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System Architect - Ch 11
🕑 Added 2024-08-31 14:51:22 +0000 UTCActing my body’s age was hard. The other children were absolutely infuriating to be around. Between playing fast and loose with both reality and the truth—and their incessant need to be correct—it took a bottomless amount of patience on my part. I had the utmost respect for our teacher—Mrs. Forrester—and her magical ability to deal with the complete insanity that was a kindergarten classroom.
Academically, the day’s lessons in math and literacy were mind-numbingly boring. As with the other kids, acting like I was learning in front of the teacher took considerable effort. I was immensely thankful when it was time for lunch and recess so that I could finally work on the quests that I’d been using as a makeshift clock.
For my quests, the running and walking portions were easily achievable just by playing tag. Skipping and jumping weren’t difficult, either—that’s just what kids did all day. The sit-ups, push-ups, and squats would have to wait until later, but the climbing was doable by climbing up and using the slide repeatedly. By the end of recess, I’d gained another 40 experience and finished a quarter of the other quest.
The rest of the school day proceeded in much the same was as the first half: I was bored out of my mind while trying not to show it. I was elated when the afternoon announcements came to release me from my misery. I grabbed my things and went to wait by the pick-up lane for Dad.
“So how was your first day back?” Dad asked as soon as I was buckled into my car seat.
“Sucked.”
He cocked an eyebrow at my turn of phrase.
“I could totally graduate high school tomorrow and the kids are all, well, kids.”
“It do be like that,” Dad said as he cracked a smile.
“I’d rather watch paint dry. Would be more entertaining.”
Our eyes met and we burst into laughter. On some level I knew I was being ridiculous. On the other hand, I was on a time limit and I’d much rather use that that precious resource to grind as much experience as I could. School just got in the way.
“Were you at least able to get something done today?”
I nodded.
“Good. So not a complete waste then. What do you still have left for the day?”
I went over the quests remaining.
“Not terrible,” Dad concluded.
“Yeah. I should be able to get everything done before I sleep.”
“How close to the next thing you’ll get?”
I did some quick mental math and came up with a figure of around 60 experience per day. I’d be around 170 experience by the end of the day, so that meant—
“In about six days I’ll have enough to choose between Quests II and Milestones II. That’s for personal use, mind you.”
“I see. Besides skipping school—which you won’t be able to do for now—is there any way to get that down?”
I shook my head.
“Not really. I could get a little lucky with the quests. Some of them are pretty easy—like the ones today—but others are effectively impossible. Pull-ups comes up every few days and puzzles are a no go due to time constraints.”
Dad thought for a moment before he responded.
“I might be able to help with the pull-ups at least. I’ve got a pull-up bar that fits at the top of a door frame somewhere in the garage. You can get more use out of it than I can, so I’ll see about finding it when we get home.”
“Thanks, Dad.”
“You’re welcome!”
We listened to tunes in silence for the rest of the drive home.
Dad came through with his promised pull-up bar while I focused on completing the rest of the daily quests. By the time I went to bed, I was sitting at 161 experience. 10 more experience overnight bumped that up to 171.
Another two days passed at a glacial pace. In that time, I got 15 experience from daily rewards, 11 from milestones—4 from climbing and 7 total from pull-ups—and 110 from quests. Finally, it was time to meet Mom.
I was nervous the whole way in the car with Dad. Mom was going to be harder to convince and so I spent the ride thinking of what I could say or do that would work best. By the time we arrived at the restaurant, I’d settled on something I thought would work.
The restaurant was located in a strip mall outside of town. I remembered going there from time to time mostly because it was the cheapest place with decent food for when we could afford to go out. Mom was waiting for us by the entrance.
There was an awkward tension between the two adults but, in the end, the transfer of myself was completed without any fireworks. As Dad left, I looked up at Mom. In many ways, she looked like the female version of my older self—wavy dark hair, medium build, lightly-tanned skin, and piercing light-blue eyes. Still, I found it hard to recognize her as her look had changed significantly over the years and there was only a hint of familiarity between what I remembered and how she appeared now.
“Hi Mom!” I said in the most enthusiastic child-me impression I could make.
“I missed you so much,” she replied, hugging me tightly.
“Missed you too,” I echoed.
Placating Mom with what she wanted to hear was the fastest way to move past the circling helicopter gunship that was her style of parenting. That was part of what made her a more difficult prospect to convince of the time travel and such—but it also meant that she would be an essential ally once she came around to the idea.
“Let’s go eat,” she suggested.
I followed her into the restaurant—a Chinese buffet—and we were seated quickly thereafter. With our drinks on the way, we each took a clean plate and snaked our way through the aisles between the bountiful displays of food. That’s where I executed the first part of my plan.
Instead of the typical chicken-and-carb diet I gravitated towards when I was younger, I went out of my way to add things I never would have eaten at that age. This got a comment or two about if I was sure I wanted those things and how I might not like them—waste not, want not and all. With some assurances, Mom—though skeptical—let it slide long enough to get back to our table.
“When did you start eating sushi?” Mom asked after I’d popped an eel roll into my mouth.
“Hmm,” I said, thinking. “Around twenty years ago, maybe?”
Mom looked like she was going to say something but that something died before it could see the light of day. Instead, the response I’d hoped for came our.
“Twenty years?”
“Yup.”
“But—How—I—“
“It’s ok, Mom,” I said, cutting her off. “It took a few minutes for Dad to get his head around it, too.”
“That doesn’t—“
“Time travel… of a sort.”
“Huh.”
“Yup.”
“That’s really burying the lede there, Milt.”
“Don’t I know it,” I smiled. “I considered doing some advanced math—like calculus or whatever—but your reaction to me doing it this way was priceless. Also, please call me Eddy. I really don’t like the name ‘Milton’.”
“Let’s say I believe you—it’s certainly strange and you’re acting strangely enough—what happened, exactly?”
“Well…”
I told Mom everything I’d explained to Dad. Thankfully she had a better background on the subject matter so her grasping the epic shitstorm I’d unintentionally stirred up was the easy part. There were questions that followed. So. Many. Questions. When she was finally satisfied, I moved on to why this meeting was so important.
“Dad, for all his smarts, is not the best planner. I had him set up this dinner so I could bounce my ideas off of you and maybe see if there’s anything I’m missing.”
Mom nodded.
“First are the upgrades I should get and in what order. Next is how to handle the rest of the world—be vocal, hidden, or somewhere in between. Maybe Grandpa Joe would be helpful for this given his occupation. Finally, there’s the other currency I need to be cognizant of: money. I’m going to need to generate funds going forward—and before you ask, no, I didn’t pay attention to stock prices or sports until about a decade from now.”
“That’s a lot to unpack,” Mom said. “Let’s start with the first item. What did you have in mind?”
“Well, getting more experience revenue streams seems like the most important thing right now. To that end, I think getting Quests II would be my next step, followed by Milestones II. After that, I’m not sure. Some of the specific experience ones seem like good ideas.”
“True. However, there’s one you’re skipping over that is very important.”
“Which is that?”
“Search. It might not seem like something crucial right now, but information is needed to plan ahead. Just like how System Help settled a lot of unknowns, Search will allow you to find avenues for gaining experience that you were not aware of.”
“Huh.”
“I’d still get Quests II and Milestones II first, but after that…”
“Good idea. Thanks.”
“That’s what I’m here for,” she smiled. “Next up would be a question better answered by my father. I know enough to be a liability so I’d rather defer to his expert opinion. That leaves money. What do you need it for?”
“Anything that will help when the monsters come—food, shelter, weapons. I don’t want to sound like a conspiracy theorist prepper, but that’s what I’ll have to be. Depending on what Grandpa Joe says, I may need to extend those preparations to cover as many people as possible—or at least influence others to take the same steps.”
“I see. Well, what skills do you have now that you could apply?”
“The problem is my age. I can do some IT work, but it was all in-person stuff. You know, taking care of server rooms, laptops, printers, that sort of thing.”
“Anything creative? You don’t have to have been good at it, just have a passion and be average.”
“I could draw a bit and write decently. Probably better at writing between those two.”
“Perfect.”
“How is that ‘perfect’?”
“How old are you?”
“Five.”
“And how many five-year-olds can write at least as well as an average adult?”
“Oh.”
“Yeah. You can write things now and easily get recognition for it. Success is—at least in part—driven by getting people to see what you’ve done. Nothing gets people interested more than a good story. A young child who can write better than many adults? That’s the kind of thing that’ll grab a headline or two. A headline means you get some fame. With fame, getting good money off of even a mediocre piece of writing is doable. Now, it’s not a guarantee, but you’ve got a lot going for you.”
“What would I write?”
“I don’t know. That’s really up to you.”
“What about something related to what’s about to happen?”
“Maybe—I’d talk to Grandpa Joe first—but that might work. I don’t know much about that genre of fantasy. Well, it’s reality now I guess.”
“I don’t think it’s popular yet… or created yet. I’m not sure on the dates for that, exactly.”
“So it’s not saturated, that’s good. That comes with the issue of having to create your own audience, but it could work.”
“The one thing stopping me is that I don’t have a computer. Writing it all out by hand would be a huge pain in the—“
“Please don’t curse,” Mom scolded me.
“Sorry. Habits. Anyway, it’d be a pain to do by hand, which is all Dad can afford right now.”
“I think I can help with that. I know Dad—uh, Grandpa Joe—was getting rid of his laptop when I talked to him the other day. Since I have to call him tonight after what you said, I’ll see if he would donate it to you. It’s probably pretty slow and old.”
“That’d be great! I’ll need some kind of Internet, too. Saving to the cloud just in case the computer kicks the bucket, you know. That and publishing when the time comes.”
“I think I can take care of that. I’ll talk to your father about covering that for the house.”
“Thanks, Mom.”
“You got it, Eddy.”
“Oh, before I forget, I need a way out of school.”
“I have no idea how that would work given your age. I’ll look into it for you, though.”
I nodded.
We ate and chatted for another half hour before she called Dad to come get me.
