Chapter Thirty-Eight - The Rat and the Hungry Tiger

“The System started in 2022.

It’s not really surprising. We’ll rank anything; it’s a species-wide fixation. The best car, the highest ranking web-serial, the most popular creators. Give us a dataset, and people will organize it from best to worse.

The System is complex though. There are a lot of things to take into account with it, and some of those are very much speculative.

Fortunately, we like speculating too!”

--Documentary except from an interview with the creator of “The System,” 2029

***

The city hall’s entrance was a grand and ostentatious place, tax-paid marble, bribe-paid paintings, a few repossessed statues on plinths. It was genuinely nice. Very intimidating.

I walked past men and women in suits, who often stopped to stare. I don’t know if it was my armour or Rac’s Racness. It was sort of disappointing that I wasn’t making any noise as I moved. It would have been appropriate to clang and clunk with every step.

There was a small line before the reception desk, a long counter with inch-thick glass over it and some secretaries behind. Three of them currently served some forty-odd people in three columns.

I considered cutting to the front, but that was just rude. I was here to scare big important politicians, and most of those in line looked like normal folk. Middle-class people in their Sunday best, clutching paper documents and staring off into space with the boredom appropriate for someone waiting in line.

The woman behind the bullet-proof glass was overweight, her third chin decorated by a couple of gaudy infomercial necklaces, and her eyes was very obviously focused on anything but the man standing before her.

“Why’re we waiting?” Raccoon asked.

“Because it might make things easier in the long run,” I said. I couldn’t help but notice the security guards gathering on the edges of the room. They were eyeing me the way a rat might eye a hungry tiger.

The guy at the very front moved out of the way, walkin off with a huff. One of the people ahead of us spotted me, then stepped aside and shifted to the next line over. Awfully kind of them. That left us one person behind the front.

“What?” the man asked in a low hiss.

The fat woman behind the desk spoke with the low drone of someone who had no shits to give. “You brought the document in duplicate, but it needs to be in triplicate, and these are dated for today. The deadline is today, which means that it’s too late.”

“Isn’t it inclusive?” the man asked. “This is unreasonable! If I don’t have this, where will I stay?”

“There is a nine month waiting period for an affordable housing unit. Please see form AF80. Can I help you with anything else?”

“You... argh,” he groaned before stomping off.

I looked at Rac and she shrugged. “I ain’t ever filled out any paperwork before.”

Fair enough. I stepped up to the counter. “How may I help you?”

“I’m looking for... whoever’s in charge here,” I said.

“That’s not this department,” she replied.

“Well then, which department would know where the mayor’s office is?” I asked.

She frowned. “The mayor’s office is on floor eight. You need an appointment to visit him, which you can obtain from the--”

“Okay, cool,” I cut in. “Look, the city’s about to be in a heap of shit, and I’m trying to stop that from happening. Can you buzz the mayor and tell him I’m coming? That might smooth things over.”

“Miss, this isn’t the department for that.”

I was pretty sure shooting her would complicate things. “You’re real useful, aren’t you?”

“Insulting a government agent is an offence,” she droned.

I wasn’t allowed to insult the people here? “Um, go fuck yourself? At least that way you’ll burn some calories.”

“I could call the guards,” she snapped.

I blinked. She still wasn't looking at me. A twitch of my augs and I was in her system and... she was watching a soap opera. I flicked that off, and she jumped a little, blinked, then refocused on me. “Fuck your guards too,” I said. “What are they going to do? Shoot me? I have a space sword... bitch. Come on, Rac.”

I took off, heading towards an elevator bank at the far end of the room.

“You lost that one,” Rac said with obvious good humour.

“I didn’t summon a live grenade in her lap, which is a victory for my self control,” I said to soothe my pride.

A guard stepped up before us, still a dozen metres ahead. He looked a pinch nervous, but ready to try and stop me.

“Get in the elevator,” I said. Rac nodded, so I stepped away from her, angling slightly off to the right.

The guard moved to stand where I’d be walking now.

So I turned invisible and side-stepped back to Rac’s side.

The guards started to panic a little, so out of the kindness of my heart--and because I thought it was funny--I reappeared by Rac’s side as we entered a waiting elevator. “Myalis, can we get to the eighth floor, please?”

Is the button panel too complex?

“Yeah, it’s got all these numbers and shit,” I said. “Plus I’d need to raise my arm. I’d ask Rac, but she might press all of them.” I really just didn’t want the guards stopping the elevator halfway up.

The door shut with a ding and we started to rise. Rac bounced from foot to foot to the beat of the copyright-free music playing while the floor ticker counted up. We hit the eighth floor and the door remained closed.

Four potential hostiles on the other side.

“Noted,” I said. “Rac, go stand in the corner. Make yourself small.”

“I’m pretty small already,” she said as she moved to the side near the door and squeezed herself in. “Didn’t eat enough as a kid.”

“Work for me and you’ll be able to afford all sorts of grub,” I said. I reached out and tapped the door open button at the same time as I went invisible.

The door opened onto another lobby, this one much smaller, but no less rich. A desk took up the end of the room, with two corridors stretching out behind it on either side, offices and rooms all along it.

A pair of guards were huddled on two sides, partially hidden by some large pillars. Another was to the right, next to a doorway, and the last was right before the elevator. He stared within. “It’s empty.”

“The target could teleport,” one of them said. “Check it.”

The guard before me moved to enter the elevator, so I stepped up and grabbed him by the collar. He let out a rather undignified squeak as I lifted him off the ground, then carried him over to the counter, his feet brushing the floor as he kicked out.

There was a young secretary-looking guy behind the counter. He wasn’t watching any soap operas, but he was filming.

I shut off my invisibility, aware of the guns pointed my way by the three other guards. “Hi,” I said. “I’d like to make an appointment to speak with the mayor.”

“Uh,” the secretary said.

“Right now, please,” I said. Being polite was tiring.

“Put me down!” the guard I was holding up screamed. The other three were shouting too.

“Fine,” I said as I let go of the guard. “Tell the mayor that Stray Cat is here to see him.”

“Stray Cat,” the secretary said. He looked at something on a nearby screen, and then blanched. “Oh. S-stand down, stand down, everyone!” he said as he stood, both arms waving up and down.

The guards paused in their useless screaming and glanced his way.

“Miss Stray Cat here is a samurai who is coming to, ah, visit the mayor.”

“I should have opened with that,” I muttered.

“We wouldn’t want to insult one of the top fourty thousand,” the secretary replied.

“What?” I asked.

He blanched even further, if that was at all possible. “It’s, ah, just your ranking... miss?”

I frowned. “My ranking on what?”

“The ranking?”

He has a screen opened to a site that ranks Vanguards. Specifically those in the North American continent. You are currently ranked number 48,094. Out of nearly fifty thousand active Vanguards in the region. Your international ranking is significantly worse.

“There’s rankings?” I asked. “Based on what?!”

The system is relatively complex. Active duty time, level of perceived threat, some popularity polls.

“Huh,” I said. “Where’s Gomorrah?”

Currently at 47,947.

I frowned harder. “And Deus Ex?”

2,581st place. The higher rankings move less often.

“Well... let’s go see the mayor and get those rank numbers down, shall we?” I asked. “Come on Rac, no one’s going to hurt you without getting shot right after.”

***