Interlude 2

World number 6,626,070,041,034

Day 140:

Welcome back Traveler, please note that your Visitor status remains defunct. You and your companion have met the Traveler criteria for World number 6,626,070,041,034. You both will now be transported to that destination.

Sygraid’s massive form disappearing from the platform was the only indicator that he’d arrived. He looked around at the uniform, unfathomable darkness for a clue, and noticed that the flames on the portal arch were now a complete rainbow of color. Even ultraviolet and infrared hues danced among the others. Nothing else was changed. Then his Sight cut out entirely.

“Uh, hello?” He tried, heart pounding.

Anything with the power to let him come to a new world through the Network could’ve killed him easily.

“Greetings to you, John Morgan of Earth.” The voice made John’s body vibrate, coming as it did from everywhere at once. It was both more powerful, and more present than anything the Network ever said to him.

John tried to look around again, with negative results. He was blind.

“You seek my form?” The voice was amused. “In this instance what you cannot see is more terrifying than the unknown. I do not apologize for removing your Sight. This conversation will be private, between us two only. The Seer knows or supposes far too much already.”

John pumped as much respect into his voice as he could. “Uh, what do I call you, then?”

“Use the one I am known by on my Challenge World: Ky’ur.” The voice told him. “It will do for this brief visit.”

John bowed low. “Greetings Ky’ur, greatest of dragons. What uh, may I do for you?”

Amusement was back. “You’ve not yet reached the stage where you can perform any service I need done. But I accept your sentiment in the spirit offered. I’ve brought you here to see if you’re a worthy candidate for my goals.”

John gulped. “A worthy candidate? To, um, do what?”

“Join my Network Administration.” Ky’ur replied. “This is the purpose for my creating Challenge World. Surely by now you realize that there is nothing natural about it.”

“Well,” John admitted, “I admit that it seems somewhat ... contrived.”

“It is entirely contrived, to use your term.” Ky’ur informed him. “I first formed it when the humans on Earth began cultivating land for food, and forming political bonds beyond their immediate families. Its appearance has changed many times, as human civilization developed. Such alterations are usually cataclysmic for the world’s population, but necessary to prepare it for the candidates I introduce. I’ve tried many methods for bringing humans from Earth there, but few are able to adapt and thrive in the unfamiliar environment.”

John’s mind raced. “So, me and the other twenty-five people, like Melvin weren’t the first?”

“Not at all.” Ky’ur assured him. “You are merely the first to get a glimpse of the world’s purpose, and pursue it with any success.”

“Thank you.” John dipped his head.

“I am curious to hear your thoughts on the additional challenges you’ve faced since beating my daughter’s Tasks.”

John thought for a moment. “Do you mean the orcs? And the Raiders?”

“And the Dwarves, the harsh environment, as well as the Remnant you so recently met.” Ky’ur concluded.

“It was all a test?” John couldn’t keep the incredulity out of his voice.

A smug tone crept in. “I do not call it my Challenge World lightly.”

John sighed. “Of course you don’t.”

“Did you think yourself unlucky, to be set upon so quickly after arriving, and without relent?” Ky’ur was practically laughing at him now.

John shrugged. “Life’s been a bitch for a while now, I didn’t really consider that I was being singled out.”

Now Ky’ur adopted an approving tone. “Your willingness to shoulder difficult decisions, and to search for honorable solutions has attracted my interest. Is your mentality common for those of your background?”

John paused. “What background are you talking about?”

“Were you not an elite warrior for your polity? Did you not endure, and find triumph in combat many times? I do not even mention your sacrifice and subsequent tribulations. I find it interesting that your culture adopted its own, smaller version of the Challenge to select its finest soldiers.”

John went rigid. “Challenge is a Selection process?”

Ky’ur made a snort so loud John nearly fell over. “Why else have an entire world devoted to the idea?”

John shook his head in disbelief. “Pretty deadly one, if you asked me.”

He got the impression of the dragon moving closer. “It is utterly deadly. Only when the stakes are of the highest order can you find a true measure of a person’s capability.”

“Oh.” John couldn’t think of anything else to say.

The chuckle made John’s bones vibrate. “Do not worry, I know of only a tiny number who figured it out on their own.”

“So ... I’m doing a terrible job? A mediocre one?” John asked.

“How you are, or are not doing will only be measured after the final Challenge is complete.” Ky’ur said. “You may judge for yourself how you believe you perform. Know only that I am watching, and the nature of Challenge is such that I can observe any and all events that occur. Just as Delphi sees through your eye, I too may use it to observe you on other worlds. Allowing your Earthly form to merge with your Challenge avatar gives me that right. Only your un-transmitted thoughts are private.”

“You said that it’s all to find candidates for the Network Administration.” John repeated. “So if I end up doing all the Challenges, and succeed you’ll what, draft me?”

“Of course not.” Ky’ur sounded disapproving. “If I wanted a slave, I could make them by the planet-full. I need a willing, capable, resourceful being who desires of their own volition to assist me in the task of administering and policing the Network.”

John swallowed. “That sounds like a shitty job. Why would anyone want it?”

“Why indeed.” Ky’ur’s voice faded back. “You come from a tiny realm of amity and tranquility, floating amidst a vast, dangerous chaos of malignant turmoil. You’ve been left alone to pursue your petty conflicts because of my isolating protection. Should I judge humans to be a failed experiment, I can easily withdraw that shield and let your people fend for themselves against those powerful enough to find the Earth a tasty, easily-consumed morsel.”

John’s heart sank. “So, come work for you or we’re thrown to the wolves?”

“It’s the order of the cosmos that the strong inevitably find themselves set upon by others and brought low.” Ky’ur growled. “I, my own self wrested the Network from the control of a being who once so dwarfed me in strength that it would’ve laughed if told that I would soon supplant it. It’s assured that at a future point, another will come with the potential ability to force me aside. As a hedge against that day, I’ve long nurtured your species as a possible breeding ground for assistance with my purpose. You’re not the only one, merely the most promising thus far. If you bear fruit, it will allow me to devote myself to those greater concerns, possibly staving off my demise indefinitely. Isn’t that a better outcome than being consumed when I’m gone?”

“What makes us so special for you? Don’t you have nearly infinite species to choose from?” John asked.

“Infinite does not mean perfectly suited.” Ky’ur cautioned. “You developed from pursuit predators. Your ancestors tracked the most difficult and dangerous of prey, across every climate your world contains, with greater patience than any others. No matter how inhospitable the region, you thrived and turned your ability to solve a single problem: how to get food from animals that were faster, stronger and tougher than yourselves, into a general solution-finding skillset. Within a very short span your species rose above simple, uninformative superstitions as an explanation for the phenomena around you to stand on other worlds. Less than ten thousand revolutions around your star from the development of agriculture to braving the vacuum of the universe itself. This alone makes you worthy of noting, even if only to ensure you do not become pests requiring removal.”

John shrugged. “I guess so. To us it seems normal. We’re weak, slow and squishy. That doesn’t sound like a species you’d rely on to solve the hardest problems.”

“But your solution to problems is to create, adapting your tools to suit the need, not yourselves.” Ky’ur argued. “The more specialized the organism, the more vulnerable to changes in the environment or new, different challenges that arise. And you are empathetic, even with other species. Your ability to group bond with nearly anything gives you motivation to work towards a common goal instead of selfishly disregarding those outside your own selves. It is your blend of ruthless efficiency and emotional attachment which makes you useful for my needs. Is not one of your most fundamental questions about the nature of reality an inquiry into your role, your purpose in it? I offer you the loftiest of causes: standing between those who create, and those who would destroy. Is that not the essence of your own foundational beliefs?”

“Wow.” John breathed. “I don’t know how to answer that.”

“Your answer is not required at present.” Ky’ur told him distantly. “Much will happen between this meeting and your improbable Completion. Should you make it to the end, we’ll speak again and you can explore your options at that point. They will be greater, if you are the first to do so. Those who excel should be rewarded the most. I warn you, regardless of your choices, both now and later if you complete all nine, you face extreme adversity on both worlds. Few will aid you, you’ll be declared an outlaw and traitor by many, and betrayal stalks your every move. Even those you call fellow countrymen will try to subvert you for their own ends. Look not to my daughters, either. They haven’t ever been, and never will be your allies. They are your testers and evaluators, nothing more. Be wary with all you meet. This is my warning to you.”

“Well, shit.” John muttered.

“And my Geas will prevent you from telling anyone else of our meeting, until enough events have passed that it will not matter.” Ky’ur finished.

“And then?” John pressed.

“By then, if you are still alive and successful, I find it likely that you will take up the task of administering my Challenge World.” Ky’ur predicted. “Or forge your own path through the cosmos.”

John was speechless.

“Now, explain to me your reasons for settling in a town filled with people you clearly detest. Why aid the Raiders in their piracy if you loathe the practice?” Ky’ur asked.

Dam Neck Naval Base, Virginia, U.S.A.

The very next day:

“Fuck!” Chief Special Warfare Operator (SOC) Adam Brown hurled his helmet into his equipment bay.

As angry as he was, he still intentionally aimed at a soft target: one of his countless uniforms. The hard-shell brain-bucket, with attached low-visibility vision, communication and shared reality (VCR) equipment thwacked into the heat and radar-reducing camouflaged fabric and fell atop a dive tank right-side-up.

“Ha!” One of his teammates laughed from behind him. “Bet you can’t do that again, Blade!”

“Probably not!” Adam admitted, laughing as well.

The tension rushed out of him. They’d spent weeks practicing the mission until every single operator on his team knew every inch of the target, and could fill any fellow team member’s role without hiccup. Following that, they’d been on stand-by at the airfield, with pilots ready around the clock for three days as the National Command Authority (NCA, i.e. the President and their National Security team) dithered. Just when they’d been convinced that the Joint Special Operations (JSOC) Commanding General (CG) would prevail and the President would finally order their strike, came the stand-down order.

“The State Department has the matter in hand.” Came the non-explanation from the White House National Security Advisor. Not even from the President herself. “Your mission would be counterproductive at this time. Scrub it.”

And that was that. It wasn’t the first mission they’d had called off, just the most disappointing recently. The United States was flirting with disaster; back to ignoring the threat posed by unofficially state-sponsored groups with access to funding and weapons of mass destruction from former dictatorships like North Korea and Iran. The chaos engulfing both of those hot-spots was far worse than anything reported publically, even by independent organizations and conspiracy theorists.

But that’s what you get when the ol’ U.S. of A decides it’s tired of conflict and sends a milquetoast anti-war campaigner to the White House. The insane directives issuing from the Oval Office were enough to make a military man weep for the country. Wishing for their enemies to like the U.S. because some diplo-moron gave a concession to a scumbag was the pinnacle of idiocy.

“Chief Brown!” A voice barked, startling Adam and his teammates.

Adam turned to find Senior Chief (SOCS) Eduardo Beldad standing in the team bay door.

Eduardo jerked his head at Adam’s glance. “Master Chief Chatman wants a word.”

The collective indrawn breath was audible.

“If you fucked up, you better tell me immediately.” Beldad hissed as Adam passed him.

Adam shrugged helplessly. “Sure Chief, but I’ve been with you for the last week, so you know as much as I do.”

Beldad waved him off and strode into the team bay.

As he walked away, Adam heard Beldad order, “Hot wash in thirty.”

“Hot wash?” One of Adam’s men scoffed. “We didn’t go anywhere!”

Beldad didn’t reply verbally, but even down the hall Adam could hear the non-response-reply as the men scrambled to clean up.

Master Chief (SOCM) Ornell Chatman was the most senior enlisted Special Operator in the entire Naval Special Warfare JSOC unit. Formerly known as SEAL Team Six, then Navy Special Warfare Development Group (NAVSPECWARDEVGRU, or DEVGRU for short), it was now buried under an innocuous title that changed so frequently none of the members bothered to use it.

Chatman was standing outside his office when Adam marched into view. The tall, black-skinned man looked like he should’ve been playing professional basketball rather than living in military-packed Virginia Beach. How he’d endured insertions in the SEAL Delivery Vehicle (SDV) underwater mini-sub, Adam would never know. Without a word, the Master Chief beckoned the younger SEAL to follow him into the command Sensitive Compartmented Information Facility (SCIF) room across the hall. He pointed Adam to chair and secured the door behind him.

“Chief Brown,” he asked without preamble after sitting down across the table, “you’re friends with retired Delta operator Sergeant John Morgan, are you not?”