That got me thinking. He could be right. He had to be. I definitely wasn't going to look into all of the consequences of, say, all of our players going back to the real world while preserving their characters' abilities. What had Frag called it, 'Israel and the end times'? It could well be. Actually, the former risked being the first to disappear from the world map. No amount of security walls or breakthrough technologies could save you from a stealthed nighttime 'well-wisher' smothering the sleeping streets and houses with clouds of Choky Death. I shuddered. God forbid.
"Imagine that?" Dan asked, watching the sequence of emotions run across my face.
"Yeah. A different scenario, actually, but it doesn't change the facts."
"So it looks as if you got it. How much of this stuff do you have?" he nodded at the gun in Frag's hands. The General had already ejected the contents of the magazine and lined it all up on the table in front of himself. "Have you unearthed the Ancient Ones' storeroom or just broken into some gaming millionaire's armory packed with made-to-order artifacts?"
So! I paused, trying to take in his random suggestions. This guy had some sick fantasies.
"Apparently not," a faked disappointment in his voice, Dan kept watching my face. "I will never believe that you've given us the only gun you had."
I'd have given everything for a shot of botox to paralyze my facial muscles. His soul-searching stare was getting to me. I wasn't a TV, after all.
I shook my head. "You don't need to believe it if you don't want to. This shooter is a real echo of war. With compliments from those technogenic dudes who tore the Temple apart eight hundred years ago. Oh, I got this thing, too."
I rummaged through my logs for the two screenshots of the dead trolls with a tank barrel as a club and forwarded them to the two.
"Holy shit," Dan whispered. "That's impressive. That's them just standing there? You think you could sell them? These are proper warriors, you understand, and they have this... firearm. This way the soldiers will have something to worship."
I shook my head. "They can worship Macaria if they want. Sorry but I have my own ideas about them. You can take the screenshot and have a painting of it made in the City of Light. If it inspires you that much."
Dan nodded, deadly serious. "I will. I need a copy of this for myself."
"Two!" the General broke his silence.
This was how it happened that the two unknown heroes had shed the dust of time, their act of desperate bravery acquiring a new lease of life before my very eyes. In another five hundred years, some Drow boy scouts would stand, open-mouthed, before the painting in some local art museum as the Troll guide would shed an involuntary tear, narrating the ancient legend.
Chapter Fifteen
As my associates recovered from their art appreciation experience, I rose and, searching their eyes for their permission, poured out a generous cup of coffee for myself. It was almost two in the morning; the accumulated exhaustion was weighing my brain down, I was sleepy as well as hungry. I looked over the conference table: nothing edible, only piles of paperwork. With a sigh, I slumped back into my chair. Dan who'd never lost control of any situation, read me with ease and snapped a couple of commands into the castle's control console. He really should play poker: he'd make millions. Having said that, he wasn't that poor: take the recent scheme with the two brokers at the tournament when a good hundred thousand US greenbacks wriggled their way into his pocket. I already had a funny feeling he'd creamed off more from the cigarette boom than even I had. Well, I didn't mind. Having good role models was never a bad thing. Being the smartest guy among idiots may be flattering but it didn't get you very far. Becoming part of a good team so you could profit from the old dogs' experience, now that was well and truly useful.
Soon, the table was laid with several platefuls of cold cuts and starters. After five minutes of laborious chewing, life was looking up even though now I was even sleepier. Both Dan and the General welcomed the pause as they got busy making changes to the clan's prospective roadmap in view of the intelligence received. I even forgot about the rabbit pie I was holding as I watched their master class in strategic thinking and solving mammoth tasks. How do you eat a mammoth? Easy: you keep nibbling until there's nothing left of it but bare bones. Same here: the seemingly unmanageable task could be broken down into smaller segments that could be delegated to actual workers or relevant administrators.
Finally, the General raised his head to me. "Are there any requirements for the position of priest? Their level, their relationships with other factions? Do you have someone in mind?"
I checked the list of priest abilities. Formally, there were no restrictions. Macaria hadn't made any particular demands, either—having said that, she could have been too preoccupied. That wasn't my problem, anyway. But as for the candidates, my first thought was Dan, he was made for the job with one exception: he was completely unreadable and uncontrollable. That could be a problem because the priests were supposed to be my helpers—subordinates, even. I just couldn't imagine him in that role. But I hadn't yet met many Vets—none at all, in fact, apart from Eric. Eric... well, why not?
I looked up at the General and shook my head. "Currently, no restrictions. As for candidates, I believe Eric to be suited best to the post. I'd like you to keep in mind that if a priest is proven to be unsuited to the job, he can be defrocked or even excommunicated. This rule applies to everyone," I said as gently as I could hoping they didn't interpret my words as a threat.
They exchanged smiles. Those bastards just refused to take me seriously. I had my work cut out for me, authority wise.
"We could in fact agree to your proposal," Dan said, adamant he'd milk the idea for everything it was worth. "As a return favor, we'd like to help you carry your pot of mithril from the other end of the rainbow. For a few pennies, of course."
Yeah, right. Looked like they'd outsmarted themselves this time. Had they not been flexing their thinking muscles in front of me, I might have said yes. But now I could smell rats everywhere I turned. In any case, how were you supposed to give someone access to your own bank vault without supervision? No metal detector would find the gold stuck to their sweaty paws: the game's mechanics allowed you to move a tank into your bag with a single silent command. Okay, maybe not a tank—I hadn't yet met anyone with a thirty-ton weight carrying capacity here. Then again, you shouldn't forget about those artifact bags which could diminish or even nullify the item's weight. But pilfering something like a mithril tank barrel from a petrified troll's hands, I wouldn't put it past them. Soldiers! They can't resist temptation. There isn't even a word for stealing in the army. Instead, they say "appropriated". No, guys, sorry, but the gun is mine and you're not getting it.
"I have an offer, too," I said. "For a few pennies—say, a million gold—I'll sell you the coordinates of an alternative rainbow with a field of gold at the end. Mithril I can't promise but what I can guarantee is about twenty hectares of the best Gigantic Fly Trap."
Dan sat up. He swung his head round checking a place for unwanted ears, then mumbled, trying hard to look disappointed, "One million—don't you know any other figures for a change? How about a hundred grand? Any piece of intelligence is worth that!"
I grinned, shaking my head. "Sorry, chief, that's non-negotiable. You'll reap ten times more from that field. A couple of weeks working the land, and you'll have your million. I would have done it myself but I don't have any spare hands to guard and harvest it. Besides, I'm too busy as it is. It will also allow you to level up your farmers a bit. The area is unexplored with plenty of untamed game for them to tackle. By the same token, their presence will protect them from some overeager PKs."