When I read Abigail’s advice, it seemed well-intentioned and well-reasoned. Now, confronting the reality of it, instead of piecing the words together on the Macros Gears’ tiny screen, I was reevaluating my previous assessment.
I’d never been to the docks before, nor had I known anyone who had. Intellectually, I knew Techne had them. Goods had to get shipped into the city somehow, and our two-strip airport definitely wasn’t cutting it. I actually had to look up if there were any laws or rules prohibiting Ferrum natives from visiting, but no, access in was open to all. Leaving the area was a bit trickier, foreign sailors weren’t allowed out of the district without a good reason, but other than that, and maybe a general reputation for roughness, there was nothing to stop me from heading over.
I had chalked that reputation up to xenophobia, it didn’t seem like an unreasonable conclusion considering what I’d learned thus far this summer, but I was beginning to think that the docks’ notoriety wasn’t actually all that unearned. Getting in was easy enough. Just like I’d read, some guards waved me through a checkpoint built into a fence surrounding the district, but the difference between the area I’d just left behind and the ‘port town’ itself was a bit alarming.
Clean, clear streets gave way to salt-encrusted asphalt, welcoming cafes and shops turned to seedy-looking clubs and motels, and friendly-looking families and office workers became glaring, tattooed sailors.
I did my best to project confidence that I wasn’t feeling as I walked, but I seriously doubted the efficacy of my efforts. Being on-average half a meter shorter than everyone else in the immediate vicinity compromised my display of nonchalance even further. At least the gazes I was drawing from the sailors erred more on the side of curious or bemused than hostile.
It would have been nice to have my knights out with me, but I didn’t want to risk one or more of them getting lost in the busy harbor district. It was one thing to let them loose back near home, where they could get back to the apartment if we were separated, but this was a whole different ball game. Hopefully, I’d find the battlefields soon and would be able to release them.
Unfortunately, I wasn’t really sure where to look for said battlefields. Abigail’s supposition, that they should exist in the first place, made perfect sense, but that didn’t give me any guidance about where I would find such facilities. In the end, I just wandered about for a while, making my way steadily closer to the coastline and the towering metal behemoths moored alongside it, figuring I’d know them when I saw or heard them.
The shore accommodations gradually gave way to warehouses and storage yards, with busy sailors and Pokémon ferrying pallets and crates amongst them at frenzied speeds. Machop and Machoke were the most common loaders, hoisting truly massive amounts of material atop their shoulders or on sleds that they then dragged through the streets. The occasional Gurdurr or Timburr moved about as well, carrying similar amounts to their fellow Fighting-types, though in lesser numbers.
I did my best to stay out of the way, and the workers seemed far too busy to pay me much mind, so I went unbothered as I kept about my wanderings. Once I was in and amongst the warehouses, it didn’t take too long before I started to make out the sounds of shouting and excitement, cutting through the mundane humdrum of the port.
I honed in on the sound, tracking it to its source, a warehouse, somehow even more bustling than any of the others I’d passed so far. This one was similarly busy with people and Pokémon, but unlike in its fellows, those sailors and their partners weren’t loading and unloading cargo. No, judging by the sounds of it, they were battling. My method of random wandering had borne fruit. I’d found my destination.
I pulled out my Pokégear, made a quick pin on its map so I could find my way back here, and then stepped into the building, slipping between a pair of laughing mariners. They gave me a bit of an odd look, but made no move to stop me from entering the sweltering interior of the warehouse.
The heat ran over me in a wave, a roiling marsh of humidity and warmth, completely different from the refreshing sea air outside the building. The source of the uncomfortable temperature was immediately obvious, the spacious warehouse had several huge electric generators running in its center, hooked up to a whole suite of lights illuminating several rectangular battlefields. The makeshift stadium was enclosed in layers of scintillating barriers, their emitters whirring away right next to the generators. I could see the heat waves coming off of the apparatus, which was undoubtedly generating and consuming completely absurd amounts of power.
The necessity of it was obvious, however. Powerful moves flew about inside the barriers, the sound of them muted, though not deafened by the protective sheets confining them. Enormous impacts, elemental explosions, and scintillating beams of light flowed back and forth between the various combatants taking part, and I watched fascinated as sailors stood right there with their partners, wincing against the harsh light and noise, and frantically dodging when an attack strayed too close.
None of the moves were aimed at the humans accompanying their Pokémon, but often the attacks were so wide-scale (and in some cases indiscriminate), that they were plainly in danger just the same. No one moved to stop it though, or object. Rather, more mariners cheered from the sidelines, shouting their support for one competitor or another, or even booing the trainers they didn’t like, all in an alphabet soup of languages that made distinguishing any one voice all but impossible.
The moves weren’t the most powerful I’d seen, nor were the Pokémon using them. The fights inside those barriers didn’t really hold a candle to the types of competitions that happened at the Chroma level, or even Red. Still, there was a visceral difference to watching those matches through a screen, and seeing these battles in person. The thrum of the barrier generators, the roar of the spectators, the clash of powerful moves rebounding off of one another. All of it resonated with me, made some hungry part inside sniff the air, and salivate. That feeling, that desire to be the best, to prove myself more than the competition, it was still in me, just as eager as ever.
And it couldn’t be mine.
I almost staggered under the renewed realization, but it’d been months already. I was older now, stronger, I had a new goal to strive for. I wasn’t going to let my melancholy control me anymore.
I was still bracing myself after that unpleasant flashback to my mindset at the start of the summer, when I felt someone tap my shoulder. I turned around, and found myself looking up, into the bemused face of a sailor. He was tall, almost two meters by my guess, and probably from one of the eastern regions, going by his features.
Some of suspicions were confirmed when they opened their mouth and spoke. "Are you lost little missy? This ain't the sort of place locals usually wander into." Some of my suspicions, because going by her voice and accent, my accoster was in fact Unovan, but wasn't actually a man at all.
“No, ma’am. I think I have the right place,” I shook my head. “This is where sailors train and battle, right? I’m trying to find a place for my partners and I to challenge experienced trainers.”
The woman’s face went from bemused to evaluating, as she looked me up and down. “Little young, ain’t ya?” she asked, after a few seconds of analysis.
I felt myself puff up, but if I’d learned anything over the past few months, it was that arguing with people over my very evident age was a losing battle. Better to acknowledge it and move on, instead. “Older than they start in Kanto,” I countered, leveraging my knowledge from Sarge's complaints.
The woman barked out a harsh laugh. “True enough,” she said, “But what’re you doing here? Don’t you have your own fancy battles here? In those big stadiums?”
On the one hand, I didn’t want to tell this stranger my whole life story. On the other, she could be my ticket into this foreign world of non-Ferrum Battles. “I actually have a medical condition that keeps me from competing in those battles,” I settled on, “but my partners could still benefit from battling trainers and their Pokémon, so we came here.”
“Hmmm,” the woman made an evaluating hum. “Been a while since we last had a local. Alright kid, tell you what, follow me. Let’s see if we can get you set up.”
Score! “Thank you so much,” I smiled at the woman.
“Don’t thank me yet,” she replied with a smirk, before walking off into the crowd.
I struggled against the press of people and Pokémon, but quickly fell behind. The tall sailor had a presence about her that cleared enough space for her to maneuver, like a ship cutting through open water, but those waves crashed back in on me in her wake, leaving me little room to follow.
After a few more moments of futile struggle, I gave up on forcing my way through the crowd like my impromptu guide, and focused instead on slipping into the openings between moving bodies, finding narrow gaps to throw myself through and small windows to dart forwards, catching back up to the tall sailor little by little.
My efforts were rewarded, and I made it to the other side of the warehouse in one piece, where my guide was speaking with a wiry man standing behind a counter in a small, detached room, separated from the main warehouse floor by a plexiglass window. There were a couple of other clerks working in the same space, but the rest of them were busy, talking to other sailors, and presumably assisting them.
My guide's conversation partner was presiding over a laptop of some sort while a projector whirred behind him, displaying names, battlefields, and times on the room's far wall. It flickered between that, and some other slides covered in statistics and data that I had no frame of reference for, in a pre-defined sequence, every ten seconds or so.
To my annoyance (but not surprise), the organizer was also taller than me, even seated, though he still looked shorter than my guide. I wasn’t sure of the man’s nationality, though he did look like a foreigner, even if half of his features were obscured by large, reflective glasses.
I walked closer, and I was finally able to pick their conversation out of the general din. “Yeah, a local,” the woman was saying, “said she’s here for the battles.”
The man’s gaze flicked from the woman speaking to him, to me, and then back at her again. He nodded in my direction. “This your lost kid?”
“One an’ same,” the taller woman replied with a grin. “Kid, this is Amsel, he’s one of the folks running this here Battle Warehouse. He can get your squared away.” Introductions finished, the woman walked away, beginning to melt away into the crowd.
“Thanks!” I called out after her. She was a bit rude, but she’d definitely helped me out. The last I saw of the sailor was a jaunty wave of her arm, before I lost track of her in the dim warehouse.
Guide gone, I turned to the newly-introduced Amsel. “Hi. Er, hello. Amsel, right? My name’s Fe.”
“Nice to meet you kid,” the man’s tone was measured, even. I couldn’t really get a bead on what he was thinking. “Carla was saying that you’re interested in participating in the battles?”
I nodded, even as I committed the tall sailor’s name to memory, just in case. “That’s right. Do I need to sign up or something?”
“Normally,” Amsel nodded. “Problem is, unless I’m really missing my guess here, you’re not a sailor.”
“Um, no?” I confirmed for him, uncertainly. “Does that matter?”
“Usually Battle Warehouses are for sailors only,” the man informed me. “Our own little tournament scene,” he continued to explain. “Most places, there are other battlefields set up for facing locals.”
“But not here in Ferrum?” I guessed. It seemed like a safe assumption. I couldn’t imagine they’d get much participation.
Amsel confirmed my suspicions with a nod. “Yeah. Just the Warehouse.”
“Well, I know we’re an exception in a few different ways, but my partners and I would really like the opportunity to participate.”
The man scratched the back of his head, his expression cracking a bit. I still had a hard time reading him, but I thought he looked conflicted. I made one more push. “Please? I was told battles like these would be good for my partner’s development, but we can’t participate in normal Ferrum Battles.”
The wiry man leveled a sign, and pushed his glasses up. “Tell you what kid, I’ll give the owner a call. Maybe he picks up.” Amsel pulled a device from somewhere below the desk, and started tapping away at it.
I checked out the tech with a bit of curiosity, but I didn’t recognize it. The form and function were clear, it was a personal communicator and maybe assistant, similar to a Pokégear, but the actual make and model of the device were beyond me. I was honestly surprised he was getting signal on the foreign device, but maybe it piggybacked off of the FerreNet like the jailbroken Macros Gear Mark had gifted me.
This narrative has been unlawfully taken from Royal Road. If you see it on Amazon, please report it.
My tech-savvy coworker would recognize the device for sure. I felt a pang. I hadn’t been to the base in a few days, since the disastrous mission, which meant I hadn’t seen any of my fellow rangers for the same length of time. Janine hadn’t agreed with Philip about the need (or lack thereof) for disciplinary action, and had forced me on leave for a week. I hadn’t thought it as much of a punishment at the time, but I found myself missing my coworkers far more than I thought I would have. Other than my family, and my partners, they were essentially my only social circle at this point, and wasn’t that a sad thought. Maybe I could make some friends here at the Battle Warehouse, if they let me participate?
I peered surreptitiously around at the menagerie of bulky, tattooed foreigners. Most of them had at least a third of a meter on me, and ten years besides. I spotted a few maybe-teens, but we were very much in the minority. Somehow, I wasn’t super enthusiastic about my chances.
Before I had any more time to stew, Amsel cleared his throat. I turned from my naval-gazing to the organizer, who’d apparently finished his conversation. “You’re in luck. Not only did the boss pick up, he gave the go-ahead for me to sign you up. Turns out, we’ve taken foreigners before, just none in the last ten years or so.”
I felt a rush of relief flow through me. “Great, glad to hear it. So how do we do this?”
My question got a chuckle. “Legall,” the man responded cryptically, before he ducked behind the counter. I could hear him rifling around for something, but I wasn’t tall enough to make out what he was up to back there.
It took a few moments, but when he came back up, he was fielding a small stack of papers and a pen. “Here, liability forms. Fill this one out first,” he placed the bundle on the counter and tapped the page atop the stack. “Once you’re done pass it back to me, along with your Trainer Card.” He pushed the bundle through a small opening in the plexiglass window.
“Uh, will a Battle Card do?” I asked him as I looked over the forms. I’d never heard of a Trainer Card before, but it seemed likely that it was the foreign equivalent of the ID that everyone carried.
“Probably. Show it here? I’ve never registered a local before.”
I fished around in my satchel, retrieving my wallet and freeing the Battle Card from its confines. “Here,” I passed it through the same gap. I had a moment of idle worry about divesting myself of the ID, but I dismissed the concern after a moment. Even if something happened to it, I could always get another printed at the Pokémon Center.
“Hmm,” Amsel picked up the card, peering closely at it through his mirrored glasses. “Yeah, I think this should work. It’s got a license level, an alphanumeric ID, and a date of birth.” He passed my card back to me. “Well, get to it kid. Forms aren’t gonna fill out themselves.”
He was right, even if his attitude was a bit annoying. I buckled down, uncapping the pen and filling out the first page, which was mostly just asking for the same info found on my Battle Card. I passed that back to Amsel and then started digging into the rest of the pages. Most of it was pretty straightforward, I’d had to sign similar waivers before entering a dojo for a school trip, but this time the wrinkle was that I was participating, not spectating. I made sure to read each of the forms thoroughly, but I didn’t find anything untoward, just standard-looking warnings about acknowledging the risks present in training and battling in the warehouse. Honestly, the forms were reassuringly official, stamped with a jaunty Battle Warehouse logo and inoffensively standard in their language. It lent an air of officiality to the whole procedure that I found comforting.
The one potential issue came at the end, when the document asked me to confirm that I was past my home region’s ‘Age of Cnflict.’ “What does this part mean?” I asked Amsel, pointing out the part in question.
The clerk tracked his eyes up and down the section I pointed out. “Ah, just confirming that you’re past the age where you’re allowed to participate in battles. It varies by region. You are able to participate in battles, right?” He asked with a raised eyebrow.
“Not Ferrum Battles,” I shook my head. The clerk’s expression turned to confusion, and I rushed to explain. “But not because of my age,” I reassured him. “I have a medical condition, but it won’t interfere with my ability to participate in back-alley battles.”
“Back-alley battles?” Amsel repeated, still looking puzzled.
“Sorry, standard battles,” I fought back a flush. “That’s what non-Ferrum Battles are called here, because you can have them anywhere.”
“Instead of inside one of those fancy stadiums?” The clerk asked. He didn’t look impressed.
“Right,” I nodded, a bit chagrined. “I mean, obviously it’s better to have your battles in a place with barriers, and referees,” I nodded towards the setup in the middle of the warehouse, “but you don’t technically need them.” I stressed the second-to-last word. “Not like with a Ferrum battle, where you have to have a Gaia Point nearby, to power the synergy devices.”
“Alright, too much info kid,” Amsel snorted. “Yes or no. Can you legally participate or not?”
“Yes. Age of Conflict in Ferrum is twelve,” I confirmed for him, using the foreign term.
The man hummed, and checked my Battle Card. “Well, looks like you’re good to go then,” he handed it back to me, while taking the bundle of papers. “Now for your partners. What Pokémon are you registering?”
“Falinks,” I told him.
“Is that a species name, or a nickname?” He asked.
“Ah, that’s the species,” I clarified. “Do you need a nickname.”
Amsel shook his head. “Nah, but I do need to know what badge level they are.”
“Badge, level– that’s how strong they are, right? Those Gym leaders give them out?”
The clerk nodded, and I was gratified that the conclusion I’d drawn from my conversations with Janine and my research on Galar’s net hadn’t been incorrect. Unfortunately, knowing what these ‘badge levels’ were didn’t give me much insight on where we compared.
“We don’t have gym leaders or badges in Ferrum,” I explained, unsure if Amsel knew that or not. “So I guess I don’t really know what my answer should be.”
“Right. You guys are weird,” Amsel nodded. “Ok, how long have you and your Falinks been training together?”
I willfully ignored the former statement and focused on the latter question. "It's been almost four months now," I told him, after doing a bit of mental math. "We've had a couple of normal battles, and we've fought a good number of wild Pokémon."
“Okay,” The clerk took a few moments of his own to think, “I’ll put them down as one badge for now, and if you feel like you need an adjustment, let one of us know.” He gestured around at the room housing the clerks.
I nodded “Sounds good.”
“Any other partners?” He asked after a few moments of typing away at his PC.
I shook my head. “No, just my Falinks.”
“Hmm. Well, it shouldn’t be a problem for now, but if you want to improve and compete at higher badge levels, you’ll really need additional partners. Your battle card says your carry limit is three.”
I shrugged. “Honestly, I have my hands full just taking care of the one Pokémon. I don’t know if I have the capacity to train another right now.”
The clerk nodded. “I see. Well, put some thought into it. Another partner gives your current Pokémon someone to train with and compete against, without having to go looking for other trainers or wild Pokémon. There’s a reason parties tend to get stronger than a single Pokémon that takes all of a trainer’s focus. Pokémon benefit from each other’s experiences.”
It was an interesting philosophy. And a foreign one. I wasn’t going to take Amsel at his word, but his input definitely deserved some research. “I’ll think about it.” I reassured the man.
He nodded. “Good. Now we need to talk about the types of battles you want to register for.”
“There are different kinds?” I asked, a bit confused.
“Sure, Ranked and unranked singles, Ranked and unranked doubles, Partner battles, and training battles.”
The quick barrage of terms left me a bit staggered. “Uh, do you mind explaining what those are?”
“Right,” Amsel nodded, “sorry, usually people just know this sort of stuff. Singles battles are between individual Pokémon, one at a time. Doubles are two-on-two. Ranked battles affect the ratings board, and are conducted with a max of three total Pokémon for singles, four for doubles. Unranked doesn’t have any impact on the board, so they’re a bit more casual, but they do have a winner's payout. Up to two Pokémon can be used for unranked singles and doubles.”
Neither of those sounded ideal for me. “And what about training battles?” I asked him.
“Training battles are one on one, with no prizing. It’s the most casual way to battle, so it’s not very popular. Also, only Pokémon at two-badge level and below can compete in training battles.”
That sounded more ideal, but I had a couple more questions to ask “Ok. And how does winners payout work? And the ratings board?”
“Right,” the clerk seemed to suppress a sigh. I got the feeling I was annoying him by asking all these questions that he saw as basic, but the man remained professional, answering each of my queries. “Payout depends on the average badge level of the competitors. Loser gives the winner a bit of money. Pretty standard stuff, but I think we printed out a chart at some point to keep currencies straight, give me a second.”
He dipped down again, and I heard more rummaging, before he arose again, once more bearing a sheet of paper. “Here,” he handed it to me. “This explains the payouts.”
I glanced down at the sheet of paper, and suppressed a wince. Luckily, Poké Gold was one of the listed currencies. Unluckily, some of the numbers were absolutely ridiculous. It wasn’t too bad at the one-badge level, where I was, but the payout quickly spiraled at higher badge levels, until apparently small fortunes were changing hands at the highest, eight-badge fights.
“As for the ratings board,” I looked up as Amsel continued, “you see the projector screen behind me?” he gestured at the flickering wall.
I nodded, and he continued. “Here at the Battle Warehouse, we track individual performance, regional performance, and the performance of specific crews.” The wall flickered, and a list of what might have been names appeared, with large numbers next to them. “This page shows the top of the leaderboard,” Amsel explained. “You earn points by beating people in ranked battles. There’s this whole formula, but the key is that there’s a fixed number of points involved, based on the number of registered competitors.”
The wall flickered, and another series of names and numbers appeared. “This one tracks the performance of specific crews, same way as the first, just for whole ships, not just single sailors.” The page turned again. This time, there were only eight designations: Galar, Unova, Kanto, Kalos, Paldea, Ferrum, the mysteriously-named ‘Islands,’ and a designation for Independents. “And lastly, this page shows the ratings of each region. Again, fixed points per region, it’s a whole thing.”
I quickly checked my own region’s rating compared to the others’, and had to suppress a wince. We were in dead last, behind both the ‘islands’ and the independents, and had only a third of the points of the front-runners.
“Honestly, I kind of forgot you guys were even on there,” Amsel admitted, apparently following my gaze. “Been working here for a few years, and you’re the first local I’ve seen come into this place.”
“So is there a reason people compete in ranked battles beyond just bragging rights?” I asked the clerk. “Seems like unranked fights would be more lucrative, since there’s cash prizes.”
“We have a BP system,“ Amsel told me, as if that explained anything, “and I know most of the captains incentivize their crews to do ranked matches and perform well. Higher rated crews and regions get better contracts, after all.”
I blinked a couple of times. “Wait, what? Please run that by me again?”
“The higher your rating in the local Battle Warehouse, the more likely your crew is to get lucrative contracts and trading rights,” Amsel said again, like it was the most natural thing in the world.
“But… why?” I asked, confusion etched on my face. “Isn’t that like… business? What does the Battle Warehouse have to do with it?”
“You don’t know a lot about international shipping, do you?” The clerk asked dryly, before sighing. “Sorry, I guess that’s a bit unfair. I’m used to dealing with sailors, not kids.”
I bristled, but managed to maintain my restraint, as Asmel went on to explain. “Well kid, simply put, it's dangerous out there. Sailors and their partners need to be able to defend their ships from wild Pokémon, and there are some real shipbreakers out on open water.”
The man’s gaze took on a faraway tint. “Gyarados are bad enough, obviously, and sometimes they school. Jellicent are worse. They can get beyond enormous, in places where the water’s deep enough. A king or a matriarch can do in a fleet on its own, if they’re hungry. And don’t get me started on Dhelmise, or Kingdra,” Amsel suppressed a shudder. “Point is, you’ve got to be able to protect your ship, and doing well in the Battle Warehouse is proof of that. The stronger you can prove yourself, the stronger your position when negotiation contracts.”
“That’s– grim,” I finally concluded. “I knew Pokémon sometimes attack fishing boats, but those huge cargo ships too?”
They’re more likely to,” Amsel confirmed. “The big wakes are more likely to draw attention. But that’s life. Sometimes, things are dangerous. Gotta be able to protect you and yours when the time comes.”
“I guess I get that,” I told him. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to bring up bad memories.”
“Nah, not your fault kid, don’t worry about it,” the clerk shook his head. “Now, we’ve held up the line for long enough. Why don’t you tell me what you want to register for and I’ll get you down?”
“Right, sorry,” I resisted the urge to look at the surely impatient line of sailors behind me. “Can you register me for a training battle?”
“Sure kid,” Amsel nodded. “Just a warning though,” he told me as he was tapping away on this PC, “it might take a while for you to get a bite. Unless someone’s trying to break in a new capture, most people don’t do training battles.”
“It’s the only thing I’m really qualified for right now,” I told him resignedly.
“Yeah, that tracks,” the clerk sighed. “Normally, I’d tell you to just go to a center battlefield or something, but I guess that’s not really an option for you Ferrum kids.” He seemed to think for a few moments, and then decide something. “Tell you what kid. I’ll let folks know that we’ve got a local looking to do a training battle, maybe I can get someone pointed your way. I’ll ask the others to help too,” he gestured at the other clerks manning the counters.
“Seriously?” I felt my eyes widen. “You don’t need to do that, I can wait. Honestly, just watching the battles will be good experience for my partners and I.”
“Nah, it’s no trouble,” the clerk shrugged. “Besides, takes pluck to come out to a place like this spoiling for a fight. My opinion? That sorta moxie should be rewarded.”
“Thanks,” I said quietly, suddenly finding it a bit hard to meet the man’s gaze. Franky, I hadn’t had the kindest opinion of the clerk after our interactions, but he’d definitely been helpful, and now he was going above and beyond. It made me feel like a bit of a Mudbray.
“All in a day's work kid. Look out for your name on the board. It’ll have a battlefield next to it, so you know where to go, and the name of your opponent. It gives you a fifteen minute warning, so just make sure you check the board before that much time passes.”
“Okay, will do,” I nodded. “Seriously, thank you,” I continued, mustering a bit more conviction this time.
“Don’t mention it. Now get outta here kid. You’re holding up the line.”
