“The other option is that we just leave the damned thing here?” Sam said, having wandered back into the tent a short while after the bartering had finished.
“I would prefer that you take the vehicle with you,” Orin said. “And, to that end, I am willing to procure whatever items you need within the funds Pete has acquired. I will also lend my own expertise to the repairs and look to improve the vehicle somewhat.”
Sam narrowed her eyes. “Improve how?”
The dwarf shrugged, still wearing a wry grin. “Some rudimentary shielding, perhaps? I have a spare module somewhere out back, and I would be happy to install it along with a power converter and an inbuilt battery. I can also provide an advanced repair kit, which will assist in the event that you encounter trouble, and a friction nullifier that will increase your speed and braking efficiency.”
Pete could see by the look in her eyes that she’d already made up her mind.
“Would that shield protect the RV if the storm catches up with us?”
“For a short while, yes. Your increased speed will also assist you in outrunning dangers such as the storm.”
“Without shaking the RV apart?”
Orin nodded. “We will make suitable adjustments to ensure the integrity of the vehicle.”
Pete stepped back, watching the two of them haggle with one another. Coop was still sitting on the counter, her head shifting left and right as though she was watching a tennis match. Eventually, Sam and Orin landed on a deal, and she turned around and walked back toward the tent entrance, shooting Pete a wink as she strolled out.
“It seems,” Orin said as Sam exited the tent, “that she has gotten the better of me in this deal, Pete. I wanted only to be rid of a heap of scrap metal, but now it seems as though I have agreed to substantially upgrade your vehicle, regardless of cost.”
Pete nodded. “Yeah, she’s full of surprises, that one.”
“Think I’ll go join her,” Coop said, jumping off the counter and onto Pete’s shoulder before scampering down to the floor. “I need some air, and it looks like a nice night outside.”
“Just stay away from the portal,” Pete called after her.
“I am not a child, Pete,” the ferret replied over her shoulder before trotting out of the tent.
When he turned back, Orin was standing on the floor, having vacated his seat behind the trade counter.
“Come with me, lad. Let’s talk while we wait for the Emporium to reorient itself. I’ve put in orders for some of the parts Sam has requested, but it will take several hours for the parts to come through.”
Pete followed the shorter man into a back room of the tent, which looked almost as large as the main section. There were couches lining the cloth walls and two leather chairs sitting in the middle in front of a round wooden table where drinks and food had been laid out.
Orin motioned to one of the chairs and sat down opposite Pete. He motioned to the golden lantern sitting in the middle of the table, which looked a little like a fancy lava lamp with blobs of golden light swimming in liquid inside a glass tube. Strange runic symbols floated around the lamp, glowing with soft golden light and periodically dimming and disappearing as new symbols emerged, like sparks from a fire.
“A rare device this,” Orin said. “It derives from the darkest moon of a planet named Telk, far in the northern reaches of the Dominion. Crafted in secret and in defiance of standing statutes of the Tongsly Belch Corporation and the Dominion charter.”
Pete nodded, reaching down and picking up a mug of something that smelled suspiciously like beer.
“It grants that most precious of commodities, which is so rare within the Dominion,” Orin said with a grin as he reached for his own mug. “Privacy.”
Pete looked over at the Pawnbroker, looking through the haze of golden symbols floating above and around the lamp. Orin was still smiling as he took a sip of the drink.
[Pete-Private-Nero] Nero? Are you still here?
No reply came, confirming Pete’s suspicion.
“We can’t be heard here?” he asked. “The System can’t hear what we’re saying, and neither can my AI tutor?”
Orin nodded. “Precisely so. The lamp generates a null field that cannot be penetrated by either organic or non-organic means. While we share its glow, our words cannot be overheard or recorded by any mechanism.”
Pete smiled. “Isn’t that gonna be suspicious?”
The dwarf chuckled. “My boy, you have entered a pocket dimension in order to trade with none other than Orin Tithebreaker, Old Copper Eye himself. The fact that you are even able to find me is something of a miracle. That you have visited me twice already before a single day has passed in the contest is profoundly telling.” He shook his head. “Yes, the System and the broader Corporation will find this suspicious. Yes, they will assume that we are both plotting to bring down the Dominion and crush the Tongsly Belch Corporation.”
He leaned forward, his good eye twinkling in the reflected light from the golden lamp runes.
“But I will share a secret with you, lad. The Corporation is always suspicious. It suspected every soul within the Dominion of treachery, as does the System. They cause great evil in full knowledge that this will cause unrest, and then they oppress the people even further and root out any who speak unfavorably of the regime and its glorious overlord.”
He waved his hand in the air at that last part, sloshing a little of the amber liquid in his mug over his shirt. Pete took a sip of the drink himself and found that it was a kind of beer, sweet and refreshing with just the right amount of bite.
“Do not fear retribution, Pete,” Orin went on. “Expect it. If you speak openly against the Company and its Managing Director, you will earn retribution. If you say nothing, Tongsly Belch will suspect that you are working covertly against him regardless, and this will earn retribution. Whatever you do or do not do, the outcome will be the same, so enjoy our time together and speak freely, for this is one of the few places where you will be permitted that privilege without other ears hearing what you have to say.”
Pete held the mug in his lap, nodding. “Yeah, I think I’ve already pretty well shot myself in the foot with that anyway. You saw me on that Puke and Pay show, right?”
The dwarf nodded, grinning. “I did indeed. Quite a performance. I take it the Orc was supposed to kill you?”
“Yeah. The whole thing was a setup.”
“I thought as much. Tell me then, how did you anticipate the betrayal? You doubtless have a head on your shoulders, but to have the foresight to see what was coming at this early stage of your time in the game is unlikely.”
Pete nodded. “The host of the show, Liandra, she spoke to me. She did something like this lamp so that the System couldn’t listen, and neither could my AI tutor. She told me what was going to happen just before it all started.”
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“Liandra, you say? Curious.”
“Yeah, she said she was working for some organization called the Obsidian Alliance. Sounded like some kind of rebel group. She said that she was helping me because I’ve been pretty vocal about hating the System and the Corporation. Apparently, this Obsidian Alliance thought it was worth keeping me around so I could keep it up.”
“I have not heard of this group myself,” Orin said, “but it has been quite a while since I was actively involved in subversive activities. There are always rebellions brewing throughout the Dominion, and this Alliance is obviously the latest incarnation of such an enterprise.”
“You haven’t heard of them then?”
“No, but I recognize their ploy. Given how outspoken you are and the fact that you are so popular, you represent a key asset to a group like the Obsidian Alliance. Even if you do not work directly for them and never meet another soul from this Alliance, your open opposition to Belch and everything he stands for serves their purpose. Others will flock to their cause because of your words and actions, Pete. That is why they risked intervening in order to preserve your life.”
The old dwarf leaned forward, motioning to Pete’s gauntlet arm.
“You have your comms unit on you, yes?”
Pete nodded.
“Good,” Orin replied. “Open it up and you will see what I mean.”
Pete pulled the device from his inventory and navigated to the Ultrifeed app, broadcasting his stats so that they hovered above his gauntlet where they could both read the details.
>> FOLLOWERS: 3.5m
>> VIEWS: 890m
>> LIKES: 5.1m
>> SPONSOR BOOKMARKS: 193
“There you have it,” Orin said, leaning back in his chair. “The events of the past few hours haven’t hurt your popularity. In fact, since your little outburst on Puke and Pay, your fame appears to have increased substantially. For an outfit like the Obsidian Alliance, you are a valuable asset. If this continues, they will attempt to assist you whenever possible because the better you do, the more it will drive people to their cause. At a point in time, they may even announce themselves publicly, and if you are still alive, they will tie themselves to your banner and thus instantly legitimize their cause. Even now, they are likely advising new recruits that you belong to the Obsidian Alliance.”
“So, I’ve become a kind of mascot?”
“No, not a mascot. You are a hero to the cause, a mouthpiece for the disaffected. Provided your popularity continues to rise, you will continue to function as a hero for this nascent rebellion.”
Pete sighed. “Yeah, and the moment my popularity starts to drop, I’m dead.”
The other man grinned. “Precisely. So, I would suggest you continue doing as you have been doing. If you notice your numbers starting to dip, change tack and rail more fervently against the System, the Company, and Belch. Find a way to keep viewers engaged.”
Pete brushed a hand through his hair. “Jesus, that sounds like a nightmare. Talk about a hamster wheel.”
“It is the nature of the game, I’m afraid. But your popularity is also your best shield. Once you have moved past the novice arena, you may be given a little more leeway. You will also increase in strength and ability and be less vulnerable than you are now. But there will always be more powerful enemies and greater obstacles to face.”
He took another sip of his beer, and Pete did the same, enjoying a rare moment of peace and quiet within the serene atmosphere of the back room.
“This whole thing,” he said, “with the game and the obsession with money and the Corporation. How did it start?”
Orin grunted. “The way oppressive systems always start. Under the guise of notions such as freedom and prosperity. ‘Wealth for all’ is the promise that keeps most of the Dominion locked in poverty; an endless striving for a goal they can never reach. But the game is rigged and always has been. Hard work, diligence, being true to one’s craft; none of these virtues makes the slightest difference in a society governed by those who hold all the wealth and who hoard opportunity like gold.”
He shook his head, leaning back in his chair.
“It began with a promise, with collective dissatisfaction with the status quo and the promise that one figure could make it all better.”
“Tongsly Belch,” Pete said.
“The very same. He began his career as a merchant, a seller of inferior quality merchandise—weapons and trinkets, mostly. But more than these, Belch sold the promise of profit to those with money and power. He produced vast quantities of weapons, potions, and equipment, all sold at a fraction of the cost it took to make the items. The entire enterprise was funded by investment, on the back of certain promises he made to those in power. Over several years, the name Tongsly Belch became synonymous with affordable—yet shoddy—equipment. His face was plastered on every package, and his products were advertised heavily throughout what would eventually become the feeds.”
Pete nodded. “So, he swamped the market with crap and beat his competitors by lowballing them on price?”
“In essence, yes. But the real change came with the advent of the first Dominion Ultrimax Competition. Until that point, the Tongsly Belch Company had been a relatively small affair. He’d dominated markets in his home world, but his influence hadn’t yet spread beyond that. The idea for the contest, however, ignited the passions of investors far beyond his own planet. Unfathomable amounts of money were poured into the enterprise, and although the first contest was a somewhat lackluster affair with a rather vapid outcome, the amount of money wagered during the contest was obscene. By taking a cut of every transaction, Belch raised his status from a middling manufacturer to a titan of industry, and matters grew exponentially worse as he gained more power and influence.”
Orin stared down into the mug, swilling the amber liquid about as he shook his head.
“It was a combination of luck, privilege, and rampant greed that birthed the monster we now know as High Baron Tongsly Belch. The contest raised his profile to such an extent that he was able to position himself as the head of the Dominion Council. At that stage, it was only a relatively small organization, which had only a dozen worlds under its purview, but that soon changed.”
Pete nodded. “They started taking over other worlds and using the locals to run the contest, right?”
“Precisely. It was conquest, war on a massive scale but under the guise of entertainment. Because so much money was being made, none of the other worlds in the Dominion objected. Even when cracks began to appear and the fund dried up, those worlds were still reticent to object for fear that they would host the next contest and be subject to the brutal treatment of the Tongsly Belch Company.”
Pete reflected on the dwarf’s words and saw the sorrow and anger in the other man’s eyes. He wondered about Orin’s own story.
“Tongsly Belch is a singularly obsessive individual,” Orin said, his demeanor suddenly souring. “He craves power and wealth above all, except for one thing.”
He held up a single finger.
“Celebrity! Belch must be upon every lip and in every ear throughout the Dominion. He cares not whether people speak ill of him or seek to curry favor; he cares only that his fame continues to spread and pervade every aspect of life. His every word is a lie. He never admits to wrongdoing and if attacked, he simply does something more sensational, more terrible. He crushes the hopes and dreams of the people he is supposed to serve, lining his own pockets while condemning them to sickness and destitution. He would steal the last heel of bread from a starving child’s mouth even if it was broadcast live across the Dominion feed network because he craves the gaze of others more than any other drug.”
Orin held up three fingers.
“Three worlds,” he said in a bitter tone. “That is the sum of who profits from the Dominion Ultrimax Competition: Fortunuis, Opulon, and Belch Prime. Three worlds chosen for their favorable climate and central location within the Dominion. These worlds are populated by Belch and his kin, by the wealthiest individuals in the cosmos. They enjoy the finest food, clothing, weather, and amenities on offer while citizens in a thousand other worlds struggle in poverty and destitution. Even on the three worlds, there are those who live on the brink of death, the servant classes that serve their wealthy masters.”
Pete shook his head. “How though? If everyone is miserable, how come they haven’t risen up and just kicked Belch’s ass?”
The old dwarf chuckled.
“Spoken like a young man who knows not the cost of such a choice. The Company controls the military, Pete, and has access to all the most potent technology and resources. Even if the citizens of the oppressed worlds rose up and tried to overthrow their overlords, how would they manage it? Where would they find ships to travel from world to world? How would they fight against robotic enforcers or the Company’s armies?”
He shook his head.
“Besides, you are overlooking the larger problem. The people do not rebel because their minds are addled by the great game. The Dominion Ultrimax Contest has become a drug to the citizens of the Dominion, the only means by which they might achieve some solace in their brutal existence. The Contest dangles the hope of a better life in front of them by offering the chance to win a life-changing bet. For those who can’t afford to wager, it offers a mindless distraction, a way to leave their wretched worlds behind and live in a fantasy realm.”
Che Che came walking through the door at that moment, shuffling toward Orin and signing as he moved up close. The dwarf’s expression shifted as he nodded, acknowledging the goblin’s message.
“Well and good,” Orin said, turning back to Pete. “It seems that I have acquired the necessary spare parts to assist young Sam with repairs to your vehicle.”
Che Che kept signing, and Orin nodded once more.
“The emporium will be shifted in another hour or so. Good work, Che Che. Inform Sam that I will join her presently.”
The goblin nodded, turned, and departed. Orin drank the rest of his beer and placed the mug back down on the small table.
“Stay as long as you wish, Pete,” he said, getting to his feet. “Enjoy this time of serenity, for you cannot know when you will next have the opportunity for such peaceful contemplation.”
With that, he turned and strolled from the room, leaving Pete with his head swimming and a half-drunk mug of beer in one hand. He looked down at the mug and decided to take the dwarf’s advice. He’d stay a while, finish the drink, and then go and help the others.
As that thought occurred, he caught sight of the tankard in the middle of the table, likely filled with more of the sweet beer.
Okay. Maybe one more beer for the road.