Today's Earth date: December 27, 1991

We've agreed that we could all use more training. Horcus is deep on the "I told you so" but we're tolerating it.

As for the grinding itself, as of today we are patrolling the roads between Iomallach and Bata. Thanks to a new benefactor, we're getting paid for keeping the route safe, and also thanks to that benefactor, we're traveling with four squires.

The gains are nice, and so is the company, but I think the guys are reading too far into how much our squires like us. They're all women, and the others are smitten by how pretty they are, and I can't stop thinking about her. I hate that I can't even put her name in writing.

-The Journal of Laszlo the Paladin

Iomallach was just as busy the next day, but Wayne was grateful to be walking instead of sitting in place with Outlawson.

Fergus had scouted a small coffee shop the day before. He and Wayne were there now and had been lucky enough to get a table by the window. They people-watched while they enjoyed coffee and bagels.

"There's no sense in missing the festival," Fergus said. "The Dead Zone isn't going anywhere."

"I don't want to sit around that long."

"It's only a few days."

"That's too long."

"Be reasonable."

Wayne sighed. Fergus was right. Delaying to let the party enjoy the Salt of the Earth Festival was better than forcing them into the Cuts the day before it started. "Okay, we'll wait, but I have two conditions."

"Go on."

"First: Get the rest of the fish and dirt out of our Storage as soon as possible. Like, by tomorrow would be great. It bothers me not having extra storage space for a lucky find."

Fergus nodded. "I assumed I'd have it sold today. Not a problem."

"That confident in the dirt?"

"Indeed. The second condition?"

"No more complaining about the Blackwell situation." Wayne raised a finger to keep Fergus from interrupting. "Yeah, it sucks that it got doublebooked, but sharing a bed in a place like that is luxury for most everyone in the party."

Armond was former military, so he was in a barracks or in a tent most of his life. Hector was a bouncer and made enough money for food and rent in the less desirable corner of Cuan. Margo ran a failed locksmith shop and had a tiny apartment until it burned down. Sammy was sharing a room with three of his younger brothers when he signed on to be the cook, and Vanilli was locked in a magic temple alone for 900 some years.

Fergus wilted. "I agree. My behavior was inconsiderate."

"Don't feel too bad about it. We caught it early. I was probably the only person who was annoyed by it so far."

"Ha!" Though Fergus appreciated the joke, he still slumped in his chair. Wayne suspected the scholar felt equal parts guilty and embarrassed.

"Today is probably the worst day to try and get a meeting with anyone at the arena," Wayne said, glancing outside to the dense crowd, many of whom were well into a second or third bottle already. "But I'd like to try. I have enough uncircled games to manage unlocks for another level, but you know how I am."

"I do. Waiting for something good is challenging for me as well."

"Do you want to come with? I know that's not exactly your style of entertainment, but if Master Sanders has a catalog page, he probably has other interesting artifacts."

"That will cut into my sales time."

Wayne laughed. "Okay, I'll ease up on the dirt."

"In that case, I'd love to accompany you."

The arena was the size of a successful minor league baseball stadium back on Earth. The structure was substantial, but it was far from being as grand as Wayne imagined the colosseum in Italy to be. He wasn't sure how accurate the scale of The Gladiator set was, but that looked several times larger than what he saw in Iomallach.

Matches weren't set to begin until late in the afternoon, but the betting and ticket windows were crowded by lines of people already. Vendors hawking large pretzels, fresh bread, and cheap cowboy hats buzzed around the entrance like flies on poop.

If it was this bad already, Wayne didn't want to see how crowded it got when the monster fights actually began.

"Everyone is friends with someone who is friends with Master Sanders," a young but very tired assistant told Wayne and Fergus. She stood with the pair in the shade of a side door and seemed accustomed to having conversations like this one.

"We're in town as guests of the Blackwells, and it was Billium Blackwell who suggested we speak to Master Sanders." Before the assistant could repeat herself, Fergus handed her the letter Blackwell had given them to show to his house staff.

"You're not lying? And the Zero Hero is in your party too?" she chuckled. "Someone telling the truth. Huh. That's new."

"We understand if he's busy," Wayne said as she studied the letter. "We would be more than happy to make an appointment to speak with him at his convenience."

"Is one of you the Zero Hero or is he not with you right now?"

Wayne sighed. Playing that card to get people to take him seriously was growing old. He felt like a sideshow attraction every time hearing his title changed someone's mind about giving him the time of day.

Fergus thumbed to indicate Wayne was the Zero Hero.

"Master Sanders is a Chosen Heroes enthusiast," the assistant said. "Wait here."

She disappeared inside. Wayne distinctly heard the door locking behind her.

Thirty minutes later, the door opened again and she waved the pair inside.

Adjusting to the darkness of the indoors took a moment, but when they did, Wayne saw that the interior of the arena was simple and spartan as many such venues on Earth were. Large crowds quickly wore out anything they touched, and plain, bare floors were far easier to clean than any of the more sophisticated alternatives.

The assistant led them up several flights of stairs and used a key to open the door at the top. The space she ushered them into had the feeling of an office lobby. When she told them to sit, Wayne realized that's exactly what it was.

"I'll let Master Sanders know you're here."

A few minutes later, Wayne and Fergus entered a palatial lounge and study overlooking the arena. Only one of the curtains was open at the moment, but it looked like the entire wall facing the action could be retracted for spectating. An intimidating wooden desk sat at one side of the room near the only visible bookshelves. The rest of the space was filled with display cases, plush chairs, and decadent conversation pits.

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"I hear you want to enter the games," said a tall slender bald man in a loose silk shirt. He had a glass of wine in his hand. "The Zero Hero will draw quite the crowd, I'm sure."

The assistant introduced him as Master Sanders and left Wayne and Fergus to speak to her employer. They sat in chairs opposite their host with a small coffee table between.

"I'm not here to participate," Wayne said. "Billium Blackwell suggested I speak to you about an item in your collection. I also know this wasn't a planned visit, so if there's a better time to talk, that's fine with us."

"Ah, the festival is a big party. My people do all of the actual work so I can spend my time doing things like this. You know, rubbing elbows with celebrities, conducting business. Which item interests you?"

Wayne showed him the Quicken page. Sanders looked it over carefully and then released a shrill whistle without warning. The assistant returned. He gave her a set of instructions, speaking so softly that Wayne could hear them talking but couldn't understand the words. She nodded and disappeared again.

"I've heard rumors that you have Diary access now," Sanders said. "Apparently you gave Cuan quite a show during a banshee attack."

"There were a lot of people who defended the city that day. I was only one of them."

"No need for the humble act with me. We both know you were the only one flying through the air and that you were the one to land the killing blow."

Wayne offered the smile equivalent of a small shrug.

"What would it take to get you in front of my crowd? I can pay handsomely. Traveling is easier with gold in your pocket, after all."

"We are sufficiently funded, but thank you," Fergus said.

"Ah, of course. Royal Scholars would be. Instead of a match, I could give you box seats. The Zero Hero making an appearance isn't as exciting as a performance, but I'd be happy to pay for your food and drink as well. Our VIPs have access to good wine, I assure you. Far better than what we serve to the rabble."

"Again, very generous," Wayne said. "We'll consider it."

Sanders' affable salesman smile cracked for the first time. Wayne took note of that. This was a person used to getting their way, and that brief break in character suggested that he very much disliked when he didn't.

Before the arena owner could try another angle of attack, the assistant returned and handed him two Pages of Power framed in glass. He took it but didn't speak to or acknowledge her again. She seemed to know the drill and departed without a sound.

"I believe this is the Chosen Hero memorabilia that Billium was referring to. It's one of my favorite pieces."

Wayne accepted the framed pages, and he felt the blood rush out of his face when he saw its contents.

In the frame was a two-page spread with the slogan "Now You're Cooking With Gas" to promote the game Oddworld: Abe's Exodus, one of the more unique titles to release on the PlayStation. As if he needed more confirmation that this wasn't from the Electronics Boutique catalog, Wayne spotted a 1998 copyright in the fine print at the bottom of the page.

The ad featured this blurb:

Other heroes have swords, chainsaws, and vaporizers to deal with their monstrous enemies. In Oddworld, all you've got is gas. Abe now has the ability to possess his own farts and blow his enemies away! It's a power he's going to need to stop the Glukkon Meat Barons from making Soulstorm Brew – the only beverage made from real Mudoken tears and bones. Fart possession. No other game has it and frankly, we're not sure any other game would want it.

And then there was an image of Abe, a gangly alien with big orange eyes and his mouth sewn shut, turning his back to fart on a bunch of other aliens. He gave the camera a thumbs up while green gas literally burst through his shorts.

Resource Values.

GamePro Issue 123 December 1998 Page Spread (Mint), Average Value of 2,611 gold coins.

The system had shown a higher gold value for the page he got from Tulip. Seeing the system distinguish between sources–the E.B. catalog versus an issue of GamePro–was interesting.

But not as interesting as finding a gaming magazine from 1998 in another world.

The Kaboom stereo ad that gave Wayne the Random music ability was proof that magazines after 1990 made it here, but this spread was confirmation that he might have more games to collect than he realized. The late 1990s were an incredible period in gaming. The Nintendo 64 was facing off against the Sony PlayStation for market supremacy, and a glut of game releases followed, further propelled by the rapid adoption of 3-D graphics.

Many of the games were trash–rehashed knockoffs of Mario 64, mostly–but it was also a period of experimentation and innovation. Wayne remembered being fascinated with Oddworld back then because of how different it was.

When he looked up to ask Sanders where he got the spread, the arena owner had his legs crossed, his hands resting on his knee, and a vicious smile on his face. Wayne knew that smile. Sanders was aware that he had something Wayne wanted, and he looked forward to leveraging it to get his way.

"It's a pretty special piece, wouldn't you agree?"

Wayne had already missed his opportunity to put on a poker face. "I do. Would you be willing to part with it?"

"It's a prized piece. It's valued at over 5,000 gold pieces."

"I'd bet you paid closer to 2,600 gold pieces for it," Wayne replied.

That put Sanders off balance. He blinked a few times. "When our business concludes, I would love to hire whatever spy you used to get that information."

"No spies. I'm a Royal Scholar, remember? I've done a lot of research."

"Right, right. At any rate, I cannot measure the sentimental value of this item in gold. I'm quite fond of it."

"What do you want for it?" Wayne asked. He already knew the answer.

"I would trade this for your appearance in the arena."

"We need these pages," Wayne said to Fergus with his Voice ability.

"He knows how badly you want it."

"I know. I screwed up and got caught off guard."

Fergus leaned forward. "Let's discuss specifics. What, precisely, is your ask?"

"The Zero Hero becomes the headlining event for the festival matches, facing off against our most fearsome beast who is yet undefeated in the arena."

"That beast is…?"

"The fans have taken to calling him 'Three Deaths.' We have the only known specimen, and it's quite remarkable."

"Have you heard of that?" Wayne said.

"I have not."

Fergus stroked his beard. "Not knowing the creature makes it difficult to assess your terms."

"It is a challenging and deadly monster. Each time it wins, the prize purse grows, so the payout would be substantial, even more so when we include the item before us."

"How many wins does it have?" Wayne asked.

"Eleven. Why do you hesitate? All I've heard about the Zero Hero says that you are a seasoned monster slayer."

"Wild monsters. In my world, events centered on killing captive creatures are frowned upon."

"Then it is good we are not in your world. This one cheers the spectacle."

"What are the rules of the fight?" Wayne asked.

Sanders' smile widened and sharpened. "Any gear you can equip may be brought in with you, excluding healing items, and there will be racks of spears in four different corners of the arena should you need to re-arm."

"Magic?"

"All permitted, as long as the spells come from you and are cast during the fight, not before."

"This guy is a chode."

"What is a 'chode?'"

Wayne couldn't help but grin at that question. "It's a penis."

"Yes. He does fit the definition of a chode. You are correct."

"I really don't want to do this," Wayne admitted. Even his telepathic voice sounded dejected.

"Then don't."

"But I also really want those pages."

"Do we have a deal?" Sanders asked.

"How about an exhibition match with people instead?" Wayne asked. "No killing."

"The Zero Hero lacks the stomach for combat."

"How many real fights have you been in? Ones where you're surrounded by yes-men to protect you don't count."

Sanders narrowed his eyes.

"Easy, Wayne. We do not need to leave here empty handed and with a new enemy."

"What level do you suppose this monster is?"

"Gods, I don't have the foggiest."

"Can I think about it?" Wayne asked.

"Until the end of the day tomorrow. Beyond that, it will be too late for me to properly promote the event."

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