Monroe

Chapter Two Hundred and Forty-Nine. I'm not telling him.

It had taken Bob three weeks to successfully cast Mana-Sight without the aid of the System.

He took solace in the fact that he'd only been able to spend thirty minutes a day practicing, although the hours he'd spent each day puzzling over the successes and failures of that practice was best left unmentioned. He preferred to think that he'd only need eleven hours of practice.

"I know," Bob told Monroe, "Kitty is so hungry," he shook his head woefully. "How could I neglect the most handsome kitty in the world?"

Monroe was sprawled in front of, and partially over, his food bowl. The big Maine-coon was making it clear that his end was nigh, as he hadn't eaten in over eight hours. Monroe mreow'd weakly, signaling that his strength was rapidly fading.

As Bob pulled a bowl of fish chunks out of stasis, Monroe managed to rally the last of his strength as he fell on the bowl like the starving kitty he clearly was.

"How dare I," Bob commiserated as he ran his hand through Monroe's ruff. "Starving a kitty like that," he shook his head again.

Monroe began to purr as the world was once more put to rights. Bob gave up on leaning over and sat down beside the feline of mass consumption, giving in to the desire to deliver a good thorough apology petting.

The long days took a toll in more ways than one, and towards the end of the month he'd noticed that he started to lose track of time. There were connotations to that which didn't bode particularly well.

He was really looking forward to his vacation. Dave and Amanda had asked him to help with the latest round of D&D players before heading to Hawaii, and he'd agreed. Eddi and Wayna would be joining them, along with Bailli and Erick. Bailli in particular had been quite enthusiastic as she'd looked through pictures of the islands.

Bob wanted to try scuba diving, parasailing, and surfing. He was determined to enjoy his life, when and where he could. The ability to convert water to breathable air, and the reality of his endurance making the bends a none issue only added to his enthusiasm.

"I bet you'll love surfing," he told Monroe.

The big cat's rumbling purr was all the answer he needed.

"I don't understand why you are upset," Annisa looked perplexed. "The King is going to make sure as many people as possible are saved. Your leaders should be grateful that he's willing to take on the burden of planning and executing the evacuation."

"I can't speak for anyone else, but it feels like we're surrendering our autonomy," Mike grumbled. "He basically kidnapped the heads of our governments, and told them do as they were told or he'd put them in time out."

"From what I understand, he only put the dissidents into stasis," Annisa replied.

"It just doesn't feel right," Mike shook his head. "Intellectually, I know that this was likely the only way he was going to receive the cooperation he needs to pull the evacuation off, but it still rankles."

"I'm simply grateful that the King's edict regarding military personnel doesn't apply to those who are retired," Annisa leveled a winsome smile toward him. "I would have been awfully lonely if you were in stasis for a year and a half."

Mike opened his mouth, then closed it. He'd been ready to agree with her, and offer some sort of sentiments along the lines of missing her as well. He shook his head. Too much time spent in close proximity to her tended to skew his thinking.

"I noticed that the Endless have begun constructing a tower at the Redoubt," Annisa offered, breaking the silence before it became even more awkward.

Mike nodded. "It's hard to tell them no when they're trying to hard to help," he muttered. "One Dungeon, and not the deepest one, is a tiny part of the debt we owe those kids."

"You do know they don't see it that way?" Annisa asked.

"That's because they're young and idealistic," Mike replied, "whereas the Old Guard is compromised entirely of bitter, cynical old men, and we have no illusions as to just how much we owe the Endless. While they aren't facing a great deal of danger, what with their affinity crystals and path, mistakes and accidents can still happen. They've risked their lives to aid us, asking for nothing in return. That's the sort of behaviour the Corps recognizes."

"Have you heard from Bob?" Annisa asked.

Mike blinked, mentally shifting gears. "Not for a week or two, he's been delving pretty hard, I don't think we'll see him until it's time to collect the King's crystals and then he's going on vacation. You aren't the only one looking for him, but he's not interested in being found."

Mike had received multiple requests looking for Bob. The change over from civilian to military personnel at Glacier Valley was due to start next week, and without the training and discipline of the services, the powers that be were looking toward Bob to have him teach a few classes in proper dungeoneering, with an eye towards molding those being taught to become teachers themselves. Hell, they might use actual teachers.

"If you speak to him, the Seneschal would like a word, preferably before he arrives at the palace to deliver this month's crystals," Annisa murmured.

"With Bob it's better not to give him too much warning," Mike grumbled, "if it's not something he judges to be important, he's just as likely to avoid it, something that he has quite the talent for."

A knock at the door drew his attention away from Annisa. "Enter," he called out.

The door open and Eric nodded to them. "Good evening Annisa," he said, "Mike, we've finished the sixth Dungeon, and we're ready to start building the housing above. I need authorization to pull the crystals for the spatial expansion, assuming we're still planning to go that route?"

Mike winced, and started swiping and tapping the screen of his tablet. They'd shifted to spatially expanded rooms in the past three towers above the Dungeons, which allowed them to fit four hundred studio apartments in the space that would normally allow for twenty. At twenty stories and with three Dungeons capped so far, those buildings alone had provided housing for twenty-four thousand veterans, although the current rule was that you couldn't get into one unless you had the portal spell.

Bob hadn't been clear about the consequences of a spatial expansion enchantment failing, but no one wanted to end up stuck in some extradimensional space.

The problem was the cost. The extradimensional spaces were expensive to create, running a thousand mana crystals each, but there was also the maintenance to consider. It was infuriating, as the cost was highly dependant on the caster. The higher level the caster, the less frequent the upkeep. The highest upkeep they'd calculated was three mana crystals per unit, per day. The issue was keeping track of which units needed how many crystals each day, and making sure the enchantments were fed.

They'd decided to simply have every unit drop three crystals a day into maintenance. At the end of the month, anyone with more than three crystals in the maintenance bucket was to turn them back in, where they'd go towards developing more housing.

Three mana crystals times twenty-four thousand units meant they were bleeding seventy-two thousand crystals a day.

Mike hated dealing with accounting. That was why he'd driven a beat up old Jeep, and lived in a crummy apartment. He made sure to live significantly below his means so that he wouldn't ever have to worry about what to pay and when. Another point of contention he'd had with Carrie, who'd preferred to finer things in life.

He shook his head, and finished authorizing the crystals to be released for the project.

"You can have the crystals, but you can't start having the enchantments cast until the day after tomorrow," Mike told Eric. "Tomorrow is regeneration day, and we can't eat the maintenance on the new units without postponing some of the rituals."

Eric nodded. Mike knew that Eric was aware of how important it was to keep their promises to the men they'd brought to Thayland.

"I'll make sure no one gets too enthusiastic," Eric promised, then with another nod to Annisa, he left, closing the door behind him.

"You know, he was the one who gave me my first Coke," Annisa said, producing an ice cold can from her inventory.

Mike shook his head. He'd learned from close association that Annisa, while not physically addicted to Coca-Cola, as that was apparently impossible thanks to some divine blessing or another, was inordinately fond of the beverage. She'd asked some very pointed questions about the ingredients listed on the back of the can, and she'd put in a request for detailed information on how to manufacture her favorite beverage.

He was certain that before Earth was integrated, there was going to be a factory churning out cool, refreshing cans of Coca-Cola.

"Due respect sir, I'm not telling him, sir," the Leiutenant protested.

"He can't sleep there! It's not safe, and he's in the way!" The Captain insisted.

Captain Halsey reigned in his temper. It wasn't the Leiutenants fault, and dressing him down over something which he couldn't possibly control was counterproductive.

He signed and looked out from the bridge.

The ocean that spread out before him looked like the North Atlantic. Dark water, deep and cold.

His gaze dropped to his flight deck.

How exactly did one go about telling a hundred foot long dragon that his flight deck was not a good place to take a nap?

He'd been grateful when the King of Greenwold had helped move part of the fleet to Thayland, although he wasn't looking forward to being in suspended animation for the better part of a year.

He'd been happy to explain the function and specifications of his ship to the man. The King had been deeply interested in his ship above all the others. It was only after they'd made the passage and dropped anchor that the reason for his interest became apparent.

He'd appeared on the flight deck, checked the breeze, and then turned into a giant flying lizard, only instead of flying away, he'd turned around twice on the flight deck, and like a cat, he'd flopped down.

The Captain winced as the fifty-foot long tail twitched, coming dangerously close to smashing into a Hornet.

"Maybe it's like a waterbed to him, sir," the Leiutenant offered. "Hopefully he'll get tired of it and go back to sleeping where ever it is he normally sleeps."

"I'm guessing he sleeps wherever he wants."

The Captain wasn't sure, but he thought Ensign Roberts was the one who had muttered that unfortunate truth.

"Sir, a message from the Washington, sir," this time he knew it was the Ensign who offered him the slip of paper.

'You appear to have some sort of experimental aircraft on your flightdeck. In the interests of joint exercise planning, please submit the specifications for the new bird, including diet and disposition.'

He sighed, and handed the slip back to the Ensign. "Relay it to the crew, Ensign, we might as well have laugh with them."

Ed was once again contemplating just exactly when his life had become this surreal.

His position on Thayland was being revised, and as he was technically a civilian, he was being rushed through a Dungeon in an effort to level up.

The upcoming mothballing of the military personnel had stuck a wrench in the well oiled gears of Glacier Valley, and as he'd been part of the project since it's inception, the responsibility for transitioning over to a work force of civilians had fallen on his shoulders.

The President had decided that it was important for him to have real experience with delving the Dungeons and all the other attendant functions, which left him scrambling to catch up.

His days had gotten awfully long.

His phone began beeping and he sighed in relief. His summoned monster finished stomping on a scorpion and he headed to the Gateway. His delve was done for the day, and he just knew that a small mountain of paperwork was waiting for him.

Military personnel had the blessed trait of following orders. They would complain, as was their god given right, but they would accept the realities of a situation far more readily than civilians. He'd had to deal with complaints about the food yesterday.

Two soldiers were escorting him to the entrance, having been entrusted with his safety, and one of them, a young woman coughed to get his attention. "If you don't mind me asking sir, why a Hippopotamus?"

"My daughter loves them," he replied with a smile. "I figured if I was going to summon some sort of animal, I might as well summon one that would make her happy. And," he added, "they're awfully effective."

Passing through the Gateway, he portaled to his office, and sighed as the expected mound of paperwork met and exceeded his expectations. What was wrong with being level fifteen, he grumbled internally. The push to get him to twenty-five, which entailed ensuring his summoned monster was at max level, was a significant time sink. Time that he needed to spend responding to inane complaints.

He picked up the file on the top of a stack. "They don't like the cots or the blankets," he muttered in disbelief as he read through the politely worded but firm request for alternate bedding.

The truth was that he had no love for the cots either, or the slightly scratchy blankets. But when you had as little time to sleep as he did, he was grateful just to have a place to lie down and hide from the world while he slept.

It was all the King of Greenwold's fault. It turned out that he had very specific ideas about how the evacuation should be carried out. Military personnel were to be placed in stasis immediately, while civilians who were not essential to the function of society were to be the first offered the chance to stay out of stasis, grinding crystals and levels.

Ed had to admit that the IRS was a logical place to start. The King had very strong opinions about tax law, namely that taxes should be ten percent. Exceptions were to be made only by the King, and the person coming before him to offer their reasoning for an exception had better have one hell of a reason.

All that said, Ed was having to deal with pampered beaurocrats who had an exaggerated notion of their place in the world.

If there was a sliver lining to the whole mess, it was that there was a strong correlation between loving numbers as an account, and loving numbers as a roleplayer. A full thirty percent of the IRS employees had leapt at the chance to become Adventurers. At least until they'd been fed MRE's, which Ed was willing to admit was three lies for the price one, and been offered cots and blankets in shared tents.

With a sigh, he sat down behind his desk, and began drafting a response that didn't sound like he was calling the people who submitted it idiots.