Solomon's Crucible 7. An Informative Conversation (Patreon)

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Solomon stared at the man who had just declared that the two of them were stuck together. He could think of a hundred reasons not to trust him. The red eyes alone were unsettling.

On the other hand, Solomon had gone through one hell of a day. The chance to get answers, however suspect, wasn't something he could ignore.

"What the hell is going on?" he asked. "The system, these monsters, all this... what the hell?"

Mort took a puff on his cigar. For just a moment he actually looked introspective.

"That's a good question, kid," he said. "You know, some people get a degree studying this stuff. You can earn a pretty good living if you're the right kind of egghead."

"That's great," Solomon said, "but can you please just tell me what's going on?"

He'd left his patience behind with his left hand on the floor of the ravine. If he didn't get some explanations soon, he was going to start stabbing somebody.

"There's rules, you know. I can't coach you. Wouldn't be fair," Mort said, before pressing the index finger of his free hand against the side of his nose. "Although, if you ask me about something that everybody knows, common sense kind of stuff, well... no harm, no foul, right?"

"Fine," Solomon said, casting around for a more specific question. The sign behind the counter caught his eye. "Zone 000450791, what is that?"

"Take your planet, and divide it up into squares one mile on a side," Mort said. "We're in square #000450791."

Solomon wanted to say something sarcastic at finally getting a straight answer. He held back with an effort of will and focused on his practical questions. "Can I go to other zones? Or at least find out what's going on?"

He hadn't been able to spare a thought for anything but survival since the system had arrived. Now that he had a minute to stop and think, he couldn't help but wonder about his family and friends. Not that any of them would have been troubled by the furballs, but he had a feeling that those little guys were just a taste of things to come. He'd hate to think that someone was going to hand his little sister a club and turn her loose on a bunch of alien monsters.

Mort gave him a sympathetic look. "First thing you're gonna have to do is conquer the dungeon out there."

He should have known he'd have to go through the skull-bedecked door as soon as he'd seen it. It had been that kind of day.

He had come to the Umpqua National Forest to get away from other people, but this was a little over the top. If he had to fight through some kind of system-prepared challenge for every mile he wanted to cover, he was going to have a hell of a time just getting back to civilization, let alone back home.

Though, perhaps the system would offer an assist. "All this skill and grid stuff-"

"You really gotta learn that through the tutorial, kid," Mort said, tapping his cigar against the ashtray on top of the counter. "You ought to have a few points to spend."

Solomon kept his expression blank in the face of Mort's questioning look. He had a feeling that the fifty-odd points he had stockpiled were a lot more than most would have. As much as he'd like to trust Mort, he wasn't quite ready to spill all his secrets just yet. Not to a guy who was ready to just roll on out to some other planet if Solomon got killed after taking his advice.

"How do you level up skills, anyway?" Solomon asked. His fight against the big furball had been a lot more stressful than any of the fights against the little furballs, but he hadn't gotten anything out of it besides another ugly corpse for his inventory. He'd been hoping he'd get some kind of stabbing skill, all things considered.

Mort waggled his eyebrows. "How do you get to Carnegie Hall?"

Solomon had no idea what he was talking about.

"Practice!" Mort said, throwing up his arms. "I paid good money for that cultural package, I wish I'd known I'd be casting pearls before swine."

Solomon couldn't help but glower. He was just about completely out of patience.

"If you remember one thing about the system, remember this: the system recognizes skill and grants abilities," Mort continued. "Practice on your own, get better, and once the system notices you'll get that level up."

"What about-" Solomon began, before Mort held up his hand.

"Kid, I like you, but I really can't tell you much more," Mort said. "Wouldn't be fair, breaking the rules."

Where was the fairness when the system bricked his phone? When it sicced a mountain lion on him and neutered his gun? When it spawned those furballs in the ravine where he was pinned in place? Where was the fairness in making him cut off his goddamned hand?

Solomon gritted his teeth and kept his voice level with some effort. "I haven't noticed anything fair about what's happened today."

Mort wasn't intimidated by his obvious anger. If anything, the look Mort was giving him was a little pitying.

"Use your head," Mort said. "On the one hand, a whole multiverse full of people, most of them born into the system. On the other hand, there's you, just being inducted today. Show a little gratitude for the rules that are giving you a fighting chance, here."

Solomon felt an ice cube running down his spine. It was bad enough when he expected the system to pit him against steadily more and more powerful monsters. Fighting off a horde of monsters might be a challenge, but he could at least imagine a victory. If not for him, then for somebody. If the only thing standing between Earth and an alien invasion was the system that had started all of his problems to begin with, though, well, the rough day he'd been having so far was just the beginning.

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