Chapter Sixteen - Life Finds a Way

“On average, you can expect to find that 70-80% of all people near ground zero of an incursion will survive past the first 24 hours. Given clear lanes of escape and basic medical aid, as well as timely intervention by military forces and local Samurai, that number stays roughly the same in the next 24 to 72 hours.*

This merely stresses the need for a rapid intervention plan, ready access to troops and medical professionals capable of acting quickly, and the infrastructure to move all of these people to a safer location.

All this and more is, of course, what we offer.”

*All stats verified by Adamstatistics!

--AdamsCorp sales pitch to every major metropolitan city in North America.

***

I left the worm alone.

Given a few minutes I might have been able to figure out some way to toss it out the window or something, but Myalis was right, I didn’t have the time. Maybe, maybe soon, I would be one of those Samurai able to wipe out anything in my path, but that wasn’t the case yet, so I just had to suck up and deal with it.

Returning to the corridor I’d passed earlier, I slid through the doorway and walked down yet another drab grey passageway. The few doors opened along its sides revealed little break rooms and janitorial closets where sweeper bots were hanging to charge.

No aliens, no signs that anything really bad had happened other than some things tossed to the floor and abandoned there. I stepped over a discarded purse and fought past the temptation to riffle through it.

Then I found the door leading to the stairwell, red light glowing above it and all.

A peek through the safety glass showed me a whole lot of nothing.

“So,” I asked the empty air. “Uh, that Samurai, the one we kinda saw deeper in the city. They were flying.”

That seemed like a Class III Gravitic Negation System coupled with a Class II Ion Thruster System. I’m afraid that both are far outside your current means.

“But I could get that, right?” I asked.

Of course. Though I should explain how the class and tier system works at some point.

“No time like the present,” I said as I pushed the door open and looked around.

As you wish. Most early class--that is, Class I--catalogues offer simple items. Most of these are well within humanities capability of producing, given sufficient incentive and time. Class II materials and equipment are beyond humanity’s capability to produce, and will remain that way for some time. Class III and above would require such large time and research investments to achieve that they are nearly impossible to achieve by humanity for some millenia.

“You have them though,” I pointed out.

When humanity was still striking rocks together to start their first fires the Protectors had nominal control over a full two percent of the galaxy’s star systems. We had made contact with dozens of species and formed an interplanetary compact that has lasted until now.

That was... a lot? Maybe? I was never good with numbers like that. “Keep bragging, why don’t ya,” I said.

I could, for a very long time even, but my current task is educating you on how I can provide you with equipment. Class IV and beyond will be difficult for you to obtain for a long time, I think it’s safe to ignore those for now. Most second tier classes are merely evolutions of a primary tier. Your Class I Medical Utilities could become a Class II with a single payment of five hundred points.

“Five hundred?” I whispered.

Class III tiers require that certain previous tiers be purchased in order to unlock them. For example, if you wish to obtain Class III Electromagnetic Rail Anti-Ship Weaponry then you would need at least three Class II tiers in relevant subjects unlocked.

“You’re starting to sound a lot like some sort of gacha,” I said. “Are you going to tell me about dailies and special currencies next?”

No. The progression is not linear. Class III Anti-Ship Weaponry could devastated the planet’s ecology. It is merely sensible that they are priced according to their damage potential.

“And class four could blow up the moon?” I snarked.

Yes.

I paused halfway down a step. “What?”

The creak of a door opening below had me shifting forwards, Trench Maker rising towards the noise even though I couldn’t quite see the door from where I stood.

“Bark twice if you’re not an alien,” someone said from below.

I snorted despite myself. “Woof woof,” I deadpanned.

“Oh, thank fuck. C’mon hurry. We’re about to barricade this door,” the voice said.

Trusting strange voices wasn’t something I was usually keen on doing, but it had been working for me so far that day. I loosened my hold on my handgun and stomped down the stairs until I came to the bottom of the stairwell where a twenty-something guy was holding the door open.

“You’re one of the kids from upstairs?” he asked.

“Yeah, I guess so,” I said. I looked past him and into another drab corridor, though this one seemed a lot shorter. “There more of you?”

He grinned. “There’s only one of me,” he said. “I’m Brand. And yeah, there are a bunch of us holed up in the parking. C’mon, we’re going to lock this corridor off before the aliens come around.”

“You folks have a leader?” I asked.

He shrugged his shoulders and pulled the door closed behind me as soon as I passed. “What do you think we are, some sort of weird kingdom of the parking lot? Nah, we’ve got people from every floor almost. The vaults were all shit so we’re gathering here.”

I nodded along. It made some sense. A bit of weight was lifted off my back. People meant someone, or someones in charge. I didn’t have to carry quite as much responsibility on my back.

Brand led me from the corridor and into a two-storey parking garage, hover cars clamped into berths above and below us and the far walls covered in heavy steel shutters. A few hoverbikes were tossed together to form a barricade just inside the room with a few wide-eyed mall cops and older guys hanging behind them.

I saw two more armed groups deeper in, and a whole lot of people gathering around in clumps.

Brand pointed to the far end of the room where there were a bunch of kids. “You might want to head over there. And ah, hand over your gun to one of the safety crew. They’re taking any weapon they can get their hands on for now.

“So there is someone in charge?” I asked.

He shrugged. “Sorta, but not really. Things aren’t that organized yet.”

I frowned, the weight I thought I’d gotten rid of resettling comfortably on my shoulders. “Great.”

***