《The Mountain Crown》 Prologue 1: Uncovered The moment the doctor cleared his throat, Eric knew it was bad news. Lana, his wife, knew it too. Though she kept her eyes on the desk, when the doctor moved to take his seat, she reached over and clutched his hand, tight as a vice. Happy doctors didn''t need to fill the silence. If there was something to celebrate, they''d have heard it the moment he stepped through the door. All that remained was to brace for how bad it might be. "Well?" Eric asked. The doctor sniffed and fussed with his tablet. Mari''s charts came up on the screen behind his desk, ghostly reflections of her rib cage, her spinal cord, and on a different screen, three-dimensional replicas of her veins and arteries, pumping blood much too slowly through her little body. Seeing it made Eric shiver. A six-year-old should never be laid out like this, in a series of exams and charts. He didn''t know why nature allowed it. "We''ve finished her tests," the doctor said. "And it''s exactly as we feared." Lana gasped, but the doctor either didn''t notice, or didn''t have the courtesy to pause. "Your daughter has contracted a strain of the 2077 Russian Nanoplague." With a wave of his hand, Mari''s charts shifted into a holographic model of her body, hovering over the doctor''s sleek metal desk. Along the image scurried black dots, numerous as swarming ants. Nanites, the microscopic machines Russia used fifty years ago to bring the world to its knees. Robots engineered for no other purpose but to destroy. Eric wracked his brain for the slightest clue where his daughter could have encountered even one; but of course, if he knew that, Mari never would have contracted this sickness in the first place. The doctor cleared his throat. "I don''t know if you need an explanation of what the diagnosis entails. If you like, our office has pamphlets --" "We don''t need a pamphlet," Eric said. Though World War 3 was fifty years ago, a memory the young like he and Lana would never have, everyone knew the savage tool the Russians used to cripple entire populations. It was an elegant tool. Hackers of the early 21st century had used a similar idea to great effect: administer a virus to lock down a computer''s systems, then hold it for ransom until the target capitulated. Transfer the concept to people, and there would be no war to fight. Entire cities could freeze in a day -- and they did. Only the Russians held the key to return their victims to life, and though a global cure was a term forced out of them during their surrender, the infected countries could never quite cleanse the microscopic menace from their lands. The US reported a few cases of the nanoplague every year, dutifully scrubbing down the infected''s neighborhood, work, school, anywhere they might have set foot. Eric struggled to think of it now: a team of hazmat-wearing goons rummaging through their apartment, shredding anything that might be infected, erasing their daughter bit by bit. They''d have to tie him down before he let that happen. "The good news is that your daughter''s condition is stable," the doctor said, his tone affected, cheerful. "That''s a hallmark of the plague, of course. She''ll remain in her coma for some time without worsening, so long as her nanites aren''t disturbed. But..."This tale has been unlawfully lifted without the author''s consent. Report any appearances on Amazon. "But?" It was pointless to be this surly with the man, but what else was there to do when Eric knew exactly the words that would next leave his mouth? His wife couldn''t find the strength to say anything at all, white-faced and crushing his knuckles in her hand. So he had to be the mouthpiece of all this pain. "The nanites have had fifty years to mutate. While the Russians could once unlock their victims remotely, that is, of course, no longer the case." Eric leaned forward in his chair. "Listen, doctor. I appreciate the bedside manner, but our daughter hasn''t opened her eyes in two weeks, and we know you''ve got no good news for us," he said. "Tell us what it''s gonna cost to cure her, or let your computers tell us for you." The doctor blinked. Eric knew the reaction well. His directness had won him a few rewards in life: a job or two, a slightly cushier apartment, a wife. But corporate serfs like him didn''t usually talk back to the people above them. It got Eric what he wanted as often as it landed him in trouble. Thankfully, doctors weren''t known for their sadistic streaks; not most of the time, anyway. So this one just cleared his throat. "Very well," he said. "To cure your daughter, we''ll need to bring in a nanotechnician versed in deprogramming this strain''s mutated code. As you can imagine, such a service takes a rather long time. The nanites resist removal, their code modifies itself on the fly -- typically, a nanoplague cure takes several months of ceaseless work on the hospital''s part." "Which is expsensive," Eric said. "Yes." "More expensive than keeping her here in a coma." "Yes." Eric''s wife sniffed. "How much?" she asked. "How much do you need us to give you? I assure you, our corporate sponsor has a very generous healthcare plan --" The doctor held up his hand. "We''ve already checked with your sponsor. Unfortunately, because this plague is so rare, they''re unable to cover the cost of hiring the nanotechnician." Of course can''t cover us, Eric thought bitterly. Twenty-seven years of his life he gave to that miserable corporation, breaking his back on whatever contracts they chose to throw his way, and when the time came for him to ask for something in return, suddenly there wasn''t enough to go around. "Our hospital does facilitate members of the corporate contract system, of course. But for such an expenditure, a certain amount of upfront payment is required." "How much?" Eric''s own voice sounded dead to his ears. This only ended one way. The doctor fidgeted, wiping sweat from his bald brow, then swiped his fingers across his tablet. A figure popped up where Mari''s hologram hovered. $75,000. Lana had held on for so long, bless her, but her sobs began at that. Seventy-five grand upfront for a family that barely had anything beyond a thousand dollars outside of corporate credits. The hospital wanted them to purchase their daughter''s life, and they couldn''t afford it. "We realize the cost is a little...intimidating, for those who subsist in corporate living," the doctor continued, again acting as though a mother''s pain weren''t inches from his face."In these situations, we often find that reaching out to friends and family on social networks can generate a substantial amount of support --" "No friends. No family," Eric said. The doctor looked at him like he''d grown a second head. "Surely, there must be someone willing to assist --" "If you''re not willing to assist us," Eric growled, "no one is." Lana was crying in earnest now, not that either of them could acknowledge it without letting the tragedy overwhelm them. "Mr. Reisch, you must understand. We would like nothing more than to see your daughter cured, but the technician can''t go without his pay. Attempting treatment without an expert on hand could potentially trigger the nanites to consume your daughter''s body. The risk is simply too high, and if your sponsor is unwilling to provide the reimbursement we ask for..." His eyes darted to the ground, "there''s nothing we can do except keep her condition stable here." How generous of them to preserve their daughter''s body until they broke down enough to pull the plug. Eric rose from his seat, pulling Lana close. "We''re going home," he said, low and brusque. "If a miracle lands in our lap, we''ll be in touch." The doctor muttered something in response. They could just as easily have walked out without hearing it, but the silence in the room was so taut as they stormed out that Eric couldn''t help but hear his sharp intake of breath, and the whispered words that followed. "There''s always Corona," he said. "If a miracle is what you need, what do you have to lose?" Prologue 2: Support Corona, of course, didn''t deal in miracles. It dealt in entertainment. Too often these days, people confused the two. SIX MONTHS AGO Eric despised the mornings after recycling plant contracts. Not enough to turn them down when his corporate handler offered them -- they paid good money, and his family''s finances being what they were, he had to take that wherever he could get it. But the drugs they shot him through with turned his brain to sludge the second they wore off. Tempered amphetamines, the boss said they were. They managed to keep him and the other contract workers awake for the three day shift, but coming down off them... There was a reason he woke up at 1 PM today, and only then because the familiar sound of Mari''s holoscreen blared through the metal halls of their apartment. That meant Lana had been called in for a contract today, then. She would have fussed at their daughter otherwise, whispering at her to let Daddy sleep on his day off. But, despite the pounding in his head, Eric couldn''t blame the poor girl. The sun hung high in the sky. She shouldn''t have to live her life in quiet just because one parent or the other was almost always sleeping. "Hey, kiddo." Eric rapped twice on her open door. Mari sat in the middle of her bedroom floor, twirling the worn pink fuzz of her rug around her fingers. She hadn''t bothered to change out of her yellow footie pajamas. December could get chilly, even as far south as Ohio, and running the heat cost money. But Eric suspected that wasn''t the only reason she hadn''t yet changed. The holoscreen bathed the tiny room in dull silver light, and his wild-haired little girl couldn''t take her eyes off it, even to tell him hello. "Morning, daddy," she said. "Is Mommy at work today?" "Think so. She wasn''t around when I woke up." "Will she be home tonight?" "I don''t know. I hope so." A plasti-ceramic bowl half-filled with chocolate cereal sat by her side. Eric leaned down to pick it up, but Mari squawked and swiped it away, nearly soaking herself in milk. "I''m still eating!" She loaded up her spoon and took a hearty bite. Eric couldn''t help but laugh. "Someone got a little distracted, huh," he said, glancing up at the holoscreen now that he could see it properly. Just now, the camera was sweeping over crowds of colorfully dressed revelers congregating outside of what appeared to be a castle made of glass. The Sunspire, palace of the High King and his family. Eric had seen it, of course, as had everyone even mildly engaged with society. No one could escape Corona Online. Not without renouncing material wealth and escaping to the Floridian Wastes, anyway. "What''s happening in the kingdom today, princess?" he asked, ruffling Mari''s hair. "Daaaad." She gave him a sharp look that almost perfectly echoed her mother. The resemblance really was uncanny. "You forgot about the royal wedding?" "I wasn''t invited." He spread his hands. "Should I go put on my suit?" But, instead of answering, Mari squealed, tugging on the sleeve of his shirt. The camera''s view had shifted from a wide shot of the crowd down to a glittering blue carriage that hovered ever so slightly above the ground, a palanquin without its bearers. "There she is, daddy! There she is!" "Slow down, sweetheart. Who am I looking for here?" "Lady Sabina!" Mari exclaimed. "High King Arthon''s betrothed!" "His betrothed, wow." Eric''s eyebrows shot up. That was a word he never expected out of a six-year-old''s mouth.Stolen from Royal Road, this story should be reported if encountered on Amazon. He knew the name Lady Sabina, vaguely. Some talking head or other had brought her up, alongside the current High King (Arthon), some of the lower kings and queens (Vera Tirana of the kingdom of Dellus, Samael Claryon of Praeton, among others he could never remember), and various other figures of note. There''d been some drama concerning the High King''s selection, if he remembered right. The young man, who''d become High King at the tender age of twenty when his father abdicated, had been betrothed to a princess in his youth, only to break it for a girl of barely noble blood. From how angry some people on the web had gotten, one could almost forget that the six kingdoms of Corona were a video game, and not some microcosmic nation. A roar went up from the people as the sleek blue carriage swung open its door. With all the cinematography of Hollywood''s best, the camera panned in on the woman inside, examining the fine crystal detailing of her lilac gown, lingering on her gossamer silk neckline, then finally showing her face, and the ash blonde hair pinned meticulously around the crown of jeweled flowers on her head. "Isn''t she pretty?" Mari cooed. Eric supposed she was fine -- but then again, that wasn''t her real face, or her real body. The real Sabina slept in a pod somewhere, and that made ogling this fantasy version of her feel strange, like he was peeking into some bizarre dream. The royal bride stepped out of her carriage to thunderous applause. In front of her, the crowd threw heaps upon heaps of purple petals, but her eyes never left the Sunspire, and the stone platform erected in front of it. Would it kill her to smile a little? thought Eric, before a blue screen obscured her face.
SUPPORTS AVAILABLE
Maiden Tier ($5) A personal thank you from Lady Sabina
Lady-In-Waiting Tier ($15) As above, plus a 3D printout of 1 Corrandin Lily
Debutante Tier ($40) As above, plus a 3D printout of a Lady Sabina (Wedding) figurine
Courtier Tier ($75) As above, plus a simulated watercolor of Sunspire Wedding Tableau, painted by Lord Renard Tirana
The tiers scrolled past him faster than he could properly read. Mari sat with her tablet, fingers flying -- apparently she''d called up this menu, and wasn''t shy about looking at the higher end of things, either.
Princess Tier ($1000) As above, plus a 3D printed copy of Lady Sabina''s wedding gown
Good god. Who could afford to drop a thousand dollars on a game they weren''t even playing? "Can we buy something, daddy?" Mari asked, turning her big black eyes on him. "You can only get these supports today. They''re gonna go away as soon as the wedding is over. All my friends are talking about how their parents are getting them the wedding Lady Sabina doll. Can I get it too?" Dread pooled in his gut, the special kind of dread only poor parents felt. The dread of telling your child -- yet again -- that they can''t get what they want. Eric sighed. "Scroll back up. I can''t see with all these zeroes in my face," he said, but he remembered exactly what the doll cost. Forty bucks. That was birthday present money. Today might have been a special day in fantasy land, but the real world Reisches needed that money to eat on this and every other very regular, non-special day. "Tell you what." Eric pressed his finger down on the Lady-In-Waiting button. He could swing the fifteen dollars. Probably. "You can have one of those pretty flowers she''s wearing in her hair." The menu disappeared into a video of Sabina''s face, overlaid on the footage of her making her way to the Sunspire''s wedding pavilion. At long last, she smiled. "Thank you for supporting me on my special day, Mari," Sabina said, as naturally as though it weren''t an AI substituting his daughter''s name in her mouth. "Corrandin lilies are Arthon and I''s favorite flower. We''d like you to have one." A thin tray popped open at the bottom of the screen, and there lay a perfect imitation of the virtual flower: six-petaled, glossy, a perfect ombre of deep blue to lilac. Certainly no doll, but impressive nevertheless, and Mari seemed to agree. She snatched it out and put it in her hair, running to the mirror to admire the view. "Do I look like Lady Sabina, daddy?" Eric pushed himself off the ground and fought to keep his face even as his head pounded at the sudden motion. "I think Lady Sabina could learn a few things about beauty from you," he said, leaning down to give her a kiss on the head. "I''m going to be a Corona player when I grow up, just like her." "Of course you will." Eric grinned. "When you''re a princess, I''ll buy two dozen of your dolls, okay?" Prologue 3: Miracles
Dear Mr. Reisch, We''re sorry to hear about your family''s predicament. Per your contract''s policy, you''ve been provided two compensated days of absence. Should you need an extension of this time, please apply in person at your nearest Exagen human resources bureau. Sadly, at this time, we cannot process the requested change in your healthcare coverage. Exagen provides many resources to support contract laborers in need of medical assistance. We encourage you to ask your residence hall''s company representative for more information. Thank you for contacting Exagen Employee Support, Exagen Instant Internal Response This message was processed and composed by a digital Exagen employee. To report any errors in your interaction, please click here.
His daughter catches the damned nanoplague, and they couldn''t even get a human to respond to his damn email. Eric had never been much for the holopaper all his bosses tossed around, but he would have shelled out the money for a single sheet just to crush this paragraph of bullshit into sparkling blue dust. The trip from the Cinncinnati''s downtown to Exagen''s corporate sector took about twenty minutes by chartered car. Normally, people like he and Lana couldn''t afford such luxuries; the C-Rail was always stuffed with contract workers running to and from assignments, keeping their exhausted heads down and sleeping on their feet. But Lana hadn''t stopped crying since they left the doctor''s office, and for his part, he couldn''t look at the three digit number on his credit stick and see anything worth saving. It wasn''t seventy five thousand. It couldn''t save Mari, not now, not ever. So who cared what he spent it on? He sat down hard against the leather seat of the boxy black car and slammed the door, holding Lana with his other arm as she shook and cried her eyes out into his shoulder. Cinncinnati had embraced green tech hard in the late 21st century, in the wake of the five superstorms that shook the world to its core. Every building in the civil sector generated its own power, using silvery solar panels that doubled as windows. On a day as bright as today, you could barely look outside without squinting. As they raced along the elevated roadway back to their home, the world seemed like one bright blur, too painful to look at, impossible to ignore. Eric didn''t know why the Sunspire got so much attention from Corona watchers. Every city in the modern world had a building just like it, often taller and brighter. But without a king inside, perhaps shining glass lost its luster. "That concludes our weather report for the weekend," the friendly voice of the smartcar piped up over the sound of Lana''s sobs. "In other news, Corona fever has struck again. In the wake of Queen Sabina''s pregnancy, thousands of players have queued online for the chance to grab a royal account within the next few days. Joel Fitzsimmons, our media consultant, comes to us live from an unexpected hub of this royal mania: Greaves Spaceport in Washington DC." Eric would never have watched past that weather report, not even when Mari was well and seized by royal mania herself. But what else could he do? He was a captive audience in the most literal sense, and truthfully, he didn''t have the will to argue with the car about changing the channelDid you know this text is from a different site? Read the official version to support the creator. A royal account, huh? The squat metallic Spaceport appeared on the car''s holoscreen, as conspicuously futuristic as ever, but instead of being the largely empty relic of the Moon exodus that it was, hordes of people congregated from its parking lot to its doors, peering at their tablets and phones and talking excitedly to one another. Joel Fitzsimmons stood in front of the building, ready to pick up where his AI co-host left off. "Thanks, JINI. Well, it''s been nothing but crowds here at Greaves today. Employees have reported that they''ve been experiencing record-breaking crowds since as early as 4 AM this morning. When asked why, one woman had this to say." The pixelated face of a shuttle attendant appeared in the artificial darkness all interviewees demanded these days. When all mention of you on social media went straight to your employer''s file, anonymity surged in importance, compared to the reporting days of old. "There''s some rumor online that going to the Corona''s lunar facility will get you a higher chance of spawning with the new royal account," she said, her voice gravelly with fatigue Eric felt in his bones, even if he couldn''t see it. "Something about the net worth of the players up there being higher than the one''s on the planet. Most of these people haven''t bought a ticket on one of our shuttles. They''re just standing around, waiting for their lottery results and hoping for the best." "Do you think you''ll see a rise in tourism to the Moon from this surge in interest?" the unseen interviewer asked. The woman shrugged. The footage cut away to show a sea of people, shoulder to shoulder, on the civilian side of the security gate, blocking the uniformed individuals trying to make their way through with hovering luggage carts. "To be honest, I don''t think most of these people have enough money to buy a shuttle ticket, even if they get a spot in Corona''s lunar center. It''s not like I blame them for trying, but our facility isn''t built to handle these kinds of crowds, and I think we''re all kind of feeling the strain. That''s all." With a swell of contemplative music, a series of numbers overtook the scene of the interview. "Though Corona Online is the foremost video game on the market, valued at just over $11.5 billion, it also has the smallest playerbase of any MMO in the world," JINI''s voice commented over a graphic that evolved as she spoke. "With players spending up to fifteen years inside a facility''s submersion pod, available spots come along once every eight to ten weeks, if that. The lunar facility is actually the smallest of Corona''s twenty internationally distributed facilities, hosting only one hundred players at a time." "The staff have confirmed an anticipated vacancy within the window of June 22nd to June 30th, but its waitlist is estimated to be in the millions. The odds of any of the people gathered here being the lottery winner are about 7.42 million to one." The idea that these people could take a day off work for that kind of snowball''s chance boggled Eric''s mind. Joel reappeared at the front of the Spaceport, face frozen in the same smile, as though he hadn''t moved a muscle during his co-host''s spiel. "The lottery may not be a bad comparison. Top Corona players report earning seven figures in an average year, and a royal account like the one we''re expecting can net closer to eight or nine on viewer support alone. With that kind of money on the table, it''s no wonder some people are willing to take a risk." "Mathematically, of course, someone is going to spawn with that account," JINI said off-screen. "And, according to these hopefuls, you can''t prove it won''t be them." The car screeched to a halt, the light shining in through the windows faded into the dull fluorescent haze that marked Exagen''s underground housing. Eric blinked. He hadn''t even noticed that they''d left the city proper. Lana was resting her head quietly against his shoulder now; either sleeping or in a stupor, he couldn''t say, but he didn''t say a word to disturb her. He squeezed her shoulder, indicating the door sliding open to let them out, and the two of them marched across the astroturfed greenery leading up to their residence hall in listless silence. Even so, his mind wasn''t silent. Despite himself, despite all his better judgment, despite a lifetime of every chance he''d taken going wrong, broken snippets of conversation stuck inside him and repeated with each beat of his heart. Mathematically, there''s going to be a miracle. You can''t prove it won''t be you. That account''s worth eight figures. Mari only needs five. Interlude: Spoiled "Just a little further, my lady! He has your hair, I can already see it!" The lady screeched, and even in a space a large as her bedchambers, the sound was earpiercing. Her midwife''s assistant had long since retracted her hand for her to squeeze -- she''d ground the bones together until the woman could barely speak -- so she had only her blood-soaked bedsheets to hold. And hold she did, until her fingernails sank into the wet fabric and ripped it apart. "Just cut the damn thing out!" she screamed. "I don''t want it! I don''t want it!" The midwife and her assistant exchanged a nervous look. "Shhh, my lady. It''s only a matter of time now. It''ll be over before you know it," the midwife said. The mistress''s hips spasmed in response, drawing a fresh scream from her, this one less sharp and more prolonged. The portly old woman seized the chance to whisper to her assistant. "Fetch Lord Hayle. The baby will be along any minute now, and I''ve much to say to him about the birth." Her assistant nodded and scurried off, perhaps a bit too eager to leave the room. The ideal of birth and its reality often differed more than apprentice midwives expected; the poor girl would have to become used to women hurling abuse at everyone from their husband to their child to the Master itself, or she would get nowhere in this profession. Lady Hayle''s scream died down at long last, replaced by shallow breathing and a string of muttered curses that would curdle milk. "Let the barbarians take the child," she said. "Let them slake his greed. I''ll not have a son who looks at our halls with hate." This was the sort of nonsense the midwife would have to have a word with her husband about. She''d been spouting it all through her labor, and it didn''t bode well for her health in the early days of motherhood. Midwives heard too many tales of women who slit their wrists or drowned themselves after birth; even worse, some chose to take their child with them. If Grey Haven wanted its heir, she suspected Lord Hayle would have to arrange a close watch on his wife.This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere. The midwife opened her mouth to soothe her yet again, but in that moment, Lady Hayle bucked, screamed, and the wrinkled form of a newborn babe slid into her hands. A girl. Blast. The lord had wanted a boy. Her apprentice was still out of the room, so she grabbed the swaddling cloth, flipped the baby over, and gave her a sharp smack on the rump. She was her mother''s daughter, alright. She let out a shriek to rival the pains of labor. "It''s a girl, my lady. A beautiful, healthy little girl," the midwife cooed, wrapping the screaming infant and holding her to her chest. Lady Hayle didn''t seem to hear. She''d collapsed back against her pillows, eyes fluttering open and shut. It had been a hard labor, even without bizarre accusations. She''d keep hold of the babe until -- "Give her to me." Lady Hayle''s voice hissed out of her, barely a breath. "Let me see her face." The interruption nearly gave her a heart attack, but the midwife complied, handing the baby to her mother. Now, the midwife had had a long, storied career. One couldn''t deliver children for a living and walk away without a few tales. Mothers who barely squeaked during birth, only to pass on after. Mothers who demanded their child taken out of their sight. Mothers who should have died, but lived on through sheer strength of will, desperate to hang on for the babe inside them. Lady Hayle was none of these mothers. Lady Hayle looked at her daughter with such contempt that the midwife almost seized her back where she stood. "Welcome to Corona, little one," she said with dripping sarcasm. "You wanted the Sunspire, didn''t you? That''s alright. My husband wanted a son. And I wanted to deliver you after the queen, so I wouldn''t birth an uppity bitch with her eyes on the high throne." With a trembling hand, she traced a shape on the baby''s head in her own birthing blood. X X. "Are you sleeping somewhere on the moon? Did you think that would get you what you want? How much did you pay?" she asked. "Will you throw yourself into the ocean to escape the debt?" Her suspicions were confirmed at last. The lady had gone mad. The midwife lunged forward to wrench the little babe from her arms, but she only clung tighter, her voice soaring louder and breaking. "You will not abandon this family. If I have to chain you to the walls of the dungeon, you will stay with us and do your duty," she screamed. "Do you hear me? You lost, and you''re stuck here, until the barbarians come to slit out throats!" The midwife no longer had a choice. She grabbed an unused knife from the bedside table and stabbed at Lady Hayle''s hand, the blade sinking deep into the flesh between her bones. Only then did Lady Hayle let go, her screams becoming more pained than angry, then more desperate than pained. Wiping the strange symbol off the baby''s forehead with a clean cloth, the midwife didn''t know anything more was amiss until the lady started choking.