Amber sighed happily as she popped another tiny piece of dark chocolate into her mouth.

It was the little things she'd missed about Earth. She'd already secured a dozen cocoa seedlings, as well as half a dozen mango and papaya as well.

She'd had to google just exactly what sort of environment the trees liked and had been surprised to discover they grew under the shade of mangos and papayas, which would be welcome additions to her greenhouse.

It would probably take a bit of experimentation to get things right, so she'd laid in a generous supply of chocolate.

Jack had taken her to pick up the supplies she'd wanted but had then left her alone at the portal site, taking a large truck with a flatbed to pick up some things.

He'd been non-specific as to what exactly he needed to pick up that required such a large truck, and she hadn't pressed.

She had a Pavillion, a comfortable chair, her canteen, and a massive supply of snacks. Now that she was back on Earth, she was giving some thought to how things had worked out. It galled her to admit it, but she was... not necessarily happier, but more satisfied on Thayland than she'd been on Earth.

The people who'd flocked to Holmstead, hoping for a better life, had been facing a grim spring. While she hadn't done it alone, she'd been the key to keeping all of those people fed. It was nice to be needed, to see the respect and gratitude on the faces of the people she'd worked to feed.

She'd also learned that if she just fed people a vegetarian diet and didn't talk about it, they were, if not perfectly happy, at least willing to forgo meat. She'd given up on the idea of convincing the people of Thayland to go vegan. Still, she'd been keeping over a thousand people healthy on a vegetarian diet, and with the spices she'd be bringing back with her, she expected that she'd be able to convert some of them to make the switch semi-permanently.

Or so she hoped.

She'd been able to borrow Jack's phone for a bit before he'd left, using it as a hotspot for the new MacBook she'd bought. The prepaid flip phone didn't have that capability.

She'd surfed for a bit, discovering that she was indeed a wanted woman, although it seemed unlikely that there was any sort of national woman hunt ongoing for her. Her photo might have been up in a few offices in Illinois, but she was a couple of thousand miles away.

As a couple of hundred books on gardening, farming, and forestry (as it related to orchards) were waiting for an internet connection to continue downloading, she couldn't help but wonder if she'd missed her calling back on Earth. She'd always wanted to help people, and becoming a teacher seemed like the right path to accomplish that. It was almost ironic that she'd found a truly satisfying career on another world as a farmer.

"I'd expected to see Mr. Whitman with you," the Secretary of Defense looked at Mike sternly.

"I relayed that expectation to him, Sir," Mike replied, "however he feels that his time is better spent building another floor of the Dungeon in order to allow our people to become more powerful." He hesitated for a moment before mentally saying, 'Fuck it.'

"Bob has justifiable issues with authority figures, Sir," he explained, "I don't know if you've read his file, but he was born to an alcoholic teenage mother who infrequently worked as an exotic dancer, and more reliably, judging from her arrest record, as a prostitute. He grew up in poverty, and the systems that should have noticed his plight failed to do so." Mike shook his head. "Add to that the academic theft that led to his being at the center of an explosion so powerful that it threw what was left of him into another universe, and frankly, it's a wonder he even cared enough to let anyone know what was coming."

He could almost feel the impatience rolling off SecDef. "He's willing to meet with you and answer any questions while he's eating, but he doesn't see at his duty, Sir."

The stern look had morphed into a glare. Mike kept his expression blank. SecDef broke first. "Fine," he muttered, "I'll get some answers from the man after the 5th deploys."

"Might I advise that the 5th not deploy until after the upcoming wave, Sir," Mike said. "We've already established basic fortifications that will serve for now, but if the 5th were to be deployed, we might not have enough time to erect defenses to encompass the newly expanded deployment."

"The natives on the ground have the experience, and they've declared that our current preparations are sufficient," Mike continued, "an observation team would suffice to gather intelligence from the event."

SecDef nodded. "General Thompson made the same suggestions," he said. Leaning back in his chair, SecDef looked him over. "It's been suggested that the improvised unit you've been representing should be attached as an official unit, with the men being re-enlisted," he mused, "and frankly, I'm inclined to agree. Despite being civilians, they comport themselves as expected, attending to their duties with diligence, and follow nearly all of the regulations."

"Once a Marine, always a Marine, Sir," Mike replied stiffly.

"So I've noticed," SecDef replied. "Just something to think about. The idea is being passed around, and while a few individuals are withholding judgment until they are able to inspect the unit for themselves, it's been well received. You could expect to be bumped to E-7 personally, with each member of the unit receiving a one to two grade increase, representing experience and... maturity."

"Sir," Mike replied.

"Again, something to consider. Report to General Thompson tomorrow morning," SecDef leaned back over his desk, opening a folder.

"Sir," Mike acknowledged the order and left the Secretary of Defense's office.

The entire encounter had gone better than he'd hoped, at least in regards to Bob. It appeared that SecDef wasn't the type to rip into you over an event outside of your control, for which he was grateful, as he'd endured officers who were that type.

As for being folded back into the Corps, he had mixed feelings, but given the situation, he would likely accept the offer.

Harbordeep felt empty. There was a lot less traffic on the streets, and a number of shops in the outer city were vacant.

Nora had spent a lot of time walking the streets of Harbordeep before she'd been swept off to Holmstead, but her impressions from that brief period were strong.

It was a long walk from the teleport beacon to the King's palace, and she spent that time observing the city. She'd considered stopping by and seeing her mother, but as things stood, she had decided against it. Keeping their conversation confined to letters ensured that they remained civil, something that might change if they were to speak face to face.

Arriving at the palace, she approached the clerk, who looked up at her, a flash of surprise crossing his expression for a moment.

"Nora Wallenstair, here to deliver the King's Tax from Glacier Valley," Nora said stiffly.

The clerk pulled out a ledger and opened it to the index, scanning it before frowning. Placing a finger alongside the index, he read down again. "I'm afraid I don't have a Glacier Valley listed, and I confess I've never heard that name before," the clerk admitted, "if you'll take a seat, I'll see if the Seneschal is available."

Nora sat down on the indicated bench and patiently waited as the clerk rose and disappeared through a door that led deeper into the palace.

She looked around curiously. The palace was huge. Not in the way she'd thought that buildings were usually huge, like the Church, but huge in the way that the ceilings were fifty feet tall and the hall equally wide.

That the doors were floor to ceiling and nearly as wide as the hallway was disconcerting. The entire place seemed to have been designed for someone impossibly large. The clerk's desk, the bench along the wall, everything seemed reduced to almost toy-like dimensions.

She'd heard her family members refer to the King as "The Dragon" before, but for the first time, she was beginning to realize what that meant. There weren't many logical, reasonable explanations for having doors that large. If the King were even ten feet tall, it would still leave someone with the impression of a child should he emerge through the doors.

"Ms. Wallenstair?"

A voice jerked her out of her thoughts, and she looked up to find a Draconian smiling down at her.

At least Nora thought it was a smile. There were too many sharp teeth for it to feel as friendly as the voice had been.

"Y-Yes," she stuttered, rising.

"I'm Ericka, the Seneschal," the Draconian said, "I understand you're here to deliver the King's tax from the new settlement in Glacier Valley?"

"I am," Nora replied, offering the bag to her.

Ericka smiled that overly toothy smile again. "I'll escort you to the bursar; he'll accept delivery," she motioned towards the huge doors, "if you'll follow me?"

Nora followed the tall woman through the door and into another massive hallway, this one terribly long. Ericka closed the door behind them, where it shut with a solid, somehow ominous thud.

"So how is Glacier Valley," Ericka asked, "Huron seemed excited to see how things would progress."

"Well enough," Nora replied, "there were some supply issues at one point, but Bob recruited a couple of Druids and leveled them up a bit, so that's been resolved."

"Well, that's impressive, to have driven the Dungeon down so quickly and to have rushed people through it to level five," Ericka smiled in what might have, on a human voice, been considered encouraging.

"He said he was finishing the fifteenth floor today," Nora offered as she looked around the hallway in awe. There wasn't so much art on the walls, as the walls themselves were art. Huge scenes, a hundred feet long and fifty feet tall, were carved into the walls.

"Now that is impressive," Ericka said. "And expensive," she added, "how many crystals are we bringing the Bursar?"

"A bit more than two hundred and fifty thousand," Nora said, "I have the paper here in the bag," she mumbled as she moved to open it.

She pulled out the paper and then stopped, realizing that she'd kept walking while Ericka hadn't.

"Two hundred and fifty thousand?" The draconian asked.

"It's not just the tax though," Nora hastened to add, "only half of that is the King's five percent tax, he included another half as a," she paused to read the paper, "Leasing fee for the King's generous indulgence in allowing our people to seek refuge in His Kingdom before and during the Tide that will lash our world," she quoted.

Ericka shook her head. "Change of plans," she said as she began to walk forward again, this time at a more brisk pace, "we're going to see the King."

Kallan was sleeping when Ericka knocked on his door.

He'd been up late the night before, reviewing the reported defenses for the settlements across his Kingdom, preparing for the imminent wave.

He fought back a yawn. Ericka wouldn't have disturbed him without good reason, so he let out a sigh, and with an effort of will, returned to his humanoid form and manifested his clothing.

Stalking to his audience chamber, he moved considered his day. He might not have gotten as much sleep as he would have liked, but judging from the sunlight pouring through the windows above, it had been a few hours, which would do. The needs of his Kingdom outweighed his desire for more rest.

Sitting on his throne, he tapped an unassuming scale, indistinguishable from the others that patterned the chair, and a bell rang out, indicating to Ericka that he was prepared to receive his subjects.

His Seneschal walked through the door, escorting a very young woman. Young, and if he wasn't mistaken, still entirely human, and not yet at her level cap.

"Nora Wallenstair, Your Majesty," Ericka announced as she led the girl to the center of the topaz rug before his throne before taking her place at his side, "she's arrived from Glacier Valley to deliver your tax from the Curator of the Dungeon, Robert Whitman."

"Couldn't the bursar have accepted the tithe?" Kallan asked, making an effort to keep the petulance from his voice. He liked sleep.

"I thought Your Majesty might wish to review the first tithe personally," Ericka said as she stepped forward, taking the bag and the paper from Nora before and turning to kneel and present it to him.

He took the paper first.

Your Royal Majesty, or those to whom he has designated this task,

We have gathered two million, five hundred and eighty-one thousand, two hundred mana crystals.

You will find two hundred fifty-eight thousand, five hundred and twelve mana crystals, entailed as follows.

One hundred twenty-nine thousand two hundred and fifty-six mana crystals represent the five percent tax on all the crystals gathered from the Dungeon in Glacier Valley.

I have further enclosed an additional one hundred twenty-nine thousand two hundred and fifty-six mana crystals, another five percent, as a Leasing fee for the King's generous indulgence in allowing our people to seek refuge in His Kingdom before and during the Tide that will lash our world.

Humbly,

Robert Whitman,

Curator of the Dungeon in Glacier Valley.

He read the note twice, then looked in the bag.

"From the wording of this," Kellan nodded to the note, "and given the numbers involved, I'm assuming that the total represents all the crystals that have been gathered from the Dungeon?"

"Y-Yes, Your Majesty," the girl replied.

"He is aware that I only tax the amount that the curator himself gathers as his due from those who delve his Dungeon, is he not?" Kellan asked with a gentle smile.

"He is, Your Majesty," she said, "but the thing of it is, he's keeping all the crystals that are gathered."

Kellan wanted to frown, but he was afraid the child might take that the wrong way. "As I understand, the people coming from his world are level zero," he began, "how are they advancing if he is confiscating all of the crystals?"

"Oh, he gives them back so people can level up, but he records everything first to make sure he pays the taxes in full," Nora replied.

Kellan cocked his head to the side, glancing at Ericka, before returning his gaze to Nora.

"And what of the other goods and services that they must surely need, being so new to our world?"

"He pays for those too," Nora offered hesitantly.

Kellan leaned back on his throne, handing the bag back to Ericka.

The girl hadn't lied or even omitted, although she was terrified. It was in these rare moments when one of his subjects was behaving honorably that he occasionally regretted having to project the image of cruel, callous power. It was required for the majority of his Nobles, but it served him poorly in these instances.

"I think that I ought to visit Glacier Valley," he mused idly. "Inform the Curator that I'll expect his attendance tomorrow morning at dawn," he declared, "I understand he has built an Adventurers Guild, so I'll meet him in the tavern."

Nora nodded, her face pale.