The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2) (10 page)

New replication matrix available: Small Recon Probe. Requirements: lvl. 5 in Mnemotechnics, lvl. 5 in either Technologist or Alien Technologies and an autonomous source of energy (a micro nuclear battery). Allows your nanites to create a small recon device.

You've received new activation codes! You have a rare artifact gear item: a Founder's Glove. The codes serve to transform and activate all of the item's functions. Requirements: lvl. 5+ in Mnemotechnics.

Warning! You won't be able to view the item's properties or use its activation codes until your character reaches lvl. 29.

This monstrous twin had left me a lovely inheritance! Shame about all the requirements but just think of all the opportunities it opened!

Ingmud's quest was worth completing, that's for sure.

* * *

Darg was growing near.

I'd heard so much about this planet but hadn't yet landed there.

The group's local network showed no sign of anxiety. The newly-baked “Colonial foot soldiers” had no fear for their future. They'd been to enough game worlds and seen all kinds of mobs to fear some puny Dargians. New levels, new loot, a quick rise through the ranks — what else did a gamer need?

Their thinking was dated. They had no idea of the crushing power of neuroimplants. My body began to shake. The planet in the observation window kept growing, its bluish gray glow obscuring the stars. I could see clusters of clouds; in a haze below lay the dull brown terrain spotted with a camo pattern of green. Bodies of water glistened amid the patchy valleys and the zigzagging threads of mountain ranges.

In the past, a Founders' station used to orbit the planet but now it was reduced to fragments, its debris scattered over a large area. The Dargians had eventually built places of worship on their crash sites. Yes, they worshipped a dead alien civilization — or so the Wiki said.

Interestingly, no one had noticed that the network had been hacked. I had to give the AI justice: he knew what he was doing. My Synaps was still streaming data from the on-board network which gave me an advantage over other players.

The airspace groups had already mopped up the entry corridors. Resistance had been minimal. The few surviving Dargian ships hurried to flee, taking cover in the depths of space.

Eurasia's assault group was approaching the low orbit zone. The frigates and the two cruisers lined up in an arc and began strafing along the surface. I watched as the dots of the first impacts swelled into fiery blisters, spewing black and red through the evaporating clouds.

Even if Dargians had had any airspace defenses, they would have been crushed by now.

The monitors, the resurrection platform and the corvettes covering it took their positions in the high orbit zone.

The assault modules began to regroup. In mere seconds we would enter the atmosphere. The thought made me uneasy. All sorts of sick scenarios flashed through my head. I tried to lay my finger on the cause of this ungrounded anxiety. What if the AI had been right? What had made him think this was a trap? Everything seemed to be going to plan.

Then the atmosphere blurred with non-stop charges of blinding magnesium-white light as Darg struck back, reducing the more unlucky of our craft to clots of plasma.

The frigates' power shields flared up, then expired. Five of those seemingly indestructible ships crumbled to bits, enveloped in murky clouds of decompression, fire spewing from inside. Before I could blink an eye, the orbit was littered with tumbling debris.

The Dargians' scorching rays expired, then struck again, this time targeting the cruisers, the monitors and the resurrection platform.

A dozen corvettes exploded in cascades of molten metal. The platform turned into an erupting volcano. The Titans' shields held though as the two cruisers ceased fire, sparing all their energy for their defenses. Enveloped in a dazzling glow, they commenced an evasive maneuver, trying to force their way through the white-hot haze of newborn clouds of gas and dust. To no avail. The enemy didn't let them escape.

Two blinding flashes in the sky signaled the crushing defeat of the assault group of the Second Colonial Fleet.

By then, the assault modules had already entered the atmosphere. We couldn't turn back.

We kept descending toward the clouds of ash.

Mission update: The Fall of Darg. The story has been recategorized as Variable.

Step 2: The planet defenders have used an unknown ancient weapon. They have destroyed all of the Fleet's large ships.

You need to locate and destroy airspace defense units if you want to open a safe entry corridor and get help.

Extra task: Seize a resurrection point on the surface of Darg.

* * *

The howling of the G-force absorbers rose to ultrasound. The wall panels vibrated. The fireball of our ship rocketed down through the dense atmosphere, searing the ashen clouds.

The shields still held. The taut tracers of missiles cut through the sky from below, launching balls of plasma which exploded above our heads.

The sky was on fire. It felt like submerging into an ocean of ash and brimstone.

I couldn't see the ground. The sensors were virtually dead. Communication channels were down, apart from some occasional Maydays sent by whatever crew members were still alive, locked without hope within the few still pressurized ship fragments.

Why had it gone so fatally wrong? Which moron had dreamed up a scenario that called for the death of thousands of players?

I didn't understand anything anymore. The resurrection platform had been destroyed, which meant that the only available respawn points were those on Darg itself. What if this was the developers' idea?

Or had they lost the plot again, literally, like when Argus had been attacked by Phantom Raiders? Why had it become
variable
all of a sudden?

The thick clouds parted in tatters.

The G-absorbers switched off. We started to glide down on the planetary thrust. Now all our energy was channeled into the shields. We could see some burning structures below on the shore of a small lake. Its rippling leaden surface lay below the towering cliffs opposite. Beyond them, I could make out a forest battered by gale force winds and beyond it, part of a hilly plain.

They were hammering at us with non-stop anti-aircraft fire. Our shield pulsated, absorbing the damage. Then a few shield segments gave up. The ship shuddered. I heard deafening blows followed by the wailing of the wind and the screech of emergency alarms. We'd been shot down. We were depressurized.

The fair-haired sergeant in front of me was dead. A missile had exploded inside his compensating field, fusing together fragments of flesh and metal.

We kept losing altitude, speeding past the roofs of squat barrack-like structures below. Straight ahead I could see an array of buildings cut into the cliffs, enveloped in a cloud of dust and judging by their signatures, protected by a power shield.

Our ship's guns were silent. The compensating fields were still on. All of us, dead and alive, were still at the mercy of the automatics.

The ship listed, losing control. I had to do something.

My mind left the room, slipping into the on-board network hacked by the AI.

I could see the survivors' pale faces but I had more pressing things to do. The ship was about to smash into the cliffs. I glanced through the ship's stats. Apparently, I could fly it: my level 20 Pilot skill was quite enough.

Navigation control: completed

Engine control: control module malfunction

Weapons control: fire control system malfunction

The situation was clear. Both pilots were “awaiting respawn”. Wind gushed in through the ragged holes in the hull. The slopes of the frontal armor were riddled with shell holes.

I seized control, planning to bring the ship out from under fire, find a suitable spot and land.

As if! Darg air defenses struck from the cliff range, their missile tracers and laser beams brushing our hull, all but touching the power shields. Why no direct hits? Were they shepherding us, forcing us to move in a particular direction? Any maneuver attempt could become our last. Our shields were at 10%, unable to sustain such intense fire.

I don’t think so! I'd been trained by Argus' best pilots. I'd faced the Phantom Raiders flying a Haash fighter, a heavy and unpredictable machine much more difficult to control than this little craft.

I'd make it.

My body was sitting in the ejection capsule but it didn't matter anymore. My mind had already connected to the assault module's subsystems, uniting them. This was the method I'd been taught on Argus. This is how both my mind expander and reflex enhancer had been configured. I was in my element.

First of all I had to escape the narrow corridor marked by the tracers. And then we'd see.

I needed extra power. Standard in-atmosphere maneuvering just didn't cut it.

I turned on the G-force absorbers and switched over to the cruise thrust, sending all the remaining power to the upper hemisphere shields. The space engines kicked in, making the lake boil. Enveloped in thick clouds of scorching steam, the module reared. The shields throbbed but held. I soared up albeit without losing speed as normally happens when you do a death roll. The plasma thrusters kept pushing, strong and confident. Darg's surface flipped over and began to distance. In a well-calculated burst of the maneuver thrusters, I turned the ship around its axis, redressing it.

I'd shaken off their fire. Immediately I turned on the stealth and antigravity, switching the ship to auto-hover. Their guns had lost us; they kept firing randomly which still wasn't particularly pleasant. I quickly assessed the situation, then dropped a false target decoy imitating our crash.

Half a minute later, an explosion shook the lake's opposite shore. The firing stopped. Our “death” must have looked convincing enough.

Finally I could take a look around.

The lake below was boiling. Ashen smoke rose on three sides of us. The only direction in which you could still see was the cliff ridge surrounding a fragment of the Founders' station.

I scanned the shore.

It was packed with Dargians, their scarlet markers scattered against the outlines of the squat buildings. Further toward the cliff range there were literally thousands of them. I zoomed in and brought the picture into focus. There were too many things there that told me that these weren't civilians. This was some kind of a military unit. They'd turned the Founders' station fragment into a fort. I could see the dark mouth of a tunnel at the base of the ancient structure, some railroad tracks and a platform carrying a strange-looking device topped with a huge transparent crystal. It resembled an arrowhead pointing into space. Powerful energy lines snaked down the tunnel.

I could barely resist the temptation of sending a couple of plasma missiles its way. Still, the area was protected by a force shield. I was unlikely to bring it down the first time, only expose myself and waste precious energy. I marked it as a target, anyway. We'd see.

I used the break to shoot off the recon probes and activate the system's diagnostics. I wasn't familiar with this kind of ship; its network was hacked; I had to take stock before making any decisions.

I glanced through my avatar's characteristics. My Piloting of Small and Medium Spacecraft skill had grown considerably, almost earning me a new level.

Reports started coming in.

The Second Colonial Fleet turned out to have been equipped much better than Argus. Even peppered with everything possible, the module was still airborne. The batteries charged up quickly, raising the shields' power to 60%. The plasma generators and the coilguns' batteries were ready for action. The pilots' lack of experience under fire was the only reason everything had initially gone awry.

In assessing the situation, I was guided by common sense as well as my own interests. Steering the module toward the area of the ashen discharge would be unwise. I had no idea what could await us there. At least here I could clearly see all the enemy's emplacements and firing points so I could take my time distributing targets and use the automatics' full potential. Actually, the forest that Ingmud had marked on my map was situated in the same direction, behind the cliff range about thirty miles from where I now was. If I had to go there on foot, I'd have to cross the busy Dargian settlement swarming with soldiers.

That was it, then. I'd have to battle my way through. That would allow me to check a theory I had concerning the surviving newbs' leveling perspectives.

There was another option, of course. I could fire up the cruise thrusters again. That way it would take me less than a minute to get to my destination, but I'd leave an impressive trail as plasma would scorch everything in my wake. The Dargians were unlikely to disregard my audacity: they would surely dispatch a pursuit after me and that was the last thing I needed. I'd better take the risk by mopping up the barracks myself, using the surprise factor and the module's fully charged assault systems.