Chapter 527 Sammi

Adjusting to the slow and steady movement of the caravan would have driven Milo insane if he hadn't had so many other things he could work on. Number Thirteen's library had been extensive, and Milo had dozens of large books he was still absorbing. He'd skimmed through them very quickly, and had help from his siblings, but the old saying 'the devil is in the details' didn't even begin to describe the City of Bloth. And understanding the writings of Ur-Khemyst Thirteen meant understanding him better. There were clues everywhere: The personalities of the smart snails and how they were trained to play Blothopoly. His vast library of public work where he presented himself as a learned and veteran Scholar, and his private journals where he ranted continuously about idiots. And his lab notes, possibly the truest indicator of who Number Thirteen had been. He'd been brilliant, of that there was no doubt. Nor was there any doubt about his lack of empathy for any creature great or small. And yet he abandoned Bloth, claiming to want nothing more with the 'Games of Death and Deceit'.

The game in particular was interesting, and that he had kept up with it, ordering every update be delivered to him. Blothopoly was training wheels for dealing with the city. Nobles forced their children to play the game to hammer home the concepts that nothing is fair, do unto others before they screw you, and most importantly, that you can't be successful without making important connections. The smart snails had a hundred stories about a hundred games, and Thirteen had sat and watched them play and argue with each other.

One thing Milo thought was obvious: family was very important in Bloth because it was a connection the nobility were born with. Your own family gained each member's support, because every other family was eager to destroy other families, and by extension, every one of their members. It rarely came to all-out war, but assassination, financial attacks, and sabotage were popular, depending on what was in fashion. Milo was studying hard, trying to understand the small nuances of Blothian society. It was so much more difficult than Quantum Science, because most of it didn't make sense to him. His experiences in Limburger Hollow and with the Engineers ran counter to many of the things that were common in Bloth.

One day before he'd left, he had expressed a bit of his frustrations to Butch as he sat and studied, and Butch was reading a rules update and working on his plan for the next game. "It's just so inefficient. Without the constant attacks and disagreements, the city could be 373% more efficient and bring up the standard of living for the so-called lesser races, who would then produce more. Surely even despotic tyrants see that."

He got more frustrated when Butch laughed and grinned at him. "Really? Don't you see it? It's the same old story. Rich folk get richer, and poor folk stay poor. And the rules get made by the folks in power. The system isn't set up to be efficient or caring. The main goals are keeping the same people in power and making them richer. Then they thumb their noses at the people on the lower rungs of the social ladder. Take a hard look at the world we live in. Not the habitat, outside of it. We've got our corporations and politicians running the world about the same as the guys in charge of Bloth."

"Oh...I see it now, I think..."

Butch grinned again. "So what is your next step?"

"I need to study the socio-economic makeup of the real world and the dynamics between each group."

"From whom? Can't read the history of the world, Bro, and how it works. Hell, just the task of figuring out women is enough to drive Brad and me to join a monastery."

Milo actually had just assumed he'd read it all. But he had two days to do it. Hesitantly, he looked over at a grinning Butch. "You have a suggestion?"

Butch said, "Two, actually. First off, I'd take some recommendations from your little family of geniuses; they could point you to some great books. I'm working my way through a book on Game theory by Zachery Anderson, and one on inventory control by Albert Gernon. Fascinating stuff."

"Books by Zander and Algernon, obviously."

"Obviously. They wrote a lot of books while you spent your time singlehandedly keeping a habitat going. They've been dealing with a lot of people, and are pretty sharp with the whole society/economy stuff. Not as good as the other guys. You know, the really smart people. There's a book called 'Understanding What They Say' by an author named Kate something or other. You should check it out."

Milo had known the AI wrote books, especially in the case of Lyrical, who had written dozens of romance, fantasy, and every other fictional genre. But he had not tried to find books by all the AIs, nor a purpose for doing so. He found Hecate's pen name, and then two more, all writing about language and the human condition. He downloaded the books through a dozen fake accounts. Then they were transferred several times before the files made their way to the habitat, and Rusty could grab them off the upstairs systems. Along with the library of Number Thirteen, he began his studies in the things Hecate had written about. There were as many ideas there that were foreign to him as there were from Thirteen's lab notes.

At each rest stop along the way, Milo logged out, leaving his body sleeping, and continuing his studies inside his pod. Only once did he have to jump back into the game during these breaks. A swarm of six giant cave wasps made the mistake of coming near the caravan, giving the Dwarven Mercenaries something to shoot at. As the caravan travelled, he walked along beside one wagon or another, at least two of his minds bringing up pages from his memory, and reading them over and over again, trying for better understanding. It was enough to keep him from becoming bored as they travelled. When they finally got to their first stop on the route, he was ready to see something new.

The cavern the road passed through had a large bulge on one side, giving the camp its name: Wide Spot on the Road. Milo had seen a reference to it on one of his maps and was happy to match his drawings to real places and figure out the scale of the maps. No matter how he figured it, Bloth was still a long way off. Three different caverns connected with this place, and it had the look of a frequently used campsite. A large firepit was in the middle, and there was room for both the caravan and the people that had come to meet up and trade. Some camps seemed semi-permanent, and Milo wondered how often caravans came by on the Deep Roads.

They had just begun to depart the road when a cluster of small, interconnected tents exploded, and over two dozen ratkin poured out from the ramshackle camp. Most wore nothing but a loincloth or simple tunic, with weapon belts slung over their shoulders. Each had a minimum of three spikey sticks and a half dozen daggers on them. Milo had never seen ratkin in the wilds like this. Their fur was thick and ragged, and their weapons were made of stone, bone, and obsidian. They raced forward, heading toward Cheese Trader's wagon.

The caravan guards intercepted them, forming a line and not attacking, but with weapons out. The dwarven leader yelled at them. "Hold up, rats, you know the rules! Form a line!"

Almost all of the ratkin stopped and began forming a line, with some arguing. All but one. That red-eyed ratkin was drooling and shaking, jumping up and down and spinning in circles. "NO! Have waited, waited so long. Too Long! Can smell the cheese. Must have a little bit of cheese!" The other ratkin moved away from him, and he stood quivering and drooling, all alone.

The wagon's side panel opened up, and the Cheese Merchant from Gouda Hollow looked out and scowled. "You all know the rules. Form an orderly line, and we will be happy to see to your needs one at a time."

The ratkin with the bright red eyes tried to move up. "Sammi needs cheese badly. Sammi needs to go first!!" The cheese merchant shook his head, mixed emotions of sadness and annoyance washing across his face before he motioned to the guards, and two of the dwarves each took an arm of the shaking ratkin and hauled him away from the wagon.

One by one, the other ratkin came up to the wagon and presented some trinket or bit of mined gold or a gem, paying for their cheese. Milo saw that it wasn't a large amount. He approved of that, and knew what could happen.

Then he got in line himself, politely waiting his turn. The large ratkin appraised him as he got to the head of the line. "You want to buy cheese? I normally only sell to ratkin."

The human in front of him looked at the wagon, his eyes roaming right and left. "Apologies, I only saw signs on your wagon proclaiming your wares. It would have been rude to try and do business while we traveled, but now I find myself wishing to try the excellent cheese from your hollow, and I'm happy to pay your price. I am a simple Sage named Babbage, enjoying new things that I find in the Deep Dark. May I enquire as to your name, Cheese Master?"

The large ratkin grunted. He wasn't as big as Brutus, but far bigger than Milo. "I am not a Cheese Master, just a Merchant. Fine, I will sell you one pound of my finest Gouda. It has been aged for no less than twenty years, developing a subtle flavor and the delicious crunchiness that the cheese from Gouda Hollow is known for."

Cheese was offered, and gold exchanged. Milo put it into his pack, then ventured a question. "I am curious about the one that had to be hauled away. What is wrong with him, and why was he given no cheese?"

"How much do you know of my race, Sage Babbage?"

Milo smiled at him. "I spent time in Limburger Hollow, just after the spider war. Assume that I know quite a bit, including the problems with addiction and what it can lead to. I have also read a delightful book, loaned to me by their Cheese Master, called, 'It takes a Hollow to Make the Cheese.' It is a brilliant entry into the society of the ratkin hollows."

"Interesting. I heard a little about that. How about I tell you what's wrong with him, and you promise to tell me what you heard about the war and what's going on in Limburger Hollow now. We're hearing some strange things."

Sage Babbage nodded, "I would be delighted."

The merchant stuck out a hand. "Call me Bert. As to Sammi's problem, and it's the first time I've ever seen him, he probably just escaped from Bloth. See, there's a lot of ratkin living in the city, but it isn't always a nice place, and now and then someone tries to get out through the sewers and escape, running away from their contracts. But they find themselves out in the wilds, with no cheese, and a gnawing addiction to get some. A lot crawl back to Bloth when it gets bad. Something about the cheese in Bloth is special, and I'm not sure what, and sure as hell not snarfing down a slice myself. Every ratkin that makes it out goes through withdrawal and goes a little crazy. But worse, when they get real cheese? It makes them crazy. Strong and crazy. They feel better, and they want more cheese. If they get it, they'll transform into a fiend, and then we have a real problem on our hands. Especially with a wagonload of cheese. I don't dare give him anything."

The Sage nodded. "A sad situation. Can nothing be done?"

Bert shook his head. "Not by me. I'm going to have my hands full. Word will spread we're here for a two-day stop. They'll come out of the caves to trade, and each day I'll sell them a little, and they'll want more. I don't have time to sit with Sammi for those two days, giving him a tenth of an ounce of mild cheese every hour. I'd have to keep him tied down and watch over him continuously. He'd need water, and then other food as he recovers. And at any moment, he might break free and kill me. Trust me, nothing I can do."

The Sage looked to where Sammi was being held. "What sort of cheese would you recommend, theoretically, if one had a couple of days and wished to observe cheese addiction on a first-hand basis to write a splendid paper on it? It is an interesting subject."

"Interesting enough to get you killed. But I'd go with our mild cheddar blend; it's the least likely to cause a reaction that makes him go berserk. You know what you're getting into?"

The Sage smiled slightly, "Of course not. That's what makes it so intriguing. Not knowing where this might go. Now, may I buy five ounces of your blended cheddar, cut into tenth-ounce portions?