Chapter Four: Baked Goods & Beginnings

  I glanced into the display case, looking closely for the first time. I’d thought it held baskets of baked goods—another assumption based on the surroundings—and it did, but these were not your everyday pastries.

  Each basket had a small handwritten chalkboard sign—Weapons, Utilities, Spells—with a name card tucked in front of each pastry in matching script. [Sharpen Blade] looked like an almond croissant. [Mini Map] was a blueberry scone. [Identify] seemed to be a bran muffin.

  “Skill recommendations are outside my authorized operating instructions,” Chelsea said. “But the Identify muffin is particularly delicious today.”

  [Identify] was the skill my sunglasses had, and it was undeniably useful. Bran muffins, though, are always so disappointing. Muffins should be tasty, not healthy.

  “Is this always like this?” I asked the question without looking up from the pastries. They seemed to be transforming when I wasn’t watching. The [Sharpen Blade] almond croissant was now a cheese danish, its label [Swords +10]. The blueberry scone was gone, but a raspberry scone, its tag reading [Sense of Direction], sat in its place.

  System Chelsea could apparently still read my mind, because she knew exactly what I was asking about. Not just the pastries, but the entire place.

  “Not at all,” she said with a chuckle. “As you know, I was only created yesterday, so this is my first personal experience with a Rift Management Interface. But I have access to records, so I know what they’re usually like.”

  “And?” I asked, only half my attention on her words. I was not, obviously, going to choose my new ability based on the deliciousness of the pastry attached to it. But was the System sabotaging me by attaching [Invisible Armor] to a thick dark chocolate brownie or did good skills correspond to appealing baked goods?

  “Most tend to be on the spartan side. An antechamber between a rift and a breach with a control panel that gives access to rift data, research, and the System store. In low-tech worlds, the control panel is usually a crystal. If the Rift Keeper is lucky, they might get a chair.”

  “So why—” I gestured to the cafe around us.

  Chelsea shrugged. “The System adapts to the mental models of its users. This is the first RMI on a newly-integrated world, so it’s got plenty of available processing power, and it’s pulling its metaphors out of your neural banks.”

  “We’re still in the nowhere space,” I realized. I looked around the room. It felt so real. “This is just my imagination?”

  “Yes and no. Your RMI is a localized spatial zone, designed to your specifications. We aren’t trapped in your mind, if that’s what you’re envisioning. This space exists as an accessible dimensional pocket, but the objects within it are System projections.”

  “Does that mean the coffee’s not real?” I reached out and put my hand around the cup. I could feel the warmth, smell the aroma.

  “It will taste delicious,” Chelsea assured me. “But if it keeps you up at night, it’s purely psychosomatic.”

  I pointed to the [Invisible Armor] brownie. “Are there calories?”

  Chelsea laughed. “None.”

  “I’ll take it. Also…” I browsed the pastry display, watching as names and pastries subtly changed.

  Chelsea used tongs to slide my brownie into a white pastry bag. There were so many choices and the longer I looked, the more I saw. But the [Identify] bran muffin was gone, and didn’t seem to be coming back.

  “You suggested Identify, but—”

  “I did no such thing,” Chelsea interrupted. “A personalized interface construct would never make an unsolicited recommendation. That might compromise the user’s autonomy.”

  I looked away from the pastries so I could blink at her. What? She’d literally just told me the bran muffin would be delicious. And how was dumping a rift in my backyard not messing with my autonomy?

  A little smile was playing around Chelsea’s lips.

  I picked up the coffee and took a long swig. Okay, maybe it wasn’t real caffeine, but I needed to wake up. Chelsea—System Chelsea—was trying to tell me something, and I was struggling to decode it.

  Part of it was that she was constrained by rules. Operating instructions. If I thought of her as a baby AI—part of the System, but the individual spark of the System operating as my metaphorical guardian angel, heavy on the observer role, light on the angel—then…

  “What skills do you recommend I take?” I asked flatly.

  “I thought you’d never ask.” System Chelsea grabbed her tongs again and pulled out an apple tart. “Invisible Armor is a common ability, and not a bad choice for someone in your position.” She peeked across the counter at my bare feet. “Full-body coverage will come in handy, I’m sure, especially if you plan on making a habit of monster-hunting in your pajamas.”

  I didn’t actually flush, but my cheeks did get a little warm. My pajamas were soft, cozy, well-worn, and absolutely not clothing I would normally wear in public. But I hadn’t gotten up this morning planning to jump into the rift.

  Chelsea gave the tart a little flourish before adding it to the pastry bag. “Since you’ve got an uncommon ability left to choose, Analyze will serve you well. It’s the advanced form of Identify, and while you could evolve Identify to Analyze eventually, it would take quite a while. This’ll give you a head start.”

  “As for your skill upgrade…” Chelsea pursed her lips, eyes fixed on the pastry case. “It’s early days. Survival skills always come in handy. On the other hand, you don’t want to get pigeon-holed. And you’ve already got the shovel, the sanctuary, the bottle… hmm, and your bond…” Her tone was thoughtful, as if she were talking more to herself than to me.

  “Yes, that’s it.” She pulled a chocolate-chip cookie out of the pastry case. “Another +10 in animal communication. Doubling down on your strengths is a strong, viable strategy.”

  “Animal communication? Really?” I reached for the cookie. I would’ve expected Chelsea to suggest something combat-friendly, like maybe one of the weapon skills. I’d actually been looking through the abilities for anything healing-related. Plus, there were crafting abilities, repair skills, resource-gathering skills...

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  Animal communication seemed like a luxury skill in the apocalypse. I mean, I did want to know what that cat in my kitchen had been saying to me, but was it really going to keep me alive?

  Chelsea didn’t answer me. Instead, she glanced over her shoulder at the chalkboard hanging behind her. “Oh, that’s interesting.”

  I looked up. The entry for Thorn’s Edge had changed subtly. The bottom line now read: Occupants: Bear, Zelda, Unknown.

  “Unknown? Who the hell is that?” I grabbed the pastry bag containing the apple tart and the brownie off the counter, and dropped the chocolate chip cookie inside, then shoved the whole bag into my spatial pouch. If some enemy had entered the rift, I needed to run.

  Chelsea turned her attention back to me. “Someone not yet in the System. They could have entered via either breach, so it could be a Rhescan native, or it could be someone from Earth.”

  Someone from Earth. Would any of the neighbors have come to check on me?

  That seemed unlikely. My community, such as it was, consisted of two kinds of people: those who kept to themselves and those who very much didn’t. I was squarely in the first group.

  The church-goers, Little League boosters, town council folks might band together to share information (read: gossip) and help one another out, but I doubted (read: didn’t believe for a minute) they’d check on the outsiders.

  That didn’t bother me. I didn’t want them checking on me, and I didn’t want to feel responsible for checking on them, either. I’d make polite small talk with familiar faces at the grocery store, but I’d happily go the rest of my life without saying hello to another person from my high school.

  But if I ruled out a friendly visitor, could I do the same with an unfriendly one?

  Not so easily, I reluctantly admitted to myself. It ought to be early days for looters—in real time, it was less than twenty-four hours since the multiverse had started talking to us—but opportunists existed everywhere. Would someone hoping to ransack my house really enter the rift, though?

  “I need to get out there,” I said, hefting Warden’s Edge with one hand, my coffee with the other.

  “Perhaps wise.” Chelsea tapped a finger against her lips, looking thoughtful. She nodded toward my hands. “The coffee provides an incremental, but temporary, boost to Endurance and Resilience. You’ll want to guzzle to get the full effect quickly.”

  I wanted details. How big a boost? How long was temporary? But I didn’t ask, just nodded, and drank. I’d check my attributes when I finished it, but I didn’t want to waste the time on questions now.

  “I don’t know how the ability gains will work,” Chelsea continued. “This interface is an unusual model. You might need to eat the whole pastry or a single bite might be sufficient. I do recommend using your armor as soon as possible, however.”

  “Got it.” I drank another two swallows, emptying the cup, then set it down on the counter. “I just… walk out the door?”

  Chelsea’s shrug held as much amusement as uncertainty. “Your guess is as good as mine.”

  I took a breath. There was a feeling running through my body. It was in my blood, pumping through my veins, and for a heartbeat or two, I wanted to have a real conversation with System Chelsea, the kind of conversation I would have had with the real Chelsea.

  I wanted to tell her that I was scared. Afraid of what I would find. Afraid of what was going to happen. Maybe even afraid of what I was going to have to do.

  Momentum had been carrying me through the past few days. I just kept doing what felt like the next right thing. Attacking the squirrels, fighting the goblins, chasing Bear into the rift.

  But right now, right here, while I was looking at that doorway that was going to lead me into the unknown, I was also remembering.

  Remembering Jack’s fried face. Emma killing Sam. The spurting blood from the neck of that goblin wizard.

  Remembering that moment when I knew I was dead, that split second when all I had left to do was hope for Zelda to survive.

  The thought of my dog, though, was enough for me to stop letting the wobbliness caused by my fear hold me back. She needed me. Bear needed me. I didn’t have time to be afraid.

  I reached into my pouch, pulled the brownie out of the pastry bag, and started walking and eating at the same time. When I got to the door, I turned to push it open with my hip.

  “Good luck,” Chelsea called across the cafe to me.

  My mouth was full of brownie, so I didn’t say good-bye, just nodded to her and tilted my shovel in something like a wave as I stepped outside, into the rift.

  Honestly, it was a disappointment.

  I was standing by the side of the road in completely generic small-town USA. Not the Norman Rockwell version of small-town America, with a white steepled church and houses with picket fences and rose gardens.

  The modern version.

  From where I stood, I could see the Dollar General, the gas station, and the donut shop, and a couple run-down houses with more trash than grass in their front yards.

  I turned and looked behind me. The cafe was gone, but the shimmer in the air told me that this was the breach, the place where the rift connected to my back yard.

  So where were my dogs?

  And where was the unknown intruder?

  I took another bite of brownie and checked my status screen. Under Abilities, Invisible Armor was at the bottom of the list. The description read:

  Invisible Armor—Manifest a protective barrier that surrounds you, absorbing physical and magical damage until its integrity fails or the duration expires. Duration is Will x 5 minutes. Usable up to Will × 10 minutes total per day. Cooldown between uses of 1 minute. Strengthens with Resilience.

  My Will stat was 22, so a little mental math told me that I had 110 minutes per use, twice a day. Just over three and a half hours total. That would have to be enough to explore the rift and find the dogs.

  Feeling stupid, I thought, Use [Invisible Armor]. That had to be how it worked, right?

  It was.

  A wave of something cool flowed across my body, head to toe. The feeling was strongest on my face, almost like one of those tingly facial masks. The sensation faded away, but I could tell the armor was still active. I stuck out my foot and wiggled my toes. I couldn’t see it, but it was there, a layer of protection covering my skin. I jumped up and down a little, testing the coverage on my feet. It felt like I was wearing flip-flops, almost—no arch support, but definitely something between my bare skin and the pavement I was standing on.

  So… armor on. No dogs in sight. I guess I needed to explore?

  I dusted off my fingers from the brownie, and reached into my pouch for the apple tart. Appetite-wise, I would have liked to save it for later. I did not need three desserts for breakfast. But I wanted my [Analyze] skill to start working as soon as possible.

  The apple tart was delicious. The brownie had been good, a perfectly normal chocolate brownie, but the apple tart had flaky pastry, a hint of cinnamon, and just the right amount of tanginess to the apples. I ate it, standing on the side of the street in my pajamas, contemplating the utter strangeness of the world I’d suddenly found myself in.

  Did pastries improve with the level of the skill? Would a rare skill be the best baked good I’d ever tasted?

  Then I checked my Abilities. [Analyze] was there now, with a description that read:

  Analyze—Examine a creature or object to reveal name, level, notable traits, abilities, and conditions. May also detect composition, properties, and potential uses. Results are limited or obscured when the target’s level greatly exceeds your own. Accuracy improves with Perception and Intelligence. Cooldown: 10 seconds.

  Perception and Intelligence, huh? My Perception was great, my Intelligence… not so much. I still had three free points and at least one more level, so I could increase it if I wanted to.

  But I’d wait on that. First, I needed to find my dogs.