Monroe

Chapter One Hundred and Ninety-Five. Matters of Accountability.

Bob leaned back in his chair, watching the sunset of murmuring falls. Monroe was curled up on the ledge, soaking in the last few rays.

The herbs in his sunroom had done remarkably well in his absence, and they provided a rich bouquet as he tried to relax.

It hadn't been his finest day. He should have stuck around Glacier Valley and found out who was responsible for ensuring the curators had the correct skills, so today's issue didn't reoccur. Barring that, he ought to have written a new document laying out exactly what skills a curator should take.

There were a lot of things he could and should have done, but he'd wound up taking the rest of the day, playing with Monroe, and cleaning his house. He did feel better, though.

He'd have to apologize to Mike tomorrow and ask him to winnow through the skills the new curators had. Hopefully, he'd be able to put together a group that had the requisite skills.

As the sun finished setting, the light finally falling to the grasp of night, Bob pulled his kindle out of his inventory. He was halfway through a detective novel, and finishing that off would be a great way to end the day.

Brigadier General Robert Thompson was tired. The logistics of maintaining the 5th's presence on another world were incredibly frustrating, as everything from diesel to clothing had to be brought over through a magical portal. In addition, as each Marine finished their tours of the Dungeon or the 'Pit' as it had become known amongst the ranks, they became increasingly less reliant on materials from Earth and required more and more resources from Thayland.

He had a thousand Marines who no longer needed laundry service, as they simply summoned their clothing and bedding with magic. Those same Marines were the ones who had requested native armor, preferably enchanted. They'd also begun enquiring as to what the process would be to have their weapons enchanted.

Not having any real control over the portals back to Earth was also a frustration. None of the young people assigned the tasks had yet refused an order, but they could, on occasion, be awfully difficult to track down, and only a couple of them had been willing to carry a radio.

Now there was this. The men from the 7th Engineers that had been tasked with learning the skills to dig these monster pits had apparently all been missing a particular skill called 'persistent effect,' which was preventing them from being trained. He'd reviewed the file that had been sent over prior to having those Marines learn their skills, and at no point was the persistent effect skill listed. Reading through the email again, he could see where it was implied, but it required an understanding of this magical system that no one in the 5th had possessed at that time.

He raised his eyes from his monitor and looked at Sergeant Mike Hanson. The request to bump all of the 'Old Guard,' as they were called, up in rank hadn't yet finished being processed. Rob would certainly welcome having the man as an official part of the 5th, but for now, he had to make do with an unofficial attache.

"So, in short, they couldn't create light to see, air to breathe, nor maintain the magical vision that allows them to properly guide the Mana Shaping ritual," he began, "which led to Mr. Whitman bringing them back out, discovering where the deficiency lay, in a very public and degrading manner."

"That is an accurate summary of the situation," Hanson agreed, "although I would like to add that Mr. Whitman is not a Marine, and his only experience teaching is with young people. Knowing the man as I do, I don't believe he intended any disrespect. He is under a tremendous amount of pressure, no small amount of which is being generated by the 5th, and honestly, the man is ill-equipped for the leadership role that was thrust upon him."

Rob looked at Hanson calmly as he allowed his thoughts to coalesce. He had noted that Hanson would allow criticism of Mr. Whitman that he felt was justified but would also spring to the man's defense if he felt he was being disparaged unfairly. He hadn't broached the matter previously, but perhaps now was the time.

"You seem to have a rather close relationship with Mr. Whitman," he began, "and you place a great deal of both trust and responsibility on his shoulders. Could you explain why that is?"

Hanson responded with a question of his own. "How much do you know about Bob?"

Rob smiled slightly. Captain Michaels had made it clear from his evaluations that Hanson had been on the fast track to Gunny, and asking questions like that, narrowing the scope of the topic to avoid unnecessary repetition, was a perfect example of one of the qualities he'd been praised for. "Mr. Whitman was working on his master's degree when an accident at the Fermilab particle accelerator blew him into this universe, where he assimilated. Once he became aware of the threat to Earth, he immediately began preparations and then co-opted the locals into helping save the population of Earth."

"A fair description," Hanson acknowledged, "however you are missing a few key details. Bob was born in Watts, the son of a teenage exotic dancer and prostitute. He fell through the cracks in the system. When he was blown into this universe, he was a modern-day hermit. The only being and I'm using that word deliberately, that he cared about on planet Earth was his cat, Monroe."

"He drove himself to self-destruction in a desperate effort to save his cat from starvation," Hanson continued, "I've made inquiries and seen memories of him enacting the ritual to retrieve Monroe, and I can honestly say that I've never seen anyone survive those sort of injuries. Once he had saved his only friend from starvation, he began to respond to the offers of friendship shown to him by the locals. Over the course of several months, he became a very popular figure in the local town, well-liked and respected. When he became aware of the danger to Earth, he acted. The most important thing to understand about this whole situation is that I believe that Bob acted to save Earth not because he holds any deep-seated affection for our world, but rather because he has been conditioned by our society to believe that it is the right thing to do."

Hanson took a deep breath and continued. "Despite his strengths, I believe that Bob is very fragile, from a mental and emotional standpoint. He was effectively raised by a series of indifferent teachers, employers, and professors. He was taught how he should act, but no one ever explained to him why. He has found some of those answers on Thayland but remains introverted. I'm not qualified to diagnose the man, but I believe that a therapist would have a field day with him." Mike sighed, then went on. "He is intelligent enough to realize that he doesn't have the skill set necessary to carry this project past the initial stages, which is why he didn't object to the 5th taking control of access to the Dungeon. I think he'll probably apologize to me about this morning's incident, and I recommend we let it go."

Rob listened carefully as Hanson spoke. "You've painted a troubling picture," he mused. "We are relying heavily on Mr. Whitman, not only for his expertise, but also as the sole diplomatic contact between all the Nations of Earth, and the King of Greenwold, upon whose land we have sought refuge."

"Precisely," Hanson agreed, "he's a man struggling under an unfair burden. I believe it would be for the best if we take only the opportunities that lighten it and overlook those that might increase it."

He rolled his neck to relieve the tension and then rubbed his eyes. "White gloves then," he muttered. "Going forward, we need to have a standard skill array instituted for all active-duty personnel. We should have had one from day one, but as a rapidly developing and, quite frankly, extraordinary situation, we were unprepared. Can I rely on you to provide a detailed explanation of which skills are needed and when they are to be taken?"

"Yes, Sir," Hanson replied crisply.

"Excellent, if twenty-four hours will suffice, I'll place a hold on advancement in the pit for that time, and we'll distribute the orders before we resume," Rob stated.

"Sir," Hanson acknowledged as he stood and then left.

"I stand corrected," Derrick breathed, "now this is a proper fantasy world Dungeon."

Jessica couldn't help but agree. They were standing on the ninth floor of the Dungeon in Harbordeep, which contained an old-growth forest, huge trees reached upwards hundreds of feet, clawing toward the cloudy sky. The space between them was sparsely covered in light undergrowth, ferns mostly, and a light mist shrouded the entire area.

"I was chatting up that Carrie bird," Jake grinned, "and she said that the Dungeon in Glacier Valley isn't anything like the Dungeon in Holmstead, that Bob had built it just for efficient leveling, not for any sort of training."

Jessica wrinkled her nose. "Bit young for you, isn't she?"

Jake shrugged, not losing his smile, "She's eighteen, I asked," he replied smugly, "and I'm only twenty-three. With our new lifespans hitting reaching into multiple centuries, even millennia, I don't think five years matters."

"Mate, that's still a bit on the young side, yeah? She can't even drink," Bruce shook his head.

"There isn't a drinking age on Thayland," Danny chimed in as she used her staff as a lever to roll a fallen log over.

"As fascinating and creepy as Jake's love life is," Jessica said, "we're here to kill monsters and gather crystals, not to bemoan the fact that our mate is chatting up the local jailbait."

"This is amazing," Danny pointed to the underside of the log and the Earth beneath it. "There are grubs, worms, beetles, and I think I saw a lizard as well."

"An entire ecosystem," Sheila agreed, pointing above them where a few birds could be spotted.

"According to Carrie," Jake continued to grin, "Dungeons are built this way to simulate what you might find out in the real world, training you to handle a natural Dungeon if you run into one."

"So no 'X' marks the spot for monster spawns then," Shiela grumbled.

"Probably won't spawn as evenly either," Derrick agreed.

"According to this Dhoakes fellow, the monsters on this floor are called 'Venomous Skunks(L),' which sound just fantastic by the way," Jessica chuckled, "and the included map shows that if we proceed fifty feet north, we'll find four separate spawn points bracketing the path, each one spawning two of the monsters."

"Let's ease ahead, take things nice and slow, yeah?" Jessica summoned out Brutus, the others summoning out their monsters as well, save for Derrick, who barrage an effect over time heal on the summons, exhausting his mana pool, but ensuring that he'd receive experience for any monsters they fought.

The group quieted, focusing on the forest around them as they slowly advanced.

"Ah, fuck me," Jessica grumbled as she took another blast of Venomous Skunk musk.

They'd discovered that the (L) stood for Large and that the Venomous Skunks weren't venomous in the traditional sense of having a venomous bite, but rather that the musk the sprayed out was venomous and was absorbed through the skin. The first one they'd fought had caught them all in the blast, and Jessica, Jake, and Bruce had all lost their concentration on their summoned monsters as the cloud of venomous stench rolled over the group.

While it burned like acid on the skin, getting it in your nose, mouth, and eyes was so much worse. The less said about the smell, the better.

The monsters themselves looked like the average skunk. Black, with one or two white stripes down their backs and white markings on their faces. Had they not been ravenous monsters intent on devouring the group, they might have been cute. If that is, they were scaled back down to normal size. Skunks that stood five feet tall at the shoulder were not cute.

They'd been fighting for hours, and she knew it was only through magic that her clothes would ever be wearable again. Once they'd become as accustomed to the smell as they could be, they'd fallen into a more normal rhythm, smoothly and easily dispatching the monsters as they appeared.

Every now and then, they'd have one that managed to get a blast off, and it would leave the group covered again. Derrick had risen to the task brilliantly, dropping a barraged effect over time heal on the whole group whenever they were caught by it.

Overall the experience was real. It wasn't at all like the cool, impersonal slaughterhouse layout Bob had created, where slaughtering the monsters that appeared had become an amusing job. This was much more immersive, and she could see why they called the people delving into the Dungeons Adventurers.

Jessica directed Brutus towards the spawn point where the next Venomous Skunk ought to be appearing. The time between spawns varied from point to point, giving the whole process a more organic feel, but they mostly had it down, although there was still that anomaly, like two monsters spawning from the same point at once, which had happened only twice over the past four hours.

Overall, if you ignored the smell, the experience was rolling in nicely, as were the crystals. They'd level up tonight, and if the tenth floor didn't have any ick factors, Jessica was pretty damn sure she'd be enjoying herself.

Jason groaned in pleasure as he finished leveling up.

One of the things no one talked about was how reaching a leveling threshold felt. It was a rush, as for a moment, the world became clearer. Every sight, smell, taste, and sound was magnified and enriched. The sense of touch was another matter entirely and had, in combination with the feeling of perfect bliss, contributed to his having needed a change of trousers after level five and level ten.

He was rather pleased that he'd managed to avoid that situation as he came down from taking his fifteenth level.

He'd managed to sneak into the Dungeon, disguised as one of the Old Guard. It wouldn't have worked if the fireteam he'd cajoled into bringing him hadn't been both experience capped and running low on the pisswater that yanks called beer.

Jason had thought ahead on that matter and had stored nearly a pallet of Coors Light in the bag of holding they'd been provided at Dave and Amanda's party. He'd intended to use it to barter with the locals or maybe to bribe his group when they were being reticent, but it had ended up going to the Marines.

They'd carried him all the way to level fifteen, and he'd corrected the deficit in his skill selection. He was now ready to build a Dungeon properly. That being said, his disastrous attempt had been humbling, and he wanted Bob on hand to guide him through the process. He knew the man was an early riser, so he'd ambush him the next morning.