"It looks like Bob is having a good time with his friends in Hawaii," Taylor reported, presenting her tablet.

She had facebook open to Bob's page, where a new picture of Bob being dragged through the water by Monroe as he went after a fish was front and center.

"It does," Elania agreed.

"We should consider ourselves fortunate that he put that up, as we can direct the many, many people who are looking for him to Hawaii," Taylor grinned.

"Given the difficulty in getting a flight there, they're going to be a little frustrated," Elania agreed.

"The capsule is back from day two," Taylor continued the briefing. "Apparently, the ritual is more taxing than a standard portal spell, and they were only able to jump once every ten minutes. We're up to one hundred and fifty jumps, at a cost of fifteen thousand mana crystals for the jump rituals alone, with nothing to show for it."

"Space is big," Elania replied. "Bob didn't say, but I'll bet he jumped quite a bit before he found those two planets."

"Given that he has a natural Dimension Affinity, and I'm sure he used an Affinity Crystal, and I'd bet that he has an achievement or two to help, I'm sure it costs him fewer crystals," Taylor grumbled. "We'll leave unspoken his ability to just pump out ritual after ritual without ever losing focus."

Elania nodded. That particular ability of Bob's was something unique. The prevalent theory had been that it was a function of having an Affinity for the magic in question, but that had been debunked as their own people had used Affinity Crystals. It wasn't something that really mattered in day-to-day life, but when it came to anything that required a rapid response, the ability to just keep casting rituals was one hell of an asset. It took five ritual casters to do the same amount of work Bob did, at least over the course of forty-eight hours. He'd proven his ability to go without sleep, and a report from the Old Guard, before they'd stopped reporting up the chain of command, had quite clearly indicated that during the big push to get the combat wounded veterans over to Thayland, Bob had cast rituals for eighty hours straight.

"Yorrick has finished transporting the volunteers to the Terran Confederation, and we're still working to organize the groups that want to go to Thayland," Taylor said.

"Have we checked with Bob about transporting them over?" Elania asked.

"No, but I'm sure he'll be willing," Taylor replied. "That man doesn't know how to say no when someone needs help." She shook her head with a sigh. "We lost a real asset there. I could punch that lab director in the face."

"I'm just glad he didn't turn bitter and hateful," Elania said. "Shoot him an email asking him when his vacation is over, and if before he leaves, if he could transfer some volunteers to Thayland."

Monroe sniffed the air carefully.

His human-servant had shown his devotion by providing Monroe with a huge fish, and he'd fallen asleep after devouring his tribute.

Now he was awake, and it appeared that his human-servant had left with the other, lesser servants.

He knew where his human-servant was, of course. He could sense him.

Padding out the door of his den, he luxuriated in the heat coming off the sand, but didn't pause to lounge, instead following the scent of his human-servant.

The trail led up the beach, and through trees.

His nose twitched as another scent wafted through the trees. There was roasting meat ahead.

Monroe licked his chops and chuffed happily. His human-servant was preparing a feast in recognition of his stature as the mightiest hunter.

His human-servant had not only grown larger, but had grown more skilled as a hunter. For a long time, he'd despaired of his servant ever becoming proficient, and he'd left countless reminders for him, to no avail. Now, he was almost as good at hunting as Monroe had been when he was a kitten.

Stalking out of the trees, he followed the delectable scent, which was happily entwined with his human-servants.

"Thayland is colder, sure, but it's not li-" Bob paused.

Something was tickling the back of his mind.

"It's not like what?" Steve, the owner of the resort, asked.

Bob's eyes widened. Hungry-food-hunt.

He stood up and looked around wildly as he moved closer to the roasting hog-beast.

"Buddy, no!" Bob yelled as Monroe sailed out of the darkness, crashing into the thousand pound roast like a shark at a surfer's convention.

He rushed toward the roast, but it was too late. Monroe had knocked it off the two supports and had disappeared with it, no doubt making use of his 'How did you get there?' skill.

Bob hung his head. Food-eat-happy.

"Damn it," he muttered. He looked up to find Steve walking over. "I fed him a whole sunfish," Bob complained, "but apparently he still woke up hungry."

"I'm just glad he doesn't eat people." Steve shook his head, then paused. "He doesn't eat people, does he?"

"He's only ever hurt people who were hurting me," Bob assured him.

"That's good," Steve relaxed. "He's gorgeous, but unlike a tiger or a jaguar, it's easy to forget how dangerous he could be, because he looks like a massively oversized house cat."

"He's a heckin' chonker," Bob agreed. "I'll happily pay for the roast. I'd offer to hunt you down another one, but my friends keep telling me it's a vacation and that I'm not allowed to delve the Dungeons here."

"They're right," Steve said. "You don't need to go down into the Dungeons here, we've got them under control. In fact, given your presumed tier and level, it would be for the best if you didn't," he continued. "You'd drop the capacity considerably in just a few runs."

Bob nodded.

That was one of the reasons he'd gone on vacation. The Hidden Dungeon needed to recover. Delving it multiple tiers and levels over his own drained it quickly, and he'd brought it down to one percent capacity.

It was one of his primary concerns. Earth certainly wasn't an option for delving, they didn't have enough capacity for the people who were already here. Thayland did have the capacity, but it was going to require the group to bounce around rapidly as they emptied Dungeons. Depending on how many people took advantage of Kellan's offer, they might not have enough Dungeons there either.

Technically, they could probably make the jump to Neptune or Saturn in order to find Dungeons. The problem was that neither of those planets was even remotely habitable. Ideally, they'd use Jupiter, but he wasn't sure they could even survive.

They needed a planet with a gravity somewhere between 10 m/s² and 16 m/s². The Eire seedworld had actually been just about perfect, and while they could return there, it would only be a temporary measure as the arrival of the Lhorne would force them to leave.

He really wanted to get his hands on the hundred plus planets in the Thermostat universe. He could practically taste the first clear bonus for an entire planet.

The group had decided to table the decision until after the vacation, but that didn't mean he wasn't thinking about it.

"Yeah, that's one of the few downsides of tiering up," Bob said belatedly, realizing he'd gotten lost in his thoughts again. "We sort of need a planet with higher gravity and no people."

"Are you going to go off to Alpha Centauri?" Steve asked with a laugh.

"No, that's a little far," Bob shook his head. "I'll bet the System has a way for FTL travel, we just haven't figured it out yet."

"That would be amazing," Steve sighed. "It still feels a little unreal, you know? Five years ago I was worrying about a crack in the foundation, now I'm worried about monster waves and how many tier six, seven, or even eight floors I should have when I rebuild the resort."

"It's a brand new world," Bob agreed. "Honestly, I prefer it," he confessed. "I'm already looking at living for thousands of years. We used to live in a world where we only had so much time, and we had to spend so much of it just making a living. Now, once things finish settling down, you'll be able to delve one day out of the week, and spend the rest of your time doing whatever you'd like."

"How's that working out for you?" Steve shook his head. "You folks have been great, but one of things that we're all worried about it is what happens when someone at your power level snaps, or is just an asshole from the get go. I've got no illusions that you and your friends couldn't wipe out this entire island."

Bob opened his mouth, then closed it. As a summoner, he had staying power. More than any other specialization, Summoners were built for the long game. That said, he was pretty sure that if Bailli wanted to, she could probably clear the island by herself in just a few hours. Not that she would, but she could. Hell, the only people who would likely have trouble doing so were Erick and Jessica, although it would likely take Mike and Jack a lot longer.

When he'd first met the King of Greenwold, he'd been concerned because, as a faux tier nine, he'd represented a global threat. He'd never stepped back and considered that he was reaching that point himself.

"It shows good character that you've never considered how much of a threat you are," Steve said. "But the rest of us thought about it. I'm not sure what a world where tier five people exist alongside people who are tier eight or nine, but it keeps me up at night."

"Grind out some levels and tier up," Bob said. "I never wanted to become any kind of threat to anyone, I just needed the power to defend myself."

"Eventually," Steve sighed. "I figure I'll hit tier six next year, unless a bunch of people take that offer to go to Thayland, but honestly, those of us who live on the islands do so because we love it here."

"I sort of thought that with Dungeons we'd basically be moving into a post scarcity society," Bob shook his head. "I never even considered that Dungeons would be the resource we were short on."

"Well, we're apparently going to Mars, so that will help," Steve said.

"Less than you'd think," Bob warned. "Three point seven meters per second per second means the average tier isn't quite two. Good for building habitats as monster waves will be a joke, but tier fives will be able to delve those Dungeons down to no capacity all too easily."

"Someone will figure it out." Steve shook his head. "If nothing else, we'll build a bunch of colony ships."

Bob woke up slowly, a luxury he rarely enjoyed. Between his own rigorous schedule and Monroe's tendency to wake him up, there wasn't a lot of sleeping in. He yawned and stretched a little. It was tempting to use his armband, but he had a strict policy of no electronics in bed.

Sitting up, he discovered that Monroe was sprawled out in a pool of sunlight.

"Good morning buddy," Bob mumbled as he stood up and stretched more fully before walking over and giving the big Maine Coon a scratch behind his ears. "You're going to be a well-baked loaf, aren't you?"

He pulled up the screen on his armband as he made his way to the bathroom. He was surprised to see an email waiting for him. His spam filters were so aggressive that he rarely received any messages.

From the Office of the President.

Mr. Whitman,

We have communicated the offer, as well as its term to our citizens. We regret that we lack the ability to easily transport our people to Thayland, and would request your aid in this endeavor. If you could, please let us know when you expect to wrap up your vacation, and we can coordinate your aid in a fashion that will only inconvenience you for a few hours.

We remain grateful for the aid you've offered your country.

Regards,

Elania Hartford, President of the United States.

"Well at least she didn't make me read through a bunch of formal bullshit," Bob muttered.

He felt that the 'your country' was a little on the nose, as he'd made it pretty clear that he considered himself a citizen of Greenwold these days. Then again, he'd never renounced his United States Citizenship, so they were technically correct, which he freely admitted was the best kind of correct.

Looking in the mirror, he frowned. It was time to shave again. Maybe if he insulated the handle of the razor, maybe with a semi-porous material to absorb the sweat...

'Bob, I feel I need to remind you about what happened the last time you decided to use a heated blade to shave,' Trebor said.

"That's why I was thinking about upgrading the handle of the razor," Bob replied, then sighed. It probably wasn't a good idea.

He'd been toying with the idea of using Necromancy. There was a spell called 'Ashes to Ashes' that reduced dead flesh to dust. Well, according to Harv, it did quite a bit more than that, but for this particular application, that was the part he cared about.

The concern was that in addition to disintegrating the hair itself, he'd likely be giving himself a serious exfoliation. He'd never been overly concerned about skin care. He washed his face with soap when he took a shower and called it good. Ultimately, exfoliating was supposed to a good thing, or so he'd read.

The problem was he wasn't quite there yet, as far as casting the spell. He'd had Harv demonstrate it, as well as Necros Blast, for him, but he'd never worked with Necromancy before and it was weird.

One of the things Bob had discovered about mana was that Animancy, Necromancy, and Shadowmancy were different, in terms of the energies they used. Animancy felt alive for lack of a better term, while Shadowmancy was so neutral as to be nearly textureless. Necromancy felt empty. It was like trying to weave a tapestry where half the threads were made of some sort of void that tried to consume the other threads.

He knew he'd get there, eventually. With a sigh, he wet his brush and started dabbing it into his shaving cream. He'd just do it the old-fashioned way this morning, although he promised himself that one day he would perfect a magical solution to the whole shaving problem.