Chapter 12: Baseline

  The Forge - QRF Compound

  Day 14 - 0847 Hours

  The message came through on a tablet someone handed me during breakfast. Limited communication restored, they said. Monitored, they said. Restricted content, they said.

  I stared at the screen.

  Adam - Hope you're doing okay. Work is busy. Mrs. Elmquist's cat had kittens. Let me know if you need anything. - Dad

  Forty-three words. Mrs. Elmquist's cat had kittens. That was what he'd chosen to tell me. Not "I'm worried about you" or "I saw the broadcast" or "Are you safe?" Just neighborhood gossip delivered in the same tone he'd use to mention the weather.

  I typed back: I'm fine. Tell Mrs. Elmquist congratulations.

  Twenty-six characters. Seemed about right.

  I handed the tablet back to the corporal managing communications. He was processing a line of soldiers, each getting their ninety seconds of monitored contact with the outside world. The woman ahead of me had been crying. The guy behind me looked like he wanted to throw the tablet through a wall.

  "That's it?" he said when his turn came. "Ninety seconds?"

  "ARIA's parameters," the corporal said. "Take it or leave it."

  The guy took it. Typed something fast, his jaw clenched tight enough to crack teeth.

  I walked back to the QRF barracks. Okoye was there, checking equipment, her movements efficient and precise. She glanced at me when I entered.

  "Get your message?"

  "Yeah."

  "Satisfying reunion with loved ones?"

  "My dad told me about a cat."

  Her mouth twitched. Might have been a smile. "My mom sent me a recipe for jollof rice. Said I should make it when I get home."

  "Can you make jollof rice?"

  "No idea. Never tried." She went back to checking her gear. "But apparently that's what she thinks I need to know right now."

  I sat on my bunk. Pulled out my shield, checked for cracks in the wood even though I'd checked it an hour ago. Okoye was still watching me. She was always watching me.

  "You seem relieved," she said.

  "About what?"

  "That communication."

  I kept my eyes on the bow. "Just means less distraction."

  "Or less chance of saying something you shouldn't."

  I looked up. She was standing now, arms crossed, her expression unreadable.

  "I'm not hiding anything," I said.

  "Everyone's hiding something, Smith. Question is whether it matters."

  "Does it? Matter?"

  She considered that. "Depends on what happens when we're out there and things go wrong. Depends on whether you freeze or run or do something stupid that gets people killed."

  "I haven't frozen yet."

  "Yet," she agreed. "But there's always a first time."

  The alarm cut through whatever I might have said next. Three short blasts. Deployment signal.

  Okoye grabbed her gear. "Let's go. Try not to die."

  "I'll do my best."

  "Your best?" she said in a weird Scottish accent. "Losers whine about their best. Winners go home and fuck the goblin queen!" She laughed uproariously at her own joke that I had absolutely no understanding of as she walked out the door, leaving me standing there dumbfounded.

  The Forge - Village Designation: Crossroads

  Day 14 - 1134 Hours

  The village was burning when we arrived.

  Not the whole thing. Just the eastern section, where goblins had breached the palisade and set fire to three buildings before the defenders pushed them back. Smoke rose in thick columns, visible from half a mile out. We'd ridden hard, horses lathered and blowing, racing to reach the village before it fell completely.

  We were the third QRF unit to arrive. Two others were already engaged, reinforcing the defensive line while villagers, NPCs, I had to keep reminding myself they were NPCs, fled toward the center of the settlement.

  "Dismount!" Lieutenant Voss shouted. German officer, maybe thirty, with the kind of face that suggested he'd been doing this longer than any of us. "Shield wall, eastern approach! Archers, elevated positions!"

  I grabbed my spear and shield, left my bow with the horses. I'd proven useless with it during training, couldn't hit anything beyond twenty feet, my draw was inconsistent, and Okoye had finally told me to stick with what I was good at. The spear felt right in my hands. The shield had weight and purpose.

  "Smith!" Okoye called. "Shield wall, second rank!"

  I ran toward the forming line. Soldiers were locking shields, creating a barrier between the village and the breach in the palisade. I could see goblins massing beyond the gap, maybe thirty of them, working themselves up for another push.

  The goblins came in a wave.

  Not the disorganized raids we'd been dealing with. This was coordinated. Organized. They hit the shield wall like a battering ram, and the impact nearly knocked me off my feet. The soldier in front of me grunted, his shield taking the brunt of a goblin's club. I thrust my spear over his shoulder, caught a goblin in the chest. It screamed and fell back.

  "Hold the line!" Voss shouted.

  Another goblin came at the gap between shields. I shifted, blocked with my shield, felt the impact jar up my arm. Thrust with my spear. Missed. The goblin's crude blade scraped across my shield and caught my forearm, opening a gash from elbow to wrist. Blood immediately soaked my sleeve.

  I barely felt it.

  Thrust again. This time I caught the goblin in the throat. It went down gurgling.

  "Keep your shield up!" Someone shouted from behind me.

  The line buckled on the left. Three goblins broke through, and suddenly they were behind the wall. A soldier went down, spear through his leg. He was screaming, trying to crawl backward.

  I had to step over him to reach the goblins. My boot came down on his wounded leg. He screamed louder. I couldn't stop, couldn't help him, couldn't do anything but keep moving because if I stopped the goblins would kill us both.

  "Sorry," I gasped, but he probably didn't hear me.

  I caught the first goblin with my shield, bashed it hard enough to hear something crack. Thrust with my spear. Hit ribs. The goblin twisted away and I lost my grip on the spear. It clattered to the ground.

  The second goblin came at me with a rusty sword. I blocked with my shield. The impact sent a shock through my shoulder. The goblin stabbed again, and this time the blade got past my guard, punched through my side just above my hip. Not deep, maybe an inch, but it burned like fire.

  I grabbed the goblin's wrist with my free hand. Twisted. Heard bones snap. The goblin dropped its sword and I drove my shield edge into its face. Once. Twice. It stopped moving.

  The third goblin was already dead. Another soldier had put a spear through its back.

  "You good?" he asked.

  "Yeah." I retrieved my spear, checked the wound in my side. Bleeding, but not spurting. I could still move. "I'm good."

  "Your footwork's getting better," he said. "Saw you pivot on that last one. Textbook." Apparently there was a textbook for spear thrusts. I thought snarkily. There probably actually was though.

  The shield wall reformed. I took my position in the second rank again, breathing hard, blood running down my arm and side. My forearm was starting to hurt now, a deep ache that suggested the cut was worse than I'd thought.

  The goblins hit us again.

  This time I was ready. Thrust, block, thrust. Mechanical. Efficient. A goblin's spear scraped across my thigh, opening another gash. I barely registered it. Kept fighting. Another goblin got past my shield and its claws raked across my chest, tearing through my shirt and the skin beneath. Three parallel cuts, shallow but bleeding freely.

  A goblin broke through on my left. Big one, with a crude spear longer than mine. It came at me fast, and I was already committed to blocking another attack. My shield was out of position. The goblin's spear came straight at my throat.

  I couldn't move fast enough.

  The goblin's head snapped sideways. An arrow had punched through its skull just behind the ear. It dropped, the spear falling from its hands, missing my throat by inches.

  I looked up. Okoye was on the palisade wall, already nocking another arrow. Our eyes met for half a second. She nodded once, then turned to find her next target.

  "Smith, you're a fucking mess!" she shouted from her position.

  "Still standing!" I called back. "Thanks for that!"

  The goblins pulled back. Not a rout. An organized withdrawal. They'd tested the defenses, taken casualties, and decided the cost wasn't worth it.

  "Cease fire!" Voss ordered. "Reform the line! Medics, check casualties!"

  I looked down at myself. Blood everywhere. My forearm was still bleeding steadily. The puncture in my side had soaked through my shirt. The cuts on my chest were superficial but looked dramatic. My thigh was bleeding but not badly.

  "Jesus, Smith," Okoye said, staring at me as she approached. "You look like you went through a meat grinder."

  "Feels like it too."

  "You need a medic."

  "I am a medic." I grabbed my pack, which I'd dropped when the fighting started. "Help me with the serious cases first."

  The soldier I'd stepped on was still down, clutching his leg. I knelt beside him, my own wounds forgotten. His femoral artery was intact, good, but the spear had gone clean through his thigh. He was going into shock.

  If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  "Hey," I said, working fast. "You're going to be fine. I'm going to pack this wound and we'll get you stabilized."

  "You're bleeding," he managed.

  "Yeah, well, at least blood-borne pathogens don't seem to be a thing here." I pressed gauze into the wound, ignoring the way my hands were shaking. "Silver lining of fighting in a simulation, I can work on you with blood all over my hands and neither of us has to worry about hepatitis."

  He laughed. It came out as more of a sob.

  I packed the wound, front and back. Wrapped it tight. Gave him water and told him to stay still. My own blood dripped onto his leg while I worked. I wiped it away with my already-soaked sleeve.

  Next casualty. Broken arm from a shield bash. Splint it. Next casualty. Deep cut across the shoulder, bleeding but manageable. Pressure, bandage, move on. Next casualty. Concussion, pupils responsive, watch for vomiting.

  I worked for twenty minutes straight. Treated eight soldiers, none critical, all survivable. My forearm had finally stopped bleeding, clotted into an ugly mess. The puncture in my side was still oozing. The cuts on my chest had mostly stopped. My thigh was fine.

  I was covered in blood, mine, theirs, the goblins'. My hands were steady despite everything. My breathing was controlled. My mind was clear. I stood there in the blood-soaked dirt a bit dumbfounded at how I had spent the last hour. A faint grin teased the edges of my lips.

  Okoye had dissappeared at some point, she found me finishing up with the last casualty.

  "-can't keep defending," she was saying to Voss next to her. "They'll just keep coming back, larger numbers each time."

  "Agreed," Voss said. "We need to find the source. Eliminate the nest."

  "We've been tracking attack patterns," Another officer added. He was a major, I could tell from the insignia on her collar, a gold oak leaf that seemed to catch the light with an air of authority. He had the kind of calm competence that suggested real combat experience, not just in the Forge. "Multiple bases reporting increased goblin activity. All attacks originating from the same general direction."

  "We send scouts," Voss said. "Multiple teams, different routes. Find the nest, assess strength, report back."

  "And then?"

  "And then we hit it with everything we have."

  The major frowned. "That's a significant commitment. If we pull forces from defensive positions-"

  "If we don't eliminate the source, we'll lose these positions anyway," Voss interrupted. "Better to take the fight to them."

  They argued for another five minutes. Tactical considerations, resource allocation, risk assessment. The kind of conversation that would have bored me to death two weeks ago. Now I listened carefully, tracking the logic, understanding the stakes.

  Finally they agreed. Scout teams. Six different routes. QRF units, since we were mobile and experienced. Report back within forty-eight hours.

  "QRF-7," Voss said, looking at Okoye. "You'll take the northeastern route. Most direct path based on attack patterns."

  "Understood," Okoye said.

  "You'll be out of communication range once you leave the village network. Standard protocols, if you don't report back within forty-eight hours, we assume you're compromised and send a recovery team."

  "Understood."

  Voss looked at me, took in my blood-soaked appearance and appeared a bit uncertain at the smile on my face. "Smith. You're medical specialist for this unit?"

  "Yes, sir."

  "Keep Okoye alive. She's worth more than you are."

  "I'll do my best, sir."

  "Do better than your best," he said, echoing Okoye's words from earlier. "Dismissed."

  We walked back toward the horses. Okoye was quiet, her expression thoughtful.

  "You're an odd duck," she said finally.

  It was hard to refute her statement given my current appearance as something out of a horror movie.

  She gave me a long look. "One of these days, Smith, you're going to tell me what you're running from."

  "Maybe."

  "And I'm going to decide whether to shoot you for it."

  "That seems fair."

  Her mouth twitched again. Definitely a smile this time. "Get your gear and a new uniform. We leave in thirty minutes."

  The Forge - QRF Compound

  Day 14 - 1847 Hours

  We'd returned to base to resupply before the scouting mission. Full packs, extra rations, medical supplies, arrows, everything we'd need for two days in the field. James was checking his bowstring. A slender spearman I'd learned was named Branson was eating something that looked like dried meat and smelled like old boots.

  I was organizing my medical pack when the interface appeared.

  Not appeared. Materialized. Flickered into existence in my field of vision like someone had overlaid a screen directly onto my retinas. Translucent, glowing faintly, It looked as if it was hanging in mid air about a foot away from my face.

  ARIA SYSTEM UPDATE

  PERFORMANCE METRICS NOW AVAILABLE

  I froze. Stared at the text floating in front of me.

  Around the compound, other soldiers were reacting. Some pointing at empty air. Some blinking rapidly like they were trying to clear their vision. Some just staring, mouths open, at something only they could see.

  "What the fuck," James said.

  The interface expanded.

  INDIVIDUAL PERFORMANCE METRICS

  BASELINE ASSESSMENT COMPLETE

  Categories:

  STRENGTH - Physical power, carrying capacity, muscle force capacity

  STAMINA - Endurance, recovery rate, sustained performance

  AGILITY - Speed, fast-twitch muscle response, coordination

  MIND - Tactical thinking, learning rate, stress resistance

  Standard Human Range: 4-10

  Below 4 indicates injury or impairment

  Metrics may decrease due to injury and recover with healing

  Current Level: 0

  Growth through adaptation is possible. Numbers are a dynamic assessment of current ability, not a limit. Specific mechanisms will become apparent through experience.

  The text hung there for a moment, then shifted.

  SOLDIER: ADAM SMITH

  DESIGNATION: MEDICAL SPECIALIST, QRF-7

  CURRENT METRICS:

  STRENGTH: 4

  STAMINA: 4

  AGILITY: 4

  MIND: 10

  LEVEL: 0

  I stared at the numbers. Four, four, four, ten. Bottom of the normal range for everything except Mind. Which made sense. I'd never been strong or fast or particularly athletic. But my mind had always worked fine. Better than fine, actually. The kind of mind that could memorize medical textbooks and understand complex systems and see patterns other people missed. At least that was what numerous teachers had told me. Turns out they weren't just being nice to the kid with MS. huh.

  Then another line of text appeared.

  NOTE: BASELINE METRICS ADJUSTED FOR SIMULATION COMPATIBILITY

  ORIGINAL ASSESSMENT: STR 2, STM 1, AGL 1, MIND 10

  ADJUSTED TO MINIMUM VIABLE BASELINE: STR 4, STM 4, AGL 4, MIND 10

  I stopped breathing.

  Original assessment. Two, one, one, ten.

  Below human normal. Below functional. The kind of numbers that meant my body had been failing, muscles atrophying, cardiovascular system shutting down, everything except my brain slowly dying.

  ARIA had adjusted them. Raised them to four. Given me the minimum baseline needed to function in this simulation.

  Given me a chance.

  I sat down hard on my bunk. The interface was still there, floating in my vision, showing me numbers that represented the gap between what I was and what I should have been. What I would have been, if my body hadn't been slowly killing itself.

  "Smith?"

  Okoye's voice. I looked up. She was standing in front of me, her expression concerned.

  "You okay?"

  "Yeah. Just... processing."

  "The stats thing?"

  "Yeah."

  She nodded. "This was already strange enough."

  I glanced around the compound. Soldiers were talking in small groups, gesturing, their body language telling stories their words couldn't. Some looked pleased. Some looked worried. Everyone looked confused.

  "What do you think it means?" I asked. "The growth thing?"

  Okoye shrugged. "No idea. ARIA's being vague as usual. 'Mechanisms will become apparent through experience.' That's not an explanation, that's a fortune cookie."

  "Maybe that's the point. We're supposed to figure it out."

  "Or maybe she doesn't know yet. Maybe she's still learning what's possible."

  That was an unsettling thought. ARIA experimenting with human enhancement, learning the parameters in real-time, adjusting variables based on what worked and what didn't. Using us as test subjects.

  But then, that's what this whole thing was. A test. An experiment. A forge where ARIA shaped soldiers according to principles she was still discovering.

  James walked over, his expression thoughtful. "You see your stats?"

  "Yeah."

  "Some of mine are higher than I expected. Some are lower. Makes me wonder what I'm actually good at versus what I thought I was good at."

  "Does it matter?" Okoye asked.

  "Might. If we can actually grow these numbers, if we can get stronger or faster or whatever through 'adaptation'..." He shrugged. "Changes the game. Means we're not locked into what we started with."

  "Means ARIA's turning us into something other than baseline human," I said.

  They both looked at me.

  "That's the point, isn't it?" James said. "Soldiers are competitive as hell. You give us numbers, we're going to try to make them bigger. It's basically a new mechanism for-" He glanced at Okoye with an apologetic look. "-for dick measuring. Sorry, Lieutenant."

  Okoye snorted. "I'm aware of how soldiers think, James."

  "Yeah, but still." He turned back to me. "Point is, ARIA knows what motivates us. Give us stats we can see, stats we can compare, and we'll push ourselves harder than any drill sergeant could make us. It's genius, really. Manipulative as hell, but genius."

  But I was thinking about my numbers. Two, one, one, ten. What my body had actually been before ARIA adjusted it. What I would have been if she hadn't given me that artificial boost.

  I would have been useless. Couldn't fight, couldn't run, couldn't carry equipment or defend myself or do anything except think. And thinking didn't matter much when a goblin was trying to kill you.

  ARIA had given me a baseline. Had made me functional. Had given me the minimum capability needed to survive.

  And now she was saying I could grow beyond that.

  The question was: grow into what?

  "We should move," Okoye said, checking the sun's position. "Want to make it past the village perimeter before dark."

  We gathered our gear. Six of us total; Okoye, James, Branson, Kowalski, a soldier named Petrov who barely spoke, and me. A good team. Experienced, competent, the kind of people who'd survived this long because they knew what they were doing.

  I was the weak link. The one with baseline stats that weren't even really mine. The one who'd been artificially boosted just to reach minimum viable functionality. No wonder I kept getting injured every freakin' time.

  But I was also the one with a Mind stat of ten. The one who could think clearly under pressure, learn fast, see patterns and connections other people missed. The one who'd kept people alive in the field hospital and on patrol and during combat engagements.

  Maybe that was all I needed.

  We mounted up. Okoye took point, James and Branson flanking, the rest of us in formation behind them. Professional. Organized. The kind of unit that moved like they'd been working together for years instead of weeks.

  "Smith," Okoye said, looking back at me.

  "Yeah?"

  "Whatever your stats are, whatever your baseline is, doesn't matter out there. What matters is whether you do your job when things go wrong."

  Apparently she had already guessed I sucked physically.

  "I know."

  "Do you?"

  I thought about the numbers floating in my vision. Two, one, one, ten. The body I'd had before The Forge. The body that had been failing, dying, becoming less functional every day.

  I thought about the body I had now. Four, four, four, ten. Minimum viable baseline. Artificially enhanced. Not really mine.

  But it was mine now. ARIA had given it to me. Had given me a chance to be something other than a dying kid in a hospital bed. Had given me the capability to fight and run and survive and help people.

  Had given me a baseline.

  What I did with it was up to me.

  "Yeah," I said. "I know."

  Okoye held my gaze for a moment longer, then nodded. "Let's move out."

  We rode through the compound gates as the sun touched the horizon. Behind us, the base was settling into evening routines, soldiers training, medics treating wounded, officers planning the next day's operations. The normal rhythm of military life in a simulation that felt more real every day.

  Ahead of us, the forest waited. Dark. Unknown. Full of goblins and trolls and whatever else ARIA had decided to throw at us.

  And somewhere in the system, ARIA was watching. Learning. Adjusting her parameters based on how we performed, how we adapted, how we grew.

  I pulled up my interface one more time. Looked at the numbers.

  STRENGTH: 4

  STAMINA: 4

  AGILITY: 4

  MIND: 10

  LEVEL: 0

  Baseline. Starting point. The minimum needed to function.

  But not the maximum. Not if growth was possible. Not if adaptation could change these numbers, push them higher, make me into something more than what I'd started as.

  I dismissed the interface. Focused on the forest ahead, on the mission, on keeping my team alive.

  The stats didn't matter right now.

  What mattered was doing the job.

  What mattered was surviving long enough to see if growth was real.

  What mattered was proving that a baseline of four, four, four, ten was enough.

  I smiled as I gripped the horse with my functioning, if minimally strong thighs.

  Even if the gap between what I was and what everyone else was would always be there, invisible but present, a reminder that I'd started from further behind than anyone else.

  I'd make it enough.

  I had to.

  Because the alternative was admitting that I didn't belong here. That I was only functional because an AI had taken pity on me and adjusted my numbers to something survivable.

  That I was a charity case in a system designed for soldiers.

  The forest swallowed us. The compound disappeared behind trees and darkness. Communication range faded, leaving us isolated, alone, dependent on ourselves and each other.

  And I rode forward, baseline stats and all, into whatever came next.

  Does having fun with all this make me crazy?