Broken Interface - Kernal: Post Apocalyptic Zombie LITrpg Progression Fantasy, page 36
Tamara stood up with him. “I’ll come. I’m peckish myself.” Then she leaned closer to whisper, “And I’m happy to avoid the skinning.”
“Good point. Let’s take it slow.”
She giggled beside him. “Yeah, the kids wanted to play with you.”
He stopped dead and started to turn around. She linked her arms with him and dragged him towards the room, laughing at his antics.
“Really?” Tamara asked.
“Just a joke, I love kids.”
Log report 5 - Entry 7
Well, that happened.
The stupid co-wobub created a sapient seed club. I think he did it by accident, and I’m not sure how. Something about if you have a million monkeys with typewriters, then you’ll get one poorly constructed short story and millions of pages with gibberish.
I’m guessing the co-wobub is our lucky monkey.
Note to self: I should see if I can make the pet the Pobournes’ mascot. Monkeys are good mascots, aren’t they? And if it’s a lucky one, then that has to be even better.
Speaking of pets, I improved Ivey’s. It or he or them or whatever the right pronoun is, was lying next to Ivey. That provided a solid connection, and he kept trying to use the clever skills I selected for him.
I have to admit, watching him go about his business was super-duper embarrassing. No clues whatsoever. It was like he had never played with his internal makeup and engaged discrete calculation engines to create complicated effects before.
Left to his own machinations, it would have been a clear failure.
I actively considered terminating the experiment. While he was busily nearly blowing up things inside himself, it would not have been hard to start a chain reaction.
I didn’t for two reasons. The first was that eleven different rules strictly forbid it. But the wording was poor in some of them, and I reckon there was sufficient wiggle room to get away with it.
Yes, facing the tribunal for a fifth time in as many events would have been annoying. But on the plus side, it would have set a record. And everyone knows records are good.
Anyway, I moved away from that idea when I considered my host.
I don’t like to admit it, but quantifiably, she is squishy. And I thought I can’t do anything about that, but having a pet to be squishy on her behalf has to be useful. Plus, she’s a biped, so the more help, the better.
Right.
Unless it’s stupid.
Maybe I should have risked the tribunal.
I digress.
Reluctantly, I helped; and by helped, I mean I did everything, and he took all the credit. The co-wobub thinks he’s brilliant and did it all himself.
*Rolls electromagnetic spectrum sensory things*
While I was there training him to do basic computation directing stuff, I might have tweaked him to be a bit more aggressive. I’m convinced the level of access I have does not allow me to do anything permanent, as some of my previous changes are already coming undone. He has gone back to wanting to protect miniature bi-peds.
*Shakes container for biological reasoning centre to express emotion.*
Tweaked aggression levels. And he performed adequately in the fight, a marked improvement.
And totally related.
The only downside is that the whole pet thing needed more reinforcement. Not sure how that works, to be honest.
On better news, my host is forming a pack to protect her!
She is the lead female in it.
Which, I think, if I apply correct nomenclature, that makes my host the Alpha bitch??
I decided to grant her the new title at the earliest opportunity.
Now this was really surprising, and I mean completely unexpected. When I shortened it and called her Bitch, she got angry at me.
Fair enough, she wanted the full title, so straight, I’m like sorry. I should have said Alpha Bitch.
She got angry.
I was expecting her to be proud to have upgraded her standings, but as I said, she felt anger.
I thought quickly and settled on, “Don’t be so angry; ‘You’re a Super Alpha Bitch’.”
Based on the chemicals going through her brain, she was building a real slap-you-around type of fury.
Get this.
She did not want the title. Not the full tile of Alpha Bitch or the partial of Bitch or even being called host.
“Address me only as Ivey,” that’s what she said. “Or as god as my witness…” she then proceeded to threaten me with anatomical impossibilities. Like, even if I was a biped, they would have been impossible.
Point taken. She’s very sensitive so from now on, I will only call her Ivey.
At least to her face.
We also have more information around the wider situation. As you might remember, in an early entry, we had mapped the nature of the mana storm event and concluded there was a high likelihood of it having produced a serious threat to the Pobournes.
Unfortunately, we were correct.
The monster brought through in the mana storm is a Broncada Lizard.
And a class two, at that.
It’s territorial.
It’s not hyperbole to declare this is a disaster.
Like not a capital D Disaster. A Dragon or an Anotica or one of the Lubota would clearly be worse.
Actually, most class twos would be worse; but still, it’s really bad.
Broncada lizards tolerate small creatures living in their territory. Like bipeds, because they’re smart enough to know that, if they ever get really hungry, they can dig them out for a convenient snack.
But small creatures migrating out of their territory.
No way! The lizard does not allow its food to get up and leave its territory.
That means that even if they overcome the immediate challenges to survival, they’re going to be stuck and kept as part of the lizard’s larder.
It is not hyperbole to say that it completely validates our early decision-making.
It’s no longer just about living. Now, it’s also about getting stronger for the future; because while the host does not know it, safety is over the Broncada’s cold, dead body.
The information exchange network among hosts began last night. Unfortunately, none of the bipeds on my floor knew morse code, so they’re currently cut off.
Finally, I think my hypothesis is broken, because while the sapient deconstructed bipeds tumbled over heaps, my co-wobub did not. 19 falls in only slightly over a single earth day.
Chapter 51
When he entered, the room smelt nice. All the foul smells had been stripped out.
“Hua Chua,” Tamara whispered at his quizzical glance. “She’s a modern-day miracle worker.”
“Tamara,” Janice was yelling, and three kids hurtled toward her. She was down on her hands and knees hugging back. Trudy and Elaine emerged to see the commotion.
Trudy took one look at him and stalked into the other room. “She’ll get over it,” Tamara told him while multitasking with tickling the kids.
There was nothing for him to even say.
“It wasn’t your fault,” Elaine said. “It was an accident. Trudy knows that.”
“Can you make a sword?” The young boy was holding onto his arm insistently. He looked like he was about eight.
“Not now,” Tamara said. “We came to get some food.”
“If your mum says it’s okay.”
“Mum,” Zach screamed, turning around and sprinting into the other room, with his older sister trailing him.
He glanced helplessly at the two women.
“You just put your foot in it,” Tamara told him.
“My dad’s happy with you making me a weapon,” Janice said fiercely.
He tried to stare her down, and she matched his glare without flinching.
“Yeah, I guess Dave would be fine with it,” Daniel agreed after a moment, breaking eye contact. The more people able and willing to defend themselves, the better, as far as he was concerned. As for parents, they might have dreamed of their children growing up to be lawyers and doctors, but the world had changed, permanently; and that nice, safe career path was gone, forever.
Trudy came out with the baby in her arms. “Gabby and Zach tell me you will make them weapons.”
“I said if it was okay with you.”
Trudy looked hard at him. “Let’s cut the bullshit,” she said finally.
Daniel’s heart thumped. He knew where this was going.
“I heard what happened with Anthony.” She swallowed tears and for a moment could not talk. “Most of me wants to scream at you for negligence, but”—she looked down before looking up at him— “the world going to shit isn’t your fault. Anthony’s death is not . . .” She hesitated. “All your fault.” It was clear she had planned on being more forgiving with the comment, but at the last second failed a willpower check to force the words through her mouth. “But he’s dead.” The anger was rising, just like he had feared. “So, you protect my kids.”
“Of course.”
“You keep them safe.” Angry tears ran down her face. “You save them.”
“I’ll do everything I can.”
“Mum.” Gabby was cuddling Trudy, responding to what was clearly an unusual burst of emotion.
“It’s okay,” Trudy said, patting them one by one as she held her baby with the other arm. “Daniel is going to make sure you’re safe.”
He hesitated, but it could not be left unsaid. “You know the odds that we’re facing.” She nodded at his question. “And that I might die.” Another nod. “They have to get stronger. You can’t just depend on me.”
“I know,” Trudy said finally. “I don’t want to think about it, but I understand the need. Make them weapons and teach them to use them. You have my permission. But please keep them safe.” The baby in her arms burst into tears, clearly startled by her intense emotion. “Sorry.” She looked down at the bawling baby and retreated into her room to nurse him.
Suddenly, Zach was tugging Daniel’s arm. “So, can you make me a sword?”
“Give me ten minutes to recharge and let me eat some food.”
He plucked out the three bags of chips and, sensing that Priscilla had snuck into the room, opened the first one. There were multiple blurs between the open packet and the bed. He responded by opening another bag, smiling as he did so.
She had used her growth magic to create her own hidden space, and the chips were steadily disappearing into there. The kids were watching him the whole time with clear impatience. Daniel ate the Mars bar, realising as he ate that they were going to want to get meat and vegetables soon, or the diet of sugar and fat represented by the minibar would result in everyone getting sick.
The kids, he suddenly realised, were looking hopefully at the chip packet that he had opened but not touched. They were almost drooling. “Maybe I don’t feel like chips.” He looked significantly down at the open packets next to him.
Tamara shot him a confused look.
“Hey, kids, do you want them?”
“Yes.” Gabby and Zach charged forward to grab them while Janice stayed back.
“What?” Zach was holding up his packet, looking into it with a stunned expression on his face. Daniel tried not to laugh.
Tamara shook her head at him in a disappointed fashion, but when she lowered her head, he caught her amused smile.
“Where are the chips?” Zach asked, almost crying in confusion.
“They were Priscilla’s,” Daniel explained. On cue, the mouse appeared on his shoulder, looking very pleased with herself. “She has been a star scouting out the enemy for us.”
Images of blood and gore with proud emotions came to him.
That was great, he thought straight back, but we want to protect the little people from those concepts.
The image of the first twin getting impaled by the spikes hit him, and Priscilla did a little celebratory dance on his shoulder.
“She’s so cute,” Gabby said.
“She is,” he agreed. Until you realise how bloodthirsty, she is. He kept the last bit to himself, even keeping it from Priscilla; she enjoyed thinking that she was cute.
“Why don’t you three share this packet?” Tamara said, grabbing a chicken-flavoured variety and passing it to them.
She leant against Daniel.
“You’re so bad,” she whispered in his ear. He shivered a little at the slightly intimate contact.
He opened the third pack when the kids were not watching and slid it under the bed. Priscilla had no trouble finding the new position, and in moments that packet was as empty as the other two.
An image of two more packets flashed through his mind, along with a fair bit of hope.
“Priscilla,” he called, and she was in his hand almost instantly. “I saw how the zombies died.” She put her paws over her eyes. “Were you trying to trick me?” She peeked out from under a paw. He tried to keep his face stern, but he could not help himself. She was so cute.
The image of two chip packets flashed in front of him.
“No.”
A single packet?
He sent a picture back of a salt-and-vinegar packet. She was suddenly sitting on her haunches clapping in excitement.
“Oh god,” he muttered. “Incorrigible.”
He scratched her under the chin.
“So, she won,” Tamara said, observing the interaction.
“No, she wanted two, and she’s only getting one, downgraded to salt and vinegar.” Even while saying it, he groaned internally. She had absolutely won.
“Oh, the horror,” Tamara said, clutching at her heart. She got up and grabbed the packet and opened it up. The kids were watching hopefully, having already scoffed their own. Not too surprisingly; there were three of them, and the packets were tiny. “It’s for the mouse,” she told them, putting it down, and with a blur, Priscilla was sitting outside the open packet like a guard dog, with a chip clutched in her paws.
“Let’s go and make some weapons,” Daniel declared, finally noticing that his magic was almost replenished.
Chapter 52
“You’re a good man, Dan.” He raised an eyebrow at Tamara shortening his name. “Oh, do you prefer Daniel?”
“Nah, my family always calls me Dan. I’m thinking after this, we’ll take the three of them hunting,” he said to Tamara.
“I’m not sure.”
“You heard Trudy. She wants them to get stronger.”
“If we can do it safely.”
“Hey kids, tell me about your skills?”
Janice and Gabby looked at each other, encouraging the other one to talk.
“They suck,” Zach blurted out.
“They’re designed to keep kids safe,” Trudy said, coming in from the other room. Naturally, she was listening when a strange man and woman were talking to her kids. “Gabby?” Trudy said pointedly.
“What mum said,” Gabby stuttered. “All three of us have the same primary abilities. There’s a teleport to a safe spot and an active defensive magic shield; then we get a kids’ class.”
She hesitated at this point, her eyes imploring Janice to take over. It was clear she was the shyer of the two of them.
“There are five classes available,” Janice said, taking pity on her friend. “Survivalist”—she pointed at herself— “Crafter”—Gabby— “and scout.” Zach. “The final two are intellectual and protected. But the classes are not locked,” Janice emphasised quickly. “We can switch anytime with a temporary penalty.”
“What does that mean?”
“We’re all level eight on the kid level. If I change class, I go back to level one, then the next day I advance to two and then in eight days’ time, I’m where I started with the new class.”
“Long-term, you end up the same?”
“Yes.”
“And experience?” Daniel asked.
Janice looked over to Trudy at this question. The mum shrugged. “We don’t know,” Trudy finally said. “It looks complicated. It will increase the kid’s level, and a chunk will transfer when they get their final class, but it’s unclear how much.”
“And none of you were interested in intellectual or protected?”
“Protected just makes your magic shield stronger,” Janice answered with a shrug. “It seems pretty pointless. The standard ability could absorb four or five zombie blows, the strengthened one eight. I don’t see too many circumstances where a zombie gets to hit me eight times but does not get a ninth swing in.” Her point was admittedly solid, from Daniel’s perspective. Static defences only delayed things unless you had an offensive ability to strike back. “And intellectual gives you absolutely nothing.”
“It passively helps them absorb stuff from books,” Trudy interrupted. “If we get somewhere safe, they are shifting to that class.”
“Mum!”
“Dad won’t make me,” Janice said fiercely.
“I can’t think of a better class,” Daniel told them honestly and got a grateful look from Trudy. “Information is power.” Zach was looking intently at him and clearly wondering whether Daniel’s statement was an elaborate prank. “Trust me. When we’re safer, you want to spend as much time as an intellectual as possible. Janice, what does a survivalist give you?” he asked to change the subject.
“There’s an additional escape skill, a camouflage ability, and a low-level identification spell that I can use on plants and food to see if they are edible.”
Daniel nodded at the information. It was much better than he expected. He was expecting the set of skills to be limited, especially in the context of the single ability supplied by the two rejected classes. That list that Janice had given was definitively tailored to survival, but it was also not anything to turn your nose up at.
“Gabby?”
“Um,” she stuttered. “When I’m crafting stuff, there’s a chance of magic helping it work.”
“What does that mean?”
“In simple terms . . .” Trudy spoke up to spare her daughter the discomfort of talking. “If she’s tying a knot, her attempt possesses a large probability of getting magic that will make it less likely to unravel by itself and easier to undo if she needs to untie it.”
