ROD - Chapter 111

Chapter One-Hundred-Eleven – Favors – Part One

Choices present themselves to us everyday, but it is the tough choices that define us.

-UWO Command Sergeant Major Valdez-

The sound of gravel crunching under the wheels makes for a soft melody against the tempo of my heartbeat. We’re nowhere near the coordinates that Senator Alveria sent me, Clayton seems to have different information. I trust him either way, so I haven’t said anything yet. A single bead of sweat is rolling down Clayton’s brow, I can see his pulse in his temple.

“You look rather worried, would you like me to drive?” Vella asks coyly, I see her swiping her finger in what I think is her interface, "What do you think, Jimmy? Should I drive?"

"Clayton's got it," I reply, "You wouldn't want to mess up your nails would you?"

She turns and gives me a strange smile followed by a wink.

Who is she talking to? What is she telling them? And what the fuck are we headed for. I assume that Clayton would have passed along the message that Vella is a high level already. I messaged him earlier that Starman is under the seat in rat form. He responded with a nod in the rearview mirror. Jennifer has been using her datapad and interface as well, at breakneck speeds. I don’t know how she can type on both at the same time.

“We have a problem,” Jennifer says suddenly, still swiping.

“Oh?” Vella says, turning and putting her head on her hands, “And here I thought today was going swimmingly.”

Jennifer snaps a cold look at her, “The UWO has just issued a warrant for five people’s arrests.”

“Hardly newsworthy,” Vella sighs, going back to picking at her nails.

“In regards to the terrorist attack on the WHA.”

She stops picking. Jennifer slides her datapad over to me. On it I see… Tran, Barlow, Clayton, me and some guy… is that Starman without his mask? Pierre Deston… that does sound French. Those masks work surprisingly well, definitely hides his acne scars. The picture looks old though, like it was lifted from an old driver’s license from before the fall. Man these guys really don’t age very fast in the higher levels.  

“Whoever did it is clearly trying to frame us,” I say. It’s strange though, why wouldn’t Vella be on the list?

I can think of a few possibilities.

If she’s a Marauder and the ones trying to frame us are too, it would make sense if they left her off the witch hunt list. At the same time, maybe they aren’t Marauders, maybe they think that Starman and me are? Or maybe, they just don’t fucking know… no, that wouldn’t make sense… actually there is a simple way to resolve this.

“Jennifer did Starman take off his mask at all today?”

“No, he almost never takes it off, why?”

“Just curious.”

Vella doesn’t seem very curious about the photos on the datapad, she gives it a dismissing look and goes back to picking at her nails and swiping.

“Well, thankfully we have a Senator to make sure it doesn’t get too far up the chain,” I say, rolling my neck. Alveria will finally earn her keep.

“It’s already made it up the chain,” Jennifer says.

I blink, “What do you mean?”

Clayton doesn’t even flinch, did he know this? I think back to what Alveria said, things are… complicated. Also, why isn’t Clayton going toward the map locations that Alveria sent us? Does he know something I don’t?

“I pulled this from the UWO news page. It’s been plastered everywhere on every major network.”

Vella turns to look back at me for a moment, “Sounds like your team’s not as solid as you thought.”

I don’t reply, I’m trying to keep my composure while sending a very angry message to Alveria.

[ SPC Novak: Define fucking complicated. Why the fuck are our pictures linked to that attack?

Do your fucking job. ]

She pings me back almost immediately.

[ Senator Alveria: It’s out of our hands, we’re working on containing it.

Don’t ever talk to me like that again.

You’re important, but not that important. ]

Bitch. Goddamn fucking bitch. No wonder Cleo fucking despises her. No warning, no nothing, I’m hearing about it from fucking Jennifer. I swipe through my messages, I don’t have any from Barlow, but I have some from Tran and about twenty from Cortez and one from… Mira? We did exchange contacts during the mission. Probably wants to say hurry and come get her because she’s bored. Clayton gives me another double wink, I don’t have time to check anything except Tran’s because he’s part of this shitshow still. He’s alive, the last one is recent.

[ SPC Tran: First of all, fuck you, and yes we met up with Greymore.

Second of all, we’re famous. Just kind of sucks how, you know? Like we’ve done way cooler stuff.

We didn’t blow it up right? Clayton seemed on edge when we arrived… and Greymore is being weird.

Third, you really hurt Barlow’s feelings, so fuck you for that too.

Oh, shit and by the way, they found Fisban, she’s in the hospital. Apparently, Starman must have roughed her up pretty good… and she might not make it. Dorliac did what she could, but she thinks he put some kind of nasty debuff on her that blocks her from receiving healing. Verantha is MIA, no one has seen her, and she isn’t responding to messages, so we can’t check if Divine healing still works. Fucking dick lied to us and said he wouldn’t hit a cripple.

I thought he was a bro. My bad man. Eyes open now.

Vella’s probably right, that’s some Marauder type shit bro. Kick him in the nuts if you see him.  

I sent you the map location for Fisban’s room, or maybe you’re too good to check on friends.

Anyway, fuck you again.

Don’t die, I want to punch you first.

P.S. really don’t die.

Dick. ]

I forget that we’re in potentially impending danger as the rage starts to build in the back of my spine, rolling up until my eyes feel like they’re on fire. When we arrived back from the Respec quest it was Starman that we saw, holding a guy in the air. He lied to us about Fisban. She was in a wheelchair and he… calm, find the fucking calm before I strangle that rat bastard.

“Almost there,” Clayton says.

“About time,” Vella sighs, stretching her arms, “Your buddy had better have a hot shower and a fucking mountain of cheese puffs.”

Clayton gives her a look.

“What? I have a high metabolism.”

I don’t like either of them, Starman and Vella. Both of them seem like shitty people. How the fuck did they get chosen to represent Earth’s interests? Maybe both of them are Marauders. That I could believe.

Part of me hopes that Starman is, I want to see his eyes bulge. No one fucks with my team.

We pull into an old looking estate, Clayton rolls down the window and hits the overgrown button, the gates creak open slowly. The name on the gate reads Ashton Manor in stylized font. Gargoyles holding stone fire in their palms stand guard along the brick laden path. Clayton drives slow, once grand trees stand ashen and charred along the path. The scorch marks look weathered, and somewhat erratic, like someone used them for target practice with high tier fire magic. I notice some of the grounds appear to be unkempt. Bushes overgrown, and the grass, or more accurately weeds are nearly chest high in some areas.

Still, even with the decay, there are beautiful statues poking up from the foliage. Someone once deeply cared about this place. It is strange to think about how things are not permanent, everything in life changes. Like a tide that always rises, the old and abandoned things sink beneath until only the memories remain. Stories of times past.

“We’re here,” Clayton says, turning off the engine.

Reaching under the seat, I grab the ratman, careful not to squeeze him yet, and I hold him up close so I can whisper, “Relax, I’m on your side.”

He does not squirm, but I can feel his heart beating rapidly. He probably gleaned that I’m level seventy one and is afraid now. Good, keep him compliant. I stuff him in my jacket pocket. The air is cold here, I’m glad I didn’t leave it behind.

Before us is a large stone building that looks more like an old castle than a house. Stained glass windows sparkle in the moonlight.

There is a small light coming from the second story, one that flickers like it’s coming from a fireplace.

Jennifer is looking frantically under the seats when Vella comes to her side, “Lose something?” she asks with a wry smile that twinkles in the moon’s light.

“I dropped an earing, I’ll catch up.”

Vella grabs her and turns her head, looking at each ear, “Funny, you don’t look like you have.”

Jennifer swallows and feels her ears, “Oh, my mistake.”

“Come along, dear,” Vella says, wrapping an arm around her waist, “This place looks haunted, you wouldn’t want to walk it alone would you?”

She was likely looking for the rat in my pocket, I’ll let her worry about it. The more that Vella is distracted with her, the less she will be eying me. I’m not sure what they’re planning, but I’m not making the mistake of trusting Alveria to solve my problems again. Instead, I’m ensuring my own success, by any means necessary.

I pull a lawn ornament from the ground and raise it above my head, there’s a tingle as Abyss takes it from my hand. The same tingle that I’ve been feeling for hours as I squirreled away everything that’s not bolted down.

My last conversation with Mythren and my bargain are on my thoughts as I pick up more items as we walk toward the large oak and rusted iron door. I feel Ratboy rustling in my pocket as I subconsciously squeeze him.

Calm, Jimmy, be calm.

The door takes a shoulder from Clayton to open, it sounds like a wailing banshee. Clayton turns on the large flashlight he found in the glovebox of the SUV. The smell of old ash permeates the air, like half the manor almost burned down. There are scorch marks across old tapestries and mounted furs.

There’s refuse on the floors like there was a fight here, but the dust tells me it wasn’t recent.

“Carl?” Clayton yells up the stairs, he turns to us, “He’s a bit hard of hearing.”

“Is he old?” Vella asks, looking around.

“No, he used to be an artilleryman.”

“Why doesn’t he get it fixed?” she asks, giving him a strange look.

“He um, he doesn’t like healers much, says they’re devil worshipers and… it doesn’t matter.”

I give him a strange look and he shrugs.

“So probably don’t mention I’m a healer then.”

“Probably best to skip that part, yeah.”

“Why exactly are we here?” Vella asks, giving a scrunched nose, “And by the way, it’s freezing, can someone lend me a jacket?”

The stairs groan and light flickers above and slow footsteps come down. A man wearing an ornate red, black and gold bathrobe stands at the top of the second flight. There’s a shotgun hung open over his arm like a sweater and a pipe hanging from the corner of his mouth. He pulls the pipe with his offhand and blows a large cloud of smoke.

“What the hell are you doing here?”

“Cashing in that favor,” Clayton says.

“What favor?”

“You know what favor.”

He puts the curved Sherlock Holmes looking pipe slowly back into his mouth, and drags on it slowly, the coals light up his face, “Ah, that favor.”