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For a Taste of Hazel Juice: Part One

An original sci-fi mini-saga

The best part about being a publisher is when writers drop gems like this story into your net. Having previously focused on investigative political analysis of nerd culture, this piece is Joseph Parrish’s fictional debut— and a damn fine one.

Enjoy.

— Marjorie

“Twenty gold coins,” rasped one man to another.

He placed a sack onto the table and gently tipped and shook it, jostling the coins out. The other man slid each of the coins over, one at a time, counting them. Once he had confirmed there were twenty, he looked up at the man before him. He was somewhat older than most players, perhaps thirty-five years old. He wore a fine, silken tunic, a magenta robe, and an amber sash. He was undoubtedly one of the wealthiest players in Mercuria, by the looks of him. But the other man was already aware of this — for he knew who he was. His username was Fireflyfan, and he was estimated to be the third wealthiest player in the game, depending on how one might appraise his assets.

Still, twenty gold coins were not something anyone, even a man as rich as he, would just drop onto a table in the lobby of an inn so casually. This meant that the contract he had in mind was very valuable to him. It also meant that his expectations for success were high. Who would have thought that, six weeks into the game, he — Slipshade — would have this powerful of a reputation on the streets of the Town?

“Twenty coins is hard to pass up,” said Slipshade, “but you’d better know right now, I’m not responsible if you’re unhappy with the intel you receive. I report the facts, and the facts you want right now may not be worth much once you get ’em, and I don’t do refunds. What you pay now, I keep. Got it? If so, then we have a deal.”

“Alright,” Fireflyfan began, “I’m aware of your skill, so I trust you will do better than anyone else with this job. It’s a deal.” He reached into his robe and pulled out an envelope. “This is your assignment. It has all the details you’ll need. Read it when you’re alone.”

“You got it, Mr. Firefly.”

“You know my name, huh? Guess you are good.” With that, Fireflyfan stood up and began to leave. “That’s all I have time for,” he added. “I’ll see you when it’s done.” He continued past some of the other tables and made his way to the exit. Then he was gone.

Slipshade grabbed the sack left behind and slid the coins off the edge of the table into it. One coin veered and missed the sack, hitting the floor and rolling out of sight. “Damn it,” he said. He got up and started looking around for it, peeking under the nearby tables and chairs. It appeared to have vanished.

“Hey, man,” a voice called from behind. Slipshade turned and saw a teenaged boy, perhaps sixteen-years-old. “Did you drop this?” the boy asked, holding up a gold coin.

“Yes, I did,” said Slipshade, as he started to reach for it, but then he stopped. He noticed how much poorer this boy was than Fireflyfan. He was wearing a basic outfit for Mercuria players and appeared to have nothing else.

“You keep it,” he said. “Not many people would just return a gold coin like that. I admire the honesty.”

The kid smiled and said, “Thanks!” before resuming his business, as did Slipshade, who returned to his table and grabbed the sack with the rest of the coins. He tied it shut and placed it in his belt satchel. Then he grabbed the envelope and stuffed it into his coat pocket. He took a quick glance out the window. It was pitch black; naught was visible. The view from his room should be better, he thought. The lobby was too well lit for him to see outside.

He scaled the stairwell to his room on the tenth floor of the inn — the highest level. Once inside, he shut the door behind him and locked it. He peered around, beholding the faint, white glow that covered the entire space, owing to the moonlight that flooded in from his window.

He took off his satchel and placed it on a small, round table in the center, and he sat down on his lone bed in the corner to remove his boots. Once his feet were freed, he rose and paced to the window. The view was spectacular. He could see much of the surrounding town, with the lights of the other structures flickering through their windows and the faint gleams of torches, borne by players in the streets. Beyond that, he could see the arid plains, silver under the nearly full moon, stretching out into the mysterious East.

The inn was the second-highest structure in the Town, but since you had to pay a hefty price for rooms, it was not hard to find a vacancy, even for a view as nice as this. The truly wealthy players had their own homes by now. While it was just a room, he liked this far better than being crammed into one of the sleephouses with the other players. Many of them stank. Indeed, the realism of Mercuria had its ups and down, from the majestic views to the horrible stenches. He could even feel the wooden floor beneath his feet, cold but smooth.

Suddenly, an alert screen popped up in front of his face, silently flashing red. “WARNING,” it read, “YOU HAVE TEN MINUTES UNTIL LOGOUT.” With that, Slipshade decided that he should go ahead and read his assignment. He sat down at the small table and laid the envelope upon it. Even with the moonlight, it was too dark to read, so he reached into his satchel and pulled out his flint and steel, which he used to ignite an oil lamp.

The flame flared more strongly than he expected, burning the tip of his finger. He quickly recoiled and stuck his finger in his mouth, to soothe it. This surprised Slipshade. He actually got burned, while in the boundaries of the Town, which was supposed to be a safe zone for players. Only in the Wildlands could he get hurt like that. What happened, he wondered?

He paused for a moment, peeking once more toward his window and looking out upon Mercuria. Aha! He figured it out, or at least he had a very good idea. The inn was an unusually high structure in the Town, and he was on the top floor. Thus he theorized that the safe zone only reached so high, and, at that altitude, he was technically in the Wildlands.

Then he paused again, wondering if he were in danger of player killers attacking him, but if he only just found out, how many people would know? Information was his job, after all, and few people ever came up this high. Furthermore, they were unlikely to risk taking damage from anything in an inn, of all places. No, he could probably count on the collective ignorance of the other players.

His mind returned to his assignment. Before he let himself get distracted again, he ripped the seal on the envelope and pulled out the sheet of parchment inside. It read:

First, let me state that I would normally have my own men check this out, but there are rumors of moles in our ranks. This matter is, I feel, too important to risk with potential deceivers. You see, last week my clan found evidence of gold on the banks of the East River, over by a mostly unvisited section of the Wildlands. Generally, no clans make any expeditions in this direction, but recently, one such clan has. You may know of it already. They are called the Jaegers. They won the Fourth Clan Colosseum Tournament. Since then, they have been growing their numbers and making trips within the vicinity of the gold site.

We are not sure of their plans or intentions, but the timing is too curious. Your assignment is the following. Investigate the Jaegers and their doings. Follow them into the Wildlands, if you have to. Determine the cause of their expeditions into the East, as well as any possible connection to the gold on the East River. You have seven days to get to the bottom of this and report what you find.

Here is some more information. The Jaegers often gather in the south district square. Their leader is a man, about the age of twenty-five, with the name Gnightstrike. He is Caucasian, has blond hair, and usually wears blue clothes. That should get you started. Do not divulge any information in this letter. Do not let us down.

• Fireflyfan, Commander of the Browncoat Army

Once he finished reading, Slipshade got up and grabbed a bottle of Hazel Juice. Hazel Juice was a unique beverage, exclusive to Mercuria. It was a juice that tasted like nothing else in the real world. He poured some into a cup and took a sip. He savored it, letting the flavor permeate his mind. It was not apple, orange, grape, lemon, or anything. It was a flavor all its own. How did Mercuria manage to pull it off, he wondered? Not only was he not actually drinking anything — as he was really just unconscious in a VR helmet at this moment — but he could also experience taste, and one that did not exist otherwise. Just how does Mercuria send all of this to your brain?

He gulped the rest of it down and corked the bottle again. Then he thought about his assignment. He was already aware of the Jaegers to a degree. In fact, he knew more than what that letter had told him. He knew that their second-in-command went by the name Ulfrickin and that most of the clan members were Americans. With that in mind, he felt sure that their expansion in membership was probably meant to get players from other time zones who can watch their bodies for them while they are logged out, especially if they want to operate in the Wildlands.

Still, the Jaegers were one of the more enigmatic clans to him. He had been hoping to find an opportunity to look into them more, and here Fireflyfan was paying him to do it — twenty gold coins, no less! Now he would start uncovering their secrets.

The alert screen popped up, signaling that he had one minute left until he would be forced to sign out. Okay, he thought; he would have to start tomorrow. Swiftly, he got up and laid on his bed. He waved his hand, and a menu screen appeared in the air before him. He scrolled through a list of options and selected the one that read “LOGOUT.” Then he shut his eyes and fell asleep, returning to the real world.

The next day, he signed back into Mercuria, ready to start his assignment. He awoke in his bed, unharmed. His finger was still a little sore from the burn, however, but he had been in the Wildlands enough by now to know that injuries heal well enough in Mercuria. With no hesitation, he bounced onto his feet and geared up, donning his boots, his satchel, and a tan, hooded cloak, to conceal himself. A key part of espionage is stealth, after all.

He exited the inn and walked briskly to the south district square. Plenty of players were already there, shopping for various goods. They could be anywhere in the square, but if the Jaegers were planning on trips into the Wildlands, then they were probably going to be around weapons shops. He decided that he would visit The Bronze House, the Town’s premier shop for weapons and armor, and stopped outside of it.

He peeked through one of its windows. About ten customers were inside. Among them was a man, in his twenties, with blond hair and a blue tunic, and blue trousers. He wore a sash with the emblem of the Jaegers on it. It was Gnightstrike.

Slipshade opened the door and went inside. Calmly, he approached an assortment of knives, as if inspecting them for purchase, in order to listen in on his targets. Gnightstrike was in the middle of speaking to those surrounding him. Some were clearly Jaegers already, wearing the same sashes. The others appeared to be potential recruits.

“You can ask the shopkeeper; we’re legit,” he said. “We didn’t build this clan up and win the Colosseum tournament by being a bunch of cheaters.”

“Okay, I believe you, Gnight,” said another guy across from him. “But why go into the Wildlands? If we get killed, we’re out of the game for a whole year. Most of us have only just gotten started.”

“Started with what, exactly? What is there to do in the Town? There are some games and events, yes, but most of the playable game is out there in the Wildlands, and out there we can do whatever we want.”

“So what are we going to do?”

“Look,” Gnight muttered, “even most members of my clan don’t know what the plan is. You don’t go into the Wildlands and publicly announce what you intend to do like that. That’s just asking for thieves or griefers to ambush you. The deal is this: join our clan, we’ll buy you equipment that you don’t have, and then you’ll help us out for the next month in the Wildlands. If you want to stay or leave afterward, then that’s up to you. That’s all I’m gonna tell you for right now. ”

The other guy seemed uncertain. He turned to his two friends. “What do you guys think?” he asked them.

“Well, what level are you?” one of them asked.

“I’m Level 31,” said Gnight.

“Damn, that’s pretty good,” the friend said. “Seems like he’s strong enough to back up what he’s saying.”

“Yeah, I agree,” the other friend said.

“Alright, then we’re in,” said the first guy.

“Great,” said Gnight. “Now what are your names, usernames, that is?”

“I’m Darkwolf45,” said the first guy.

“Gokuxman,” said the second.

“Dragonlord12,” said the last.

“Glad to have you, Darkwolf, Goku, and Dragonlord,” said Gnight as he shook their hands and gave them each a piece of paper. “Those are your invitations. They will have the time and place for a clan meeting tomorrow.”

Slipshade saw that it was time to move. Once those three left, Gnight would probably try to recruit him too, and that was too much attention to be receiving this early in the assignment. He stepped back from the knives and left the shop. The last thing he heard as the door closed behind him was: “Keep this meeting to yourselves.”

He stood next to a clothes shop, just across the street from the The Bronze House and continued watching. Here and there, more noobs entered and spoke with Gnight. Most of them came out clutching those same invitations. A few higher-level players got recruited too. Perhaps the noobs were just easier to convince. After about half an hour, Slipshade decided that it was time to follow two of them, teenage boys, who had walked out with invitations of their own.

He would need to steal one, and this required an opening. It would not be too hard, since they were carrying them in their hands. He would just need a quick misdirection, and then he could swipe one. Sure enough, they stopped at a fruit stand. This was perfect, he thought.

He grabbed a stone off the ground and watched. The boys started talking with the fruit salesman. On the stand was a large stack of apples, almost a pyramid of them. He chucked the stone at the stack, dislodging a couple of apples and causing most of the stack to crumble and spill onto the ground. Immediately, the boys helped out and started picking up the apples. They set their invitations down, right on the edge of stand. Slipshade scurried over and quietly snatched one of them, while the boys and the fruit salesman were distracted. It was too easy.

He did not stick around to be discovered. He quickly returned to his room in the inn, where he read the invitation:

You are invited to join the Jaegers. Meet us at the horse pen in the east district on July 15 at 7:00 PM (EST). Bring the invitation with you, and tell no one.

It was brief, for sure, but it was another lead, and he would have to wait until tomorrow to investigate it. Now seemed a good time to sign out and grab a bite to eat, so he could play more casually later on. He took off his cloak, boots, and satchel and plopped on his bed. He opened his menu and navigated to the LOGOUT button. As he pressed it, he thought again about whether or not someone might harm his character while he was gone. Then he closed his eyes and fell asleep.

Slipshade signed in the next day at five o’clock, giving him two hours to set up for the meeting. He sat at his bed, pondering what he should wear to disguise himself. A hood would probably be more suspicious; a lot of spies tended to wear those. His leather helm would probably do the job well enough. He fastened it on. He also took out one of his noob hiking cloaks and wrapped it around his shoulders.

This seemed to be sufficient. He put on the rest of his gear and made his way outside. The Town seemed like it was having a normal day, players promoting their clans, trading goods, organizing games. Indeed, the Town was the focus of most activities. In the first two weeks of the game, a lot of folks had tried their luck in the Wildlands, only to be cut down quick by competitors. Virtually no one would leave the boundaries of the city now, even the higher-level players.

It was telling that the Jaegers would be meeting in at the horse pen in the east district. Being located just on the borders of the Town and the plains to the east, this almost certainly indicated some sort of plan pertaining to the Wildlands. Slipshade had to admit to himself: he knew very little about the plains to the East. Most of the ventures into the Wildlands have leaned toward the North and the West.

He had gathered a trove of information about those places. Even the general public knew a fair bit. Players still, in his view, droned on about the Battle of Iron Hill. He even heard a couple of people talk about it and the clans involved as he trod by them. Most speak of it as some kind of epic clash that has made Mercuria different than all the other VR games out there, but then most only knew half the story. Slipshade, however, had plenty of sources and knew all that there was to know. It was a battle between two clans, the Blue Wolves and the Fat Swords. In total there were maybe forty people present, about twenty to each clan, hardly a climactic struggle.

While most people discuss the fact that the Fat Swords were victorious, only eight of their clan members survived the battle. Some of the deaths were the result of friendly fire, at that. Of those eight, four were killed on their return to the Town. While the Fat Swords were the only ones to walk out alive, both of their leaders had been killed. The four survivors went off to join new clans, meaning that both clans were effectively destroyed by this clumsy attempt. Several clans have since popped up, celebrating their memory, like the New Fat Swords, or the Sons of the Fat Swords. It was a form of commemoration that, in Slipshade’s view, was undeserved.

At last, he arrived at the horse pen. It was about 5:15, meaning that he would have plenty of time. He surveyed the area. There was definitely a pen, but the horses were no longer there; players had carelessly set them loose. The pen was enclosed by a fence about forty yards in diameter. It was definitely a large enough spot to host a gathering of players. In addition to that, there were wagons and carts, some empty, some filled with hay.

He also saw that some logs were laid out in rows. Perhaps there had been some earlier preparation for this meeting. Perhaps someone was already there. While it would not be a disaster to be seen yet, he also did not want to be singled out as the first to arrive. He spotted an empty wagon, well outside the pen, and made his way over to it. He took a seat in the back, figuring that this would be a good place to hide and watch as the others arrived. When the crowd was large enough, he could just trickle in, unnoticed.

It took about half an hour, but two people showed up. One was clearly Gnightstrike. The other was unfamiliar to Slipshade and wore a blue hood. They walked into the middle of the pen and talked for ten minutes, apparently setting up some more things for the meeting. Over the next ten or fifteen minutes, more arrived. Some helped with the rest of the preparations, while one stood by the gate to the west. These had to be some of the core members of the Jaegers, Slipshade thought.

A couple more members arrived, a teenaged boy and girl, rolling in a large wagon, which they placed just before the rows of logs. A gaggle of people followed soon after, but they were stopped at the gate. This was the time to enter. Slowly and carefully, Slipshade rolled off the cart and crept across the dry, grassy earth, without rousing any suspicion.

The other players were talking amongst themselves, speculating the purpose of this meeting. “They probably found some sort of treasure,” one said. “We’re probably going to Iron Hill,” said another, as Slipshade rolled his eyes. “That’s why we’re on the east side of town, to throw people off.” The more he listened, the more Slipshade realized that none of these players seemed to know anything about the plans of the Jaegers. Since they would have nothing useful to say, he once again decided that it would be best not to draw attention to himself, and he avoided directly engaging with them.

After about fifteen minutes of waiting, they were finally allowed in the pen and directed to take a seat on the logs, which took some time because everyone was required to show their invitation first. Once he handed his in, Slipshade casually seated himself in the middle of the third row, giving him a central vantage point. More players trickled in and made their way directly to the logs, and the core members of the Jaegers gathered by the wagon. Looking around, he estimated that no more than fifty people had come. The ambient chatter grew louder and louder, to the point that it was hard for Slipshade to eavesdrop even on the people right next to him.

He could only think to himself, asking question after question. So far, the Jaegers seemed to be running a fairly meager operation, so why did the Browncoats want to know about them? Why did their commander, Fireflyfan, come directly to him with the task? The Jaegers had come into some money recently, yes, and they were also decently organized by the looks of it, but nothing they could do in the Wildlands would pose a threat to them. Did they really want the gold that badly?

As the hour neared seven o’clock, Gnightstrike mounted the wagon before the seated players and yelled, “Alright, let’s start this meeting!” He repeated himself and beat his shield a few times, and the chatter died. “Great, thank you,” he began. “I want to thank you all for coming tonight. You are here because we are looking to recruit members into our clan, the Jaegers. Each of you will have a role to play, and every player will be paid three gold coins per day for a month. Our mission is fairly simple: we want to build the first nation in the Wildlands, and we have determined a location to do just that. We are not going to tell you where it is, but we will provide you with everything you need along the way.

“Fundamentally, the Jaegers believe that Mercuria was created to celebrate human greatness, and the best way to do that, we see, is to form our own society and overcome adversity along the way. If you are looking to do a little more, to do something that will impress people not only here but in the real world, this is where you can do it. On that note, we have some simple rules: One, never reveal your identity in real life, because Mercuria is supposed to be an escape from the real. There is a zero tolerance policy on this. If you tell anyone your name, your address, your phone number, you’re out. Two, look after each other. Human greatness is never a one-man show. We’ve got to work together to succeed. That’s how we won the Colosseum tournament. We worked as a team. Lastly, don’t make a promise you can’t keep. I think that speaks for itself.

“Before we break off and assign roles, I want to make some acknowledgements. Because of his performance at the Colosseum, both in combat and in leadership, we have promoted Mizuroi to Captain of the Warriors. Come on up, Mizu.” Mizuroi climbed onto the back of the wagon with Gnightstrike. He was the same boy that helped roll the wagon into the pen. This was interesting, Slipshade thought. The Jaegers appeared to be comprised mostly of young adults. That a teenager would be given such rank means he must have made a good impression on them.

Quietly, but standing upright and firm, Mizuroi waved to the crowd, who clapped for for him. Some whispers darted during the applause. “Yeah, I was in the crowd that day, and he’s a total badass,” said a player.

“Without his help, we would have lost the tournament,” Gnight continued. “I want you all to know that everyone who can go above and beyond will be rewarded, just like Mizu here.” Gnightstrike gave him a pat on the shoulder and nodded, and then Mizuroi climbed off the wagon, as the leader of the Jaegers continued.

“The second person I would like to acknowledge is Gwenaveer. Where is she?”

“I’m trying to climb this damn thing,” a girl said, struggling to board the wagon. Her accent, strangely, was not American; it seemed to be Scottish.

“Oh, lemme help you,” said Gnightstrike as turned to her and took her hand, hoisting her up.

“Thanks,” she said.

“So yeah, Gwen here is mostly responsible for getting you all together tonight. Some of you might have been recruited by me or Ulfrickin, but she, as our Messenger, did most of it. Thank you, Gwen.” The crowd gave another round of applause, before she returned to the ground as well.

“With that said,” continued Gnightstrike, “we are going to break off into role assignments. Please line up with either Ulfric over there,” he said with a pause to point at the player in the blue hood, “or with 12Sun,” again pausing to point to another player, who wore a blue tunic much like Gnightstrike’s. “You know where to go, so break off, and be quick! Some of us gotta logout.”

Gnightstrike hopped off the wagon, and players rose and began to line up. Slipshade made his way over to the line with Ulfric, managing to become eighth in line. He watched and listened carefully as the first person was vetted.

“What’s your username?” asked Ulfric.

“Orcslayer37.”

“What job do you want?” he asked again as he wrote the name down.

“Warrior.”

“Let me see your levels then.”

Orcslayer37 brought up his stats screen, showing it to Ulfric.

“Yeah, your levels are good enough for that,” said Ulfric. “Go meet with Mizu over there.”

He nodded and scurried over to the north side of wagon, where Mizuroi was. Slipshade would, once more, need to be unnoticeable, and since most of the other players were choosing to be warriors, he figured that was the crowd into which he could blend best. It was soon his turn to step up and be assigned.

“Username?”

“Eggroll14,” lied Slipshade.

“What do you wanna do?”

“I want to be a warrior.”

“Okay, let’s see your stats.”

Slipshade pulled his own stats screen up.

“Hmm, not the highest levels, but it will do,” said Ulfric. He gestured Slipshade to the rest of the warriors. As he walked there, he smirked under his helm. Ulfric could have just checked his real username on the stats screen, he thought.

There were about ten players already there. About ten more arrived from the other lines before everyone was assigned, meaning close to half of everyone who came was a warrior. Clearly, the Jaegers would need some muscle, if they were survive in the Wildlands. When all were finally present, Mizuroi spoke up.

“So I’m your Captain,” he sighed. “We’re gonna keep your job simple. The…uh…current Jaegers are our advanced warriors. The rest of you will…uh…fight in more of a…supporting role. You’ll be broken into three squads and assigned to a squad leader. More details will be disclosed in your assignments, which…umm…are enclosed here.” He revealed a bundle of envelopes. “Everybody take one. Doesn’t matter which. Then you can go home.”

Everybody grabbed one, including Slipshade. It now seemed that he had the special information that Fireflyfan sought, but he wanted to hang back and see what else he could learn. Sticking around, however, would prove conspicuous. He was too close to finishing the job to mess it up now.

“Hey, whaddya mean I gotta leave?” a voice cried. Everyone looked over toward Ulfric. A few players were still being assigned to other roles, but one person had been stopped. He was a tall player in gray hood of his own.

“Sorry, your stats are suspicious,” said Ulfric. “We don’t have a job for you.”

“Suspicious?” the player spat.

“Yeah, your stealth level is 40. Your elixir level is 28. You might be a spy.”

“I’m not a spy!”

“Well, we aren’t taking any chances, so go home, or else.”

“Or else what? You can’t do anything. We’re outside the main buildings, but we’re still technically in the Town. I’m perfectly safe.”

Two Jaegers grabbed the player from behind and held him firmly.

“Let go of me!” he shouted, struggling. “Lemme go!”

“So,” Ulfric began as he drew his broadsword. “You’re right, we can’t hurt you in the Town, but we can easily carry you about fifty meters to the east there, into the Wildlands, hold you down, and kill you. So what’s it gonna be? Leave, or stay?”

Before Ulfric could get an answer, one of the other players, still in the line, lunged at the alleged spy’s captors.

“Silver, no!” he called out.

Two other Jaegers quickly lept upon him, with such swiftness that they almost seemed to have expected this move. They fought and wrestled on the ground, as two more Jaegers came up and helped to restrain him. Then they carried him outside of the pen and toward the plains to the east, as Ulfric followed. With Silver forced to his knees and arms held back, Ulfric raised his sword and, with a clean swing, severed his head. He nodded to his comrades, who immediately carried his remains away.

Ulfric returned to the pen, holding the head of the player’s would-be rescuer and cast it before him. Then he turned to his prisoner and simply raised his brow.

The player frowned. “Fine, I’ll leave.” With that, the Jaegers released him, and he backed away, before turning and heading back toward the Town proper.

“Everyone, get back to your break-outs!” shouted Gnightstrike. “It’s over, he’s gone. Don’t worry about it.”

With little debate, people resumed their group meetings, except for Slipshade. Realizing the gift the Fates had sent him, he had utilized the distraction well and dove under the wagon, hiding inside the discarded straw beneath it. Now he was free to eavesdrop on the Jaegers who remained.

“Okay,” Mizuroi resumed. “Like I said…umm, all the details you need will be in those envelopes. Go home, rest up, and meet us at the designated time and place. See ya.”

The inductees began to shuffle out. The other groups began to as well, once their business was done, which only took a moment. The other Jaegers wasted no time in departing either, to Slipshade’s surprise. Gnightstrike, in fact, was one of the first to leave. Great, he thought. Now he had to stay there, until the coast was clear, especially since a wrong move could actually get him killed. A few Jaegers stayed behind, but they said nothing of importance.

“You bringin’ the food?”

“No, that’s WunPawnch’s job.”

“At least the Browncoats will know who has the food,” Slipshade griped under his breath. About ten minutes went by. He didn’t see anybody, only heard a few noises. Was he hiding from nobody? He could have been back in his room by now at the inn, working on his report, if not for this miscalculation. How much longer did he have until his forced logout? He knew time was short, so he brought up his menu screen and looked. The time read 7:45 PM. Had it really taken that long? He would need to get going immediately to make it back in time.

Footsteps sounded suddenly, growing louder. Slipshade quickly closed his menu screen and froze. Damn it, he thought. Had he just given himself away? A pair of feet stopped by the wagon, right in front of his eyes.

“Mizu!” a voice called. He heard another set of brisk footsteps, revealing another pair of feet.

“Hey, Gwen!” the feet before his eyes replied.

“Do you have it?”

“Yep, do you have glasses?”

“Yep.”

“Great,” let’s take a seat.

Both feet strode toward the log seats, revealing the full bodies of Mizuroi and Gwenaveer, who sat down at the end of two rows, facing toward the East. Mizuroi removed his bag as he sat and placed it to his side. He rummaged through it, and pulled out a bottle. Gwenaveer produced two square glasses.

“Finally, Hazel Juice,” she said. “How much did it cost?”

“Nearly all of my Colosseum winnings,” Mizuroi replied.

“Are you serious?”

“Yeah.”

“You could’ve let me go halfway on that. You didn’t even get to buy any new equipment, and I already spent all mine.”

“It’s fine, man. Consider it a gift. C’mon, lemme fill your glass.”

She stretched out her arm, and he tilted the bottle as the golden-brown beverage filled her glass. Then he filled his own, and their eyes met.

“Alright, on three,” he said. “One, two, three!”

They raised their glasses and took a sip. Their eyebrows perked up.

“This is really good,” said Gwenaveer.”

“Yeah, it’s actually amazing. I can see why it costs so much.”

“It tastes like…like…” she began, stumped. They both took another sip and mulled on it.

“It doesn’t taste like anything,” Mizuroi concluded.

“You’re right. It really doesn’t taste like anything I’ve had before. I mean, it’s sweet, but it doesn’t taste like any juice I’ve had before.”

“Guess that’s Mercuria for ya, full of surprises and…and innovations.” Mizuroi’s gaze shifted to the moon, full and bright. “Even the shit they copied from the real world is great. I mean, look at that. That looks like the real moon! If didn’t know this was a game, I’d think we’re actually outside. I’d think this is real juice. I’d be just another sheep in the Matrix.” He took another sip. “Hope we live to get another bottle of this stuff. It was expensive.”

“I’m sorry,” said Gwenaveer.

“Don’t be sorry. You’ve earned it! Look how many people you got here tonight. You did really well.”

“You did really well. You’re the reason we won at the Colosseum. We wouldn’t have all these people here if we couldn’t pay them.”

“Yeah, but,” Mizuroi began with pause. His countenance sagged. “I just got lucky. Like, that’s all it was. If that spear hadn’t been there when I fell — ”

“You think that’s what did it? Mizu, I was there too. There was more to it than that. You’re getting fixated on the wrong thing.”

“But, just…what if I’m not a good Captain? I mean, I’m the youngest guy in the clan.”

“And I’m the youngest girl. Do you think I’d be bad at it?”

“Well, not necessarily, I mean — ”

“And why is that?”

“Well…um…I should at least give you a chance.” He took another sip.

“Right, and we’re giving you a chance. I’m giving you a chance. Gnight’s giving you one. All the Jaegers are giving you a chance, Mizu. Besides, you didn’t have to become Captain.” She tilted her head and gave him an authoritative look. “If you really think you’d be bad at it, why’d you accept the offer?”

“Because, uh…”

“Yes?”

“I don’t know why,” he stammered.

“Jesus, you’re a smart kid, Mizu, but you play a hell of a fool.” Gwenaveer grabbed the bottle and refilled her glass. She turned to face the East again. The gaping, savage plain laid before them, and they took it in for a moment before resuming their conversation.

“What if I get us killed out there?” Mizuroi asked, glass to his lips.

“Then we’ll die.”

“We won’t be able to play for a year.”

“So we better not die.”

“What if only one of us dies?”

Gwenaveer sat up. “What do you mean?”

“Well, Gwen, you’re the best friend I’ve made in Mercuria. If you died, I don’t think the game would be fun for me anymore.”

“Hmm,” she said. “Hmm.” Silence followed. Slipshade’s warning screen popped up, informing him that he had ten minutes until logout. He quickly closed it, as his gut imploded in dread. He thanked God they did not see it.

They finished their glasses and refilled them once more. It was a while before either of them continued talking. Finally, Gwenaveer broke the saturninity. “I’d have less fun if you died too.”

“So,” Mizuroi pondered, “what do we do about it?”

“What can we do?”

“We could try to connect outside of Mercuria.”

Gwenaveer smiled. “You know that’s against the rules.”

“So? We already know some things. I know you live in Glasgow, and you know I’m from Georgia.”

“That’s only because we exchanged those two bits the day before we joined the Jaegers.”

“Man, since when have you been one for the rules?”

“I’m not, but I like Gnight’s vision. I like what he wants to do for the clan and for Mercuria, and I think keeping our real lives out of this is a big part of what will make it work.”

“I see,” resigned Mizuroi.

“Are you mad?”

“No, I can understand that. I like Gnight’s vision too. Not that part of it, but I like what he wants to do in the Wildlands.” Slipshade realized that they were getting close to giving him the information he sought. He had given up on the idea that they were going to say anything useful. It was mostly this teenager stuff, but it proved to be rather entertaining. It reminded him of his own days as an awkward teenager. Here we was, hired by a man who was at least thirty to perform espionage, and these kids were just being kids. There was a certain sweetness to this scene.

“What if we live?” asked Gwenaveer.

“What do you mean?”

“Say we don’t die. Say we make it to the river. Say we’re able to build our own town. We’ll keep having fun, right?”

“Yeah.”

“So do what Gnight says, not break the rules, and keep things going.”

Slipshade’s forced logout screen appeared. He had fifteen seconds left. He saw Mizuroi grab the bottle and drink the last of the Hazel Juice. “Yeah, Gnight’s a neat guy. Most people go into the Wildlands to grief or to look for treasure. He’s the only one who wants to go where there is no treasure.” With that, Slipshade’s logout initiated itself, and he fell asleep under the straw in the pale moonlight.

An hour later, he signed back in. How he wished that federal law did not require Neurospek to log players out after three hours of play. In any event, it would probably prove to be no big deal. As he sat, the visor screen before his eyes showed the view of where he left off. The image synchronized with his occipital lobe, and the borders of the the screen disappeared into a larger picture, as the weight of the helmet vanished. He was back in the game, once again under the wagon.

He immediately heard people talking, and they were not Mizuroi or Gwenaveer. They were both older men. One had a grey hood, and the other wore a fancier, green outfit, both sitting on the log seats, facing each other.

“So what are you gonna do?” asked the hooded man.

“I don’t know yet,” said the man in green. “But, we’re probably gonna have to wait on the other spy to report.”

“He wasn’t here.”

“How do you know?”

“If they wouldn’t let me in because they knew I was a spy, how could he have gotten in?”

Slipshade’s eyes widened. First, he realized that this was the same player who failed to gain entry into the Jaegers. They were right; he was, in fact, a spy. Apparently, someone else was suspicious of the clan and had sent a spy, if only less successfully.

Secondly, what did they mean by “other spy”? He wondered: were they talking about him? How could they have known that he would be there, when his assignment was between him and Fireflyfan? Something was amiss, and it became clear, then and there, that his mission was not quite over.

“You make a good point,” the man in green acknowledged. “I guess we just have to assume the worst. We’ll probably have to organize some sort of ambush. It’s a shame you couldn’t get in, but you were right to come to me as soon as you did. Now that we know where they’ll probably gather for the expedition, we can be ready.”

“Should we head back to base?” asked the hooded man.

“Yeah, better tell the rest of the clan. Besides, it’s not safe to stay this close to the Wildlands.”

“I’m sorry about Silver, man.”

“Don’t worry. We’ll get even.”

They got up and started to leave, casually mumbling words too quiet and incoherent for Slipshade to make out anymore. When they were finally gone, he rolled out from under the wagon and patted all the loose pieces of straw off of himself. Finally, he thought, he could move on, but what did these two men mean? Was there more to this assignment than the Browncoats had let on? Most of all, why did Fireflyfan keep him out of the loop?

End of Part One.

Follow this publication to stay tuned to the second and final part.