Monroe

Chapter Two Hundred and Fifteen. Sometimes Progress is rough.

Ed looked at the report in front of him with a frown.

The Old Guard had managed to level up without incurring any losses, but the active-duty service personnel were experiencing casualties. It would be easy to attribute the losses to the lack of Affinity Crystals, which was an issue, but it would also be dishonest. They weren't delving any further than one level over. From what he was reading, they were leveling up before capping their skills.

He pinched the bridge of his nose. He'd tried to impart the importance of the six rules of delving, but they hadn't been received particularly well. Likewise, the Old Guard had tried to instill them into the active-duty personnel, but the Old Guard were viewed as just that, old, and washed up.

He'd pushed for the Old Guard to be folded back into the Marines as active-duty personnel, but the initiative had stalled. As the delay stretched out, the Old Guard started remembering the parts of the service that they hadn't enjoyed. By the time the offer had been extended, they'd chosen to decline.

Now Mike Hanson had turned the few duties still allocated to him over, tendering his unofficial resignation. He'd quietly told Ed, off the record, that the Old Guard were frustrated with the complete lack of progress towards restoring the veterans back home, and it was clear that if they wanted something done, they'd have to do it themselves.

Ed couldn't disagree with that sentiment. He'd lobbied hard for a program to bring all the veterans back into the fold, but it had stalled out in committee.

He had a distinct feeling that there was going to be a Hanson, Bob, Old Guard collaboration, with Hanson and Bob making executive decisions that were bound to annoy some executives. He sighed and started typing out a new directive for the president to sign, requiring any active-duty personnel delving a Dungeon to have all of their skills capped before advancing.

As for the activities of Hanson, Bob, and the rest, they weren't part of his purview. "Godspeed and good luck, gentlemen," he murmured.

Bob forced a smile as he was greeted by the line of men waiting for breakfast. Every single one of them seemed to be in high spirits, which was understandable, given that only a few days ago, or hours for some, they'd been missing limbs or had some other internal damage. He'd just finished the fifth floor of the Old Guard's Dungeon, and he was looking forward to eating dinner and falling into bed.

The past five days had been long ones, building out a floor in the morning and into the afternoon, then casting regenerate rituals for a couple of hours. He was worn out.

"Bob," Mike's voice came from behind him, and he jerked in surprise.

"You need some downtime," Mike observed as he gestured towards an empty table. "You're getting a little jumpy."

"I do," Bob agreed, "although we're still a solid week out for the tenth floor of the Dungeon."

"Take a day," Mike advised as he sat down with his tray. "Water's is going to make a big push in two weeks, and you'll need to be ready, not strung out and overworked."

"Big push?" Bob asked as he eyed the green bean casserole on his plate.

"Yep, he's been scouting portal sites and putting out the word to get ready for something big," Mike shrugged. "You know, Waters has always been impulsive. He followed orders well enough, but he was prone to getting distracted, which was what kept him a Lance Corporal. But this project, getting everyone healed up, he's focused like I've never seen him."

"That's a good thing, right?" Bob asked.

"I never really knew him that well on a personal level," Mike admitted, "but I think the Corps meant more to him than he ever said."

"As far as the big push he's planning, do you think we could recruit someone else with the regeneration ritual from the Church?" Mike asked. "We'll have a couple of dozen guys with it by then, but they won't be as good at it."

Bob nodded as he chewed. Ritual casting was a system skill, but it was one that required a bit of practice to get used to and a lot of practice to be able to cast rituals continuously.

"Why not ask Annisa?" he asked with a grin. The priestess' pursuit of Mike had been so obvious that even he'd been able to recognize it.

"She's in Harbordeep," Mike replied.

"We have portals," Bob said dryly. "Also, we should be able to lean on the Endless, I know a bunch of them have that ritual."

"They do?" Mike asked in surprise.

"Yeah, when I was giving out the quick description of each path, I pretty much told them that having the ability to heal and regrow limbs and choosing not to take those skills was stupid, and a lot of them took it to heart," Bob explained. "In retrospect, it turns out that you don't really run into a use for that ritual very often, but having it is pretty important when you do need it."

"Not like we don't already owe them," Mike sighed, "what's another chit?"

It wasn't that they weren't making progress. Since Bob had gotten the Dungeon started, Derrick had stepped up in a big way, dropping a floor every two days until he'd reached the sixth floor, where he was now spending three. Currently eight floors deep, the Dungeon at New Perth was fully occupied by a heap of eager Australians.

In some ways, they were a little too eager. There was a ten-year-old girl who'd gotten into her mum and dad's stash of crystals and was now happily throwing lighting bolts at a series of lightning rods that had been planted after a wayward sheep had taken a jolt to the arse.

Everyone who took a shift in the Dungeon turned over half the crystals they gathered to dig it deeper, then four or five to the Druids who were growing crops at an insane rate, and another ten to the reincarnation fund.

It turned out that having a thousand people contribute ten crystals a day started to add up, and folks were chomping at the bit to bring loved ones over and get them hale and healthy again.

The problem was that people back home were starting to ask questions. An entire bloody station had effectively disappeared, and the few folks who hadn't been brought over had panicked a bit.

They'd had a meeting and a vote, and it had been decided, narrowly, that moving forward, they'd bring people over when they had room in the Dungeon for them. Conversely, if someone wanted to step out of the Dungeon for a while, and they had a pile of crystals, they could relinquish their slot to someone else, which had turned out to be a boon for the parents, allowing them to trade a slot back and forth.

Still, the pressure was there.

Derrick was training would-be Curators as he dropped the Dungeon down, but he freely admitted that his work wasn't up to the same standard of quality as Bob's. It did the job, but it required quite a bit more maintenance, and it lacked that elegant strength. Jessica wanted to have Bob drop the first floor of the next Dungeon and was plotting to arrange for a truly epic barbie to celebrate the event. It ought to make up for the shock they'd given him when he'd completed the first one, she thought.

The problem was that Bob had fucked off with the Old Guard to parts unknown. Rumor had it that he was building a Dungeon out for them so that they could start bringing over wounded veterans en masse.

She'd gotten that information from the Endless, but it was second-hand information at best, sometimes third, and none of the kids she'd talked to knew exactly where he was. She'd been reduced to sending a message.

While Thayland was amazing, and magic was the stuff of dreams, she couldn't wait for Jack to get some satellites in orbit to facilitate continent-wide cellular communications. While he hadn't mentioned any plan to do so, it wasn't hard for her to recognize his designs. He wanted to build a paradise on Thayland where refugees from Earth could not only be safe but comfortable, with all the familiar conveniences of home, and a few new ones, courtesy of magic.

Calling Bob, or more likely given his shyness, sending him a text, or even an email, would be a blessing.

There were downsides to that technology, though. She re-read the message on her cell for what seemed like the hundredth time.

Someone from the PM's office was looking for her.

Corraling her thoughts, she once again wondered if they were progressing fast enough.

Carol-Ann watched Mr. Carson for any signs of distress as she disposed of the needle. His heart rate and oxygen saturation levels were steady.

"How long do you think it'll take for it to work?" She asked Harv.

Before he could answer, a rancid stench filled the room, and a dark puddle appeared at Mr. Carson's groin, spreading rapidly.

Harv pinched his nose and grimaced, his movements echoed by Elli. "I'd say it's working," Harv coughed.

She quickly pulled down the sheets and realized that she was going to need an orderly to help her. There was a pool of black liquid that reeked of death, for lack of a better descriptor.

Suddenly the pool dried, caking the sheets in an oily muck that then cracked and crumbled to dust before the dust itself disappeared.

Carol-Ann turned to find Harv leaning against his wizard's staff.

"Bit of the old necromancy," Elli supplied.

"Ashes to Ashes," Harv agreed, "hopefully, with the source gone, the smell will dissipate quickly."

"So it worked?" She asked again, pulling the sheet back up and rechecking the monitors.

"You'll need to run your tests to confirm," Harv said, tucking his staff back into the extradimensional space he carried around with him.

Carol-Ann had looked into that and discovered that a good dimensionalist, which meant a level twenty-five dimensionalist on the Path of the Bountiful Step, charged a thousand level twenty-five crystals to create one of those for you.

She was determined to have one eventually, but she hadn't leveled up yet, preferring to do some research before making any important decisions. Her boyfriend, Fred, had characteristically jumped in with both feet and was heading down the Endless Swarm Path.

"That shouldn't be too hard; I chose Mr. Carson because he's due for an evaluation on Friday," she smiled, "which means we have two days before the tests and another three before we get the results."

Harv nodded. Carol-Ann knew that he'd wanted to distribute every dose of the potion he'd created, but after educating himself on the modern healthcare system, he'd reluctantly agreed to test a single case and then build from the results.

Initially, he'd wanted to just mass-produce the potion once he'd developed one that he'd thought would work. There were twenty million cancer patients in the country, and Harv only knew one other Alchemist that was high enough level to help, and they didn't have, nor would they likely be willing to learn, Necromancy. It turned out that there were more than a few Alchemists out there, but they were lower level, mostly using the skill to produce low power, long-duration potions that could enhance health, stamina, or mana regeneration. They weren't dedicated to the skill like he was.

Carol-Ann had promised him that if this worked, she'd be the first person in line to become an Alchemist, and she'd happily take both Animancy and Necromancy. Harv had warned her that there were very few deities who would provide access to both of those schools, as there were, quite rightly, viewed as being diametrically opposed to one another.

She didn't care who or what she had to pray to, she'd lost too many patients to cancer. Animancy would make her a healer, and she was fine with that. She often filled that role in their weekend D&D games anyway, and she enjoyed it, although the group had made a few kind-hearted jokes about her being a natural cleric.

"I'll be done for the day in about fifteen minutes," Carol-Ann said, "is there anything you'd like to do while you're in L.A.?"

"I saw a massive sign that said there was a 'Martial Arts' tournament," Elli said, "and it had a man with a sword among the images. I'd very much like to see how the swordsmen on Earth have developed."

"The convention center," she nodded, "let me check."

Fishing out her phone, she quickly discovered that the martial arts tournament, which was more of an expo, would be ongoing from Wednesday to Sunday, with hundreds of local schools in attendance. They were holding tournaments every night, with free admittance, clearly in an effort to attract students. A quick glance through the schedule showed that the organizers had gone all out, with several matches being held at once on the floor of the convention center, dozens over the course of the night.

"It looks like there are demonstrations every night from various schools," she said as she scrolled, "and here we are, Kendo, Shinkendo, Kenjutsu, a whole host of styles. Looks like you have multiple choices each evening at around seven or so."

She slid her phone into her pocket and looked up at Elli who was smile might best be described as 'manic.'

"Maybe we could have dinner first, then go to the convention center?" Carol-Ann offered hesitantly, "that would put us there in plenty of time to watch the matches."

It was Harv's turn to smile, although his lacked the disturbing fervor of Elli's. "That would be great, the people cooking at the tavern in Glacier Valley have provided us with some wonderful meals, but they always complain that they don't have the right ingredients and that they aren't chef's and we should really try the food here to understand how good it can be."

"Well, what would you like to try?" She asked.

"Eddi was raving about something called a 'Big Mac,'" Harv said.

Carol-Ann shook her head firmly. "Oh no," she said, "you aren't getting your first taste of our cuisine from McDonald's. If you want a burger and fries, I know a great little place a couple of blocks from here that only uses fresh meat and potatoes, and they bake their own bread."

"What would you use if the meat and potatoes weren't fresh?" Harv asked skeptically.

Carol-Ann hid a smile at the growing looks of horror on their faces as she guided them back to reception, regaling them with tales of flash-frozen beef, fries, and week-old cooking oil.

She was certain she could keep at least these two away from fast food.