Ludo Brax: Intergalactic Gig Worker (Chapter 49)

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By the reaction of the crowd, it was clear they had never met my simulated sons.

There was jubilation, cheering, high-fives all around.

You would have thought this was good news.

"This is good news!" Anagorazia shouted, tousling my hair with so much force it streaked grey in spots.

"What can I bring?"

Her question ignited a wave, similar inquiries pouring in from a growing mob of my Neighbors.

The word potato salad boomed out from the throats of Nordic Gods like it was the most normal thing in the world. Carpools were arranged. Designated Druids decided on. Members of the group playing out more treacherous Arcs assigned themselves the task of bringing paper plates and napkins.

It was shaping up to be quite a party. And everyone, and I mean everyone, seemed to be invited.

I was going to need more patio furniture.

Also it would be good to have the slightest idea what this all entailed.

And a headcount for hamburgers.

But mostly I needed to say something, anything, before this got out of hand.

"Hi everyone. Thank you so much for your enthusiasm. It should be a great time. An occasion to all get together and celebrate Sylas and Dax..."

This was, of course, a daring bit of cunning, a duplicitous imitation of the kind of doting, proud Dad The System wanted me to be.

I hesitated a second, searching my subconscious store of platitudes before finally stumbling upon a phrase that sounded believable.

"Two...amazing...kids?"

They smiled politely.

I'd done it again. I was buzzing with the thrill of deceit as I carried on.

"All year those two, they, uh....Oh do they do plenty!!"

I mimed, for some reason, that I was giving a noogie to some invisible figure, probably a bit too violently.

"And now, it's their birthday, and we have to —"

I caught myself quickly. Took a deep breath, coughed a few times to garner some sympathy, hoped they'd forgotten.

"GET to. Get to. Definitely, definitely want to...give them the most special day possible. With many, oh so many, of their favorite things and activities. Too many to list..."

They, to a person, nodded in agreement, to my great relief and deepening sickness. No true sons of mine would openly declare preferences. I soldiered on just the same.

"But before we get this party started on…”

I peered over at the sky, squinting to make out the details of the party.

"Tomorrow..."

"...Great!!"

"Tomorrow."

With a shudder, I considered the logistics of making the amount of hors d'oeuvres this would require in such a short time.

"I just want to say —"

A shrill series of electronic beeps pierced the air. Meg's voice bellowed out from everywhere.

> Attention, members of the Neighborhood. Please consult your pagers for the details of your very own Conflict Cycles.

They pulled the bulky, bizarre devices from their waists, unsheathing swords and spears awkwardly in the process.

I recognized them from my brief stint as an aesthete, "pagers" being objects of great cultural value in the 20th century.

Seeing these sublime relics now, delivering news to my Neighbors of the System's next cruel escalation, was the kind of eerie specificity I'd come to loathe about this place.

That everyone else was so happy with what they were reading was just icing on the cake.

Meg cut back in over the excitement.

Before you is a task specifically tailored to your Arc intended to be carried out Tomorrow for the following One-Time-Only Bonus Metric Rewards:

 

— WOZM: 3x Base Multiplier

— PHUUMP: Deep Purple

— JEEBO: Octagonal

— Self-Actualization: +5 Tiers

At this revelation, the excitement grew into hysteria.

To my left, Anagorazia began to plan a competing Feast she assured everyone who would listen was certain to outshine mine (and have a specialty cocktail).

A Coven of Witches began workshopping a hex they were certain would ensure I ran out of hot dog buns.

A Duel was scheduled for the moment the cake came out. There was talk of a Naval Battle in the deep end of my pool.

All around the parking lot, my Neighbors received their tasks with glee, each designed specifically to sabotage me.

Among the commotion, I locked eyes with Lt. Wulvik who, with a half-shell-shocked look that was his signature, was nervously toying with his pager.

He marched over to me with haste.

"Should be quite a party, sir."

"You can say that again."

He stiffened, making sure to make the timbre of his voice deeper this time.

"Should be quite a party, sir."

I laughed, assuring him with a soft smile that these formalities were unnecessary but still appreciated by the oh-so-tiny part of me that was vain.

"What do they have you doing, Lieutenant? An assassination plot during appetizers?"

Wulvik frowned deeply at the very suggestion.

"Actually, sir, I've been tasked with assisting you with the party in whatever way you need."

A small spark of hope ignited in my chest. Could it really be true? Wulvik wasn't exactly my idea of an ideal right-hand, but right now I'd take all the help I could get.

"Help...me? You mean you're on my side?"

"Yes sir. It says right here. Helping you prepare the meals. Ensuring merriment is kept at appropriate levels. Enacting a heavy hand against prognosticators of all kinds. Face painting for the kids."

Of course.

Exactly the kind of help The System would let me have.

Eager. Earnest. Utterly certain to ruin everything. What they used to call "Ludo-ing" when I was growing up.

I hung my head in abject defeat, directly in violation of the Conduct Code of Superior Officers.

This was all being dangled in front of me to mock me. An impossible challenge. That much was clear to me now.

"Well, there's always next time, huh?" I finally said.

This seemed to throw Wulvik.

"Sir?"

"The odds are stacked against us this year, Lieutenant. Though your help is greatly appreciated. Maybe next time I can Ascend."

This did nothing to calm him down, sending him instead into visible fits of conflicted twitching.

After a moment, he finally, through chattering teeth, managed to speak.

"Sir, if I may?"

I was scared to know what came next, hesitating for maybe longer than was necessary in a petty display of authority before finally granting permission.

"You may."

And so he did, clearing his throat for what seemed like minutes before finally, nervously, delivering the hammer blow this whole mocking scene had been heading toward from the moment I stepped outside.

"A Conflict Cycle for Ascension is a one-time chance. All or nothing."

The words seemed to pain him as they escaped from his lips.

"If you fail, you, along with your entire life in this layer. Well, they'll all be Permanently Archived."

I didn't fully get his meaning, though I had the creeping feeling I was beginning to understand.

"Permanently Archived? You can speak candidly, Wulvik."

He looked me directly in the eyes with a solemnity and regret far outstripping his rank.

"Sir...You will cease to exist."

The sound drained out from the scene. The heads of the merry crowd all turned toward me at once in horrible coordination. Faint, self-satisfied smiles lit up their faces.

In that instant, it all began to make sense.

This wasn't a Birthday Party. It was my Funeral. And despite what I had always fantasized about, it brought me no joy to be here to see it.

Just then, from behind me, Meg's voice, almost a whisper.

 

> Don't worry, [Ludo Brax], remember the Wisdom of The First Ascender.

 

I whipped my head around, desperate, maybe, to find her.

But there was only a statue.

A tall, bronze figure that I was absolutely certain had not been there before, right in front of The CLAMOGEPATO.

It was him. The man from the Witnessing.

He was knelt before The Obelisk with his hands pressed against it. A luminous cube of data inset in his chest.

His face was serene, almost saintly.

And in a way I couldn't exactly describe, it looked just the tiniest bit like mine.

At its base was a plaque, a quote written in gleaming letters of MegaTech™ Sans:

 

"What we cling to tightest

We must learn to let go."