The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2) (5 page)

Ah, that's why. A weak shimmering light sealed the holes in the breached hull. The Founders' power shields must have kicked in, their weak force fields holding the leftover atmosphere.

So far, I'd been in luck. The raid had headed for the station's lower decks, its uneasy progress manifesting itself by occasional tremors and the echoing of far-off blasts. The Eurasia players were taking it seriously, mopping up the remains of the station's destroyed modules competently and thoroughly, the gloom revealing the mauled whimsical shapes of ancient mechanical mobs.

They got me interested — naturally. It would be stupid to miss such an opportunity, especially because my suit had a technological scanner installed.

All mobs had suffered serious damage. The raiders had even stripped some of them of their armor (cargonite is always in high demand) but I still had plenty left for myself. I began scanning their various modules, parts and units. So far, their purpose was unclear but I was sure that I could use the files to study them and hopefully use them at some later date. Also, I noticed that the bar of Alien Technologies kept growing with every scanned device.

I opened my interface. The update had affected that, too!

If before I'd had to choose the main characteristics and their values before installing the implant — and the only way to exceed the 10-pt limit was by either using the gear's stats, some special abilities or exo formulas — now each characteristic has its respective bar to register its growth.

I glanced over the main characteristics:

Zander. An Alt Outlaw. Level 20. Pilot

Intellect, 7 (+1 semantic processor bonus, +0,125 current research)

Strength, 7 (+0,15 continuous exercise)

Willpower, 7 (+0,5 coping with stress)

Agility, 5 (+2 reflex enhancer bonus)

Perception, 5 (+2 semantic processor bonus, +0,7 usage of neuronets, nanite control)

Stamina,              5 (+0,7 survival in an extreme environment)

Learning Skills, 7 (+0,3 creating unique scanner files)

Skills:

Piloting of Small Spacecraft, 10 (+0,1)

Piloting of Medium and Large Spacecraft, 4 (0,0)

Combat Maneuvering, 7 (0,0)

Navigation, 9 (0,0)

Mechanic, 1 (0,0)

Repairs, 4 (0,0)

Alien Technologies, 1 (+0,25 creating unique scanner files)

Mnemotechnics 1 + 0,75 (nanite control)

Combat skills, 7 (0,0)

Light weapons 7 (0,0)

Heavy weapons, 7 (0,0)

Energy Weapons, 9 (0,0)

Accuracy 9 (0,0)

Critical hit 1 (+2% chance of dealing critical damage to your opponent)

Defense (the use of advanced gear courtesy of the Technologists Clan)

Abilities:

Replication 1 (2 nanite colonies available)

Steel Mist 1

Object Replication 1.

The update didn't affect any of the unique abilities I'd received earlier:

Friend of the Haash

+1 to all characteristics every time you fight alongside the Haash

Berserk

Whenever you fight unarmed with less than 5% Health, you're able to ignore the enemy's defenses, dealing only critical damage.

The sight of you terrifies all creatures under level 20. They flee, unable to attack you.

Robot Technician

+10% to damage dealt to all machines

Another innovation: a new bar on my interface, indicating the levels of my “Physical Energy”. Currently it was down 30%, apparently signifying the degree of my fatigue. Not that the developers really needed to have added it. Thanks to the absolute authenticity of the experience, I knew well enough when I had to stop and give myself a break.

As I scrolled through the character development information, my eye chanced upon the familiar words,
Creating unique scanner files
. I decided to check my idea. I went back to the nearest already-scanned robot and rescanned several of its modules. Alas, no gain in Alien Technologies this time.

Never mind. I knew where I could level it. The Founders' frigate that we'd won in battle with the Dargians was a treasure trove of ancient technologies. It was chock full of yet unstudied devices. Surely I could earn much more XP scanning them than these few mangled parts of long-broken serves.

While I was thus consumed by my excuse for scientific research, an alarm beeped. Sensors had detected the signatures of three assault modules.

The echoes of battle in the depths of the station had died away which by itself wasn't good news. Either all of the raid members had been killed or they had mopped up one last deck and decided to come back. In either case, it was time for me to make myself scarce. One of the modules was about to dock with the station while the other two were covering him from their orbits.

I could sense a weak source of radiation. It felt as if my skin was tingling. They were scanning me. It would be stupid to stick my neck out so I broke away, turning off into the maze of destroyed living modules. I knew the way. In another five hundred feet or so I'd come to the tunnel leading through the hull structures, and from there my Condor was only a stone's throw away.

Soon I exited the area of weak radiation, leaving it behind.

The Founders' Station. Cargo docking area

I
f I thought that today's troubles were over, I would have to think again.

I cleared the tunnel without any additional hassle. It ended with a weak force field. A vacuum lay beyond it.

I only had enough chemicals left to ensure seven minutes' worth of breathing but I wasn't sweating it. There were plenty of them on board my ship.

I walked through the shimmering curtain of the power field and froze, speechless. My Condor towered proudly above the ruins of the dock. Its stealth mode was off, and the ship's board systems failed to answer my query.

Mechanically I switched the scanner on. It didn't register the ship's signature. It was as if someone had run all the batteries dry.

I cursed the Outlaws under my breath. Still, time was an issue. I studied the nearest structures and, having detected no danger, decided to go for it.

A hundred-foot abyss lay between me and the ship. In a well-calculated leap I kicked myself away from the station, floating through space. My heart thumped, measuring out the seconds. Below to my right lay the panorama of the ancient docking facilities. I could see the landing pads and the dark outlines of vacuum docks next to the oblong mouth of the transport hob oozing darkness.

The Condor's outline grew quickly until it filled my entire field of vision.

I grabbed at a landing support to kill my momentum and slid under the ship's belly. Still no contact with the board systems. I had to use the emergency hatch which was fitted with a simple hand mechanism.

The cockpit was dark. All the control modules were dead.

What kind of day was this?

I did a quick scan of the equipment. All the batteries were flat. But the worst thing was, I received no response from the reactor block!

So I had to climb out again. I walked around the ship. Only then did I notice that the emergency gate of the reactor module — the one serving to eject the power unit in case of critical damage — stood wide open.

I took a peek inside.

Empty. The power cables had been neatly detached, the cooling system circuits shut down.

Would you believe it? Someone in my absence had breached the force shield, hacked the emergency codes and pilfered the freakin' reactor block!

* * *

When I returned to the cockpit, I was so wound up I kicked the antigravity seat. It made me feel better.

Well, now I had to go and look for it. I opened the emergency supplies and replaced the life support cartridges and micro nuclear batteries. The nanites still sealed my helmet which was good news because I didn't want to change into a light onboard suit with its admittedly weak protection.

Now weapons were a problem. The integrated pulse guns didn't work. I rummaged through the stores Ralph had left me when I'd bought the ship off him the day before but only found a snub-barreled pulse assault rifle.

I checked its stats.

Damage: 9

Firing speed: 3

DpS: 27

Way not good enough. To go looking for my reactor with something like this was asking for a respawn. The mobs I'd studied earlier started with Armor 200+. If you did the math, I needed at least 10 bursts of fire to make a hole in the weakest of them.

It wouldn't work. So I had to go out again. The ship's network was dead, power was down, not a working device in sight, but with a little help from a toolkit I managed to prize open the launch tube diaphragm and produce a small recon probe.

Its independent power supply was fine. Such a shame I couldn't contact our other guys: the distance between me and the asteroid belt was too great. But it gave me an idea. I activated the probe and set it a task. The machine winked its micro engines at me and began gaining altitude (in respect of the station), transmitting the picture and scanning the frequencies the Outlaws normally used to communicate.

Yes! I had a signal.

Obeying my command, the drone moved another few hundred feet and hovered next to one of the hull structures, working as a relay. Even if the Outlaws located it, they'd have their work cut out climbing the mangled structure hoping to get to me. As it was, they'd be in for a surprise as I'd set the probe to self-destruct in case of enemy proximity.

“Jyrd?”

Through the crackle of interference, I finally heard heavy breathing and the alarmed beeping of his helmet's inner sensors. He must have been running, trying to escape some mobs.

I listened in. Judging by the alarm processor's tone and frequent beeps, Jyrd lay in the sights of five aggressive machines.

“Zander? You alive?” I heard a short burst of his integrated gun.

“Apparently. Your men blew it.”

“So what do you want?”

“I need the codes to unblock my guns.”

“You don't want much, do you?”

“Not at all. Here's the deal. I've got an interesting quest here. I've been offered to pass information about Avatroid on to Eurasia command.”

“And?” his voice quivered. He wasn't good at taking informational punches.

“And I might consider leaving it on the back burner for a while. In exchange for unblocking my weapons, naturally.”

More interference and heavy breathing mixed with the dull echoes of gunfire.

“I don’t think so,” he finally said. “You're stuck on the station, anyway. How did you know about Avatroid?”

I hung up. He wasn't going to give me the codes. At least I'd tried. Now I could dismiss the scenario of a few Outlaws who'd lifted my reactor and now lay in ambush nearby. As the result of the update they now had much more serious problems to deal with.

I reloaded the gravitech — my individual gravity generator — and shrugged at my own thoughts, then added another survival kit to my inventory just in case. I climbed out and studied the view of the dock.

Actually, whoever had stolen my reactor could have taken it anywhere. Hull structures towered everywhere. Still, my eye kept coming back to a tunnel I hadn't noticed before.

I tried to work out why it had attracted my attention. I switched between scanning modes until I noticed a weak radiation trail. The radiation was higher in that direction.

Oh well, this wasn't the worst option. Especially as the source of radiation proved to be tiny droplets of the reactor's cooling agent hovering in zero gravity.

* * *

It was a long hike. At first, the tunnel which was part of the docking system ran parallel to the hull. Only after more than half a mile did I encounter the first junction. The radiation trail went off to the right. I followed it, hoping to catch up with the thieves.

No idea who they might be.

I tried to walk softly, wary of disturbing the shaky floor. Vacuum and zero gravity reigned around me but at least my gravitech allowed me to walk properly past layers and layers of floating debris. The sheer amount of metal and plastic junk prevented me from seeing properly what lay ahead.

At the first opportunity, I replicated the nanites. You never know when you might need an extra colony of them! If only I had stealth...

I slowed down, my way blocked by a steel grating firmly lodged between the walls.

How on earth had they managed to drag the reactor past it?

The movement detector pinged anxiously. I glimpsed the outline of a scrambling
serve
high up under the tunnel's ceiling. My sensors barely registered its signature. I made out a smattering of crimson dots and realized that this grating had only just been installed, roughly welded into place moments ago.

These NPCs had a cheek! First they steal my power unit and now they try to cover up their tracks!

I carefully climbed over the deformed beams — it was better than attracting their attention. Subconsciously I braced myself, knowing I was asking for trouble, but what other options did I have? The station just didn't want to let me go, luring me deeper into its perilous depths.

I pushed aside a slowly rotating piece of mangled steel floating toward me and peered into the gloom.

A dull light was falling across the corridor, seeping from a narrowly opened hatch. The serve had already scrambled off somewhere, quick and agile as an insect. My sensors didn't detect its presence anywhere.

A force field met me by the entrance to the deck's next sector. The long hangar behind it had gravity and a rarefied atmosphere.

This was just another repair dock. Machines froze motionless along its walls. Fine specks of dust floated in the air. The light was coming from somewhere lower and further on, where the floor dropped sharply, sloping down.

The motion detector pinged again. My target monitor lit up with two bright-red markers.

Unwilling to tempt providence, I shrank back, taking cover behind the nearest machine. My mind expander outlined the mobs' shapes. My throat turned dry.

Scaled-down copies of Phantom Raiders were moving toward me. I gulped, then hurried to study their signatures. No force fields, their armor all scorched and patched, their weapons admittedly weak, powered by unusual crystal-shaped batteries. My shivering subsided. This was a joke, really — a laughable travesty of the Founders' lethal craft.

Mechanically my finger pushed the rate of fire slider into the boosted power position. No one had ever managed to study a Phantom Raider before. Normally you couldn't even get a scrap of them, as in the case of critical damage they exploded in a bout of spontaneous combustion. But these two didn't seem to have annihilation units on board which meant I could potentially lay my hands on a unique trophy!

I took aim. Their worn-out hulls had only 35 pt. Durability. Thanks to my Robot Technician skill, I could breach them with one burst of fire.

Back at Argus, I had practiced signature-based fire. I'd never skimped on implants — and now the half a million credits I'd invested in SynapsZ were about to pay for themselves. The picture of the phantom drones' internal structure overlapped their visuals, allowing me to see the maze of pulsating power lines and pinpoint the vulnerable spots with a swipe of my eyes. A couple of bursts of precision fire, and I'd be the proud owner of some unique technological artifacts.

My abject fear had subsided, giving way to excitement.

The very existence of these miniature copies of Phantom Raiders promised me quite a few perks. I lingered, waiting for the scanners to finalize copying the files.

Just a little bit more.

In the course of scanning, you have received access to the objects' damaged databases. An authentication code has been retrieved. Would you like to activate it?

The message had popped up unexpectedly. My body broke out in a cold sweat. I hadn't even realized until that moment how great had the strain been.

Yes!
I barely stopped myself from opening fire.

One second. Two. Three...

The target markers blinked, turning green.

Friendly contact established! You have successfully communicated the authentication code. Your Mnemotechnics skill has grown 1 pt.

I was already within direct visibility of the drones but they ignored me. Instead, they turned about, retracing their course. What kind of weird location was this? First it was NPCs who could steal your own reactor from under you but somehow didn't aggro you! That was just too easy. I had this gut feeling there was a catch there somewhere. I just couldn't have hacked their systems with my meager Level 1 in Mnemotechnics. And I hadn't even tried to — I had other objectives to take care of. They might simply be luring me somewhere.

I checked the logs.

Indeed, I discovered the record of the authentication code. The scanning and the consequent data processing had been performed by a special-purpose scanner I'd received from Jurgen as part of my new gear.

All right. Let's presume it was so. Even though I'd have loved to have mown them down and gotten two unique artifacts in addition to their scanner files.

I hesitated, but not for long, curiosity taking over my more mercenary interests.

I followed the drones, keeping a respectful distance. They still sported the Friendly Contact buff. So far, everything seemed to be kosher. Or was it?

In the meantime, the light had become brighter, the machine outlines along the walls growing sharp shadows. I could make out a large jagged hole in the hull, blocked by a force field. Beyond it, the view blurred into a haze.

The sensors pinged another warning.

A Kamresh! The ugly outline of this creature which resembled a mole cricket leaped out of the utility hatch a few dozen feet behind me. The wretched thing had waited for me to go past, deciding to attack me from the rear. Still, the hungry mob's blistering leap ended in thin air. Gravitechs had this excellent zero gravity option, albeit only for a maximum of twenty seconds with a subsequent cooldown of two minutes. But I won't bother you with technicalities.