Chapter Four Hundred and Twenty-Two. United Nations, Part Three.

Chapter Four Hundred and Twenty-Two. United Nations, Part Three.

"When you brought over the first few groups of the Old Guard, I found myself deeply impressed," Kellan rumbled. "Their organization, their precision, and their seemingly endless drive were inspiring. I wondered just how far the differences between humanity on Earth and humanity on Thayland stretched."

"Not very," Bob said after a moment of silence.

"Not very," Kellan agreed with a sigh. "You happened to bring over people who had a purpose, one beyond the accumulation of wealth and power. I'm more than pleased to have added them to my hoard. Those who took advantage of the contracts I offered are, for the greatest measure, motivated solely by a desire for increased personal power and wealth."

Bob stared at Kellan.

"I'm not saying there is anything wrong with that," Kellan agreed with his unspoken accusation with a draconic smile. "I raise that point because, while they aren't as desirable as the Old Guard, they still have value to me." He tapped the screen of the tablet in front of him. "I believe I have a better understanding of why the nations want them back, but I'm not certain they'll wish to return, given the points made here."

Bob frowned. "It does sort of seem like they want to conscript them into dealing with the waves," he agreed.

"Would you take that deal?" Kellan asked.

"If Monroe or my friends were here? Yes, but I'd also be looking for a better long-term solution," Bob replied, then paused. "What happens when they stay, as far as delving priority? Are you going to offer the contracts they fulfilled to Earth again?"

"That's something I've given no small amount of thought to," Kellan sighed. "From the data I've been provided, it appears that many, not all, but most, of the people who came over on a contract have significantly slowed down their delving. They're still fulfilling the terms of the contract, but they've slowed down their pursuit of longer or more frequent delves. Initially, almost all of the people who came over delved for eight to sixteen hours a day, six to seven days a week, averaging sixty-four hours a week. That has dropped to forty for over ninety percent of them," Kellan said as he looked at his tablet.

"So there is likely to be some capacity to spare," Bob mused. "Especially if they've reached a point where they're comfortable. They might only be doing the full forty hours because the contract requires it."

"Precisely," Kellan agreed. "My concern is that at no point can I permit non-citizens to have priority over actual citizens. Considering the wealth of Dungeons my planet possesses, that shouldn't be an issue, but I must consider certain harsh truths." Kellan leaned back in his chair. "There are definitely places that are more desirable to live than others. These do not always correlate with Dungeons that are more desirable to delve than others. That has mostly evened out so far, with more people living in the nicer places, keeping the Dungeons delved down, while I've been able to shunt the contracted people from Earth to the Dungeons in less hospitable locales."

"But if those people become citizens and choose to move to nicer lodgings, you'll have an imbalance," Bob nodded.

"That is part of it," Kellan agreed. "Honestly, having the ability to move the contracted people around as I'd like is a boon. As long as I have a large number of them, I shouldn't have a problem with keeping all of the Dungeons delved voluntarily."

Bob pursed his lips. "I'm guessing," he began slowly, "that if you didn't have volunteers, it would fall to the Endless and the Adventurers Guild?"

Kellan nodded. "I've spoken to the Old Guard as well, and they are willing to put some of their people into rotation."

"So you don't really need the people from Earth, it's just a nice to have sort of thing," Bob concluded.Updated from novelbIn.(c)om

"Exactly," Kellan smiled. "The Adventurers Guild, The Endless, and The Old Guard have higher tier people to keep the Dungeons drained, but I'd rather not have to burden them with that task. I much prefer to have the Dungeons delved by people eager to do so. Then there is the matter of taxes, a point of concern I share with these other nations."

"They really don't want to give up the twenty-five percent cut they've been getting," Bob said.

"I don't want to surrender my fifty percent tax," Kellan grumbled. "Those crystals have cast my world's advancement entire millennia ahead of what would have otherwise been possible. Still, I have offered shelter beneath my wings, and I will not force productive citizens to return to Earth, no matter how annoying the logistics may become."

"Maybe don't do that?" Bob suggested, hurrying to continue as he saw Kellan's eyes narrow. "The next round of contracts, have them explicitly state that they are to return to Earth at the end of the contract."

Kellan blinked. "That," he said slowly, "would be a significant change."

"It's not like you're denying any of your people shelter," Bob continued. "You said it before: This is just business. Earth isn't your responsibility. You did everything in your power to save the people here, and you succeeded beyond my wildest, most optimistic expectations. Now you're offering Earth a chance to gather more crystals than they otherwise would be able to while at the same time increasing the level of the volunteers and removing the need for the governments to feed them." He shook his head. "Your terms have been very fair. Adding a requirement that when their contract ends, they have to return home isn't unreasonable ifyouhave a policy in place for people to immigrate." Bob looked Kellan squarely in the eyes. "You do have an immigration policy, right?"

"I do," Kellan replied, "although I suspect that it is terribly simple when compared to the policies on this world. You must swear that you intend no harm to my world or any within it. You must also prove that you are dedicated to supporting yourself and your community." He smiled toothily. "That is normally accomplished by having a recommendation from a citizen. Finally, you must swear that you do not hold any allegiance to the seven gods of light."

"Those aren't unreasonable," Bob noted.

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"I certainly don't think so," Kellan agreed. "I suspect I would have gathered more of the people of Earth into my hoard were it not for the fact that there are only twenty-six beings on the planet that can administer the oaths, and all of us have other things to do."

Judicious use of his 'How did you get there' power had allowed him to twist to the other side of any locked door and open it.

Well, almost any locked door, but the one that had been unwilling to open had simply been knocked down.

A human-servant stepped out into the hallway ahead of Monroe and stopped, his eyes wide and his mouth falling open as he appreciated the undeniable magnificence displayed in every graceful step before darting back inside.

Monroe suspected that he would summon other human-servants to come worship, a not uncommon occurrence. It could be tiresome, but it was his duty to accept the supplication of the lesser beings who sought to worship him.

He sniffed the air delicately, confirming the tantalizingly delicate aroma of roasting meat.

With a chuff, he continued to lead his pride deeper into the building.

Achmed Kolstoy found his job, on any given day, to be both exciting and terrifying.

Before the System integration, security at the United Nations had been mostly concerned with the sort of terrorist acts that would result in mass casualties.

The introduction of the System had brought a wealth of challenges that he wasn't entirely sure he was ready to face.

So when his wrist buzzed, and a call came in, he took a deep breath before answering.

"Impossible," he replied to the voice on the other end. "They have to be summons or familiars or something. There is no way monsters spawned inside the building."

The voice continued to warble in his ear as he tapped the screen on his armband, calling up the cameras in the hallway adjacent to the room the panicked man was calling from.

He drug his finger backward, rewinding the footage until he saw what had caused the man to freak out.

Four massive cats were slinking down the hallway.

Achmed recognized one of them as Snowball, the President of Mexico's familiar, but the other three were unknowns.

"Yes, I'm looking at the video, and I can confirm that what you saw was a familiar, probably bored from waiting around for her person," Achmend informed the man. "I'll make sure they know that their cat is roaming around." He ended the call.

Expanding the screen on his wrist, he tapped the commands to follow the progress of the huge cats. It didn't take him long to realize what was happening.

"Shit," he cursed as he tapped his screen again. "I need to warn the kitchen."

"Mr. President," his aide had leaned over his shoulder and was discreetly asking for his attention.

Emmanuel gave him a slight nod, tilting his head.

"Sir, it appears that Bola de nieve has invaded the kitchens," his aide whispered. "They're apparently having trouble getting her to move."

Emmanuel nodded and rose from his seat, quietly leaving the room as the discussion regarding the creation of a high-speed, heavy-duty elevated rail system continued.

All the involved parties had agreed in principle to the idea, but now the matter was beginning to become hopelessly mired in the bog of that most bureaucratic of processes: determining how to fund it.

It was almost a relief to escape the meeting, at least for a little while.

He took good care of his Bola de nieve, and she seldom wandered off, her every need having been attended to.

A bit of playtime would likely satisfy her, and a donation of a hundred crystals would hopefully soothe the tempers of the chefs whose dishes had been delayed by a hungry kitty.