Chapter Four Hundred and Twelve. Stories of the resupply.

Chapter Four Hundred and Twelve. Stories of the resupply.

Harv was bored.

Elli, Wayna, Eddi, Bailli, and Erick had all gone shopping once he'd been told that he wasn't going to be deported after all. Everyone was eager to resupply one favorite or another that they'd run short of during the trip.

One of the things that Harv had been fascinated by on Earth was the internet. Everyone used it, but it seemed that few people really appreciated how miraculous it was.

He'd never expected that, even with access to the internet, that he would be bored, but there it was. He had even resorted to going through two years worth of emails, feeling grateful that Amanda had shown him how to setup his filters before they'd left.

When his armband buzzed, indicating an incoming call, Harv had answered it quickly, hoping for something to distract himself.

"Mr. Eilodon, this Special Agent Johnson, we spoke a few days ago," the caller identified himself.

Harv didn't have any trouble recalling that conversation. "Good afternoon, Special Agent Johnson," he replied. "What can I do for you today?"

"I'm happy to report that you're no longer considered Persona Non Grata by the United States of America," Johnson said, and Harv thought that he actually did sound happy about it.

"The State Department has completed an inquiry through the State of California, which had conducted an investigation of the events that occurred at the Johnson and Johnson headquarters and determined that you were justified in defending yourself," his voice lowered. "There was a degree of corruption and collusion between the police and the corporation that took a good bit of work to unravel. If you have ever felt that your actions went too far, you can rest your fears knowing that the police on the scene were all involved and had decided ahead of time that they would use deadly force if you didn't comply."

"Thank you," Harv said quietly. "Hindsight being what it is, I'll always regret not having taken other steps to avoid the actions I took, but I always knew that those men were planning on killing me, else my curse wouldn't have activated."

There was a pause on the line. "That's... I'm sorry you have that affliction, but at the same time, I'm glad it isn't likely to be triggered if you get pulled over for speeding. You're free to move about the country as you see fit, with our government's apologies that it took this long to resolve the issue. On a personal note, I'd like to thank you. My daughter had leukemia, and while she was in remission, your cure lifted a weight from my family that we thought we'd never escape." His voice broke slightly. "While remission is a blessing, you always know that the cancer will be back, and no one should have to see their child suffer like that. So thank you, Mr. Eilodon, for persevering through the worst of us so that you could save the best."

"You're welcome," Harv replied warmly. "I was happy to help."

Johnson chuckled in the way that men do when they're struggling to control their emotions. "Because that's what Adventurers do."

Harv nodded. "That's what Adventurers do," he agreed.

Daquan was, by and large, grateful to have a job.

A lot of companies hadn't made it through the integration, and it had been surprising to almost everyone that it was the huge multinational corporations that folded first.

Daquan was one of the people who hadn't been surprised. He'd been sixteen when the integration happened and had loved two things about school: Basketball and history. Well, three things if you counted girls, but he'd been too socially awkward to have much success in that arena.

He'd seen the writing on the wall. Supply chains were going to vanish like smoke because a steady flow of money was what kept them moving, and with Mana Crystals becoming the new currency and no one having any to spend, the conclusion was inevitable. The days of 'Just in time' inventory were going to come to an end.

He was working for the Ghirardelli Chocolate Company and had decided that someone needed to speak up. So, he'd written a letter to the store manager, where in five single-spaced pages, he outlined the difficulties the company was likely to face after the arrival of the System, as well as the steps they could potentially take to stay in business.

That letter had been passed from his supervisor to the store manager, and then it had gone up the corporate ladder, where it ended up in the hands of the COO. Daquan hadn't known it at the time, but his letter had contributed to the shit storm that was rampaging through the upper echelons of the company. The COO had argued that if a sixteen-year-old kid could see what was coming, the rest of the board needed to pull their heads out of the sand.

A week after he'd written the letter and twelve weeks before the integration, the Ghirardelli Corporation implemented a massive reorganization. They eliminated thousands of positions, stating that after the integration, they wouldn't be needed, while at the same time restructuring the remaining positions and adding new ones. The changes were all made under the assumption that people would be expected to use their System skills to perform their new duties. Everything was being switched over to the local stores.

Daquan blinked as his jaw dropped, then closed his mouth. "Ok then," he said quietly. "Ok, let me get you a receipt for the order and your contact information, and then I'll get to work."

"Are you sure you want Maxwell House?"

"Kid, I just want coffee. Basic, simple coffee. If you've got a house brand or something, I'll give it a taste, but as long as it ain't that fancy shit they try to pass off as coffee at Starbucks, I'll take it," Mike replied.

The kid, whose name tag said 'Ali' rolled his eyes when Mike had called him a kid, but Mike didn't care. Reincarnation may have given him a young body, but he still had the mind and soul of a Marine who had then spent almost twenty years on the job.

"The thing is, I'm pretty sure we don't have much Maxwell House," Ali said. "I'm the one who stocks the shelves, you know? Coffee is one of the things we don't grow on-site or source from a local greenhouse. I'm pretty sure we're getting it from a place west of Bakersfield but don't hold me to that. I think I've got a pallet and a half of Maxwell House, and I just got two pallets of Folgers a couple of days ago. Let me go check it out?"

Mike nodded, and the kid scurried off.

They needed a logistics officer for the ship. Hell, they needed a command structure for the ship.

He sighed as he tapped his armband and pulled up his shopping list. The fact of the matter was that none of his friends aboard the Freedom had ever served, and they lacked the mindset to appreciate the benefits a defined command structure could provide.

Except Amanda. That woman had Gunnery Sergeant written all over her.

He checked his list, which wasn't terribly long. He'd already picked up a pallet of A-1 sauce and a few cases of razor blades. He winced as he remembered the annoyance of having to ask someone to summon up a razor blade for him every day for the last eight months of the trip. Bob apparently shaved with a red hot obsidian razorblade. He'd tried it for himself, and while the shave was incredibly smooth, and the single knick he'd given himself hadn't bled at all, the blade cauterizing it instantly, his face had felt like he was getting over a bad sunburn for the rest of the day.

He rubbed his cheek absently as Ali returned with a grin.

"You're in luck, I've got three pallets of Folgers, and if I pull four cases from the shelves, two pallets of Maxwell house," he reported. "We'll be out of coffee for a few days until we can get some more, but nobody ever told me I couldn't sell stuff by pallet."

"Great, let's add a pallet of shampoo to the bill, and ring me up," Mike ordered.

"What kind of shampoo?" The kid asked.

"What does it matter, it's shampoo, kid. Cheapest you've got, Sauve or whatever, I don't care. It just has to wash the blood and guts and sweat off my scalp," Mike replied, shaking his head.

"Are you in the Army?" Ali asked curiously. "That's exactly what my dad tells my mom, minus the blood and guts stuff."

Mike snorted. "Marines, son. We're the ones who kick open the door and get all the fighting out of the way so that the Army can come in and start working on the plumbing and the electricity."

Ali shook his head. "Dad says Marines are all crayon-eating Jarheads," he replied.

"Your old man sounds like a solid grunt," Mike grinned. "You planning on following in his footsteps?"

"I surrender myself in two months," Ali said proudly.

"While they won't do as good a job as the Corp," Mike winked, "the Army will make a man out of you. Listen to your sergeants, and take every opportunity they give you. I'm sure you'll make your dad proud."

"Army strong, can't go wrong!" Ali agreed with a brilliant smile.