I palm the sphere in my left hand, studying it as we walk back to camp. The outside is glassy, but the inside is foggy and murky, almost as if it’s full of red fog. The one James holds looks the same.
When I reach up to feel the markings on my neck, I notice the “1” at the top has changed to a “3.”
I mentally search my body for some sign that I feel different. As soon as I’m paying attention, I can feel it. It’s subtle, and I suppose I can’t even be sure it’s not just the clean air here. But somehow, I doubt it. Just half an hour ago I didn’t feel any different. And now…
The ache I’ve always had in my knees from crawling through the cramped storage and hydroponic rooms in the bunker is almost gone. And the slight burn I thought was normal when I breathed in too deeply is nearly gone. I glance up at a tree, and maybe I’m imagining it, but the leaves look sharper. Even the scents of the forest are more rich, like I can pick out individual scents where they all blurred together before.
What the fuck?
It doesn’t make any sense. Not the changing marks on my neck or the idea that a human body could “level up.” Then again, nothing else does. I’m pretty sure our bodies also aren’t supposed to be able to keep a huge ass sphere jammed beneath our ribs. Whatever the cause, I can’t complain. If leveling up is going to improve my body, I’m already itching to go back out and hunt for more things to fight.
Nobody in the outpost seems too concerned with our return until they notice the glassy spheres James and I carry. One by one, all the inhabitants of the outpost stop what they’re doing to gather around the silver disc at the center of camp.
I see some new faces I didn’t catch earlier, along with some bits of clothing that hint toward different time periods. Mostly, though, people are bundled in too many furs to say. Out of the whole group, the most noteworthy are a ridiculously tall man with a viking helmet and a giant double-bladed axe on his back and another who is squat but muscular with what looks like a Roman style gladius hanging from his hip. The last person to wander up to join our group is a girl who might be in her early twenties with upturned eyes and a small, crude hammer in one hand.
Lana approaches us, arms folded. “Where did you get those?”
James tosses the sphere in the air, catching it with a soft fwap. “I’m thinking it’s time you tell me where that orb in the disc came from.”
Lana’s throat bobs once, eyes shifting to Frederick.
Frederick adjusts his tie, stepping forward. “You found two, so no point beating around the bush.” He raises his voice, looking around the encampment as if he’s not just sharing the information with us, but all the other survivors as well. “Right after the marked people started showing up, we found a dead one. What was left of him, anyway.”
There’s a wave of uneasy murmuring and voices.
Lana holds up her hands, turning to face everyone. “We couldn’t be certain this came from him. There wasn’t… much left. We didn’t want to cause a panic or sow distrust, especially once we understood the value of these stones.”
Glancing around the faces of the others, I can see understanding dawning on them all one by one. Of the three other marked survivors—the viking, roman, and the girl—none seem worried. Frowning, I realize the chances of any of them speaking modern english are slim to none, depending on when they came from.
“In the future,” James says, pulling the sphere back when Lana reaches for it. “I’d rather know the score. Especially when it might be reason enough for the others out there to want us dead. We clear?”
“That’s fair,” Lana says, palms out as if she’s worried he’s going to attack her.
“When you found that stone,” I say, stepping forward and nodding my head toward the disc. I’m clutching my right arm at the elbow. It doesn’t hurt as badly as I think it should, and I wonder if I can thank the intense cold for that. “What kind of tracks were near the body?”
“It was the monster,” Lana said. “No question.”
I look to James. “You didn’t mention a monster.”
“Yeah, well, there’s a monster, too. Big ass thing that only comes at night, and it comes closer to camp every time it comes. Now you’re up to speed.”
I glare. Considering his annoyance with Lana for keeping him in the dark, I can’t help feel some of the same. Then again, I only just arrived and James has been here for days from the sound of things.
To my right, Bugbug floats, still watching me with a little too much interest. Once I’m alone, I’ve got plenty of questions for the slimy bastard. Somehow, I think he knows exactly what I did, and I’m going to make him tell me.
“How are they going to learn all of this?” I ask, gesturing toward the other marked ones. “They don’t speak English, right?”
A man with a patchy beard and round glasses steps forward, already seeming uncomfortable with the attention. “I studied theology and I’m fluent in latin. Speaking it is… challenging, but we’re making progress. I’ll fill him in after.”
“What about the viking and her?” I ask, nodding my head toward the other two.
“Halfdan?” Lana says. “We’ve managed to learn a few easy words, but communicating beyond pointing and naming things is slow going.”
“And ‘her’ speaks English just fine. Thanks,” the girl says, raising a middle finger.
“Oh,” I say, rubbing the back of my neck. “Good to know.”
Silence follows, and all attention seems to flow back to the spheres. “How does this work?” I ask.
“There are two sections,” Lana says. “See?” she points to the metal disc. It’s about thirty feet across and looks like it’s made of pure silver. There’s an embossed kind of plant-like divider seemingly stamped into the metal. On the left, there are about fifty half-sphere indentations. On the right, there’s another fifty or so. There’s already one sphere on the right side. “We picked one, set the sphere down, and the outpost appeared just like this. Before that we were barely getting by here. Definitely no walls.”
I look at the sphere again with newfound interest. My brain tries to fill in the gaps. Fifty slots and the first one built them an outpost spontaneously? Does that mean this is… what, a level one out of fifty outpost? I’m already itching to set the sphere down beside the first, but I’m also curious about the other half. “Any guess on what the other half does?” I ask.
Lana shakes her head. “No. But we have to consider the possibility that it’s not a good thing. We could be wasting a sphere if we put it there.”
“But we have to at least try, right?”James approaches the disc and looks at the left side. “Any objections?”
Everybody shifts on their feet, but nobody raises their voices. There’s just grim determination on their faces. The look of people who have been struggling to survive here for months with no real hope until the marked ones started arriving.
Maybe they aren’t so different from me, after all.
Lana looks to Frederick, who shrugs.
James kneels and sets the sphere down. Just before it’s about to fall from his hand, it’s as if a magnetic field sucks it and locks it into the first sphere with a loud clink. The metal disc glows bright around the edges.
I glance up just in time to see the gray clouds above split, rushing out of the way to form a perfect circle of clear sky. There’s a faint glimmer of light, like a star appearing in broad daylight. A beam of light appears like a spotlight, growing so bright we all have to look away, shielding our eyes. When it fades, there’s a huge metal box sitting in the center of the circle.
The metal looks seamless, but a sliver of light appears, its top opening up.
Lana looks inside, smiling in approval. “Weapons, medical supplies, crafting materials, and food that looks designed to keep well.”
The excited conversation lasts several minutes as the others move forward to get a look at what’s inside. Eventually, it’s all laid out in neat rows and divided up. James quietly pockets what looks like a pack of cigarettes. The roman smiles to himself, picking up a piece of wood and a carving knife. There are other oddities, each seeming to draw one survivor in particular.
I’m about to write it off as a coincidence when I see a rolled up piece of paper with an elastic band in its center. It’s one of the last objects that hasn’t been claimed, so I kneel and pick it up. When I remove the band and unroll it, I smile. It’s a poster that features Arnold Schwarzenegger for the movie The Last Action Hero.
“The hell is that?” James asks, a cigarette already dangling from his lips.
“Nothing,” I say, rolling it back up and sticking it in my pants pocket.
The girl with the upturned eyes is studying what looks like a much heavier and nicer hammer.
Once everyone has claimed their oddities, the rest of the supplies are divided up and stashed out of the snow in a nearby building.
All eyes are on me and the remaining sphere. “I’m guessing we want this one on the right side?” I ask, pointing to the spot beside the original sphere that upgraded the outpost the first time.
Nobody seems to have strong enough feelings to argue, so I move forward and lower the sphere. Just like the one James held, mine snaps out of my hand and locks into place. The silver disc glows again, but this time the beam of light seems to encompass everything. I press my palms to my eyes, shuddering as the air grows hot, then cold. The hairs on my arms stand up and there’s a strange, woody smell in the air. When the glow finally fades, the outpost has changed.
The slightly crooked, poorly built buildings look more like log cabins now. There are actual glass windows and doors that look properly built to block out drafts. The paths between buildings are completely covered in raised wooden planks that should sit above a few inches of snow accumulation. The walls have expanded, making the interior of the outpost more spacious and giving room for a few additional buildings. One is little more than a pergola, but there’s an anvil, forge, and a few basic tools already hanging inside.
The wall surrounding the outpost is now banded with metal reinforcements, locking the vertical logs into place and likely making them far harder to breach.
The others breathe out in relief, some clapping their hands or rushing to check out the new buildings. James comes to my side, nudging me. “You trust them after that?”
“No,” I admit. “But I don’t have to trust people to cooperate with them while it makes sense.”
James takes a long drag of the cigarette, puffing smoke. “Lonely way to live, brother.”
“Where I come from, it’s the only way to live.”
He reaches out, lifting my arm to inspect the cut. “There were medical supplies in there. Come on, we’ll patch you up a little better. No use to us if you get an infection and die, after all.”
My stomach goes tight. “You don’t think that’s going to happen, right?”
James gives me a rough clap on the back. “You’ll be alright. The real bad injuries… those boys can barely talk. There’s a look they get. Like they know what’s coming.” James’ own face goes dim as he seems to replay something in his mind, but he focuses again, smiling a little. “You’ll live.”
The girl with the hammer approaches me as James talks with Lana near the crate and they seem to be working together to sort through what the medical supplies are for. She folds her arms, standing above me and staring openly at the markings on my neck.
“S+?” she asks.
I look at her neck, automatically reading the numbers and rankings to the best of my current knowledge. Level one, rank F-, potential C. It’s the best potential rank I’ve seen outside my own.
“What’s your power?” I ask, sidestepping her question.
“Transmutation. Wood to stone, stone to iron. Things like that.”
“No wonder you’re still level 1. No point sending someone with a skillset like that out where they could get killed.”
“Level 1?” she asks.
I point at her neck. “The top number. Goes up when you fight.”
She works her lips to the side. “Like a video game?”
“Something like that, I think. When are you from?” I ask.
“1988. Pennsylvania.”
“That’s a state in the US, right?”
Her eyebrows pull together, and I realize it’s probably weird for someone who sounds American to not know something like that where she’s from.
“The time I’m from is… after. People don’t really worry about lines on maps anymore.”
Her face falls. “Oh… shit.” She’s quiet for a moment, then she offers a crooked smile. “Congratulations, then. This must seem like the Ritz compared to where you’re from.”
I chuckle. “Yeah, actually. Not sure I like the whole monster in the dark, thing. Or what James told me about empties and the animals. But otherwise? Five stars.”
“I’m Miyasha, by the way. But I need to go convince them to let me experiment with one of those weapons from the crate. Nobody has let me touch metal I haven’t transmuted myself, yet. And welcome to the outpost, I guess. Sorry about your arm.”
I shrug. “Worst case, it never heals and I’ll be more aerodynamic.”
Miyasha heads off toward the Anvil where Lana and Frederick are looking over the new collection of weapons.
Halfdan and the Roman are grunting as they strain to lift the metal crate the supplies came in. It’s not budging, though. They give another red-faced heave and then the crate starts to sink back into the ground, lid closing. The men kick at it, shouting in their respective languages, but it doesn’t matter. The little trap door closes and the crate is gone again, but we’ve thankfully already emptied its contents.
James returns a little later with a syringe. He points to the medical cross stamped on the glass surface and shrugs. “How do you feel about mystery substances being injected into your body?”
“I’d say that sounds like the world’s worst pickup line.”James grins. “You wish. Alright… now I’m just going to—” he jabs the needle in my bicep without seeming to think very hard about it, plunging the liquid into my body.
I shiver, eyes rolling back as cold washes over me. A moment later, the throbbing pain and numbness in my arm fade. When I look down, white frothy bubbles are spreading from the slit in my arm. Each time they bubble away, they leave behind fresh, uninjured skin.
Within seconds, it’s like I was never hurt at all. “Holy shit,” I say, turning my arm over.
“Damn,” James agrees, giving the syringe another look. “Maybe I should’ve started with just a little instead of using the whole thing. Let’s not mention that to anyone,” he says, cocking his arm and launching the syringe far over the outpost wall.
With my arm healed, I’m free to find a room and think about catching a little rest. I poke my head in a few buildings until I find one that’s empty. Some already have survivors laughing or surveying the new buildings with appreciative smiles. After six months, I can’t blame them. I lived in my bunker my whole life, dealing with its limitations while knowing I could never improve them. If someone could’ve snapped their fingers and given me a little more leg room… fuck. I don’t know what I would’ve done for that.
I sink down on a mattress in the corner of an empty cabin. It’s mostly rows of beds that seem to be stuffed with animal hair, but there’s a little toilet room. It’s an improvement over the metal buckets they had before, I’d imagine.
Bugbug drifts in through the doorway, not bothering to open it. He just… passes through it.
As much as I want to interrogate the little bastard, it has been a long day, and I’m dead tired. I try to close my eyes and catch some sleep, but I keep imagining those strange crystals of light sprouting from the stone in my chest. I roll to one side, telling myself there’s time to investigate it later.
Tomorrow.
But I can’t stop mentally reaching for them like a tongue prodding a sore in the mouth. And then I feel… something.
When I blocked the attacks in the forest, I’d felt a sensation like liquid passing from my left arm to my chest. Now I feel it again, except the sensation is moving from my chest to my right arm.
I lift my arm to look and then jump back, one hand clapped over my mouth to stop from shouting in horror.