Edge of Reality

by Andrei Livadny

  "Think you can fix it?" I still couldn't think straight after our close shave.

  "I'll think of something. But you, Zander, I owe you. It's been twice you've saved my butt now. Here, take a look."

  The wall parted, revealing a niche. A massive armored suit strode out into the room.

  "Take it," Jurgen said. " You've earned it."

  My jaw dropped.

  "Don't be shy," he apparently misunderstood my silence. "Take your cheap junk off. I've sealed the room with a power shield. Come on now, put it on!"

  Who did he think he was, bossing me around?

  I couldn't take my eyes off the brand-new armor. Even the Wiki didn't mention anything about it. This had to be one of the Technologists' custom-made designs even though in places it looked suspiciously like the one worn by the Outlaw I'd just smoked.

  No wonder, actually, considering that two of the Technologists' leaders had turned coat and joined the Outlaws.

  This exo stuff was worrying me. Even though I felt good at the moment, it might just backfire later.

  I removed my helmet and handed it to Jurgen. "There're two devices left in the slots. Do you think you can reinstall them in this new suit?"

  He cast a quick glance at them. "Why on earth would you need this old tat?"

  "Sentimental value."

  He didn't argue. "If you say so."

  "How long will this exo stuff work?"

  "About twenty hours, I think. I've given you one hell of a dose."

  "And then what?"

  "Then you need to keep your metabolic implant in overdrive," he said. "We need your ribs to knit while you're still under the influence of the exo. Then all you'll get is a minor energy loss. Might keep you in bed for a day and that's it."

  "I need another dose."

  Jurgen's eyes filled with suspicion. "Have you taken them before?"

  "I haven't but I might. Twenty hours is not enough. I need much more time than that."

  "What for? Spit it out."

  There was no point in me making a secret of it so I put him in the picture.

  Hearing about the children, he paled. "Can you guarantee us a safe respawn point?"

  "Look at me. If I managed to survive there — and I was only level 1-"

  "Right," he quickly made up his mind. "Our clan doesn't exist anymore. The station is about to disintegrate. Frieda and I, we wanted to have a baby too. But-" he made a helpless gesture. His face darkened. "All I want to say is you can count on us. Here, take this," he handed me my activation code and a hefty helmet with my slave collar controller and sniper sights already installed. "Suit up. I'll go check on your Haash."

  The suit's servodrives whirred. Its heavy armor plates parted, inviting me in.

  How was I supposed to climb inside?

  "Turn round and step back toward it," Jurgen said, noticing my confusion.

  I obeyed.

  The suit's interior was lined with some porous springy substance studded with sensors. Once my body came into contact with them, they activated the sealing protocol. The armor plates slid back into place. Sharp needles penetrated my skin. The mind expander hurried to report new peripherals installed.

  But where were their stats?

  The new interface icons were gray and unresponsive. I stretched my neck, reached for the helmet and put it on.

  With a hiss, the neck ring rotated into place.

  You've received a set of heavy armor!

  Item class: unique. Hand-made. Custom design.

  +3 to Strength, -2 to Agility, +3 to Stamina, +15 to Armor, +10 to Power Field.

  Warning! Using this type of gear requires 9 pt. Strength. You won't be able to control the suit once your exo ingredient expires.

  Not good. But I'd have to think about that when I came to it. At the moment, I was desperate for exactly this kind of gear. And then we'd see.

  * * *

  I spent the next ten minutes getting used to my new suit. It felt funny. Agility had indeed become a problem. The muscle enhancers were too sensitive and unpredictable. I'd clattered to the ground a couple of times before I got used to it. As for the rest, the suit was a treat. It came with two integrated heavy pulse machine guns and five power units with a possibility to recharge from stationary power sources. Plus a 0.5 megawatt power shield! Add to it all sorts of sensors, analyzers and various subsystems whose new icons now flickered before my eyes.

  I could even lug around almost five hundred pounds at earth's gravity, even at the cost of a further drop in agility.

  Getting the hang of the suit's basic functions hadn't taken me much time. All the advanced functions would have to be tested in action. This new gear had one unquestionable plus: it offered high personal protection levels which to a degree compensated for my character's deficiency in level.

  In the meantime, Jurgen had patched up Charon's suit. Unlike myself, Charon had withstood the Outlaw's assault. No critical damage, no bones broken. He cast unkind glances at Jurgen, barely suppressing his desire to whack someone to alleviate his stress.

  Never mind. He might just have plenty of ass to kick soon.

  I shook my head at him: don't. Then I walked out into the corridor to test my integrated weapons. The bodies in charred gear were still lying around the hatch.

  I bent over the Outlaw and shook him out of his distorted armor. He could respawn in the nude for a change.

  I studied the trophy. The cargonite was too heavy — no good for my inventory. Still, I read the stats. This kind of armor demanded 12 pt. Strength!

  But the maximum you could have was 10, wasn't it? What was that supposed to mean? Were the Outlaws constantly on exo? To the best of my knowledge, it was the only thing that could drive your characteristics beyond the limit.

  Or was it? How about my newly-acquired skills, then? Friend of the Haash gave you +1 to all characteristics. And if, say, I had Agility already maxed out?

  Shame I couldn't check it. But it was something worth making a mental note of. I wouldn't be surprised if they had certain ingredients or artifacts with a perpetual bonus.

  The built-in machine guns worked like a dream. I tested them on the ravaged electric car. The power unit explosion had turned the vehicle into a lump of molten steel. Now I literally pulverized it shooting with both hands.

  Awesome.

  My new armor came with only one major flaw. If the power went down, it would turn it into an unmanageable heap of scrap metal.

  I gave it some thought and came up with a solution. I went back to my room, picked up my old gear and forced the breastplate back into its place. My old light-armor suit only weighed 50 pounds: I could carry that much. But it could save your butt in an emergency — say, if the power units went dead.

  Watching my actions, Jurgen nodded his approval. "Good job. That's not stupid!"

  He opened his capacious bag and produced two gear kits. He stuffed one down his own inventory like I'd just done and handed the other one to Frieda.

  His wife wasn't the talkative type. Our eyes met a couple of times. She looked slightly frightened but she stayed composed. By the time Jurgen finished repairing Charon's suit, she'd packed the supplies: some life support cartridges and metabolites in disposable tube syringes, a handful of food tubes, water purification tablets and automated first-aid kits.

  Finally Charon could get up. He walked around the room checking the smooth work of his suit joints. He seemed pleased with the result.

  It had been an hour since we'd left to get some supplies.

  Jurgen began emptying his arsenal. I contacted Liori. "Everything okay? We've been delayed here a bit because of Charon. I'm in the Technologists' sector. We haven't been to the exo yet."

  "We're fine. I've found you some mercs. Pilots are hard to come by. Until now, I've only heard from three. The others can't be reached. You need to bring the suits, remember?"

  "Sure. How many mercs?"

  "Twenty-five in total."

  "Good enough. Just keep looking fo
r pilots, okay? How's the situation?"

  "Quiet until now. Just don't be too long."

  I could understand her concern. The children had no pressurized suits.

  Jurgen signaled that he was ready to leave.

  "Liori, I'll speak to you later."

  * * *

  When I told Jurgen about the assault module and personal carrier, he paused, thinking, then nodded. "I think I can get you a few modules. Not the combat ones though. Only cargo."

  "That's not good. We only have five fighter ships. How are we supposed to mount an assault?"

  "Five fighters is plenty to storm the station," he answered. "One can carry the mercs. I'm going to fly it. The other will carry the children, the supplies and this Arbido of yours. Frieda can fly it. The ships are rather small with an autonomy of twelve hours and enough fuel for a one-way trip. So we don't have much choice, really. This is the only option I can offer."

  "Can't we talk to the Pilots clan?"

  "Not really. They'll dump us."

  "Why?"

  "Don't you understand? They've hijacked both of the Founders' frigates. I know for certain that there are safe respawn points on board. But did they offer shelter or at least the possibility of a safe respawn to anyone?"

  "No."

  "So you see. How can we trust them? In this scenario, laying their hands on yet another flightworthy ship might prove too much of a temptation for them. They'll dump us, get hold of the ship and mop up the Dargians all on their own."

  It made sense. "How could they create new respawn points on board?" I asked, curious.

  "They have this machine. Got it from the Engineers clan."

  "Can you make something similar?"

  He chuckled. "The Engineers clan kept it under wraps. But I know a thing or two about it. I could try to make a copy, I suppose. Provided we manage to find all the parts. Come on now, time to move it. Tell me where you want me and Frieda to bring the modules."

  "Launch Bay 7."

  He frowned. "Is that the RV point?"

  "Exactly."

  "No. No, Zander, that won't do at all," he paused, thinking. "A big gathering like this is sure to attract attention," he opened the station map and marked a route into the station's deserted area, toward the third and still unrestored hangar. "Send your men here. Not all at once! Let them come in groups of twos and threes."

  "And how about our fighter pilots?"

  "Tell them to head to the RV point on autopilot. Very soon all hell will break loose, trust me. You need to withdraw the ships before somebody else lays their hands on them."

  "Okay. You've talked me into it. Charon and I need to get some supplies. We're going to the Market Deck now and the exo sector."

  Jurgen made some mental calculations. "I'll meet you in three hours' time," he concluded. "Good enough?"

  I nodded. We had to make it. Provided the station held.

  Chapter Six

  Phantom Server. Argus Space Station

  The Personnel Deck, two hours later

  No one was as happy to see us back as was Arbido. He looked a sight. The children had painted him every color under the sun. I still don't know where they'd managed to get the paints.

  "Now! The game's over!" Liori seemed to have no problem handling the kids. "Uncle Zander has brought you some presents! Do you know what a spacesuit is?"

  "Wow!" the four-year-old Alec struggled to lift a cargonite helmet. "It's a real Dargian one! Cool. Dad promised he'd get me one like this when I grow up."

  His last phrase hung in midair. Silence filled the room. Someone sniffled.

  "Dasha darling!" Liori rushed to wipe the girl's tears. "Everything's going to be all right, sweetheart. No need to cry."

  "I want to see my mommy!"

  "Mommy's busy, sweetheart. She'll come to see us later. I promise."

  Charon turned away. His eyes too glistened with tears. I didn't know what to do or say. Even Arbido fell silent.

  "Come on, don't cry!" I helped the boy to suit up and checked his life support systems. "No playing with the interface, no clicking on any unfamiliar icons!" I spoke in a loud but hopefully not too rude a voice.

  "Zander," Liori began suiting up the girls. "We don't have the right cartridges for these!"

  "We do. We made sure we took only already-modified suits."

  "How about me?" Arbido butted in.

  "Sorry, man. Couldn't find anything that would fit a goblin anatomy," I meant it as a joke but it fell flat. Arbido turned pale. I hurried to reassure him, "Cool down. We all breathe the same air, after all. Here, take this one. It should fit you fine."

  "How about the metabolites?"

  "What are you talking about? Are you mad? With your green skin and lack of implants? Think before you open your mouth! So? Does it fit well?"

  He paraded around the room. "It's all right."

  "Excellent. Children, helmets on! Report!"

  They didn't look as if they'd understood me. Liori came to my rescue, "Children, the indicator lights should turn green. Can you see them? Let's switch on the standard communications."

  The communication system clicked on, filling the earphones with fragile childish voices,

  "My lights are all green! And I have two red ones! Uncle Zander, the air stinks! What are these letters? Can I click on them?"

  One of the girls, Inge, had to be resuited. It was a good job Charon and I had taken all ten suits available. The vendor hadn't minded. In fact, he wasn't in the shop at all.

  The helmet turned out to be faulty: its neck ring didn't shut properly. It took us some effort to find a suitable replacement from whatever leftover gear we still had.

  Liori checked all the systems several times, opening service access ports and meticulously testing each suit. She did the same to Arbido, earning his eternal goblin gratitude.

  I had other things to worry about. We had to cover quite a distance and I wasn't a hundred percent sure Jurgen would even be there waiting for us. He didn't contact us and I had no idea where he might be and what he might be doing.

  "Right. Everything seems to be okay," Liori concluded. She didn't look well. Her face was drawn, her eyes pale and faded.

  I offered her a pack of exo. Her eyes sharpened. "No, thanks. I don't need it."

  "When did you sleep last?"

  "I can't remember. Was it the day before yesterday? I can make do with normal stimulators."

  "No, you can't. It's an hour's hike to the RV. After that we need to fly the ship and storm the station."

  "Very well, then," she took the tube syringe and squeezed it into the socket of her metabolic implant. As she sealed the helmet, I noticed her face distorted by disgust. I wasn't a big fan of exo, either, but given the opportunity I might ask her why she was so prejudiced against it. She'd been in the game for quite a while. She had to realize the importance of such emergency measures.

  Charon froze by the hatch. On our way back we'd checked Serge's arms shop. He was there, cleaning out the broken pieces of his display cabinets. He mumbled something about the shop being closed. I reminded him about the deal we'd struck earlier. As a result, Charon checked his warehouse and came out as pleased as the proverbial pig, carrying a weird long-barreled weapon whose mounting "accidentally" fitted his anatomy.

  It was called a fier. I never quite understood how it worked even though Charon did his best to explain its functions to me. My semantic processor was still working overtime trying to digest some of the earlier concepts, depleting my brain's already challenged processing capacity.

  So in the end, I thought it might be better if I simply saw it in action.

  * * *

  Outside in the corridor, blue oxygen snowflakes floated in the cosmic cold. I lined everybody up. Charon and myself were to walk in front, followed by Arbido ten paces behind armed with my trusty pulse gun.

  The children would walk next, followed by Liori in the rear. My biggest concern was meeting any Outlaws. At Serge's, I'd managed to lay my hands on
a couple of plasma grenades. The explosion of the Outlaw's power unit had been impressive but considering our lineup, I'd have hated to revert to such extreme combat techniques. I just hoped that our two large-caliber pulse guns and Charon's weird weapon would get us through in case of any trouble.

  We set off. I kept my communications channel switched to the local network, listening absent-mindedly to the kids' conversations. Inge — the youngest — was telling everybody about her kitten. I could actually understand what she meant: some kind of a fluffy, cuddly, purring little NPC constantly rubbing itself around your ankles.

  Welcome to the enigmas of modern mentality.

  Children have a different way of thinking. For them, what they see is real. This world — the distorted, disfigured reality of Phantom Server dreamt up by its sick scriptwriters — had become the only home to these tiny figures clad in alien spacesuits as they groped through the oxygen snowstorm filling the mangled deck of an ancient space station.

  I was beginning to understand my life wasn't my own any more. It scared me.

  The tunnel widened, the jagged stumps of its walls parting in different directions. The starry void twinkled overhead.

  Arbido sniffed, nervous. Charon breathed noisily and evenly. Liori stopped. The children did so, too. She didn't say anything. My PM box icon was inactive, and still I could somehow sense her mental state. At the moment she was taut like a coiled spring, ready to act fast and without mercy. I had a funny feeling I could see ghosts crowding behind her back.

  This was a game. Admittedly eerily realistic but a game nevertheless.

  I didn't believe myself any more.

  Charon was waiting. I scanned the area. Something was wrong, I could feel it in my spine, but my sensors didn't detect any signatures at all. This part of the station was well and truly dead: not a single active marker amid the ragged wreckage of its tilting decks hanging overhead.

  We had to move on. Still I waited, getting used to our gloomy surroundings and listening to my instincts. Anxiety scratched harder at my heart.