Chapter 77

They found a free room, and after sealing the door, Daniel collapsed next to Ivey.

She held him tight. Tiny shivers went through him.

“Are you crying?” she asked.

The sob slipped out. All Daniel could think about was that he had just killed a man—murdered, executed, however you wanted to say it.

“This is why we love you,” she whispered. “Because you care.”

That did not make it better, and he lay there struggling to bring himself under control while Ivey quietly held him and the voices of the men locked to the walls below reached him, courtesy of Priscilla. It was weird; he could get sound or vision and never both.

The men talked about lots of things. Whether they were going to die or be exiled, which was as good as dead. Lamenting at trusting Beau and even a surprising sentiment that one was glad Beau lost. That bit made Daniel perk up his ears, but the conversation went elsewhere. Ivey’s breathing had evened out.

“Thank you,” he whispered and thankfully she did not stir.

Daniel half wanted to stay there all night, and it was not like he could not be useful even from the random room they had selected. It had only taken him a minute to connect to one of his conduits, and then he went to work four floors below. Yet, as productive as he could be here, he knew he needed to move.

Three hours ago, he had swallowed twenty of the little electricity cores and by his count, they could trigger any time, and he did not want to be in the same room as Ivey when they went off. He would thrash about, and he was not convinced that lighting released stayed fully within him. It would be better to be elsewhere.

Carefully, he slipped out.

Silence came back from Priscilla, and she was bored.

Don’t worry, you will get chips. A brief bit of interest and then more boredom.

Did he really need her down there? Daniel asked himself as he snuck out of the room. He had got enough from the conversation he had eavesdropped on. Beau had been the ringleader, and if they were willing to contribute, then they should be spared. They needed all the manpower they could get and while they were non-combat classes, eventually, once things stabilised, those professions would be vital to rebuild society.

Images flooded from Priscilla. She had been very bored and had been using her skills to their fullest to examine the prisoners. One had abilities related to metal and fire so was clearly a blacksmith even if she lacked the words to say it; another had a weird class that appeared to be a plant researcher but was probably something completely different, and the third seemed to be a builder. They were useful classes, and the builder would be effective almost immediately.

More information about the farmer?

Images came back, and from their detail it was like she was reading the man’s mind. His class was all about cross-pollination of plants to make better species. There were skills for breeding and also identification, focused to see compatibility and if they were poisonous along with a scattering of fast growth abilities. Admittedly small-scale stuff. The synergies with Daniel’s own talents were material. In the short term, he could definitely help feed the community.

Tomorrow he would have a chat with them about the future and see if they were still willing to integrate, and after that he would keep watch.

Daniel got down to level twenty-one and, pulling a mattress off a bed, he lay down upon it. Vines grew, cocooning him. This way, even when he started thrashing, he would not fall off the bed and hurt himself. Then he focused outwards on the floors below. If he pushed, he could see eight levels straight down, but practically, his range was six. If he walked around, Daniel understood he could get full coverage down the extra two levels, but for now, six and a bit was sufficient.

He searched, checking everything, and as he had feared, there were no humans. Bugs and rodents had been driven to the crawl spaces. The full six levels were owned by zombies. His conduit plant got through into the internal linking stairwell, and sure enough the doors were open. As he watched, a zombie went up three floors. It matched his early impression.

Watching what was happening with the zombies, Daniel began warding the floor beneath him, particularly the windows. He still worried about them climbing up the outsides of the hotel. If they tried to get up, at least this way they would get a warning.

His stomach trembled, and he quickly slipped on his mouth gag. It was softish wood that would not splinter. Hopefully, it would stop him from biting off his tongue.

There was a sharp shock, and his back arched up and he flopped fishlike to the side. Daniel tried to focus on his breathing. Then he attempted to send his consciousness through his conduit as a distraction, but every shock dragged him out. The zaps expanded until they occurred in a single continuous wave. He simultaneously tried to straighten up and curl into a ball. Muscles in his lower back tore abruptly as some wanted to go one way but the majority had a different idea.

He screamed through the gag.

There was no one to hear. He slammed into the top of his cocoon then the other. His little finger got caught under him till it broke.

The zaps decreased in intensity and then faded, but the pain remained. With agonising movements, Daniel pulled his limbs to sort of the right position and lay there, face ground into the pillow as the new world’s advanced healing went to work. Healing in the new world was ridiculously fast, but if Ivey had been here, he would have been fixed in seconds rather than hours.

She, unlike him, needed her sleep, so he sucked it up and continued his focus on shoring up their defences.

Finally, he felt fully in control as the last of his muscles mended. The cocoon broke, and looking back at the mattress, there was a surprisingly large amount of blood—and not just from his nose and mouth. When his finger snapped, it must have broken skin.

Daniel held it up. The pinky finger still looked whole and normal, but it was crusted with blood. He brushed it off on the convenient sheet.

He had survived. With a shrug, he consumed another thirty of the cores. There was clearly room to push further, and he needed to get stronger.

It was time to head upstairs to pave the way for the next part of their fight.

Log report 5 - Entry 9

What a boring day.

Not a single biped died apart from that idiot who took on a co-wobub. Like, what was he thinking? Co-wobub battered me aside with disdain earlier when I had two weak side kicks. I know I’ll get a third useless follower and that will definitely make a difference.

Spoiler, it didn’t.

On top of that, next to no falls occurred. The bipeds are probably all giving prayers of gratitude to their god to celebrate their luck.

What was indeed curious is that my host did not find the lack of tumbles at all noteworthy. I thought that was strange and then figured that she’s probably an aberration who has exceptional balance so has overcome the biped disability.

Or not.

When you examine her day logically, she spends a lot of time sitting or lying down.

Hours, in fact.

They call it sleep, but I think they are just recovering from the stress of stopping themselves from toppling over all day.

Anyway, I digress as I often seem to do.

It was a boring but I am growing as a superior life form. Unlike with the third host, I avoided giving unsolicited advice. I still don’t think I am responsible for that host getting eaten. I know I implied that the ceiling was about to fall in, but I did not state it as fact. It was totally the host’s choice to leave the safe cave.

I still can’t believe they tried to force a ten lifetime passenger period over that. It was lucky I could point to the massive amount of official credit I got for the management of the first host. A fact the tribunal did not appreciate. ‘You’re a menace,’ ‘Technically true does not make it right,’ ‘No they are not better off dead.’ Blah, blah, blah.

Anyway, I was not tricked this time.

I said nothing, but I think I should have. There was an obvious opportunity to clear a couple of extra floors, which they lost by not moving fast enough. The other bipeds were even arguing for that eventuality.

No, I need to remind myself that I’m not supposed to interfere like that. That stupid Asterix they put over me is so unfair. Who’s ever heard of someone with 460 active credits getting a suspended sentence?

I guess there was a bit of excitement when a few global statistics were released.

71% survival without sapient deconstruction 04% wobub creation and 0.0000001% co-wobub

That’s right, only four globally, and I created one of them and he’s going to save my poor Pobournes.

Unfortunately, Pobourne survival is nowhere 71%. They are dying too quickly and to be honest my colleagues have pretty much given up. Their only hope is that one of the four potential heroes gets so strong that they can save the rest. They are all to a biped, hiding away. Well, not all… Not my co-wobub and not the other two surviving heroes. They’re still trying to get strong enough.

And yes, I did say two others, and it’s not because I’m discounting the illusionist. If I excluded her like any sensible independent function would, then there would be only one other hero.

Yep, one hero that could have helped save the poor Pobournes found something to hit.

From what we can tell, the thing she hit was not a good choice.

Apparently, the hero’s hits did little to the creature. Then the monster’s tongue got involved, then its mouth, maybe a few teeth and possibly digestive organs after that. After that… well, it suffices to say she won’t be heroing anymore.

Total Falls twenty six up one.

And no, I don’t want to talk about it.

End Log Report

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