* * * PARTHIA – MARY * * *

Mary tried to look attentive as she watched the various ambassadors and representatives of the states that existed around the Great Ocean strutting around trying to serve their realms. She had cribbed heavily from the palace of Versailles when she realised that she would need somewhere to house all the delegations that were converging on New Maui.

Now New Maalea had an overly elaborate seafront palace set in impressive gardens on the outskirts of the biggest town in her domain. And she was stuck presiding over the party.

‘Beep girl, but you doin’ good. There are representatives from ’bout half the maritime nations here. An’ most are honestly happy with me for sweepin’ Blackbeard’s scum off the seas. An’ then there’s the ones who are offerin’ me what they see as small useless islands so that I’ll patrol their waters.’

* * * EARTH – HOUSTON * * *

“How soon can we get a manned mission into orbit. We absolutely must try to pick up that communications satellite of the aliens.”

“I agree with you sir, but are you sure it’s worth the risk of angering the aliens.”

The director of operations looked tired and rumpled, he’d been sleeping poorly. “It’s us or the Russians. Or the Chinese, or the Indians or Europeans. Everyone wants that thing.”

“As I said, I agree. I just hope the public will.”

“The aliens are still accelerating. They’ll be at Mars before you know it. And they are speaking to us via that satellite. There is virtually no time lag. They are communicating faster than light. We just have to learn how that’s possible.”

“We should be ready for liftoff sometime late next week.”

“Good.”

* * * EARTH – OREGON * * *

Frank Goodyear concentrated on trying to breath. Even in this oxygen tent it was getting very difficult. He cursed the cigarettes that had landed him with emphysema. And now he was dying. Dr Hunt had been rather blunt. He had a month, two at most.

He wheezed as he waited. His eyes flickered across the blue screens. He wasn’t beaten yet. He would outlive all his ungrateful brats. They had never been sufficiently grateful and now the vultures were gathering. Well he’d show them.

Finally, the damn nurse was here. Slowly he cleaned himself up with help. He hated needing help but he was damn near one hundred years old. He cast his mind back to the years of his glory. He’d been one of the better game show hosts in the fifties and sixties. And he’d never been without a cigarette in his hands either. And he hadn’t had cancer either.

Then it was time. He sat on his wheelchair while his private nurse checked his oxygen supply before pushing him into the reception of the old folks home. Then there was another delay as that damn doctor Hunt objected to him leaving.

After signing a disclaimer he was finally out of the damn place. The male nurse placed him in the hired car and got behind the wheel.

Then it was a case of fighting the traffic to get out of Salem, then they were on the interstate heading south before switching to the highways to head east.

Three and a half hours later they pulled up outside the deserted and partially derelict amusement park he owned near Madras. Frank Goodyear watched as his nurse opened the gate with the key he supplied. Then they drove in and parked between the worn out buildings that used to house the tunnel of love and the house of horrors. Frank sipped some water that the nurse supplied, and endured being manhandled into his wheelchair. He watched with dead eyes as his lawyer drove in while the nurse changed his oxygen cylinders.

Joe Pettigrew his lawyer got out of the passenger side of the sleek Mercedes while a young severely dressed woman emerged from behind the wheel.

“Are you sure you want to do this Mr Goodyear. It might backfire, there are no precedents,” asked Pettigrew.

“Yes I am,” wheezed Frank. “I’ve only got a few weeks. You have the power of attorney ready?”

The young woman produced a folding table from the trunk of the Mercedes and set it up in front of the wheelchair. Papers were produced and signed.

“Excuse me sir, but this contract, while very generous is for one year minimum and...” Gonzales the nurse started to say before trailing off.

“I know,” wheezed Frank. “But I’m not planning on dying yet– Just changing.”

“What is a dungeon’s Voice anyway?” asked Gonzales.

“A kind of mix of PA and spokesman,” wheezed Frank.

After a dubious look Gonzales signed.

“Is that everything?” and on seeing Pettigrew’s nod, Frank wheezed a nervous laugh. “Please lead the way Mr Pettigrew.”

Pettigrew nodded again and led the way to the back of the building that used to house the gift shop and restaurant before opening a steel door with a key that he then passed to Gonzales.

They got into a freight lift and descended two floors. There was one large room with one small room behind another steel door. Once Frank Goodyear had been wheeled into this room he grinned and called up the blue menus. While the other three watched with disbelief Frank wheezed, “Race – Dungeon Core – Yes, yes and yes.”

The air seemed to distort and shimmer. Frank Goodyear’s age and disease ravaged body was replaced by a glowing, flickering dark green onyx sphere. Pettigrew blinked with surprise. Ms Smith drew in a sharp breath and Gonzales narrowed his eyes in speculation.

The System spoke privately to the new dungeon, « congratulations on having chosen to become a dungeon core, you may choose one starting monster type, but first we must deal with contractual obligations »

Then it included Gonzales, « you have entered into a contract to become the Voice of this dungeon. The contract further states the link will be superficial for the first year and further resolved thereafter. Are you both still in agreement? »

Frank was revelling in the lack of pain and in not having to strain to remain alive, « Yes. » he replied cheerfully.

Gonzales frowned but also said, “Yes.”

« Condition met, link established. »

« Thank you. Would it be possible to choose nymphs and satyrs as my starting monsters? »

« Be aware that you will be restricted by your choice until you accumulate sufficient manna and experience to obtain further advances. Do you still wish to have nymphs and satyrs? »

« Yes please. I hereby name my Dungeon “Bet Your Life” and I am basing it on classic game shows, but with a twist of spice. »

« Done! A companion will show up in due time. »

* * *

Gonzales accompanied Pettigrew and his notary to his car.

“So Gonzales, did it work. Is the old guy alive and lucid in that gem?”

“I think so Mr Pettigrew. At least he seems to be able to talk to me in his head. I get the impression that soon he’ll be able to talk to most anyone inside his domain.”

“So what will you be doing?”

“Well, I live alone with my dog. That contract is generous; it represents a thirty percent rise. I’ll let my landlord know I’m leaving at the end of the month and look for a pet friendly place to rent in Madras.”

“Don’t take out a long lease, I have orders to add a floor to the shop and restaurant that will include two flats. I believe one of them is for you. Verify that with Mr Goodyear. The alterations should be done in a month or so.”

“So what’s next?”

“Next? Next is the fun part Gonzales. I get to register Mr Frank Goodyear as a dungeon core in the altered citizens registry. And somehow prove it is indeed him. I think that makes three dungeons now. The good, the bad and the ugly; Dinosaur Caves, Winter Wolf and Bet Your Life.” Pettigrew sighed. “Oh god, television game shows from the sixties. The mind boggles.”

“There are more than three Mr Pettigrew,” Gonzales seemed to look inwards, “There are eight. And two are more powerful than Winter Wolf.”

* * * EARTH – MARY * * *

Mary shared a look with Jerica. “Up to you, you are the seniormost companion on the planet after all.”

Jerica shook her head and frowned. “You must rubbing off on me Mary, The thought of all that work...”

Mary shrugged and went back to studying the data available on the new dungeon that had appeared in Oregon. She wouldn’t have bothered if it wasn’t for the enquiry Tobias Nelson the CEO of Silver Dolphin Security had received.

« Up to you Tobias, it’s too far from the sea for me to be able to help much. But you already knew that. »

« Yes Mother, » the wolf ’folk CEO grinned. « I’ll fire off a counterproposal to the dungeon’s lawyer and if we can come to an agreement I’ll assemble a team and send them off. »

« Why don’t you take a flight with one of your accountants an’ negotiate in person. Purchase or rent somewhere nearer the sea to use as a HQ in the state if you come to an agreement. I’ll see ’bout gettin’ Lewis to settin’ up another branch of his Mock Turtle. »

« Wonder why a dungeon wants pro security, » mused Tobias.

« That’s simple. Bet Your Life is new, ranked Novice. It will be small an’ woefully deficient in defensive options. In the wild he’d be hidin’ away for a bit buildin’ up his domain an’ forces before revealin’ himself. Here he was forced into the open or unaware he could an’ should hide for a bit. »

* * *

« Mycroft, you found anythin’ yet ’bout that manna flare in Argentina? You know the one that knocked down their grid. »

« Yes Mother, there is a small team of university students working on their doctorates and are trying to get funding for a project that would allow them to transform electrical energy to magical energy. Two of them coincidentally were not too far from the centre of the surge. »

« Let’s throw money at ’em. Start with ten million, an’ feel free to go to twenty for the first six months. But I want the rights. Or rather MagiTech wants the rights. What do you need? »

« Moriarty’s help. We need a lawyer. »

Mary thought for a moment, her experiences to date didn’t imbue her with any great confidence in the breed.

« Mmm... Do you want to see ’bout collectin’ skill crystals or do you want us to hire a firm to act as backup. »

« Both. »

« Well, talk with Lane an’ Moriarty. Figure out what we can afford. But get that ‘’lectric to manna process. MagiTech needs it thanks to the demand. ’An we have all the electricity we want thanks to the Fragatta orbitals. »