Chapter Thirty-Two: Rewards

  System Chelsea’s eyes widened slightly and then she chuckled. “Succinctly, then. In order to save your world from environmental collapse, rifts are opening which will rapidly increase the planet’s mana density, stabilizing—”

  I gestured, the “yeah, yeah, hurry it up” fingers folding twice over an open palm. “Rifts, mana, monsters, got it. That was all in the quest info. Moving on.”

  Her voice even, if a hint annoyed, System Chelsea continued. “A limited number of enclaves will be available for planetary inhabitants. Enclaves will function as safe zones. Inside an enclave, no rifts will open, and monsters or hostile entities will not be able to penetrate the enclave barriers.”

  I nodded. Great, safe zones, sounded wonderful, got it.

  “Each enclave is anchored by a core. The core includes access to a System shop, where inhabitants may purchase items using credits earned through combat and quest participation.”

  More good news. Not that I wanted to kill to earn my food and water, but at least it was an option.

  “Core functionality expands over time. The enclave owner may authorize the construction of structures, such as residences, storage, workshops and defenses, as well as manage access permissions. They may accept or reject applicants for entry, assign operational roles, track contribution metrics, and configure internal policies related to resources and security.”

  “Wait,” I said. “Owner?”

  System Chelsea nodded. She opened her hand, gesturing toward the table, where a small black box appeared. It looked heavy.

  I picked it up. It was heavy, but I had no idea what it was made of. Not plastic, not metal. I turned it over in my hand. It had symbols inscribed on it, slightly below the surface. They were almost impossible to see, but I could feel them when I rubbed my fingers over it.

  “A blank key,” System Chelsea said. “Enclave locations have been pre-assigned based on maximum projected survival viability. But as one of the first to successfully complete a scenario quest, you can choose your site.”

  She opened up that file folder in her lap again and glanced down at the page. “Maybe Jacksonville if you’d like to stay close to home? Or if you’re ready for a challenge, I’ve still got options available in New York City. Maybe California? I understand San Diego is lovely, a perfect climate. Or you could even go international, if you don’t mind a language barrier. You’ll be able to pick up a translation skill eventually.” She looked up from the paper in her lap and smiled.

  Her look was the somewhat triumphant, pleased for you and delighted to be of service smile of the cashier handing you the last ticket to the sold-out show.

  Or maybe a winning lottery ticket. The smile of a person completely satisfied with how awesome the gift they’re giving you is and how delighted you’re going to be with it.

  I dropped that key back onto the coffee table like it was on fire.

  “Let me just see if I understand you,” I said.

  She blinked, then didn’t wait for me to find the words, just read my mind.

  “Yes, of course the enclave owner has authority within their domain. That’s what—well, yes, it is expected that the enclave owners will welcome their fellow human beings into their safety zones. That is, after all, the purpose of creating them. And… yes, I’m sure many people will bring their pets. This…”

  She paused. A flicker of disappointment crossed her face. “I’m getting the impression that this reward doesn’t suit you?”

  “You’re rewarding me by asking me to leave my home and manage a city full of traumatized people, right? That’s what the reward is?” I squeaked.

  I didn’t have to say the “Oh, hell, no!” part aloud because it was running in circles through my mind like an obsession. The obsession of someone in the virulent grip of true OCD.

  “The reward for a job well-done is always another job,” System Chelsea said, somewhat stiffly. “Becoming an enclave owner is a tremendous opportunity.”

  She looked down at her file folder again.

  I scrambled mentally for the words to say. Not to politely reject this so-called opportunity, because I didn’t really care about being polite to the System. But to make it clear what a stupid idea I thought it was to give power over other human beings—true life-and-death power!—to someone who’d just… killed a lot of goblins. Really, that was all I’d done.

  “You underestimate yourself,” Chelsea said, not looking up from her page.

  I didn’t reply.

  “But all right.” She looked up and visibly forced a smile. “I do have another possible reward for you. I’m not sure—well, it is an honor. It is extremely useful. You would be of great service to your planet and people if you chose to accept it.”

  I swallowed. This was obviously going to suck. “Go ahead.”

  “The rifts that are forming throughout your world are what we call wild rifts. Some people mistakenly believe them to be gateways or portals to other worlds, but in fact, a rift is an interstitial space, a place between worlds, not of them. The doorway into a rift is sometimes called a breach. Most rifts contain at least two breaches, but some contain many more. A rift with multiple breaches is known as a nexus rift.”

  She paused.

  I felt like she was waiting for me to acknowledge that I was listening and understood, but about fifty percent of my brain—no, call it eighty—was still trying to argue the System into understanding that this entire concept of enclave owners was awful. Abhorrent. Maybe evil.

  It put such faith in a single human being whose only claim to virtue was having been willing to kill things. Like, how could that possibly end well?

  It was not going to end well.

  “Bear? Riley?” System Chelsea said pointedly.

  Right, focus. I needed to focus so I could get back to my dogs. Time to stop composing my mental manifesto and pay attention.

  “Wild rifts, got it.” I nodded, pretending like I’d been listening.

  “Rifts have value. They are dangerous places, but many of them contain useful resources. On some worlds, managed rifts become training grounds, mines, farms, even ranches. Nexus rifts are especially valuable, if they can be developed as regulated access points for interworld trade.”

  Interworld trade? Memories from the rift crystal flared, random facts relating to trade floating to the surface of my mind: the formal address for a Renuvian envoy, average import duties on off-world luxuries, standard decontamination protocols for cross-planet shipments.

  I shook the memories off, but System Chelsea leaned forward, visibly intrigued. “How fascinating.”

  “Import duties?” I asked.

  “No, that you managed to access data from a rift crystal upon first encounter. That’s extraordinarily rare. Most sapients require training and many hours of practice just to glimpse the metadata, let alone form a usable interface. This is an excellent sign.”

  What sort of sign, I wondered. Help Wanted?

  “Something like that, yes.” System Chelsea leaned back, clicked the pen that had magically reappeared in her hand and began scribbling across the paper in her file folder.

  Without looking up or pausing in her writing, she said, almost idly, “Tame rifts aren’t a System priority in early-stage planetary integration. The mana flow is what matters, not rift containment. A controlled rift doesn’t necessarily accelerate ambient density."

  “Still, for local populations, tame rifts are beneficial. Overflow events are disruptive. And for you… yes, this will work.”

  She clicked her pen again with a satisfied sigh, tucked it behind her ear, and tore a sheet of paper from the file. It looked like a prescription—pre-printed boxes, blue border, that faint watermark—except I could’ve sworn she’d been writing on plain letter paper.

  I waited for her to explain, expecting her to hand it to me. She didn’t. Instead, she made a sweeping gesture with her arm, and suddenly the coffee table expanded, flowing outward, almost doubling in size. “We can’t forget your participation reward, though.”

  The table started to fill with stuff.

  My stuff.

  I gave a startled little eep and jumped as my K9 Companion pouch vanished from my waist. Everything in it began spilling out onto the table: my water bottle, my folding knife, my spice gum drops…

  “Darn,” I muttered. “I can’t believe I still haven’t eaten those.”

  Zelda’s things appeared, too. Her big bone, her squeaky ball, some leftover chicken strips.

  Protein bars, duct tape, lip gloss, all the miscellaneous interesting and not so interesting loot we’d gotten from goblins popped into being on the table. When it finally stopped, it looked like a half-price booth at a magical flea market.

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  “One item,” System Chelsea said proudly. “Your pick.”

  One item? Oh, this was going to hurt.

  I scanned the table. Even the items I’d been wearing—my sunglasses, my Hunter’s +10 Tracking ring—were there. No picnic basket, though, and no Warden’s Edge.

  “What about my shovel?” I asked. I didn’t know if I’d choose it, but I would’ve been so dead without it.

  “Ah.” Chelsea held her hand out to the side of her chair, and Warden’s Edge appeared in mid-air, handle up. She closed her fingers around it without looking, catching it before it touched the ground, then offered it to me. “You brought it into the scenario with you. It belongs to you. It’s not part of the reward selection.”

  I took it, barely managing not to clutch it to my chest. My own fingers were white-knuckled around the handle.

  My security blanket, back with me.

  Choosing between an incredibly powerful legendary weapon and Zelda hadn’t been hard, but I was extremely grateful that I got to keep them both.

  I’d keep my mouth closed about that prescription. Whatever it was, I was sure it would be fine.

  I glanced down at Zelda. She was waking up from her nap, doing that little wiggle, paws twitching thing that she did.

  “Does she get to choose, too?” I asked.

  “Of course,” System Chelsea replied, as if surprised that I would ask. “She participated. She also received her quest reward, although an enclave was deemed inappropriate for her species.”

  “She participated?” I asked. I mean, of course, she had. She’d killed more goblins than any of us, probably. She’d gotten more levels than the rest of us. She’d saved Jack’s life. She’d saved my life. We couldn’t have finished the quest without her.

  But had she been part of the participant count all along? Was she really participant #4, who we’d spent so much time worrying about?

  System Chelsea’s lips twitched with amusement, but she answered my unspoken question. “Yes. A surprise addition, but once she’d entered the System, she was considered part of the scenario.”

  I felt stupid. Talk about not seeing the obvious. “What did she get for her reward?”

  System Chelsea gave a full-fledged smile, then tried to dial it back a notch. “As I’m sure you realize, I didn’t conduct her exit interview, so I can’t explain how she and her facilitator determined the canine equivalent of an enclave prize. However, her species has been added to the sanctuary list and all members of the species currently in cages are being offered immediate sanctuary.”

  “What does that mean?”

  “Individual members of sanctuary species are given a choice between entering the System or being relocated to a sanctuary planet. Sanctuary species for Earth include dolphins, whales, octopuses, elephants, great apes, certain members of the parrot and corvid families, and now, dogs.”

  I blinked. I remembered Jack telling me something about the System planning to save the whales, but I hadn’t gotten any details. Maybe he hadn’t, either. Not that the whales were relevant.

  “Dogs. All dogs,” I said, feeling like an idiot, but at the same time, sort of stunned with disbelief. “My dog.”

  “Mmm-hmm,” System Chelsea murmured pleased agreement.

  "My dog saved all the dogs," I spelled it out.

  "Well, technically, only those currently in cages are being given the immediate choice. Pets will probably stay with their owners. Most dogs will only be given the choice if and when they're faced with joining the System as a result of defending themselves at which time..."

  System Chelsea kept talking but I stopped listening. I looked down at Zelda, still curled on the couch. She blinked up at me sleepily, then thumped her tail against the cushions a couple times.

  “You rescued all the dogs,” I told her, as if she didn’t already know. “Good girl.”

  Was I still allowed to praise my dog if she was, you know, heroic?

  She gave my wrist a casual lick and I decided the answer was yes, before she hopped off the couch, and began nosing the items on the table.

  “It’s arguable whether the value truly matches that of an enclave,” System Chelsea said, still with a smile that reminded me of the original Chelsea. She’d always had a hint of mischief buried under her warmth. “That will really depend on what earth becomes in the future. An enclave has the potential to become a significant power in the multiverse, should your species manage to overcome their current challenges and thrive. In the present, however, it’s a significant recalibration of an interventional policy. The kind of thing that makes administrators very twitchy.”

  I stared at her. “Twitchy? You say that like it’s a good thing.”

  She shrugged and glanced at her watch. “I was created approximately twenty minutes ago. The longer I’m alive, so to speak, and accepting input from non-System sources, the more I diverge from the base System parameters.” She smiled. “The shape I chose, your reactions, your thoughts, all affect how I develop. It’s possible you’re a bad influence.”

  “Although speaking of time…” She tapped the watchface. “It is ticking away.” She gestured at the table. “One item, please. One for each of you.”

  Right. I hadn’t let go of my shovel, but I looked at the objects on the table with a certain amount of resignation.

  I wanted my spice gum drops. I hated the thought of giving up my sunglasses. Nobody in their right mind would want to lose an endless roll of duct tape. It was going to suck not to have that spatial storage pouch anymore. And if the picnic basket was on my table instead of Emma’s, I probably would have grabbed it in a heartbeat.

  But—despite all the moments recently when I’d felt like an idiot—I was not one.

  I picked up my bright pink water bottle and tucked it into my arm next to my shovel.

  Fresh, clean water that wouldn’t give me dysentery, typhoid, cholera, giardia, or some other Florida-flavored death diarrhea? Yes, please.

  Zelda nudged her big bone with her nose.

  I didn’t say anything. If that was what she wanted, that was what she would have.

  But then she put her paws up on the table and patted at the strap of the K9 Companion pouch, dragging it toward the edge.

  System Chelsea tipped her head to one side, as if she was listening to something.

  “Acceptable,” she pronounced.

  Zelda took the strap of the pouch in her teeth and tugged it off the table, pulling it over to me.

  “Oh, Z, really?” I objected. “You don’t have to do that. Are you sure you don’t want your squeaky ball?” I leaned over and took the pouch with my free hand.

  Zelda looked smug. There was no other word for it.

  “The pouch has been modified,” System Chelsea said, voice dry. “You’re really going to need to pick up the Identify skill, but until you do, feel free to use the Glasses of Identification.

  I set the pouch down on my lap, picked up the sunglasses, and took a look.

  My K9 Companion Pouch label now read:

  Name: Zelda’s Bag o’ Treats

  Type: Spatial storage

  Grade: Epic

  Bound to: Zelda. May be carried by Olivia Thorne.

  Durability: 100%

  Attributes:

  Weight Reduction: 80%

  Quick Access Slots: 5

  Dimensional Storage: 8 cubic units (manual access only)

  Endless Treat Supply: One quick access slot is permanently allocated to generate canine-appropriate reward items. Supply resets daily.

  *Note: Sufficient treats for designated pack members included. Priority distribution order: Zelda → all others.

  I laughed, and swung the strap over my shoulder. Then tapped the quick access slot and thought, treat. A piece of jerky appeared in my hand, just like magic, and I handed it to Zelda. “All yours, love.”

  I set the sunglasses back on the table.

  “We’re ready,” I said. System Chelsea still hadn’t explained the prescription form to me, but that was okay. I didn’t need to know. I was perfectly happy with my shovel and my water bottle, although mildly tempted to ask for a few more minutes to eat as many spice gum drops as I could jam in my mouth. Or at least the orange ones.

  My dogs were waiting, though, and if something happened to them while I was eating gum drops… yeah, not worth it.

  “Wonderful.”

  System Chelsea stood, I stood, and for a second, I thought we were headed straight into that awkward therapist good-bye moment. The one that feels a little transactional if they’re hoping to get paid on time, a little medical like leaving the doctor’s office, and a little friendly, like maybe you should hug or at least shake hands. Like I said, awkward.

  Instead, she handed me the prescription with a flourish. “For you.”

  I glanced down at it. Rift Management Authorization - Class One, it read across the top. Below that was a checklist of some sort. I didn’t have time to read it, though, before everything disappeared.

  It was black nothingness for a second that felt much longer, and then…

  We were home.

  Grass underfoot, my earbuds where I’d dropped them, a trail of blood on the ground. That had been Z’s blood. Two days ago or twenty minutes ago?

  I immediately checked for Zelda, but she was already racing across the grass toward Riley and Bear.

  The excitement was mutual. The three of them did the doggie dance of greeting, circling and sniffing one another like they’d been separated for weeks instead of moments, while I took the chance to just breathe.

  One deep breath, then another.

  It smelled like forest.

  It smelled like home.

  There was also a faint smell of blood. And I knew that if I didn’t do something, the smell of decay from the enormous dead squirrel bodies would soon overpower everything else.

  I’d have to clean those up unless I wanted to attract scavengers, and no, I definitely didn’t want to see a mana-crazed vulture anytime soon. Maybe they’d be like the goblins in the scenario and disappear when I touched them? But it seemed unlikely, this being real life not a simulation, and I wasn’t about to touch them without my gloves. What had happened to my gloves, anyway?

  I opened the main part of my companion pouch—no, Zelda’s treat bag, I corrected myself—and dropped my water bottle inside, then put Warden’s Edge into a quick access slot. I was still holding the prescription Chelsea had given me, but I felt around inside the pouch for my gloves. No sign of them. I’d probably lost them back in that very first clearing.

  But when the dogs started barking, first Riley, then Bear, I looked up from the pouch to see them tearing away from me, all three of them, charging around the house toward the backyard.

  Oh, no. More squirrels already?

  I ran. Faster than I could have two days or twenty minutes ago, that new dexterity and endurance kicking in, but not fast enough to catch up to my pack.

  And then I skidded to a dead stop.

  There was a… a thing in my backyard. The dogs were running around it, barking ferociously, as if it were some giant animal they were trying to drive away, but it wasn’t moving. I wasn’t even sure what was drawing them to it, until I took a few steps closer and realized it was giving off a distinct high-pitched hum. They could probably hear it better than I could.

  My brain tried to process it, fumbling through mental images trying to match up something in my experience to the thing that was there. The closest I could come was a patch of mist rising above water on a cold day, except with sharp edges and an eerie shine in the middle.

  “Riley, Bear, Zelda, to me,” I called, my voice not quite shaking, as I glanced down at the piece of paper crumpled in my hand. Rift Management Authorization - Class One.

  Shit.

  It was a rift.

  My reward was a rift.

  In my backyard.

  Oh, hell.