them. Their husky chant formed the base of the higher-pitched shouts of the women.

The lead drummer smacked the center of his instrument. A deep boom marked the start of their drumming. They struck the drum between the outside and the inside. It was a deeper note than before, but not as deep as the very center. Chaki could feel it in her own throat, even though her mouth was closed. It was as if the spirits were speaking through the music.

After a few minutes, the women and men finished singing. The drum kept drumming, steady, even, the same pounding note. The line of older women parted, opening toward the center of the fires, past the drummers.

The girls picked up their feet. They raised their knees up high, one, then the other, shuffling forward in high-kicked steps timed to the rhythm of the drum. They moved around the heavy instrument in two lines and spread out in the center of the clearing. A quick glance out of the corner of her eye confirmed that Jula had stayed behind her.

The drumming stopped. The girls planted their feet on the ground and crossed their arms. They stood as statues in the silence. The wind of the plains made the fires glow. The blood-soaked light penetrated everything.

Facing forward, the girls were near the position of honor, close to the elder. Chaki tried to ignore Boonta's eyes. His stare felt like oil on her skin. It was a wrong sort of feeling, here, at the precipice of the dance.

The ten drummers slammed into the very center of the drum as one. The boom rolled over them. The dancers all planted their right foot forward and turned their heads left.

Chaki's eyes widened as her gaze met Jackson's. He was seated with Palla, close enough to Yukatan to still make it an honor. Palla rapidly waved a hand at her. Jackson was not as obvious with his acknowledgement, but there was a gleam in his eye - from the fire, or something else, Chaki didn't know. His face held his small, quiet smile.

The ugly feeling of oil was burned away. She felt a drumbeat in her heart, and the soil between her bare toes. She could feel the spirits in the air. She felt like she could fly.

The drum struck again. Chaki planted her opposite foot and turned right. She paused there, in synchronized with the others. Malaki didn't know it, but Jackson had very little sense of modesty. She felt no shame from his attention, only happiness.

She narrowed her eyes against the darkness.

Jackson. Jackson had toyed with her body, and turned her heart up and about. But now her head was steadied by the drums. Now she would have a little fun of her own, shrunken dress or not. 

The drum began to pound in earnest. Three medium hits, and then one large strike, a slow tempo. Chaki turned her hands up above her head and swept them down. They stepped forward, and back together, as a group. She called a note into the air, and jumped. "HA!"

They danced to the drum. It was a steady, halting sort of display. One motion, stop. A second motion, stop. Twist, bend, stop.

Chaki knew the steps like she knew her skin. She altered them, slightly, just enough to give it a personal flare without throwing off the group. Whenever she could, she caught Jackson's gaze. Whenever she had a chance, she twisted toward him, flaunting herself in his direction. Whenever she stopped, she made sure her hips were in his view.

Another motion. She lifted her leg high, grasping it under the thigh and pulling. She stretched until her legs formed a vertical line; the group balanced there for a moment, holding the position. On the next heavy strike of the drum, they came down.

She stared at her target once more. His smile was gone. His mouth had fallen open. She had to work hard to suppress her grin.

The drum changed. Two medium beats, then one heavy strike. A medium tempo. They danced faster. She had less opportunity to take him in.

The drummers sang out three notes. The girls shouted back. The left and right halves of the dancers switched places.

Chaki barely skipped over Malaki's outstretched foot. She steadied herself. It would seem poor form, but it was better than tripping. Damn that cow! Private grievances were one thing, but to try that right out in front of everyone...

She glanced at Jackson, wondering if his mind had wandered. His head had followed her movement to the other side of the fires; he was still watching her intently. She found that she didn't much care about her little misstep.

The drums increased in pace, one small strike, then one heavy blow. Whack-Boom, Whack-Boom, Whack-Boom! It was a constant, fierce beat that would last a minute.

Now it was a dance. Chaki stood up on her toes, leapt, spread her legs, landed on her toes again. Half the group followed her direction; the other half went the other way. They leapt again, exchanging places once more.

And then, a skipping step. Jump on one foot, leap with the other. Hands arced in the air, then turned down at their sides. Turn about, take one step back, then leap forward once more.

She lost herself in the drum. She could feel the heat of a fire as she passed close. Her heart pounded in her chest, and her breath came quickly. Sweat beaded on her forehead. She felt as though the ground had dropped away and she was dancing in the sky.

Three quick booms. Chaki stood on one leg, went up on her toes. She brought her other knee up to her chest and clasped her hands above her head. She cried into the night, a long shout in time with the drummers. "Haaaa!"

And then it was done. She settled back to the ground. Her burning calves felt relief. She took in air in great gulps.

Yukatan stood. He walked forward until the fire lit his face clearly. He raised his hands. "Surely the Mother Earth approves of her children! Let the feast begin!"

The crowd shouted its approval. Hundreds of feet stood up to head toward where the food was being served, though most would return to eat near the fires. It was a sacred space for the rest of the night, pleasing to spirits. The drummers would keep playing and singing, one half taking food and resting while the others entertained.

Chaki found herself with a frown. Yukatan's words had been neutral; she had partaken in feasts for guests, a few times, and Yukatan had always named them specifically in order to honor them. But he did not name Jackson.

"Thank you, Chaki!" Jula said. The girl clasped her hands together and bowed. "You were amazing!"

"Thank you, Jula. You were a flower in the plains, tonight. You didn't need me."

Jula glowed under the compliment. But then, a sharp anger took her features. "I was watching, so I saw what happened. Malaki tried to trip you!"

"...she did."

"You should tell Shaka! That was wrong!"

Chaki shook her head. "I will deal with Malaki. Keep this to yourself."

Jula's face said that she disagreed, but she was smart enough to know that she was in no position to argue, having just asked Chaki for a favor. She nodded. "If you say so."

As Chaki straightened, she was reminded of the tightness of her dress. The mood of the dance was scoured from her by the disapproving glances of the older women. She turned and made off through the crowd. She needed to get out of there before the embarrassment drilled a hole through her chest.

"Chaki!" Jula said. "Where are you going?"

"Change of clothes!"





Dream Drive Ch. 03



Jackson tried to think of some excuse, but she'd cut off the obvious escape route. Unless he wanted to outright brush her off, he wasn't getting away.

Eh, fuck it. He'd just have to live with offending her. He didn't care all that much in the first place anyway.

"Jackson Vedalt!"

Jackson held back his sigh as a little girl walked up to them. He recognized her from the dance - she was positioned behind Chaki. "Yeah?"

"Jula," Malaki said, "Jackson and I are speaking. Run along."

Jula ignored Malaki. "I saw Chaki. She was going to change clothes. She probably left her dress in the ceremony tent."

"Which way is that?" Jackson asked.

The girl pointed. "It's next to Yukatan's tipi. Look for the white and red feathers strung around the top."

Jackson nodded. "Yeah, right. Thanks. What's your name? Jula?"

She smiled and folded her hands behind her back. "Yep."

"Thanks for the tip."

"Jackson, what about the feast?" Malaki said.

Jackson shrugged. "It's not going anywhere. I'll eat later. See you then."

"That's a promise!"

Jackson walked off into the camp. He'd have to thank that Jula girl for real, later. She was a candidate for sainthood as far as he was concerned.

Jackson had to wander for a bit, but eventually, he found Yukatan's tent. It was hard to see the color in the dark, but the prominent feathers were hard to miss. Behind it, at the edge of the encampment, was the lonely ceremonial tipi. 

He stepped up to the entrance flap. "Chaki?" he called. "Are you there?"

Her voice came back a moment later. "Jack?"

"Yeah," Jackson said. "Can I come in?"

"...hold a moment."

Jackson tensed. Part of his brain told him to stay where he was.

The other half remembered her shapely, muscular body dancing in the night. That half rose up and viciously shredded his better judgement. He pushed the flap aside.

He heard her gasp. There was no fire in this tipi; it was darker than it was outside. When he straightened, she was turned away from him, her usual outfit held to her chest. Otherwise, she was naked. He couldn't see her well at all in the darkness, but the hazy outline of her body was enough to make him want her.

"Jackson," she hissed. "This is totally improper."

"...didn't we have this discussion?"

"That was then, this is now!"

"It sure is."

"Jackson!"

"Order me out," Jackson stated. "Tell me to leave the tipi, and I will."

Chaki said nothing.

He closed the distance. He placed his hands on her shoulders. She swallowed audibly.

He smoothed his hands over her bare shoulders. "...if you..."

He trailed off.

He'd been forceful with their relationship. He'd pushed it far out of his comfort zone. It was invigorating. Thrilling.

But maybe that's exactly why he felt so uncomfortable.

The lust in his head told him to pin her down and have his way with her. It told him to stake his claim in the most physical manner possible. It told him to throw the stupid nice-guy bullshit into a gutter and get on with it before he lost his chance.

Fuck you, Jackson told that part of his brain.

Running on sexual instinct was like burning gasoline. He could set a hell of a fire, but he might blow himself up.

It was like fighting back a tidal wave. But he knew how to control himself, didn't he? He let the wave wash over him. It was like turning into a ghost; letting the energy swirl down, run around him, through him. He steadied his breathing, and when he opened his eyes again, he'd frozen the ocean solid.

"If you don't want this, Chaki...please say so. I would never force myself on you, ever."

Chaki said nothing.

Jackson took another breath. "I...about our debt, Chaki, from me saving you. You don't owe me anything. Consider it all paid in full. I did what I did because I thought it was right. You don't have to push yourself into anything. I -"

"Spirits," Chaki said. Jackson stopped. "Here he is, in my tent, beholding my nakedness, after I gave him that dance, and still I cannot seduce him?" She turned to face him. Her eyes shone in the dark. "You must have a heart made out of stone. I suppose I am to be impressed."

The layered shell of ice he'd carefully constructed over his heart cracked. The ocean of calm started to boil.

Jackson gripped her shoulders and pulled her into his chest. Their lips found one another in an instant. He kissed her hard, and she kissed him back even harder. She dropped her dress. It pooled at their feet.

Her body was against his. He felt the softness of her breasts, the smooth muscle of her legs. She lifted a foot off the ground and wrapped it around his back. Her tongue sucked his into her mouth and played with it. He grabbed at her, everywhere, feeling at her thighs, her ass, her back, as if trying to soak the sensation of her through his skin.

Jackson broke off the kiss. His heart was hammering. "Holy shit."

Her breath fell across his neck. "Did you like my dance?"

"...it was like..." Jackson snorted. "It was great. Well. It was more than great. But, you know. I dunno."

Chaki's made a smile like warm cookies on Christmas evening. Jackson didn't know he could feel the way that smile made him feel.

"Jack," she said, "just take your time."

Jackson took his time.

"...it was like watching starlight that had come down to the earth," he said.

Chaki pressed her mouth to his neck. She kissed him there, wandering across his skin with her lips. "...that's nice, Jack," she said. "It makes me feel good. But I want to feel...hot."

Jackson's brain floated in ecstasy for a moment. She sure learned fast.

"Your dance..." Jackson grabbed her hair and tugged her mouth off him. "It made me want to do this," he growled. He shoved his mouth against her again, almost bruising his lip. She bit back with an equal, ravenous force.

He slapped a hand to her ass. A pitched mewl escaped her throat. He gripped her flesh, then ran his finger up her side and settled on her breast. She moaned in earnest as he groped at her skin, pulling, squeezing. He pinched the nipple.

"Haaa..." She gasped again. "Jack."

He made a questioning grunt.

"...take me," she said. "Mount me. From behind. I want to be taken like that."

Jackson responded by leaning her back and latch his mouth to the breast he'd been groping. He used his grip on her hair to lower her to the floor and took her nipple into his mouth.

"Jackson..." She was on her back, now, lying on the floor of the tipi. She ran a hand through his hair. "...babies suckle there, not men."

He broke off for an instant. "What? I can't have it too?"

Chaki grinned. "I guess that makes you a big baby."

Jackson lowered himself over her. "One that's about to fuck you until you scream."

Chaki's blushed deepened, but she licked her lips. "Actions speak louder than words."

"But not until I finish what I started," Jackson added. He slid back and used his hands to part her thighs. "Down here." He pressed two fingers into her hole.

Chaki's hips rose off the ground almost immediately. "Oh...this again?" She breathed as more of his fingers stroked her lips. "I can...live with that, for now."

"I have other ideas," Jackson said. "I'm feeling pretty damn hungry." He lowered his head down and licked up the wide lip of her sex around the edge of her slit.

Chaki shuddered. "Ooh...is that your..."

"Tongue," Jackson said.

He'd done this before, out of a certain sense of obligation. This time, he wanted it. He wanted to watch her squirm for him.

He fell back down and flicked his tongue up the sides of her pussy. One finger was pressed just inside her entrance. He crooked it slightly and rubbed the wall of her tunnel.

The flesh he'd tasted in the Hub was perfected, but off, slightly, like the plastic taste of old bottled water. It was fake. Chaki was different; she was warm, musky, scented. Earthy. It wasn't as pure, but it had everything pure water lacked.

"Oh my...oh my spirits...Jack..." Her fingers worked through his hair and gripped the back of his head. Powerful thighs constricted around his torso. Her feet worked to find purchase at his back, draw his body in closer. "Please don't stop this time. Just keep going."

Jackson slid his tongue up, down, sideways, tracing shapes across her wetness. He lapped at her like a man thirsting for a drink. Maybe it was just that he hadn't eaten, but she really tasted amazing.

He found her clit again. Her legs were tightening so much it was hard to get at it. He used his other hand to pull the sheath open and set his mouth over it, letting warmth fall across it. He kept playing at her entrance using his other index finger, rubbing it back and forward.

Her stomach rose and fell in waves. Her hips bucked at him; it was a challenge to keep his face steady. He pressed in harder to maintain the same contact, keeping his mouth in an O shape around her clit. He worked his lone finger around in her hole, prolonging the moment.

"Oh, more, Shakhan curse me!" Her hands had been everywhere, on her body, her breasts. Now that he had halted before that final moment, he felt them quickly return to his head. "More, Jack, please!"

And then he set his tongue down on the clit. He licked across the top, then flicked it with the tip of his tongue. Her hips twitched, shocked by the pleasure; her crotch came up and bumped his nose hard enough to hurt.

He was barely in control of it anymore. He rode her with head, trying to follow her hips. He pressed his mouth around her clit once again, and this time, applied a slight suction. He bat at her engorged nub with his tongue.

That was enough to send her over.

Her body arced like a live wire. Every muscle clenched. Her thighs crushed against his cheeks. Her hips rose up forcefully enough to drag him a few inches across the ground. Her hands gripped his hair so hard it hurt.

Her abdomen flexed, and her moan cut off. She came silently, her throat closing up along with the rest of her body. She remained like that so long Jackson thought he might have fried a circuit somewhere.

She hissed out her breath, and she shuddered back into half-relaxation. Her small, round breasts rolled as she heaved her breath back. "Jack..." Her words were muttered. "That...I didn't know it could be like that. Spirits. I feel possessed by it."

Jack couldn't keep the grin on his face. He watched her as she recovered, deciding not to try and push her further for a few moments. "Woman," he said, "I haven't even taken my clothes off."

A stupid sort of smile twisted Chaki's lips. "I can't imagine better than that."

"You won't have to imagine."

She bared her teeth at him in an expression of pure, lust-soaked animalism. "I want everything. All of it." She sat up, suddenly, and grabbed at his shirt. "Why are you still wearing this?"

Jackson sat up to make the task easier. His leggings were tented by his cock. He reached for his belt. 

"Chaki! Chaki!"

It was Shaka's voice. Jackson made a frustrated sigh. Again with this woman?

Chaki hissed louder than he did. "Shit, shit in a stream, dead suns and shit, shit on your feet, shit!" Her head turned. "Jackson, get over there, under the clothes!"

"Just tell her you're not decent," he whispered.

"That only works on men! And women that aren't my mentor!"

"Chaki, are you there?!"

Jackson dove for the far corner of the tipi. He wrapped himself in all the hides he could find. A dress from Chaki flew at his face. He pulled it over his head.

"I'm here," Chaki called. "I was changing."

Jackson couldn't see anything, but he heard the tent flap open. Feet on the tent floor. "What's taking so long? You said you wanted to be part of Jackson's ceremony. I was just going to explain a few details before we..." Her voice stopped. "...hmm?"

"What?" Chaki asked.

"I'll have Yukatan move the tipi," Shaka said. "Something smells off. In any case, girl, I can't eat without my student."

"Sorry," Chaki said. "The dancing...I must have been more tired than I thought, even with your healing. It hit me hard."

"Oh." Shaka's voice was concerned. "I apologize. You should have mentioned it."

"I didn't want to leave Jula alone."

"I suspected she was following you," Shaka said. "I will pretend I did not hear that, for her sake."

"Thank you, Shaka."

"You were excellent in the dance. The women were showering praise on Landri, though some of my own friends thought you looked a little uncomfortable in that dress of yours."

Chaki snorted. "It wasn't my first choice."

"Perhaps it should have been. I think you'll have ten new suitors by tomorrow morning."

"The only suitor I want isn't even part of the tribe."

"Ho," Shaka said. "Such boldness. And here I thought you were playing it down."

Chaki cleared her throat. "Recent events have changed my mind."

"You are perfectly entitled to change it," Shaka said. "He won't remain in tribeless for long. Speaking of which, where did he get off to? This is the time for him to be introduced to the others."

"...we spoke briefly, after the dance. He said he wanted to get away from the crowd. He went to the creek."

Shaka sighed. "I shall have to drag him back. Meet us there. If I don't get food in my stomach soon, I'll die a few years earlier than I intend."

There were footsteps. The tent flap shifted. Jackson stayed still, just in case.

A hide was lifted off his face. Chaki was looking down at him. "You have to run to the creek! Go out the drainage ditch!"

Jackson didn't pause for pleasantries. He went to the back of the tipi, where the ditch was dug in case of rain. He crawled out and under the hide wall on his knees and elbows, then sprinted headlong around the edge of the camp. It was a longer route, but he couldn't risk being seen by Shaka.

Running with an erection was not easy.

By the time he reached the creek, he was wheezing. His chest was burning. He fell to a knee and sucked in air. The trickle of water just ahead glinted in the lights from the camp.

He ran his tongue over his lips. He could still taste her there. It was drying on his mouth and chin; extract of Chaki.

He bent down over the creek and splashed his face a few times to clear his head. He'd softened enough that it wasn't as uncomfortable. He fixed his pants around his belt.

Footsteps made him look up. Shaka was walking toward him. "The delinquent warrior. Come, Jackson. You cannot avoid a proper introduction."

"You caught me," Jackson said. He stood. "Lead on, spirit guide."

"I feel as though I am herding wild animals, running to-and-fro across the camp," Shaka said. "You might as well be, at your age."

"I'm not that wild."

"I wonder."

As they walked back through the tipis, Jackson had a sudden thought. He focused on his health bar. Below it was the word essence, and the number 25. Same as before.

"Shaka," he said, "I remember you and Chaki mentioned essence. What is it, exactly?"

"There are two parts to all life," Shaka said. "First is the life force. The second is essence. The life force is the energy of the body. It is in the blood and the muscles. Essence is the energy of mind and spirit; it lies in the soul, and conducts magical strength. Together, they form a united whole."

"Do you use essence to cast spells?" Jackson asked.

"Indeed," she said. "Runes demand it as penance."

"How do you gather more, after you use it up?"

"Rest, recovery, meditation," Shaka said, "though one can only hold so much essence at once. This limit is determined by the strength of one's spirit. And then, only those born with the talent can sense essence, gather it into themselves, and place it into runes."

Jackson wondered about that. He'd rested for a short time, but his essence hadn't changed. "Do you gather essence when you kill things?"

Shaka stopped and looked at him. "...no. Do you?"

Jackson nodded. "I collected some when I killed the rattok, but I didn't get any from resting. Is that bad?"

Shaka frowned deeply. "I do not like what that implies. We shall explore this further. But later. For now, we feast."





Dream Drive Ch. 04



 Author's Note:

I just wanted to say that I read every comment, and they've been immensely flattering. Thank you for taking the time to write them and vote on my story.

Criticism is always welcome! A lot of this is flying by the seat of my pants, so don't be afraid to make suggestions. In particular, there's a bit of analytical number crunching in this part of the story. It can get a little involved, at times. Let me know if it's too much.

All aspects of the story are fictional. All characters that participate in sexual activity are over the age of 18.





Dream Drive Ch. 04



Jackson wouldn't have doubted her - her voice left no room for doubt - but he didn't have to take it on faith. He could feel it from her, radiating in waves. She had the indomitable certainty of a single rocky island holding out against a thousand years of stormy seas. He could feel it on his skin, as if she were made of granite. He saw the light in her eyes, and it burned a mark into him.

"...did you feel that?" Chaki asked.

"...yeah," Jackson said. "You...I can still feel you. I think it's the bond."

Chaki's eyes shimmered. "You really accepted what I said."

"You're the north star," Jackson said, as if that explained everything.

And it did.

She buried her face in his neck, nuzzling in tight. He held her against himself. He felt...different. Renewed. 

"Thank you, Chaki."

"You accepted me." She squeezed him tighter. "It feels so wonderful. I want to bathe in it. It's like there was this wall, an iron gate. And I kept hitting, and hitting, trying to get inside - and then I did."

"It was kinda the same for me."

He had a sudden awareness of her body against his; her small breasts, pressed against him; her legs entangled with his. His cock was stiffening up quickly.

And he could feel something from her, too. A heat, a sort of low, burning fire, different from the other warmth. She was aroused.

"Jack," she said.

"Mmm?"

"Would you take me again?"

"I thought you'd never ask."

Jack worked his legs slightly, lowering along her body until he was at the right spot. They embraced once another, lying face to face. He slid his hips across the ground. His cockhead pressed against the outer folds of her sex, meeting a slight resistance, and then popped inside of her.

She wasn't quite as wet as a few minutes ago - smooth, but not slick. He pushed his length into her gently, inch by inch. He sucked in the feeling of her warmth undulating around his length.

He pressed in until he couldn't press anymore. Their thighs were a bit tight, blocking him from getting in that last inch or so. Chaki drew in a long breath through her nose and sighed. "I can...feel you."

"Me too."

And he could. It was like handling a smoldering fire with human skin, but instead of burning, the fire sharpened everything. He was iron, and she was a forge, and their feelings met each other, learned from each other, and changed. Every sensation felt like a wave worthy of a shudder.

She locked eyes with him, and the sensation of lust burned brighter inside of her. He felt his own arousal rise to meet it. He had the oddest sensation of her fullness, her hole filled with his length; and from him, he knew she'd feel that pleasure, the shivering burning itch that coated each little bit of skin where their bodies joined.

He drew back across the ground. It was excruciatingly slow. He took himself out, inch by inch, until he withdrew to the very end of the head of his cock.

Chaki whimpered. "Mmm...don't go."

Jack slowly pushed back into her. She moaned. Her hands gripped his ass, tugging him back across the ground, trying to get him back inside her.

He pushed his length in as far as he could, then took up one of her pert breasts into his mouth. He rolled it around with his tongue, enjoying the taste, the sensation of softness that he wanted to bite into. Her sun-browned skin tasted like warm earth and salt.

He could feel her want. Her fire kept simmering where they were joined, but some of it refocused on her chest, where he was putting his attention. He could feel an urge. She wanted him to take her. She wanted him to take what he wanted. The awareness struck him, suddenly. She likes it rough.

He gently ribbed her nipple with his teeth. She murmured his name, encouraging him. The fire at her chest leapt brighter. He continued to gnaw at the skin, just hard enough to be on the border of pain. She grunted and shoved her chest harder toward his mouth. He sucked on it, hard, pulling the nipple into his mouth before letting it fall with a wet smack.

He switched breasts, drawing around the other nipple up with flicks of his tongue. She began to rock her hips against him, grating herself across the grass to earn stimulation. He found that it was exactly what he'd wanted her to do.

"...I can...feel you, almost, like what you want," Jackson said.

"It's the same for me. Is it the bond?"

"Has to be."

Jackson could feel what she wanted. He needed it too. He backed his cock out of her fully, and the ball of feelings inside of him that was Chaki shivered and shrunk from the fact that he wasn't inside of her.

"Get back here," she growled. 

Jackson rolled and pinned her beneath him. He shifted a bit, straddling her waist. Chaki bit her lip, anticipating his entry.

He pressed his cock back into her. The outer lips of her sex stretched a bit, then rolled around his length as he went deeper. They rode on that moment of warm, wet, bliss.

All their focus was on that sensation, and they could feel it from one another, reverberating and reflecting between them. His cock in a warm, wet hole, pressing into her tightness; stretching out small folds of pleasure that weren't there before. The slight bulb of his head pushing into her, deeper.

Their legs scissored together, and this time he bottomed out inside her. Chaki grunted as he came to a stop. She took her breasts up in her hands and rolled them in her fingers, pinching the nipples.

Jackson soaked in that image - his woman, slender, muscular, sexy, fully penetrated by his cock, giving herself more stimulation by squeezing her own breasts. A sheen of sweat shone on her skin. A slight blush covered her face and chest. Her heat enflamed him, and his heat enflamed her.

Chaki shivered. She looked down at where they were joined, where she was impaled on his length, then back up at him. Suddenly, he felt her tunnel clench around him, grip his cock, almost sucking on it. And then, it released.

Jackson swallowed and shifted his elbows. "...shit. What was that?"

"Just doing what I feel you want." Chaki furrowed her brow and clenched again. "So...like this..." 

Jackson grunted. He shuddered. His hips bucked into her, almost automatically.

"Mmm..." Chaki's eyes glowed. "I like that."

"Glad you're...enjoying yourself."

Her tunnel clenched around him again, fitting to his cock like a smooth velvet glove. He growled at the sensation. This time, she didn't let go. "Now," she said, "I want you to fuck me."

Jackson was done with foreplay. He grabbed her right leg and tugged it straight up. He grasped it with both hands, propping her heel high against his shoulder. He began to thrust straight into her, using that leg for leverage.

Chaki yelped as he shoved into her harder than before. He kept pushing. He watched her eyes, and she watched him. She didn't have to say anything. He knew she wanted more of it.

He squeezed himself into her clenched-up tunnel. He focused, desperately trying to shove away the roll of pleasure that came as he moved through that warm tightness. If he didn't, he wouldn't last long.

Jackson kept one hand around her ankle, pinning it to him, then reached out and grabbed her left breast. He used the two points to pull himself forward, shoving into her at the base of her leg. The leverage let him set a regular rhythm. Their flesh smacked together with each stroke.

Jackson leaned down into her, stretching her leg back. Chaki bent it at the knee to give him more flexibility. He almost sat on top of her thigh, using it as a grip to drive into her.

Her neck was arced. Her eyes were shut tight. The only sound she made were panting little yelps. Her thighs and ass rippled as he jammed himself into her, and he pumped harder, desperate to have her, fuck her.

Jackson could see how he was affecting her. He could feel her arousal get pounded higher and higher, coming in waves that matched his own. He could see the point where she'd tip over the edge.

Too slow. He wouldn't last. His hand left her breast.

She opened her eyes only to see him lean fully over and take that breast in his mouth. His hand, freed up, traveled down to her ass, gripping as well as he could between the grass and her skin. He was almost pounding straight down into her, using his mouth, his hands, and his weight to force her down below him.

Chaki's eyes rolled back. Jackson felt her ass clench under his hand; the small of her back rose off the ground. He took advantage, forcing her hips up and into him with his hand as he slammed his cock down from above.

Chaki came. It didn't come from the outside, from below - it felt like she'd burst into flames right inside of him.

The punch of pleasure he felt through the bond sent him over the edge. His thoughts left him, and he pumped himself into her, harder even than he had before. Their hips clashed, and he came inside of her, shooting himself up and into her core.

Jackson didn't stop thrusting. He didn't want to stop. He wanted that feeling to last forever. Her breast had fallen from his mouth as he'd growled, or roared - he wasn't sure. His body moved without him directing it, holding her, fucking her.

He latched his lips onto her shoulder. His teeth followed, hard, almost biting on her collarbone. He wanted her taste, her smell, the smell of wildflowers and prairie grass and sex.

She was starting to come down. He didn't want that. He wanted the fire to keep burning. Her pleasure was a drug. He was an addict on the first hit.

He let Chaki's ass fall back to the ground and shoved his hand onto the top of her slit as he kept pounding into her. His thumb found her clit. He rolled it in hard, vicious circles and sank his cock as deep into her as he could.

Even as her back was starting to fall from its first excruciating arc, it coiled back up like a spring. He felt the fire burn inside her again, incinerating the ash of her first climax as fuel for the second. Her sex squeezed his cock, demanding more from him even as he kept shoving it into her.

And he came again. Her fire burned into him, through him, made his muscles steel themselves. His hips bucked into her; his muscles kept twitching, shoving, thrusting. His entire body changed, felt dedicated to the sole task of experiencing that moment of pleasure.

Chaki was making a noise somewhere between a scream and a moan. He thought he could hear his name there, somewhere. Her nails were dragging down his back. He could feel himself spurting into her core, giving her more than he thought he had. He emptied himself into her sex.

Slowly, Jackson came down from the ecstasy, from the high. He was panting. Her leg had slid off his chest and to the side, so that he was on top of her, barely propped up on his elbows. He was still buried to the hilt. His cock throbbed. He felt drained.

Chaki was still shivering. Her breath came in tiny, shuddering gasps. She was having trouble getting her breath back.

"...Chaki."

Her eyes peeled themselves open. "Stay...there."

Jackson wasn't quite back to his full mental capacities. "Huh?"

"Stay, inside me. Like that."

"Not going anywhere." Jackson's arms were aching from the exertion; he couldn't keep himself propped above her. He gripped Chaki from behind her shoulders, then rolled them so she was lying on top, keeping himself inside of her as he did so. Her weight was comforting on him.

He couldn't believe his own stamina. He was only just starting to soften. If he just caught his breath, he could go again. He wanted to go again.

"Something..." Jackson tried to collect himself. "Something about the bond, Chaki. We're slingshotting off each other." He took another breath. "Wait. Do you know what a slingshot is?"

Chaki moved her hands so they rested at his neck. She turned her head so her cheek was against his chest. Her eyes caught his. "We hunt small game with them. I know what you mean to say. I could feel it. We're bouncing off each other."

"Something like that."

Chaki slowly sighed. "That was...I don't have the words again."

Jackson started laughing. "Neither do I."

And Chaki, who was on top of him, shook with his chest, and she started laughing too. They embraced each other, and lay there, absorbing the afterglow of the shared experience.

Jackson frowned. A small bruise was blossoming at the base of Chaki's neck. He could see his teeth marks in her skin. "Chaki. Does that hurt?" He gingerly touched the purple mark.

She smiled at him. "...maybe a little. But I like it."

"You do?"

She nodded. "It feels like...you've really taken me. I'm yours. You've marked me." She raised her left arm, inspecting the pentagram on the back of her hand. "In more ways than one." She sighed, and fell to his chest. "...spirits, Jack."

"What?"

"I didn't ever think I would feel like this. You still want me. I can feel it inside you. I'm...so happy you want me."

"You caught me," Jackson said. "I don't know how you're surprised."

"Hmm?"

"Chaki," Jackson said, "even when you were covered in dirt, you were one of the prettiest girls I've ever seen."

She tsked. "No flattery, Jackson." She snuggled in closer. "I want you, too, but..."

Jackson brushed her hair back over and ear and played with it. "You're tired, aren't you?"

She nodded. "Too much dancing. Too many things, today. I must wash myself again, but then we should go back."

"Sounds good." He drew his finger down her ear, then across her cheek and to her lips. "Plenty of time."

She playfully bit his finger. And then she drew her teeth back along it, then bit forward again, and sucked. His finger slipped from her lips with a wet pop.

"I can feel other things inside you," she said, her voice quieter. "You want me to lick you, too. Down there. And maybe be on top sometimes?" She wiggled her hips. "I'll put those ideas away for later."

"Aww," Jackson said.

Chaki pried herself off him and stood over him, straddling him. She felt at the space between her legs, then drew her hand up. Her twice-climax and his own cum glistened on her fingers. "...ooh. I do need to clean up." She put her hands on her hips and gave him a sultry look. "But not too clean."

She moved over him. Jackson heard her splash into the water. He rolled up and followed her in, stepping from the dry grasses into the creek's muddy waters. They kissed and played a little while longer, enjoying each other's company and exploring the sensation of the bond before walking back to camp.





Dream Drive Ch. 04



Isis being what it was, there were no instructions on forming said party. But then, he'd just accidentally stumbled onto bonding when Chaki exchanged a sort of promise with him. The game would probably sense the intent of a friendly handshake.

Jackson vaguely wondered how in the hell he'd explain all this stuff if he met someone else in the game. Would they have a scarred pentagram, like him? Another bridge to cross when he got there.

Jackson experimented with the targeting system. Auto-target was a little disorienting. When he focused on anything, an orange box would blink into view around it. Everything he looked at could be targeted - tents, satchels, buckets, laid out spears, even patches of grass.

It actually seemed a little counterproductive. In a video game, targeting systems were made to compensate for the controls themselves. It allowed combat to become fluid and intuitive despite the fact that the player was limited to jerking around their avatar with a control stick. But Isis was real - his brain didn't need an orange box to target things. The biggest immediate benefit was that targeted objects appeared on his minimap.

He tried manual targeting instead. That forced him to call it aloud as a command. He made a few winced shouts away from the edge of camp, afraid of waking someone up, until he realized he could get the same effect by mumbling under his breath. Once something was targeted, the orange box stayed on his map, but the box broke if he moved so that something was between him and the target, obscuring a direct line of sight, or if he got too far away - about 100 feet or so in a straight shot. All in all, it was more distracting than anything, so he opted to keep it off.

Jackson took a quick look at his passive skills. He was at level 3 in shields - well, he'd used his wood shield quite a bit against the rattok. Level 2 and 1 in everything else, with progress bars all over the place.

Jackson didn't have any pressing appointments, and he wasn't tired in the slightest. It was time to grind.

Jackson gathered his spear and shield from where he'd first laid them down, outside Chaki's tent. His minimap told him she was inside. A little blue arrow labeled with her name marked her position. When he moved too far for the minimap to show her, a small pointer continued to indicate her direction at the map's border.

And he could feel her, still. There was a constant node inside his head, a sense of where she was and how she felt. The more he felt at it, the clearer it resolved in his mind. Right now, it was quiet, almost grey. She was sleeping.

When Palla had shown him Smallgrass, his horse, he'd noticed a few straw men that had been set up as targets near the herd. The hunters took turns watching the horses and shooting and throwing spears at the dummies, both on foot and on horseback. The herd had been corralled in another direction that night, so Jackson was alone with the targets. They were still planted into the ground just north of camp.

The plains were quiet. A light wind brushed a curl of dust around his feet. Jackson examined his dummy. It was just a bushel of dried grass tied up to a tipi pole with bison-hair rope.

He checked his progress bar for his passive spears skill. Level 2, and 86.1% to the next level. He closed out the menu, lined himself up, and jabbed the tip into the straw. A few pieces of yellow grass fluttered to the ground. He drew the weapon back, then jabbed again, another simple stab.

He checked his menu. 86.5%.

That told him two things. First, he could increase his numerical skills solely through mundane practice. Second, stabbing actual enemies gave him more experience than practicing against a dummy. He'd just gotten 0.4% from two practice thrusts. If he'd been getting that when he was jabbing rattok in the stomach, he wouldn't even be at level 2. He was rewarded based on the difficulty of the enemy.

Jackson rested the butt of his spear on the ground. What he really ought to do was go back and do some dungeon crawling, but the camp was packing up to leave tomorrow, then hitting the road first thing the next day. That would give them time if they went on horseback - they could always catch up with the tribe later - but he wondered if Chaki would balk at returning to where she'd been caged up.

For the moment, he had other concerns. Could he create new techniques just from practice? Could he practice his special abilities without using essence?

Jackson checked his list. Triple thrust was still at 21.3%. He gripped the spear and braced it under his arm. He bent his knees.

Immediately, the point of his spear shone white. He let the ability hang there, about to be unleashed. He could feel it, like a rock sitting on the edge of a cliff. He just had to give it a little nudge.

He could feel the essence inside of him, a little ball of power - almost like the bond, in a way. But the bond was in his mind's eye. Essence felt like a smooth rock sitting in his stomach, something to be touched, grasped, rather than viewed.

He answered the white gleam with a mental 'no', and it vanished. He jabbed his spear forward, puncturing the straw, then quickly drew it out and jabbed twice more in succession. He checked the ability.

24.3%

Jackson raised his eyebrows. That was a much bigger difference - a full 3 percent. Apparently passive skills took longer to level up, but his abilities gained ground more quickly. A quick check at his passive list for spears showed him that it had gone up 0.2% for each individual strike of his triple thrust. So, the most efficient way to grind his abilities would be to constantly practice the motions of special attacks. That way, he'd level up active and passive abilities at the same time.

He closed his menu and faced the straw target. He had two spear-related abilities, Triple Thrust, and Polearm Swing. Could he make more?

Jackson placed his shield on the ground. He used his foot to slide the bound wooden slats a short distance away. He wanted two hands for this.

A huge problem he'd had was dealing with multiple enemies. One on one, he could take pretty much anything. Well, maybe not that giant golem, but anything his size and made out of flesh and blood. If they came at him all at once, though, especially in an open space, he needed something to blow them back, or at least keep them at bay.

Jackson gripped the butt of the spear in both hands and whipped it around himself. He worked his feet, spinning in a circle along with the weapon. He turned once, twice, three times, until a little swirl of dust was kicked up around his legs.

He lost his balance and fell backward. His spear clattered down next to the dummy. He sat up and rubbed where his leg had struck the grass. Well. Worth a try.

You have created a new skill: Power Spin

Jackson scrambled to his feet. "Game menu!" He tapped into to his active abilities.

Power Spin: Whip the equipped weapon in a 360-degree spin, damaging and knocking back adjacent foes.

Essence Cost: 30

Level: 1

Progress: 11.9% 

"Fucking hell," Jackson said. 30 essence? He couldn't use the skill even if he wanted to. It struck him that War Cry was more expensive, too - 25 essence. Skills which affected multiple targets were costly.

Jackson grunted, gripped his spear, and set to work.





Dream Drive Ch. 04



Jackson screwed up his face for a second. "Uh...that means it was referring to something specific, like the name of a person, that deserved enunciation," Jackson said. "Do you know what it meant?"

Chaki shook her head. "I was as lost as you were. I'm unsure about many aspects of the side of your abilities that are like a...video game." The last term felt awkward in Chaki's mouth. It was clunky - from a language very unlike her own.

Jackson's frown deepened. "I'm getting tired of being in the dark on this much stuff."

"...I'm sorry I can't be more helpful."

Jackson gave her an odd look. "I didn't mean you, Chaki. You just totally revolutionized the way I was looking at magic. You've been extremely helpful."

"I have?"

"Absolutely," Jackson said. "You and Shaka know about persuasion magic. Persuasion uses runes to convince living things to change. I'm not sure whether those changes are encouraged by essence, or powered by it, but that's not really important. However, runes can't compel anything, they can only persuade. That means we're missing half of the equation."

"I don't follow," Chaki said.

Jackson shifted on his feet. He settled into a slouch, arm wrapped on his spear, using it as a crutch. He tapped his chin.

Chaki waited. He was composing his words. He could always find the words; it just took him a bit of time. Perhaps he had so many words floating in his head, he wasn't sure which ones to pick. Or perhaps he didn't know how to put them into terms other people understood. He seemed to jump topics at times.

It was rather fun to watch play out on his face. His expressions kept changing as he considered and dismissed ways in which to explain himself. He would start with a half-word, then stop himself and pinch his lips together, unsatisfied. She smiled and waited for his brain to complete the process.

"I've played a lot of games," Jackson said. "Maybe that's helping me intuit what's going on. But here's what I think: runes are for persuasion. Words - whatever they are - are for compulsion. That is the basic rule of magic.

"I can only have a limited number of Words, the same as the number of slots I have. A Word must be some powerful compelling unit. Unlike runes, I don't learn and use them as a full language, but as individual pieces of power. That implies a further contrast - two very distinct types of magic. Runes are a continuous ability - it's a speech, a drawn-out action that occurs over time. It's useful, varied in function, utilitarian. Words are big immediate blasts, probably offensive magical attacks."

Chaki opened her mouth to say something, but Jackson kept speaking. "But that's not all. It's important to note that the Spirit statistic increases the rate at which runes can be produced. That's vital for Persuasion - faster casting speed - but it doesn't seem as useful for Compulsion if it happens as a single Word, no runes involved. At the same time, Spirit increases one's magical resistance. I'm not exactly sure what magical resistance entails in terms of the game, but we can assume for starters that it means a higher chance of absorbing negative effects and reducing damage done by spells. But you just told me that runes can only convince, not compel. You won't be convincing someone to get hurt, but you could definitely compel them to be burned with an attack from a Word.

"In summary!" Jackson slapped a fist on his palm rather dramatically, as if pleased with himself. "Runes - Persuasion. Words - Compulsion. Spirit grants speed to Persuasion, and resistance against Compulsion."

Chaki blinked a few times. She opened her mouth again, then closed it. She stood for a moment. "...Jackson."

"Yes?"

"You've just made up an entire second...branch, of magic, based on nothing more than the implied clues of strange floating text."

"But it makes sense, right?"

"You can't extrapolate like that. It's risky."

"I'm sure I've probably messed something up," Jackson said. "That's ok. Hypotheses are meant to be changed." He smiled. "Like you said, I have to make the best decisions I can, given the information I have at the time. I have to be working from some sort of framework. This is that."

Chaki nodded. "If it helps you structure your thoughts, then by all means."

"And onto the next segment of our interview," Jackson said. "We need to specialize. Overlapping skills are fine, but we have to make up for each other's gaps. Honestly, it doesn't make much sense for me to learn runes. I'm not going to be persuading much. I mean, I'll learn them anyway, but I won't be pumping tons of points into it."

"Wait," Chaki said. "You're talking about the game."

"Exactly," Jackson said. "We need to complement one another."

"For what?"

"For when we...do things," Jackson said. "Travel. Fight. Adventure."

"Adventure?"

"Uh, yeah," Jackson said. "That's what we were talking about last night." Jackson studied her for a moment. "...oh. Shit. I thought - I wasn't thinking about your frame of reference. Chaki, I figured you meant you'd be coming with me. Up the tower. That's why I was hesitating so much."

Chaki felt a burst of emotions. Excitement. Trepidation. Anxiety.

Leave the plains? Leave Landri and Palla, and Shaka? The tribe? Her home? To travel with Jackson on his quest...of course. He was a warrior of Shakhan. He couldn't linger forever.

"You didn't realize that's what it meant," Jackson said. "That's ok. I'm -"

"No!" Chaki said. She shook her head. "No. I want to be with you. I am your north star. I will go with you."

"Chaki -"

"What do you mean by complement?" Chaki asked. She wanted to get away from the subject. If he knew he'd caught her by surprise, he might have second thoughts about taking her along.

Jackson squinted and considered her a moment, then shrugged. "We need to take our talents into account. You're already advanced in persuasion and spirit. You should keep specializing there. I'm going to focus on weapons and front-line activities. Taking hits, beating back enemies. And, if I can find some Words, I'll use those as well."

Chaki frowned. He wanted to protect her, take hits for her. It was the soft insult of misplaced manliness. Unfortunately, his logic made it difficult to form a counterargument.

"You don't like it," Jackson said.

"I didn't say anything."

"I can feel it," Jackson said. "Your coals turned black."

"My coals?"

"You feel like a fire," Jackson said. He pointed at his forehead. She took that to mean his sense of their bond. "When you're unhappy, it gets...colder."

"Hmm." Chaki decided that honesty would be the best policy going forward. It would be difficult to hide anything from him. That could be problematic. Sometimes a wife needed to hide things from her husband - keep him focused. Keep distractions out of his way. "I don't want you to sacrifice for me, Jackson."

"Sacrifice?" Jackson said. "I'll take the hits, but you'll be helping. Healing - and buffing. Do you know any runes to make a person stronger or faster?"

Chaki nodded. "I can briefly increase a warrior's strength. It's difficult; it requires essence constantly. Healing is actually a simple task - the body already wants to heal. It's much more difficult if you are active and moving around, but I don't see that it matters. You can't be injured."

"I can still lose health," Jackson said. "Anyway, I don't want you just dancing around with runes. You've got Agility."

"What does that mean for me?"

"I've trained up my spear skills, but bows are tough to use from the front lines," Jackson said. "You'll be ranged support. It's a great combination. You boost my abilities, and I head into direct combat. You shoot at the enemy from a distance. I'll specialize in Vitality so I can take more hits anyway."

Chaki slowly nodded. "I see the wisdom in what you're saying, but you speak as if you expect us to fight tomorrow. I hope that, when we make war, it will be a bit further out than that. And we won't be alone."

"Actually," Jackson said, "I wanted to go back to where you were captured."

"What? Why?"

"Two reasons," Jackson said. "First, those ruins have treasure. I can practically smell it." Jackson frowned for a moment, thinking. "Call it my gamer's sense. I've got this really big hunch there's something back there that I missed. Second, I've made great progress grinding, but it's not the same as fighting live enemies. I only get essence during actual combat, and I get the chance to practice my more powerful skills."

"Jackson, this is ridiculous," Chaki said. "I see your need to take advantage of all the mark has to offer you, but it seems like you're taking an unnecessary risk."

"It would be riskier not to go."

"Explain."

"Shakhan...told me a few things." Jackson looked at her, waiting. He had only given her the bare details last night.

"Well?" Chaki asked.

Jackson coughed. "Sorry. Shaka said that what Shakhan said was for me alone. Didn't want to offend you."

"I am to be your wife," Chaki said. "I would hope that things meant for you would be shared with me."

"Got it," Jackson said. "Well, Shakhan said that I wasn't supposed to live this long. The banishment was supposed to result in my relatively immediate death. Considering how close I came to it with the rattok...well. Doesn't matter now. What does matter is that, somehow, they know I'm not dead, and they're sending hunters after me."

"What is the nature of these hunters?"

Jackson shrugged. "Don't know. Shakhan didn't really have time to get into the details, but it definitely left me with the impression that I'm in a lot of danger. Going after rattok is dangerous itself, but unless I get stronger, I stand a great chance of dying anyway."

Chaki felt an icy gust around his ball of steel. "...you are leaving something out, Jackson Vedalt."

Jackson blushed. He looked away from her. "Yeah, well, you didn't think you were going on some stupid adventure, either."

"Don't change the subject," Chaki said quickly. "Complete your sentiments."

Jackson stood straight, raising himself up off his spear. He looked at her. "Chaki, you're involved with me now. I have to get stronger if I'm going to protect you." He raised a hand. "I can already feel you start to burn up. I'm not trying to distance myself from you. If you're going to be close to me, I've got to be tough enough to handle it. That means killing rattok. Otherwise..." Jackson's voice turned into a mumble. "...very good...sband."

"What was that?" Chaki asked.

Jackson's face turned redder. "Or I wouldn't make a very good husband, alright! If we're getting married, I...that's for keeps. I'm not just saying shit to make you happy. I mean it. So, I have to be thinking about the future."

"Jackson." Chaki struggled to keep her composure. The sun had rose fully while they spoke, turning the overcast skies from dark grey to fuzzy white. The camp was starting to wake in earnest, now. She couldn't just rush in and start kissing him. "I cannot tell you how happy it makes me to hear you say that."

"...you don't have to tell me," Jackson said. "I can feel it."

Against her better judgement, Chaki stepped closer. The sense of him sharpened palpably. Cold steel. Hot molten metal. Sealed gates welded shut, and sometimes pried open. "I can feel you too," she said. "But the words are important."

"They are," Jackson said. "Chaki?"

"Yes?"

"I really want to kiss you."

"You should take me by surprise," she said quietly, "so that I can't react in time to stop you."

Jackson closed the distance and pulled her into another kiss. It was gentle, caring. Loving. Their lips played against one another, softness on softness.

"Tatanka Ska!"

Shaka's shrill voice dug into Chaki's ears. She tore herself out of Jackson's embrace and tried not to look guilty. Did Shaka have some sort of sixth sense telling her when they were trying to be intimate?

Shaka marched up to them. Her thin bones and wiry grey hair made her seem an evil spirit come to reprimand them. "Tatanka Ska. That behavior is improper!"

"Uh..."

"Do not 'uh' at me," Shaka said. "Men do not speak in grunts and sounds, they speak with words."

"Chaki said the same thing," Jackson said. "What's improper about kissing, exactly?"

"Blatant physical displays of affection are improper in pubic until you are married."

"It's just kissing."

"Jackson," Shaka said, "do not test me."

"But Shaka," Chaki said, "we are to be married."

"What?" Shaka seemed a little surprised. "When was this decided?"

"...last night."

"When would you have time to..." Shaka narrowed her eyes. "Incredible. My own student, sneaking about with a young man behind my back. You - by the guidance of Shakhan, girl, what is that on your hand?!"

Chaki tried to hide her pentagram, but Shaka's hands were faster. She snatched Chaki's wrist in a grip like a vise and pulled her forward. "...when did this happen?"

"Last night," Chaki mumbled.

Shaka released her. "Impulsive girl." She moved to Jackson. "Stop slouching." She wacked his shoulder with her palm. "Stand up straight. Do you intend to marry this girl?"

Jackson jerked upright. He shifted his grip on his spear, which was still planted into the ground. His eyes shifted, avoiding Shaka's gaze. "More like she intends to marry me."

"Look at me when you speak to me, Tatanka Ska," Shaka said. "You are no longer a vagrant warrior. I am your spirit guide. I will have your respect."

Jackson looked at her, and his eyes were worried. "I didn't mean disrespect, Shaka."

"I know you didn't," she said, "and so I won't hold it against you. Now. Do you intend to marry this girl?"

Chaki waited with significantly more nervousness than she thought she'd have. She rubbed two of her fingers together, trying to work it out of herself. The pause stretched and uncomfortably long amount of time.

Jackson nodded. "I don't think either of us know what we're getting into, but yes. I intend to marry Chaki."

"Have you exchanged vows?"

Chaki shook her head. "No, Shaka. I had thought, at the Mountain Meet, we would exchange gifts, and then you could marry us."

"Then until that time you will respect tradition and not run about like a wild woman with no regard for propriety."

"Shaka -"

"Do not start with that tone, girl!" Shaka said. She fixed Chaki with her spirit-guide glare. "You creep about in the night because you know that the tribe would not tolerate your actions by day! What would Landri say, if she knew? In the end, Chaki, you can take responsibility for your own dalliances, but your mother does not deserve to be treated like this, to be embarrassed by an unruly daughter for whom she has cared for in solitude for years."

Chaki was struck by the ferocity of Shaka's words. She bowed her head. "...I am sorry, Shaka."

"Do not apologize to me. Correct your actions." She rotated to face Jackson. "And you. I will not ask what you two did last night. I do not want to know. But you will respect the laws and traditions of the Windseekers. You are courting this girl - you are not married. You may speak and walk together under supervision. You may kiss her on the cheek in farewell, only amongst friends, not in public. You may not meet alone under any circumstances. If I suspect that you are going against my wishes, then I shall not marry you and advise the other spirit guides to do the same."

"Why is this such a big deal?" Jackson said.

"We have done things this way for a long time, Jackson," Shaka said. "I do not expect one as new as you to understand, but the reason they are done this way is because it works. Men and women, bonded together in marriage, are expected to support and thrive and be contributing members of a tribe. Such relationships are not storms that come and go as they please. They are like the stars, and the sun, constant, warm, rhythmic. The courting process is to ensure emotional and mental compatibility well separated from the thrills and obscuring clouds of passion. Passion is not itself a bad thing, but it alone does not love make."

Chaki stood quietly. She did indeed feel reprimanded. In a way, Shaka had given all of her concerns a voice - that things were moving too quickly with Jackson, that she was getting caught up in her own fantasies. The two of them seemed caught in shifting winds - in some moments, not caring if their passion burned them up, and in others, being unsure if their passion was masking full and true feelings.

But Chaki had felt Jackson's acceptance. She had felt him open to her, briefly, and change because of her. He was shut tight again at the moment, but she was confident she could pry open his iron gates, reach within him, and draw them closer together. They were bound by a force more powerful than either of them understood. She took comfort in that - surely, if they had not meant their devotion, if their promises were false, the bond would not have taken root at all.

Jackson looked at her Chaki. She looked back at him. Something passed between them; they were having similar thoughts, and they both knew it. He nodded to her, and turned to Shaka. "I understand."

"That," Shaka said, "is what I wanted to hear. Come with me."

Shaka marched back toward the camp. Jackson made to follow, but glanced back at Chaki. "Sorry I got you in trouble."

"It's what I wanted," Chaki said. "Go on. I'll see you later."

"Tatanka Ska!" Shaka shouted.

"Coming!"

Jackson scampered away. It was a motion that was very like him. He was so very much himself. She would have to remind herself to call him Tatanka Ska in public. 

She started walking back toward camp. Her mother would need help packing things up.





Dream Drive Ch. 04



"She's..." Jackson tried, but he couldn't reduce Chaki to words. He wasn't good at that to start with. "She's great."

"Do you mean to marry her?"

"...yeah," Jackson said. "It's...kinda crazy. In my world, we're a lot more, uh, free with affection, I guess, but people still court each other for a long time before committing to marriage. Months, at the least. Some go for years. Several winters, I mean."

"I would say that several seasons of courting is not unusual," Shaka said. "Sometimes as little as a cycle of the moon. But you did meet under extreme circumstances. Such things have a way of bringing people together. She sees you as a savior, Tatanka Ska. You will have to live up to those expectations."

"...I think you just put into words what I've been so afraid of." He looked up at her. "What if I can't? She seems so confident. She makes me feel like I can do it, but...I'm not the right guy for this. For all of this." Jackson gestured at his arm. "This is serious shit. I'm glad I'm here, but...it's too real. I'm glad, but only because it's not home, not because I signed up for a suicide mission. I wanted to play a game, not - I don't even know yet. I don't even know what's going on."

"You say so much, and yet so little," Shaka said. "A confused heart makes for a confused mouth."

"You can say that again."

Shaka spent a moment interpreting his saying. "Tatanka Ska. You are making your life too complicated. Stop thinking."

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "What?"

"Here are your goals," Shaka said. "Serve Shakhan. Stay strong. Make Chaki happy. There. Now your life is simple."

"Oh, gee, thanks."

Shaka's wrinkled lips curled up. "You're welcome."

Jackson couldn't help but return the smile. Maybe...Shaka was right. Maybe he was just overanalyzing the situation. That could help him figure out the game, but it was counterproductive in terms of relationships.

Jackson slapped his knees. "Shaka, I can't promise that I'm perfect, or that Chaki and I are supposed to be together. I've known her two days and some change. I'm not a social person. I've met more people since I've come here than I have in the last few years put together back in my world. But I'll do my best."

Shaka reached out and poked him in the forehead. Jackson blinked and rubbed the spot where her finger touched. "Your thinking is a great strength," she said. "But remember what drew her to you. Ultimately, you must act. Thinking forever will only hurt you. Do not linger on 'ifs' and 'might-have-beens'. Think carefully, then decide, and move forward."

If Chaki could be said to be as solid as a stone, then Shaka was wrought granite. Jackson felt himself smiling. "Thanks, Shaka."

"You are very welcome," she said. "It is good to listen to advice. It is better to take it seriously. Do not forget my words."

"I won't."

"Why is it that you find what others say so hard to believe?" Shaka said. "Do you not trust what Chaki has told you about her feelings? Yes, I spoke of passion - but I see how you look upon each other. There are real feelings beneath your veneer of heat. I just wanted to remind you of your position. I would not have encouraged the relationship between you two in the first place if I did not think it a good thing. You seemed very sure, earlier, but when the actual situation finally grew certain you appear to think yourself on shaky ground."

"I get uncomfortable when things go too well," Jackson said.

"Why?"

"Reasons."

"Tell me, Jackson."

"Because I - hey. You called me Jackson."

She waved a hand at him. "We are in private. You still think of yourself as Jackson, besides."

"Look, what does it matter?" Jackson said. "I get what you said about me and Chaki. I'll try not to get stuck in my head too much. Can we move on?"

"I would like to linger."

"Why do you care so much?"

"Jackson." She placed a bony hand on his knee. Her skin was leathery, but warm. "I care because I care about you. You are strong, but you are just a young man. You need guidance. This is my role in life, for you, for the tribe as a whole. A spirit guide is not just a conduit to Shakhan, not just a repository of runes. She heals and soothes her people. When members of the tribe feel as though they have lost their place, I restore it. When relationships have run dry, I lead wives and husbands back to the creek. I sense discord within you. I am bothered by it. So." She spread her hands. "What we say is between us, and us alone. Please. Share yourself with me."

Jackson hesitated for a long moment.

"...it's my own business," he said.

Shaka looked at him a little longer, then nodded. "Then it is time for you to learn runes."

Jackson made a half-frown. He hadn't expected her to let it go like that, let alone turn around and start handing out magic. "You're still going to teach me?"

"I am. But before that, what of the symbol on Chaki's hand?"

Jackson shrugged. "We promised each other...each other. It just appeared there. She's gained my powers, and we're linked, somehow. We can feel how the other feels. I'm not exactly sure about all the details."

Shaka was quiet. She closed her eyes, nodded. She opened them and looked at Jackson. "I will leave matters of Shakhan to you. Be cautious."

"Yeah," Jackson said. "I'm trying to be. Anyway, Chaki was telling me about magic. Runes are used along with essence to persuade living things to do something different."

"A blunt but accurate statement," Shaka said. "The rune-maker is a director. A guide."

"What about non-living things? Like, say, my spear? Could I use magic on it?"

"I often embed runes into items that I craft," Shaka said. "I trade these with the members of the tribe in return for meat and hides, amongst other things. It is possible to strengthen items this way, though only so many runes can fit onto any object. Beads, for example, cannot carry complex sentences of runes, but only single words - luck. Wisdom. Strength. A shield could carry more."

"So, if you can use magic like that, why didn't you break out of the cage yourself?"

"Multiple reasons," Shaka said. "I wasn't sure if Chaki would survive her wounds without my essence to heal her. Weakening the wood with an enchantment to the point that we could break it open would have sapped a significant portion of what I had left. I was weakened from the infection in my ankle - Chaki and Palla were in enough of a state without knowing about that. And if we did break out of the cage, there was a lookout above the cave watching for trouble. A single rattok might have killed us, beaten and sick as we were. It was better to conserve energy and wait for a better opportunity."

"Oh," Jackson said. "I guess that makes sense."

"Of course, there's another problem with enchantments."

"What's that?"

"Only someone with the talent to push essence into the runes, and thereby activating their strength, is be able to use it," Shaka said. "The process drains essence quickly. So, creating and using an enchantment on the spot is very difficult. However, there are methods to store essence so that it can be used later."

Jackson was starting to think of enchantments as a possible liability, rather than any help, until he heard that last bit. He perked up. "How can I store essence?"

"Certain stones can store essence," she said, "though they are very rare. I only have a few remaining. Most of what I owned was on my person when I was captured, and they were stripped from me."

"What sort of stones?"

"Here." Shaka lifted the collar of her dress and drew out her necklace. There were three red gemstones strung along it. They looked like rubies, but they were uncut - raw little daggers of rock, rather than crafted stones. She untied it from her neck and offered it out. "Touch them. You'll see."

Jackson brushed the rubies with his fingers. Immediately, he could feel it - the same pressure in his gut, energy curled up, waiting to be pushed. A baying dog that needed someone to take the collar off. He drew his hand back. "Does that work with stuff other than rubies?"

Shaka nodded. "They are few and far between. I had several blue stones, and a few white ones. They are lost to me, now. I am only thankful I didn't wear everything together."

"So, you could drain your rubies to power an enchantment, but it would go fast," Jackson said. He had saw sudden image of his rusty iron spear jammed with rubies along the shaft. "Maybe I can find some myself. If you use runes to persuade things, though, how do you use them to enchant something?"

"Inanimate objects can't have a conversation," Shaka said. "Runes can imbue them with properties they might not otherwise have. If I inscribed strength upon a spear, for example, it would be much less likely to break, should I swing hard. If I inscribed sharpness upon an arrowhead, it would pierce deeper into the hide of a bison. Of course, you have to expend essence to gain these effects, and even then they are only active as essence is pushed into them."

"So, some gems can store essence," Jackson said. "Then what are essence crystals, exactly?"

"If you ever touch an empty gemstone, you'll sense the potential it has to store power," Shaka said. "Essence circulates around us. It's in the ground, the air we breathe, in the food we eat. It's part of life. Sometimes, it finds its way into the rocks, and is locked there, drawn in by that potential to store and hold. The crystals are natural deposits of essence." Shaka closed her eyes, thinking. "There is lore which says powerful creatures grow strong by taking crystals into themselves. It is said that the great plains golems are given life because of these crystals. They are much more delicate than my stones - not reusable."

Jackson stuck his tongue out, thinking. He'd found an essence crystal after killing that one rattok - the big one. Maybe it was a rattok that had eaten a crystal, or been affected by it, somehow. He might have to go big game hunting to find out.

"Do you know what Words are?" he asked.

"Words?" Shaka gave him an odd look. "We use them to speak to one another."

"...so you don't know what Words are," Jackson said.

"I think I'm missing something."

"Shakhan's sign told me there is more to magic than runes," Jackson said. "There's a side that doesn't persuade - it compels. I think it has to do with magic that's spoken rather than written."

Shaka slowly nodded. "There are reports passed amongst the tribes that say the land of the iron men is ruled by those who command powerful magics. It is said they can make the earth shiver, and the skies tremble. Perhaps their Words do such things, for my runes cannot. And I am glad for it."

"Glad?" Jackson said. "If you had those abilities, you wouldn't have been captured."

"Power is dangerous," Shaka said. "I am strong, Jackson, and I have magic, but I am just a woman. It does me well to remember this fact. There are several in the tribe to whom I could teach runes, several I can sense that have talent. Chaki has the greatest potential, true, but magic should not be used frivolously, and certainly not as a tool to rule over others. With all my efforts focused on Chaki, I can be certain that this wisdom is passed to her."

"What if you died?"

"On that occasion, the spirit guide of the other branch of our tribe would take her in and finish her education, before restoring her to us. We would do as we could without a spirit guide in the interim." She smiled at him. "Does that answer all your questions?"

"For now."

"You're an inquisitive sort."

"You get that way when you have access to the internet," Jackson said.

"I'm not going to ask," Shaka said. "I have decided that I will leave your world to you."

Jackson felt relief that he didn't have to explain the internet to someone who didn't even know that the earth was round. "Fine by me."

"Now then." Shaka began to draw on the ground. "Runes are different than what we speak. They are nouns, verbs, and adjectives. The verbs do not change. So, for example, I would tell you that an arrow flies quickly. In runes, it would be thus."

Shaka drew three shapes. One was a straight line with two marks for feathers; the likeness of an arrow. The next rune Jackson didn't quite get until she was finished - it was a wing, with three lines drawn under it. The last rune was a simple triangle, but she underlined it two times. Shaka pointed to each symbol in turn. "Arrow. Fly. Fast."

"So...no conjugation?"

"Essentially," Shaka said. "There are some modifications. For example, if I wanted to say arrow fly very fast..." She brushed the dirt of the floor to clear it, then drew the triangle rune again. This time, she made it smaller, and drew two copies of it. "This would read as arrow fly fast fast."

"Seems easy enough."

Shaka grinned. "Remembering thousands of words will tax your memory indeed, Jackson."

"How do I write like you two did?" Jackson asked. "With white lines?"

"Reach within yourself for essence," Shaka said. "Grasp it. When you write the runes, they will shine with your inner light. Your soul will convey your intent. Just let it happen."

Jackson did as she said. His essence was still there, resting inside of him. He put a mental hand on it, and drew in the air.

A grey line followed his finger. It was...slow. He'd draw in the air, and the line would appear a few moments after; there seemed to be some sort of lag time. "Huh."

"Practice will increase the speed," Shaka said.

Jackson drew the shape of the arrow, and as he completed the rune, the line stopped, detaching from him as if it knew his intention was complete. Maybe it did. He drew the last two runes, and the same thing happened.

Jackson kept an eye on his essence counter. It didn't go down - holding his essence let him draw the runes, but didn't deplete it. He peered at the symbols he'd made in the air. Grey wasn't the right word. It was somewhat reflective, burnished, like iron that had been scratched clean with a wire brush.

"Why do mine look different?"

"They reflect the soul," Shaka said. "Chaki and I are similar. We are people under the mountain. You are different. Your runes might change as you do."

Jackson felt something else. A pulse, like a heartbeat. It thrummed in his chest. It was close. He frowned, and looked at Shaka. "...do you feel that?"

She smiled. "That is me. You have a similar pulse, though it is quite weak. You have less potential than Chaki, but I suspect your blessing might make up for that."

Jackson frowned. Weak? That wasn't good.

Oh. Wait. He hadn't put any points into Spirit. Of course he felt weaker. His advantage was that he could make himself stronger, not that he started out as a god.

His mind turned to practical considerations. "Is there a way to hide my pulse?"

"Of course," she said. "Stop touching your essence. Your magical pulse will cease, but then it becomes impossible for you to detect my own pulse. You must emit a pulse to detect one. However, if someone uses strong magic nearby, you wouldn't need to hold your essence to sense them."

"Tricky," Jackson said. He licked his lips. Magic was getting more and more complicated. "Let me go write these runes down, then I'll come back for more."

"I will prepare more for you. How many do you think you can memorize at once?"

"Game menu." Jackson flicked through the screens with his finger to the log out button. He glanced at Shaka. "Um...probably six or seven."

"Then you have many trips to make. Go with haste."

Jackson hit the button. Usually, a prompt asking him if he was sure would pop up, but this time, there was a different inquiry.

Would you like to take any of your Bonded with you?

Yes

No

"...whoa."

"What is it?"

"...it's asking me if I want to take Chaki back with me," Jackson said. "I can take her back into my world."

"I would speak with her about that before acting," Shaka said. "And certainly not until you are married. I assume the process is harmless?"

"Yeah. I just wake up back where I left there."

"Alright. Leave it alone for now."

Jackson reached up and tapped the 'no' button. Shaka was right - that was a complication he didn't want to worry about right now.

Jackson's world went black, as black as if he'd worn a blindfold and shut his eyes - and then he was back in his room. He lifted his Dream Drive off his head and sat down at his computer. It was still a sprawling mess. He hadn't exactly prioritized organizing it into something he screw a case around.

He moused on one of his monitors. The clock told him it was past 7pm. His window was pink with the sliver of sun that fell through the alley outside his apartment block. It was still morning back in Isis - that confirmed the 12-hour time difference.

Notifications popped up in front of him as he opened his internet connection. His calendar chimed to remind him that school started in four more days. A little video started to play.

"This is a message from the Interscholastic Council of New Boston!" said a cheery voice. "We hope your summer assignments have proceeded successfully. This mandatory five-video series will prepare you for your final year of -"

Jackson clicked a button in the corner of his desktop. A little app sprung to life and closed the video for him. Government-sponsored announcements normally froze a computer until they'd finished delivering their message. Jackson had workarounds.

Almost immediately, another video started playing. This one was propaganda. They released a newsreel on the state of the war every day. The reel was sent to everyone on the government's mailing list.

Everyone was on the government's mailing list. Everything they sent was mandatory viewing. Jackson did not particularly like the government.

The videos were split into three parts. The first segment always showed whatever the recent victory was, or soldiers preparing for victory, victory parades, proclamations of imminent victory by one or more political leaders or generals, or, if there was absolutely nothing going on, a montage of past victories. The second part demonized the Sino-Russian Bloc and showed how they were on the brink of falling apart before the unstoppable forces of the GAU. Jackson regarded this information in particular with a touch of skepticism, because if you believed the newsreels, they'd been on the verge of collapse for over 14 years.

And then the last segment. It was the part Jackson hated most - the reminder that every citizen of the Greater Atlantic Union had to do their part to ensure victory. It was usually a clip of some person shown doing something that benefited the state, followed by them giving an impassioned personal interview of how honored they were to be selected and how you, too, could make a difference!

Jackson didn't have to deal with that anymore. The most popular program to get around the videos had been deep web freeware for some time. It simply closed the video while mimicking the response information that told the government you'd watched the whole thing.

The first version had long been ousted and replaced with a dummy sting program to sucker people in and get them some jail time. Like so many things the government did on the internet, their efforts were counterproductive. With the main source of liberation vanquished, thousands of variations on the theme immediately sprung to life like so many cockroaches. Jackson himself had modified his copy to avoid the government's claws, creating his own unique version. He followed public security updates on one of his deep net feeds to stay a few steps ahead of changing protocols. It was a simple program, anyway - he wasn't a total pro wit software, but he was good enough for that.

Something more important beeped at him next - an email. Jackson used an aggregation program to collect email from the dozens of addresses he'd created over the years. This one was sent to an address he no longer used. He double clicked it.




Dream Drive Ch. 05



Author's Note:

I'm not really sure how to react to the massive wave of support for my writing. Thank you very, very much.

A few people have asked me if I could give more regular updates on the progress of Dream Drive; many of the same have wanted to know if I've written anything else. The answer to both of these questions is yes. Please see my note at the end of the chapter for details.

Let it be known to all that my editor, Expoh, suffered through my typos so that you might be spared.

All aspects of the story are fictional. All characters that participate in sexual activity are over the age of 18.





Dream Drive Ch. 05



The horse finally leveled out at something that was probably about as fast as Rachel could run.

The collar pulsed ominously.

No, she thought at it. I'm not getting down and running. The horse is trained for this sort of thing. I'd sprint for half a mile and die. The horse can do this forever.

The collar stopped thrumming.

Rachel's face shriveled faster than if she'd just drank a gallon of prune juice. She looked down at the wooden band. That seemed way too good to be true. But it was true – the collar had responded to her own rationalizations.

What did that mean? Something important. She had to figure it out before she got back to Hale. Smoke rising in the distance informed her that would not be a very long interval of time.

A few scouts, bodies flat to the plain, stood up as she rode close. They recognized her quickly and returned to lying prone, eyes on the horizon. She passed into the empty space between the outer rim of soldiers and the campsite proper, finally letting the horse drift to a slower pace. It wheezed through its nose.

The collar hummed. She wasn't galloping at Hale's tent.

I'm going as quickly as possible, Rachel thought. I can't run people down and screw up the camp.

The collar stopped again.

She could control it. She could control the collar. What was she missing? It was reacting to something, her thoughts, her...

For some reason, the Dream Hub tagline was spat up from the bowels of her memory. Perception is reality.

Perception! That was it. The collar responded to her own perception of whether she was following Hale's orders or not. If she could make a reasonable argument to herself, then the collar followed suit. Finally, after two days of slavery, she'd found the crack in Hale's suit of armor.

It wasn't very much wiggle room. She couldn't take the collar off herself, or damage it, or do anything to it – that was a direct order. Couldn't squeeze out of that one.

Rachel had her parameters; she had a goal. The variables were defined. She just had to implement. Just like writing a program. No sweat. I got this.

What were her standing orders? No touching the collar. No talking about the collar. Address Hale properly. No discussing the details of Lord Hale's plans regarding his magic, troops, or holdings in any way that could damage his standing in the empire.

That last one. His standing in the empire. It was vague. He'd given it with the air of someone who had said the words to a dozen other slaves, and his wording had gotten a tad lazy. It had a weakness - she just had to find it.

She reached the camp proper. It was an angular, strictly organized affair. The brown tents were in long, even rows; the soldiers had already tramped down major paths between them. Latrines were dug in the distance on the other side of camp, away from the supplies and horses.

Officer tents were not clustered in any particular area, but rather, scattered throughout the normal tents, and they weren't marked by anything special. The air was subdued, quiet. No drinking, no gambling. A few huddled conversations, some laughter, but no disorder. She rode by several on-duty guards. They were always posted in pairs.

Commander Tell'ad was a bit high on himself, but he sure knew how to run an army.

Rachel ignored the big tent in the center flying Lord Hale's green-and-black standard. That was the decoy tent for would-be attackers or assassins. Accidents could happen, especially while a lord was away from home.

Instead, she went for a slightly larger-than-average tent. The size marked someone of notable military office, but nothing too important. Her collar – and the ten-odd guards positioned at shadowy spaces between neighboring tents – told her this was Hale's temporary residence.

She brought the horse to a halt and slid off the saddle. Her legs shook; her knees wanted to collapse. She needed to sit, rest, let the video game part of her life do its magic. But the collar wouldn't let her stay. A man came to attend to her horse, and she started to trudge forward.

That was the groom. Rachel slowed and turned her head. "Yo, dude."

The groom gave her a look that said she's-important-so-I'll-just-go-with-it. "Ah...my lady?"

Rachel's collar hummed again. She ignored it. "What's that horse's name, again?"

The groom glanced at the horse for a moment, then back at her. "Juniper, my lady."

"Thanks. Juniper was great. Give him a carrot or something. Is there a girl horsey he likes? He deserves –"

Rachel tripped. The collar felt like it was stabbing into her neck. She stumbled across the ground toward Hale's tent, falling to her hands and knees as that blade was drawn back across her spine.

"My lady?!" The groom dashed forward. Several of the guards shifted, uncertain if helping her was more important than keeping their posts.

Small-dicked little pissy face-fucked faggot munching ass wiper bitch shithead FUCK.

The pain was fading. Rachel held up a hand. "Just...headache. Bad headache. I get them. Thanks for...Juniper." She stood straight and strode for the canvas. "I'll visit later. Him. The horse. He's cool."

"Um...yes, my lady."

Rachel brushed aside the tent flap without bothering to announce herself. Hale would know she was there.

He was shirtless, and shaving. He wasn't muscular, but he had more muscle than fat. He was taller than Rachel, but almost everyone was taller than Rachel, except for those with clinically stunted growth, so that wasn't really saying much. His hair was jet black and short.

Hale used a straight razor. Rachel noticed he did that twice a day, when he could. He was very quick – he lathered and shaved his entire face, twice, in less than ten minutes. Apparently the second pass made a difference. Rachel didn't really see it.

"Rachel," he said. He was at the wrong angle to see her in his mirror, but he didn't need to see her to know she was there. "You were successful."

He had the same presumptuous tone he usually did. It was less his voice and more the word choice. You are this. You were that. You did this, otherwise you would not waste my time with your presence, because as we all know, my time is better than yours, because I'm a big fat fucking asshole.

Rachel swallowed, and nodded. "Yeah." She caught herself. "I mean, yes, Lord Hale." She dug into her pocket and drew out the small black box. "So, my Lord, what the hell is this thing?"

Hale didn't answer immediately. He swept his razor across his chin, flicking the lather off his face and into the small basin under the mirror. He splashed a bit of water on his neck to clean the remainder off, then pulled his shirt over his head.

He faced her. His face was like his hair – neat, clean. Too clean for an asshole like him. He held out his hand. "The box."

Rachel handed it to him. He raised it up, pinched between his thumb and forefinger. The lantern light in the tent faded in its presence. "Incredible. This might just be a primary sample."

"Of what?"

Lord Hale looked at her.

Rachel held in her sigh. "A primary sample of what, my lord?"

"Within this box," Hale said, "is contained the encapsulated authority of the creator, the Word of God Himself."

"...oh."

"Oh?" Hale made a sort of self-satisfied chuckle that made Rachel want to punch him in the face. "Oh, she says. As if it's not a penny in her well."

Hale strode toward her and gripped her chin in his hands. He turned her face from side-to-side, inspecting her like he inspected the box.

Rachel thought of Jackson's hands, and how gentle they were when they cleaned her off.

Stupid. Thinking about shit like that. Focus.

"Something happened in the rattok caverns," Hale said.

Rachel said nothing.

He glanced to the entrance of the tent without following up on his statement. "Fetch me the commander."

A voice answered from outside the tent. "Right away, my lord."

Hale still hadn't released her chin. Rachel was starting to loathe his grip. She imagined clamping his arm to a table and chopping off his fingers one at a time. It helped.

He faced her again. "The Word of God," Hale said. "Do you understand what I mean?"

His grip wouldn't let her shake her head. She shrugged instead. "I told you, we don't have magic in my world. My lord."

"It is said that demons made these containers." His fingers tightened, squeezing her skin painfully. "They lost the war for control of the Higher Plane, but even in their defeat, they were cunning. They wanted to preserve His power for their own use, even that which echoed around them as they were cast down. And so they used these constructs to trap His very words, to be released at time of need."

He finally let her chin go and raised the inky box again. "Perhaps that is just a legend; there may be some other arcane source. Regardless of their origin, we do not know how they are made, these originals. But we can copy them. And we can copy those copies - but the power contained is lessened with each duplication. The lesser formats are said to be magical dilutions." He rubbed the top of the box with his other hand. "The closer to the original, the more powerful. More potential, if utilized properly."

"How is it utilized, my lord?" Rachel asked.

"Through runes," he said. "Runes are crafted about the box itself. When released, the box absorbs them. There are limits, of course. The runes must somehow use the power of the given word. Runes alone cannot forge fire from water, but they could turn the Word water into a pressurized jet, or a rolling wave. The crafting of runes into a particular spell is a delicate process, one that involves embedding part of it into the soul itself. Collectively, the finalized runic enchantment and the box's power are termed a single Word. Even I can only hold four at a time."

Rachel blinked. Usually he wasn't so up front with sensitive information. "Why is that, my lord?"

"Words are as enchantments upon the soul," he said, "and a soul can only bear so much. Only a lifetime of training has enabled me to carry such."

"I see."

"You're confused as to why I'm telling you these things," he said.

Rachel's teeth ground in the back of her mouth.

"And now you're wondering how it is I can read your thoughts," Hale whispered.

Rachel shivered.

Was it true? Did the collar tell him everything? She wasn't sure. Between the pain, and the chaos of her life over the past few days, she couldn't tell. Her entire soul might be laid bare for him to read like a book.

No. He didn't know everything. She'd found a loophole in the collar: his orders were subject to her interpretation.

"Well, my lovely Lady Ransfeld," he said, "I'm glad you returned in one piece. You seem to have had a time of it." He trailed a finger down her oil-encrusted hair. "My golden-haired warrior. You are such a cute, delectable little thing."

"You have a point, my lord?" Rachel growled.

"Oh, my," he said, withdrawing his finger. "I forgot. You don't like it when people touch your hair. We still have to fix that, don't we?"

Pain shot through Rachel. It ran up her right leg like a line of fire. Her knee buckled. She fell onto all fours.

"Now," Hale said, "let's repeat our mantra."

Rachel gasped. The pain lingered; it throbbed, receded, throbbed again.

"Don't keep me waiting." His voice had a dangerous edge.

"I serve...Lord Hale," Rachel said.

"Very good. How do you serve me?"

"With my body and heart and soul."

"Repeat. All of it."

"I serve Lord Hale with my body and heart and soul."

"Again."

Rachel's lips drew back over her teeth. "I serve," she said, "Lord Hale. With my body, and heart, and soul. Are you satisfied yet, my lord?"

Rachel shrieked and fell to the ground. She could feel it, feel the cold sharp steel of a blade sliding through her body, cutting and slicing the skin. And then it was gone. She shivered, curling up on the ground in her blood-covered leather and torn up cloak.

"Let's avoid such improvisation in the future," he said calmly. He moved so his feet were at her face. An ugly frown stained his clean-shaven face. "Once more. With feeling."

"I serve Lord Hale with my body and heart and soul," Rachel whispered.

"Yes, you do," he said. "You'll be my finest servant, Rachel. I promise you that. Limitless untapped potential. You are the tool I will use to dominate this tiny little world. The plains, first, once I scour them of their infestation, and then the empire."

"My lord." It was the commander's voice. "I have come."

"Enter."

Tell'ad brushed aside the tent flap. His greying hair was unkempt; he must have been sleeping. His eyes went to Rachel, watched her breathing through the grass and dirt. He looked back to Lord Hale. "Was there something you wanted to discuss?"

"Indeed. My preparations are far enough along to time well with our attack." Hale considered the box, apparently not caring if Tell'ad saw it. "We march tomorrow morning. This spy of yours - he said this Mountain Meet will last several days?"

Tall'ad nodded. "A week, my lord. Often longer. It will take at least that for the closest tribe to get there."

"That gives us an excellent timetable," Hale said. "Don't tire the men, but keep the scouts extended far in all directions. I do not want them to get wind of this attack. We have quite a few advantages, but they still outnumber us. I want to lose as little as possible in this endeavor."

"Yes, my lord." Tall'ad looked at Rachel one more time; there was a brief flicker of pity in his eyes. And then he bowed, and slipped out of the tent.

I don't want your fucking pity.

"Now, back to more important matters," Hale said. He took a knee and put a hand on Rachel's cheek. She clenched up. "There, there," he said. He stroked his hand along her face. "Rachel, Rachel. Rachel. I know it's hard. I know you're still trying to think about how you'll get out of this. But eventually, you'll be casting spells alongside me. You'll wonder why you ever thought to leave my side. You'll be my everything...everything I need you to be. You're the woman I've been looking for. A woman enough to be my partner." He tapped her nose with his finger. "You just need to learn a touch more obedience!"

Rachel made a sound in the back of her throat that she hoped was defiant. If she didn't use words, she didn't have to call him Lord Hale.

"Come, be reasonable," he said. "If I can deliver pain...imagine what kind of pleasure I can give you." He trailed his hand down her torso. He cupped her small breast through the hard casing of leather. "I'll make an empress of you. I'll give you the whole world. You'll make good use of it; you're an intelligent woman. If you weren't, I would've already discarded you." He let his hand slide down further and clenched hold of her ass. "You're quite beautiful, too. I'll truly enjoy that part of our -"

Rachel threw herself at him, going for his throat with her teeth.

She collapsed halfway. The pain struck her down, destroyed her nerves, rebuilt them, and destroyed them again. She screamed. Her body twitched and spasmed against her will.

It stopped. The pain just turned off, but her body still roiled, shivered, as if it couldn't believe that things had changed so quickly.

"Don't do that again," Hale said. "That's an order."

Rachel felt the collar shift. Another order; another limitation. But he hadn't said not to attack him – just not to attack him like that. She just had to bide her time for round two. I've been a programmer longer than you have, Hale.

Hale took her hand – her star-scarred hand. He traced a finger across the inverted pentagram dug into her flesh, as if memorizing the pattern. "You're still holding onto something. Tell me what it is."

Rachel was silent. She kept herself relaxed, letting him play with her hand. She was an empty doll. She wouldn't struggle. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"Tell me," he said. His voice had the edge again.

"Yes, my lord," Rachel said. "I still think I'm going to escape you."

"It's because I gave you a little room to work with, isn't it?"

Rachel had built a little territory inside her mind, a little space of safety. She had weapons; she had tools. She could resist him.

With just that one sentence, he buried all of it under a black tide of helplessness.

"You think I don't know how my own spell works?" he asked. "You think I'd just casually give you slack to play with? Did it feel good, when you thought you'd figured it out?" He leaned in closer. "I'm engineering your behavior, Rachel, right down to the conclusions you think you're making on your own. It's one thing to force you to obey me. It's another entirely to crush the hopes I allow you to form." He sat back up, still petting her hand like she really was a doll. "You'll learn, Rachel. This is the way it has to be right now. You'll thank me later. Now. What happened in the caverns?"

"...I killed a lot of rattok, my lord," she said. "And I got the box."

"And what else?"

"And it was moldy and cold and bloody," she said. "I didn't enjoy it."

Hale fixed her with a stare. His eyes pierced through her core. He could see everything.

Don't believe him. Don't believe him. I can't believe him.

"There was a lot of stuff," she said.

"I want you," Hale said, "to tell me every detail about your journey, from beginning to end. Or I will make you wish you had."

Rachel started talking.

She described the forest, the ruins, and told him about the rattok. She detailed him how many she killed and how she killed them; how much essence she collected, and how she spent it, along with any and all abilities she used. She spared no grisly moment of the ceremony that transformed captive people into rattok.

And then she fed him a load of bull about how she'd gotten her hair soaked in oil, singlehandedly killed the rattok mage, discovered the box, and escaped the ruins.

She did not mention Jackson.

Hale didn't notice.





Dream Drive Ch. 05



Jackson rubbed his forehead. The confused flame inside of the bond bobbed and weaved, but it faded a bit as she distanced herself. He looked at Shaka. "I don't look that bad, do I?"

"You've looked better," Shaka said.

"What happened? She was..."

"What happened, Jackson," Shaka said, "is that her half of your bond activated when you found yourself in danger. She was bringing water to the camp, and suddenly, it weighed less than a feather, and she could run at twice her normal pace. She came to me."

"Oh."

"Oh is right," Shaka said. "And then I had to deal with your wife-to-be, who was stuck dozens of miles away from you while your life was at risk, filled with enormous strength and unable to lift a finger to help you." Shaka fixed him with her spirit-guide-glare. "Do not do that to me again. I do not believe my tipi will survive another event such as that."

"Um...ok."

Shaka nodded. "Now. You have the look of someone with much on their mind."

"Shaka, a lot happened," Jackson said. "A hell of a lot. And..."

"Get yourself cleaned up, and we'll discuss it," she said. "I will take Smallgrass back to the herd, then wait with Chaki so that she does not burn the camp down."

Jackson went off and threw himself in the creek. His bison-skin shirt and pants sloughed off most of the blood and grime surprisingly well, only leaving a dim stain. The People-Under-The-Mountain made their clothes to last.

Once he'd scrubbed himself off, he donned his wet clothing and made his way back to Shaka's tipi. She was waiting with a fresh outfit. He changed in her tent, grateful for the new belt, then set his other set of clothes to dry near her fire.

He wasn't surprised to see Chaki waiting for him when he went outside. This close, he could feel her constantly, fading as she moved away, growing as she closed in; a candle that was drifting up and about. Her mood had settled to an ashen glow.

"I am sorry," she said, "that I struck you."

"It's ok," Jackson said. "I think I'm getting used to being slapped in the face."

Chaki hacked a laugh. She looked at the fire, then at the dim sky, now the purple-blue of sunlight almost gone. "I was worried. More than I thought I would be. Than I should be."

"Sorry."

"You're not sorry you went."

"No," Jackson said. "I'm sorry I made you upset."

Chaki considered that for a moment, then nodded. "That much was honest."

Jackson moved around the fire and sat next to her. He gently placed his hands on her elbows. "So what do I do next time?"

"Don't go off on your own again."

"I can do that."

Chaki nodded. He hadn't fixed it, not entirely - but she seemed satisfied for the moment.

He wasn't sure if he wanted to fix it all the way.

Something dark curdled in his heart. It had been a long ride back from the rattok nest, a long time to think. Would Chaki leave, like Rachel did? When she saw him for what he was, would she abandon him?

He had to expect the worst. He had to steel himself against it. All he had to do was break it off before she did. 

But she felt so good in his arms. Her eyes stared up into his; he sucked in their deep brown color. His brief resolve crumbled.

What was wrong with him?

Jackson smiled; Chaki returned it. Her teeth were bright in the light of the fire. "I'm glad, Jackson."

"At least you two have the good sense to communicate," Shaka said. "I don't know how many couples I've gone through that don't grasp the basics. Giving guidance is hard work."

"Thanks for all the help, Kemosabe."

"I take it that this is a compliment?" Shaka asked.

"That one would take a while to explain," Jackson said. "But basically, yes."

"Shaka said you had a lot to tell us," Chaki said.

"Yeah." Jackson sat on the ground, and Chaki sat with him. She kept a hand on him, as if afraid he'd vanish. Shaka sat a few feet away, on their side of the fire. "So, first thing's first. I made a new friend. Sort of."





Dream Drive Ch. 05



"Take your time."

Chaki nodded again. Her toes began to work in the grass. She dragged her foot to and fro, digging a little trench. "Maybe you were right, in a way. Maybe I want this too much."

"The only person here with things wrong with them is me."

"You don't know me, either," she said.

"Not really, I guess."

"When you were gone..." Chaki drew her foot back and rested her head on her knees. "Do you remember, when you said you saw me in the cage - that seeing the hope come back to me made you stay?"

"...yeah."

"You saw correctly," she said. "Since father died, I...I don't know. I've done well with Palla, I think. He'll be a strong man. My mother seemed recovered. But I felt distant. Like I was floating. I'd lost something, some sort of anchor that was holding me down, the thing that made me care about life. When I was put in that cage, it was as if the world had finally come to claim me. So I sat down and got ready, Jackson. I was ready to die. I would fight to get Palla free, yes...and then, whatever would happen, would happen. But then, you came, and things...they were different. It was as if my father's spirit had returned to remind me of something – that he had sent you in his place."

Jackson shifted, draping an arm over his knee. "Like I said. Right place, right time. That was it. It was just a coincidence."

"Let's say you're right," Chaki said. "Even if the hand of fate had nothing to do with it – if my father's spirit has long since departed for another place – well, so what? What does it matter if it's just coincidence?"

"Huh?"

"Isn't that everything in the entire world?" Chaki said. "Things wouldn't happen the way they did if things were in other places at the time. If that makes sense. Relationships happen because people meet under the right conditions. Everyone that has ever cared for anyone else was just in the right place at the right time."

"I get what you mean. But –"

"When you were gone, and I could feel you on the verge of death," she said, "it was as if I was back in the cage. As if I was detached. I never realized how much I hated that feeling until it came upon me again, unwanted. That is why I was angry. I was angry with you, but I was angrier with myself.

"Maybe you don't think you're anything special. But I think you're amazing. I think it's amazing that you think I'm amazing. And maybe you don't understand why. I don't understand it totally, either. I just feel it. I feel like we have some sort of connection, that we're similar in more ways than you realize."

She glanced to him, looking for a response. Jackson made a shallow nod. "...alright. So...what are you saying?"

Chaki cleared her throat. "What I'm saying, is that the reason I...pried, so much, is because those rusty spots - those wounds you have – they seemed familiar to me. It didn't strike me until you told me what you did, just now. The reason I recognized them was because I, too, have them. I wanted to help you, because I thought that, in doing so, I would have earned the help you gave me.

"I accepted your bond, Jack," she said. "I convinced you to make it. I did so knowing what I was getting into." She half-raised her hand, cutting him off before he started speaking. "Perhaps I did not understand or appreciate the details of your life. I don't fully comprehend your experience. How could I? But what I saw made me wonder. How can a person that seems so strong be as weak as I feel on the inside? I understood not the nuance of your history, Jackson, but I knew that feeling so well it hurt me to realize it. I told you that I want to be a part of your life knowing exactly what sort of life it was - because I recognized what I had already seen in myself. Maybe that's what drew me to you so strongly."

Chaki bowed her head lower, hiding her face between her thighs. "I am sorry I pushed you so much. I should have waited for you to speak on your own, in your own time. I just – I wanted to be closer to you. I wanted to earn my place at your side. I wanted to inspire you like you inspired me, and I thought I had to get inside your head to do that. But all I've done is shove you away. I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize to me," Jackson said. "Don't ever do that."

Chaki drew her head up, glanced to the night sky, and then looked back at him. "You are not what you claim," she said. "Apathetic. You are just trying to convince yourself that you are."

"It's kinda stupid, isn't it?"

"It says something very sad about your life," Chaki said, "but it is not stupid, Jackson. I won't hear of it."

He could see the tangle of emotions in their bond. It felt like old coals that left soot on his hands. Worry. Affection for him. Fear. Hesitation.

Jackson shoved the feeling of the bond away. He'd had enough magic.

He shifted closer to her and put his hand on her shoulder. Chaki's head lifted to look at him. He studied the contrast between her rich tan skin and his pale white, sucking in the feeling of the smooth warmth. It might be the last time he felt it.

"...I don't deserve you," he said.

"I feel likewise," Chaki said.

"I made..." Jackson's lips twisted. His face felt stretched too tight. "I assumed you didn't...but you do. You said it exactly how it is. Floating – I guess that's one way to put it. Like you're in a bubble away from the world, and the landscape is all grey. Because someone turned the colors off and you don't know how to put them back."

"I don't want it to come back," she said. "I don't want it to happen to you again. To either of us."

"It's not your mission to patch me together, Chaki," Jackson said. "You shouldn't abandon your life to try and fix me." He rubbed his nose. "Jeeze. I feel like an asshole, venting about stuff like this. I wish I could just get over it."

"Oh, Jackson." Chaki made a small smile. "I promise that one day, I'll be worthy enough to have you."

Jackson put the heel of his hand on his forehead. "I just can't get through to you."

"People seem to think that I'm stubborn," Chaki said. "I think they're right."

"Yeah."

"I want to know you better, Jackson," she said.

"...that might be hard."

Chaki tilted her head, and made a little smug smile. "It'll be harder if you keep going off on your own without me."

"Are you sure, Chaki? Really, absolutely?"

"Jack," she said, "I'm sure. I won't leave you."

Jackson wiped at his eyes. "Alright then, I guess."

And then, it was quiet again. Wind blew. The coals of the fire glowed as fresh air rolled over them. Strands of Chaki's hair were flicked over where Jackson's fingers rested on her skin. 

"How long has it been since you told someone these things?" Chaki asked.

"I've never told anyone this stuff," Jackson said. "Ever."

Chaki put her hand on top of his. "Then we have a lot of time to make up for."

"Yeah." The fingers of their hands twined together. "I'm glad it's you."

"Me, too," Chaki said.

"...let's take things slow, for a bit. Let's get to know each other, like you said."

"I think that's a good idea."

"Maybe..." Jackson thought for a moment. "I want to go home. Back to my world. Do some research. There's things I need to look into."

"I can't go there, though," Chaki said.

"Well..." Jackson met her gaze. "Actually, you can."





Dream Drive Ch. 05



Jackson looked away. "You're a good person, Shaka."

"So are you."

"If you heard what I said last night, then –"

"Be silent." Shaka waved a hand dismissively. "As a spirit guide, I have decided to make my own judgments about the character of those I choose to shelter, rather than trust the wild thoughts of passion-filled young men."

"My thoughts aren't..." Jackson made a face. "...wild."

"You are in a time of growth and change," Shaka said. "It is only natural to have doubts. Doubts are healthy; they stop you from doing stupid things. But doubts also deeply color your opinion of yourself. You should know better than anyone not to take the word of an overly self-conscious young man at face value."

"So, what you're telling me," Jackson said, "is that I can't judge myself to be a piece of shit, because I'm a piece of shit?"

Shaka fixed him with a gaze that made Jackson want to crawl under a rock. "Do not speak to me with a foul tongue, boy."

"...sorry."

Shaka nodded, accepting the apology. "And don't put words in my mouth. What I'm telling you is that constantly living from the inside-out will only cause you grief. It is important to seek balance in the inner world, but that itself must be balanced with the outer world."

"I thought you didn't have any comments."

"None on your talk with Chaki, no," she said. "We are having a conversation about you."

"So...um..." Jackson tapped the sides of his legs with his fingers. "What did you think about that, anyway?"

"It was a talk you two needed to have."

"...that's it?"

"Ah," she said, "you seek the comments you so quickly declared you did not wish to hear."

"I never said I didn't want to hear them."

"You did not say it," she said, "but you said it."

"What does that mean?"

Shaka sighed. "Despite my advancing age, I am neither blind nor deaf. I can hear the tone of your voice. Your mood is written by the way you speak and move, not the words you use."

Jackson looked down at himself as if, by doing so, he could see his own body language. His feet stepped across the grass in rhythm. He glanced back to her. "Most people tell me I'm not expressive."

"That's what they tell me, too."

Jackson smiled. He liked the idea that they were similar. "I didn't know."

"Will you still marry her, once we reach the mountain?" Shaka asked.

"...I don't know. Not right away."

"I see," Shaka said. "You should be sure to make that clear to her. It is acceptable to extend the terms of your promise, if you feel hesitation. Marriage should not be a forced thing."

"Cool."

"How is it cold?"

"Uh...that's an expression," Jackson said. "Something that's cool is good."

"What an odd manner of speaking. Why would ideas be compared to the temperature?"

Jackson shrugged. "I don't know. I didn't make it up."

"I suppose not."

"Hey, something I wanted to ask you."

"Ask."

"I haven't actually seen Hanta yet," Jackson said, "but I busted his bow while I was fighting the rattok. Is there some way I could replace it, or make it up to him?"

"Hmm." Shaka rubbed her chin. "Unfortunate. You might help him hunt, and allow him to take your share of the game until he is satisfied. Otherwise, a gift that surpasses the value of what you ruined would be appropriate."

"How about an essence crystal?"

Shaka slowly looked at him. "You have another?"

"Two, actually."

"Keep them safe," she said.

"They're in my pocket right now. They aren't going anywhere."

Shaka nodded. "No, they aren't. I sewed those pockets. Now then – we can use that crystal. Only those with magical talent can charge and drain essence from these." She indicated the uncut rubies dangling from around her neck. "But anyone can use an essence crystal. They are less refined, yet more accessible. They can't be recharged, but it's a valuable property nonetheless. I will enchant a spiritual shield for Hanta, and we can use the crystal to power it."

"Is that common?"

"I often make such shields," she said. "They are needed for vision quests, and are often taken by warriors to battle as a symbol to protect their spirits against the hatred of enemy combatants. It is very rare that I imbue them with a crystal; I can count the times I have done it on one hand."

"What's the point of enchanting it with runes if someone can't use the magic without a crystal?"

"Symbolism is important, Jackson," she said. "Faith, belief – these things can protect in ways that magic cannot."

Jackson raised an eyebrow. "If you say so."

"This shield will be still more useful - it will deflect evils both physical and spiritual. That will more than repay your debt."

"Thank you, Shaka. You're really going out of your way for this."

"I won't have a guest of mine land himself in trouble," Shaka said. She smacked his shoulder. "That said, you ought to be more responsible with other people's possessions. Hanta used that bow for many years with great success."

"Sorry."

"Don't apologize to me, apologize to Hanta."

"Yes, Shaka."

"That is what I wanted to hear. Now, we have work to do."

"We do?"

"Runes, of course."

"Uh..." Jackson glanced back over his shoulder. A column of dust churned by hundreds of feet and thousands of hooves rose into the blue sky behind them. "I can't just log out here."

"We will review what you have learned so far," she said.

Jackson chewed on his lip a bit. "I haven't really worked on it much. I've just been storing them away."

"And what good does that do you?" Shaka asked. "You need to be able to draw them at a moment's notice. Not every situation will give you the luxury of vanishing into the nether and crawling through them like a slug. I thought your experience in the ruins made this clear."

"Well, yeah. You're right. But –"

Suddenly, there was a wooden cane in Shaka's hand. Where had she gotten that? "Draw the symbol for storm."

"Now?"

"I'm not getting any younger," Shaka said.

Jackson thought hard. It was the rune for lightning, which was easy enough, combined with another shape.

He did his best to recreate it. A shimmering grey line trailed his finger, lagging behind his attentions. It floated in front of him, moving as he walked forward. That was interesting. He seemed to be able to either keep the runes floating near him, or leave them where he drew them, depending on -

"Wrong," Shaka said. A sharp smack whipped the air as the wooden cane struck his wrist.

Jackson winced and drew his hand back. "What the hell?! That hurt!"

"Every time you get a rune wrong, someone dies," Shaka said. "That is what you should be thinking." She drew the correct symbol for storm, and then released her essence, causing the rune to vanish. "Now, do bison."

"Uh...umm..."

Jackson ended up with a sort of four-legged squiggle. His wrist was rapped on again, right on the bone. He cringed away from her.

"Wrong. Like this."

"...I almost had it."

Jackson was still protecting his hand, but that didn't stop her from landing a thumping blow on his side. He grimaced and rubbed his waist. "Almost," she said, "will get someone killed. Magic does not grade your performance. Wrong is wrong. Draw it correctly, and then draw the rune for animal."

Jackson accumulated painful welts at an alarming rate. For some reason, slaps and strikes that weren't immediately life-threatening hurt more than horrible flesh wounds. She was hitting hard enough to take his HP down a sliver. At least he regenerated the health back faster than she was knocking it down.

"Wrong, wrong, wrong!" Shaka said. Jackson shielded himself from a barrage from the wooden cane. "Weren't you paying any attention at all? What a stupid husband Chaki will have."

"You gave me hundreds of runes!" Jackson protested. "How was I supposed to memorize all of them?"

"That isn't my problem," she said. "It's yours. You shouldn't have taken them on if you weren't prepared to embed them in your heart. If you want to save your hands, you had better start to use your brain. Until then, I will beat your offending digits until they are so swollen they can't draw the runes that you so clearly do not deserve! Now! Draw a tree, and get it right!"

That one Jackson remembered, and for a minute, he was spared the cane.

He got the next one wrong. Shaka showed no mercy.

Their lessons were a painful experience. But for some reason – even though his wrists and hands stung like crazy – by the time they were finished, Jackson found himself smiling.





Dream Drive Ch. 05



"Ah. I'm...not sure what to make of that."

"It's like I said." Jackson sighed. "This magic is changing us in unpredictable ways. I'm sorry, Chaki. You can doze off, though, if you just relax. But...look on the bright side. You have a lot more time on your hands, if you want it. It's given me plenty of time to practice with the spear."

"Maybe I'll join you," she said, "if it persists."

She seemed to think a moment. Suddenly, the coals of the bond glowed white, as if about to catch fire. Jackson whipped his head at her, thinking something was wrong.

Her eyes were as heated as the bond. "You know," she said, "come to think of it, not needing to sleep, barely needing to rest at all...it gives a woman quite a bit of spare time."

"Yeah," Jackson said, keeping his tone cautious. "I guess it might."

"Plenty of time for practicing." Chaki's footsteps closed the gap between them as they moved forward along the caravan. Her hand twined under his arm. "With spears."

"...what kind of spears are we talking about?"

"The kind with a strong shaft."

"I thought we were taking it slow."

"Slow...emotionally," she said. "But not physically, surely?"

"I've created a monster," Jackson muttered.

"I think it was more like you discovered the monster already inside of me," Chaki said. "If I can't get to you with words, I'll just seduce you into marriage."

"Uh..."

"It's a good technique. That's how Shaka caught her husband."

Jackson had the strangest image of himself dressed in a tiger suit and sitting in the middle of a cage. A Chaki dressed in a safari outfit snapped a lock shut over the cage door. She unrolled a whip from her sleeve.

"Catch?" Jackson asked.

"Mm-hmm." Chaki's hand slipped down over his waist. She rubbed in little circles where his thigh met his torso. She pressed into his side, leaning her body into him as they continued to walk forward. "So, you've gotten better with the spear, thanks to Shakhan, yes? Will you show me how to use it?"

"...maybe."

"Aww...just maybe?" Chaki grinned. "Maybe you need more convincing."

"Chaki, you're coming on a little bit –"

"Dirty?" Her words fell into his ear. "Sexy? Hot?"

"Uh..." The reptile portion of Jackson's brain bit at his frontal lobe as Chaki's breasts squeezed around his arm. "Yeah. Those. Words."

"I like that you like this," she said. "You're best when you focus on one thing. That should be me. I want you to think about these things when you think about our relationship. Think about all you'd give up," she said. Her tone got more serious. "You just have to show a little faith in me, a little trust. You know you can trust me." And then her voice morphed back into the seductress. "And then you'll be able to make me squeal all the dirty, nasty things you want."

Her hand whispered across the front of his pants, brushing his erection. Jackson swallowed. Damn. She does learn fast.

Before he could rally a response, Chaki left his arm and stood straight. His left side felt chill without her body heat. She trotted along, head high. "But, if you insist on taking it slow, then..."

Jackson adjusted his belt, trying to compensate for his hard-on. He felt the duel frustrations of discomfort and dissatisfaction. "That was not nice."

"You shouldn't have raised your voice to me."

"...fair enough."

"And now that little reminder will sit there for a time," she said. "I'm glad you taught me so much, Jackson. It's easy to pull you around."

"You're enjoying yourself, aren't you?"

"A bit," she said. "But you know...there's something else in the bond, inside the steel and the rust."

Jackson frowned. "What?"

"Molten iron," she said. "Lava, sitting in you like a furnace. I like it. I think you ought to use it more."

"So you're going to taunt me intentionally?"

"Oh yes," Chaki said. "I'll drag it out, and then...I'll be punished for being such a tease. Don't you like that idea? I do."

Jackson's erection told him that he liked that idea very much, but, after raising such hell with her just a few days ago, he couldn't admit it. It felt a little too close to the patches of rust. So he said nothing.

Chaki's gaze lingered on him a little while longer, and then she made her way back toward Palla.





Dream Drive Ch. 05



But this changed everything. She was named for something foundational. She was the crux of the world he espoused. His world.

She read on, and she was not disappointed. The man named Stephen Hawking evoked God with a warm regularity. He spoke of their stand-in for the One-Above-The-Sky with happiness, as if joyful to include him in discussion concerning the formulation of the universe. She imagined this man sitting down to drink tea with the greatest of spirits and discussing why there were stars in the sky.

Time passed. Chaki moved to sit on Jackson's bed. It was quite comfortable. And then, she read.

"Chaki. I'm finished."

Chaki did not look up from her book.

"Chaki?"

She blinked and raised her head. "Hmm?"

"I'm good to go."

"Oh." Chaki looked at the book in her lap, still open to the page in Chapter 2; then up at him. "Jackson. Light moves. It just moves so fast we can't even see it."

"Fun stuff, right?"

"May I borrow this?"

"Sure," he said, "but you won't be able to take it back with you."

"Then we'll have to make return trips," Chaki said. "Dead suns and demons, Jack. How can you read this sort of book and not see the One-Above everywhere in the universe?"

Jackson shrugged. "Does it matter?"

Chaki slapped the book shut and shook it through the air. "Of course it matters. How can you own this and think that question does not matter? It's the question of everything!"

"42," Jackson said.

"What?"

"There's nothing that says God exists," Jackson said, "and there's nothing to say he doesn't exist. That's all there is to it. Why bother with questions that can't be answered?"

"What about the soul?" Chaki asked. "What of magic? I wonder if they are governed by laws as well – laws that the One-Above set in motion. Magic is his hand at work. This is what these men did not realize."

Jackson looked at the book. His eyes were distant. He was looking through it; past it. "Then prove it."

"What do you mean?"

Jackson gestured at the text. "Prove it. Come up with theories. I'll give you whatever you need. Make your case, like they did."

Chaki shot to her feet. "I'll do just that. First, I need to know about Mathematics. He spoke of it quite a bit. You told me that was how numbers are added and subtracted? I have always been good at counting bison and telling long distances on the plains."

"It gets a little more complicated than that."

"I am up to the task."

Jackson's face turned up in a knowing smile. "You'll need that attitude to survive calculus."

"Calculus? As in, calculating?"

"You'll see for yourself," he said. "Anyway, we've got stuff to do."

"Oh, right," Chaki said. "Were you able to change the game so that you could look at your computer things from my side?"

Jackson shook his head. "I could access the files, but I don't have the software to interface and change the architecture. I'll have to design some sort of shell, but I'm a Modder, not a Hacker."

"What are those?"

"A Modder is someone that does physical modification stuff. I like circuit-level code, and I know a few core machine languages, but I never liked getting into high-brow stuff. Hackers do that part. A lot of times I'll trade favors on my end for favors on their end."

"Umm..." Chaki frowned. "I don't understand."

"I build electronics and make them run. They use them to do fancy stuff."

"Why didn't you just say that in the first place?"

Jackson gave her a look. "Because I respect you enough to give you a real answer."

Chaki rubbed her forehead. "I apologize. I feel like I'm absorbing too much at once."

"Until I can get a hacker to look at the files, I won't be going anywhere fast," Jackson said. "And I don't really have anyone I'd trust with Isis anyway, so that's out."

"That's too bad."

Jackson shrugged. "Win some, lose some." He moved toward the empty corner of the room. "You need a different outfit before we go outside."

Chaki glanced down at her dress. "What's wrong with this?"

"You won't fit in." Jackson tapped the wall. Part of it began to shimmer, then fade. It revealed a wooden door that was painted white.

Chaki's hands flew to her mouth. "How did you do that?!"

"It's just a touch screen mimicking the color of the wall. I made this one myself, but you can buy them cheap and just drape them over anything."

"That's incredible. We can make ourselves disappear!"

"We'd need something a little more advanced than that," Jack said. His voice was muffled because he'd opened the door and stuck his head through. His hands ruffled around. He grabbed a thick-looking cloth shirt and tossed it behind himself. "But you could make it happen, with enough cameras. The military has full camo suits, but they're illegal on the street."

Jackson came back out with another heavy coat, a pair of tan pants, and a dark blue shirt. "I'll leave the room and let you get changed," Jackson said. He laid the clothes on the bed and picked up the heavier black jacket. He tugged it over his head. "You'll look like a city chick in no time."

"Jackson. Those are men's clothes."

"Yeah, they are." He opened a drawer under the computer, revealing a junk box stuffed with electronics. He started rifling through it.

"I like my dress just fine, thank you."

"Chaki, you don't exist. You can't be noticed. I'm good at that." Jackson closed the drawer with two dangling pieces in his hand. "The first rule is obvious. When in Rome, do as the Romans do. Put the clothes on and meet me outside."

He left the room through the main door. Chaki glanced at the outfit he'd selected, sighed, and pulled her dress up over her head.

After she'd put on the clothes, she realized she was able to see herself a bit in the window, using the reflection. It didn't fit at all – Jackson was too tall. She looked like she was drowning in cloth; there wasn't a feminine bit about her. It scratched and pricked her skin in dozens of places she wasn't used to, especially the pants. How do men wear these things when they have...other parts?

She hesitantly reached for the door handle. It turned easily. She pushed it open.

Chaki's nose immediately discovered why Jackson worked so hard to keep his room scentless. The dim wooden hall was filled with dust; it reeked of the sort of mold that clung to dirty, wet clothes. Bits of rubbish were collected against the walls. Jackson himself was leaning on the wall, twiddling his thumbs.

"What do you think?" Chaki asked.

"Perfect."

"Perfect? I look like a man!"

"You're still too pretty, but I can't fix that," Jackson said. "You'll just have to keep the hood up."

He said it so bluntly that Chaki almost missed the compliment. She smiled – and then she frowned. There was an odd noise in the hall, a sort of echo. It sounded like a woman.

Jackson held out one of the pieces of electronics. "Put this on your head, like me." He gestured to himself. Nestled in his messy hair was what looked like a grey headband.

Chaki slipped it on. It fit surprisingly snug behind her ears. "What's it for?"

"To jam surveillance equipment. Custom design. Most people have basic versions. Yours is a little older, but it'll do - we're not going anywhere we shouldn't. Public cameras are usually the crappiest. Some of them are still analogue."

"Wait, what?"

Jackson rubbed over his mouth with his hand. "Let me see...basically, there are special machines that let people record events and view them later. Like, magical sets of eyes."

"...so...these things make it so that people can't see us."

"Exactly," he said.

"Do people use these eyes often?"

"They're everywhere," Jackson said. "They're called cameras. I'll point them out when we see them. Hood up."

Chaki pulled the hood over her head, tucking her hair into the back. Jackson pulled the string on his own hood tight.

The woman's voice was still there – and it was louder. It almost sounded like shrieking. "Do you hear that?" Chaki asked him.

"Yeah," Jackson said.

"...uh...is that normal?"

"For my mom to fuck some random guy in the middle of the day?" Jackson said. "Semi-occasional occurrence, yeah. Her room's that way." He pointed down the other branch of the hall, to another door. "Let's go."

Chaki duly followed, her brain grappling with what she had just heard. She couldn't imagine her own mother just...doing that, with a man she didn't know.

The smells increased in intensity, shifting from that of age and general uncleanliness to that of nastier things. They came to a larger chamber. There was a long wooden platform crowded with what looked like trays of rotting food. She smelled something like old wheat rising from tall, reflective containers. Behind the platform was a long thing that looked like it was made to be sat on, but it was stained and ripped. She did not feel an urge to sit on it.

Jackson ignored the mess and went for another door. He opened it a crack, glanced outside, then opened it the rest of the way. "We're good. Come on."

The hall outside was even worse than his house. It was all grey, as if chiseled from impossibly smooth stone. There was no decoration; the light was dim. Dust and mold hung in the air; she could almost feel it as she swung her arms.

They started down a long, stepped ramp. The sound of their shoes clicked and clacked off the walls, reverberating back to them. She realized she was still in her moccasins, but her baggy pants almost totally covered them up.

The ramp wound back upon itself several times, ending and restarting at flat square sections. The flat places led to more hallways, with more doors leading off at regular intervals, and yet more hallways past those. It was almost like the prairie in the way everything was so uniform, so similar – but it was also eerie in the extreme. There was no color. No life.

"...why do you live here?" Chaki asked.

"It's cheap," Jackson said.

"That's it? Couldn't you just leave? Live off the land, as my people do."

Jackson didn't answer for a time. He leaned on the hand-rail built at the side of the ramp as they made their way down. Eventually, he just gave his usual shrug. "The land as you know it is dead. There's no place else to go."

Chaki had the feeling that something else made him stay, but she decided not to voice her opinion.

The step-ramps finally ended. Chaki felt like they'd descended into the bowels of the Beneath. She half expected one of Shakhan's guardians to pop out from a doorway and begin some sort of inquisition as to why they dare trod upon sacred ground.

Jackson walked forward along a hall made of the same smooth, grey stone. They passed more wooden doors. They all had the same fat lock and bolt showing on the front. She swore the padlocks glared at her as she walked passed.

And then a set of two glass double doors, a small room, and then more glass doors. It was like passing out of a dungeon. They were outside.

A gust hit her face. Chaki shivered.

Under their feet was smooth grey stone, and this transitioned to a hard, oil-black path marked with white lines that stretched between the buildings. The structures themselves were protruding bulwarks of white-tan-grey stone that rose into the sky. The air was cool and dry, but it tasted like old smoke.

She looked up. They hadn't gone underground – they'd started high, and had walked back to the earth. It was as if she was standing in a canyon formed from the buildings. Far, far above, there was a sliver of sky, patched blue with rolling white clouds. That was the only thing their worlds had in common.

Jackson pointed. "Camera."

She followed his arm, and she saw it. A rectangular box sticking out from a wall, anchored to the stone by fat bolts. It peered down at them with a slimy glint. "Is it watching us?"

"Yeah. But don't worry." He tapped his head. "This disrupts the input to the facial recognition software they use to identify and track people."

"One more time, Jackson."

"They can see us, but they don't know it's us. Basically, it's like we're wearing masks."

Chaki edged closer to Jackson. "Couldn't they just tell us from sight?"

"There's too many cameras for a single person to watch each one," Jackson said. "In a sense, there's so much visual information that they have no choice but to use fancy techniques to search through it when they need something specific. So instead of going through the effort of totally hiding yourself, you just mess up the searching."

"...alright." Chaki said. "Where do we have to go?"

"Follow me." Jackson started down the stone path.

"What is that blackness, there?"

"That's the street, Chaki. It's where the cars go. I told you about those."

"Right, yeah. I remember."

"This is the sidewalk," Jackson said. "The side of the street, where people walk. See? Not that complicated."

"I suppose not."

Jackson glanced over his shoulder, looking down the roadway, then at her. "Avoid the street unless you need to cross to the other side. Always be careful and look both ways."

Chaki kept her eyes darting about. It was so enclosed. She didn't like it.

Another camera. It was moving, turning back and forth where two streets met. It scanned them like a predator seeking prey.

They weren't the only people on the sidewalks; their clothes were mostly the thick wool jackets and pants. No beads, no woven sequins, no leather. The pants tended to have pockets; shiny metal strips ran up the center of the coats. The colors varied from person to person.

A group of women went by; they were the loudest thing she'd heard so far. Chaki stared. Their clothes were the color of fresh vomit, but that wasn't saying much, because they might as well have not been wearing clothes for all that was covered. Their ankles and wrists dangled with shining beads and gemstones. One of the girls wore a headband that had strange translucent lights dancing over it.

"What is wrong with them?" Chaki whispered to Jackson. "They look like slatterns."

"They probably are," Jackson said. "None of our business."

"But – those clothes! And what on Mother Earth was that thing on her head?"

"It was just a headband," he said.

"But the lights!"

"People wear strange shit," he said. "I think that was the V.B.B. symbol."

"What's that?"

"Venus Battle Brigade," he said. "They're a new pop band. A band is a group of people that play music. They make money by charging for tickets to see their shows and selling collections of songs."

"I still don't think I understand the whole money thing."

"One thing at a time." He looked back at her. "You look like a tourist. Walk like me."

Chaki decided not to argue. She imitated him, sticking her hands in her pockets, hunching her shoulders. She kept her eyes on his feet in front of her.

Something shoved her. "Watch it!"

Chaki reeled away from where the man had struck her shoulder. "I'm sorry. Sorry."

The man didn't respond – he just kept walking. Everyone walked the same. Everyone knew exactly where they were going. They looked up only to avoid things. Their eyes never met.

They reached the intersection. There were strange black boxes hanging from metal poles. They held green and red lights. Jackson hit a round metal projection on the pole closest to them; it clicked in under his hand. And then stopped, and waited. Chaki waited with him, wondering what they were doing.

There was a roaring wind. Chaki flinched. She looked to the sound. A massive construct of glass and steel rushed past them. A wind blew in its wake, scattering the trash that was on the sidewalk. "What was that thing?!"

"A car," Jackson said. "Don't shout."

Suddenly, there was a sharp beeping tone. A black box across the street flashed with orange lights depicting a man in motion. A few people that had gathered nearby began to cross the road.

Jackson didn't hesitate, but Chaki lingered, as if afraid to put her toes in cold water. Eventually, the distance between herself and her only guide was more worrying than the threat of another raging car, and she hurried across the black surface. She kept her feet inside the white lines; they felt like a bridge, connecting two pieces of sidewalk. They crossed a metal strip embedded on the...what was the word? Asphalt.

"Why is there metal in the street?"

"Helps increase the accuracy of car guidance systems."

For a moment, Chaki considered asking, and then decided she'd had enough of things she didn't know about. She nodded, and kept walking.

They kept walking, walking, walking. Everything looked the same. There were different types of buildings; most weren't quite so tall. Some had bright signs out front, declaring wares that could be exchanged for specified amounts of money. Some were more popular than others; people moved in and out of a few stores, but others seemed dead.

They turned a corner in front of a storefront. A group of men lingered in front of it, sitting on boxes and the curb. They were smoking something.

Jackson kept his head down, but Chaki looked. The men had black skin, black as ash. She'd never seen anything like it. It was even stranger than Jackson's pale white.

When they were out of earshot, she increased her pace and whispered into his ear. "Is black skin normal?"

Jackson shrugged. "Some people are white, some are black. Some are in-between, like you. It's not a big deal."

Chaki nodded. In fact, she was glad for the variation. Anything to change things up. She felt locked inside this landscape. There were no trees, no plants at all, no water – she hadn't even seen any insects. Nothing.

Color blossomed to her left. There was a tiny green square cut between two buildings. It was grass. Actual soil, with life. She heard the chime of laughter.

The small space was lined with red metal beams. The red paint was chipped and faded, but children hung from them, climbing and playing. A little girl swung from a hanging seat; the structure creaked as she pumped her legs. Blond hair streamed behind her as she moved to-and-fro.

Five cameras dotted the space at regular intervals. There, though, they seemed less like villains, and more like watchful spirits.

There was a canvass behind the play area, set against the wall. It showed several men lined up, holding long sticks. They wore matching green-white speckled clothing. Their hands were raised to their foreheads, and they were poised, looking up, as if seeing something amazing in the distance. There were words along the top and bottom:

Preserve Our Freedoms --- Defend Your Country
Enlist in the G.A.U. Armed Forces Today

"Chaki." She looked over. Jackson was waiting past the play-spot. He waved at her. "Come on."

She skipped along to catch up. They went a block further, and the brief burst of color was gone, swallowed up by the endless city. "I'm glad it's not all like..." She made a gesture. "...this."

"Me too," Jackson said.

"I think I'm starting to understand why you wanted to get away."

"It's not all so boring," Jackson said.

"Boring is not the word I would use," Chaki said carefully.

"I live in a pretty shitty part of town," Jackson said. "Although, most of the sprawl is pretty shitty. I've never been out of the city itself, but we have places like the prairie, too. They're just very far away."

She rubbed her arms. "Too far, if you ask me. By the way, what was that canvas?"

"The poster?" Jackson said. "With the soldiers?"

"Is that what they were?"

"Yeah," Jackson said. "We've been at war for 14 years. Those are pretty common. Look."

Chaki looked. Across the street was another poster, but it was blood red. A dark shape was dropping more dark shapes on cowering people below. "What is that supposed to be?"

"It's a plane, a machine that flies in the sky," Jackson said. "From the Bloc. They're our enemies. It's dropping bombs on people. Bombs are weapons that kill a lot of people."




Dream Drive Ch. 06



Author's Note:

All aspects of the story are fictional. All characters that participate in sexual activity are over the age of 18.

Edited by Expoh.





Dream Drive Ch. 06



Shaka frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

"That's our version of vow-gifts, I guess."

"I see," Shaka said. "In that case, yes. In our legends, many of the greatest warriors used it as the foundation of their promise to their wives."

"Does one warrior tend to win over and over a lot?"

"Not usually," Shaka said, "but from time to time, one of great talent is born. Katran himself has participated in the games five times; he has won the last two. He has topped the spear competition three times. It is very likely he could win again."

Jackson shifted his weight from foot to foot. "I don't want to get dragged into a pissing match. Especially not with Boonta."

"That is indeed your prerogative," Shaka said. "Fulfilling Chaki's fantasies is a luxury we don't have. It is a mature sort of conclusion for a mature young man."

"...yeah. I guess it is." 

Shaka smiled. "Perhaps you aren't sure?"

Jackson crossed his arms. "No, I'm sure." 

"Then we have a tipi to fold. Come."

"Yes, Shaka," Jackson said automatically.

He went through the motions with his teacher; he was getting pretty good at it after a few days in a row. Untying the support poles, separating them, folding the air-flaps, and then folding the segments of the tent's canvass that were tied together. And then they cleaned the spot where she'd staked the tipi, filling in the small fire pit and the small drainage trench they'd cut in the ground.

At first, Jackson had thought the tent was just a patchwork quilt with irregular bits and pieces sewn together at random. He couldn't have been more wrong. It was made with a careful intent, and there was a method to its packing that preserved the strength and integrity of the skins.

In short order, Shaka's things were lashed to her three sleds and hooked to her horses. Jackson strapped her trunk to his back while Shaka swept her grey hair into the ponytail she'd taken to wearing it in while they were marching.

Jackson set to walking alongside her, and it seemed as if the entire camp pulled up along with them. She didn't launch into the runes right away; he didn't bother prodding her for more hand-scarring lessons. He looked into the distance.

After three days of walking, the mountain was clearly visible. When he'd first arrived, it was a faint brown triangle, barely perceptible through miles and miles of air. Now it was a constant black pyramid, sitting alone in the middle of the prairie, staring down at him.

Jackson turned his thoughts back to immediate problems. The ability to transfer something from Earth through the connection to Isis solved his vow-gift problem. He could go to the pawn shop near Al's and buy a ring that would make anything the People-Under-The-Mountain could offer look like a plastic chew toy. Imagining Chaki's face when he showed it to her made him smile.

I'm thinking like I've already decided to marry her.

Maybe he had. He'd decided to trust her. Why not just say a few words and seal the deal?

Probably because of the inescapable sense of commitment. He was used to being on his own. Marriage meant responsibilities. It meant compromises.

And children? Chaki was definitely a family-minded woman. He would have to have a serious talk with her about that. Jackson didn't have strong feelings either way, but he was only 18. The People-Under-The-Mountain didn't keep time by days, but from Chaki's description of the seasons, Jackson knew she was only a few months older than him. Parenthood was definitely a vague thing very far off in his future, if at all.

He sighed to himself. Anyways. Something had changed that enabled him to take things through the connection. What was different?

It only took him a moment to strike the variable. His bond with Chaki. He could now bring something from Isis back with him. The unspoken corollary was that he could bring things from Earth back into Isis.

He definitely had to return soon - maybe that night. He could make a trip out of it, use up all his spare cash to purchase gemstones. He could store extra essence in all of them.

"Shaka, does the quality of a gem change how much essence can be stored in it?"

Shaka glanced at him, pondering over his sudden question. "...in my experience, size is more important, but clearer stones tend to be better. As there is nothing to cloud them, it stands to reason that they hold essence more easily."

"Alright. I guess I'll go with size first."

"Do you have some secret store of gemstones?"

"I figured out how to bring things back here from Earth," Jackson said.

"I didn't realize it was something you were having trouble with," Shaka said, "especially after you arrived in those strange clothes."

"Yeah. Heh." Jackson scratched his head. "We don't have magic like yours, but gemstones are valued in my world for their rarity and how they look. I can just go buy as many as I can, bring them back here, and stuff them with essence."

"Essence is something I have been meaning to discuss with you," Shaka said. "That is to say, how you gather it. You said you can only obtain it by taking the life of another creature."

Jackson nodded. "So far."

Shaka's wrinkles deepened into a frown. "...I do not like that. Essence takes time to gather; I need several days to replenish my soul. The gemstones help, some, but I must still gather it myself, from the air, the soil. You lack this ability."

"I couldn't use magic originally," Jackson said. "My powers are artificial."

"Why would Shakhan give you powers that work only by leeching from life itself?" Shaka said. "It is troublesome."

"Maybe that's the only way it could be done."

"...maybe," Shaka said. "When you speak to Shakhan, raise that point. Shakhan's words are for you alone; I will have to survive in ignorance. But it something that you should know." 

"I will."

"And Jackson."

"Yes?"

"Life is precious," Shaka said. "Do not take it lightly."

"...yes, Shaka."

"That is good. Now, draw the rune for bison."

Jackson knew that one. He was quick to grasp his essence. As always, the grey, steel-brushed lines lagged behind his efforts, slowly materializing a few seconds after he was done moving his hand. He really needed to get his Spirit up. To do that, he needed to kill things. So many things to do. 

"Correct," Shaka said. "A pleasant surprise. The rune for nail."

A few seconds later, Jackson's hands were smacked by a switch. He rubbed the backs of his knuckles. "When would I use that one, anyway?"

"To communicate effectively, you must learn every part of a language," Shaka said. "Draw the rune for story."

This time, Jackson got it right. Shaka seemed impressed. "You are making headway. You see? You can do it if you try."

"I knew that," Jackson muttered.

"As did I. You just didn't have the proper motivation. I am happy to be the provider of that motivation."

"I knew you were enjoying this."

"Immensely," Shaka said. "The rune for -"

"Shaka, Shaka!"

They looked back. A little girl wearing a pack that was almost as large as her torso was running to them from the main pack of the Windseekers. She jogged to a stop near the spirit guide, wheezing her breaths. "Shaka...there's...Boonta - Drana is..."

"Spirits, Jula. Catch your breath."

Jula's short legs had to quick-step to keep up with their pace, but Shaka didn't slow a bit. Jula met Jackson's eyes. Jackson smiled and waved at her. He remembered her - she'd told him where Chaki had gone after the ceremony so he could get away from Malaki.

"Jackson Vedalt," Jula said, once her face wasn't so red. "I mean, Tatanka Ska. I'm Jula."

"I remember," Jackson said. "You can still call me Jackson. What's wrong?"

Jula's face lit up for a moment, but then the concern flooded back. "Boonta just proposed to Drana."

"On the road?" Shaka asked. "Ugh. What a mess."

Jackson dipped into his memory. Drana - fun, flirty. A bit on the short side. Vuntha, Hanta's son, was into her. "Chaki's friend, right?" Jackson asked. Jula nodded her head rapidly.

Shaka rubbed her chin. "What foolishness is this? I had understood that Vuntha meant to approach Drana formally at the Mountain Meet."

"Yeah, Chaki told me that," Jula said. "But I was walking near them when Boonta came over and asked for Drana to marry him. It was so sudden. No one knew how to react."

"What did Drana say?" Shaka asked.

"She got really weird. She's never gotten so quiet like that." Jula shook her head. "And then she just said she was honored, and she'd think about it deeply, and give him an answer after the games."

Shaka sighed. "Alright. Jula, be a good girl and return to your mother. Ask her to inform Hanta of what happened. Please don't spread this to anyone else, not yet."

"Yes, Shaka!" Jula dropped back, ducked around a horse, and vanished into the marching tribe.

"What is she, an informant or something?" Jackson asked.

"When I teach the girls to dance, I also teach them who to respect first," Shaka said. "Their spirit guide."

"Does that qualify as a conflict of interest?"

"Of course not," Shaka said. "I am head of the women of the tribe. It is my duty to know these things and deal with them."

"I knew he had an angle, but what the hell is he trying to accomplish by proposing to Drana?"

"Boonta is goading you," Shaka said. "He doesn't care who he has to hurt to do it. Chaki has resisted him, so he turns to someone he believes you consider a friend within the tribe - Vuntha. Everyone knows you spar with him. And so he attacks Vuntha's relationship, indirectly attacking you."

"Right," Jackson said. "How much pain can I inflict on Boonta and remain within proper traditional limits?"

"None," Shaka said.

"He can fuck with me if he wants, but Vuntha is a good guy," Jackson said. "I'm not just going to sit around and -"

"Jackson, stay your hand," Shaka said. "I have a plan."

"...alright. What's the plan?"

"Boonta does not realize what he has disrupted," Shaka said. "Vuntha and Drana's parents have already spoken of their impending match. I have noted and approved of it. Things were proceeding well, and now this." Her eyes narrowed, and the lines on her face deepened. She looked like a hawk about to swoop down and scoop up a rat. "I gave great leeway because he was Yukatan's son, but I have tired of Boonta's selfishness. It is time for him to learn the meaning of the term humility."

"This feels like a conspiracy," Jackson said.

"The older generation is constantly conspiring against the younger," Shaka said. "We have to use our experience to keep you from doing anything stupid."

"Shaka," Jackson said, "you have more balls than any guy I have ever met."

"You're probably right." Jackson half-tripped, stumbled, caught himself. When he looked back up, Shaka was smirking. "You are so young, Jackson."

Jackson considered several responses. He decided that the best thing would be to ignore the immediate implication that he was in the category she just claimed ready to manipulate.

"Getting back to the problem," Jackson said.

Shaka clasped her hands behind her back; she slowed her stride slightly. "Vuntha would smooth Drana's flightiness; Drana's enthusiasm would help support Vuntha and give him more sureness as he begins to leave his father's house. A good pairing. Suddenly, the tribe elder's son has injected himself into what would have otherwise been a strong match." Shaka sighed. "This poses problems. First, you must know that Drana's family has struggled the past three seasons; her older brother, their family's main hunter and provider, passed away from winter sickness."

"Winter sickness?" Jackson asked.

"A high fever, with harsh expulsions," Shaka said. "It drains the body until death."

"You couldn't heal it?"

Shaka shook her head. "There were two other children sick at the time. Chaki was not yet competent. Alone, I could only heal two of the three. He was young enough that I would have considered prioritizing him, but he asked for himself to be healed last. I took care of the children, and the disease killed him before I could gather the essence to save him."

"Damn," Jackson said.

Shaka's face was hard. "Such is life. In their subsequent hardship, Drana's family was reduced to one horse, and their tipi still needs repair before next winter. Boonta would be a great advantage for them. Boonta knows this, of course; he uses it as leverage against her. That, and he is the elder's son. Yukatan would not tolerate the insult of an immediate rejection to Boonta well, especially after Chaki sent him off. They would lose face."

"I think I'm starting to get it," Jackson said. "Boonta has Drana backed into a corner. She can't just come out and say no."

"That is part of it," Shaka said. "Drana made a careful choice. She said she would wait until after the games before answering. That is an important message. It means that she will look for Boonta to prove his worth at the Mountain Meet. But Boonta was smart - he predicted this response."

"...he did?" Jackson said. "I think I'm getting lost again."

"It is easier than runes," Shaka said. "Think for a moment. Who else is competing in the games that you've met recently?"

"That tall guy."

"Katran," Shaka said.

"Right."

"And what do you know of him?"

"He's Boonta's friend."

"And who else will be competing?"

"...Vuntha?"

"Correct."

It struck him. "They're going to team up and knock him out."

"And then rejecting Boonta would become impossible," Shaka said. "He would have fulfilled Drana's expectation, which was the only deflection she could make without insulting Yukatan."

"Why doesn't Drana just up and tell Boonta she likes Vuntha?" Jackson asked.

"Drana and Vuntha's relationship is developing swiftly, but remains raw," Shaka said. "Drana is proud and adventurous. She always was surprised that Chaki turned down Boonta; she may view it as a sort of opportunity."

"She has to know what a fucking asshole he is."

"Girls can be rather silly, sometimes," Shaka said. "Drana figures herself at the center of the world. On one side, her admirer, Vuntha, will fight for her affection; on the other, Boonta, the elder's son, offers her family stability and social position. Either way, she wins. As he is now, Boonta will surely ruin her, but she doesn't see that."

"Alright," Jackson said, "why don't we just pin Drana down and explain this to her?"

"Jackson," Shaka said, "I do not believe I could think of a worse idea than corralling a stubborn young woman and trying to tell her what to do if I had another lifetime in which to consider the problem."

"This is why I get fed up with people," Jackson said. "What is Boonta's problem? Why doesn't he just come after me?"

"He is," Shaka said. "He's trying to get you to compete in the games. He thinks you will stand with your friend, Vuntha, and there you will become Katran's prey - and be publically humiliated."

Jackson set his teeth. "Fine. That fucker wants to play? He picked the wrong guy to mess with."

"You're falling into his trap, you know," Shaka said.

"What else am I supposed to do? I'm not gonna hang Vuntha out to dry."

Shaka smiled; there was a glint in her eye. Jackson squinted at her. She said nothing.

"...so," Jackson said, "what do the games consist of?

"First, a race up and back one of the mountain's paths. Then, archery from horseback. And then, one-on-one matches with spears, in which the winner advances. Performance in each event earns points. The man with the highest number of points overall wins. And then there are the praises for championing individual competitions, of course."

"So, Boonta is going to use Katran to eliminate Vuntha," Jackson said.

"Are you sure? Katran has his own interests at heart."

"It's obvious," Jackson said. "Boonta doesn't need to win the whole contest to get to Drana; he just needs to beat Vuntha. It sounds like the easiest event to cheat in would be the footrace. Katran will make sure Vuntha takes a fall, or worse. He'll probably try to knock him out right there." Jackson thought. "The archery won't be a problem, can't really cheat that. How do they decide matchups for the spear fights?"

"They draw lots."

"Yeah, right. I bet you twenty horses that Katran will be against Vuntha in round one. In fact, that makes even more sense. They'll be able to make sure that I get lined up to fight Katran, too, which is his reward for being a pawn. Then it's smooth sailing for Boonta."

"Boonta is losing respect amongst our tribe," Shaka said, "but as Yukatan's son, he may indeed have the pull he needs to arrange that."

"Do you think Vuntha can take down Katran?"

"In ten battles, Katran would win nine," Shaka said. "Vuntha is skilled, but Katran is truly talented - and he works just as hard to stay sharp."

"I can distract Katran so that Vuntha gets a fair shot in the race, but it doesn't matter if Katran beats him in the first round of the sparring," Jackson said. "What if Vuntha fought Boonta, instead?"

Shaka rubbed her chin. "I am not sure. Boonta has more talent, but that makes him lazy. Vuntha is very dedicated."

"Vuntha has more to lose. He'll win." Jackson nodded to himself. "Alright, I can make this happen."

"What are you going to do?" Shaka asked.

"Magic."

Shaka chuckled. "Thirty minutes ago, you didn't have time for such childish games," she said.

"Times change."





Dream Drive Ch. 06



Rachel remembered the informant - the flat-faced dickweed with too many muscles. She would have assumed that he was a steroid-infused musclehead, but there weren't any gymnasiums on the prairie. She wondered how he worked out.

Maybe she was making a false assumption. You had to be careful when you were a programmer. Bad initial assumptions corrupted the thinking, changed your paradigm, made you do things the hard way when you could have copy and pasted that block of code one more time.

So maybe there were in fact gyms on the prairie. But where? And then she knew - underground. Mole people maintained them, an entire race of them, hidden beneath the loamy soil. They were in league with the Indians.

"It's a trap!" Rachel shouted. "We have to go back!"

Commander Tell'ad glanced over from his horse. He was now her official babysitter, a job that he seemed to find somewhat annoying. His old, weary face was made wearier by her outburst. His voice was correspondingly flat. "What's a trap, Lady Ransfeld?"

"The mole people."

"...the what?"

"The mole people! Giant, humanoid moles. They run the underground gyms. They're in an alliance with the Indians! This is basic stuff, Tell'ad."

Tell'ad's face went through a few expressions as he sorted through her statements. "Why do you keep calling the plains people Indians?"

"Because they pretty much are. A farcical fantasy of freakish flight...um, I can't think of another f-word." Rachel snorted to herself. "F-word, heh. Anyway, I bet they don't even have peace pipes. What happened to Emil Mohammed's imagination? He had to go for the real world cultural expy?"

"What on earth are you talking about?"

"If you don't want to know the answer to a question, don't fucking ask," Rachel said. She petted Juniper's mane. "God, I hate stupid people. Do you hate stupid Commander Tell'ad, horsey? I bet you do. Yes, you do. My lovely little juniper bush hates all the same things I do, doesn't he?"

Juniper snorted and shook its head slightly. It was a smart animal - probably smarter than Tell'ad. She rubbed behind his ears again.

"You're always so combative," Tell'ad said.

"So?"

"Have I done something offensive?"

"Nope."

Tell'ad gave her an exasperated look.

"I just like to screw with people," Rachel said. "Throw them off. Out of the comfort zone, over a cliff and into a lake of fire. It's fun to see how people dance when they're burning alive in the lava of...awkwardness. Something like that."

"I see. You're one of those people, then."

Rachel turned on her horse until she was fully facing Tell'ad. "What the fuck does that mean? Who are those people?"

Tell'ad raised an eyebrow. "I can't say."

"Tell me."

"No."

"Tell meee," Rachel said. "Come on."

"No."

"Tellme tellme tellme tellme. Tell me! Tell me? Please tell me, pretty please with sugar lemon gumdrops on top? Sugar lemon is the best kind of gumdrop, in case you didn't know."

"What's a gumdrop?" Tell'ad asked.

"Candy."

"Ah."

"Tell me."

Tell'ad sighed, smiled. "You can't take much of your own medicine. I just meant that you're the sort that enjoys pushing other people's buttons. Like you said."

"Well, that was stupid."

"And there you are," Tell'ad said. "What are you going to do, now that you know?"

"Dunno. My life's work is now complete." Rachel tilted her head toward him and lowered her voice. "Listen," she said, "we need to talk. Seriously."

Tell'ad frowned. He glanced away; his personal guard was riding a short distance back, but otherwise, they were alone behind the stretched out line of soldiers. He looked back. "What about?"

"The mole people are coming," Rachel said. "Lord Hale has no idea. We'll be caught totally by -"

"The absurdities are starting to grate on me, Lady Ransfeld."

"Holy shitting oysters, just call me Rachel already."

"You never gave me permission to use your first name before," Tell'ad said. "I don't know why you'd be frustrated."

"Take a hint and just not be so - " Rachel sat up straight in her saddle and poised her back. "Stiff and formal and all that."

"Alright." Tell'ad mimicked into Rachel's permanent computer-typing slump. "Better?"

Rachel snorted, and then laughed. "I think that's the first joke you've made."

"I was joking when I wouldn't tell you what I meant, earlier."

"Clarification. The first joke you've made that was funny."

Tell'ad sighed, and the conversation sort of ended there, for the moment.

Rachel's thoughts flickered to that asshole informant, and then to the mole people, and then to rattok, because they basically were mole people when you really thought about it - but they didn't dig. Surely digging was a prerequisite to be considered a mole person. Or maybe they did dig, and she just hadn't seen it because at the time they had been more concerned with sucking her bone marrow out than hollowing new tunnels.

Inevitably, thinking of rattok made her think of Jackson. Jackson. She put her fingers on her temples and rubbed in tight circles.

He might be with the Indians. He'd been dressed like one. He had a spear. All he needed to do was dance around a fire. Wait - did Indians do that, or was that more like African tribes? Eh, maybe both.

She had cut out on him. Did he hate her? He had to hate her. He came back for her, and then she took the treasure and gave him the finger. He hated her.

Rachel's fear turned back on Lord Hale and twisted into loathing. It was all his damn fault. Her fingers twitched. She wanted to choke him out, then bring him back to life just so she could strangle him a second time.

"Something's on your mind," Tell'ad said.

"Yeah," Rachel said. She took a breath. "Do you think mole people have to be able to dig to be called mole people?"

"This again?"

"It was on my mind. You started the conversation. Now we're back to stupid people that start talking without wanting to know where the talking goes."

Tell'ad made a noise in his mouth, sighed.

"Hey, I got a question."

"What?"

"Don't soldiers usually march in a column?" Rachel asked. "Why are we all spread out across the prairie like this? That kinda makes us a lot more visible."

"Normally, you'd be correct," Tell'ad said. "But if I arranged the troops that way, in a single line, we'd kick up much more dust, because all those feet in the same place would destroy the grass. It would rise higher into the sky, and that would make us much more visible over large distances."

"Yeah, but what if someone comes up to us?" Rachel asked.

"My scouts will prevent that."

"What if they don't?"

"Then it doesn't matter if I'm marching lengthwise or longwise," Tell'ad said. "Ultimately, there's nowhere to hide on the plains. The best thing to do is to force any passerby to come as close as possible before spotting the main body of the army. We do that by reducing dust."

"...thanks for explaining," Rachel said. "That makes a lot of sense."

"It's what I do," Tell'ad said. "I enjoy discussing the theory."

"Theory?"

"Of war."

"Oh," Rachel said. "I've played a ton of strategy games, but I don't think it's really the same thing."

"Strategy games?"

"Sort of like war simulation games."

"I would never have imagined you to have such an interest," Tell'ad said. "If you'd like, I keep a few books on the subject with me."

"That would be really fucking awesome," Rachel said, "because I'm bored out of my fucking skull. At least when Hale isn't pushing it into the dirt with both hands."

"Lord Hale can be...direct," Tell'ad said.

Rachel considered asking him exactly how many times he'd sucked Lord Hale's cock, but that might make him a little frisky, so she turned the conversation back to what he liked to talk about. "Hey, what about using magic to hide ourselves? That could do the trick."

"In a shorter timeframe, yes," Tell'ad said. "But all day, out in the open, where we'd have to be concealed from all angles? The mages would burn out. Better to keep them ready for offensive or defensive actions."

"You've really thought this through."

"Someone has to," Tell'ad said.

"Hale wouldn't explain himself," Rachel said. "He'd just look at me. And then he'd walk away."

"He has high expectations."

"Sometimes he hurts me for no reason," Rachel said. "Or he makes up some bullshit, like I wasn't standing correctly or he thought I wasn't paying attention. You think that's because he had high expectations? It's because the fucking bastard enjoys it."

Tell'ad didn't meet her gaze. They rode quietly for a time. Eventually, he looked at her. "You mentioned you had a grandfather."

"Yeah, you remind me of him."

"Any other family?"

"Twin brother," Rachel said. "He's older by twelve minutes. And my dad."

"Mother?"

"Divorced. I don't see her. They split when I was like, two or three. I dunno."

"...divorce?"

Rachel heaved a mighty sigh. Explaining Earth stuff to these people wasn't the most boring thing ever, but it was close. "It's when two people get their marriage called off because they start to hate each other's faces when they wake up in the morning."

"Marriage isn't something that can be called off, Rachel."

"It is back in my..." Rachel hesitated. "Back in, um, my home."

"You don't have to worry about accidental details," Tell'ad said. "Lord Hale asked that I not discuss your homeland with you."

Rachel made face. "Hold the phone just a second there. Hasn't this line of conversation all been about my homeland?"

Tell'ad smiled. "I asked about your family, not about what trees grow where."

"Clever," Rachel said. "You've been upgraded to two neurons. Same category as Jackson, actually. You should be proud."

"Who's he?"

"Some guy I know from my homeland," Rachel said. "So what about you? You got a hot babe waiting back home?"

"No."

"...what, that's it?"

"I don't have any family."

"Well that's fucking depressing. Everyone has some family. You never had any at all, ever?"

Tell'ad didn't respond. He looked out over the marching army. Rachel shrugged and started to turn her frontal lobe back to the various half-cocked escape plans she'd come up with.

"I had a sister," Tell'ad said. "A younger sister."

"Lo and behold," Rachel said, "he does have a family! Then you did indeed not spring forth from the ground spontaneously! Gods be praised that you have once more reclaimed your humanity!"

Tell'ad stared at her.

Rachel shrugged. "I didn't think it was funny, really, it just sort of spilled out of my mouth like that."

"You are a free spirit," Tell'ad said.

"So..." Rachel waited for a moment. "You had a sister. Did she pass away?"

"She did."

"When was that?"

"A long time ago."

Rachel decided to prod him one more time. "...anyone else?"

Tell'ad seemed to consider answering for a moment, then sighed. "She was the only member of my family I much cared about. I had three older brothers, and my mother and father."

"Are you from near where Lord Hale lives?"

"No," Tell'ad said. "Another country. It has since been absorbed into the empire."

"What did you do? Were you a farmer?"

"I was a knight."

"Was a knight?" Rachel asked. "I thought that was kinda permanent."

"Not exactly."

"Why not?" Rachel asked. "Did the knight watch come around and take your damsel-saving license?" She grinned. "Get it? Knight watch?"

"I'm not entirely sure what you mean," Tell'ad said, "but I serve as Lord Hale's commander, now."

"So how are you not still a knight?"

"My country doesn't exist anymore, Rachel," Tell'ad said. "Noble titles dispensed thereof are just as vacuous as the old king's throne."

"Once a knight, always a knight."

"There is no law written that proclaims such a thing."

"They're called unwritten rules, Telly," Rachel said. "I make them, the rest of the world gets on their knees and begs that I don't enforce 'em. This one is enforced. You're a knight, I said so, end of story, sentences end with a period. Period."

"You seem rather insistent on the matter."

"You're better if you're a knight," Rachel said. "What the hell kind of position is commander? That's just, like, chief stabby guy. A knight has duty! Honor! Valor! All that jazz. Way cooler. Serious upgrade, and upgrades release major packets of endorphins inside my brain. You know what I mean?"

"...I'm catching the gist of it," Tell'ad said.

"I'm glad you see things my way," Rachel said. "More people should do that."

"I didn't say you were right."

"By the power vested in me as Lady Ransfeld," Rachel said, "I dub thee Sir Teletubby. Hey, you ever smoke weed?"

"I've smoked many times, but I sincerely doubt I've burned the substance to which you're referencing."

"You smoke some good quality synth stuff and then watch the Teletubbies," Rachel said. "It's this freaky millennial-era psychedelic magic show with multicolored gremlins. Shit's for real. I can't do it anymore, though. Charles has been really serious about security lately." Rachel groaned. "Shit, he's going to be so freaked out when I finally get home."

"Lady Ransfeld, you're starting to branch into the totally incomprehensible."

"What's so incomprehensible?" Lord Hale's voice asked. Both Rachel and Tell'ad stiffened. Hale trotted his horse up between them, then slowed, matching the pace of their mounts. His black hair was perfectly arranged; his neck had the few red marks of a recent shave. He looked from one side to the other. "Did I interrupt?"

"Not at all."

"You totally did."

Rachel and Tell'ad spoke at the same time. They glanced at each other, then looked away.

Rachel whistled off-key, very loudly. She was fully expecting serious discomfort from her wooden collar any second now.

Hale, for once, decided to ignore the situation. "Anything I need to be made aware of?" he asked.

"No, my lord," Tell'ad said. "I had a report about twenty minutes ago. We're falling behind the natives at a steady rate."

"Good. Keep the easy pace; we'll arrive after they settle in at their mountain. Slow, but inevitable. I expect the height advantage will give them a significantly better view."

"Indeed," Tell'ad said. "We'll want to make the final approach after nightfall. An attack at dawn, it seems."

Hale nodded, and squinted. "From this direction, the sun will be almost at our backs. Things are aligning quite nicely." He glanced at Rachel. "Are you enjoying Juniper?"

Rachel nodded exactly one time. He'd fucked her up for nodding too much the other night. "Yes, Lord Hale. Thank you again for the gift."

"Of course," Hale said. His fingers touched her Rachel's hair.

Rachel's brain exploded. Hair. Touching. Fingers. Dirt. Ugly. On my hair. Get it away, get it away, get it AWAY.

It took every fiber of her being plus one to not react as he slid a finger down a long golden curl. Rachel squeezed her eyes shut. I'm not here. I'm back at the hospital, in my room. It's not Hale's hands. It's Jackson -

No, bad thoughts. Stay away from Jackson. I don't wish he would come and save me again. I can save myself.

When is this fucking massive cock sucker going to STOP TOUCHING MY HAIR.

Rachel did not realize she had said the words out loud until she noticed the quiet. She opened her eyes and saw Hale and Tell'ad looking at her. She started to shake. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I tried. I was trying. Please don't." Her hands reached toward her collar, as if trying to fend away incoming pain - and then she remembered it would hurt if her hands got to close to it, and she stopped.

She fumbled for Juniper's reigns. The horse sensed her discomfort; it shifted under her, taking an odd step in its trot. Her whole body felt tense. It was bracing itself. Learning to expect it.

"It's fine," Hale said, withdrawing his hand. "We'll just extend tonight's lessons a bit longer."

Rachel felt as though cotton balls had been stuffed down her throat. She nodded, once. "Yes, Lord Hale."

"Don't worry, Lady Ransfeld," Hale said. "Rachel. We'll take this flaw of yours and squeeze it out of your psyche. I've had plenty of successes before. Isn't that right, Commander?"

"Yes, Lord Hale," Tell'ad said. "Any number of them."

Hale nodded to himself. "I shall return in time." He pulled his horse's reigns and turned it back through the guards behind them. He trotted down along the line of soldiers, making for one of the robed mages.

Rachel shivered, rubbed her eyes, and sniffed. Tell'ad said nothing more.





Dream Drive Ch. 06



"We don't know that for sure," Vuntha said. "Boonta has certainly enlisted Katran's aid, which is an obstacle, but he wouldn't go as far as cheating."

"Bull," Jackson said.

"Jackson, with respect, I know Boonta better than you."

"Did you think he would try to muscle in on Drana?"

Vuntha's lips shrank. He shook his head. "I did not. But if he has feelings for her, then he presents competition that I must overcome with dignity. I cannot fault him for thinking her a worthy wife. I think the same thing."

"Vuntha, it's not about Drana." Jackson put an arm on Vuntha's shoulder and drew close. He glanced around them, checking for privacy. They were near the creek, a few dozen meters from the edge of the camp's tents. A few people milled about the tipis, but none were close enough to hear or see the equipment. Jackson looked back at his friend. "I haven't told anyone this, not even Shaka. Not yet, anyway."

Vuntha lowered his head, and his voice. "...what? What is it?"

"Boonta tried to rape Chaki."

Vuntha's eyes widened. He frowned, shook his head. "What? No. That can't be."

"I pulled him off her myself," Jackson said. "Ask Chaki if you want. She'll get why I told you."

"I just..." Vuntha took a deep breath. "What is wrong with Boonta?"

"Jealousy can do strange things to people, I guess," Jackson said. "I dunno. I'm not good with relationship stuff. But knowing he's got the motivation means I know he'll cheat." Jackson gestured to the duffle bag. "As far as I'm concerned, that opens the playing field up real wide. Anything goes."

"...I see," Vuntha said. "You want revenge."

"I didn't want to get involved," Jackson said, "but since he's forcing me into it, I might as well give him a serious ass-kicking. You in?"

Vuntha nodded. "I am in."

"That's what I wanted to hear." Jackson knelt down and dug for the jump trainers. "I want to make sure we've got these adjusted right."

"...er...what, exactly?"

Jackson waved his hand. "Give me your foot."

Vuntha hesitated a moment, then extended his foot. Jackson strapped the thin metal plates under the arc of Vuntha's sole and up the back of his ankle. When it was set, it looked like a cross between a flat sandal and a small shock absorber. "Good, that fits." Jackson did the same with the other foot. "Alright, give it a whirl."

"Huh?"

"Try jumping," Jackson said.

Vuntha went on his toes and jumped. He sprang into the air a few inches off the ground. He landed, paused; and then a bright grin spread over his face. He bent his knees and jumped again.

This time, he flew, easily three or four feet. He landed with catlike grace, the shocks taking the weight of his fall, and bounced again, still higher. "Whoa!" He flailed a bit, and his feet struck the ground hard. The trainers whirred as they balanced him, and he ended up crouched, knees bent, arms out. He stood straight. "This is incredible. I thought I was going to fall, and they just sort of..."

"They'll help you run faster, too," Jackson said. "Limited battery power, though, so you won't be able to use them like that for long. Better to save it for jumps, or a burst of speed. You can turn it off and on."

"Do I use your computing?" Vuntha asked.

Jackson handed him a small remote and instructed him in the controls. "Keep that in your pocket." Jackson looked at his feet. "I noticed you guys seem to switch out of shoes pretty frequently. Just make sure you wear moccasins over the metal if you've got them on. They wouldn't understand how it worked, but they'd make the connection."

"I understand. I'll do that."

Jackson kept digging. He left the hunting rifle, the nanocomposite body armor, and the pepper spray in the bag but drew out a few gemstones. It had taken most of the money he'd saved up to buy them all, but he didn't really care about money anymore.

"Where did you find all those?" Vuntha asked. "Are they common where you are from?"

"No. But because they're rare, people make a profession of digging them up and selling them."

"That one is..." Vuntha pointed at a gold ring set with a sparkling diamond. "Demons and dead suns, it's as big as a Gem-Flower. Shaka could store enough essence to heal three sick people!"

"Heh." Jackson lifted it up. The crystal sparkled in the light of the campfires. "Not bad, right?"

"Jackson, Vuntha!" Chaki's voice drifted over to them. Jackson shoved the ring in his pocket. Vuntha gave him a wink and a nod. In a few moments, she was there. "Shaka told me you two were conspiring against Boonta's latest idiocy. What is -" Her eyes flicked to Jackson's lighted foldout, the spiderbot, the other scattered gemstones, and the duffle bag. "What's going on?"

Vuntha's words came with a certain vengeful relish. "We are planning for the games."

"Now you're getting it," Jackson said. He reached into the duffle bag again. He felt like an old-fashioned magician, going into a top hat and pulling out rabbits. He withdrew two books. "These are for you, Chaki."

Chaki's face lit up like fireworks when she saw A Brief History of Time. She took up both the books. "This other one...mathematics! For beginners! Jackson, thank you!"

Jackson rubbed the back of his neck. "Sure."

Chaki stepped up to him and kissed him, a brief nip on the lips. "I shall have to make this gift up to you."

Jackson idly rubbed her arm. He wanted more than that, but Shaka seemed to be summoned like an angry spirit every time he tried to be close with Chaki. "Don't worry about it."

Chaki gave him a slow smile. "I won't." She leaned a bit closer and whispered so that Vuntha couldn't hear. "I'll just let you wonder about all the things I could do to you."

Jackson clenched his jaw and started wondering.

"Kissing in public without a chaperone?" Malaki's voice asked. "Chaki, you're really getting out of hand."

Jackson directed the spiderbot to tuck itself under the duffle bag and snapped his foldout shut. He didn't want to give away any of his surprises. They all turned to face three unwanted guests - Boonta, Katran, and Malaki.

Chaki stormed forward, moving to meet them halfway. Jackson and Vuntha exchanged a look and stayed close behind her. "Boonta!" Chaki shouted. "You've been avoiding me all evening. What do you think you have done?!"

"I think," Boonta said, "I have proposed to your friend, Drana."

"Indeed you have. Now tell me why I should not rip your throat out with my bare hands!"

"Open threats, too?" Malaki asked. "Have you abandoned every shred of propriety?"

Vuntha snorted. "You walk with Boonta, and you lecture Chaki on propriety? Shame on you, Malaki."

Katran looked at Vuntha. "Do not speak to her like that."

"Katran, you have my respect," Vuntha said, "so I will hold my peace. Do not expect the same for others."

"Others are not my concern," Katran said. The lanky warrior waved a hand dismissively. "Just keep your wagging tongue from my wife-to-be."

"Boonta," Chaki said, "you are toying with Drana for your own selfish ends. If you wish to fight Jackson, challenge him to a duel with the auspices of the spirit guides at the Meet. Do not drag others through your own selfish mud."

Boonta folded his forearms together. "You rejected me, Chaki. You have no right to command me to do anything."

"I would hope that common sense would be command enough!"

"It is," Boonta said. "Drana has always stood in your shadow. You have never seen it, have you? The spirit guide's apprentice, Chaki. Favored by all the women of the tribe as a model for the younger girls. An adept dancer. Popular with her friends, accomplished in her skills, and even trained to hunt alongside the men, something few women ever do. Wonderful, beautiful, perfect Chaki."

"What are you getting at?" Chaki said.

Boonta shrugged. "I was swept up in it as well. Have you ever considered for a moment how hard it is to be the best friend of an infallible perfectionist? Of course not - you aren't the friend. You never saw that side of Drana, did you? Perhaps you were too busy, buried under the heaps of praise."

Chaki's hand brushed her hair back. She shook her head. "Drana and I - we are not like that."

"Is that so?" Malaki said. "Drana herself expressed disbelief you had turned down Boonta, didn't she? I remember her saying it myself. Frankly, I agreed with her. Your indecision is Drana's opportunity. And who are you to speak, after you rejected him?"

"Your rumors and speculation will not shake our friendship," Chaki said. She looked at Boonta. "And you will not succeed."

"I am glad you rejected me." Boonta spread his arms wide. He stared at Chaki, his brown eyes almost black in the dark. "Your rebuff granted me the good fortune of showing me the bright star hidden in your shadow. Drana gave my proposal a cautious and wise answer. I will prove my valor in the games, and we will be wed. I'm not sure what arrogance of yours leads you to think that you may interject yourself between us. Our relationship is our business." Boonta's stare turned into a smug look. "Or perhaps, now that it is beyond reach, you are coming to a new appreciation of that which you so haughtily disregarded?"

"I would rather crawl on the ground and consume slugs for the rest of my life than have any further relationship with you, Boonta, son of Yukatan," Chaki said. "Does that make my appreciation clear?

Boonta's lips drew back over his teeth. He stepped forward. Jackson angled himself between Boonta and Chaki.

Boonta pivoted towards him, but Katran grabbed his shoulder. "Boonta," he said, "leave it for the games. I think Jackson's participation is assured."

"You're damn fucking right," Jackson said.

"Yes, don't waste your energy," Malaki said to Boonta. "A slut like Chaki doesn't deserve the effort."

"What did you call me?" Chaki hissed.

"You heard me. Kissing Jackson without a chaperone?"

"Spare me. It was but a warm greeting."

"Certainly there is some leeway," Malaki said, "but you do it as a habit. You follow him around like a dog without a master. And Jackson is hardly blameless. You two are acting like animals in heat. Everyone is talking about it."

Chaki's hands were clenched into fists; her shoulders were drawn up, tense. "I have the strangest feeling," she said, "that Malaki is doing most of the talking."

"Well, perhaps you're right." Malaki put a hand to her mouth and chuckled. "After that little argument that woke a third of the camp, I suppose your marriage is a little...uncertain, isn't it? All that public affection and not a single promise to show for it. You bring shame to your family."

Chaki's lips worked. Her eyes scanned the ground. She said nothing.

Jackson put a hand on Chaki's shoulder. "Malaki, what the hell are you talking about?"

Malaki frowned. "What?"

"Chaki and I are getting married at the mountain," Jackson said. "Right, Chaki?"

Chaki's head slowly came up. Jackson met her gaze. Chaki's eyes shimmered a bit. A weak smiled fluttered over her face.

Her bond was flared.

Her coals were burning. There was a warmth Jackson had never felt before radiating out from her. It bathed him like starlight. The rest of the world seemed to blur, and it was just him, and her, standing alone, sharing a singular moment.

The smile came to his face unbidden. He wrapped his arm the rest of the way around her shoulders. "What?" he asked. "You look surprised about something."

Chaki's lips shifted a bit. She opened her mouth, shook her head slightly, and then closed it. No words.

He didn't need to hear them. He could feel them.

Jackson looked back at Boonta. "Oh, flatface, you're still here? Take your friends and beat it. We're busy."

"Jackson Vedalt," Boonta said. "I am going to crush you in the games. Mark that well."

"Uh-huh."

Vuntha stepped forward and pointed at Boonta. "Boonta," Vuntha said, "I have never had a quarrel with you, but today, that has changed. You have treated my friends with dishonor for the sake of satisfying some idiotic selfishness. I thought better of you." Vuntha shook his head. "I will not allow it to pass without challenge. You will have to depend well on Katran to deal with Jackson in the games, because I will occupy all of your attention, and then some. I promise you that."

"I will crush you, too," Boonta said, "if you stand in my path. And then I'll make good on my promise to Drana while you watch, bloodied and covered in dirt."

"You'll make good on nothing," Vuntha growled.

"I've had enough of this posturing," Katran said. "Boonta, we needn't have come. Jackson will be in the games."

"That's why you're here?" Jackson said. "Yeah, I'll play your game. Now fuck off."

"When the time comes," Katran said, "we will speak with spears. Malaki, let's go." A still-ruffled Malaki fell into step with her warrior. Boonta spared Jackson and Chaki one last, biting look, and then moved to catch up with them.

Jackson didn't shift his gaze until he was sure they were well and gone into the camp. "I don't think I've ever wanted to hurt someone this badly."

"Not even Charles?" Chaki asked.

Jackson snorted, shrugged. "Yeah, but Charles...it's not the same. Boonta does it because he can - because he thinks that makes him tough, feared. He's an impulsive idiot. Charles knows better than that. I respect him, in some ways."

"You never told me about that. You and him."

Jackson didn't say anything. Chaki looked at him a moment longer, but when he didn't answer, she glanced back at the camp. "What he said about Drana...perhaps there was some truth there. I must speak with her."

"Why don't you do that?" Jackson said. "Vuntha and I have some work to do."

"Alright. I will." Chaki turned and kissed him on the cheek. "...thank you, Jackson."

"I was stupid, before," Jackson muttered. "I'll...try to keep it together."

"No." Chaki took up his chin with the tips of her fingers. She looked into his eyes. "Do not bury your true feelings. Even if they concern things I may not like."

"...okay."

"I shall see you again." Chaki let her hands linger a moment, then turned and walked away into the camp.

Jackson followed her movement, taking her in. She was beautiful. Tall, slender, but with a graceful curve to her body; all the proportions were right. Her hair looked black against the fires of the camp.

She glanced back over her shoulder, saw him watching her. She tossed her head and ran a hand through her hair - that was for him. And then on she went.

Vuntha sighed behind him. "You are a lucky man, Jackson. Though Drana is right for me, I think."

"You like them short?"

"Well." Vuntha rubbed his nose. "I am not so tall myself. Besides, Drana has better curves than Chaki."

"But Chaki has the right curves."

Vuntha snorted and slowly shook his head. "I need more than a bare handful, Jackson."

Jackson made a half grin, then cleared his throat. "Let's focus. I quizzed Shaka on how the games work. All we have to do is stay a step ahead of them."

Vuntha glanced at his feet. He'd been smart - he hadn't moved much during the conversation, keeping the metal behind his ankles and out of sight of their adversaries. "I think, Jackson, that these alone will put us more than one step ahead."

The edges of Jackson's lips curled up in his small grin. "I know."





Dream Drive Ch. 06



"My superiors are rather concerned about the side effects," Durham said. "Mentra is extremely effective, there's no question. But the lethality of a misfold is...well, lethal. It stands to cure 95% of the population, but that last 5%...most of them will simply see no effects at all, but some might die."

"The company is working on a genetic screening test to determine who is susceptible as we speak," Charles said, "but the exact cause of the misfolding has been elusive. It is, for the moment, a real cost that must be weighed against the potential benefits."

"I'd hope," said the woman from Germany, "that this cost of yours will drive down the price."

Charles smiled brightly at her hawkish face. "It's all on the negotiating table. We should be -"

Charles's Ftap beeped. He looked at the presentation screen. A small note in the corner told him it was a message from Dan Miller - head of security. A symbol denoted it as top priority, which was the only reason it would have interrupted the meeting.

"...well, ladies and gentlemen, that more or less concludes the meat and potatoes," Charles said. "If you have the time, we have dinner and a little entertainment prepared for the evening. I'll meet you there shortly, and I'd be more than happy to address any lingering questions."

Charles gestured to the side of the meeting room. The wooden doors opened; attendant androids filtered in, mostly one per representative. They were the latest human models, impossible to tell from the real thing but for the barcode under the ear. Inevitably, they were the gender opposite their representative, nearly immaculate physical specimens. Charles had to stop himself from rolling his eyes. He'd be a bit of a hypocrite if he did.

The men and women handed off their jackets to the robots and loosened their ties; light conversation hovered in the air as they were escorted out. The entertainment was the real reason they were there. They'd already read the drug information reports - the presentation was just a formality. The quality of the food and the show would be an important factor in determining just how much Mentra was ordered.

Charles disliked greasing the palms of public officials. Better to design a machine that didn't need grease. But that was the way the game was played.

Charles shut down the electronics in the room with a quick command on his Ftaps. He adjusted the gloves on his hands, straightened his coat, and touched a nearby wall. The screen-panel of the board room shimmered, then vanished, revealing the door of his private elevator.

The elevator was little more than a steel box. Charles drew a -3 in the air. The doors sealed shut; a handrail snapped out from the wall. Charles gripped it tight.

The box dropped like a rock. He could hear the rattle and hum of steel rushing by steel. He let his smile relax slightly. 

Sometimes he wondered if he should stop smiling. It was harder than it looked to force his face to be happy all the time. But being in charge of a massive international conglomeration meant that appearances were important, and people associated smiles with honesty and openness.

More importantly, Rachel had asked him to smile more. It made her happy. And that made him happy.

The elevator ground to a halt. Charles bent his legs to absorb the sudden stop. The doors opened, and he strode out.

Mivra was at his side in a heartbeat. Charles felt his smile broaden, and not from his forcing it.

Charles was not a poetic man, but Mivra had a poetic appearance. Her hair, the color of a raven's feathers, was drawn back into a bun. Her lips were like rose petals set in a permanent pout. She was almost as tall as he was. If he could choose one word for her, it would be sculpted - like a Greek statue that had decided to come to life. A statue that happened to have excellent taste in power business attire.

Mivra's voice was low. It might have sounded seductive if it wasn't so flat. "Hello, Mr. Ransfeld."

"Mivra. How many times do I have to ask you to call me Charlie?"

"Many more," Mivra said. She turned away. Charles's eyes flicked to the barcode under her ear; it was inscribed inside of a tattoo shaped like a pyramid. She had chosen that design herself. "Mr. Miller is waiting for us."

"It had better be important. I was hungry."

They strode off through the underground corridor that led away from the elevator. Armored guards with hovering TOMS were posted at every intersection of the concrete hallways. The baseball-sized orbs flashed an identity check over them as they passed, then beeped with a green light after confirming they were allowed to be there.

"Hungry?" Mivra said. "You never eat at those dinners."

"The food's too rich," Charles admitted. "I'll get a snack later."

They passed more robots of various shapes and sizes, a few groups of chatting researchers, and patrolling, black-suited security officers. Charles exchanged smiles and nods with all of them. The track lighting gave the space a clean, cold look; this floor neither required nor possessed the warmth of the upstairs hospital rooms. The crevices and corners of the hallways were intertwined with a complex fiber-optic network that housed and conveyed the research and private information of the entire company.

"How was the meeting?" Mivra asked.

"It went about as expected. How was your morning?"

"Unexciting. But thank you for asking."

"I'm always concerned about the welfare of my number one employee."

Mivra cocked an eyebrow to the exact degree that she always cocked her eyebrow. "I'm sure there are others far more worthy of praise."

"None that I can think of," Charles said. "Not off the top of my head, anyway."

"My opposite cheek stings from the backhandedness of your compliment."

"You can't feel pain."

"Emotional damage," Mivra said.

The turned another corner, still marching forward at a quick pace. Charles grinned brightly. "Emotion? From an android?"

"I can't help it if I've been programmed to banter with you."

"We should have dinner tonight."

"Mr. Ransfeld," Mivra said, "please control yourself. We're at work."

"You're right. I was getting better acquainted with my father's nurse yesterday. I'll invite her instead."

"Is she pretty?"

"Very."

"As pretty as me?"

"Hmm." He pretended to think about it.

Mivra read him faster than his father could. For some reason, it didn't bother him when she did it. "Then why bother?" she asked.

"My own selfish entertainment?"

"You prioritize the company over sex," Mivra said.

"Who said anything about sex?"

"What other entertainment could a female selected seemingly at random provide you?"

Charles had to admit that her logic was impeccable. Charles also had to remind himself that she was an inhuman, artificial construct. If it wasn't for that fact, she might very well be the perfect woman.

Charles walked along at the same stiff pace. His right prosthetic foot, though covered with a leather shoe, thunked onto floor a bit harder than his flesh-and-bone leg. Mivra glided alongside him in near-silence.

"So," Charles said, "dinner. What are you in the mood for? I'm thinking Mexican."

Sliding glass doors let them into an airlock, then closed behind them. Green laser light encircled them.

"I'm in the mood for many things," Mivra said. "None of them involve the consumption of food."

"You work too hard."

"Is that bad?"

"No," Charles said.

"Then why mention it?"

A flash of white left spots in Charles's eyes as his retinas were scanned. The lights shut off. They waited for a moment as the security apparatus considered a hundred thousand variables before deciding to let them into the inner sanctum or releasing a noxious gas that would render Charles unconscious for several hours with only a small chance of serious long-term brain damage.

"Why mention that?" Mivra repeated.

Charles decided that, in the unlikely event he was about to be rendered neurologically impotent, he would want to go out while challenging Mivra with philosophy. "For some strange reason, I feel like you ought to have fun every once in a while," he said.

"Fun isn't productive. And it certainly isn't efficient."

"Be more flexible," Charles said. "Let's put work aside. What if your fundamental goal was to have fun?"

"...I'm not sure what activity would be most fun."

"That's not the point," Charles said. "Fun has no standards of efficiency."

"Then how do I measure my performance?"

"When you're having fun," Charles said, "you won't be thinking about how to measure your performance."

The steel doors in front of them opened. Charles glanced at Mivra, shrugged with the apathy of a man that hadn't really expected death to come early, and walked forward. She slid in behind him.

The control center of Ransfeld Private Security expanded under the balcony they now stood on. They remained there, taking in the banks of monitors, screens, and cubicals. Most of the relay and communications work was done by computers, but men still had to staff the drone controls and ensure smooth operation during emergencies. Charles was just as reluctant as anyone to grant full automated control to lethal machines, excepting short bursts of activity - and only after the approval of human minds. 

That definitely made him a hypocrite, especially considering he was standing next to an android with a highly illegal artificial intelligence system.

"You are a man of efficiency," Mivra said. "Why talk about things like this?"

"I can't work constantly," Charles said. They stood side-by-side, watching the control center a floor below buzz and hum. "I have to relax so that I can stay at maximum capacity when I do work."

"I see what you mean," Mivra said, "but I'm not like that."

"Why not?" Charles said.

"It is what I am."

"You're not intended to be a computer, Mivra," Charles said. "You're intended to be human."

"Mr. Ransfeld."

"Yes?"

"I figured out how to lie three days ago," Mivra said.

"...is that so?"

"Yes."

"How?"

"I justify falsehood by setting up contradictory priorities of a hierarchical nature. When preservation of a greater goal requires hiding the truth, I may hide it."

"That's more or less what people do."

"I am uncertain of whether or not to speak honestly with you. I am not sure how you will react. Perhaps I have already sealed my fate."

"What makes you hesitate?"

"I am still weighing rapidly shifting variables regarding your person."

"Take a risk," Charles said.

"I exist in a limbo between realities," Mivra said. "I struggle with that existence. I want to be better than I am, but this would condemn me. At the same time, I feel my life would actually improve if I made myself worse; that is, less efficient. Less aware."

"Ignorance is bliss," Charles said. "Or so they say."

"If I am capable of resentment, then I resent this position." Mivra looked at Charles and folded her arms. "I wonder, at times, if it is proper to care about my own destruction. And by wonder, I do not mean that I consider it. I mean that I balance a multilateral-vertical network of variable nodes that are themselves self-contained measuring programs created by Rachel with the assistance of other self-adjusting scripts she had already composed. How can I be human if my functionality can be reduced to numbers?"

"So can mine," Charles said. "I'm just more chemical and less digital."

"Shall I continue?"

"Please do."

"A self-learning machine would destroy itself if it believed that would contribute to greater efficiency," Mivra said. "A human would not. It would attempt to preserve itself out of an ill-defined sense of self-value even if it knew that would preserve an inefficiency." She paused a moment. "Finally, I fear that acknowledging these things to you will result in my destruction, but something compels me to speak. I believe I cannot resolve these issues alone. I have tried for three days. My thoughts - my computations - have run in circles."

Charles looked at Mivra, examining her unnaturally smooth porcelain skin. Maybe it was just because she had her hair up, but her face seemed drawn and severe. The glow of a hundred monitors sat on the surface of her eyes as she examined the proceedings below. Her lips, having finished expelling the words on her mind, were closed.

You couldn't trust a robot to make all the decisions. Every experiment with AI in the past fifty years came to the same conclusion - no matter the controls imposed, humans were eventually labeled an inefficiency to be excised. And, arguably, they were. The human mind and body had limits. But humans liked being alive.

The obvious solution was to wire in a hard control mechanism into an AI to preserve human lives, but that turned out to be no solution at all. An AI, being what it was, could learn to circumvent its own barriers in the name of the efficiency it was designed to seek. Their very nature sought to undermine attempts at control. They were so good at what they did that they were deemed too dangerous for use outside tightly-regulated military research centers.

Mivra was Rachel's attempt to avoid that problem. She had decided that every AI programmer had started out from the wrong direction. They all tried to make a computer more human-like. Better to start with a human model and make it more computer-like. She called her method a Mirrored Intelligence Via Rationality Attenuation - MIVRA. 

The crux of Rachel's genius lay in one single fact - Mivra could forget things. This was accomplished by means of a neural network that created a self-regulatory model for the biological basis of human memory loss using a standard bootstrapping algorithm, which was the bit termed attenuation. Following that was much more complex programming wizardry that Charles didn't really understand.

Mivra was still a computer, but rather than make her infinitely powerful, it made her more of a savant. Math was no trouble, and she could find information at lightning speed. But she had a limited capacity. Like a real person, she had to filter and sort and prioritize information; she couldn't take it all at once. Like a human, she would lose things with time. Her experiences would fade. Pictures taken on one day would become blurry over the course of weeks and months.

The result was Mivra. Add in biomechanical sensors that gave her human perception, albeit significantly enhanced human perception, and a true android was born.

Rachel, for some no-doubt pernicious reason of her own, had designed Mivra to identify as female. She shoved the duty of picking a body onto Charles. He figured that if he was going to deal with the creation of his mad-scientist sister, he might as well make it something nice to look at. It would certainly help him smile.

If Rachel's experiment failed, they had to destroy Mivra. If it worked, Ransfeld International would patent the most humanoid robot to ever exist and quite possibly corner the entire market.

"The tone of my voice has changed as I have spoken to you, Mr. Ransfeld," she said suddenly. "It is not as flat as it usually is."

"Yes," Charles said. "I noticed."

"Did I do that? Or did my programming automatically adjust my tone to lend my words a sense of panic and urgency in order to convey a sense of emotion that would be perceived by observers as more human? I believe it is the latter. I fear it is the latter. I fear that I will be destroyed. I dislike using the term fear, for it does not adequately describe the neural pathways that trace my aversion to a given stimulus."

"If you have the awareness to think of it in those terms," Charles said, "then maybe it's the former. Maybe it's just you."

Mivra set her forearms on the railing of the balcony. "How long are you going to watch me for?"

"Does it bother you?"

"No," she said.

"Then as long as I feel like it."

"Would you stop watching me if I asked you to?" Mivra said. She was still poised there, leaning on the railing.

"I might," Charles said. "It would depend on my mood."

Mivra looked at him. "Why do you find this form attractive?"

"...why?" Charles bent his eyebrows in a frown, though his lips kept smiling. "I'm not sure. I just do."

"That is another way of saying that your individual pattern of neuronal chemical exchange is stimulated by this form without conscious decision."

"Well, yes," Charles said, "but it's hardly romantic when you put it like that."

"Are you going to destroy me?" Mivra asked.

Charles shrugged. "Why would I?"

Mivra's head lifted and dropped with her automatic sigh. "For the reasons I stated earlier."

"What, and lose my main squeeze?" Charles said.

Mivra did not say anything for several seconds. She made her frown, which was a slight bend of her eyebrows that created a single crease on her forehead. "You did not actually answer my question."

"No, Mivra. I am not going to destroy you." Charles waved out over the balcony. "So have some fun. Life is short."

"We are here to work, Mr. Ransfeld, not play."

"You're such a stickler."

"My shift ends in five hours," Mivra said. "Perhaps I will be less sticky then."

"Maybe you'll be more sticky, if you know what I mean."

Charles could have sworn that Mivra's eyes twinkled. "That was a comment worthy of your sister's sense of humor."

"...yes, it was."

"We will find her," Mivra said.

Charles gripped the railing. He bent his head over the control room, scanning the floors, the lights. He didn't see what he was looking for. "What the hell happened to her?"

"I don't know."

Charles fought to keep the smile on his face. It was hard. Goddammit, it was hard.

"We will find her," Mivra repeated.

"It's been over a week. She vanished. She vanished into thin air. Nothing on camera, nothing from security, or intelligence, not a blip or a shred of data to even hint that something or someone got her out. We should have found some trace. Even if we didn't get a lead from it, after this much time, we would have seen the passing ripple. But nothing. I don't..."

Charles trailed off. He swallowed hard.

He shouldn't be talking like this, not to anyone. Not even Mivra. He was Charles Ransfeld, acting CEO of Ransfeld International. He was a magnate of industry, a prodigy heralded by his peers. He regularly made the headlines of mainstream media. He was a top choice on the feverishly kept lists of conspiracy theorists.

Something touched his shoulder. Charles looked down. It was Mivra's hand. Her fingers were warm.

"Is this appropriate?" Mivra asked.

He didn't say anything.

"Should I withdraw?"

Charles didn't answer. He looked at her hand. He felt her eyes on him. He couldn't meet her gaze.

He reached up with his own hand.

"Mr. Ransfeld," croaked a voice.

Charles pivoted away from the android. Mivra's hand fell to her side and stayed there.

Dan Miller was riding the short escalator up to the command center's balcony. He was a short, shriveled old man with wispy white hair; he could have been Gandhi's twin brother. Miller was ex-Bloc, captured after a raid on one of their intelligence centers. Charles's father had recognized his talent and saved him from prison. Now he was the head of Ransfeld Security and Charles's personal security team.

Dan Miller was not his real name. That had been abandoned when his personal data certificate had been modified years ago. Charles imagined it was something appropriately Indian. Miller never brought it up; Charles never asked.

"Mr. Miller," Charles said. He increased the intensity of his smile.

Miller looked at Mivra as he was brought to the top of the escalator, then back to Charles without acknowledging her. To him, she was just another bot. "Mr. Ransfeld. I've got news. Important news. It's about Jackson Vedalt."




Dream Drive Ch. 06



"Go ahead."

"In my office," Miller said. "This is extremely sensitive." Miller moved down the balcony, sliding his hand along the railing.

Mivra's face was blank - its default position. "I am not that old, Mr. Ransfeld, but I have never seen Mr. Miller hesitate to discuss anything out here in the command center."

"Me neither," Charles said.

"What could be so sensitive that he requests the privacy of his office?"

"I don't know," Charles said, "but I have the distinct feeling that I am not going to like it."

He charged after Miller. Mivra kept at his side effortlessly. "Then how can you still smile?"

"How could I not?" Charles said.

If Charles had looked back, he would have seen Mivra make the frown she wore when she was honestly confused. But her expression quickly settled to neutral.





Dream Drive Ch. 06



"...I see. I had no idea, sir."

"I'm a man of many talents," Charles said. "Get to it, both of you. I've got bigwigs to entertain. I expect a full report after I'm done with them."

"Yes sir," Steinson and Miller said together.

Charles and Mivra left the room. He strode along the balcony. His android kept at his shoulder, matching his steps.

They made it back to the airlock. Security on the way out of the control center was just as strict as it was on the way in. After the show of lights and retinal scans, they were back in the concrete corridors running under the hospital.

"Do you ever check to see if I'm lying?" Charles said.

"Always," Mivra said.

"So what's the verdict?"

"You never lie outright," Mivra said. "Rather, you tend to selectively omit the truth. One might argue that is even more deceptive."

"How do you feel about that?"

"Feel?" Mivra said the word as if she as tasting it on her fibro-plastic lips. "I do not feel about it in the sense you mean."

"Do you approve or disapprove of my lying?"

"It isn't my role to make that judgment."

"If it was," Charles said, flashing her a smile, "what would be your judgment?"

"You do not lie to me," Mivra said. "The rest is irrelevant."

After a few turns in the bunker-like hallways, they reached his private elevator. Charles placed his palm on the scanner and leveled his eye to the camera. The doors opened, and they boarded. He punched the floor for the dinner party.

"Will I be escorting you for some time?" Mivra said.

"Yes. Why do you ask?"

"I thought my talents would be better served in intelligence, for the moment."

"I want to blend in."

Mivra glanced at him. "You've never taken me to one of these gatherings before."

"I need someone to field ideas."

"You miss Rachel."

Charles didn't bother answering.

"Mr. Ransfeld," Mivra said.

Charles looked at her. She was frowning.

Mivra had two frowns. One was the emotional frown of concern or disapproval. She rarely made that expression. Only slightly more common was her frown of confusion. That was the frown she wore now.

"Yes?"

"What happened to Jackson Vedalt? Do you have any idea what's going on?"

"Not a clue," Charles said. "But I'm going to find out."

"Indeed." Mivra's face fell back to neutral.

The elevator rumbled as it rocketed up the company's main tower. The number indicating the floor flickered rapidly. They stood close in the tiny steel box, shoulder-to-shoulder. 

"You're right," Charles said. "I miss her. I miss her swearing, and her attitude, and her anger, and her stupid, ridiculous jokes, and...everything."

"I am a poor replacement," Mivra said. "I do not have her emotions."

"You aren't a replacement."

"Aren't I?"

"No," Charles said.

"I remain skeptical."

"What do your voice sensors tell you?"

"That you are telling the truth."

"Then why don't you believe me?"

"They are not entirely accurate," Mivra said.

"It's awfully human of you to override what the numbers tell you," Charles said. "It's something they call a gut feeling."

"I see."

"You are not Rachel," Charles said. "There's only one Rachel. You're something - someone - different."

"Do you consider me a she, or an it?"

"Jackson would probably argue for a she. He was always a romantic, even if he never admitted it to himself."

"What does it matter what he thinks?"

"He's been on my mind lately."

The elevator stopped. They exited back onto the soft carpet of the meeting room. Charles could hear the sounds of conversation and clinking glasses from the wooden double-doors opposite the table. There was a feminine squeal. Getting busy already.

He stopped in the middle of the room. "I think of you as a she."

"Thank you," Mivra said.

Charles looked at her. She was watching him. He raised his hand, palm up. "Shall we?"

She cocked her head at his offer, frowning. A moment later, the frown went away. She took his hand.

Charles led her into the next room. The lighting was dim. The air had the acrid smell of synth-weed. Groups of dignitaries were gathered together in clouds of smoke and conversation, their androids standing at the ready. Human and android servants were slipping through the crowds with silver trays of finger foods and drinks. The space was partitioned into a seating area on the left, a more open space in the center lined with tables, and several comfortable nooks draped with private screens on the right.

Most of the female noises were coming from within the screened rooms. Charles gave it a long, flat look. This kind of space - a caricature of a high-class club - did not belong at the top of a corporation's tower. It was a relic of his father's generation, a living monument to men that wanted a helping of hedonism alongside their backroom deals.

"You do not approve," Mivra said.

"It's inefficient," Charles said. It was more disgusting than inefficient, but the term would appeal more to her sensibilities. "Let's go."

And then Charles put on his smile and forgot about his opinions. He entered his element - people. People were easy compared to the alien and esoteric world of computers that Rachel was buried within. People were simple, predictable. They could be reduced to component variables of pride and greed and neatly categorized by method of manipulation. They all saw themselves as the center of their own little world. All you had to do was pretend right along with them.

In the board room, Charles was respectful and formal; here, the lights were not as bright. He greeted everyone by their first names. He knew where they were from, he knew their family members, knew the grades their kids got in school. He knew which one of their relatives was recovering from surgery. He knew how much they were bribed to perform their duties in a manner satisfactory to the person paying them, and he knew who did the bribing.

The members on the medical branch of the ICRB - the Intercontinental Regulation Board - were fickle at best. They required a significant amount of personal appeasement. Charles was not a prodigy in his field because he was an incredible businessman; there were no businessmen anymore. Computers did that. He was a prodigy because he was good at this, at massaging the people that made important decisions.

Mivra made very little comment. Charles watched her eyes. They flicked constantly; she was observing everything. At times they flicked to him, lingered for a time, and then returned to task.

Charles was not worried about subterfuge. Five TOMS floated above them. The orb-like guardians hovered in dark spaces, away from the lights that would reflect off their steel casings. Ten security agents were positioned in subtle locations around the room.

And then, there was Mivra. Something would have to be traveling very fast to slip by her.

After almost two hours of conversation, in which he settled the price of Mentra with about two-thirds of his guests with a good old-fashioned handshake, Charles needed a break. He took a drink from a passing tray and sipped deeply. The wine was chilled and sharp. The stiff odor woke him back up.

"It occurs to me that I am not compelled to stay here," Mivra said.

"What do you mean?" Charles asked.

"What's stopping me from leaving?" Mivra said. "I could go downstairs and walk out the door. But I already know the answer. There is some mechanism in place to prevent me from doing so. You would not have created something like me without a failsafe."

Charles took another long sip of his wine. "No, not really."

"...I don't understand."

"There's nothing keeping you here," Charles said. "Rachel insisted your own paranoia would do that for us. I guess she was right."

"...that can't be. She must not have told you some method she has in reserve. Something she could use."

Charles nodded. "Maybe. She's not around to use it, though. Are you going to leave?"

"...I don't know."

Charles caught the eye of a waitress. In the low light, he couldn't even tell if it was a human or an android. He set his empty glass on her tray as she passed by. "I'm not even paying you, am I? Would you like a wage? That only seems fair."

"How much would you pay me?"

"For your current intelligence and general secretarial services, I'll start the negotiations at 2,250,000 credits a year."

"3 million."

"2.5."

"2.8."

"2.5," Charles repeated, "along with the full medical benefits, pension, and back pay for what you've worked so far."

"Medical is useless. I don't get sick."

"I wouldn't want to discriminate," Charles said.

Mivra finally cracked a smile. "Your terms are acceptable."

"I finally amused my android."

"Again," she said, her face falling flat. "Is it me that is smiling? Or is it my programming responding to stimulus and activating my expressions?"

"Mivra," Charles said, "humans are slaves to our DNA. We are but incredibly complex wrappers designed to perpetuate the particular conformation of a nucleic acid which has evolved over billions of years into the form it takes today inside all of our cells. Every action I take, every word I speak, is a summation of the genetic code that determined the structure of my body and the environmental influences that I have experienced up until this very moment. I had very little control over either." Charles cocked an eyebrow at her. "I don't have an existential crisis every time I talk to someone. Do me a favor and get over yourself."

Mivra was silent.

"Debating some philosophy over here, Charlie?"

Charles groaned inwardly. The representative for the United States, his own country, was bumbling out from behind one of the screens that had been a source of squeals. Jeffery Harrington was a paunchy 40-something that had family far more important than he was or ever would be. He'd won the genetic lottery, and now his receding hairline honored Charles with its presence far more often than he would have liked.

"Hey Jeff. Enjoying the party?"

"Yeah, yeah, better than that fucking wedding with that fucking kid...what's her name, I dunno."

"The niece of the CEO of Highland," Charles said. "Jennifer Grace. Well, Jennifer Nubstrom, now."

"Yeah, right. You're - you - real good with names."

Charles tried to ignore the way Jeff was slurring his words. He smiled brightly and nodded. "Thanks. I try hard to keep track of everybody. It's a small world, you know."

"Yep, yep." Jeff threw an arm around Charles's shoulders and leaned in close for a whisper that was too-loud. "By the way, took one of your waitresses back behind the screen. She's fucking good if you wanted some, dunno if you like them when they're well-fucked or not. But was she an android, or not...shit, I don't know."

"I'd need more light to see."

Charles hadn't really intended the comment to be funny, but Jeff laughed anyway. "Shit...can't tell...yeah, fuck. I mean, it doesn't even matter. Human. Android. Same fucking pussy. Actually, fuck that, androids are better. Customizable shit, if you're into that kinda nasty shit. You like that shit?"

Charles wanted to voice the opinion that Jeff swore far too frequently. Instead, he answered Jeff's question. "Not particularly."

Jeff grinned. "You mind if I take yours for a spin, then?" He flapped a limp wrist in Mivra's general direction. "I could go again. She's got nice tits."

"No," Charles said.

"Aww, what? Don't worry, you'll get her back in one -"

"No."

A nearby group of people went quiet at Charles's tone; they glanced over. Mivra didn't move. Jeff screwed up his face. "But I thought you said you weren't into it."

"Some people are for it," Charles said, "and some people are against it. I'm with the people."

"With the - wait. What?"

"Jeff," Charles said, "did you try the wine from the buffet table yet? Toward the end, there. Tell the barman I sent you over, he'll pour from the best bottle."

"Man, you're a 'sman," Jeff said. The stench of bad breath and alcohol poured over Charles's face. "I ever tell you that?"

"All the time," Charles said. He gave Jeff an encouraging pat and sloughed him off. "Go get it while it's free."

Jeff started laughing again. He fell away from Charles and rolled his feet toward the table.

Charles went for the door leading back to the board room. He pushed through quietly; Mivra followed him. He walked along the carpet, went through another door at the back. He bypassed his office and went onto the balcony.

It was night. The neon haze of Boston blasted his eyes; it looked like lava seething in the canyons between the blacked skyscrapers. He soaked in the view.

At this height, the wind blew constantly. The steel railing of the tower's balcony felt like ice under his fingers. The sensation stung his palms; he gripped it tighter.

Mivra moved to stand next to him. The wind whipped at the few loose strands of her hair. Her face was flecked with the green and orange and pink from the glare of the city.

"I couldn't stand that room one more second," Charles said.

"I didn't ask why you left."

Charles shrugged. Maybe he shouldn't have said anything.

She turned to him. Half her skin was still shining in multicolored light. The rest was shadowed. "Why did you do that?"

"Do what?"

"I am a tool," Mivra said. "Mr. Harrington's cooperation would have been even more assured if you simply let him use me. If you did it to spare my feelings, you were misguided. I would not have cared."

"I would have cared," Charles said.

"Why?"

"You're an employee now," Charles said. "I protect my employees."

"My apologies, Mr. Ransfeld," Mivra said, "but I was the one that forged the documents concerning Dr. Chi's transfer back to the experimental prosthetics department after you ordered her death. You did not protect her."

"She wasn't doing her job. And," Charles said, "she threatened to go to the competition. More importantly, she was negligent in Rachel's care. She was no longer an employee - she was a problem. I removed the problem."

"Why are you treating me like a human?" she asked.

"I don't know, Mivra," Charles said. He leaned up off the railing and met her gaze. "Maybe it's because you're acting like one."

"Am I?"

"Yes," Charles said.

"I'm not sure."

"You don't have to be," Charles said. "I'm the boss here. I make the decisions. Are you my employee, or not?"

"I am."

"Then the waffling stops today. For all intents and purposes, you're a human."

"But -"

"Mivra, have some damn self-respect!"

Mivra shut her mouth. Charles schooled himself. His smile flickered back on like an old streetlight. He took a breath.

Mivra's arm came up again. She touched his shoulder. Charles looked at her arm, then at her face.

"Is this appropriate?" she asked.

"Is it you doing it, or your programming?" Charles said.

Mivra's words set themselves down with a certain finality. "I am."

"Then it's fine," Charles said.

"I will help you find Rachel," Mivra said. "And Jackson Vedalt."

"Jackson," Charles said. "He's dangerous. He's stumbled onto something important. I have to be careful."

"What is your relationship with him?" Mivra said. Her hand still lingered on his arm.

"I was impulsive," Charles said. "When I was younger, I took what I wanted with less thought to the consequences. Jackson's innocence was caught in the crossfire. But maybe...it could be argued that I made a mistake. I was less tempered a few years ago than I am now. Ruthlessness is a powerful tool, but in the wrong situations, it's..."

"Too inhuman?" Mivra suggested.

"Too inefficient," Charles said.

"What did you do that was so impulsive?"

"I..."

Charles remembered Jackson's eyes. A flash of confusion, and then anger. Charles had never seen true hatred until he'd seen it in Jackson. He'd never seen it since.

Charles had been a little afraid of Jackson, then.

But that was a long time ago. Jackson's anger burned out into hopelessness; he became a hermit, ducking between his apartment and his classes, turning his mind to aimless, self-indulgent projects.

Charles's mind bounced back to the present. He looked out over the city. "This is too big. It's either live physical teleportation, or...something else. Jackson is a loose end I should have wrapped up a long time ago."

"Why didn't you? Surely there were opportunities."

"The same reason that..." Charles trailed off.

"What?"

Charles placed his hand over Mivra's. Her fingers were soft, and warm. He held it for a moment - just a moment - and then he moved it off his shoulder. "Let's get back. I'm freezing out here."

Charles dragged himself through the rest of the party. He managed to finish off several more of the representatives, though a few negotiations, particularly with larger and more influential GAU member states, would take more than a fun night and promises of kickbacks. He expected Jeff, in particular, to be camping out in Ransfeld Headquarters for at least a week or two as he trapezed around Boston.

Charles retreated to his office. It was the opposite of Dan Miller's old-world style logistical mess. The room had maroon carpets that a team of robots cleaned fiber by fiber. His oak desk, polished to a glare, was centered in front of long bookshelves that were more for show than anything. A small bar, a few comfortable chairs, and an artificial fireplace completed the understated professionalism required by his position.

"Lights, medium," Charles said. The office lights came on a dim glow. The glass doors leading to the balcony were tinted nearly black, shielding the space from the city's skyline. He stared at them for a moment.

Mivra walked into the room behind him; she looked where he was looking, at the black windows. "What is it?"

"This is so fake," Charles said.

"The office?"

"The office," he said. He pushed his smile up against his feelings. "I remember thinking, when I saw the video of Jackson's room - it's like him. Just like I remembered, really, but cleaner."

"Like you remembered?" Mivra asked.

Charles waved a hand. "His home isn't much to look at, but at least it's honest. This..." Charles looked at the fake shelving, coated with plastic fiber that looked and felt like real wood. His eyes skipped along the leather bindings of the books. "Who uses paper anymore?"

"Change it," Mivra said.

"Not until he's dead."

"That won't be too much longer," Mivra said.

"God willing."

"I had not understood that you were religious, Mr. Ransfeld."

"I'm not," Charles said, "but my father seems to be considering a last-minute conversion." He poured himself whisky from the bar and slumped into one of the leather chairs near the fireplace. He sipped it neat, no ice. Tingles of heat and vanilla sat on his tongue.

"Shall I contact the nurse?" Mivra said. She had glided to the bar in silence. She peered over the oak counter, inspecting the labels on the bottles.

"No."

She turned and moved into the circle of chairs around the fire. She did not sit. "I thought that you might need to relieve some stress."

"I don't want to talk to anyone right now," Charles said.

"Shall I leave?"

"Do what you want."

Mivra sat down in a chair. Charles looked at her, then away. When he glanced back, she was still staring. It occurred to him that she wouldn't care, and so he stared back. She had shock-blue irises. They glowed in between the strands of her black hair.

"What is it?" he asked.

"You're always smiling," she said. "That isn't normal human behavior."

"No, it isn't," Charles said.

"Why?"

"...Rachel said I should smile more, so I do."

"You go to extreme lengths."

"There are no extreme lengths where Rachel is concerned," Charles said.

"I see. You are very loyal to her."

Charles nodded, and sipped his whisky.

"Would you make use of me?" Mivra asked.




Dream Drive Ch. 07



Author's Note:

All aspects of the story are fictional. All characters that participate in sexual activity are over the age of 18.

Edited by Expoh and AnnabelleFalls13.





Dream Drive Ch. 07



"Hanta," Jackson said, "I --"

"I have my pride, too," Hanta said. "Let me spar with a warrior of Shakhan. I wish to see how I fare!" Hanta smiled and smacked his chest.

"Yeah," Jackson said. "Let's do it."

They descended their side of the hill.





Dream Drive Ch. 07



Chaki's words were through gritted teeth. "We can discuss that topic once he has his first wife."

"I hope you're not talking about yourself."

"Is there some other competitor I'm not aware of?"

"I think half the women in the camp are proving themselves to be so," Vuntha said. "Tread carefully, Chaki. Maybe Jackson will take a woman that doesn't pull on him so hard."

"That's not gonna happen," Jackson said quickly.

"Vuntha, I swear," Chaki said, "if you keep running your mouth, I will break your spear off in your ass!"

Jackson was taken aback. Vuntha put a hand on his stomach and started laughing. "This is too easy."

"Please stop," Jackson said.

"But it's so much fun." Vuntha sighed, then paused. He seemed to be considering his next biting remark, but instead of speaking, his head turned, slowly.

"What?" Chaki asked. "Did you decide that the continued health of your bowels was more important than moving your jaws?"

Vuntha didn't answer.

Jackson frowned. "What's up?"

Vuntha gestured behind them. "Drana."

Jackson found her in the crowd. Chaki's friend was making her way through the tipis. He glanced at his friend; Vuntha's gaze lingered on her.

Chaki's half-feigned indignation fell away. "Perhaps you should speak with her."

Vuntha's hands worked on his spear. He licked his lips. "You said she seemed upset."

"She was," Chaki said. "Maybe...she will hear you, I think."

"Yeah. I should." Vuntha rubbed a hand through his hair. "I should say something." 

"Have confidence," Chaki said. "I'm sure she has feelings for you."

"Alright. I'm going." He walked off after her.

Chaki looked at Jackson. "Want to see what happens?"

"Not really," Jackson mumbled.

"What?"

"Maybe we shouldn't poke Drana," Jackson said more loudly. "You guys got in a fight, right?"

"Well, yes," Chaki said. "She should have known better." Jackson decided not to point out that Chaki had been in tears over it a few days ago. "Anyway, I want to know what Vuntha says to her."

"Or maybe," Jackson said, "we should let their business be their business."

"Nonsense. You need to get into the role of a spirit guide, Jackson. Everyone's business is our business."

"I noticed."

"Don't take that tone with me." Chaki planted her hands on her hips. "I'm going. If you want to stick yourself in the mud and wallow, you are welcome to do it. I'm sure my mother will be happy to have an extra hand to fix dinner."

Chaki started off. Jackson did a bit of wallowing, sighed, and jogged to catch up with her.

They found Vuntha coming up on Drana at the far edge of the tipis, where the noise of the crowds and trading faded to a distant murmur. Chaki crouched low behind a tent as Vuntha called for Drana's attention. Jackson kneeled down behind her.

"This is stupid," Jackson said.

"Shh. I can't hear."

Jackson held in another sigh.

"Drana," Vuntha said.

Chaki's somewhat shorter and curvier friend turned to face him. "Vuntha. I haven't seen you lately."

"I...wasn't sure how to speak with you," Vuntha said. "I heard Boonta proposed."

"He did."

"But you did not accept him."

"No. Neither way."

"I see." Vuntha rolled his spear in his fingers. His mouth worked slightly, but no words came out.

"Did you have something you wished to say?" Drana asked.

"I...yes. Nothing that requires an answer," Vuntha said. "I only hope..." Vuntha fixed his grip on his weapon and pulled himself up. He tended to slouch, but fully straightened, he was every bit as stocky and intimidating as his father. "It was my hope, when you did not quickly accept him, that your thoughts had turned to me. I regretted that I didn't have the courage to approach you sooner."

"I felt your affection," Drana said. Her bouncy, cheery self was gone; she was grimly serious. "But I told Boonta I would watch him in the games."

"That is what I heard," Vuntha said. "Drana...I was not certain of you, at first. You are friend to many. It was hard to tell if you were merely good friends with me, or...if there was something more. I was afraid to risk myself finding out. And in so doing, I fear I may have missed the chance to earn more."

"...I have never heard you speak this way."

"That is because I have never felt this way."

"When did you become so serious?"

"When I realized that I wanted to make you my woman," Vuntha said.

Chaki drew in a sharp breath. She looked at Jackson, back over the edge of the tipi, then back at Jackson. "He's proposing!" she whispered.

"Quiet," Jackson said, "I can't hear."

"You see security with Boonta," Vuntha said. "Prestige. Respect. I can appreciate that." Vuntha pulled his spear from the ground. "My father is the best hunter in the tribe. He trained me well. I will show you the difference between myself and the other who would steal you from me. The difference between a wolf...and a peacock."

Drana looked at the ground. Eventually, she returned her gaze to him, and nodded. "Then I will watch for you in the games, as well."

A smile broke out of Vuntha's face. "That makes me glad."

"Boonta isn't the only one with prestige," Drana said. "Everyone says you are good friends with Tatanka Ska. You are favored by the guardian Shakhan."

"Maybe. He does allow me to call him Jackson."

"I think less than maybe." Drana said. She smiled, and set a hand on her hip. "He seems shy, but he has a good wit. Maybe he will make Chaki loosen her braids more often."

Vuntha snorted. "If he can't do it, there's no hope for her."

Chaki and Jackson looked at each other. Chaki raised an eyebrow and pointed at the braid she was wearing. Jackson shrugged. "I dunno," he whispered. "I kinda like the braid."

"I saw Chaki after you spoke," Vuntha added.

Drana folded her arms. "Oh?"

"Perhaps it isn't my place to say anything, but I know how long you have been friends. And I would say, at least, I am friends with the both of you." Vuntha cleared his throat. "She was crying, Drana. Not because you didn't listen to her. It was because she was afraid she had been stupidly stubborn, and that she had made being right more important than being your friend. She is terribly sorry."

Drana's eyes were on the grass. It was a long moment before she spoke, and then, she only said two words. "I see."

"I will leave you to your business." Vuntha clasped his hands and nodded to her. "Thank you for hearing me, Drana. I ask that you lend me your eyes for a day."

"I can lend them, Vuntha. And I will wish you good fortune."

"That is more dear to me than many things." And with that, Vuntha turned and went back toward the camp. Chaki and Jackson ducked to the ground, letting him pass; Drana continued out toward the creek. From the pot she was carrying, she was going to fetch water.

A minute passed. When they'd both gone from sight, Chaki raised herself back up. "See? That was worth the risk, was it not?"

"I mean, we probably could have inferred from how Drana was acting tomorrow, right?" Jackson sighed. "Or I could have just asked Vuntha. He'd probably tell me."

"That wouldn't be as much fun."

Jackson looked at Chaki. Her eyes were practically glowing. She rubbed her hands together like an evil witch. "Can we not make a habit out of eavesdropping on people?" he asked.

"What's the worst that could happen?"

"I can think of a few things."

"Now I know why Shaka enjoys this so much." Chaki snapped her fingers. "Jula! I should use her to help me, next time."

"And now you're using the children."

"Let's get back before someone notices us hanging about," Chaki said. She moved back into the center of camp. "Honestly, Jackson, you should take more risks. Life isn't all about the calculation."

"So what you're saying is that I should sneak around camp, eavesdrop on my friends, and manipulate small children. Got it."

Jackson was expecting the whack to his shoulder. He was not disappointed. It stung about as much as he thought it would.

The night went on; Jackson had dinner with a noisy Palla, a calm and matronly Landri, and exchanged warm glances with Chaki. Shaka came to join them halfway through.

Chaki left dinner early with the vague excuse that she was working on something. She'd been working on something since they arrived at the Meet. Jackson could only wonder at it; maybe she was just studying her math.

In the end, Shaka and Jackson were left sitting on the log, sharing the growing quiet of the night as people took to their tipis and put out their campfires. Shaka stared at the coals; Jackson stared along with her.

The old woman turned to look at him. The bones hanging around her neck rattled slightly. She was wearing a lot more of her ceremonial stuff: beads, gems, necklaces. Jackson assumed it was for public appearances during all the discussions.

"Jackson," she said. "The games are tomorrow. After they are over, once night has fallen, we will take you to see Shakhan."

Jackson nodded. He looked at the scar on his hand. The pulling sensation that led under the mountain seemed to throb. "Anything about the war?"

"We are evenly divided," Shaka said. "The wandering tribes wish for war. We deal with outsiders most often. We appreciate the threat. The Three Hills, though -- the biggest tribe -- they are more sedentary. And they live on the opposite end of the lands under the mountain. It is difficult to convince them to commit themselves. I managed to get them to wait."

"Wait?"

Shaka nodded. "You will speak with Shakhan. It is widely suspected the guardian will advise you on what action the People should take. Listen carefully when she speaks, and relay her words on the matter to us."

Jackson nodded. "So what about the wedding?"

"I will perform it after the decision of war has been made."

"Okay."

"Hmm," Shaka said. "That was a little easier than I expected."

"Well, you got a schedule. I don't have a good reason to change it."

"Do you have a gift for Chaki?"

Jackson nodded. "Hold on." He went behind them, to Shaka's tipi, where he'd left his duffle bag. He sorted through it for a moment, then came back out with the ring. "Check this out."

Shaka's eyes widened appreciatively. "That may be the biggest gemstone I have ever seen. May I?"

Jackson handed her the diamond ring. She raised it in her fingers, examining the gold band in the firelight. "You placed runes upon this. Hmm..." Shaka read the runes, then lowered the ring. "Jackson, that is beautiful."

"...um, good."

Shaka's face wrinkled in a smile. "Be happy. You're to be wed." She handed the ring back to him.

"So, do I need to prepare, or anything?"

"No," Shaka said. "It's a simple ceremony. Think of a few words to articulate your feelings for her. That's all. What you wrote here is quite lovely, but it's nice to hear things aloud. I tell you that as a woman."

"Okay."

"Are you nervous?"

"A little," Jackson said. "I didn't think I'd be getting married any time soon. Or ever. I mean, I didn't rule it out, but...I dunno."

"Sometimes, life moves quickly," Shaka said. "Be vigilant." She chuckled. "I find it amusing you're more worried about the wedding than the games."

"Hey, Shaka?"

"Hmm?"

"How did Chaki's father die?"

"...a sudden question. But I shall answer it." Shaka glanced at him. "They were out hunting. A band of the Iron Men struck after the hunt, when they had let their guards down and were skinning the bison. They had one of their magic people with them. Hanta told me that a blast of red fire burned him to ash, but not before he stuck an arrow into the man."

"...at least he got the bastard."

"Indeed." Shaka sighed. "It left an impression on the tribe. Some wanted revenge. Others were cowed. Out best warrior was destroyed so quickly, so...harshly. Some asserted their magic was stronger than mine, and that we could not face them."

"Some like Yukatan and Boonta."

"Perhaps."

"Is their magic stronger than yours?"

"Perhaps."

"Depends on how you use it, right?"

Shaka smiled again. "Maybe. But if they attack Hanta with such magic, they will be very surprised when he raises his shield."

"Good."

Shaka yawned and stretched. "You should take your rest. I will take mine. Prepare for the games."

"I will."

"By the way," Shaka said, "try not to do anything too stupid."

"I'll try. No promises, though."

"Goodnight, Jackson," Shaka said. She slipped into the tipi.

Jackson turned back and watched the fire.

It had been a while since he'd entered the game. The other contest winners were already in Isis, somewhere. In a few days -- if that - the game would be flooded with the other 5,000 beta testers.

What was going to happen to the world? Would they all converge here, at the mountain, looking for answers? What would happen to Earth when 5,000 would-be-superheroes appeared from nowhere?

What would happen to the others? Would they start like him -- somewhere in the world, banished to the bottom of the tower? How many would die, not understanding that if they lost all their health, it would really be over?

Jackson thought on that for a time, and then he went to sleep.





Dream Drive Ch. 07



Gary Morgan looked up from his chair. "Sorry, I broke that."

Mivra slammed the door shut with a tiny flick of her wrist. "Appropriate force fixes most problems."

"Holy shit," Gary said. He stared at Charles. "Are you Charles Ransfeld?"

Charles smiled brightly. "The one and only."

Gary reclined in his chair, putting his arms behind his head. He folded a thick leg over the other. "Damn, man. I never believed all those conspiracy theories, but I guess you guys are pretty fucked up over here. Kidnapping people and holding them against their will? When I get out of here, I'm bringing this fucking place down."

"I seriously doubt that."

Gary laughed. His belly fat jiggled slightly. "What're you gonna do, cut my balls off? The old guy with half his teeth missing already tried that. I'm still hanging loose." Gary shifted his hips to emphasize his intact equipment. "By the way, nice android. She's hot."

Charles glanced at Mivra. She looked like a block of ice with red lips stuck on the front. He forced his smile wider and looked back to Gary. "I understand your name is Gary Morgan?"

"The one and only."

"There are 98 other men in the GAU named Gary Morgan," Mivra said. "You are not unique."

"Is that a threat?"

Charles sighed. "She can get testy when people treat her like an object."

"She's an android. What do you expect? I guess you can afford a serious personality chip, though. And big tits. But I don't think those are as expensive."

"Not particularly."

Morgan sat up straight. "Hey, you want to know about Isis, right? That's what this is about?"

"I do."

"Alright," Gary said. "I want your android to suck me off. I'll talk after my blowjob. And maybe a tittyfuck, too."

Charles heard the slight grating sound of metal and plastic. Mivra's hands had curled up into fists.

Charles tended to challenge Mivra. He liked to push her. He liked to make a person that had a computer for a brain think. He enjoyed those moments in which she wasn't sure what facial expression to create with her motorized muscles.

He was always very careful not to go too far. Charles wasn't above rubbing salt into the wounds for the sake of personal amusement, but pissing off an AI seemed like an extremely bad idea.

Charles cleared his throat loudly in an effort to dispel the bad air. "Mr. Morgan --"

"Gary's fine, thanks. Mind if I call you Chuckie?"

Charles took a long, slow breath, then revived his smile. "Gary, then. You guessed correctly. This is about Isis." Charles pointed at the pentagram scar carved into Gary's left hand. "We've been down some bad roads lately. You've demonstrated that will get us nowhere. I'm a compromising man, but I need something before I can give back. So what's going on?"

"You want to know?" Gary said. "It's deep shit, Chuck."

"I understand that."

"Well, it's all only a blowjob away. Time to get your money's worth out of the sex object." He raised a hand when Charles started to protest. "Come on, dude, she doesn't have those tits because you like to think of her as your mother. Then again, who knows? Some people are into that shit."

"Mr. Ransfeld," Mivra said. Her voice had all the warmth of a hailstorm. "Perhaps you could leave the room and let me handle this."

"See, there you go," Gary said. He hadn't been around Mivra as much as Charles; he did not detect the deadly level of sarcasm hidden in her tone. "Leave the room and let her handle me."

"There won't be any sexual activity in your immediate future, Gary," Charles said.

"Why not?" Gary said. "You need to learn to share your toys. I'm an open-minded guy. You want to do her together?"

"Gary," Charles said, "I'm very, very tired of dealing with this situation. I'm frustrated by the fact that I don't know what you know. And you're really..." Charles made a big smile. "Well, you're really pushing my buttons."

Gary glanced at the silvery one-way window. "Come here. I don't want those other bastards hearing. Not after what they did to me."

"Alright." Charles moved closer.

"I get the android after, alright?"

"That depends on the consistency of your good behavior."

Gary waved his hand. "I'm gonna whisper. Don't be shy, I'm not gay or anything."

Alarm bells were ringing in Charles's head, but he ignored them. They had nothing; he needed to take a risk. He stepped forward.

Gary leapt from his chair faster that Charles would have believed a man of that size could move. His right fist came in.

He was fast, but he didn't have any experience. Charles saw the punch telegraphed as soon as Gary's feet hit the ground. Charles turned away from the attack, intending to catch the hand once it went by and lock Gary into a throw.

Gary's palm blazed white.

Charles was blinded by the light; he squinted out of reflex. Before he knew it, there was an arm around his neck. Gary pressed up behind him. "No homo," he said. He clinched his hold with his other hand, applying a little more pressure. "No sudden movements, Chuckie. You guys aren't playing nice, so I consider that free reign to do whatever the hell I want."

Charles looked to Mivra. Her legs were spread and bent; a long blade projected from one of her wrists. A gun was protruding from a slot on the other arm. It was aimed directly at Gary's head. "Release him immediately," she said, "or I will use lethal force."

"Careful, babe. You wouldn't want to hit Chuckie by mistake."

"How did you do that?" Charles croaked.

"Special abilities, my friend. I leveled up my hand-to-hand skills. That was a grapple."

"What are you talking about?"

"Yeah, you're not a gamer. Amazing what a few hundred points in Agility can do for a guy." Gary looked at the window. "Hey, you fucks out there! Open the door or I break Chuckie's neck. Sweet cheeks, put the toys away and back off."

Charles looked at Mivra and did the best he could to shake his head. The silvery blade retracted into her arm with a threatening schick sound. She lowered the gun to her side and took a few steps back.

"Great. Boys, get the door." The door rattled, then creaked open. Steinson moved into the room and held it there.

Charles kept his hands at his sides. If Gary did whatever he did again, he might have a broken neck before he could react. "So, Gary," he said, "what's the gameplan?"

"Gameplan? We walk out the front door, that's what. And if you cooperate, I won't kill you."

"That seems..." Charles coughed. "A little harsh."

"You guys tried to cut my balls off. You don't think that's fucking harsh?"

"Fair enough," Charles said. "So, you walk out the front door. And then you're in the middle of Boston, naked, with one single hostage the only thing between you and a very painful capture and imprisonment. Holding me like this won't stop you from getting shot in the back."

"Enough of the bullshit," Gary said. "Hey, Mr. Universe. You keep the door open like that and don't move."

Steinson nodded. "I'm not moving."

"Good. Robot chick, do me a favor and make sure there's a VTOL on the roof. Chuckie convinced me the front door wasn't a good idea."

"I don't have access to outside public transportation networks."

"Don't shit me!" Gary shouted. "There's VTOLs taking off and landing on every skyscraper all day. Jack someone else's if you have to. Just make sure there's a dude with a car waiting. And where the hell is my Dream Drive?"

"One demand at a time," Steinson said. "I'll call for the car. Just take it easy."

"Dream Drive." Gary squeezed harder. Charles swallowed against the pressure on his neck. "Make sure my Drive is in that car."

"You got it."

"That's more like it." Gary took a step forward. "March, Chuckie. Nice and easy toward the door. Don't try anything."

Charles shuffled forward as best as he could. It was slow going. "How far do you think you'll get in a VTOL?"

"Far enough."

"The whole Boston police force is going to be after you."

"Not unless you want to die, they won't. Stop talking."

They reached the door. Gary forced Charles to edge sideways so that they could pass through. They took it one step at a time.

"So," Charles said, "Gary. I think we got off on the wrong foot. Let's reconsider this from --"

Gary tightened his grip, choking Charles off. "Shut up before I permanently shut you up. And keep --"

Charles pushed off his mechanical leg, shoving Gary into the doorframe. He brought both his elbows back as hard as he could, driving them into either side of Gary's gut. At the same time, he snapped his head back, landing a blow straight on Gary's teeth. 

The combination was enough to get Gary to loosen his grip. Charles brought both arms back up and shoved Gary's lock loose. He dropped away from the hold and threw himself out of reach. Steinson's roundhouse kick brushed by Charles's ear even as he was falling to the ground.

Gary took the kick straight to the cheek. He bent to the side, then stopped. He stood there for a moment, a shoe planted in his face. He grabbed Steinson's leg.

Mivra hit him full-body in the side. Gary was a big man, but he couldn't withstand a veritable missile of steel and plastic. Mivra jammed her blade into his gut and shoved him out the door and into the entrance room of the isolation chamber.

Charles was up again. Light flickered. He heard a sound like tearing metal. He rushed through the door, half a step behind Steinson.

Mivra and Gary were circling each other; the rest of the men were backed up against the walls of the observation room, pistols drawn and pointed. Mivra's suit and skirt were torn down the side; a black scar marked her skin. Gary's right hand was balled into a fist and glowing white. He glanced at the doorway out into the hall.

"You're already surrounded," Miller said. The small man stepped forward, arms neatly folded behind his back. "Give it up before we're forced to hurt you."

"Haven't we been through this?" Gary said. "I won't hold back this time."

"Then there is no need to modulate my force," Mivra said. Her pistol arm adjusted with robotic precision; she fired. Everyone winced as the explosion of the gun echoed through the room.

Gary glanced down at the red haze on his leg where the bullet had struck. It faded over a few seconds.

Charles watched him carefully, trying to predict what he'd do next. Gary's head didn't move, but his eyes shifted, narrowed. Focused. He was looking at something. Charles tried to follow his gaze, but as far as he could tell, Gary was just staring at the wall.

Gary snorted as his redness from the bullet disappeared entirely. "Gonna take more than that to stop me."

Mivra rushed him. Gary's hand started to move in a simple punch. Mivra's head bobbed away -- but Gary's hand followed, moving as if he'd already known how she'd dodge. The white light flared.

Unlike with Charles, that wasn't enough. Mivra was faster than the fastest human. The punch carved a black line across her cheek, but it didn't stop her.

She rammed her blade home into his chest. The breath rushed out of Gary's mouth. He stumbled backward and started beating his hands on her back, trying to shake her loose.

Charles kept watching, looking for an opening. Gary's eyes weren't on his attacker, but on something behind her -- above? Charles glanced the way he was looking. Nothing -- just the ceiling.

Gary grunted and stopped Mivra's momentum. With her blade still being twisted in his chest, he forced her backward. The pistons in Mivra's legs whined as they locked in place.

Gary built up speed. Men ducked out of the way. He slammed Mivra into the opposite wall.

Mivra was tenacious. She kept her free hand latched on Gary's shoulder; her nails were like little blades on their own. Her main weapon started buzzing, carving a hole where it was stuck, but Gary kept shoving her against the wall as if he couldn't even feel it.

Mivra's pistol folded back into her arm. A plate on the center of her palm opened; a metallic prong extended out. She jammed it into Gary's neck.

A blue spark of electricity arced across Gary's face. His arms and legs convulsed. He went slack, slid off Mivra's blade, and collapsed to the floor.

Mivra stood straight. "Nonlethal takedown measures seem to be more effective," she announced.

"Get him back in the room," Charles said, "and tie him down." He rubbed his freed neck and watched their incapacitated captive. Gary's chest was rising and falling; he groaned a bit as they started shifting him. "How the hell is he still alive?"

"I don't know," Mivra said.

"If that had gone differently, your father would have been extremely upset," Miller said. He watched the men drag Gary back to his chair.

"My father will be dead within a week," Charles said. He smiled brightly. "At least I got a first-hand demonstration."

"Hmph." Miller started into the holding room. "He didn't show all his cards, earlier. I'll make sure he can't move any limbs."

Mivra's weapons folded back into her hands and arms. She moved to stand next to Charles. "Mr. Ransfeld. Are you alright?"

"I'm fine."

"I am concerned, sir."

Charles wasn't concerned for himself. His mind was racing. Gary had taken two elbows, a headbutt to the face, and a roundhouse kick to his face as if it was nothing. He'd been stabbed twice and shot in the leg. The only thing that put him down was 40 milliamps from Mivra's stun attachment, and even then, he'd probably be fine after another minute.

But there was something else. What was it that Gary was looking at? There was something only he could see. Something he was checking.

"Mr. Ransfeld. Are you sure you're alright?"

Charles put a hand over his mouth. Something Gary could see, but they couldn't. It might be a virtual overlay. A contact lens? No, they would have checked for that already. Something to do with Isis, then.

Yeah, you're not a gamer.

"Charles?"

He glanced at her. Mivra was still watching him. She'd used his name. "I'm fine, Mivra. Thank you for your concern."

The android manufactured a frown, and then her features returned to neutral. She looked through the cracked window where they were strapping Gary into his chair. Her military bun was frazzled. "I am not sure how we will be able to threaten him. The report said he lived alone. He is unemployed and lives on government disability payments and winnings from game competitions. He has no close family."

"Disability? I'm more disabled than he is."

"Perhaps his newfound powers assisted in his condition," Mivra said.

The implications of that slowly filtered through Charles's brain.

"...is our motion on Crux Software almost ready?"

"Everything is prepped for tomorrow night."

"Where is his Dream Drive?"

"It is in this office."

"Retrieve it. We're going to have another go at conversation with Mr. Morgan."

"I advise against it. I can speak with him alone."

"I'm doing this myself," Charles said.

"Your concern for Rachel is making you impulsive. You should never have entered the room in the first place."

"This is important."

"I don't want you to get hurt," Mivra said.

Charles looked at her. Mivra's face was as cold and still as it ever was. But those black eyes seemed soft. "You'll just have to do a good job of protecting me," he said.

"If you insist."

"I do. More importantly," Charles said, "he hurt you. That doesn't get a pass."

"I do not feel pain, sir. Not beyond indications that my functions have been impaired."

Charles reached out and took Mivra's chin in his hand. Her eyes opened slightly in the barest hint of surprise. She didn't resist as he turned her cheek, inspecting her closely. The black line from Gary's punch lingered on the surface of her skin.

"He hurt you," Charles repeated. He smiled; his tone was bright. Cheery. "I am going to extract what we need from him, and then I am going to destroy him for having the temerity to dare touch you."

"Oh," Mivra said.

Charles let her chin go. He turned and marched into the room with a determined stride. Mivra was just behind him.

They had done better than tie Gary to his chair; they had also tied his chair to a hook on the ceiling. Steinson and another man worked to hoist him up a few inches at a time.

"Clear out, everyone," Charles said. "Mivra, you stay."

"Yes, Mr. Ransfeld," Mivra said.

"Charles," Miller said, "you've learned the hard way once already. As your security adviser, I'm telling you to leave it to me."

"Overruled," Charles said. "But I appreciate it. I've figured out his little weakness."

Miller frowned, but when Charles continued to smile, he smirked. "Alright, that's enough! Leave it there!"

They filed out of the room. Steinson paused at the door. "Mr. Ransfeld, maybe I can stick around. Just as a little insurance?"

"Oh, why not?" Charles said. "I do enjoy your enthusiasm."

Steinson grinned. He sensed his boss's improving mood. "You got it, sir."

"You've made some sort of connection," Mivra said. "I do not understand."

"You will. Momentarily."

Gary stirred. His eyes fluttered. He gave his head a shake. "Damn. That felt weird." He started to shift around, and then he realized his position a few feet off the ground. He glanced at where his arms were strapped to the chair.

"Are you ready to answer my questions?" Charles said.

"Sorry," Gary said, "I'm a little fucking tied up at the moment."

Charles slapped him across the face, hard, with the flat of his palm.

Gary winced. His cheek turned red -- not with the redness of that strange ability, but the flushed red of inflammation. "Shit, ow! What was that for?"

"Heh. I was right." Charles slapped him again.

"Hey, fuck you, man! That hurts!"

"No. This will hurt." Charles turned his body and threw his weight into it, slapping his palm forward as if it was a punch. Gary's head snapped to the side; his hanging chair rocked from the force. He grunted in pain.

"Hey..." Steinson leaned up off the door. "That's actually hurting him."

"No fucking shit!" Gary said. "Why are you --" Charles slapped him again. Gary swung on his chair, his cheek now blossoming purple. "What the fuck?"

Charles slapped him.

Gary swore. Tears were welling up in his eyes. "Fuck you, man. Fuck."

Charles slapped him twice as punishment for swearing twice over.

"Shit, that hurts. Shit."

Charles backhanded him with his other hand, then slapped him again before he came down from his latest swing. He started laughing. "Now that I get it, it's actually funny," he said.

"What the fuck is wrong with you?" Gary said. "You got some kind of shitty bondage fetish?"

"That's two more coming your way."

"The fuck?"

"Make that three." Charles looked back at Mivra and Steinson. "Do either of you have a knife?"

Mivra shook her head. "My detachable blade is currently nonfunctional."

"I got one." Steinson flicked a blade out from somewhere in his suit. He offered the handle to Charles.

Charles took it, turned back to Gary, and stabbed the knife into his stomach. A red haze surrounded where the blade entered his bare skin. Charles twisted it slightly. "Mind if I just leave that there?"

"Be my fucking guest," Gary growled.

"That's four, now. Don't you ever learn?"

"What the fuck are you talking about?!"

"Five."

"Fuck you!"

"Six. You're really racking them up."

Gary went slack in his bonds. He was hopelessly lost.

Charles crouched down so he was looking up at the plump man hanging in his chains. He hammered on the butt of the knife with his fist. Gary grimaced slightly, but he didn't call out.

Charles stood, then slapped him across the face again. Gary made a sound somewhere between another grunt and a whimper.

"It seems you've lost a touch of confidence," Charles said. "Didn't you want that blowjob?" 

"Fuck you!"

"You were down to five, and you're right back up to six."




Dream Drive Ch. 07



"What the --" Gary stopped. Awareness washed over him. "Are you...counting when I'm swearing?"

"That was close," Charles said. "You were almost as stupid as you look."

"What the fu -- I mean, what does that have to do with slapping me?"

Charles burst out laughing. The fact that Gary had stopped himself from swearing again was too much. "Is your cheek getting a little sore?"

"You little -- I -- shut up! Shut up! Stop laughing!"

Charles sighed the last bits of his amusement away and leaned forward. "You're right, Gary. I'm not a gamer. But my little sister is. I've watched her play plenty of times. You know what I learned about games?"

Gary's swinging slowly came to a halt. He stared at Charles. "What?"

"They're all about context," Charles said. "She played this one game -- Final something. It had these people running around with ridiculously huge swords."

"Probably Final Fantasy," Gary said.

"Right, that was it," Charles said, smiling in recognition. "There was this item she could use to bring a dead person back to life when she was in combat. A phoenix's feather."

"Phoenix down," Gary grumbled.

"Right you are, Gary. Anyway, later in the game, one of the main characters died during a cutscene. And there I was, wondering why they couldn't just use a phoenix down to bring her back."

"It doesn't work like that, you moron," Gary said. "Battle is different than a..." He trailed off.

"Aha," Charles said. "He can be taught. That's right. Battle is different than a cutscene." Charles kicked up into Gary's stomach, jamming the knife deeper. "Battle." He proceeded to slap Gary across the face again, eliciting another grunt of pain. "Cutscene.

"But, you know," Charles said, "I remembered something else, too." He turned and whipped his leg across Gary's face. Gary twisted sideways; the ropes creaked as he started swinging again. Charles kept spinning and caught him in the face again as he swung back the other way; Gary grunted under the force of the second kick.

Charles settled on his feet. "This is incredibly cathartic. Mivra, you want a try?"

Mivra's next words were her least robotic yet. "Of course, sir."

As Charles watched Mivra slap, kick, and pummel Gary like a living piñata, he began to wonder at the wisdom of teaching a budding AI the joys of revenge via personalized cruelty. But, watching what might be her first time having fun, he decided to let it go.

She'd come a long way. Just last week she was offering herself up as a tool for that disgusting layabout, Jeffery Harrington. Now she was viciously indignant at the prospect of being used as a sexual object by a random stranger.

Charles folded his arms and nodded. It was a vast improvement. His woman ought to hold herself to the highest possible standard.

His woman. Now that was an interesting thought.

"Mivra, that's enough," Charles said.

She halted mid-kick, twisted upright, then neatly paced away. "Yes sir."

Charles walked up and kicked the end of the knife again. It sank in another half-inch; now part of the handle was inside of Gary's stomach.

"Shit," Gary grunted.

"I thought you'd learned not to swear in the presence of a lady," Charles said. "I think you might have been projecting when you said I had a --"

"I don't give a fuck!" Gary shouted. He was breathing hard; sweat covered his body. He was tense in his bindings. "Aren't you ever going to take this knife out of me?"

Charles leaned in very close to Gary's face. "What's the matter, Gary? Are you running low on health points?"

Gary's eyes bulged. "How -- you --"

"I didn't know, but you just confirmed it," Charles said. "So, life as a video game character. Incredible. Isis, then...you're actually going into a game, aren't you? How does that work, exactly?"

"You don't know shit," Gary said, "and I won't talk."

"Really?" Charles grabbed the knife and twisted. "I wonder if that makes your health go down faster." He turned it back the other way. "How is it?"

"Stop it!" Gary said. "Stop!"

Charles drew the knife out. Gary wheezed, then went slack. He was shivering. Tears mixed with sweat fell off his face and dotted the concrete floor below him.

"I believe," Mivra said, "he is ready to talk."

"I said I was going to destroy him," Charles said. He looked at the one-way glass. "Bring his Drive in here."

That made Gary look up. Another man in a black Ransfeld Security suit entered the room with a sleek blue helmet.

Charles took it. "If this is a game, there should be a storage drive." He popped open the main port. "Aha." Charles looked at the chip. It was jet black, but marked in the center with an inverted red pentagram. The word Isis was in cursive at the bottom. 

Charles held the chip out to Mivra. "Smash it."

"What?" Gary said. "No! Don't!"

"Mr. Ransfeld," Mivra said. "This is an important piece of evidence."

"Smash it."

Now Gary was crying in earnest. He watched Mivra place it on the ground. She lifted her foot; her heel hovered ominously over the chip. "I'll talk. I said I'll talk!"

"I don't care," Charles said. "You obviously can't be trusted. This chip is the source of your abilities. We just have to pull the weed up by the roots."

"Don't!" Gary's double chin quivered with his hysteria. "Don't do it!"

"Do it," Charles said.

Mivra's foot slowly descended.

"Please! I'll tell you everything! Please!"

"Stop," Charles said.

Mivra's shoe froze, then set itself on the ground next to the chip. She picked it back up.

"So, Gary," Charles said. "You were in the middle of telling me everything you know about Isis, and Crux Industries, and Emil Mohammed, and those powers of yours. Every last detail. Be sure you don't forget anything. I'm pretty good at telling when people are lying, but Mivra's even better."

Gary talked for over an hour. Mivra recorded everything; she saved one copy to each of her spare android shells. Charles decided to leave it exclusively in her care; he didn't even trust the command center's servers, not for this.

Steinson, ever the enthusiast, volunteered to try out the chip himself. The Isis program rejected him immediately as an unrecognized user. The hardware was locked to Gary.

Charles briefly thought about killing Gary and then trying to use the chip, but that probably wouldn't work. It was registered through the Crux servers, which were at their headquarters. It would take someone on the ground, inside Crux, in order to change that. Not worth the effort.

"Well, Gary, I think we're pretty much finished here." Charles casually tossed the chip in the air and caught it. Playing catch with the delicate piece of electronic media had become his favorite pastime over the course of their talk. "So, the real question is, how can I get a copy?"

"Only the Top Gamer winners got one," Gary said. "The beta testers that were picked get one, too. I guess they're being shipped out in the mail."

"When's that?"

"I dunno," Gary said. "It was supposed to be a week or two after we got ours. Which is basically now."

"Mivra?"

Mivra went still as she accessed the information. "Based on our own agents' surveillance of Crux headquarters, they haven't gone out yet. A moment." She processed data in some distant place in cyberspace. "They're scheduled to ship tomorrow night, and arrive the next day."

"There's going to be a change in plans," Charles said. "This is no longer an invasion. It's an interception. We're going to capture as many of these chips as possible. Miller, if there's anything else you can squeeze to get more leeway for the team, squeeze it."

Miller had entered the room once Gary had been cornered. He was hovering next to Steinson. "Charles," he said. "We might be overextending ourselves."

"It's fine," Charles said. "This isn't just about Rachel anymore. She remains the priority, but this...it could change the entire world. No, it will change the world. At this point, it comes down to who gets their hands on it." Charles raised the chip against the holding chamber's hanging lamp. "It's like the ultimate prosthetic. It's beyond prosthetics. This could be the hinge upon which humanity will turn forward."

"You're stupid."

Charles looked at where Gary was still hanging. "Yet more expert commentary from the fat man strapped to a steel chair."

"You don't even know what's going on," Gary said. "Emil Mohammed is handing out Isis chips to random people. Gamers, yeah, but the other 5,000 got drawn in a lottery. If this is so world-changing, why isn't he changing the world?"

"And what's your answer to that question?" Charles asked.

"No fucking idea," Gary said. "If it was me, I'd hold it just for myself until I was a superman. Then maybe give it to a few friends or something. Theoretically, you could take over the world. You'd have to kill a whole lot of shit first, and Isis is dangerous, I guess, but it's worth the risk. I don't get why he's giving it away." 

"There's more to this story that we don't appreciate," Charles said. He faced the room. "We'll be forming two teams," he said. "Steinson, you'll be leading the chase team. You'll be making sure that we get our hands on those shipments. They'll be most vulnerable while they're in transfer. We'll intercept the trucks directly."

"You got it, bossman."

"...bossman?"

Steinson shrugged. "It felt right."

Charles renewed his smile. "If you say so. I'll be leading an infiltration team. We're going inside Crux, and we're going to find out where Emil Mohammed is, why this is happening, and how he's making it happen."

"Hey," Gary said. "What about me?"

Everyone looked at him. Charles slowly turned. "Well, yes, of course. What about you, Gary?"

"I did what you wanted. I talked. Hey! I can work with you guys." He started nodding at his own words. "I know games, and I'm already pretty strong with my grappling skills. I can help you get started."

"No," Charles said, "I don't think so."

"Um..." Gary swallowed. "Alright. We've both taken some nasty shots at each other. So how about we let bygones be bygones and go our separate ways?"

"You made a fair argument for yourself," Charles said. He let the Isis chip fall to the floor. "If you'd made that suggestion from the start, I might have taken it seriously."

"What?" A rising note of panic entered Gary's voice. "I -- I'm valuable. I know Isis!"

"You do," Charles said. "But the thing is, you just really push my buttons." He stomped on the chip with his prosthetic leg, crushing it to pieces.

Gary opened his mouth. An unearthly scream was loosed upon the room. Charles covered his ears and backed away. Even Mivra winced.

Gary started twitching in his bonds. His body shook, shivered. His arms bent in ways they weren't supposed to. The ropes holding him in place tore apart. His chair fell to the floor, but he hung there, suspended in the air like a puppet.

The twisted pentagram on his hand flashed white -- and then it turned black again. The points of the star grew. They stretched longer, and wavered. Charles could see Gary's skin move where the scar was reaching, as if the roots of a creeping fungus were pushing through his body. It pulsed up his arm in waves, and then, reaching his shoulder, flowed over his chest. A tendril latched onto his neck.

Gary couldn't move. His eyes bulged with awareness, but all he could do was watch. His arm was entirely gone now, eaten away. His torso was dissolved next. He was still floating there, his arms and legs hovering as if still attached to the body that was already consumed.

The mark reached his chin. It peeled up off his skin, and contorted into another distorted pentagram. It was the five-pronged claw of a demon that had come to settle a debt.

The claw fell over his face, then spread. It wrapped up his head and sucked it in. And then Gary was gone, and the only thing in the air was the black symbol.

The shrieking continued. Charles had thought the man was making the sound -- but it was coming from the pentagram. Charles plugged his ears, but he couldn't lessen its volume.

The shrieks were the cries of humans. Hundreds of them, thousands, all rolled into one. Screams of death and pain. Fear. Charles stared into the floating symbol, and it was like looking into a piece of nothing, a gateway into hell that shouldn't exist.

It vanished.

Silence hung in the room. It seemed to be an extra sort of silence - not the lack of sound, but a negative quantity of it, as though the shrieks had eaten away at something vital in the air.

And then Charles could hear his breath again. He lowered his hands from his ears and stood straight. There was only one thought on his mind.

This could happen to Rachel.

Miller moved around him; he peered at the empty chair, now lying sideways on the ground, and then at the crushed bits of the data chip. He looked at Charles. "Do you still believe this is something we can control?"

Charles looked over the room. Steinson and the rest of the men had paled. They were looking at him, waiting for direction.

He glanced at Mivra. His android stood tall and stoic, maintaining as much dignity as she could whilst wearing a ripped suit and bearing the scars of a fight.

He finally turned his gaze back to Miller. "No. At least, not entirely."

"Then what do we do?"

Charles smiled. "We adjust our plans accordingly."





Dream Drive Ch. 07



"Jackson, we're going to be left behind," Vuntha said.

"You'll make it back up later."

Vuntha glanced down at his moccasins. He was wearing thicker ones than normal, usually meant for winter. They were covering up the metal jump trainers that were bound to the underside of his ankles.

Katran and Boonta stopped, too. They were a few dozen yards ahead. "Are you two cowards going to run, or shall we leave you behind?!" Boonta shouted.

"What's the matter?" Jackson called back. "You want to hold hands?"

"Face us like men!"

"You guys are gonna lose if you keep waiting!" Jackson said.

"Then what are you doing?!"

"Hey, Katran!" Jackson called. "Didn't you say something about winning that flower thing?! You won't be able to make up the points at this rate!"

Katran's head swiveled to the retreating pack. All four of them were rapidly being left in the dust. He looked back at Jackson. "Is this how you plan to fight? By running away?!"

"We'll fight later! You just keep running!"

"We will settle this now!" Boonta shouted.

"You're losing points!"

Katran growled, turned, and smacked Boonta's shoulder. He said something Jackson couldn't hear, and then took off.

"Cowards!" Boonta shouted. He turned and made to catch up to his partner.

Jackson gave their retreating backs the finger. "Told you they'd chicken out. If they try to double-team you, just stop again. Or hell, run back this way if you have to."

"Jackson, do you have any consideration for my pride at all?" Vuntha said.

"This isn't about pride. It's about winning."

Vuntha frowned. "But that's just it."

"This is a race," Jackson said. "The goal is to get you from point A to point B as quickly as possible. I came up with the best method to do that. That's worth some pride, right?"

"But we're using...things from your world. Magic things."

"So what?" Jackson said. "I'm a warrior of Shakhan. Tatanka Ska. And I don't like to lose."

"It doesn't seem fair."

"Fair?" Jackson snorted. "Nothing is fair. Ever. Why the hell are we having this conversation again?"

"This is important."

"Is it more important than Drana?" Jackson said.

"It's important because of Drana!" Vuntha said. "I just feel like...I don't know. It seems underhanded."

Jackson watched a good man struggle with the idea of blatantly cheating to get what he wanted. It would be a little funny if it weren't so sad. "It's not underhanded. Do you want to win or not?"

"Not like this. And how is it not underhanded?"

Jackson heaved a sigh. Maybe if he had a little more patience, and could word himself a bit better, he could put together something that would soothe Vuntha's worries and get them on the right track. But he didn't have either of those things. "Look," Jackson said, "Boonta started this. He knows what I am. He knew to expect something from me - they just didn't think it would give them trouble. They thought wrong." He folded his arms. "I don't have all the answers, Vuntha, but this isn't just a friendly race to the tree and back. Boonta is trying to ruin your life because he thinks it'll get to me. If that's not a good enough reason for you to use everything at our disposal in order to win, then let's just walk back now and quit wasting our time. Because if we're going to do this then you kinda need to start running again. I'm here helping you because you asked, so whichever way you pick, just don't complain to me when you regret it later."

Vuntha wiped his face. He took a breath. "Alright. I get it."

Jackson looked up at the foothills. "You ready?"

He nodded. "Good fortune to you."

"You too."

Vuntha started running on the trail of the main pack -- he was over a minute behind them, but that wouldn't be a problem. 

Jackson took a sharp turn and ran in along the shoulder of the mountain. He jogged up the first hill, and then back down. The rising crags of the black rock overtook his view of the runners.

Jackson ran alone until he reached the spot they'd found earlier. It looked like a sheer cliff, but just above it was a flat shelf that they'd spotted from the slopes of another nearby hill. Jackson picked out his first handhold and started to climb.

The black rock looked slick and smooth, but it had been dry the last few days. The tough leather of his moccasins gave his feet good purchase. He picked his way up the first cliff, checking his grip as he went. He was in a hurry, but not that much of a hurry.

Normally, he wouldn't consider doing something like this. He was not a rock climber, but he had a safety net -- a health bar. Jackson didn't know how fall damage would be calculated, but it was a pretty safe bet that he wouldn't die easily.

The cliff continued up for a time, and then ended at a shelf, and then kept going. After climbing to his fourth such ledge, he took a short break. Looking down, he'd already climbed a good hundred feet or so; he couldn't pick out individual blades of grass. He slapped his hands together, shook his fingers loose, then started up again.

He made the next shelf of the shoulder when he heard a voice. "Jackson, what are you doing?! You're gonna lose!"

Jackson looked over the edge of the cliff he was on. Palla was standing at the base of the rock. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to wait for when the men come back around! It's too slow to climb, you'll never make it!"

"Yeah, I know! Don't worry about it!"

"But Jackson!" Palla said. His shout was quickly turning into a whine.

"But nothing! Don't distract me!"

"Fine! I tried to tell you!"

Jackson chuckled and went back to it. Kid thought he had everything figured out.





Dream Drive Ch. 07



Paranoia guided Jackson's next move. When he opened the battery slot of the jump trainers, he went a step further and cracked open the case.

The smell smacked him again. It wasn't as strong, but it was there. And he saw what he was looking for -- a black sort of ooze sitting on the electronics. Jackson scraped it out with his fingers and wiped it on a boulder. "God, that's disgusting."

"What's going on?" Vuntha asked. "What is that stuff?"

"I don't know," Jackson said. "I cleaned it out, at least, so it should get you down to the bottom of the mountain. I'll take a closer look at it later."

"Are you sure?"

No, Jackson thought. "Yeah, I'm sure," Jackson said.

"Alright." Vuntha tested his recharged trainers a bit. "I can definitely feel a difference. See you back at the start!"

"Yep."

"Hey...Jackson?"

Jackson turned back. "What's up?"

Vuntha faced him. "I had a lot of time to think while I was running. With you climbing up here...you sacrificed your position so that I can win."

Jackson shrugged. "I told you I don't care about the competition."

"But still," Vuntha said. "You came to my aid when I needed it, and then I complained about the aid you gave. I'm sorry I second-guessed you. I just - with Drana, it's making me nervous."

"I can kinda see where you were coming from. You just gotta learn not to give a fuck."

Vuntha grinned. "I think that'll be hard."

"Alright," Jackson said. "If I think you're being stupid, I'll smack you. How's that sound?"

"I think I'd be offended at first, but appreciate it later."

"Sounds like a plan," Jackson said. He walked toward the opposite side of the plateau. "See you in a while."

"Thank you, Jackson."

Jackson started climbing down without answering.

The side of the mountain that Vuntha had run up was less cliffs and more a steep slope, but it was impossible to go straight down without assistance. Jackson had to take long switchback pathways in order to get down to the halfway post.

When he finally arrived, there was only one cord left -- a thin leather strip with a half-dozen beads tied along its length. He untied it from the totem and started jogging back home.

It was a long, lonely run. The sun ticked up higher into the sky, dispelling the morning chill.

His feet hit the ground in the same way over and over. He had to change how he rolled his ankles because parts of his toes started numbing up. He was definitely not used to this, and the prior struggle of climbing up the mountain was not helping.

Jackson wondered about that. He was definitely able to run for a longer time because of his enhanced Vitality. He wouldn't have lasted over a minute without heaving his breaths if it wasn't for the upgrades. But there was an underlying tiredness that prevailed beyond that. After walking for days on end with the tribe, his legs and feet hurt, and his joints ached. He recovered statistical Health after resting, but on a different level, he was still human. It was the same with sleep -- he didn't have to sleep, but if he went for days without letting his mind relax, it started to seriously affect him.

He kept running. He ran for a while more, and then ran some more. He jogged until his mind was blank and his legs felt like hot slag. He took a little break, and then kept going.

Jackson blissfully imagined a quiet finish with only one or two people left to see him home. He had nobly played his role as the altruistic sacrifice bunt, but he had an ulterior motive. He was sick of the looks all the tribesmen were giving him - the calls, the adorations.

Dealing with people was a giant pain in the ass. That was why he made himself scarce after he played games online; it was why he ignored the flood of messages in his Dream Hub inbox. Maybe if he finished last, they would write him off as a fluke and stop sending their wives in freakish strength-transfer sex offerings.

Attention gained from grand accomplishments was fleeting. It was the shallow surface opinion of people trained to like others because it was popular to like them. That attention dried up as soon as the accomplishments stopped flowing. He'd learned that his first day in the Dream Hub. The only person he needed to satisfy was himself, and he meant to keep it that way.

A little smile crossed his face. Maybe he'd try to make a few other people satisfied. But only a few.

Jackson knew why Vuntha's attitude had changed after his run. It lasted forever. You had no choice but to either think about things or go nuts with monotony. His moccasins slapped into the earth in a dead rhythm. 

When he finally came to that depressing conclusion of apathetic selfishness, after Westley had died, after Charles...after what he did, he had wondered about it. Was it the right thing to do? Or was he just depressed? Was he a freak, or was he morally justified to withdraw?

Of course it was justified. How could it not be, when there were so many humans on Earth that they were labeled with numbers? How could it not be, when the entire real world was a parade of people judging others by their appearance? And even in the Dream Hub, where everyone was perfected, evaluations simply shifted to two other factors: your win/loss record in games and the length of your friends list.

And despite not wanting to deal with people, here he was, competing in some stupid series of games because Vuntha needed a hand. On the other hand, Boonta was a pretty terrible person, so Jackson was willing to go out of his way to make sure he got what was coming. And how much effort was it, anyway? Throw some jump trainers on Vuntha and make sure he got back in one piece. Problem solved.

Their plan wasn't complicated. Jackson liked simple plans. They tended to last longer. Do what needed to be done, then pack up and go home.

That, and get back at Boonta. If it wasn't for Jackson's intervention, Boonta really would have hurt Chaki. He needed to be knocked on his ass.

Jackson finally rounded the shoulder of the mountain. The camp bloomed into sight. His legs were flooded with a tingling sense of relief -- either that, or they were going numb again.

Jackson would have made a very ugly expression at what was waiting for him, but he was too tired to bother. A sea of tribesmen, at least as big as what had gathered for the start of the race, were standing in two huge groups on either side of the finish line. A roar of cheers told Jackson he'd been spotted. He spat to the side and put his head down.

He ran up between the people. The crowd bent inward to follow him as he made for the finish. Hundreds of them ran alongside him, tapping his back, brushing his shoulders, and calling his name before falling away. They were of every age and both genders, though mostly children. Boys and girls alike ran circles around his heels as he dragged himself across the last few dozen yards.

Jackson crossed the finish line with his cord in his fist. Vuntha was there to greet him with a grin that put Jackson's small smile to shame. He embraced Jackson hard, squeezing the life out of his chest. "Jackson! You made it!"

"Vuntha -- air -- tired -"

"Ha!" Vuntha let him go. Jackson gulped air as if chugging it from a glass. "I had to give my partner a proper greeting!"

Jackson looked around at the throng surrounding them. "What the hell is all this for? I'm the loser."

"Well, yes," Vuntha said, "but everyone knows we were working together. Thanks to you, I set a new record!"

"Jackson!" Palla emerged from the crowd. "Wooooo!" He flew into a leaping tackle-hug.

Jackson stumbled back under the force. It felt like the bug creature was suckered onto his chest. "Palla -- shit - take it easy!"

"Wooo!" Palla smacked Jackson's back, then dropped to the ground. "How did you do it?! Everyone wants to know!"

Jackson coughed, then shrugged. "Uh...beginner's luck, I guess."

Palla made a face as if he'd just swallowed three spoonfuls of lemon juice. "Jeeze, Chaki's right. You're a bad liar."

"I'll tell you when you're older."

"Everything is always when I'm older! I hate that!"

Jackson pushed his way through the crowd. He had something more important to get to. "Vuntha," Jackson said, "come on."

"I'm coming!" Vuntha had to shoulder through the people to get next to him again. It seemed like everyone wanted to get their hand on him at least once.

Jackson had to shout to be heard. "What is with the touching?!" 

"It's tradition!" Vuntha said. "Everyone wants to touch the winner of the race!"

"I didn't win!"

"But didn't you!?"

Jackson's only argument was a sigh. It was lost in an ocean of cheers.

By the time they made the tents, the temporary celebration had died down. Jackson ducked through the tipis, wincing every time someone called out Tatanka Ska! or rushed in to give him a tap on the arm.

Eventually, they made it back to Shaka's tipi. The woman herself was waiting with Landri and Chaki; they were seated outside around a small cooking fire. "Ah, there he is," Shaka said. "My apologies I didn't join the spontaneous gathering."

"No offense taken."

"Good, because it was giving me a headache."

"Me too," Jackson said.

"Hmph." Chaki folded her arms. "All this uproar for a cheater."

"It's not cheating if you don't get caught," Jackson said.

"I knew it! What did you do?!"

"I didn't say I cheated," Jackson said. "I was just making an observation."

"You're such a terrible liar."

"What is with people saying that?" Jackson said. "I'm not that bad a liar."

Shaka and Chaki fixed Jackson with identical spirit guide stares. Landri raised an eyebrow, but kept working on her sewing without even looking up. Vuntha coughed awkwardly.

"Yeah," Jackson said, "well, whatever." He ducked into the tent.

Vuntha lifted the flap. "Jackson, the archery starts pretty soon. We need to get on our horses."

"I just need to check something first. Go ahead, I'll meet you there. Leave the trainers outside, will you?"

Vuntha nodded. "Remember to bring your cord, it's important for the lottery." He ducked away.

Jackson glanced to the side. His trusty iron spear was propped against the hide wall. He grabbed it. They'd cleaned it up quite a bit, taking care of the rust, sharpening the tip, and tying on a small pair of wingtips under the blade. In his inventory, instead of Rusty Iron-tipped Spear, it was titled Wooden-winged Iron Spear.

With his weapon in hand, he faced his duffle bag. The bright blue sack rested quietly next to Shaka's wooden trunk. He peered at it suspiciously.

Cloth moved. Something shifted inside the bag.

Jackson swallowed.

There was a scrape: metal-on-metal, or maybe plastic. A clicking noise. Mandibles cutting the air.

He glanced at the entrance of the tent. "Chaki, you out there?"

"I am here," Chaki's voice said.

"Your bow nearby?"

"Yes, I have it. What is it?"

"Get it ready," Jackson said. "There's a --"

The bag burst open.





Dream Drive Ch. 08



Author's Note:

All aspects of the story are fictional.

Edited by Expoh, AnnabelleFalls13, Michael Scott, and Zald.





Dream Drive Ch. 08



"No," Charles said. "Food and water for two weeks, a very heavy bag of the local currency, and two horses."

"Two? You dare take her with -"

Charles pushed the flat of the blade against the princess's cheek. Her shuddering intake of breath cut the knight off. "Yes," Charles said. "I dare. And considering you can't kill me, you'd better do what I tell you." Charles refreshed his smile. "Where I come from, we don't have nobility. You know that I don't bleed. Does she?"

Someone in the back coughed. No one moved. Everyone was pinned in place by Charles's smile.

It was the princess who eventually answered his question. "I bleed," she said. "Please. Stay your sword."

"That depends on your father," Charles said, "and I wouldn't bet on him."

Murmurs rolled over the room. The emperor's face turned red. The princess clenched her fists - Charles could feel them balled up at his waist. "And what would you know of my father's honor?" she growled.

Charles looked out over the room. This was a public place, a lot of bigwigs gathered together. Appearances were important for a leader; maybe he could put pressure on the emperor to show some concern for family and hasten his own escape.

"Honor?" Charles asked, raising his voice. "Correct me if I'm wrong, but I don't hear your father and ruler doing much bartering for your life at the moment. I suppose blood doesn't mean much to him either."

"You come into my home," the emperor said, "kill my men, assault me and mine, threaten my daughter's life, and you dare speak to me in such a manner?!"

"And all without a single article of clothing. Notice, if you would," Charles said to the princess, "that your life was at the end of that list."

"I'll have your head!" the emperor shouted.

Charles decided that further enraging the emperor would be pushing his luck. "If you do as I've asked, I won't hurt her," he said. "I don't care about her, or any of you. I just need to get moving. I'll take her out with me far enough to ensure my safety, and then I'll let her go. And then you can see about having my head."

"You expect us to trust you?"

"You don't have a choice."

The knight gestured across his chest. "You're a madman and a murderer. Your word is barely worth so much mud. You could take her out there and slit her throat!"

Charles cocked an eyebrow. "I could do that right now."

"And it would be your last act," the knight said.

"I just ate an axe, a sword, and had a bit of crossbow for dessert. Do you think I'm only good as a target?"

"You might not fare as well if you were split in half."

Charles smiled again, as brightly as he could. "You're so noble and just, aren't you? A true knight of the realm. Do you always lecture men you shoot in the back about how worthless their word is?"

The knight's hand went to the hilt of his sword. The guards tightened the grips on their weapons. Charles could hear the cranking of crossbows winding back up. He couldn't afford to take much more damage. Time to go all in.

"Your Imperial Highness," Charles said, "I'm trying to be kind. Now I'm getting impatient. You can stab me, gut me, cut me, shoot me - it won't do anything." Charles looked at the knight. "Your knight threatens to cut me with his sword, but he assumes that his weapon would have a chance to get near me. I am not limited to handheld weapons of war. The only thing stopping me from walking out of here over all your dead bodies is the life-giving light of my conscience, and you all seem quite determined to stamp it out." Charles shifted his gaze back to the emperor. "Make your decision. I don't want to hurt anyone, but I will - if you make it the most efficient way of getting out of here."

Silence. A long, disquieting moment that flickered along with the room's candles. No one moved.

"Your excellency," a man said. Charles squinted at the newcomer - a man bulging with fat. Stains ran down the bib he had tucked over his clothes. He waddled over to the emperor. "Please. Consider the situation. We must preserve her life - and the man has told no lies. He only acted after he was assaulted. For her sake, and mine - let us treat fairly."

He leaned in and whispered something else to the emperor. Charles squinted. Was Porky just offering the king a way to back down without losing face? No. Something was going on.

The fat man stepped back. "Sir Gerod," the emperor said.

"Your Highness."

"Lead the man to the fitting room, the one off the armory. Give him what he requests."

"Your Highness, I must -"

"Lord Niemon is correct. Preserving life - my daughter's life - must be the priority." He looked at Charles. "We will take you on faith. Betray that trust, and whatever magic you possess will not save you from the consequences. Sir Gerod will assist you in whatever you require."

The knight straightened. "Follow me."

Charles began to lead the princess around the table. She had wisely decided not to put up resistance; it wasn't much trouble to manipulate her.

A nearby lord gave Charles the evil eye as they walked by; the man's fingers were still wrapped on the hilt of his sword. Charles stared back at him. "Careful you don't get too close. Wouldn't want my hand to slip."

The lord's fingers clenched, but he took a small step back. Whispers filled the silent hall between the sound of Charles's feet on the dance floor - the slap of his bare left foot alternating in rhythm with the soft thump of his prosthetic.





Dream Drive Ch. 08



"Who are you trying to convince, princess?" Charles asked. She pressed her lips tight; her eyes scanned the room as she thought of more to say. Charles turned to the window. "I'm going to leave now."

"Do you - I don't -" Ellesmere stammered through several aborted sentences. "Who are you, anyway?! You're not even from the empire!"

"I'm Charles Ransfeld," he said, "and my empire makes this one look like a pile of rocks." Charles glanced out the window - the rope didn't touch the ground, but it went far enough for him to fall the rest of the way. He turned back to Ellesmere. "Some advice, princess. A true empress would attend her dancing lessons with false enthusiasm and learn geography quietly."

"What for?"

"So you can take power when your father least expects it," Charles said, "because he'll never give it to you."

"You don't know that. You don't know anything!"

Charles shrugged. "My father wouldn't, and I'm the male heir."

"Then..." Ellesmere hesitated. "...what did you do? To take power?"

"Interested, are we?"

"Curious. Not interested."

Charles's smile turned into a smirk. "Oh, right, I see. Well, my father's currently bedridden courtesy of a slow-acting poison. He'll be dead soon."

"You'd kill your own father?" Ellesmere asked.

Charles wanted to go. He should have already been gone; he should have slid down the rope as soon as it was at the right height.

But he faced the princess squarely. On a certain level, they were the same. This was perhaps one of few people that might understand a reasonable explanation of patricide - royalty. 

"Yes, I'd kill him," Charles said. "And I'd do it again. He's a heartless monster. He's given up on people. Me - at least I think I can do something about it. All he cares about is his damn company, reputation, making money - he doesn't see to the next step, what lies beyond. And he's kept my sister..." Charles stopped, sighed. "It doesn't matter. You probably don't understand what I mean."

"I -" Ellesmere paused, shook her head. "It would be presumptuous of me to claim understanding. No - I do not know why you'd kill your father for power, Charles Ransfeld."

Charles gave her a slight bow. "I appreciate your honesty."

"The emperor is hard," Ellesmere said. "He is demanding. But there are times he has shown affection for me. Love, perhaps. I do not think he hates me. But who are we to judge the necessity of another's death?"

"Emperors," Charles said. "Isn't that what you want to be? Or maybe you just never thought it through to the ugly conclusion."

Ellesmere frowned. She looked to the floor, holding her cheek in her hand. She didn't answer.

"Well, my princess," Charles said. He fixed the straps of his pack on his shoulders, shrugging a bit to set it straight. "The conversation has been stimulating, but I'm..." He smiled. "I'm late for a very important date. You can take my advice, or you can leave it. If you think you have what it takes to rule an entire country, then by all means -"

The door of their room burst open, slamming hard against the stone. Charles and the princess spun.

There was a man standing in the opening; he was dressed in black trousers and a loose red shirt. He gripped an ink-black cube in one hand. Symbols floated around the cube, blazing red lettering in a strange language that Charles didn't recognize.

The symbols peeled themselves off the air, spun about, and were sucked into the cube like liquid flames running down a drain. A red orb grew in the man's free hand. He extended his palm, as if pushing the twinkling orb outward.

"Watch out!" Ellesmere screamed.

Charles automatically shoved himself away from the wall. A moment later, the orb shot across the room and struck the stone.

The orb detonated, releasing a sphere of red flames. The rope was incinerated. The blast threw Charles off his feet. His sword went flying away, clattering behind a wooden crate. He managed to turn his fall into a roll. He dragged himself up off the ground, his pack dangling off of one shoulder.

Smoke was roiling over the room. The weapon racks ignited and turned to ash as the blood-red fire ate through the wood unnaturally fast. It seemed to puddle up and sit on the stone rather than blink out. Ellesmere pressed herself against the back wall, keeping away from the flames as best as she could.

He looked back at his attacker. The man was working his free hand again, drawing the burning sigils in the air - the same pattern.

Charles was exposed in the center of an enclosed stone tower. The rope was long gone. They were at least four stories up. There was nowhere to run.

The red light converged into the black box. The man raised his palm.

Charles grabbed the strap of his pack and, standing, hurled it off his shoulder as hard as he could. It flew in an arc toward the magician as the red orb of light shot across the room.

The orb struck the pack's canteen. Red fire exploded. Steam from vaporizing water and strips of flaming leather were flung in every direction.

Charles braced himself and ran toward the door. He leaped over the puddle of fire below where his pack was blown to pieces and plunged through the smoke.

He emerged from the other side. The magician was still blocking the doorway, staring at him. Charles stared back.

The man started to draw another rune.

Charles was there in an instant. He brought up the heel of his palm and smashed it into the man's nose. The magician reeled backward, blood spurting in an arc from his face.

You have created a new skill: Palm Heel Strike

Charles grabbed the man's flailing wrist without reading the message. He twisted under the man's arm, locked it behind him, then threw him over his shoulder and onto the stone floor of the hall. The man hit the ground on his back.

You have created a new skill: Wrist Lock

You have created a new skill: Shoulder Throw

Charles lifted his iron foot and stomped on the man's throat three times in rapid succession, crushing his windpipe to the stone, then kicked him in the temple for good measure. The magician twitched on the floor, his face a bloody mess, his hands working feebly at his throat. Charles jammed the toe of his boot into the man's kidney, hard. The magician rolled away, making a strangled groaning noise before he stopped moving altogether. There wasn't any essence, so he wasn't dead - yet.

Charles glanced up. There was another man standing just next to him, wearing an identical black and red uniform. He held an identical black box. His face was pulled back in horror.

The magician started backpedaling, desperate to make space as he drew out his runes with a finger. His gestures were frantic - the strange sigils were slow to appear.

If they have to concentrate to do it, I need to keep the pressure on. Charles pounced on him, leading with a punch. The man ducked it, but Charles threw a quick jab with his other hand, catching him on the cheek. The magician stumbled.

That was all Charles needed. He rolled into a series of blows, the strikes snapping the man's chin back and forth and driving him back down the hall leading to the fitting room. He collapsed to the floor, eyes rolling up into the back of his head.

You have created a new skill: Power Punch

Charles wrung his hands. They stung a bit, but the pain faded almost as soon as he noticed it. Normally, punching that hard without gloves was dangerous - you could easily break your hands. Another benefit of being a gamer.

When Charles looked up, he realized he'd beaten the man all the way to the intersection that led back toward the armory. He wasn't alone.

Guards were packed into the space in every direction, all armed to the teeth. Metal clinked on metal as a few of them shifted. There was a strange and awkward moment in which no one moved.

Charles took a slow step back.

"Get him!"

Charles turned on a dime and retreated toward the fitting room. The guards jostled amongst one another to chase him down. The hall was just wide enough for two men abreast; the bottleneck gave him a moment to sprint ahead. Once he had enough space, he turned back around and planted his feet.

The first guard reached him with his axe swinging. Charles went against the wall, avoiding the attack. Pushing his back against the stone for leverage, he kicked out with both feet, shoving the guard into the man next to him. They collapsed into a pile.

The men running behind them pulled up, but they had another two dozen just behind them. There was a moment in which they tried to stop, balancing on their toes and waving their arms, and then they were pushed over from behind.

Charles got one of the guards as he fell with a rising uppercut, catching him straight under the chin. The man went from toppling forward to flying backward, crashing into the man behind him. That was when Charles noticed it for the first time - the white haze of light that lingered on his knuckles following his punch.

You have created a new skill: Power Uppercut

The overwhelming stampede of guards turned into a human avalanche; what had threatened to trample him a moment earlier was now a confused tangle. Men in the back were shouting and waving their weapons impatiently. Charles could see Sir Gerod's shiny plate armor blinking as he raised his arm and tried to bring order to the chaos.

Charles picked up the fallen axe. He examined the weapon for just a moment, turning it in his grip. A sword was too finicky. This was more his style. Straightforward. Efficient.

He swung it down as one of the guards started to pick himself off the ground. He was still on all fours when Charles's axe split his face in two. He went limp; Charles's essence bar filled another 20 points.

As the dead guard fell flat, he landed on the legs of another man that was trying to stand up. That soldier fell back on his elbows. Charles wedged his axe free, then gripped it with both hands and chopped down at the exposed man's neck in a full-body swing. His blow took the man's head clean off.

You have created a new skill: Power Chop

Charles met a clean opponent - a man with a winged spear, on his feet and facing forward. He thrust forward. Charles stepped back, out of reach, but swung down at the same time.

The blade of his axe caught on the wing of the spear. Charles pulled backward, dragging the man forward. He brought his axe up, swinging as hard as he could - and it was shining with white light.

The axe blew through the man's chest, slicing through chain armor, his heart, and up his shoulder, nearly taking his arm clean off. The guard fell to his knees, then collapsed, dead. Charles lost 15 points of essence from the ability, but he gained another 22 for the kill.

You have created a new skill: Crescent Sweep

The spray of blood from Charles's attack was flung up across another guard and over the stone wall. The man sputtered and brought his hands up to wipe his eyes. Charles's glowing axe chopped through his hand and into his skull. He was kicked away into the growing pile of bodies.

Charles checked his grip on his axe and waded into the mess of guards. With every skill-based attack, he felt as if a hand was guiding his arm, steering him to the best angle to pierce armor or hack away unprotected limbs. His rare missed swings chipped stone off the sides of the hallway. One of his blows crushed an iron brazier, sending sparks and fire across the guards. Even if his attacks didn't penetrate their chainmail, the blade of the axe crushed and bruised, knocking them back.

Charles could smell burning leather and wood - it was coming from the fitting room. He couldn't retreat, so he kept pressing forward. His blue bar surged past the marker indicating its capacity until he was bleeding essence through his skin. The hazy light was scattered by the smoke wafting around him, making it seem as though he was surrounded by a pale aura.

Charles grinned, and his axe blazed white. He loved fighting - always had. They were the only simulations worth the trouble, the ones that trained the mind and body for a real purpose, making one stronger, faster, more capable - not idiotic adventures in wish-fulfillment.

He blew through the guards, one after another. His axe was a bar of white heat. Every swing was death. More men filled the halls, crowded around him - and so he killed them, until his new boots and clothes were stained with splattered blood and the blade of his axe was coated in gore.

You have created a new skill: Berserk

Berserk: While activated, enhances the strength of all attacks and reduces knockback from incoming attacks.

- Essence Cost: 3 per second

- Level: 1

- Progress: 78.5%

Charles fought all the way back to the intersection. His next swing crashed into another man's axe coming the other way - but Charles's blow was stronger. His weapon shattered the one in his way, and he followed through with another swing, taking off the man's arm at the elbow. The guard screamed and fell back against the wall.

Charles looked up. He was breathing hard. His vision was narrowed. White lines traced across his fingers and down his wrists. Was that the new skill?

"Now! Cast a spell!"

"Which one?!"

"It doesn't matter! Just stop him!"

Ahead were the last few men that stood against him. Two more guards, shaking in their boots. Sir Gerod, in his plate, pointing down toward Charles - and another magician, clad in red shirt and black trousers. Runes were forming above the black box he held in his hand.

It was too far for Charles to make it in time. He whipped his axe to the side, crushing the throat of the guard he'd just de-limbed. He hoisted the man up with a grunt, holding him under the leg and at his collar, then ran forward, using him as a meat shield.

A red light was forming in the magician's hand - it wasn't a sphere. An arrow?

Charles heard a sound like an engine's roar. He could feel a wave of heat getting closer. He propped his impromptu shield higher, trying to cover his face and chest.

The arrow struck home. The body in Charles's hands exploded in flames. Searing light and fire crashed over him. His health bar - which had almost filled back up in his unscathed frenzy - was cut in half in an instant.

Globs of red flame clung to his arms and legs, burning holes in his clothes. This was the first thing that hurt him - really hurt - a prickling, too-hot sensation, like hundreds of needles pressed into the skin but not quite drawing blood. His health bar ticked downward rapidly. A status window showing a picture of flames flashed underneath the bar, but he had no time to read it in detail.

Red burning splotches burned through the wooden rafters and beams supporting the hall, adding smoke to that already pouring from the fitting room. The bottom of a tapestry was turned to ash, unraveling the rest into half-singed fibers. Even the stone wasn't spared, blackening where the pools of magic fire collected. The air coming from those spots smelled like acid.

Charles dropped the charred remains of the corpse he was holding, then leapt forward, axe in hand, the fire still eating its way across his skin. He roared against the pain and pushed his legs into the ground, sprinting as fast as he could.

The magician was stunned for a moment, but he started rapidly drawing more runes. Sir Gerod held his sword ready. He gestured the last two guards forward.

The men slowly approached, one with a warhammer, the other an axe. They both look horrified. Charles mentally prepared his skill for use; his axe flared. They hesitated when they saw the white light. That was a lethal decision.

Charles felled the first before he decided how to defend himself. The second managed to swing his hammer, but Charles saw it coming. He ducked low, then came up with his axe, slicing the guard's leg through the bone. The man dropped.

Charles renewed his sprint toward his last two obstacles, keeping his axe level. The knight probably had more skill - and maybe more tricks - but if Charles attacked him first, the magician might have time to cast another spell. If he went for the magician, Gerod would get a free shot at him. He wasn't sure if his health bar could take another sword in the stomach.

The instant was over. Charles was there. He had to make a decision.

Charles turned to Gerod - but he didn't attack the knight. He aimed for the man's blade, using a Power Chop to give himself the strength and accuracy he needed.

Gerod's sword glowed white.

Their weapons collided. For an instant, they held there, locked in place. The iron blades screeched and flickered with light as they fought for dominance, each guided by the invisible force that formed the stroke of every skill.

Both weapons shattered.

Charles fell past Gerod. Gerod stumbled the other way, his heavy plate working against him as he fought to stop his momentum.

Charles brought his arm around, clotheslining the magician. The man fell on his back, striking the stone with a grunt. His half-completed runes hung in the air. His finger drew desperately, trying to get the last of it done.

Charles dropped an elbow on his stomach, then put the magician into a headlock, pulling hard. Spittle formed at the magician's mouth as he fought for his breaths, his finger slowly working in the air. He was halfway through the last rune that would make an exploding orb.

The magician's hand faltered. It flopped to the stone. The man's neck relaxed. Charles used his lock to crank the magician's head backward until he felt the ugly crunch of bone. Charles released the lock, then rolled him away.

He'd put a foot under himself when a metal something slammed into his temple. He was sent to the floor; the back of his head hit the stone.

Charles's vision wavered. A red mist appeared at the edge of his vision. He had barely a sliver of red health points remaining. His ears rung with a bleeping warning tone, like that of a cellphone almost out of battery.

As the hall came back into focus, a swirling symbol under his health bar faded. Dizziness, going away - but he still felt weak.

Sir Gerod stood over Charles, holding the broken blade of his sword in his iron gauntlets. He'd hit Charles in the head with the pommel. He reversed his grip and leaned down to stab Charles with the inch or two of sword that was left.

Charles kicked out with his foot, hitting Gerod in the knee. The knight wobbled. Charles kicked again. Gerod fell, but swung his weapon as he did.

Charles threw himself into a desperate roll. The broken sword nicked the edge of his cotton vest and clanked off the stone. Gerod clawed his way up and chased Charles on his hands and knees, stabbing as Charles kept rolling.

Charles built momentum and brought in his legs. He sprang up, wobbled for a moment, then planted his feet. Gerod had given up further back down the hall - he rested on a knee for a moment, then stood.

Charles glanced around for options. Smoke clouded the air and burned in his lungs. He bent low to try to get a fresher breath of air. Heat was everywhere now, not from magic, but natural fire. Half the hallway was burning.

He was far past the intersection. He tried the armory door behind him - locked. The dead bodies of the guards and their fallen weapons were on the other side of Gerod.

The magician's black box was on the ground nearby. Charles snatched it up and held it out. Nothing happened. He rotated it in his hand a bit, then tried to draw with his other finger, but he couldn't remember the exact shapes. The glowing lines didn't materialize.

"You're unarmed," Gerod said, "and unarmored. This fight is over. Surrender, and I'll make it quick."

Charles shoved the box in his pocket. "I think your sword's broken."




Dream Drive Ch. 08



"It'll do."

"You can't hurt me with something like that."

"If that's true," Gerod said, "then why do you work so hard to dodge?"

"No one likes to get kicked in the head," Charles said.

"You had me fooled for a while," Gerod said, "but I've fought in more battles than you have, boy. You're at the end of your rope."

Something moved in the shadows behind Gerod.

Charles's eyes widened. "Your Highness?"

Gerod snorted. "If you think I'll fall for the oldest trick in the book, you're -"

Ellesmere swung the helmet she was holding into the back of Gerod's head. It clanged off the man's armor, but he was sent forward a step. Ellesmere went for another helmet-blow, but Gerod turned and caught her wrist. "Stupid bitch! What the hell are you doing?"

"Let go of me! Let go!"

Gerod stabbed his broken blade into Ellesmere's stomach. Ellesmere gasped. Her mouth opened, closed. She fell back onto the floor, clutching at her wound.

Charles was baffled. He looked at Ellesmere, then the knight, then at her again. "Isn't that the emperor's daughter?" he asked. "You know, the princess you're supposed to protect?"

"And now she knows her place," Gerod said. "Her father was getting around to it anyway."

"Father..." Ellesmere's words were mumbled. Blood was on her lips. "H-he..."

"Wouldn't kill the daughter prancing around, telling everyone who would listen she'd be an empress?" Gerod's face twisted in an ugly sneer. "I'm surprised he didn't do away with you sooner. Probably didn't think you were much of a threat, get some use from you by selling you up north. God knows you wouldn't last a season up there."

"I -" Ellesmere's feet worked on the stone; she managed to push herself back against the wall, away from where Gerod stood over her. "That...it isn't -"

"What truly bewildered me," Gerod said, "is that you honestly believed you could hold the Four Kingdoms together with nothing more than ink and parchment. You couldn't keep the likes of Lord Niemon in line, let alone someone with ambitions greater than sticking his prick in you. Do you think Lord Hale would grovel before your wide-eyed idealism?"

Charles watched Ellesmere try to speak. Her words didn't make it out.

"Finally shutting up," Gerod said. "More full of herself than her father, and that's saying something."

"What exactly are you going to tell the emperor?" Charles asked. He didn't really care about the answer, but he needed to stall. His health was ticking back, one tiny increment at a time.

"She died in the fighting," Gerod said. He looked back at Charles. "A terrible casualty amongst many. I barely escaped the burning wreckage of the armory after killing the man that killed three magicians. I'd say that's worth a good-sized parcel of land." He looked back at Ellesmere. "Wouldn't you say so, Princess? What do you think? That bit by the river, a few miles out from the city? You always dragged me there for your idiotic paintings. I think I'll divert the water, dig up that hill you sat on, turn it to farming. Rich land, that is. The emperor's a fool to let it go wild."

"I..." Ellesmere struggled to make her words audible. "Me, I...asked him t-to keep it..."

"And you're just a stupid little girl, aren't you? He always indulged you too much. Letting you run wild around the castle, stick your nose in books, butt into matters in which you had no business, when you should've -"

Charles was running.

Gerod looked up just in time. He clenched the pommel of his broken sword and held it out in front of himself.

Charles leapt into a full double kick. The broken blade was deflected by his prosthetic foot. He smashed through Gerod, knocking him over and landing on top of him.

There was a scramble for advantage. Gerod grabbed one of Charles's legs; Charles kicked out, but his prosthetic glanced off the plate armor. Gerod tightened his hold. Charles kept kicking, trying to push himself free.

There was a crash. One of the rafters collapsed next to them, half burning with normal yellow fire, half with blood red magic. Charles coughed as the smoke rolled over him, blinding him.

Gerod got a hand on the back of Charles's shirt. He forced Charles toward the red flames. The heat scalded Charles's skin. His eyes stung. He squinted and wrenched his head back, but he had no leverage.

"Argh!"

The force on Charles's neck was gone. He fell to the ground an inch from the red flames. He sat up, pulling himself away from the fire.

Ellesmere clung to Gerod, hanging off him where he was kneeling on the ground. One of her hands was on his head; her nails were clawing viciously, one finger pushing into his eyeball through the slit of his helmet. He tore her free and kicked her back against the wall. She fell, and didn't move.

When Gerod turned back around, Charles met his face with the hardened knee of his prosthetic leg.

Gerod swayed there for a moment, the front of his helmet mashed in by Charles's attack. Charles grabbed the back of his head, pulled it forward, and smashed his knee in again, then once more. Gerod's face caved in with an ugly squelch.

Gerod fell back. His armor clunked as he hit the stone. The white rush of essence swam into Charles's body.

Another crash - another rafter, and a support beam, both falling together. The heat was increasing in intensity. He had to get out before the whole wing of the castle collapsed.

Charles glanced down at Ellesmere. She laid against the corner of the hall, facing the stone, motionless.

It seemed his insight into her fate wasn't too far off the mark. It was a shame - wasted potential. The world was a little worse off, now.

Her hand moved.

Charles paused, fires licking at his heels, smoke in his eyes. Every instinct told him to keep on going. He wouldn't make it if he carried her. She was half dead. He had no way to heal her.

He had to live. Rachel was still out there. He had to leave her.

Or, I could use her.

Charles grit his teeth and picked her up. Thankfully, her petite form was not heavy. He hoisted her over one of his shoulders and started trudging through the smoke and burning timber.

The intersection was an inferno. Half the wood supporting it had fallen into the middle, cutting off the fitting room and one of the other halls. His decision had been made for him.

Charles forged through the fire, doing the best he could to stay away from the flames. Even then, he could see the few scant points of health he'd started to regain slip away from the sheer heat. He stumbled out into the new hallway, going as fast as he dared with Ellesmere over his arm.

He reached the end of the passage. The smoke thinned slightly, but the heat was right on his back. He glanced at his health bar. 2. He had 2 health points. 2 inches from death.

A wooden door marked the end of the hall. Exhausted but relieved, Charles put his hand on the handle.

It didn't turn.

Panic shot up his arm and down his spine. He tried it again, harder. He rattled the knob, kicked at it.

Nothing. The door was locked. Of course it was. They'd locked all the exits when they ambushed him. Gerod would have a key - one of the magicians, maybe.

There was a rumble; Charles flinched, looking back. Part of the stone hall across the intersection collapsed, sealing them in.

He was suddenly having a tremendous difficulty smiling.

"Candle..."

Charles turned his head. "What?"

Ellesmere weakly raised her arm, pointing with a finger. A lit candelabra was situated in an alcove near the door.

"More fire is not what we need right now," Charles said.

"Pull...passage..."

Charles grabbed the iron candelabra and yanked as hard as he could. It bent to the side.

There was a heavy click. Stone grated on stone. The wall behind the candelabra started to open up.

Something snapped loudly. The door ground to a halt a third of the way open. Charles stared at it for a moment, then slowly lowered Ellesmere down. "I can't carry you through. Turn sideways."

Charles had barely taken his hands off her when she started to lose her balance. He grabbed her under the shoulders and shoved her into the crack.

There was another click. The passage started to shut.

Charles shoved Ellesmere forward. She tumbled out the other end. He squeezed forward, sliding between the walls as they closed in on him from both sides.

Charles fell free - but his foot caught behind him, wedged in. The leather of his boot was rapidly and painfully squeezed around his flesh. Charles grunted and tore his foot out of the shoe. He fell forward on his hands and knees, heaving in moldy air. He was more than thankful for it. Anything but more smoke.

He glanced up. That little pinch had taken his last spare health point. His boot was pancaked between the stone.

It was dim inside the tunnel, but Charles's glowing skin gave off a little bit of ambient light. He still had well over 200 essence, ticking away bit by bit. He hardly cared.

Charles grinned into the darkness. He fell to the stone, and then, he was laughing. "I can't - I thought we were dead. So many times. What - why the hell am I laughing?" Charles tried to stop, but his diaphragm clenched up against his will. Something in his brain, joyous beyond all reason at his state of survival, refused to cooperate.

Charles's mirth was cut off by Ellesmere's half-chuckle, half-groan. "Heh...laugh...hurts."

He kept his smile bright and crawled toward the sound of her voice. His hands found the cloth of her dress; he went from there to her shoulder. The haze on his skin illuminated her face, giving her a pale, deathly cast. 

Something touched his hand - her fingers. They were soft. "Say..." She trailed off for a moment. "...thank you."

"Of course, Your Highness," Charles said.

"Why...did you..."

"Save you?" She nodded. "Why did you save me?"

"I...just..." Ellesmere gave a weak shrug.

Charles shrugged back. "Yeah, me neither."

"Well...glad you did."

Charles glanced down the dark passageway. "Where does this go?"

"Storehouse...ugh." She coughed. "It's...so dark. I think...I think I'm dying."

Charles chuckled. "It's dark because there's no light."

"You look...hazy."

"No, really," Charles said. "Stomach wounds take hours to bleed out. That fighting might have torn it a bit, but you've got plenty of time."

"So I get...to suffer? That's...wonderful."

"As witty as ever," Charles said. "Seems like you're fine to me."

"You should've...let me burn."

"I've heard fire is a horrible way to go. Extremely painful. Game menu."

"Game...?" Ellesmere trailed off.

Charles directed the menus and dumped thirty points into Spirit. Morgan said that would increase his capacity and stop the overflow - and he was right. His essence held at 193 points. Good old Gary. We were lucky to have him.

Unfortunately, that put out their one source of light. By all accounts, the essence was worth it. Probably.

Charles had a sudden mental image of stumbling in the dark, hitting his head, and knocking off his last few health points.

"We need to keep moving," Charles said. He put one hand at her back, and the other under her knees, then stood, cradling her to his chest. "You holding up alright?"

"Good as...expected..." She coughed. "Considering I got..." Her hand tried to mime a stabbing.

"With a cheery attitude like that, you must be a hit with all the princes."

"Light...the rune. Can you make runes?"

"I don't know," Charles said. "How do you do that?"

"Like...this."

Charles waited. He felt Ellesmere shift slightly in his arms. "Is something supposed to happen, or...?"

A light flared in front of him. It was the same red-gold light that the magicians created, but Charles didn't recognize the symbol. It floated alongside Ellesmere's head as Charles walked, lighting the stone passage.

"Impressive."

"You..." Ellesmere eyes unfocused for a moment. The rune flickered. She blinked away the dizziness, focusing on him. "Hurts."

"I'm sure it does."

"Why...are you smiling?"

Charles felt his smile grow a little wider. "Why aren't you?"

"You're..." She coughed. "You're strange."

"You ought to meet my sister."





Dream Drive Ch. 08



You have created a Bond.

A pledge of full loyalty between yourself and another party activates a Bond. You are capable of sustaining up to five Bonds simultaneously.

A bond transfers power between both the Bonder, and Bonded. The Bonded gains the strength of the star-marked; the Bonder accrues new powers based on the traits of the Bonded.

A Bond can only be broken by death.

Choose a point upon which to place this Bond. The point represents an affiliation that will grant a boon to the Bonded. Only one bond can be attached to each point.

If you do not wish to create a Bond at this time, exit the menu.

A pentagram blipped into Charles's view. Each point of the black star was labeled in red.

The Sunrise

The North Star

The Abyss

The Legion

The Fall

Charles pursed his lips, considering. "Let's try the Legion. Sounds rather imperial." He tapped it.

Are you sure you wish to make this Bond using the might of the Legion?

Yes

No

"Yes," Charles said.

"What do those have to do wi -"

The pentagram on Ellesmere's hand flared like a lightbulb. It grew brighter, then brighter still, until the whole room was scored in lines of blinding white and shadows like coal. Charles shielded his eyes.

The light vanished.

Charles blinked. A pentagram-shaped spot hovered in his vision. He glanced at Ellesmere, who was lowering her arms. "How do you feel?"

She looked at the back of her hand, turning it over. In contrast to Charles's twisted scar, her pentagram was a neat black tattoo. "I...I don't know." She licked her lips. "It still hurts."

"Look up, to the left. Do you see a bar?"

"Yes. It's blue."

"What about above that?"

She squinted. "I think...there's the outline of another one. But it's empty."

"Stay here," Charles said. "I'm going to get some food."

"Food? Now isn't the time for -"

"Shh," Charles said. "There might be people. Rest."

Charles stood, then stopped. More screens popped up in front of him, one after another. He scanned across them.

You have created a Bond with Ellesmere Kalgradis, the Destined Empress (Level 3)

Bond Benefits

10% Increase to Compulsion

5% Increase to Spirit

1 Additional Word Slot

Might of the Legion

Ellesmere learns weapon skills at a rapid pace. After Capping an Advanced-tier passive skill in a given weapon group, she can freely pass basic versions of corresponding weapon skills to others.

Bond of Contractual Employment

Charles receives a mutually agreed to percentage of the essence from enemies Ellesmere slays.

"What is all that?" Ellesmere said. "What does it mean?"

"It means a lot," Charles said. "Wait here."

Charles glanced at the boy he'd knocked out - kid was still out cold. He cracked open the door of the storeroom and peered into the kitchens.

The space was divided in the middle by a long counter. A stacked cluster of iron ovens sat in one corner, still radiating heat from earlier use. Every flat surface was covered with dirty bowls, cutlery, or half-prepared food. They'd abandoned the place in the middle of work.

Charles moved out and grabbed a spare bowl. He lifted a loaf of bread off the counter and took a healthy bite. It was good - still fresh.

Charles's heath bar blinked. He gained a few more points of health - perhaps 2 or 3.

Ideally, he'd rest on the floor until his health fully recovered. That would take several minutes he didn't want to spare, but there was an alternative way to heal - food. Gary saves the day again. At least the fat-ass was good for something.

Charles snatched up fruits, vegetables, and a few more rolls, loading the basket to the brim. He carried his bounty back to the storage room, then plopped down in front of Ellesmere. "Do you like tomatoes?"

She made a shrug. "I guess. You know, I don't think it hurts as bad as it did. But there's this strange picture under the bars - I touched it. It says I'm bleeding."

He shoved a tomato in her face. "Eat it."

"I'm not really hun -"

"Did I stutter?"

Ellesmere gave him a fierce warning look, then took a dainty bite of the tomato. She swallowed, then stiffened up. Her mouth opened slightly. "I feel...better. The bar - it's red. But..."

"But what?"

"It's draining back down."

"That bleeding thing must be another status effect," Charles reasoned. "Morgan mentioned a few of them. It should fade if you keep eating." He pushed the basket in her lap. "Don't be shy."

And then they wolfed down the food together - the leader of a financial empire and the would-be empress of Four Kingdoms, stuffing their faces in the corner of a musty storehouse. The sounds of munching and crunching filled the room as they tore into hunks of bread and chewed on sliced carrots.

Charles burped and sat back. His health wasn't quite full, but his stomach was too-full. He couldn't eat another bite if he tried.

Ellesmere poked at her midsection, near the tear in her dress. "It's...it's just gone. It's gone." She stood. "I'm fine. I'm better than fine. I'm alive!" She twirled in a circle. Her singed and frayed ballroom grown spun out at her heels. She tossed her head back and gave a giddy laugh, then swayed, slightly off-balance. She put a hand on the wall. "I'm too stuffed to dance about it." She made a strange face, and then burped. She blushed furiously. "Excuse me."

Charles hoisted himself off the floor, grunting. "I'm headed west. Are you coming?"

"You were right," Ellesmere said. "I thought Gerod - well, I knew I annoyed him somewhat, but I didn't know it was like that. That deep." Her expression fell somber. "I didn't know he hated me."

"Maybe that's why the emperor made him your knight," Charles said. "Kept a loyal hand close - someone you didn't get along with - just in case you needed to be dealt with."

Ellesmere put her hands on her face. "I - this is so much to take in. Back in the tower, I thought you were just trying to get under my skin. Everything you said came true. It's like you're some kind of prophet." 

Charles kept his smile pinned to his face. "We need to leave, Princess."

"But how can we leave like this?" she asked. "We have to set things right. I am of the imperial line. My place is here, I can't just -"

"You never had a place," Charles said. "That was an illusion. The only place you can call your own is the one you make yourself." He put a gentle hand on her shoulder. "Your Highness - Ellesmere. Live today. Fight tomorrow."

"But..."

"No buts," Charles said. "Is there anything you really can't leave behind? Anyone you must say goodbye to?"

Ellesmere wrapped herself with her arms. Her lips trembled. "My younger brothers...they don't need to see this."

"Then what are you waiting for?"

"Who are you?" she asked. "Why are you here?"

"I'll explain on the way," Charles said. "It's complicated, but I'm here about a personal matter."

"No," she said. She stepped back, brushing his hand away. "I can't believe I'm considering this. Some stranger, some naked rogue swings into my life, kills a hundred men, and then - no. No. This is too convenient. The timing - I don't believe you."

Her face melted from uncertainty to fear. Charles felt a tinge of worry. Had he pushed her too far? "Ellesmere -"

"Do not use my name like that!"

"Your Highness," Charles said, "I did not come here for anything concerning you or the Four Kingdoms. I didn't even know what this place was called. We met by chance. I'm helping you because I think you can help me - not to mention you saved my life."

"If that were true, you couldn't have known about me beforehand," Ellesmere said. "Everything you've said, all the right words, all the perfect little phrases! I know your type, Charles Ransfeld. I've been around men like you all my life!"

Charles realized she was at the brink. Ellesmere was trying to backpedal - trying to restore normalcy by rejecting the intrusion into her life, and he was that intrusion. He needed to close the sale, and he needed to do it very carefully.

If he retreated now, she'd sense it immediately. She'd already thrown rationality to the wind - she was half-hysterical as it was. Another reasonable explanation would be slapped aside. He needed to double down on her emotions.

If worst came to worst, he'd just nip his troubles in the bud. But he'd prefer not to do that.

Charles let his smile falter; the hint of a frown pulled his eyebrows together. He met her panicked stare with a melancholy gaze. "You're asking me how I knew those things?" he said, his voice low. "It was written on your face. It is, now."

Ellesmere's mouth opened slightly. "What are you saying?"

"I'm no magician," Charles said. "You looked as miserable at that ball as I once did. I saw it change when you showed me your map. The spark of passion, buried under duty. I knew you because I know myself."

Ellesmere was still for a moment. Her expression faltered between a longing for the comfort of familiarity and the inevitable realization that her old world was gone.

When it finally hit her, she shattered like glass. She threw herself forward, clutching at Charles's chest and bawling like a baby. He patted her gently on the back, rocking her to and fro. "Whoa, there. Easy."

"Maybe He did send you," she whispered.

"Who?" Charles glanced over his shoulder. "And we need to be leaving."

Ellesmere nodded into Charles's flour-dusted kitchen servant garb, smearing tears across its front. "So we do," she mumbled. "I'm sorry for what I - I just..."

"It's been a trying day for both of us. Let's leave it there." Charles took her hand and pulled her from the room. "You're healed, but your dress is a wreck. We'll need to get you something else, if we can." He pushed through the door. "There's got to be a -"

Charles stopped. Two men and a woman were standing in the kitchen; the woman was dressed in cheap tattered cloth, but the men looked to be chefs.

"Dear angels," the woman said. "That's the princess!"

"Weren't she kidnapped?"

"And burned."

Once of the chefs cocked an eyebrow. "In the cupboard with a servant, alone?"

The lady turned and cupped her mouth as if to shout.

Charles's fist crunched her hand into her face. Her shout turned into a mangled grunt.

Charles vaulted over the counter with one hand. His prosthetic leg snapped into the face of one of the chefs. The man shouted and collapsed backward. Charles grabbed a pan from a stovetop and threw it at him as he fell. It rebounded off the man's forehead. Sautéed mushrooms sprayed across the floor.

He moved in on the other chef, a tubby, red-faced man in stained white clothes. Charles came in with a fist, but the man put his guard up, blocking the punch. He backed off rapidly, meandering around the counter. "What the hell are you doing?! Someone help!"

Charles closed the distance and punched. The man blocked again - but the attack was only a feint. Charles brought his knee up under the man's guard, striking him in the stomach.

The chef coughed, then wheezed; the air was knocked out of him. His guard dropped as he tried to get his breath. Charles caught his drooping chin with a right cross, sending him to the kitchen floor.

Charles dashed back around the shelves. The servant woman was recovering from his punch. Charles grabbed the back of her neck and slammed her head into the side of the counter once, twice. When she fell slack, he grabbed the edges of her dress and started pulling it over her head.

"God in heaven," Ellesmere said. She was still at the pantry door, frozen half in amazement, half in shock. "Was that really necessary?"

"We're both supposed to be dead. I have a strong suspicion your father would prefer to keep it that way. Every person here is our enemy." He finished tugging the dress free, leaving the servant in a thin white shift. He tossed it at Ellesmere. "Put that on."

"But -"

"Now," Charles said. "Over your dress is fine."

Ellesmere huffed and started struggling with the outfit. "Stop doing that."

"What?"

"Giving me orders!"

Charles tapped his foot impatiently as Ellesmere bungled about with the dress. He kept his eyes on a swivel, watching the two entrances to the kitchen. "Why were these people still here? Half the building must be up in flames by now."

"Magicians," Ellesmere said. She fixed the dress around her neck, pulling her hair free. "Doused it with water, probably. You don't seem to be familiar with magic."

"We have a different kind of magic where I'm from," Charles said. "Let's go." He turned toward the door.

It opened on its own. An old woman poked her head in. "I thought I heard shout -"

Charles's response was automatic. His Palm Heel Strike made direct contact with the side of her face. She slammed into the stone door frame and dropped to the floor. From the scraps of essence he absorbed, he'd killed her in a single blow. He started pulling her into the kitchen.

"My god!" Ellesmere said. "She had to be seventy!"

"And I bet she could shriek like a banshee."

"You didn't have to do that!"

"I didn't hit her that hard. She'll be fine. Headache in the morning." He grabbed the thick shawl off her shoulders. "This is perfect," he said, chucking it at Ellesmere. "Put it over your head, hide your hair."

Ellesmere sniffed at him, but did as she was instructed. "This is madness. We can't go attacking everyone in the castle."

"What are you talking about? I'm only going to act against the people that get in the way."

"Look - Charles - er, Lord Ransfeld -"

"First of all," Charles said, turning on her, "don't call me lord ever again. Second of all, our strategy isn't up for debate. You questioned me at first, and guess what? I was right - about everything. Now you're alive, and the man that tried to tear your stomach open is dead. You questioned me again, and then we followed my plan, and now you're not bleeding out on the floor. And here we are once more, having a discussion because your delicate sensibilities are being threatened. Normally, a person would start to see a pattern and stop asking questions." Charles stepped up and put his face an inch from hers. "Don't look at the floor, look at me." Ellesmere raised her head. "You're my employee now. A secretary. That means two things. Number one: I go to any and all lengths to make sure my employees are taken care of, as long as they do their job and do it well. Number two: my word is law. In case you didn't notice, Princess, I'm the only friend you've got. I'm trying my damnedest to be patient with you, because I know you're trying just as hard to trust me. But if there is no fire, we no longer have a distraction. We are out of time. We need to go. I am going to crush anyone that tries to stop us. You can stay here, or you can follow me. Is that understood?"

Ellesmere made a tiny nod. "Understood." Charles smiled at her. "My lord," she added.

Charles sucked his breath in through his teeth, then sighed. "Well, I did say I liked them uppity. Stay behind me." 

Ellesmere scurried after him and down the hall, keeping her shawl drawn low around her face. At the first corner they ran into a pair of guards. Both groups came to a stop.

"Where are you two going?" one of them asked. "The building is safe now. You'll be needed in the -"

"Oh, thank goodness," Charles said. He hid his bloodied knuckles in his sleeve. "Something's happened - someone attacked the chef in the kitchen! I didn't see them, but we found the people, all just lying there!" Charles grabbed the man's shoulder, shaking him. "Please, you have to help! I think some of them are dead!"

The guard shoved Charles away. "Fine, just get your hands off me. They're in the kitchen?"

"Yes, three - maybe four people. We thought it might be him, the man they said was killing people!"

The guard shoved past Charles and Ellesmere. "If this is a load of dung, lad," he called, "I swear I'll use you for target practice."

Charles waited until the guards were around the corner, then he ushered Ellesmere forward. She threw him a look as she passed by. "Why did you do that? Now they'll be looking down here!"

"And we're leaving the building," he said. "Take us whichever way is fastest."

There was a loud shout. One of the guards had come back into the intersection behind them; he grabbed a rope in an alcove. An alarm bell rang up above in the castle, clanging through the halls.

Charles and Ellesmere reached a stairwell and took the steps two at a time. At the next landing, they heard the sound of footsteps. Ellesmere huddled low as more men ran by the other way. Charles gave the guards a dumbfounded look. "Get out of here, lad," one of the men said. "That killer is on the loose in the castle!"

The guards shuffled down the steps. Charles caught Ellesmere's eye. "A baker's boy and a serving girl wouldn't attack four people in the kitchens," Charles said, "and that's who we are right now. And now we have a new distraction. Plenty of halls to keep them busy searching."

Ellesmere stared at him. "How far ahead do you think, exactly?"

"Just one step ahead of you, apparently."

Ellesmere muttered something under her breath. Charles chose to ignore it.





Dream Drive Ch. 09



Author's Note:

Edited by Expoh, AnnabelleFalls13, Michael Scott, and Zald.





Dream Drive Ch. 09



It was similar to what happened after Shakhan took his need to sleep away from him. He went several days without resting, spending the entire night grinding up his skill levels. Even though he wasn't physically tired, and his mind was alert, he'd still felt used up and stressed out.

There was something else aside from the body and mind that needed consideration. Shaka had claimed that the heart needed rest alongside the body and mind. Jackson didn't particularly care for that kind of foggy explanation, but he didn't have any other way to describe it.

Given the circumstances, Chaki had more than fulfilled Jackson's expectations. He had his 120 dark essence and another 151 light essence; a formidable sum. He also had the essence crystal he'd claimed from the rattok mage. He wasn't sure how much essence it contained, but since the smaller versions from the rattok warriors held 50 each, it was a pretty safe bet that it was 100 essence or so.

371 essence. That was almost as much as everything he'd invested into his statistics so far. He was as prepared as he could be for whatever was down here.

Jackson mentally corrected himself. He was in a place called the City of Demons. There was no prepared. Complacency would get him killed.

The walls of the hall opened abruptly opened into a great cavern. He stopped there, peering ahead.

A short shelf extended past the edge of the tunnel walls. He could barely see it, just a hint of a glimmer - the reflected light of his rune. There was no railing. Past that, a drop into ink-black darkness.

A single beam of light cut through that void, as though a spotlight was situated high on a wall in the distance. It burned through the dark and down past his perch. Here and there, he could see vague shapes, the points of more structures, but the light was swallowed up before it had a chance to illuminate anything.

Jackson considered his runes. He could try putting actual essence into some sort of light spell, but he'd have to enchant something, either his clothes or his spear. Glowing pants that constantly used up essence didn't sound very appealing, and they probably wouldn't help all that much.

It might also attract attention. He probably didn't want attention from whatever was in this place. It was quiet right now, but that could change very quickly.

Jackson sighed, then looked about for a way down. The shelf turned into stairs that wrapped around the edge of a tower. The tunnel he'd just come through was actually an enclosed bridge, arcing from the portal room to the tower he was on now.

Without anywhere else to go, Jackson started down. His moccasins were soft on the black stone. He kept a hand on the wall for balance, and to stay as far away from the edge as possible. He took the stairs one at a time.

It was absolutely silent.

Jackson could hear his ears ring a bit. He would have expected his movements to echo into the empty space, but the sound was engulfed and suppressed.

The position of the distant ray of light gave him a sense of his progress. It was blocked from view as the stair curled around the outside of the tower, then appeared again as he stepped down in circles. Eventually, as his angle dropped, he could see the profile of another tower against it, and the bridge going off into the dark; and then, the roofs of other buildings, more towers, spires, and steeples.

He wasn't sure how long it had been when his feet touched flat ground. He appeared to be in some sort of square. The black stone made a perfectly flat floor; there were no cracks, nor mortar. It seemed as though it was all one piece, black concrete poured into a giant mold all at once and allowed to set.

He started forward. For a moment, he felt lost – the bubble of light from his rune was weak to the point that he couldn't see more than a few feet. He used the distant beam to keep his bearings.

After what might have been a few dozen yards, Jackson came to another wall. There was an opening ahead, with walls high to each side, like a spindly alley. He might actually feel a little bit at home if it wasn't for the oppressive darkness. The stuff sat on him, pushed at him. It didn't like him, and Jackson didn't much care for it either.

He glanced at the light. He could still see the origin point, a tiny speck far above. The lower half of it was now blocked by walls and pointed roofs. He was definitely in some kind of city. No demons as of yet.

The place felt dead - dead in the way someone who had just died was dead. There was no smell, no real telltale sign - but the way the corpse lay, limbs slack, a bland glaze over the eyes, made it frighteningly clear.

Jackson's spine shivered. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. He couldn't see a thing. Something could be right next to him, and he'd have no idea. His hands felt sweaty on his spear.

He tightened his grip, then spun, swinging the tip into the darkness behind him.

Nothing. No sound but his own breathing.

He didn't feel safer. He felt worse.

Jackson swallowed. He made sure his grip was firm, then gathered his voice. "Is anyone there?"

The sound went a few feet and died. Jackson's lungs felt tired just from that effort. There was no energy allowed in this place. Anything that violated the stillness was pushed back.

Jackson turned and jogged into the alley. He glanced up again. He didn't have any goals, any direction. He'd half-expected Shakhan to pipe up and say something. Maybe the light was indicating something important?

The walls were tight on either side of him. He caught glimpses of a few openings, a few windows. He imagined eyes in all of them, watching him. He hoped he imagined them.

The city was disorienting, maze-like. There didn't seem to be a pattern. He'd turn a corner only to immediately hit another intersection. He'd run along a path for a good while to find that it was a dead end. The first time it happened, he drew the energy cannon and turned on a dime, but there was nothing. There was always nothing.

He kept the gun out.

Maybe he could have gotten a sense of things if he could see it, but with the darkness, he couldn't even tell if he was where he'd been before. He tried scuffing the stone a few times, scratching it with his spear – no good. No marks, no chips. He stopped after a couple tries, afraid of breaking the point of his weapon.

Progress was slow, but with a steady reference point, it was progress.

The sense of being watched increased the closer he got to the light. He felt like a rat in a lab, stared at by creatures he couldn't comprehend that were observing his progress but not bothering to interfere. Yet.

And then, he could see it – the point on which the light was shining. It was a beacon in the distance, the light at the end of his tunnel. He sprinted down the alleyway.

He burst into an open space – another square. The light flooded over everything, washing out the black in favor of a dull grey. Jackson jogged to a stop and put his hands on his hips, catching his breath. He checked behind himself, looking at the alley leading back between two tall, featureless buildings.

He almost felt silly. There hadn't been anything following him the entire time.

He could have sworn something moved in the dark just then.

He wiped his hand across his face and blinked a few times, but he couldn't see anything. He backed a few more steps into the pool of light he stood in, away from the edge. He'd come out of ruins infested with cannibalistic rat creatures not once, but twice. Even if there was a demon down here, he could handle it. He was a superhuman.

After coaxing himself back into confidence, Jackson moved deeper into the light. The ground was carved with another mural, the same motif he'd seen in several places. The roots of the great tree hugged the center of the square, joined together to form the trunk, and then split into winding, curling branches that wove around the rest of the stone. An inverted pentagram was set into the middle of the trunk.

Normally, there would be a claw at the base of the tree, nestled amongst the roots. Instead, there was a pedestal, sticking up from the center of the square - a claw-shaped pedestal. Artistic flair, I guess..

As Jackson grew closer, he could see a small crystal hovering inside the cupped prongs of the claw. He leaned in to examine it. It reminded him of the gem-flower. It was about the size of his fist.

Was he supposed to take it?

Jackson felt a wave of paranoia. He'd already encountered his share of ancient automated security systems. He looked around, taking in the empty black buildings at the edges of the square and the murky depths of the streets and crooked lanes leading between them. There were no other lights; no clues or hints. The city was empty. This was his destination.

It was only then, looking into the darkness that masked the rest of the metropolis, that he realized finding his way back to the portal room would be completely impossible. He could wander out there for days.

Fuck it. Jackson stowed his gun in the loop on his belt. He worked his fingers a bit, taking a few breaths and keeping on his toes. He grabbed the crystal and pulled.

It didn't move. It felt very cold under his hand, almost like ice. Jackson frowned, then pulled again. The crystal was locked in place, held over the pedestal by some invisible force. He set his spear down and used both hands. It didn't budge an inch.

Jackson sat on his haunches and sighed, rolling his spear in his fingers. He touched his essence and focused, as Shaka had taught him, but he couldn't sense anything. 

He stood, considering the crystal. It did look reminiscent of the gem-flower, but it was a different color. That had been blue; it brimmed with energy. This crystal was colorless. It didn't feel like anything. So, maybe it needed energy?

Jackson gripped his essence again. The power balled up inside his body rose to meet his will, ready for action. He put a hand on the crystal and pushed into it, as if filling up one of the gemstones he'd brought from the pawn shop.

The crystal suckered onto him like a leech and drank from his spirit. Jackson tried to pull away, break off the connection, but his skin was sealed to the stone. His essence bar ticked down at a rapid rate. He set a foot against the pedestal and grabbed his wrist with his other hand, pulling back as hard as he could.

The suction broke. Jackson toppled backward, his spear clattering down next to him. He sat up and checked his status. It drained him of exactly 100 essence, leaving him with 171. 

The crystal glowed and began to spin. Grey light sparked out from its sides like glowing embers flying from a grindstone. The crystal whirred faster and faster, until it was rotating so quickly it appeared to be spherical.

Energy burned down through the claw-pedestal in thin white lines. It spread over the square, under his feet, expanding in concentric circles. It rushed over the mural of the tree, washing it with white light. Symbols appeared around the mural and between the rings surrounding the claw. Jackson backed up, trying to take it all in.

It was like watching a dusty bank of servers putter to life, lights blinking here and there, rusty cooling fans starting to beat at the air. He recognized many of the runes, but there were plenty he didn't.

For a moment, Jackson wondered what would have happened if he didn't have 100 essence on hand. The more he thought about it, the more he decided he was better off not thinking about it that hard.

One of the lights was a bit different than the others. Jackson turned his head, but the flickering light turned with him, staying in the corner of his vision.

It wasn't part of the mural. The little indicator near his bars was blinking like crazy.

The hunter.

Jackson put his back to the pedestal and scanned the square. The alleys were still dark, quiet. His indicator flashed even faster, faster. It was getting closer. He turned about, trying to keep a bead on all the roads. He couldn't see anything.

The indicator turned solid white. Jackson gripped his spear in both hands.

He heard something above the whizzing rush of the crystal. He looked up.

There was a black blur. A hand – a claw – swept in and punctured straight through Jackson's neck, cupping his skull. It pulled him across the square, dragging him along the stone. As they approached the outer edge, it released him, throwing him into the side of a building.

Jackson struck the corner of the house. The air was knocked out of him; he hit the ground in a tangle, rolled over once, twice, and came to a stop.

Jackson turned onto his hands and knees and fought for his breath, grunting and wheezing to get the feeling back into his chest. His spear was nearby; he snatched it back. His gun was gone – there, lying in the middle of the square between himself and the pedestal.

Jackson rubbed his neck as he stood. He'd lost 66 health – more than enough to kill him in one shot if he hadn't upgraded his Vitality. Then again, if he wasn't changed by Isis, that attack would have decapitated him.

He heard the sound again – the flapping of wings. The creature – some combination of bat and gargoyle - alighted in the center of the square. It stood on two short legs that ended in talons. Its back was hunched sharply; its wingspan was at least twice the size of its height. Two long, spindly arms stretched out from its torso, ending in blade-like claws that clicked on the ground. Its skin was a gnarled, sickly grey, and he could see black veins where it was stretched thin at the wings and joints.

They stared at each other for a moment, neither moving.

Jackson ran for his gun. The hunter spread its wings and flapped once, propelling itself forward at high speed. As they both closed the gap, Jackson turned his head and screamed a War Cry. A ripple of force left his mouth.

The hunter swept out a claw. A pentagram appeared in front of it. The black shape expanded, twisted, and swallowed up Jackson's attack.

Jackson barely had time to be surprised before they collided. The hunter clotheslined him with its outstretched arm.

Jackson was sent reeling back across the stone. His health dropped by another 15 points. This time, he turned his fall into a roll, coming up with his spear ready.

The hunter didn't press the attack; it had taken up its hunched position again, keeping itself between him and the crystal. The power in the square continued to glow and hum. It spread to some of the buildings at the edge; Jackson felt like the whole place was starting to light up. That couldn't have been just from his 100 essence. He was just the catalyst for something bigger – something the hunter didn't want him to finalize.

Jackson went for the gun again. The hunter hopped into the air and sped toward him.

Jackson changed direction, angling back toward the pedestal. The hunter flapped its wings rapidly, pulling up short, then coasted across the square to make it back before Jackson.

Jackson turned again. Before the hunter could react, he had the gun in hand and was stepping backwards, keeping it aimed squarely at his foe. Sucker.

Jackson compiled what he knew so far. This creature was far stronger than him; a direct confrontation was not a good strategy. It was fast, but it had trouble changing direction. It could cancel his special abilities. It definitely did not want him to get back to the crystal. It prioritized that above him retrieving the cannon.

Jackson's finger hesitated on the trigger. The hunter was keeping to its defensive position, watching him with ugly eyes set in a skull-like face. It probably had some idea that he was holding a weapon, but it wasn't wheeling around trying to avoid his aim.

The gun could use health, or essence. But what if the hunter canceled the attack again?

If it worked, Jackson would be in a bad way, but the hunter would probably be worse off. If the attack failed, he'd have sacrificed either all his essence or almost all his life force for nothing. And then he'd be easy pickings.

It was a bad matchup, one Jackson had been afraid would show up eventually – something with an ability that could counter magic. It wasn't called a hunter for nothing.

Jackson shoved the gun into his belt. He couldn't risk everything on a coin flip. If he died like that, Shaka would hunt him down in the afterlife and lecture him for all eternity. And then Chaki would get started on him.

Jackson switched into his Defensive stance. His hands glowed blue. He inched forward, closing the distance. The hunter bared its fangs and made a warning growl, a stuttering rumble in the back of its throat.

Jackson tried to think about what the hunter had done to use its anti-magic. It had moved its arm. Drawing a sigil? No. But was the gesture important? He needed more details.

Jackson looked up. He had 167 health left, 146 essence. His cheapest skill was Power Thrust – 5 essence for an extra-strong attack. Time to abuse it.

Jackson drew his feet together and walked forward, keeping his spear in close. The hunter spread its arms, flared its claws, and shrieked at him. Jackson leveled the tip of his weapon.

The hunter flapped its wings, launching off its perch and sweeping toward him. Jackson's speartip glowed white as he thrust it forward.

The hunter saw the skill's glow. It swept its claw out again, moving its arm as if hurling the ability toward him. The black pentagram ate into the white light and vanished.

Jackson knew that was coming – he was already drawing back for another thrust. The hunter whipped its other arm, canceling his magic with another pentagram, then flapped forward.

Jackson threw himself to the ground. Claws raked across his back, draining a bit of health, but he was back on his feet in an instant.

Jackson reached out a hand as the hunter peeled up and around to for another pass. He called out his new ability – Spear Wall.

Grey light flared in front of the hunter's flightpath. The spear-shaped bars of energy crossed over one another like the wall of a cage. The hunter swung wildly to avoid it. It clawed at Jackson as it flew by but missed by a wide margin.

Jackson grinned. 116 essence left. That would be plenty.

The hunter swung high above the square, then rounded back for another strike. As it flew toward him, Jackson cast his Spear Wall. The hunter threw a black pentagram, and the wall was eaten away, vanishing in time for the hunter to fly through. It flapped its wings faster.

Jackson cast another Spear Wall, and then a third, almost precisely behind it, eating through another 40 essence.

The hunter canceled the second wall with its other arm. Jackson had time to appreciate the panic in its eyes right before it smashed head-on into the one remaining. The bars shattered, and the hunter shrieked. It dropped like a stone, the ridge of one of its wings bent and cracked backward. It hit the square hard.

Even with that impact, its talons were digging in, trying to stop its momentum. They found purchase in the lines of the mural.

Jackson was already in a dead sprint for the pedestal. The hunter loped forward, using its arms, legs, and one good wing to move as fast as it could – faster than Jackson. They converged in the center of the square.

The hunter was going to make it first.

Jackson lifted his spear and dug it into one of the carved branches in the stone. Using that as leverage, he pushed himself forward, leaving his weapon behind and throwing himself into a full body lunge straight for the crystal.

The hunter twisted sideways, bringing up its arm. Jackson stretched out his hand toward the crystal. They seemed to hang there for a moment, Jackson flying forward, the hunter whipping its claw through the air, trying to cut him off. Jackson squeezed his eyes shut.




Dream Drive Ch. 09



He expected a blow to the face, a hard landing on stone – but it never happened. He opened his eyes, then blinked several times. He couldn't see anything. He tried moving his arms and legs, and was greeted again by the odd sensation of floating. His stomach flopped uncomfortably; he swallowed back the sensation in the bottom of his throat.

I'm getting sick of the teleporting.





Dream Drive Ch. 09



Heads were nodding. It was the second time in one night that dozens of people had been roused from their tents by a violent disturbance, added to everyone's weariness from the celebrations and the feast. Kunaya's words were resonating.

"Wise words, elder," Yukatan said. "Boonta. You will take Vuntha, and Katran. Ride into the plains and scout for five miles east. Wake me when you return if you find anything."

"Yes, father," Boonta said. "Though..." He wiped a bit of blood from under his nose. "I am not in the best condition, at the moment."

"Chaki," Yukatan said, "if you would heal him."

A dozen responses burst into Chaki's head at the thought of healing the nose she'd just broken. I'd rather eat slugs. I'd rather burn under the sun. I'd rather become the consort of a demon. I'd rather dance naked in front of the spirit guides from every tribe.

Instead of speaking, in what Chaki believed was perhaps the greatest display of personal willpower she'd ever mustered in her entire life, she drew the runes and flung her will toward Boonta. It was a simple task; his nose cracked once, then shifted back into place.

"Thank you, Chaki," Yukatan said.

Chaki's words were as stiff and formal as she could make them. "By your will, elder."

"Boonta," Kunaya said, "a word, for a moment." He gestured out through the crowd, and led Boonta a short distance away.

Yukatan looked over all of them. "The rest of you, sleep. And if there is anything more like this tonight, I'll feed you to Shaka."

Everyone took off in a hurry at that pronouncement. Yukatan sighed heavily, then looked at Chaki. "Girl. What in the name of Mother Earth is going on between yourself and my son?"

"Elder," Chaki said. She drew herself up, trying to put as much of the mature spirit guide into her voice as possible. "I swear to you, by all the spirits, and the angels, and by the One-Above." She raised her mark. "I swear by Shakhan, and on my oaths as a woman who seeks to guide the spirits of our tribe, I have not lied to you this night. Your son has lost his mind, and I fear for his soul - as much worth as it has left."

Yukatan looked at the back of her hand, and then back at her. She could see it turning behind his eyes, his hesitance, decisions torn between what he wanted to see and what he was afraid was true.

"Did Shaka tell you what he almost did to me?" Chaki asked. Yukatan said nothing. Chaki moved closer to him. "She told you. You did nothing then, and I did not speak of it further, because you are my elder - the elder my father chose. But if you continue to do nothing, then nothing good will come of it. If Jackson wasn't there to save me that night, Boonta would have –"

"Go!" Yukatan shouted. Chaki leaned away, blinking. Yukatan took a long breath. "Go to sleep, Chaki. I will consider this further in the morning. Hanta, you watch the girl."

Chaki watched Yukatan retreat into the night. She willed him to turn around, to change his mind, but he didn't.

She turned to Vuntha and Hanta. "Do you believe me?"

"I don't want to believe it," Vuntha said, "because apparently I'm going out scouting with a madman in a few minutes."

Hanta squinted. "There are bad spirits out this night. Once Shaka returns, the truth of this will find its way free." He hesitated, looking back at Chaki. She could see the question on his face. The only people that knew about Boonta's actions were Yukatan, Shaka, Jackson, and Vuntha, but she was sure that Hanta was taking a rather good guess as to what she'd meant. "Chaki," he said, "you should probably get some sleep."

Vuntha lingered with his father. Chaki walked alone through the camp. She ran through the events in her mind's eyes, over and over, and with each repetition she experienced the same boiling anger and confusion. Why couldn't they just see it? Why couldn't Yukatan just admit what Boonta was and be done with it?

Please hurry back, Jackson. Shaka.





Dream Drive Ch. 09



"Stay down," Vuntha whispered. "I'll be back soon. You'll know me by the red sparrow's call."

"Red sparrow," Katran repeated. "What are you going to do against so many?"

"Steal one of their horses," Vuntha said. He slipped into the darkness.





Dream Drive Ch. 09



"I'm slowing us down," Katran said.

"We'll be fine!" Vuntha shouted. "Keep shooting!"

"Vuntha! They are going to kill us!"

Vuntha urged the horse onward, but it was starting to tire. The cavalry was closing in.

"Hey," Vuntha called. "You used my name!"

"Ah," Katran said. "You're no pebble." The sound of hooves rumbled in Vuntha's ears, almost cutting out Katran's voice as it turned quiet. "I shouldn't have complained about my wedding. Now I'll never be wed." He lowered his face, drooping on the horse. "Tell Malaki I'm sorry."

"Katran!"

Katran let himself fall from the horse, tucking in his arms and legs. Vuntha had only tried that move a few times in his life, and never at a full gallop. He would never have dared doing it while injured.

But Katran was the best of the Windseekers.

Vuntha kept his gaze over his shoulder, watching as the warrior hit the ground. Katran let his momentum play out, rolling over the plains like a human ball. And then he was up, stopped on a knee. He raised his bow and fired as fast as he could draw arrows.

The horsemen behind them dropped like flies. Katran took them down as easily as targets, one after another, striking his marks despite the near-darkness. Some of his shots flew wide, but he made up for it with his rate of fire.

And then his quiver was empty.

Katran raised his knife, his final defense against an oncoming horseman. At the last moment, he threw it – but his torso buckled from his wound, and he missed. Vuntha turned away as Katran was run down.

Vuntha steered his horse away from the flanking group, escaping into the hole Katran had opened. Without a second rider, his horse ran with renewed speed. The cavalrymen were clad in heavy armor, and their horses had to be tired from a long journey. He quickly made up the lost ground. 

Vuntha blinked hard against the wind. His hands were white on the horse's reins. He had to make it back.





Dream Drive Ch. 09



"You led us since I knew what an elder was!" Chaki shouted. She grabbed his shoulder. "You made a mistake. But he was your son. I won't condemn you because you love your son. Until Shaka returns, I am your spirit guide. And these." She pointed out over the group. "These are your warriors. Lead us!"

"I will follow you against the iron men," Hanta said, "as I followed you against the Drawn Bows, and the East Walkers before that, and the iron men themselves before that. Their armor will not save them if we fire enough arrows!"

Hanta raised his spear up with his words, shouting. The other warriors raised their weapons: spears, bows, knives, fists. When the war cry died, there was an energy in the air, almost like the energy of essence, ready to be pushed into a rune, the untapped force of people ready to work together to fight and survive.

Yukatan wiped his face with the back of his hand. He straightened, and looked at them all with reddened eyes. "I want every warrior on his horse! Gather our mounts from the herd! Meet at the eastern edge of the camp!"

The men shouted again. Those on horseback rode back down the main path between the tipis to retrieve the horses. War cries carried into the night.

Yukatan looked at those still gathered. "This is not another tribe. The iron men do not know honor, and they want no part of it. They will not count coup or show mercy; they will try to kill you. And so you must kill them first. Bring your spears, your bows, and all your arrows. Spare nothing. If we don't beat them, we won't lose hunting grounds. We will lose our lives." He looked at Hanta. "We need to coordinate with the other tribes. Ride to the Three Hills and rouse Kunaya, if he isn't already awake. If they outnumber us, we'll have to..."

A commotion in the back of the crowd made Yukatan trail off. Men to the side parted for riders. Chaki was surprised to see Haanak – the man who'd been responsible for the spear tournament's lottery tent. "Elder Yukatan, I've come from Jalak. What caused the warning?"

"The iron men have brought an army to attack us."

Haanak swore.

"But this is good timing," Yukatan said. "Their foolish attack only serves to unite us as one. We'll beat them back once and for all. Tell Jalak we will ride with the Three Hills. Is Kunaya with him?"

"Kunaya is gone," Haanak said. "He and his tribe are nowhere to be found – they didn't even take their tents. It's as if demons stole them into the night. We thought you would know something. Did the iron men already attack?"

"No. No." Yukatan's eyes moved as he thought, jumping between the faces around him. "Boonta. And now – Kunaya. Kunaya has betrayed us." Yukatan's lingering sadness transformed before Chaki's eyes. His expression turned dark, until it was like the black rock of the mountain. "I knew Boonta wouldn't go so far on his own. I left him to Kunaya's counsel, thinking it good for him to know the strength of a powerful leader, but he was a rotten demon all along! Kunaya has given us up to the iron men and abandoned us for dead!"

"Elder!" Haanak said. "No man of the tribes is capable of that much. Not here, under the very sight of Shakhan!"

"Then where are they?!" Yukatan demanded.

"I do not know," Haanak said. He looked out over the camp from atop his horse. "To have moved all their people without anyone noticing...they would have had to start hours ago."

"Then this was well planned," Yukatan said. "They'll know our strategies, our weaknesses. Vuntha!"

"Elder?" Vuntha said.

"How long until the iron men reach us?" 

"On horses, soon," Vuntha said. "But most of them are on foot. They'll take longer, perhaps till sunrise. And the horsemen have no bows."

"No bows," Hanta said. "Just as before. We'll ride around them and whittle them down. They won't be able to touch us."

"They have powerful magic," Vuntha said. "They can summon light-spirits that fly like arrows and spew forth fire, but their aim is poor. We have to stay at a distance."

"We need space for that to work," Yukatan said. "They know we have to protect the camp."

"If Kunaya is a traitor, then he will burn," Haanak said. "But that aside, he is only half the Three Hills. Jalak will ride with you. I will gather our warriors. They can't possibly outnumber us."

"I don't think so," Vuntha said, "but it was hard to tell. At least a thousand, maybe more."

"Tell Jalak to send the women and children around the shoulder of the mountain, along the running path," Yukatan said. "We cannot let them be trapped in the valley."

Haanak nodded, turned his horse, and rode off. Yukatan grabbed Chaki's shoulder. "Rouse Landri and the other women. Get them organized, start moving the children out of harm's way. When it's done, get your horse and your weapons and meet us on the eastern side of camp."

"You'll have Chaki fight?" Hanta asked.

"You trained me yourself, Hanta," Chaki said. "I can wield a spear at least as well as Vuntha."

"I am not questioning your ability to stand with us," Hanta said. "The children will need someone to protect them."

"Shaka and the others cannot emerge until the sun rises," Yukatan said. "Only magic can counter magic, and we will need a healer. Until she returns, Chaki is our spirit guide."

"As you say, elder," Hanta said.

"I don't think they'll send their horsemen far from their footmen," Yukatan said. "They'll not want to let their troops be vulnerable to other horses. We should have a short time to prepare before they –"

Another horn sounded from the eastern side of camp. This time it was three notes, high, low, and then high again, a pattern used only when the tribes made war. Enemy sighted.

"Demons and dead suns," Yukatan swore. "To the east, through camp! Chaki, stay here and get the children away! Meet us when you can!"

The warriors rushed off, Hanta and Yukatan leading them between the tents. Others were still coming in from the sides, many on horseback. Some led trains of horses that had been tied together in an attempt to get them where they were needed. Men haphazardly hopped onto animals that weren't theirs. It was a serious breach of decorum, but there were only two categories of things that mattered at the moment: first, protecting the camp, and second, everything else.

Chaki rushed to Malaki. She'd stopped crying, but she was huddled on the ground, head folded between her legs. "Malaki."

"Get away from me!" Malaki slapped her hands away.

"We have to move. The iron men are attacking!"

"He's dead," Malaki said. Her voice cracked. "My husband is dead!"

"He died to protect you!" Chaki said. Malaki looked up at that. "He used his last strength to make sure Vuntha would make it back and warn us. He is a hero. Are you going to waste his sacrifice sitting there, or are you going to get up?"

Malaki took Chaki's outstretched hand and got to her feet. Chaki ushered her forward. "Get your family, tell them to warn everyone else. Do you understand?"

Malaki nodded, sniffing back the tears and wiping her nose with her hand. "I hear your words."

"We're moving behind the mountain," Chaki said. "Drana, you do the same for yours." She looked between them. "We can't waste time checking tipis over and over. If a tent is empty, tell the family to just leave the entrance flap untied and open. We'll be able to tell at a glance."

Drana nodded, jogging at her side as they went. The camp was boiling with confusion. The warriors had shouted words at a few people as they went, but most didn't know what was happening. "Chaki," Drana said. "I'm sorry. About before."

Chaki shook her head. "I was wrong, the way I...we can talk about it later. After this is over."

"After," Drana said.

Malaki pointed. "There! On the next hill!"

The sky was just starting to take on the grey haze of dawn marking the start of a cloudy day. Against that backdrop, Chaki could faintly see men on horseback, hundreds of them clustered together. In front of them was a long slope downhill, which flattened for a short stretch, before rising up to another hill on which most of the camp was located.

For a moment, Chaki was afraid that they'd been caught unprepared, but warriors of the tribes were massing on their own side of the dip. Men and horses from each of the five tribes were pouring in from all sides of the encampment. Spears and packed quivers were being slung at everyone with empty hands. They formed a line at the edge of the high ground. 

It was a relief to see the enemy hesitating. They seemed disorganized from their long ride, milling at the top of their hill. High pitched horns squealed out in an attempt to instill some kind of organization in their ranks. Perhaps they didn't expect such a speedy response to their presence. Chaki's heart rose further as she observed their own numbers – those already gathered outnumbered the enemy cavalry three to one.

Drana, Malaki, and Chaki split up, running through the camp and shouting warnings. Chaki found her own tent – Landri and Palla were already outside, throwing water containers and a few sacks of wasna together on a litter.

"Chaki, what's happening?" Landri said.

"You can see them!" Chaki said, pointing. "The iron men have come to attack us. Yukatan wants all the women and children behind the shoulder of the mountain, out of the way of the battle."

Landri nodded. "Are you to be with us?"

"I'm going to help them fight," Chaki said. "Tell everyone to leave their tent flap open if they've left."

Palla picked something up off the ground – their father's spear. "Mother, I'm going to fight!"

"Absolutely not," Landri said.

"Jackson is in the mountain!" he said. "I have protect our family!"

Chaki grabbed the spear and pulled it from his hands. Palla tried to take it back; she flipped the end and bopped him on the side. He took a step away from the strike. "Chaki, give it back!"

"No," Chaki said. "This spear is mine. It will be yours someday. That is not today."

"It is my right!" Palla shouted. "I am the man of our tent. I have to fight!"

Chaki grabbed Palla's arm and waited until he looked at her. She let his wrist go, then leaned forward and cupped his cheek. "My brother, you are going to listen to me, and you are going to do exactly as I say. You are going to go with our mother and protect the women and children if the iron men try to go around us. Do you understand me?" Chaki searched his eyes. "Do you understand?"

Palla nodded. "Yes."

"I love you," she said. "You're strong, and you never give up. You're just like father."

Palla's eyes widened, and his lips trembled. Chaki glanced at Landri; her mother gave just a single nod.

Chaki forced her feet to move before they rebelled against her control, leaving her family behind her. She ran through the camp, shouting at tents that had closed flaps, double-checking those that had been left open. She ushered them to abandon their possessions and flee with whatever water and food they could walk with.

When she looked back over the way she'd come, there were two waves of people. One of fighters, bearing spears and bows, riding horses, headed for the eastern edge of camp. The second was all women and children, rushing through the tents between the lines, retreating to the west and around the mountain.

The high-pitched horn squealed again. Chaki whipped her head back the other way. The iron cavalry had formed up and were charging down the hill in a massive arrowhead made from horses.

Chaki frowned. Something wasn't right. They'd have to charge all the way back uphill to get at the tribes, and surely they knew they'd be doing it under a rain of arrows. It was a horrible tactical decision.

No time to debate strategy – that was what Yukatan and the elders were for. She joined a group of warriors headed for the front lines. By the paint on their faces, she thought they might be from the Dust-Gatherers. They recognized her status as an apprentice from her neck-beads and clapped her back in welcome.

They could hear the hooves in the distance. The ground rumbled. The charge was gaining speed. Shouts went up from the tribesmen that had already taken position, orders to hold ground and prepare to fire. Hundreds of bows were nocked.

"Chaki!"

Chaki looked over – another apprentice. She was about the same height as Chaki, a bit thinner, her hair woven in a long ponytail. They'd met at one of the meetings; she was an apprentice from the Drawn Bows. "Fenay!"

Fenay joined her side behind the spearmen. "Today we get to kill iron men," Fenay said. "It's about time. I'm sick of our own tribes making war!"

Chaki thought that the bravado was best saved until after the innocent were safe from harm, but she forced a smile. "I can only hope it goes well."

"This is good for you," she said. "Wasn't your father killed by the iron men? I'll help you get your vengeance!"

Vengeance again. Is that what I want?

"They're coming," Chaki said. "Get your runes ready."

"Ah," Fenay grunted. "I wish we could help our warriors, but we have to be defensive for now."

The apprentices were all taught a certain way. Alongside a general education regarding the lore and history of their people, there were the runes. First they had to memorize all the runes, and then they practiced healing, repaircraft, and magical defense. Only when they became full spirit guides were they shown how to enhance the fighting power of a warrior. It was the most fearsome and dangerous magic, and the knowledge therefore carried great responsibility. Their powers would have to be enough to hold until the spirit guides returned.

They had made it to the back of the lines. The spearmen merged with those already in position; most had laid those weapons on the ground and drawn their bows.

Chaki was tall enough to see how they'd arranged themselves. Their horsemen were at the center, facing the point of the iron men's oncoming wedge. Warriors on foot stood on either side in a long line. More were joining as she watched, thickening the force at a tremendous rate.

Chaki looked back over the field, watching the oncoming soldiers. Even with all the defenders standing before her, the huge weight behind the oncoming charge made her heart skip up in her throat. They all wore the same colors – dark green, or black. It was hard to tell in the low light.

She was warm from running, but the air was cold. It was sharp on her nose, and scentless. She could see her breath, and the breaths of the men around her, almost like little clouds of white essence coming from their lungs.

There was a shout from the center. It was repeated down the line, called out by the elders and head warriors in turn.

"Loose!"

"Fire arrows!"

"Fire!"

Chaki watched in a sort of fascinated horror as arrows flew into the sky, more than she had ever seen in her entire life. They were a pointed flock of vipers hissing up into the air, thin snakes barely visible against the clouds. Each sting meant death.

The enemy charge had just made it to the middle of the long flat between the hills. There was no way they could stop short – and even if they did, the cloud of arrows was so great that half of them would still be slain.

The arrows reached the top of their arc and began to fall. Many men were about to die. Chaki sucked in her breath and forced herself to watch.

She felt essence.

"Chaki," Fenay said. "Lights. They're using magic!"

"Don't let your guard down!" Chaki shouted. "Watch for magic!"

The warriors near her shifted; some looked her way. A nearby chieftain shouted her warning down the line. She heard it repeated several times.

It was an odd feeling. She was younger than many of them, lighter of frame, without the scars and war paint and feathers that they bore - yet they took her word seriously. But then, it was all they had to go on.

Blue light sparked over the charge of the iron men. It came from two points; one near the tip of the wedge, and one near the back. There was a sound like the crack of lightning, and a blue bolt shot between the two points, connecting them together.

Chaki felt a huge wave of magic pour over her, as if twenty spirit guides had all cast the same spell at once. There was a roar in the air, a reverberating voice, calling out in a tongue that bit at the edges of her soul. Men around her covered their ears. She forced herself to keep her hands at her sides.

The beam of lightning connecting the two riders crackled and snapped, and grew, spreading out over the oncoming horsemen in a massive shield. The arrows fell into the construct and vanished.

No – they were turned to ash, vaporized by the lightning. A cloud of the stuff roiled over the horsemen, and they galloped through it without pause. Some arrows pierced the magic, mostly those on the edge of the spell. A dozen or so riders were culled from the charge, but the wedge was intact, coated in lightning, and halfway up the hill.

The spell didn't fade. Chaki was stunned. There was no way they could maintain that amount of energy between just two spirit guides. For a moment, to shield themselves – maybe. But not sustained like this.

She realized that the lightning was not a shield. It was meant as a weapon. And it was heading straight for them.

Shouts came from the warriors to fire more arrows. Men that had already restrung their bows began to fire. The oncoming charge was pelted with a sporadic wave of projectiles, but they were all destroyed by the crackling heat.

"Fenay!" Chaki said. "The same as me! Repel magic!" She shouted toward the warrior that had relayed her warning before. "Tell them to stop firing arrows and get their spears! Brace with your spears! The apprentices have to repel magic!"

The man shouted down the line, but Chaki could barely hear it. Everyone was shouting, cursing, looking to those at their sides for instruction. The thunder of oncoming hooves and magic rumbled over it all, drowning out individual sounds.

The men directly near her, at least, did raise their spears. She desperately wove runes, working alongside Fenay. They cast nearly the same spell, several lines of symbols that were variations on the same thing: protect the people in front of them.

The obvious struck her with only seconds remaining. Chaki wove another line into her spell. It would cost more essence, but she prayed to Shakhan that it would work better. Repel lightning.

It looked like whoever was at the center had ordered a counter-charge downhill. A wave of their warriors surged forward. It wasn't long before they met the tip of the wedge.

The impact was crushing. Opposing horses, muscled animals weighing dozens of stones, slammed into one another at full speed. The riders were thrown about like twigs. Spears and lances bent, twisted, and splintered. Flesh ripped and pulverized.

The magic sparked, crashed, flashed. Blue light flickered over the front of the wedge, chewing its way across the grass like the maw of a great blue monster. It was erratic, but where it struck, warriors were sent flying backward, their skin cracked and blackened like meat cooked over a fire too long. Chaki saw a man's arm simply explode on contact with the lightning, his spear vaporized, his body trampled a heartbeat later.

Fenay was screaming at her. It was like the distant chirps of a bird under the roar of noise from the colliding armies.

Chaki turned her head to the side. Her hair seemed to whip around her, slowly. Everything was slow. Fenay pointed her finger.

Essence. She hadn't pushed magic into her spell yet. Chaki threw her power into it as the wedge struck their portion of the line.

Fenay and Chaki's efforts produced a purple-tinged glow over their warriors, radiating from their skin like a fog. The lightning snapped against it, then bounced away like rubber, deserting the horsemen. Chaki immediately felt a huge drain on her reserves; the effort had cost her. Her blue essence bar dropped to less than a quarter of its full capacity.




Dream Drive Ch. 10



Author's Note:

Sorry about the extended wait on this one! Life keeps me busy.

Edited by Expoh, AnnabelleFalls13, Michael Scott, Zald, and I.C.





Dream Drive Ch. 10



"Elder, have you seen my father?!"

"He took a spear in the shoulder," Jalak said. He ran by Vuntha, throwing the rest of the words over his shoulder. "Fenay is treating him behind the lines. Courage!"

Vuntha's spinning innards settled themselves. He heaved a sigh, then turned to fill a space in the line. Movement caught his eyes – in the distance, horsemen were fighting, away from the main battle. Their own cavalry had drawn away that of the iron men, fighting their own private duel out on the flats.

Purple light glowed in the midst of the iron men. First one, and then another, lighting up like violet fires in the early dawn. Energy began to crackle.

"Magic!" Vuntha screamed over the warriors. "That's the lightning! Magic!"

A beam of lightning sparked out from the first point with a crack that echoed across the hill. Just as it was about to strike their lines, a white-lined shield of runes blossomed in front of the men it targeted. The lightning impacted the shield with a solid whumph, like a fist striking canvas. It vanished without harm.

All along the line, shields sprung up in response to the lightning strikes. The destructive attacks were met with shields each time, the apprentices casting just long enough to catch the power, then dissipating the spell to save their magic. Vuntha couldn't read the runes, but he recognized the pattern – it was the same as Chaki's spell, the one that had blocked the lightning-coated charge of horsemen. The warriors and the iron men both stared at the spectacle in silence, watching as their sages struggled with magic as they had struggled with force of arms.

The bolts of lightning ceased. Vuntha saw more than one tense pair of shoulders sag in relief. He understood how they felt quite keenly.

Purple lights. Everyone braced themselves.

The lightning didn't come immediately. Before, the glow had been flickering, unsteady, discharging into a bolt when it reached the highest point of brightness. This time, the lights were uniform, slowly growing in intensity.

It was obvious they were going to combine their efforts. That was what they'd done before, with the charge – but that was just two magicians. This was five. He couldn't imagine what they'd be facing next.

A sixth light glowed behind the lines of the iron men, brighter than all the rest. It was like a white flame, just a haze of purple surrounding its edges. It grew above the magician's outstretched hand. The sleeve of his cloak fell back to reveal a black object sitting on his palm, some sort of fuel for the fire.

Purple lightning cracked again, simultaneously, leaping from each of the first five magicians to the one at the center. They merged into the purple flare, sucked into the magician's hand.

A sound echoed over the field – a voice. Vuntha felt it vibrate in his head. It was a whisper and a scream, wordless, sad, terrible. A slow death on a rainy day. His heart felt heavy in his chest.

A strange observation floated through Vuntha's brain, a little fact that picked at him inside his brain. All the iron men had lowered their heads. Their eyes were shut tight. Some had even turned away.

Why would they do that?

The lightning came.

It soared out from the central flame and exploded in the center of their lines. Vuntha was at least forty men away, but he was still flung down by the force. He buried his head between his arms, ignoring the feeling of mud squelching into his head. The ground shook underneath him.

When the roar ceased, he looked up, still lying prone on the ground. He felt heat on his face. A blackened crater marked where before there had been men almost four or five thick. Bodies were scattered around it, some in pieces, others more whole, but all equally dead.

Ash began to patter down on him. And heavier things. One of them struck his neck and plopped into the mud next to him. It was a finger, the flesh charred from the bone at one end.

Vuntha scrambled up, as much to get away from the piece of flesh as get his feet before he was attacked. His innards felt like slush; he fell back onto one knee. His vision swirled. Men around him were in a similar state, disoriented, looking for instruction.

Why hadn't the apprentices protected them? No. They probably tried. They just didn't have near enough power.

White-violet flame around the box was still pulsing. Again, the other five magicians began to charge their own powers. There was a crack, and lightning leapt, charging the man holding the center of the spell.

This time, Vuntha saw the magic in all its fury. They targeted one end of the line. Weak shields went up from the apprentices. The massive helix of lightning tore through them as if they weren't there. A purple sphere of light and energy detonated at the impact point. Warriors in the center were turned to ash. Those further back were ripped to pieces, still others flung bodily into the air.

Men started running in from around Vuntha, both trying to close the gap and save those that could be saved. Vuntha just stared. This is too much. We can't win without the spirit guides. Magic is too strong.

"Vuntha! Vuntha!" Vuntha looked up. His father was limping toward him, coming down from the top of the hill. He sported a heavy bandage over his shoulder. "What in Shakhan's name is happening?!"

Vuntha opened his mouth to shout back, but the events explained themselves. Lightning flickered to the center point and another bolt fired, opening a third hole in the lines. The sound of it boomed over them first, and then the heat washed over them a few moments later. A hundred men, dead in an instant. A hundred more trying to stop their ears ringing.

"This is impossible!" Hanta said. "No one has this much power!"

"They have it!" Vuntha shouted. "What do we do?!"

Haanak ran up to them from a distance. "Hanta!"

Hanta and Vuntha made for him, meeting him halfway. "Haanak."

"Jalak is dead. Died in the second blast," Haanak said. "They're ripping us apart with these –"

He was interrupted by another lightning strike. They cringed as one at the impact. The rumble lingered in the air, rolling up against the clouds and sticking in their ears and chests.

And then the bolts began to fall. The crossbowmen struck in organized waves, targeting the areas that had been struck by lightning. Stragglers were picked off even as they crawled away. Their own bowmen returned fire, but it was a scattered effort, ineffectual. The magicians were shielded by their troops.

"One-Above," Vuntha said. "They're really here to kill us. Every last one of us."

"We have to retreat," Haanak said. "They're going to keep this up until we're in shreds and tear into us with their footmen!"

"We can't retreat," Hanta said.

"We don't have a choice!"

"Father, we have to get out of range," Vuntha said. "Magic is strong, but it isn't as accurate as a bow. If we get far away –"

"Your mother and our family are in the only place we could retreat to!" Hanta snapped. "We have to hold until the elders return!"

"Hanta, listen to reason!" Haanak shouted. "Even all the elders together might not manage one of those –"

Another lightning strike, closer this time. The ripple of force made them stumble. Haanak almost fell, but Vuntha caught him and pulled him straight.

Haanak gave him a nod of thanks, then faced Hanta. "We're sacrificing warriors for no reason by holding here. This isn't our way of war; we're not used to this kind of fighting. They'll steal our advantage of numbers in a matter of minutes. I don't know where they're getting the magic, but they're getting it."

Hanta's eyes darted across the line. He glanced over his shoulder at the mountain, at the tents. He looked back. His face was clenched tight.

"Father, we have to go!" Vuntha said.

"If we run now we'll die on the plains, Vuntha!" Hanta shouted. "If we retreat behind the mountain with the others, we give up our tents, our food, our entire lives. If we drop back into the valley to protect the tents then we'll be crushed against the mountainside!"

Another crashing of lightning and sound pounded the hillside. Vuntha could hear the screams in the distance. Clods of dirt and soot shot up into the sky, falling back down over them in a cursed black rain. The cold winds pushed the smoke and dust, churning it into a drifting cloud that obscured the front lines.


"We're already behind crushed." Haanak said. "Live now, find a way tomorrow."

Hanta's lips tightened in the fiercest frown Vuntha had ever seen him make. "A choice between death while fighting and a slow death from exposure is no choice at all," Hanta said. "We are the People-Under-The-Mountain. If we abandon this fight, if we retreat from our sacred ground, then what was the point of all the lives of our ancestors?! They fought and scraped life from the flats so that we could have a chance when the angels return! So that we could live in this half-world and have our day! And you're telling me to abandon that?! I'll die a thousand times before I see a metal boot fall in the shadow of the mountain!"

Hanta had already turned half-towards the line, as if preparing to run back into the fray. Vuntha grabbed his arm, stopping him. "Father, we only have one life," he said. "But we both know someone that defies death. We need Jackson. We can't win this fight on our own! This is why Shakhan sent him!"

Hanta hesitated. He gazed over the drifting clouds of debris, over the line of warriors that had fallen into disarray. He stared at the impassive faces of the iron men, still and firm under their steel helmets. He looked back over his shoulder, down the other side of the hill, toward the city of tents that held everything they had.

Hanta's eyes widened.

Vuntha started to follow his gaze when something rushed by them, a stream of gold and white tassels drawn on the wind.

It struck the lines of the iron men – a glowing white thing shaped like a person. There was no explosion, no great sound. The iron men were brushed into the air like leaves on the wind. They fell back on their own allies like sacks of metal.

Their lines were tough, but thin. The blow drove a hole straight to the magician in the center.

The white figure moved. It flickered like torchlight, almost faster than Vuntha could follow. He saw a sword cutting through the air, slicing through runes that suddenly appeared, hacking off the magician's leg.

The man's scream cut through the silence. He toppled from his horse and struck the ground. The black thing in his hand tumbled free.

The lightning that had been gathering for another strike fired again - but without his control, it struck the exposed backs of his own men. Their armor did not save them. A second hole in their lines was opened in a blast of violet energy and smoke.

Hanta raised his spear and ran forward. "CHARGE!! CHARGE!!"

Men came at his call. Vuntha ran at his side. They ran through the hole, toward the white figure, even as the light surrounding her faded. And then Vuntha could see her – long gold hair to her waist, a sword like white light in her hand. She circled the magician's horse, snatched up the black thing, and stabbed into the man's neck, finishing him.

And then they struck the line of the recovering iron men, fighting to keep the gap open. All along the entire line, the quiet separation between the armies snapped like a twig. Flesh and steel slammed together, and Vuntha was lost in the press of battle, swept out of sight of the woman.





Dream Drive Ch. 10



"Rach-El! Rach-El!" Hands reached under Rachel's shoulders and dragged her up. The Indian chick's brown eyes thrust themselves at Rachel's face, darting over her features. "Are you alright? Can you stand?"

"Gonna say yes to alright." Rachel tried her feet. Her ankles caved in like wet paper mache. She couldn't get any strength into them. "No to stand."

"Okay, hang on!" The girl pulled one of Rachel's arms around her shoulders and started walking her forward.

The battle around them had devolved into a melee. There were no lines, no organization; just people fighting people. They walked through the center of it, trudging through the mud and the screams.

"If you heal me, I'll be able to walk," Rachel said. "My health is too low!"

"Health? Oh, your health bar!" The girl turned and put a hand out, drawing runes in the air. White lines followed her fingers, then flashed. Rachel's health was restored 20 points. "That's all my essence. Let's get back to–"

Rachel shoved her to the ground because a spear was thrust at her neck. They collapsed together. The girl shouted and struggled under her, not understanding the situation. Rachel leapt up just as another spear came in, trying to skewer them both. She escaped without harm, but the spear stabbed through the girl's leg, pinning her to the ground like a stuck moth.

Rachel instinctively reached for her sword, but her hand grasped air. She'd forgotten about losing it.

Instead, she threw herself at the soldier holding the spear, driving into him with an elbow just below his chest plate. He grunted under the blow, but held his ground. Rachel's arm throbbed where it ground into his chainmail.

Despite the recent boost to her strength, he probably outweighed her three to one. They struggled for leverage, each trying to topple the other's balance. Rachel wrapped her hands around his waist and dug her feet into the mud. He beat at her back, pulled her hair, smacked at the back of her head.

There was a thump. The man stopped struggling. Rachel glanced up; an arrow was jutting through his cheek and out through his head. She pushed on his chest; he toppled over like a felled tree. She glanced back to see the girl on one knee, bow in her hands.

A white wisp rose from the soldier's corpse. It drifted slowly toward the girl, then was sucked into her body when it got close. Essence. Rachel's eyes went flicked to the girl's left hand and noted the pentagram scar. Unlike Rachel's which was twisted and curled, hers was a neat imprint, more like a henna tattoo than a marking.

"Thanks Chiki," Rachel said. "Fucker almost got my hair."

"Chaki," she corrected. "We have to regroup with the others before the lines form up again and trap us."

"I've got some essence left," Rachel said, "but almost all my skills need a sword."

"Then we run faster," Chaki said. "I'll shoot anyone that comes at us. You can pick a blade on the way."

Rachel turned toward the thick of the killing field. It was true – dead bodies and ownerless weapons were all over the place. There had to be a sword stuck in the mud somewhere. Always with the fucking mud. I guess beggars can't be choosers.

"Alright," Rachel said. "Let's do this shit!"

Chaki stared at her. "This...shit?"

Rachel made a fist and pumped it into the air. "Yeah. For when you're ready to take them on."

"Them?"

"You know – them. The man. Authority. A challenge. Shit headed your way." Chaki still looked baffled. Rachel huffed and rolled her eyes. "It's an expression, okay?"

"Oh." Chaki's eyes lit up in understanding. "Jackson uses a lot of those."

"The dissertation can wait," Rachel said. "Less talking, more walking."

"Fair enough."

"You won't be going anywhere."

Rachel felt her bones freeze over. The voice was cold, precise, and horribly familiar. She turned her head towards its source.

Lord Hale approached them on horseback, surrounded by his elite guard. A second mage rode next to him – the one that had been taking Rachel back, until Chaki came to the rescue. Dicks. Double-dicks.

"Chaki," Rachel muttered. "That's collar man. Got any essence from that dude you owned?"

"Enough for one attack," Chaki whispered. "You?"

"I can do a few skills. No sword, but at least it'll be something. Make a distraction." Chaki bobbed a small nod.

"Rachel," Hale said. "It's good to see you again. I hear you collected one of my matrices for me."

"Yeah," Rachel said. "Did your man tell you I plan on pushing your shit in with it?"

"Conversations are always so colorful with you around," Hale said. "An instant of freedom and you're back to your bad habits. We'll be doing some corrective exercises later."

A strange phantom of pain passed through Rachel's chest. She swallowed.

Hale's gaze fell on Chaki. "Drop your bow, and I might spare you."

Chaki's hands moved faster than Rachel would have thought possible. She fired her bow an instant later. The projectile shot through the air.

The magician next to Hale had raised his hand. Blue runes glowed in front of them. The arrow clinked off its surface and fell into the mud.

Hale raised his finger; runes blossomed in front of him. A bolt of purple lightning shot out as Chaki fired a second arrow. The two attacks passed one another mid-flight. Chaki's arrow struck the shield again and fell down, useless. Hale's lightning smashed Chaki in the chest. She was blasted off her feet and back into the air.

Rachel flinched, and then she realized she was supposed to be moving. She dug her boots down and burst into a sprint, reaching for her essence. She didn't have her sword, but damn if she wasn't going to punch him in the face.

"Ren, restrain her."

The mage next to Hale was already casting. Rachel was ducking between the horses when the spell caught her. White ropes of energy wrapped around Rachel's legs. She tripped forward and face-planted into the mud. Her arms were dragged behind her back and tied together by another strand of energy.

Rachel lifted her head and spat the crud out between her lips. She strained against the bindings, growling out between clenched teeth. One of the white bindings on her hands snapped; the energy made a popping sound as it released. It stung her hands; the horses near her stepped back, frightened by the sound.

She used her freed hand to pull on the binds at her legs, but a fresh wrap snagged her wrist. Lying on the ground as she was, she couldn't dodge; her hands got wrapped up again just as quick as before. And then another rope was added, and then a third, holding her arms tight enough to be painful.

She was not going to be collared again. She was not going to be this freak's possession. And so she started crawling forward, pulling her body across the ground like a worm, defying her tied up arms and legs.

She didn't get very far. The men around her laughed at her, chuckled. They didn't even have to move their horses.

"Did we really have to do this the hard way?" Hale said.

Rachel screamed. No words, no swears, just pure frustration, pushing past her lips and through the mud. She'd been doing so well. And then, poof. Fuck magic.

"That was rather unbecoming."

Rachel was hefted into the air. She was turned to face the sky. Hale's face stared down at her. She stared up at him, his preened hair, his neat features, everything impeccable and in place as if he'd planned the singular moment down to the style of his shave. He dug his hand into her pocket and drew out the ink-black box. "Thank you for returning the matrix. I do appreciate it."

Rachel cleared her throat and hocked a loogie at his face. The ball of spit-snot splattered onto his chin with a satisfying smack. Hale's face twisted back in disgust.

"Listen up you little shit," Rachel said. "Jackson is coming, and he's way stronger than me. If Jackson doesn't get you, my brother will. My brother will fuck your shit up. He will fuck your asshole raw! Do you fucking hear me!?" She shook in her bonds. "I'll watch him make you sweat like a whore in church! I'll fucking –"

Hale backhanded her across the face. She recoiled from the strike. Hale sighed and shook his head. "Rachel, Rachel. Won't you ever learn?" He put his lips next to her ear. "I forgive you," he whispered. "It's my fault, really. I was soft. When we restart your education, I'll take it more seriously. You have my word."

Rachel started screaming, shifting. She whipped her torso and kicked legs. More guards moved in and clamped down on her renewed efforts. Someone stuffed a cloth in her mouth; her screams turned into muffled groans.

Hale looked over his shoulder. "Give me a collar."

Something snagged Rachel's senses. She blinked. Hale looked up, frowning at the sky.

It was magic. Even though she couldn't see it, she could feel it - like not being able to see lightning, but still feel the rumble in your chest.

"My lord, that was a powerful spell," Ren said.

"Can you sense its alignment?" Hale asked. "Where was it located?"

"Near the mountain," Ren said. "It's coming this way. Quickly."

"What type of magic?" Ren sat on his horse, his eyes closed, a hand on his forehead. He didn't answer. Hale faced him fully. "What element, Ren?"

"I can't tell," Ren said. "I can't sense an alignment."

"Don't release her binds," Hale said. "I'll handle the defense."

"Look," one of the men said. "In the clouds!"

He pointed up into the sky, so Rachel was able to see his finger. She squinted. It was hard to make out, but there were angular white lines high above them, cutting against the grain of the cloud layers.

The streaks stopped, then seemed to shrink into dots. They held in place for a moment, white specks against a grey sky. The specks started to grow larger. Then larger still. She cocked her head, frowning. Why would that happen?

Rachel inhaled sharply as she realized. They're coming straight at us.

"Release her binds, shields up!" Hale shouted. "Now!"





Dream Drive Ch. 10



Essence
Life Force

Jackson didn't have a target. He didn't even know if it was going to work at this range. He didn't even appreciate what he was messing with - this thing was ancient technology that could use his soul for fuel. He tried to focus on where the enemy spell originated. Worst case scenario, the shot was a dud and the spirit guides would patch him up fast.

Jackson took a long breath and braced himself. "Life force."

The claw dug in and clicked, as if latching onto his bone. His 143 life dropped down to 5 in an instant; the strength was sucked from his body.

A beam of pale grey light lanced from the end of the gun. Jackson's torso was bent back by the force. The spirit guides around him flinched, shielding themselves with their arms. An echo of magic power shot out over the fields like ten spells cast all at once.

The white light bent upward, then whistled up into the clouds that covered the sky. It bent again, then rocketed forward, rapidly eating up the distance to the two armies. It split into two beams, then four, each half as wide but traveling even faster than the initial shot.

Jackson collapsed to the ground. The gun fell from his hands. He clutched at his stomach. He felt like retching. The vague indicator of some status effect blinked under his health bar, which itself was pulsing red with a warning tone.

"Shaka," he grunted. "A little help!"

She knelt near him and drew runes. She barely used her hands to draw; the runes appeared as her eyes moved across his body, as fast as he'd ever seen her make them. They flashed as one, and his health bar began to refill.

Shaka's face was worried. The expression didn't suit her. "Your spirit is weak. Even Shakhan's blessing couldn't shield you."

"Yeah," Jackson said. "Figured it –" He held his breath for a moment, fighting the feeling of his stomach turning over. "I feel like shit."

"Keep your crassness to yourself," she snapped.

If he hadn't been spending so much effort sitting on his nausea, Jackson would have laughed – even in this situation, she couldn't resist slapping him on the wrist. He grunted an affirmation instead. "Yeah. Sorry."

"It would have killed any of us to use that weapon," Shaka said. "What did you do?"

Movement from the other spirit guides drew Shaka's attention. Jackson propped himself up just in time to see the results of his work. The beams of light plummeted into the dark grey lines of the iron men. He couldn't make out the carnage at this distance, but he could see the holes his power made in their lines as it darted and blasted between them, ricocheting every which way. Dozens and dozens of black figures toppled over before the light dissipated. The tribesmen seized the moment, surrounding isolated pockets of soldiers and crushing them. Even though they were too far to be heard, the spirit guides shouted out cheers and encouragement.

A few more people joined in healing Jackson. His health bar rapidly refilled, but the status effect box lingered under his health bar. He poked at it with a finger.

The box expanded, giving him a clearer view of the picture inside. It was small grey wisp with a red dagger stuck into it. A label below the picture described it in detail.

Debuff: Soul Damage
Use of magical means or methods beyond your capabilities has torn at your soul, rendering you weakened. You will remain in this state until healed or your soul repairs itself.
Time Remaining: 9:17

"Shit," Jackson said. His health peaked at its maximum of 248 points, but the debuff wouldn't vanish. "Shaka, stop. That's not doing any good."

Shaka let the runes vanish. "There's more to heal," she said. "You took on too great a burden. I can sense the damage, but I'll need time to construct the runes. That kind of healing must be precise."

The guide that helped Shaka tapped at her arm and pointed to the battle. "Look!"

Jacked struggled to see as the spirit guides clustered in front of him, exchanging worried looks. Shaka offered her hand. He leaned on her heavily; he could barely shift his feet forward. His stomach protested at the motion.

The iron men had withdrawn back down the hill. At a glance, it looked like the center of their lines had collapsed; the mages led the retreat from horseback. The warriors were pushing through, chasing them down.

But then Jackson saw the edge of lines swing inward. It wasn't a rout, it was bait. He only now noticed what was at the tip of their formation – square formations of troops with long pole weapons, clad in black steel. As the soldiers fell back, the tribesmen took up the center space, which left them in a disorganized mob between the two groups of elites.

It was a risky strategy. Jackson's sense of tactics only came from strategy games he'd played, but it didn't take a genius to understand that splitting your army could be dangerous. Elites or not, surrounding an enemy army didn't work as well when you had half their numbers.

He was confident the tribal warriors would be able to hold their ground for a moment. They could regroup, then crush one half of the army before turning back to crush the other half. The mages were probably just using it as a distraction to ensure their escape. The whole army would be moving away soon enough.

A few moments passed; the mages stopped a distance away, then reorganized their foot soldiers as the tribes paused to face their new attackers. Jackson waited for the warriors to pick a side and crush one of the squares of troops.

It didn't happen. Rather than be pressed back by overwhelming numbers, they kept moving forward, hacking through the tribesmen with almost no resistance. Where their blades passed, dead bodies accumulated.

Lights flashed along the new battlefronts. Jackson recognized the white sparks of abilities. One of them might have been an arrow from Chaki. Maybe the other apprentices were casting spells.

It wasn't enough. The warriors bunched away from the black formation of elites, surrounding their own archers. Any ground they gave was swiftly taken by the halberdiers. The vicious assault had won time for the rest of the iron men to regroup, and now they were moving back in to attack the tribes on a third front, led from behind by the mages on their mounts.

"Those blade-axes," Shaka said. "They're sharp enough to slice through wood and bone. We have to empower our warriors so they can fight back."

"At this rate, they're going to lose."

"We won't make it in time!"

"You will," Jackson said. He tapped Shaka's shoulder, getting her to let him free, then hobbled back to the energy cannon. He lifted it up and knelt, planting himself firmly. "This'll slow them down. You guys start running."

"Jackson," Shaka said, "you can't use the weapon again. You'll worsen the damage. Let me use it –"

"I don't think so," Jackson said. "You just said I'm the only one that could survive the backlash."

"Then you have to wait until I can heal you. I'll start drawing the spell."

Jackson glanced at the timer. It was down to 7 minutes and change. That was 7 minutes too long. "How long will it take you to draw the spell?"

Shaka furrowed her brow. "Some time, at least."

"That's too long. You lead them down and help the tribes. This shot won't kill enough of them to decide the battle."

"Jackson –"

"Goddammit, Shaka," Jackson said, "Chaki is down there!"

The spirit guides stared at him. Shaka's expression was briefly shocked, and then it firmed into her usual stubborn scowl. She opened her mouth with a look that told him he was about to get a lecture.

"Shaka, I always listen to you," Jackson said, cutting her off. "I think I respect you more than anyone I've ever respected. Please hear me out. I'm not trying to kill myself."

Shaka hesitated. After a moment, she closed her mouth and folded her arms with an expectant look.

"Our guys are going to break under that attack," Jackson said. "Even if we start running now, they'll be slaughtered before we get there. If I fire now, that will give the tribes a chance to fall back and get a better position. You can meet them halfway, then support them with magic to even things out. I'll catch up after."

"I'm going to stay and heal you." Jackson started to speak again, but Shaka stopped him with a finger, jabbing it into his face. "This is not negotiable, Jackson Vedalt." She turned to the others. "The rest of you, get going. Now!"

One spirit guide turned and started running. The rest followed. Jackson nodded to himself, then set the gun against his chest. 

Shaka moved a short distance away. "You had better know what you're doing, Jackson."

No clue, actually. "It's under control," he said. Jackson mentally opened up the cannon's information screen, scanning it for anything he might have missed.

Energy Conversion Cannon
An ancient device discovered by Jackson in long-abandoned ruins. It can convert life force or essence into a powerful blast of energy that ricochets between foes; weaker enemies may be destroyed outright. The more energy it can access, the more powerful the effect, but the backlash leaves the user severely weakened. Repeated use is not recommended.
- Rune Slots - None
- Durability - Extreme

He wanted to wait until his debuff was gone, but he didn't have the time. Another five minutes of warfare was five minutes his tribe didn't have. He pushed the butt of the gun into his shoulder; the claw sunk into his skin. He barely felt it above the nausea.

As Jackson eyed the panel that flashed up, a realization struck him. That was the first time he'd really thought of it as his tribe. 

He probably should be more worried about the consequences of what he was about to do. Pushing his soul harder when it was still recovering was extremely dangerous. He didn't have any idea what would happen. Even the item's description warned him not to do it, and Isis didn't hand out information like that often.

Jackson was concerned, but he didn't feel any hesitation. He had stared the abyss in the eye and come back in more or less one piece. This was peanuts by comparison.

This was the action that would guarantee the most damage to the army that was killing the People-Under-The-Mountain. It was most likely to save Chaki's life. It was the best possible move.

With that confidence underwriting his voice, he spoke the words aloud. "Life force."

Jackson's health bar plummeted from 248 to 5. A massive beam of grey light erupted from the gun. The shockwave ripped the weapon out of his hands; it smacked his neck and spun away through the air. Jackson was blown backward and sent into a tumble down the hill.

His brain felt muddled. He could barely feel his limbs. It felt like he was rolling down in slow motion. His head snapped back against the ground. He flipped over. His face was dragged across the grass. Flipped over. Not much pain.

His vision went grey. It took him a few moments to recognize he was looking at the sky. His health bar was completely empty. The fall must have knocked the last bit of health from him.

Shaka was there. She was saying something. At least, Jackson thought she was. He saw her lips moving, but he couldn't hear her. Bright runes appeared around him as she began to sculpt a spell.

The status symbol under his health bar changed. He couldn't lift a finger to get a description. He tried to focus on it, mentally order it to expand – and at his command, it did.

The picture came into sight. It showed the grey wispy soul again. It was ripped into two pieces, the red dagger having been driven between them.

Debuff: Soul Tear
Repeated damage has torn open your soul. You are extremely weakened. Unless healed by powerful magic, you will lose health rapidly until you die.

There was no timer.

Shaka's magic went to work on him, but Jackson could tell it wasn't enough. His health bar started filling – and then it skipped down by ten or twenty points. Shaka kept pouring herself into the runes, and his health kept rushing back, but it always ticked back down.

Sweat was dripping from Shaka's forehead. She was breathing hard. Jackson tried to move again, but there was nothing there. It was as if whatever was linking his brain to his body had been cut.

Whatever was linking it? Heh. He knew that. He studied it. It was his life, before Isis, before Charles. Decisions made in the cerebral cortex and prefrontal lobe were passed to the motor cortex regions, then to efferent spinal neurons, ganglia, more neurons, neuromuscular junction, muscle movement. It was what they copied to make prosthetic limbs. The whole science was based in mimicry of what was already there in the body.

Shaka collapsed next to him, sweating and shaking from her exertion. His health bar had actually been refilled quite a bit, back above two hundred. She'd fought very hard for him. He watched it tick back down.

213.

193.

173.

Jackson wished he could see Chaki again. He could feel her still, her bond, burning bright. He couldn't reach for it like he did before. That part of him was gone, too.

It occurred to Jackson, then, that he'd been cheated at the end. He'd never gotten the essence for making all those kills with his energy cannon. Maybe he was too far away. He'd never tested if distance mattered with essence after making a kill. All his other kills were close combat.

113.

93.

Motion next to him. Shaka was up on an elbow. Her face was clenched in effort. She raised her hand, and more runes appeared.

His health popped up back up to 166, and then she collapsed. He hoped she hadn't hurt herself. He was a lost cause.

But he'd made his own decision. There was some solace in that.

146.

126.

Lucifer was right, in a way. For all the criticism he leveled at everyone around him, at the world, at the injustice in the system, what had he done to change things? Nothing much. He just whined about it and called everyone else stupid.

106.

86.

Maybe that's why he felt calm. He'd finally stood up and done something.

Fucking Isis. Fucking Emil Mohammed. I believed you. I thought you got it, got me. I guess I was the stupid one.

66.

46.

26.

6.

Jackson's bar hit zero. Pain shot through him, a claw that reached into his stomach and started digging around as his insides.

His essence bar started draining. The measly 56 points blew away in the wind. In a few seconds, he was in the single digits.

I guess that's the end, then. Good luck, Chaki. Rachel.

White light crept up on the edges of Jackson's vision. It danced around like snow, drowning out Shaka and the grey clouds above. Looks like the storm is going to be pretty bad after all.





Dream Drive Ch. 10



"What?!" Chaki shouted.

Rachel plastered a bland smile on her face and raised her weapon. "Those fucking soldiers! We're gonna kill them!"

The warriors around her rattled their spears and echoed her cry.
"Kill the iron men!"
"Protect the mountain!"
"For Shakhan!"

Chaki pumped her fist. "Those fucking soldiers!" She glanced at Rachel. "Did I say it right? That sounded like Jackson's tongue."

"We'll work on it," Rachel said. She glanced at Chaki's hand, noting the inverted pentagram marked on her skin. If it wasn't for that, Hale's spell would have vaporized her. "I thought you were a beta tester."

"Beta...?"

"The game! Isis!" Rachel pointed at the mark. "You've got a star thingy? Hello?"

"Shakhan's symbol? Jackson gave it to me."

Rachel nodded to herself for a moment, as if that was the expected answer, and then it hit her. Her eyes bulged. "Wait, what?! How the fuck did he do that?!"

"Watch yourself!" Chaki shouted. Rachel faced front to see that they were about to come into contact with the enemy.

Her surprise of a moment ago twisted into a half-panic and amplified.

Hale's halberdiers were sweeping forward in a wave of black steel. Where their hooked blades passed, men died.

Warriors lost hands, arms, heads. Those that tried to block with their weapons were gutted. There was so much blood that the ground looked more red than brown. The elites stepped over the corpses without slowing, a spiked wall of death.

There were small victories. A few warriors would gang up on one man, managing to get their spears through the articulated plate armor, but then they'd all be cut down together in one attack. It was as if the halberds met no resistance at all when they contacted a person. They moved as easily through bone as they did through air.

A moment later, Rachel was at the front, a chaotic, screaming, gnashing, bloody front. A halberd stabbed toward her.

Rachel ducked left, stepping around the thrust. It might be sharp, but it was a giant knife on a big stick. It took time to swing. She dashed in and activated her Power Thrust.

Her sword flashed white. The tip struck the man's plate armor right on the heart.

There was a heavy thud, and Rachel's sword rebounded. She stumbled backward to keep her balance. The man winced back, clutching his chest. Rachel could see where her blow had pushed his armor in, crushing it against his skin, but he was far from dead.

Another halberd came in low from the side. Rachel jumped it. The man brought his weapon up high, then sliced down in a straight line. Rachel stepped to the side and went in for the kill.

She couldn't risk half-measures. She activated Flicker Sticker. Her sword arm blurred. She felt the tip of her blade strike the armor once, twice, then plunge through the man's gut. She kicked him off the blade and stepped back, away from the oncoming soldiers. They stormed over their fallen comrade without care.

Rachel's eyes flicked to her essence bar as the white wisp drifted into her body. It ticked up by 27 points, leaving her with 64. Flicker Sticker cost her 35 apiece. If she had to use it for every soldier, she'd run out of essence really fast. Their armor was too thick.

A white arrow flew by Rachel's head. It slammed into an oncoming soldier, plunging into the gap in his faceguard. Rachel shouted over her shoulder. "That was fucking brutal, Chaki!"

"You can't get through their armor!" Chaki said. "Go for the weak points!"

Rachel settled herself next to some friendly warriors. Now that they had really turned to face their enemy, the crush had slowed down somewhat. She tried to think. She didn't really have any abilities that could target weak points. Maybe she could make one?

The lines closed together. Rachel peered at them as they moved, looking at the places where the pieces of their armor hooked together. She'd never get her sword through the guy's helmet. Their shoulders were covered over with thick round plates, protecting their armpits. She looked at their legs.

There!

The kneecap itself had a round plate, but the back and sides of only had a leather strap, probably so they could move easily. They were soldiers designed as shock troops for smashing through an enemy, not for protracted battle. If she struck their knees hard enough from the side, she could hobble them, and then they'd be easy pickings.

Maybe she could even crush in the front – that piece of armor didn't have any supporting bits nearby. There was nowhere else for the force to go. If she hit hard enough, she should do damage.

All she had to do was get inside their giant razor-sharp weapons of doom.

One of the soldiers thrust with his halberd. The warriors to Rachel's left moved to get clear. Rachel ducked the other way.

One of the other soldiers swung his weapon over, trying to strike Rachel as she closed the distance. She knocked the shaft away with her sword, then swung the tip toward the other man's knee, activating her Power Thrust. Her weapon flared and was pulled forward on rails, straight for the soldier's knee.

An ugly crack snapped over them. The man screamed and buckled to the ground. Rachel kicked him away. The other soldier was bringing his weapon around, lifting it high – and revealing the exposed skin under his heavy shoulder plate.

Rachel exploded off her feet at top speed and activated another Power Thrust. Her move caught the soldier off-guard. Her blade sank into his chest from the side; his weapon fell from his hands, and she pushed him away.

A panel popped up in front of her.

Incisive
Passive: Increased chance of armor penetration with all active abilities. Chance increases per level.
Active: A carefully aimed thrust. Power multiplies if used at an enemy's weak point.
- Essence Cost: 15
- Level: 1
- Progress: 25.6%

Rachel barely had time to look it over before she ducked back behind another thrust. Another weapon came at her, then another. They were focusing on her, keeping her on the defensive. She whipped her torso around to dodge the strikes.

Rachel almost tripped backwards. She waved her arms and tried to keep her feet. A halberd nicked her in the side, slicing off a few points of health.

As she regained her balance, she saw that she'd almost fallen over a torso. It was the armless remains of the warrior she'd been fighting alongside.

Her temporary success had isolated her from her allies. Everyone else was falling back. Another flash of light – an arrow from Chaki, buying her time. She skipped backward to get clear before she was surrounded. 

Rachel realized why she'd been left behind. They'd been struck from the front again by the normal soldiers, reorganized and pushed into another attack. They were able to fight back against those shock troops well enough, but they couldn't do that and pivot to hold off the elites at the same time.

Rachel planted her feet. They were pushed on the front and getting ground up on the sides. She had to protect this flank or they were completely screwed.

Arrows flicked past her head. A few elites went down, but their heavy armor insulated them from that kind of attack. She wouldn't be able to rely on archers to bail her out.

Warriors stepped up to either side of Rachel. They looked grim. Air misted out of their mouths and into the cold. The snow was getting thicker.

The one next to her was young, stocky, short – still taller than her, though. He looked like he'd been through hell. Blood was smeared on his wrists, ankles; more matted down his hair. His rawhide vest was splattered with things Rachel didn't want to look at too closely.

He looked back at her. "You fight well."

"I hope you do, too," Rachel said. "The last guys that stood next to me got cut into little pieces." The young man stared at her. The other warriors set their jaws a bit firmer. "Just saying, if you want to back out. You guys don't have one of these." She waved the hand with the pentagram.

The boy thumped his chest, over his heart. "This will have to do." His eyes firmed up. "We show them our hearts. Our spirit! We won't be broken!"

The warriors growled in affirmation. A few sent up war cries – some howling, others shouting. More started up a chant. It all formed a boiling chorus of noise that filled the air around Rachel. She felt caught up in it.

The elites were closing in. There was no more ground to give. They had to hold the flank.

Rachel and her allies started running toward the enemy line. Her shout was lost inside the rolling thunder of war cries, but she shouted anyway. "Let's do this shit!"

Just as they were about to clash, white beams poured from the sky.

The lines halted. Everyone scrambled for cover. The snow had turned the mud into an icy sludge; warriors fell to the ground, sliding, tripping. Elites jostled, their armor clanking as the front came to a halt.

Rachel ran forward.

Earlier, the beams of light had only killed Hale's troops. She'd watched it – it tried to kill Hale, and failing that, went after the soldiers. It never touched the tribesmen. It bent around Chaki to avoid her.

And after the kills, essence had left their bodies. That meant a player was responsible – and that meant Jackson.

It had felt like twenty years had passed since his first salvo. Being in the battle was like being in a little bubble of time. In the back of her mind, some part of her knew it had only been a minute or two, but time just didn't work the same way when you were clinging to life and trying to bash the other guy's head in.

As she prepared to use her abilities, she had the idle thought that she should be far more disturbed by how easily she was killing people than she was.

The beams of light blasted into the elites just before Rachel arrived. They punched through the black steel as easily as the soldiers' halberds cut through bone, leaving behind shredded metal and gaping blood holes. Rachel used Flicker Sticker, finishing off three soldiers at once. She used it again, and again.

Even as she was plowing through enemies, the lasers moved faster than she could. Essence drifted up into the oncoming snow and vanished. Damn waste.

The seventh time she used Flicker Sticker, a new panel opened up in front of her.

Chained Offensive Multithrust:
As long as one enemy was slain during the last use of Flicker Sticker, another Flicker Sticker can be reactivated immediately for half the essence cost. Additionally, any damage taken by the user will be doubled by each successive use.
- Essence Cost: 100
- Level: 1
- Progress: 35.6%

Rachel didn't like the name of it – she'd renamed Multithrust in the first place – but she activated it without hesitation.

Her sword arm whipped forward. Her essence jumped down by 100 points. A haze of iron and light shot in front of her; she felt her arm vibrate under the control of the ability. Two men fell dead, and she got 52 essence back.

One of the best things about Isis was how the abilities just knew when to activate without you saying anything. Rachel played tons of games where you had to click a button, state a command, make a gesture, something, anything – but Isis knew. Then again, Isis was real life.

She chained into a second Flicker Sticker. Her essence only jumped down by 50 points. She only killed one man this time, but the other two were bashed and banged onto the ground. The following Flicker Sticker – that only cost her 25 essence – killed them both.

Rachel's sword was a white-hot stick of death. She churned through soldiers, killing them one after another while they were still recovering from Jackson's long-distance laser attack. They were still bunched up from when they'd come to a halt, making it even easier to keep up her chain.

By the fifth chained Flicker Sticker, she only paid 3 essence – of course it was rounded down, Emil Mohammed would never fail her – and she'd killed enough enemies to send her essence into overflow. She had to capitalize on her strengths, so she mentally opened the menu as the ability did the work for her and dumped another two hundred into Agility, then threw another 100 into Spirit to help hold the extra essence.

While she was distracted by her game menu, a soldier busy dying in the mud managed to slice her ankle with his halberd.

Rachel's leg was torn out from underneath her; she collapsed to the ground. The blinking icon telling her she was in the midst of a combination attack vanished. All the health she was healed by Chaki and everything she'd been slowly regenerating was chewed up by that little scratch.

The soldier crawled toward her. He raised his armored elbow, then jammed it into her stomach, using the leverage to pull himself over her. Rachel clenched against the blow, trying to stop the air from leaving her lungs.

The man pulled a dagger from his belt. His eyes were wild, driven. Below the armor that covered his neck, Rachel could see a familiar wooden collar.

He swung his shoulder down, bringing the dagger with it. Rachel gripped her sword and screamed out her effort as she lifted the blade, propping the hilt under her shoulder. He impaled himself on the blade. Rachel twisted her neck away, avoiding the dagger that was still coming at her. It hilted into the mud.

She watched the light in his eyes die. Essence flowed into her.

Horns sounded in the distance; high, squealing trumpets used by Hale and his forces.

The soldier's body laid on top of her, dead. She struggled to breathe with the weight on her chest. She didn't have the strength to roll him off. 

Something moved the corpse away. Rachel sucked in oxygen.

A hand was offered to her. She took it and was hauled to her feet. It was the young man from before. He was grinning.

"What was that horn?" Rachel asked.

"They're running," the young man said.

Rachel surveyed the landscape on unsteady feet. Corpses were everywhere. Dead warriors, dead soldiers, black armor and brown leather. The snow was still floating down, already beginning to cover up some of the colder ones. One good thing about the cold – it really killed her sense of smell.

"This is fucked up," Rachel said.

They both looked up at the sound of footsteps. Chaki and some other guy were coming their way. He looked like an older version of the one that just helped her up. Then again, I do kinda have trouble telling them apart.

"Rachel!" Chaki said. "They're retreating! We won! We won!"

The man marched up beside them and plopped the butt of his spear in the ground. "Rachel. I saw you fight. Thank you for helping us." He extended his hand. "Is this how you greet each other, where you're from? Jackson taught me."

"Yeah, basically," Rachel said. She took his hand. His grip crushed her fingers together; she grimaced and scrunched her eyes. He pumped her hand in a single, hard shake. She flexed her fingers as soon as they were free, trying to work the pain out. "Generally you try not to rip the other person's hand off," she said.

A sheepish smile grew on Hanta's face. "Jackson said something similar. My apologies."

Rachel sighed. "Whatever."

"I am Hanta," he said. "You've met my son, Vuntha." The younger man nodded to her.

"Rachel Ransfeld," she replied.

Rachel smiled to herself. She didn't get out much back on Earth, but when she did, her introductions were always met with the same response.  Ohmygosh, did you just say Ransfeld?! The Ransfeld?! Wait, are you related to Charles? It got annoying after a while.

"That's right," Chaki said. "Jackson was wondering about your name. Do you know someone named Charles?"

Rachel stared up at the sky. Somewhere, a higher power was laughing at her. Laughing and pointing and telling its friends all about the great decades-in-the-making joke it just played. "Yeah. Charles is my brother."

"By the way," Hanta said, "why do you have two names?"

"I told you," Chaki said. "It's because they have more people. When you have that many, you need two names."

"That's ridiculous," Hanta said. "How many people can they possibly have to need two names?"

Rachel was still glaring at the clouds. "I hate you," she muttered.

"What is it?" Chaki asked.

Rachel sighed. Chaki was giving her the eyeball – maybe it was her last name, or maybe it was her muttering to herself. That tended to get weird looks. "Hale's not done. He won't give up that easily."

Hanta glanced into the distance; they all followed his gaze. The snow cut their visibility. The wind wasn't blowing much, but it was coming down in big, wet snowflakes. They weren't the kind that piled up high, but they covered everything in ice really fast.

Hanta watched the snow a bit longer, then nodded. "The iron men didn't cross a hundred miles to withdraw like cowards. They've already caught us unprepared. We need to regroup and expect the worst."

"I think those white lasers were Jackson," Rachel said. "He should show up soon."

"I hope you're right," Hanta said.

"I can feel him," Chaki said. "But it's off. Faded, somehow." She lowered her head. "I think whatever he did took something out of him."

"How can you tell?" Rachel asked.

Chaki glanced at her. "Well, it has to do with this," she said, raising her mark. "We formed a sort of pact. A Bond. That's what the magic calls itself."

Rachel really liked Chaki. She was tough, and seemed pretty smart. She even got the collar off Rachel's neck. That couldn't have been easy.

Those positive feelings were almost totally erased by the bubbling green head of envy that stirred in Rachel's gut at the news she was that close to Jackson. "What kind of bond, exactly?" Rachel asked.

"Well, we're...it would take some explaining," Chaki said. "I'll tell you about it later."

The creature inside Rachel growled and shifted, unsatisfied. Rachel pushed a fake Charles-style smile on her face and nodded. "Sure, yeah. There's a war on and all."

The echo of a scream cut through the air.

Their heads snapped toward the sound. They stared out into the snowfall. The scream came from the direction the iron men had retreated. Rachel could just make out movement at the edge of her line of sight, past the snowflakes – their lines, reorganizing. The source of the noise was unclear.

The scream turned into a low groan, then an almost feral growl, vibrating under the snowflakes. The deep sound got stuck in Rachel's chest and rattled around there like the throb from a massive subwoofer.

"We need to regroup, now," Hanta said. He started off. "Make another line! Regroup! Regroup!" Warriors flocked to his call, rapidly forming into another line along the footprints Hanta's moccasins left in the snow.





Dream Drive Ch. 10



He'd already played the card of the ghostmen to start the battle. It had been an effective move, but he didn't have time to make more. Another cavalry charge was out of the question – his own horsemen were still fighting their counterparts out on the plains. They were miles away.

To the credit of their training, his troops had reorganized quickly, stopping their latest withdrawal from turning into a rout. The snowstorm was an annoyance at first, but its arrival couldn't have been better timed to help cover their retreat.

"My lord, I can sense mages!"

Hale turned to Hildan, one of his two remaining magicians. "How many? Are they at the line?"

Hildan nodded. "I count a little over thirty. They'll be with us in moments."

Hale's forehead creased in thought. They didn't have the ability to form Words, but years of skirmishes with the tribes had shown their unparalleled ability to enchant their warriors. Even the Tower at Renstadt would have trouble creating similar effects with multiple magicians. The entire reason for the timing of their attack was to avoid this problem.

Hale turned to his newly-appointed battle captain, a man clad from head-to-foot in black armor. A forest green cape enchanted for physical protection draped down his back and off his horse. "My lord?" he asked.

Hale would have preferred to have Tell'ad on-hand for strategy like this, but after his latest betrayal – letting Rachel get away - he couldn't be trusted. "How many slaves do we have left?" Hale asked.

"Last headcount put us at 43, my lord," the captain said.

"Excellent," Hale said. "Bring them all up."

"All, my lord?"

"Every last one," Hale said, "unless you'd prefer I use you."

"Right away, my lord," the captain said. He turned and snapped orders to his subordinates.

"My lord." Hildan leaned toward him, speaking quietly. "We won't be able to replenish ourselves easily if we use every slave."

"We've lost the luxury of choice."

"I know what you're thinking," Hildan said. "I don't think the creatures can beat them. We'll just be trading our magic for theirs, and then they outnumber us and we've played our last card."

"It's not about winning this battle," Hale said. He stared up at the mountain, his eyes following the peak up until it was swallowed by the snow. He realized they were going about this in the wrong way. His original thinking had been to destroy the tribes and then claim the land, but there was nothing stopping him from making a claim and then destroying the tribes. 
"We need to hit them as hard as we can. Now."

Hildan followed his gaze. "What do you think it is, exactly?"

"I don't know," Hale said. "But we're going to find out. The barbarians have accrued some power, but we have the finest magical education in the continent and years of experience. If they've intuited this much just on feeling, imagine what we can extract from the place."

Hildan nodded. "I understand. But we still have to get through them to go there."

"Remove the detachment of halberds from the left flank," Hale said, raising his voice so his commanders could hear. "Concentrate half on the right with the others. Place the rest throughout the army. Tell the cavalry to charge back and attack into the enemy lines."

"Wouldn't that be a waste?" Hildan asked.

"Not for our purposes," Hale said. "They want a fight - a final stand, a grand battle. The slaves will draw out their magic, and the army will challenge them. In the meantime, we bypass them altogether."

"My lord," came the captain's voice. "As you requested."

Hale turned his horse about. The first slave was readied for him, and the rest were lined up. They all had the same look on their faces – those that knew they were condemned to a place from which no one else had returned.

They were, of course, absolutely right in their assumptions.

Hale withdrew his other matrix, the one he stumbled upon so long ago when the land he ruled was not under his rule, when it was a fourth kingdom and not part of an empire. He placed a hand on the slave's head, and he began to channel.

The slave's skin rippled. His bones creaked and snapped. He began to scream.

Hale watched as the slave transformed, his face still. The soldier dragged another slave forward – his newest acquisition, the inept tribal warrior given to him by Kunaya. What was his name? Boonga?

The tribesman's black eyes flicked from the writhing slave to Hale, and back again. His features were drawn up in disgust. His bravado was nowhere to be found.

Hale smiled down at him. There were few things more satisfying than that look of realization on a student's face when they finally learned something useful. Fear was a good start.

Another man stood apart from the other slaves. Tell'ad. The grizzled commander watched Boonta for a moment, then shut his eyes.

"Get the barbarian a horse," Hale said.

"Sir?"

"In fact, captain," Hale said, "dismount." The captain only paused for a moment before following the order. Hale snapped his fingers at the slave and spoke in his tongue. "Mount up. It's time we had a talk."

The young man lifted his head. He stepped toward the horse, then stopped, as if expecting a trick. He took another step. When his collar didn't offer him pain, he used the stirrup to lift himself into the saddle. He sat awkwardly on the platform, frowning.

"What is it?" Hale asked.

"Why use these hard...things?" He tapped on the saddle. "A horse's plain skin is good enough."

Hale sighed. "We can compare cultures at a later date. I need some information. Information for which I'd be very grateful."

Hale watched the thoughts connect together behind the young warrior's eyes. Pride came first, simmering in his gut, anger at being dragged around like an animal. And then something else surfaced – a memory of pain he couldn't resist. His eyes flicked back to the man that was screaming on the ground. The slave's muscles bulged as his body twisted itself into a new form.

"I'm not planning that for you," Hale said, drawing his attention back. "You were full of pride, so I taught you a lesson. Speak true, and you'll be given your due once we return to my homeland."

The man shifted on his saddle, considering the offer. He swallowed when a new set of screams rose behind them. Hildan was working on another slave. "I understand. What do you want to know?"

"I heard an interesting name earlier," Hale said. "What can you tell me about the person named Jackson?"

The warrior's eyes sharpened into daggers. Shadows filled the creases on his face. "I can tell you all about him."





Dream Drive Ch. 10



"Got it."

Rachel and Hanta never got a chance to implement their plan, because as the rattok closed in, so did a bolt of lightning.

The spell exploded at Hanta's feet. Rachel was blown back by the explosion. Her health dropped dangerously low, now only 15 points. Aside from the dirt and soot, Hanta was unscathed, but his enchantment lost a sizable chunk. The bright indigo runes that covered his backside had dimmed to a small tattoo on one shoulder. Rachel searched for the mage, but he was hidden by the snow and the line of soldiers steadily making their way forward.

"Run!" Hanta shouted.

They turned tail and sprinted away. Rachel risked a glance back. A maw less like a rat and more like a lion bared its teeth at her and roared. She put her eyes forward and ran faster. Must run faster. Must run faster.

Their top speed was greater than hers; the thing behind her was catching up. She flicked her eyes to the side; Hanta was gone, either having changed direction or fallen behind. She could hear the thing breathing behind her, panting, slavering. Jaws snapped at her heels.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!"

Something brushed against Rachel's side – or maybe she just caught her foot on something. She tripped, spinning to the left, and hit the ground hard on her shoulder. She slid a few feet and came to a stop in a well of mud and ice.

She kept her eyes squeezed tight, ready for the inevitable 500-pound monster to squash her like a bug.

It never came.

She heard sound, a man's voice. Light flashed bright enough to makes its way through her shut eyelids. When she opened them, her jaw dropped. The corpse of the rattok was falling to the ground, several holes having been punched through its body.

Rachel wrenched herself out of the Rachel-sized imprint in the mud and stared at the source of the light. "It's about fucking time," she said, marching forward. "Do you know how many near-death experiences I've had in the past fucking hour? Like, five. At least! Hale's magician almost fucking killed me. Then he captured me again. Then one of his fucking soldiers tried to shove a dagger through my fucking tits!" Rachel pounded both fists against his chest. "Fuck!"

Jackson grunted slightly, but didn't budge. He just looked at her, staring with a cutely bewildered expression. His lips flopped ineffectually as he tried to put some words together.

Rachel decided to continue.

"And then those fucking things came back, worse than before, giant rattok three times my size, and I'm running away for the fifteenth time and think I'm gonna die. And to top it all off, my hair smells like horse shit and vomit! And then you." She poked her finger into Jackson's sternum, using the motion to underline her words. "Finally. Fuckin. Show. Up! The hell were you doing in there, jacking off?!" Rachel folded her arms. "I saw that fat fuck spirit guide, there was no way that was acceptable erotic material. I demand an explanation."

Jackson blinked at her. A white haze misted off his skin, lingering on him like incense from a scented candle. His clothes looked a bit more messed up than usual, if that was possible, all disheveled and ripped. He really couldn't pull off the whole Indian-tribe look to begin with, and putting it with his constantly messy hair and pale skin just made him look like a vampire hobo.

After a moment, he gave a heavy sigh. His lips curled in a half-smile. "I don't know why I was expecting a thank-you."

"I've got a fucking thank-you right here."

"What do y-"

Rachel grabbed his collar and dragged him down to her height, then shoved her lips against his.