The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2) (27 page)

The threads of our secret desires glowed ever brighter.

“Kim disappeared soon,” she added bitterly. “I was looking for her but she was nowhere to be found. A year later I heard about the Corporation's first neuroimplant experiments. Twenty test subjects had been implanted with the first neuronets. From what I heard, none of them had survived. But I still hoped she had. She was strong and obstinate.”

I could feel the warmth of her hand. My lips touched the tips of her fingers. Liori froze, unbreathing.

“Do you remember how we first met?” I asked. “I thought you looked drained. Deprived of sleep.”

“Of course I remember,” she looked me in the eye. “Zander, we need to talk about it. About everything that has happened. I can feel you're not yourself, either. Exhaustion doesn't start to describe it.”

I could see concern in her eyes. “No wonder. Mnemotechnics sucks all the life out of you.”

“No. It's not about Mnemotechnics. Trust me I know. About two weeks before I met you I'd developed chronic exhaustion. At first I thought it might go but it only got worse. I think that it's my real body in the in-mode having problems. Once my account was blocked, I couldn't check it any longer and my employers ignored my queries. I was scared, I have to admit. Panicked even. Because it kept getting worse, day after day. Now the same thing is happening to you.”

“Do you want to say that they've stopped servicing our bodies?”

“I honestly don't know. I just can't find another explanation. I was at my wits' end. Do you remember how they shot my fighter down?”

“Of course I do!”

“I climbed out of the ship and was lying there in a pool of blood. That was it, I thought. No more respawning. And then the mercs decided to get rid of me. Their bullets damaged the respawn point mark on my wrist.”

She kept telling me this as if she hadn't died in my very arms. “That's when I decided to try it. I had no option. I uploaded my identity to the Founders' neuronet. At the moment, I didn't even think that it could enter another host's body.”

“What's your Mnemotechnics level?”

“Thirty.”

'Liori, wait,” I felt totally confused. “This is a game. The Founders' neuronet is only a binary code. How on earth could you upload your identity to it?”

“But Zander, I feel alive! Alive and happy. That terrible state I was in, it's gone now. You saved me. You realized what was going on just in time. You saved me by asking Ingmud to create an external connection module for me,” her lips touched mine shyly, “so I'm here now. We're together. It's a fact. But I'm worried about you. There's something weird going on. I want you to go digital like myself. Trust me. You're losing nothing.”

A chill ran down my spine. I remembered my combat with the ancient AI who'd taken over control of my mind. How sure was I that I'd really annihilated him?

“Liori,” I stared into her eyes long and hard.

“Go ahead, ask me. I'll try to answer your question.”

“Back at your shot-down fighter... Before you disappeared, you did say that Phantom Server was real, didn't you?”

“I think so.”

“Did you mean it literally?”

“I must have been sure of it. Can't remember why. I can't use all of my neuromatrix. When Ingmud created the module, he archived the bulk of my memories. I don't have enough nanites.”

“I'll give you all I have.”

She smiled sadly. “I need much more than you could ever give me. I need dozens of colonies. But subconsciously you're right. When I was trying to work out what was wrong with me back on Argus, I think I found something. Some kind of clue. Here, take it,” the air between us thickened, forming a chain of commands and a tiny 3D model of some device.

“What's this?”

“An artifact. No idea what it's for. My... my
digital nature
doesn't allow me to study it. But I've got the scanner file and the command sequences lying in plain view in my mind whenever you want to retrieve them. This is very important, I'm sure. You need to work out why. And...” she paused. “Please come more often. I'll always be here in my usual form, waiting for you.”

* * *

Someone kept shaking my shoulder.

I opened my eyes. Roakhmar, damn him!

“It's time to move on,” he was full of determination.

A new message lit up in my mind's view,

You have used up your safe communication time limit. Time left: 20 sec.

Quest update alert: The Facets of Reality.

Step 3. Study the scanner file you've received from Liori and try to reconstruct the Founders' device using the existing copy.

I glanced at my Physical Energy indicator. It was yellow. I wasn't feeling particularly well.

Liori was right. Each of us had become an Outlaw. The real world didn't want to have anything to do with us. The best option for all of us would be to cut the fine thread still connecting us to real life.

The thought wouldn't let me go, scary and tempting at the same time. If you could create a fully developed human identity using neurogram databases, it meant you could really escape this world.

“Wakey wakey,” I shook Vandal and Foggs out of their slumber while checking if I'd received the new scanner file. Indeed, my database was one alien device richer.

My interface blinked with unread messages. Forty-seven in total. So! This battle with metamorphs must have leveled me up nicely.

I opened my characteristics,

Zander. Level 77. A Pilot.

“Let's move it!” Roakhmar's voice barked in the earphones. The Disciples were already heading toward the force escalators taking them to the next level.

I wasn't going to distribute my newly-owned XP points on the go. I'd have to wait till the next break. Decisions like these weren't to be made in a hurry.

I had the feeling we were into something global here.

The nanites controlled by the external neuronet swept ahead.

We had only another five levels left to get to the top of the tower.

The Planet Darg. The ancient underground laboratories.

T
he cave's uneven ceiling overhung the top level of the tower in crumpled folds of rock dripping with moisture. Pools of water glistened all over the floor littered with jagged chunks of rockfall and smaller debris.

Five segmented platforms were in a state of total disrepair. Two of them listed dangerously toward the tower's edge. In the center of the floor gaped a gravity elevator shaft. Shimmering blue moss covered the walls between the disused terminals, sometimes reaching up for the control desks and enveloping the machines in its soft cover.

Roakhmar and the four surviving Disciples unhesitatingly headed for the only source of bright light located a few hundred feet away from us at the center of one of the platforms.

We could barely walk; still, we had to keep up so we kept advancing, casting wary glances around. The emitters didn't work here; everywhere I turned I could see more evidence of time's destructive flow.

The light grew brighter. Now I could see it was a shimmering dome. Could that be Genesis, safely tucked behind a 25 Megawatt force field?

I'd known space frigates with weaker shields! Whatever or whoever wanted to breach it would crumble to ashes. Still, the Disciples' leader seemed to be confident enough. He reached into his inventory and produced an archaic-looking device, then entered a code on its bulky analog keyboard covered in alien pictograms.

His first attempt failed. Roakhmar hissed something untranslatable. He motioned one of the Disciples to approach and handed him the device. Then he crossed his arms and froze a few steps away from the murky shimmering film of the force field, lost in thought.

We stopped too. Vandal enthusiastically filmed everything around. Foggs groaned as he crouched atop a heap of mossy rock debris. He was clearly exhausted. Kathryn peered at the shimmering film, trying to make out the precious device behind it. As for me, I activated the technology scanner and focused on the dome shield too.

Searching for the resonance frequency of the force field. Please wait...

Roakhmar turned round and motioned me to step aside for a talk.

“This is where we're parting ways, Human,” he said via the encoded channel. “I wouldn't want to send all of you to your respawn points. Our slave traders aren't worth it.”

He wasn't even trying to pussyfoot around. It looked like our successful co-operation was over. Shame.

“Wait,” I said, “but isn't this the famous Genesis?”

“How do you know?”

“I heard a few stories about the Temple of Light,” I had to tread carefully here. Still, I had to try to warn him. “They say that it's extremely dangerous. Is it really? From what I heard, it's faulty. I'm not sure it's a good idea to activate it.”

“This is my goal,” he snapped. “I repeat: let's part ways in peace. You have received XP and some very rare loot. Isn't that enough?”

“No, you don't understand! If what I heard is correct, Genesis won't help you restore the atmosphere! It's much more likely to destroy what's left of it! If what they say about it is true...”

“I realize the risks involved,” he said with grim determination without contesting my words. “Or do you really think our actions are based on the blind faith of the ignorant?”

I only shrugged. I had no desire to antagonize him. He was a cut above all the Dargians I'd met so far.

“We have the necessary knowledge,” he announced proudly. “A thousand years should be enough to take stock of our ancestors' mistakes. We compared the planet colonization files with the records of the ecological disaster that followed. We've found a way to fix the problem.”

His words dumbfounded me.
Planet colonization?
Had I heard right? Was he trying to say that the Dargians weren't originally from Darg?

Roakhmar was a walking mystery.

“In the past, our ancestors used a similar Founders' device in order to create a habitable environment,” he said matter-of-factly, as if the history of Darg was no secret to me. “We found copies of the planet's initial colonization programs in one of the old shelters, so now we intend to upload them to Genesis.”

It couldn't be. The Dargians weren't from Darg?

Roakhmar misunderstood my confusion. “Go,” he pointed at the gravity elevator. “I'm going to mark the lab's service tunnel on your map. Before it used to be blocked by the force field but now you can use it to get out of here even though it's not an easy climb. There're plenty of your people's shot-down ships in the area. Choose one you can repair. You have twenty-four hours until the planet forming begins. This is all I can do to thank you for your co-operation.”

“And what if we stay?” I tried to test the waters.

“You will die.”

“Why?”

“Because we can't edit the ancient programs,” Roakhmar explained patiently. “First they're going to destroy all organic life. Only then will they begin to create a new biosphere. Your gear's life support systems won't last that long. Sooner or later you'll run out of supplies. Your death won't be easy.”

“Are you so sure of success?” I kept pushing the envelope.

“It's my duty to at least try,” he snapped.

“Still, I'd love to see how Genesis works! It's not every day you witness the complete reformation of an entire planet.”

He pulled his neck in. “Suit yourself. You can stay and watch if you wish. It's a shame you'll have to die.”

* * *

So what are you going to do?

Her whisper burned my mind.

I was never one to overdramatize gaming events. We had come to cyberspace seeking to escape our daily routine. We craved new experiences, wishing to boost our self-esteem, have a good time and — okay, okay, I can't deny it — to make a bit of money.

But what if someone had deleted the game scripts and shredded the disks? What if our choices and actions now decided the fate of our world?

I knew perfectly well I was standing at a crossroads, craving the predictable comfort of moral crutches that would allow me to ignore the sight of defeated cities lying in ashes, the mounds of collapsed graves in open fields or rusty suits of armor peeping through the forest's rambling mosses.

Where was the much-needed system message when I needed it? Something along the lines of,
Scan the artifact, find the exit from the lab and leave Darg before the planet's regeneration begins.

My interface was silent. The price of my decision meant the lives of many players, most of whom had already had their fair share of authentic experiences. Many of them had burned alive in their assault modules only to respawn and be imprisoned by slave drivers. They were a hair's breadth away from death without this regeneration apocalypse looming! None of them were going to survive it. Eurasia's resurrection platform had been shot down, leaving them no chance.

You don't know any of them
, an inner voice prompted.
You couldn't care less if they lived or died. Don't get involved. Just scan the artifact, grab Kathryn and leg it. Don't forget that her Daddy is waiting for you with a crateful of freebies. Let script writers get the beta testers out of this mess.

Dammit! I thought I'd cleansed my mind of that cynical monster?

I chuckled. Of course I had. It's just so convenient to be able to say:
It wasn't me. It was him.

My conversation with Roakhmar hadn't resulted in any new quests. It made the situation pretty clear: we had to scan the artifact and leg it while we still could. But why did the thought make me feel like shit?

You want me to tell you? Should I reveal to you my entire train of thought that flashed through my mind at that moment?

We had a forty-eight hour supply of life support cartridges. In order to reach the ruins of the nearest city (where we might find a repairable ship), we had to go past the slavers' respawn point — the one located in that camp of theirs where Novitsky was currently locked up.

We could of course take a detour. Out of sight, out of mind. Why would we want to see human faces distorted by agony? Or watch their bodies being devoured by an invisible death? The bacteria strains unleashed by the Disciples would soon cover up their tracks, leaving nothing behind but a couple of lines in the game's Wiki:

Admiral Higgs' reckless actions led to the death of the assault groups sent to Darg. The Eurasia fleet lost the bulk of its battle craft and its only resurrection platform. The interstellar station suffered return attacks and had to withdraw to the outskirts of the Darg system. Millions of colonists never awoke from their cryogenic slumber as their lives dwindled away with the exhaustion of the cryogenic modules' reserves.

With a bit of luck, I might get out of here. I'd close the quest, get my reward and return to my ship. I'd shut my inner critic up and keep leveling. With the game's upcoming release, new fleets would be coming. They'd wipe the Dargians out and colonize their planet.

Then I would disconnect my external neuronet. I'd remove it, as simple as that. It was naught but a stick of software studded with neurochips. I would lock it in a safe deposit box and tell myself to get real. Liori was dead. The rest was a stupid coincidence plus my own inflated imagination playing up.

Only occasionally, in moments of desperate frustration, I'd think about her knowing that Liori was now standing in front of an enormous observation screen watching the stars and waiting for me to come back. For her, time stood still.

One day I might succumb to the temptation. I'd open the communication channel and step into her personal virtual space.

She would turn around, hope in her gaze. “How did it all go?”

“It's okay,” my lips would curve in a sarcastic grin. “Many of them died, unable to survive the shock of virtual agony. Some lost their minds. Millions croaked inside their cryogenic capsules. Everything went by the book. Nothing to worry about. The game must go on.”

That's when her smile would fade, never to return.

* * *

“Zander, are you asleep or something?” Foggs shook my shoulder. “Mind telling us what you and the Dargian have been conspiring about?”

I startled. My interface glowed with many translucent icons. Active abilities were highlighted.

My direct neurosensory contact icon was deep in the red. I had 13 seconds left of my 24-hour allowance. Enough to exchange a couple of phrases.

The technology scanner blinked green. It had found the resonance frequency.
Data collection in progress: 29%.
This thing was fast!

“Wait,” I told Foggs. “Give me a minute, then I'll tell you everything. I want you to keep an eye on the Dargians. Let me know as soon as they begin to remove the force field.”

“I don't get you. You're being weird.”

“Just give me a minute!”

“All right, all right, keep your hair on. You're not the only one who's tired here,” with a disappointed chuckle, he walked away.

Finally I could take a peek at their artifact! Its copy had already gained shape, filling with data.

Genesis looked like a great many spheres connected by short cylinders. Its visuals resembled a 3D model of a complex molecule pieced together from a great many elements. A built-in gravitech allowed the structure to float in the air, rotating slowly.

It size was impressive: about fifty feet long and fifteen feet in diameter. I'd have loved to know how I was supposed to steal it. Until now, I'd never had a chance to bag up an item the size of a luxury villa, at least not in Phantom Server. I might need a cargo ship to transport it!

The data collection bar was already at 37%, making its basic stats available.

Genesis

Device class: unique

Activation requires level 100 of the Alien Technologies skill

Admittedly I started to feel some respect for the Disciples' leader. He was not just going to activate it — he intended to reprogram the whole thing. What level of Alien Technologies did he have, then?

No, no, I was on the wrong track! I had to bide for time. I wasn't going to leave this place without a full set of scanner files.

I heard the injectors click, shooting me up with a new dose of metabolites. My head cleared; all my muscles rippled involuntarily.

I looked my group over. We'd done some nice leveling here but still the Dargians were way out of our league. They were all 100+ and their leader, level 157.

I hate attacking on the sly but in this situation I just couldn't see any other option. If we caught them unawares, then our first hits had a decent chance of dealing them critical damage. The Disciples were much the worse for wear now. Their muddied gear was covered in blood and gore, the numerous breach holes sealed by the vague green shimmer of force fields. They had plenty of weak spots, provided we aimed accurately. Which meant I needed Vandal and Foggs. Both had ballistic calculators so they would be able to lay down precision fire with boosted power.