Chapter Three Hundred and Sixty-Three. Let that which does not matter, truly slide.

Chapter Three Hundred and Sixty-Three. Let that which does not matter, truly slide.

"It looks like Bob is having a good time with his friends in Hawaii," Taylor reported, presenting her tablet.

She had facebook open to Bob's page, where a new picture of Bob being dragged through the water by Monroe as he went after a fish was front and center.

"It does," Elania agreed.

"We should consider ourselves fortunate that he put that up, as we can direct the many, many people who are looking for him to Hawaii," Taylor grinned.

"Given the difficulty in getting a flight there, they're going to be a little frustrated," Elania agreed.

"The capsule is back from day two," Taylor continued the briefing. "Apparently, the ritual is more taxing than a standard portal spell, and they were only able to jump once every ten minutes. We're up to one hundred and fifty jumps, at a cost of fifteen thousand mana crystals for the jump rituals alone, with nothing to show for it."

"Space is big," Elania replied. "Bob didn't say, but I'll bet he jumped quite a bit before he found those two planets."

"Given that he has a natural Dimension Affinity, and I'm sure he used an Affinity Crystal, and I'd bet that he has an achievement or two to help, I'm sure it costs him fewer crystals," Taylor grumbled. "We'll leave unspoken his ability to just pump out ritual after ritual without ever losing focus."

Elania nodded. That particular ability of Bob's was something unique. The prevalent theory had been that it was a function of having an Affinity for the magic in question, but that had been debunked as their own people had used Affinity Crystals. It wasn't something that really mattered in day-to-day life, but when it came to anything that required a rapid response, the ability to just keep casting rituals was one hell of an asset. It took five ritual casters to do the same amount of work Bob did, at least over the course of forty-eight hours. He'd proven his ability to go without sleep, and a report from the Old Guard, before they'd stopped reporting up the chain of command, had quite clearly indicated that during the big push to get the combat wounded veterans over to Thayland, Bob had cast rituals for eighty hours straight.

"Yorrick has finished transporting the volunteers to the Terran Confederation, and we're still working to organize the groups that want to go to Thayland," Taylor said.

"Have we checked with Bob about transporting them over?" Elania asked.

"No, but I'm sure he'll be willing," Taylor replied. "That man doesn't know how to say no when someone needs help." She shook her head with a sigh. "We lost a real asset there. I could punch that lab director in the face."

"I'm just glad he didn't turn bitter and hateful," Elania said. "Shoot him an email asking him when his vacation is over, and if before he leaves, if he could transfer some volunteers to Thayland."

Monroe sniffed the air carefully.

His human-servant had shown his devotion by providing Monroe with a huge fish, and he'd fallen asleep after devouring his tribute.

Now he was awake, and it appeared that his human-servant had left with the other, lesser servants.

He knew where his human-servant was, of course. He could sense him.

Padding out the door of his den, he luxuriated in the heat coming off the sand, but didn't pause to lounge, instead following the scent of his human-servant.

The trail led up the beach, and through trees.

His nose twitched as another scent wafted through the trees. There was roasting meat ahead.

Monroe licked his chops and chuffed happily. His human-servant was preparing a feast in recognition of his stature as the mightiest hunter.

His human-servant had not only grown larger, but had grown more skilled as a hunter. For a long time, he'd despaired of his servant ever becoming proficient, and he'd left countless reminders for him, to no avail. Now, he was almost as good at hunting as Monroe had been when he was a kitten.

Stalking out of the trees, he followed the delectable scent, which was happily entwined with his human-servants.

"Thayland is colder, sure, but it's not li-" Bob paused.

Something was tickling the back of his mind.

"It's not like what?" Steve, the owner of the resort, asked.

"Grind out some levels and tier up," Bob said. "I never wanted to become any kind of threat to anyone, I just needed the power to defend myself."

"Eventually," Steve sighed. "I figure I'll hit tier six next year, unless a bunch of people take that offer to go to Thayland, but honestly, those of us who live on the islands do so because we love it here."

"I sort of thought that with Dungeons we'd basically be moving into a post scarcity society," Bob shook his head. "I never even considered that Dungeons would be the resource we were short on."

"Well, we're apparently going to Mars, so that will help," Steve said.

"Less than you'd think," Bob warned. "Three point seven meters per second per second means the average tier isn't quite two. Good for building habitats as monster waves will be a joke, but tier fives will be able to delve those Dungeons down to no capacity all too easily."

"Someone will figure it out." Steve shook his head. "If nothing else, we'll build a bunch of colony ships."

Bob woke up slowly, a luxury he rarely enjoyed. Between his own rigorous schedule and Monroe's tendency to wake him up, there wasn't a lot of sleeping in. He yawned and stretched a little. It was tempting to use his armband, but he had a strict policy of no electronics in bed.

Sitting up, he discovered that Monroe was sprawled out in a pool of sunlight.

"Good morning buddy," Bob mumbled as he stood up and stretched more fully before walking over and giving the big Maine Coon a scratch behind his ears. "You're going to be a well-baked loaf, aren't you?"

He pulled up the screen on his armband as he made his way to the bathroom. He was surprised to see an email waiting for him. His spam filters were so aggressive that he rarely received any messages.

From the Office of the President.

Mr. Whitman,

We have communicated the offer, as well as its term to our citizens. We regret that we lack the ability to easily transport our people to Thayland, and would request your aid in this endeavor. If you could, please let us know when you expect to wrap up your vacation, and we can coordinate your aid in a fashion that will only inconvenience you for a few hours.

We remain grateful for the aid you've offered your country.

Regards,

Elania Hartford, President of the United States.

"Well at least she didn't make me read through a bunch of formal bullshit," Bob muttered.

He felt that the 'your country' was a little on the nose, as he'd made it pretty clear that he considered himself a citizen of Greenwold these days. Then again, he'd never renounced his United States Citizenship, so they were technically correct, which he freely admitted was the best kind of correct.

Looking in the mirror, he frowned. It was time to shave again. Maybe if he insulated the handle of the razor, maybe with a semi-porous material to absorb the sweat...

'Bob, I feel I need to remind you about what happened the last time you decided to use a heated blade to shave,' Trebor said.

"That's why I was thinking about upgrading the handle of the razor," Bob replied, then sighed. It probably wasn't a good idea.

He'd been toying with the idea of using Necromancy. There was a spell called 'Ashes to Ashes' that reduced dead flesh to dust. Well, according to Harv, it did quite a bit more than that, but for this particular application, that was the part he cared about.

The concern was that in addition to disintegrating the hair itself, he'd likely be giving himself a serious exfoliation. He'd never been overly concerned about skin care. He washed his face with soap when he took a shower and called it good. Ultimately, exfoliating was supposed to a good thing, or so he'd read.

The problem was he wasn't quite there yet, as far as casting the spell. He'd had Harv demonstrate it, as well as Necros Blast, for him, but he'd never worked with Necromancy before and it was weird.

One of the things Bob had discovered about mana was that Animancy, Necromancy, and Shadowmancy were different, in terms of the energies they used. Animancy felt alive for lack of a better term, while Shadowmancy was so neutral as to be nearly textureless. Necromancy felt empty. It was like trying to weave a tapestry where half the threads were made of some sort of void that tried to consume the other threads.

He knew he'd get there, eventually. With a sigh, he wet his brush and started dabbing it into his shaving cream. He'd just do it the old-fashioned way this morning, although he promised himself that one day he would perfect a magical solution to the whole shaving problem.