Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Three. Acceleration.

Chapter One Hundred and Seventy-Three. Acceleration.

Bob was smiling as he followed the group of freshers from Holmstead up the stairs. They'd pushed themselves hard, twelve hours a day for three days, but they'd managed to reach level seven. He fought back a yawn as he dropped through a portal into his inventory. He desperately needed a few hours of sleep and a hot meal, both of which could be found there. Sliding Monroe off the Makres, he laid his feline overlord down on the bed, where, with a twitch of his tail, Monroe transitioned from sleeping across Bob's shoulders to sleeping at the foot of the bed.

A plate holding a ham steak and green beans waited for him in a stasis box, and he worked his way through it quickly, not really tasting the meal as he tried to avoid thinking in circles.

Dave and Amanda had brought back just over a hundred people, although they hadn't all committed to staying. He'd helped them grind up to level four, and they all had skills now, which he hoped would convince some of the folks who were on the fence. He had a full two thousand hale and healthy former marines who were pulling eight-hour shifts in the Dungeon. He'd managed to avoid Lt. Colonel Smith by being unreachable. The radios didn't reach past the first floor of the Dungeon, although Mike had already requested that all subsequent floors should be connected with a conduit to house cabling so that a small repeater station could be set up at the Gateway. Bob had a bad feeling about that, so he'd confirmed with Trebor that setting up copper cables in a conduit between floors would cause trouble with the mana flows. Mike had then suggested using fiberoptic cables and filling the conduit with foam insulation, which should retard the flow of mana to a manageable degree. Trebor, the traitorous bastard that he was, had agreed.

The single piece of good news, great news even, was that one of Dave and Amanda's people, a man named Jason, was deeply interested in becoming a curator. That had been an incredible weight off of Bob's shoulders. He'd immediately pulled the man from the rest of the group Dave and Amanda had brought over and stuck him in with a squad of Marines. They were carrying him on the fifth floor, rushing him to level eleven as quickly as possible.

Bob would need one more six-hour session to complete the twelfth floor of the Dungeon, and he was feeling the strain. Raul and two men he hadn't met had finished their blueprint for the first tower and were working with Stavin to construct it. Or they had been. To be fair, that had been yesterday, and Bob wasn't entirely sure just how much Stavin could accomplish with Ritual Magic, an effectively unlimited supply of mana crystals, and a couple of engineers from Earth who had never been able to build something as sturdy as they would have liked because of stupid things like construction costs, zoning laws, and people's general unwillingness to let them build things with giant blocks of stone.

For all he knew, the tower was already done. Finishing his meal, he staggered over to his bed, crawling under the covers and wiggling his toes under Monroe. He closed his eyes and allowed himself to drift away into the sweet embrace of Morpheous.

Jack watched as fifty excited people swarmed out of the theatre and into the bar slash restaurant he'd sectioned off at the front of the building. Well, middle, really. He'd had the building set up for four screens, two on either side of the main room, which was set up as a bar and restaurant. At the moment, he only had one screen running, but the bar and restaurant were fully staffed and doing a booming business.

He'd run six showings a day, starting at noon, and he'd yet to have any empty seats. It would take a few more weeks to see a return on his investment in terms of construction, and without a real exchange rate of dollars to crystals the return on the screen, projector, speaker, generator, and fuel was a little hard to determine, but he'd found a young man named Jimmi who was familiar with simple machinery, having worked at the sawmill which was powered by a waterwheel. Jimmi was also a certified pyromaniac and was deeply interested in using steam to generate power.

Jack had heard that the marines were having Bob ritually summon copper blocks for scrap to make some cash, but while it might be a good ratio of crystals to dollars, it wasn't quite what he was looking for. He was looking at blowing a considerable chunk of his resources to set up the cellphone service, and it would likely cost him a bit over a quarter of a million dollars to finish the other three screens.

"That was amazing," a voice mused from behind him, and he turned smiling at the two men who had paused to converse.

"That is only the beginning," Jack assured them, "I have so many movies that you'd need to watch one a week for a decade without seeing the same thing twice."

He knew that he was severely underestimating the library of pirated films he had, but he wasn't entirely sure that they would all share the same popularity as Jurassic Park.

"I'm Elli," the man who'd spoken introduced himself, "and this is Harv," he motioned to the man next to him. "Bob never mentioned anything about these 'movies.'"

Jack hesitated. It appeared both men spoke English, and their names rang a bell, although he couldn't place them. "Our world didn't treat Bob very well," Jack said, "and while movies are common and not terribly expensive, I don't think he ever really got into the habit of going to see them; he always struck me as more of a reader."

Harv nodded, "He lamented the loss of his books often, claimed that he could fit thousands of them in a small glass-covered plate."

"He was absolutely right," Jack caught the look of longing in Harv's eyes, "in fact, you might be interested to know that I'll be selling devices that can hold thousands of books very soon, as well as setting up a service to rent them."

"Now that's something to look forward to," Harv muttered, only to receive a nudge from Elli.

"I rather enjoyed the movie, although I can only imagine the number of times Eddi is going to be here to see it," Elli grinned.

"Twice so far," Jack confirmed happily, "I had to ask him to limit himself to once a day so that others could 'Appreciate the glorious majesty of the T-Rex,' which worked better than I'd hoped."

"Can't say the kid's not dedicated," Elli agreed.

"Let us know when you start selling those book holders," Harv added, before elbowing Elli, "and good luck with the movies; it looks like it'll be a profitable business, especially with that restaurant."

Jack watched the two head into the restaurant, his eyes sweeping through the crowded tables, noting that many of them held baskets of french fries. Nodding his head, he started for the projector room. The kid he'd hired to run the projectors claimed he'd done it for a year, and there hadn't been any problems yet, but he was still going to err on the side of caution.

Captain Robert Michaels, United States Marine Corps, looked across his desk in disbelief. Eric Waters had been a passable Marine, a bit impulsive, but he'd followed orders and never neglected his duties. He'd lost most of an arm to an IED that had left most of his team in worse shape.

That arm was now perfectly restored.

The detective looked worn. "Bob," Mike returned his greeting, "I need a few minutes of your time."

"Dinner then?" Bob asked as both his stomach and his Maine-Coon both reacted to the smells coming from the kitchen.

Mike nodded, and they walked over to the table in the corner that had somehow become unofficially Bob's.

One of the freshers from Holmstead ran out of the kitchen with a pair of plates. He didn't pause to talk, just nodded at Bob and ran back, returning a moment later with a bowl of meat for Monroe, leaving again in silence.

Bob shook his head as he deposited Monroe in front of his bowl. The people Bailli had found had started working just in time, as the Talima had thanked him profusely for finding more help. She'd apparently been working eighteen-hour days and needed a break.

"What's up?" Bob asked, then stuffed a spoonful of rice into his mouth, eyes widening as the spices caught up with him a second later. He looked down at the rice in appreciation.

"I've got good news," Mike replied, a slight smile twisting his lips as he watched Bob power through the curry. "It will likely take another few days, but I expect elements of the I Marine Expeditionary Force to arrive on Thayland."

"Elements?" Bob asked as he swallowed.

"It's unlikely that you'll see the 1st Dental Battalion deployed at this time," Mike said drily. "Most likely the 5th Marines, as any time the 1st of the 1st is deployed there is always some sort of event. The 5th can be deployed with less fanfare."

Bob shrugged. He appreciated the Marines, but he had never been a military history buff. His interests had been more prehistoric in nature.

"They'll likely have the Combat Logistics Regiment 1 attached, or at least parts of it," Mike continued, "so you can expect to see seven to eight thousand Marines in total, initially."

"And every Marine a Rifleman, right?" Bob asked eagerly.

"Absolutely," Mike agreed. "You finished the twelfth floor today?"

Bob nodded his agreement.

"If you can go back to pulling long days, we could use the room," Mike had pulled out his tablet. "With just the 5th and Logistics 1, we'll need to quadruple the existing capacity."

Mike took a bite of his own meal, chewed, and swallowed before continuing. "We'll also get Big Red, the 7th Engineers, although I'm not sure if they'll be staying." He shook his head. "Although once they see what you can build with Magic, getting them back out probably won't be easy."

"How many of them?" Bob asked as he mopped up the sauced from his chicken with what was left of the rice.

"Another thousand, maybe," Mike hedged, "and if you could teach someone to ritually summon diesel, that would go a long way to reinforcing this place. How long until the next wave?"

Bob had to think about that. His days were blurring together a bit; the stress of building the Dungeon was wearing on him. "A little over a week," he replied.

Mike nodded and picked up his tablet again, tapping at it thoughtfully.

"So," Bob began, "what happens when the active-duty Marines show up? They aren't going to try and shunt you guys to the side, are they?"

Mike sighed as he looked up. "To a degree, yes, they will. I expect that anyone who was medically discharged will be offered the opportunity to re-enlist, folding them into the 5th. For those who aren't... suitable, for re-enlistment, they'll be attached as contractors."

"But no one is going to try and make them leave?" Bob asked. He'd regenerated most of the Marines here on Thayland, and while he couldn't pretend to know them, each one of them had stepped up in a big way, and he didn't want to see them tossed aside.

"No," Mike shook his head, "they might not be housed in the barracks, but no one is going to try and force them to go back to Earth, and as far as delving the Dungeon," Mike grimaced, "you're the one in charge of that, although you can expect that someone up the chain of command is likely to try and bully you into giving that up."

Bob snorted. "Until they have someone who can make keys for the Gateways, they're fucked on that front, and unless you're bringing over some theologically flexible chaplains, I don't see them having that capability."New novel chapters are published on