Chapter 341: Guidance
The folding tables had been fully deployed, aligned in a sharp, military row.
Each bore a localized designation tag: REGISTRATION, GUIDANCE, INQUIRY,
COMPLAINT.
The forms were stacked with geometric precision. The status lights on the
crystal recorders were active—a steady emerald glow indicating system readiness.
Grace was already on-site. She wore the same crisp uniform as the previous
cycle, sleeves rolled to mid-forearm, holding a mug of an unidentified dark
fluid while auditing the shift-schedule pinned to the wall.
"Recruit," she said without turning. Her voice was flat and unhurried. "This
morning cycle is the first active testing phase for the transit sector. We are
expecting a trade delegation from the Imperial mainland—approximately forty
units. Their primary objective is a survey of the Commercial District stalls.
Your directive is Information Registration and Navigational Guidance at the
B-Sector entrance."
She pivoted toward him, performing a quick scan. "Are your tension-parameters
elevated?"
"A minor increase, Leader."
"Statistically normal. Tension indicates your logic is still active. Lethargy is
the variable to fear."
She set her mug on the nearest table and handed him a folded parchment. "The
manifest of the merchants and their corresponding stall coordinates. Memorize
the data. I will not tolerate a staff member auditing a notebook while a visitor
is awaiting guidance."
Eric took the manifest and unfurled it. Forty-two names. Each linked to a
specific code and spatial description. He began the archival process in his
mind.
At 07:30, the Elf arrived. She was assigned to A-Sector Transit today. She
audited the schedule, gave a curt nod, seized her kit-bag, and departed without
a single surplus syllable.
At 08:00, Kuhn manifested. To be precise, it was 08:03. He was effectively
"scowled" down the stairs by Grace.
"Three-minute deviation."
"It is a minor variable, Leader."
"Taxation: half-day suspension of your 'Respite Beverage' subsidy."
Kuhn's frame stiffened. The piece of jerky in his mouth nearly hit the floor.
"...Understood."
Eric logged the interaction in his mind: Punctuality is a non-negotiable
constant.
08:30 Hours.
The transit sector opened.
Eric stood behind the registration dais in B-Sector. On the desk sat the forms,
the recorder, a pen, and a cup of tea Grace had silently provided earlier. When
the first pulse of sapphire light ignited in the array, he gripped the pen with
white-knuckled focus.
The light dissipated.
A dozen silhouettes materialized at the arrival point.
The lead unit was a human merchant—stout, wearing a tailored charcoal coat with
the Sunflower Guild insignia pinned to his lapel. The moment he stepped from the
array, he stopped.
Just like Eric had the cycle before, he was struck by the sheer scale of the
project.
The merchant tilted his head back, his gaze performing a frantic sweep from the
stone tiles beneath his boots to the light-pillars above, and finally to the
floating islands in the high atmosphere. His jaw hung open in a silent "O."
Behind him, his associates had also stalled. Some were staring at the Wizard
Towers, others at the defensive perimeter—all of them looking like country
bumpkins who had accidentally manifested in the Sovereign's private gardens.
Eric understood the response. He had experienced the same system-shock.
"Greetings. Welcome to the Evernight Transit Hub," he said, his voice steadier
than he had projected. "I am Eric, Information Consolidation Unit. I shall
oversee your registration and provide navigational guidance. Please approach the
dais in sequence."
The merchant snapped out of his stupor, adjusted his jaw, and trotted to the
desk. "Yes, yes. I am Payne, of the Iron Fortress branch of the Guild. My
credentials and stall-requisition papers are here."
He slammed the documents onto the table with the frantic speed of a unit that
had prepared for this encounter. Eric took the papers, opened the primary file,
cross-referenced the name, the unit-number, and the requisition data. He began
filling out the registry.
"Master Payne. Your authorized stall is localized at C-14 in the Commercial
District. Coordination: Primary Vein, third structure to the right. Area: Twelve
square-paces. Monthly tax confirmed as per the requisition. Please verify."
"Confirmed! Everything is confirmed!" Payne's eyes were already swiveling 90
degrees away from the desk, locking onto the distant construction. "That sector
there... is that C-Block?"
"Affirmative. Follow the main artery straight; right-turn at the first
junction."
"Excellent! Magnificent! This megastructure far exceeds my projections!" Payne
reclaimed his papers, gave Eric a distracted nod, and broke into a heavy sprint
toward the district. He took two steps, then pivoted back. "Young man."
"Mmh?"
"This Hub... will it truly be opened to external Planes in the future?"
Eric calculated the response, selecting the scripted phrase from the manual.
"According to current projections, the Hub will initiate cross-planar transit
incrementally following the beta-phase. Specific timestamps are subject to
official decree from the State Army."
Payne's eyes flared—not with polite interest, but with a predatory, mercantile
hunger. "Good. Very good."
He whispered the word "good" three times, each one heavier than the last. Then
he turned and marched toward the district without looking back.
The remaining merchants followed in a steady stream. Eric repeated the
registration, verification, and guidance protocols. His processing speed
increased with every unit. By the fifteenth merchant, he no longer needed to
audit the manifest; his mind had mapped every name to its coordinate.
Archives fully synchronized.
A minor incident manifested midway through the shift. An Orc merchant provided a
requisition form with a coordinate error—writing C-22 instead of C-32. C-32 was
already assigned to another asset.
Eric localized the error just as the Orc was signing the registry.
"Halt."
He stopped the unit, placing the two documents side-by-side on the wood to
illustrate the discrepancy. The Orc looked down, his face transitioning from
confusion to embarrassment. "Ah... a transcription error?"
"It is a minor variable. I shall perform the correction. Please re-sign the
amended form."
Eric provided the corrected parchment. The Orc signed and clapped Eric's
shoulder with a heavy hand. "Sharp ocular sensors, kid. Good work."
The merchant departed. Eric logged the correction in his daily audit and moved
to the next unit. The tea grew cold; he didn't consume it.
11:40 Hours.
The final merchant finalized his registration.
Eric set down his pen and flexed his fingers. A faint, dark ink-stain marked the
skin between his middle and index fingers—the archived history of three hours of
non-stop output. He took a sip of the cold tea. It was bitter, yet satisfactory.
Grace's voice vibrated through the Comm-Crystal.
"Status report: Sector B Registration."
"Total count: Forty-two units finalized. One coordinate error identified and
corrected on-site. Data logged in the daily audit."
The crystal was silent for two seconds.
"Noted."
The link cut. No praise. No critique.
Eric tucked the crystal away and stood up. He walked to the edge of the
registration area, looking toward the Commercial District. On the wide road, the
merchants he had processed were gathered in small groups around their stalls.
Some were measuring dimensions; others were debating with the construction
thralls; one Dwarf was kneeling to touch the texture of the stone bricks. Their
expressions were diverse, but they shared a singular parameter: Seriousness.
They were dedicated.
These units hadn't crossed the transit array for recreation. They were here to
anchor themselves—to establish a beachhead for their business and push it out
into the Multiverse.
And Eric realized: I am the first variable they encountered upon arrival. I am
the one who opened the gate.
The thought caused a momentary system-stutter in his mind. He drained the last
of the cold tea, set the cup down, and opened his log to a fresh page.
He wrote the header: Cycle 1. Units: 42. Incidents: 0. Corrections: 1.
His handwriting wasn't "Superior," but every stroke was firm and anchored.
Through the window, the Light of Evernight illuminated the wide thoroughfare.
The number of people on the road was significantly higher than the cycle before.
Operations were "Go."
☆☆☆
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