A day came that was the day, and officers filled the main hall that were not officers but rather doubles. The originals gathered their courage, swallowed their boredom, and paid more attention to Cadmos than either they or players ever had past launch.

“This would be flattering if I didn't know why you were doing it,” Cadmos remarked over his shoulder to the fifty-three officers following him from room to room as he conducted a final inspection of Freegate. “What were you planning to do today? If I hadn't found out, that is.”

“Stay out of sight and let her shadow you,” Luau Lua answered while she pointed at a blonde girl whose enormous blue scarf covered the lower part of her face and whose high cut bikini covered not much at all. “But now we don't need her.”

“My parents said the same thing,” Inorrea Vacationer said.

“I didn't mean it like that, dear.”

Cruel expedition auto-fill had tried to deprive officers of their chance at glory, but shoving some UTASes toward the Public Service bulletin board frustrated its malevolent intentions, for it could not distinguish between the real and the also real but different. Copies also substituted for useful officers such as Crusher Domingo and Hilliarde Feablas whom players sent out for dailies and farming. There was no malice in those efforts, only the genuine love every player bore for account enrichment, but ambition made intolerable what once had been otherwise.

For hours that cluster followed Cadmos like the cameraman in a third-person shooter. It even got hung up on walls and doorways for complete immersion, but it never forgot its purpose.

“I'm just going to admit, publicly, because candor is important, that I neglected to read when the event will actually start,” Hemt T. Elf said, thereby creating an atmosphere where the other officers felt it not to shameful to admit their ignorance.

“Fifteen minutes,” Zimley Boe said, and so the shame came back.

Five minutes later, Cadmos's pager sounded and sent him to the Eclipse museum to check in. The officers who had been barred from entry for using vases as dodgeballs till they wrote essays explaining the reasons what they did was wrong (“poor aerodynamics”) had to wait outside, which was all of them except Hilliarde Feablas and Vinnette Melban. She stayed outside anyway because she was a Quake.

Hilliarde came out with Cadmos a minute later, who said, “The garden,” and off the throng went, asking what happened in there.

“He disappeared. He returned.” Hilliarde Feablas shrugged.

Aerywe Beruvo and Rhizi Nanem joined them on the way, and in those versions, too. Not that Aerywe ever left hers, but Freegate had become so accustomed to Rhizi Apron's presence that some of the conspirators wondered who the new girl might be and whether she wanted to come along.

“Hold,” Solemn Declaration told them. “There is something familiar about those rhizis,” and on closer inspection, all agreed.

“That is quite as close an inspection as I will allow,” Aerywe proclaimed while batting back officers with the royal ax of Beruvia. “Shall we proceed to the garden?”

That pleasant piece of tranquility which bordered the black adamant outer walls seemed as lacking in collaboration spirit as any place could be. White tables and chairs rested under shade-giving trees next to some bushes that did whatever bushes are good for. Hiding bodies. Snagging bits of clothing as clues for the detective.

Cadmos told them to stay out of the garden proper, and the reason for that warning soon appeared as a line that split the garden ground into a left and a right. The left rose and swung aside, as did the right, the two sides conspiring to reveal the garden's secret. Not dirt lay underneath, and not even a lair of the Part 1 and 2 villain, Alben. Instead, everyone beheld a set of descending stairs till a riot of crashes and clattering disturbed the scene.

“Who built that under the garden tables? Or put the garden tables over that? Who wants to die today?”

“Don't worry. The Rares can fix it later.”

“That's what makes me mad!”

“Oh, you are a Rare yourself. The event costume threw me off. It would never do for summer, but the players liked that event well enough. Don't worry. You can fix it later,” Lua assured Ulrik.

“The madness of battle lies ahead. Are you prepared?” Knight-Master Gralles Alianura was always prepared, but also considerate of others.

“Yes!” affirmed all except Cadmos. He was on his way to be given out to players who farmed a fire giant sixty times or something of the sort, which would have made joining in the battle cry seem a tad disingenuous.

Even so he led the way down stairs not carved from adamant or gray stone like Freegate's external and interior walls, but rather fashioned from reddish wood that Ipons Ulsrada declared to be fiberboard. Three officers abreast could walk down those stairs, and did, careful to watch their feet and the next step with the help of dim light bulbs within a stuman's reach overhead.

Eighteen ranks marched behind them, trying not to move too fast and kick the officers in front of them or, in some cases, not trying not to do that. “I just thought of this. Next time, we bring a sled and ride it down. Who's with me?” Heartful Azalea's suggestion won universal acclamation, since the sort of personality that would not have been with her had stayed up in Freegate to do crosswords or bake a pie. Whatever it was losers did.

The staircase extended so far that whispers were saying they must be under the Yoerbla Desert by then, if not Smidgen's new, Part 3 country of Stinch, when the declination ended. The passage straightened, the ceiling rose, the lights became brighter and of different colors. White, red, blue, green . . . “Green? It's not an elemental lighting scheme then,” Crusher Domingo said. “Not our elements at least. Not the ones we know.”

“And so? The significance escapes me, unless it is simply that you hope to spook us. Is that a hobby of sailors?”

“Aye,” Domingo and Manyana both confirmed.

“Then continue, by all means,” Gintus Pelluina said.

The twins did so, making observations about how they had not breathed air so stale as that in many a year, and how the last log they threw out came back drier than hardtack. None of those facts surprised or unsettled the other officers, what with their trip taking place underground, but they applauded the effort. True Beryllia messed with her futuristic tracking device to add some sound effects, a few beeps on top of an electronic hum to assist the sailors in nurturing an ominous atmosphere.

Though difficult to perceive at first, the passage widened, and the host had spread itself to a full group of five officers per line when the scenery changed. Instead of a corridor and faux wood, a tube wrought from some transparent material offered the travelers passage. Below, they could see a carpet of cloud that seemed to move without going anywhere, illuminated by flashes of green light at unpredictable intervals that tinted the tube. Meanwhile, above them, high above, they could see lines of white text, each letter larger than Eten holding up a Rare to reach a high shelf, scrolling ceaselessly over a black background bordered by yellow. To the sides of that great chat box were joined other displays, identical in form though different as far as content. The travelers paused to spin in place, and no matter which way they turned, the text always scrolled up.

“Moves fast. 'Debuff chance this you *****.'”

“I believe I see something about six Neurs and no Youls. Now it's seven.”

“Could those be . . . player complaints?” Marileanna gazed up. “But I thought we were popular! We can't shut down when I just got here!”

A Strategist offered intellectual comfort after he snapped shut the book he held and pushed up his glasses. “The complaints scroll almost faster than we can read them exactly because of how many players our game has. Fear end of service only when nobody bothers to yell at us.”

“I agree with you, and that's I have to insist you take off that placard. I haven't seen any research about this, but I bet ideas associated with Dumbegists have an unflattering record when it comes to convincing the public.” That Strategist and several more hurried to throw off their punishment placards at Quircy's chiding, which strengthened the idea many officers had begun to consider that a 15% class bonus to debuff chance did not coincide in all cases with being smart.

To the left and right, nothing existed but the gap between the clouds and player discontent, an empty hall with nothing of its own, given color by emanations from the above and below, white and green meeting to create a minty-fresh world. The officers bunched up tighter than they had before despite the greater width of the tube, as if in want of heat. Would anyone who saw them then, perhaps a mad scientist in an experimental dirigible or a legendary bird that brings happiness taking a pleasure flight outside, say ah, there go bold soldiers, the conquerors of worlds? Nevertheless, they still thought themselves capable of it.