“As you wish, my Lord.”
“What about the Council? When will they approve our collaboration with the Trade Corp?”
“The Council is very happy with the amount of your payments over the past year, my Lord. They’re promising to expand your contract and possibly approve a new one. This question is to be voted on within two days.”
“Great.” Bubbles came from beneath the rocks. “And that vile planet with its soft dwellers that you refused to even consider at first has proven to be a good discovery. Hasn’t it, Hj’d’jd?”
“Yes, my Lord. The employers are thrilled with their cruelty and determination. Both of those traits are so rare in mercenaries today.”
“That they are. Damned Hidin Treaty... It required us to change our whole business model. But now, the soft creatures are developing fast. Soon they’ll be able to handle more complicated tasks.”
“The analysts say that they’re advancing rapidly, my Lord. We can introduce the new level now, particularly considering the employers queuing for them. The guys are becoming really popular. The recent campaign on Galaxy News featuring their last mission has boosted our stocks by five percent. And that’s just the first year of us exploring this market, my Lord!”
“I’m happy with your performance, Hj’d’jd.” The stones turned over. Fine sand started to settle in the water. “If our proposal is approved by the Council, consider yourself promoted.”
“I’m always pleased to serve you, my Lord.” The rocks lying next to the bath moved slightly, showing full obedience.
“You may go. I’ll get the new mission level approved.”
“Yes, my Lord.”
Chapter 30
I turned to the other side. A ray of sun hit my eyelids so hard that I couldn’t help wincing and woke up. Turning onto my back, I sleepily muttered: “Home. Blinds down.”
The AI did not reply but, judging by the rustle and the darkness filling the room, it obeyed my order. I could open my eyes. The memories of the past day emerged once more, still disorganized as I struggled to believe that it had truly happened.
“How’s your research?” I asked the air, addressing the relic inside me.
Data collection and analysis complete, Viktor. I learned much about you and your planet. Thank you for the information.
“What about hiding traces of your activity from the Wargs?”
I came up with five options of how to conceal them. I’m already working on two. The remaining three require your cooperation.
“What should I do?”
I’ll tell you more once we are in the game.
The flicker of hope that all of the yesterday’s events had just been a hallucination was put out at once. The attack on the global network, the fear for my life—everything was eclipsed by the fear I now had for my home planet, Earth.
“I must give you a name. No one wants to be called ‘hey, you’,” I said, shifting my focus. The relic said it had come up with a range of solutions. I that hoped it would be able to implement them.
I don’t mind names. Call me whatever you like, Viktor.
“Well. Is Researcher fine with you?”
Absolutely. The word captures my purpose.
“It’s a deal then.” I stood up. “What else can you do? Apart from collecting data and framing your bearers?”
I’m working on the problem, Viktor. I’m not shifting blame or calling myself guiltless. As for your question, I can share information. I can answer any other questions of interest to you.
For some reason, I couldn’t come up with any questions except for: “Who killed Kennedy?” and “Where’s the CPSU gold?”, so I decided to leave that for later and went to do my morning routine.
After that I entered the game. I kept thinking of it as a game, though I now knew that I was physically God-knows-where and that everything I saw was real; as was my other body, which looked almost exactly like me but was artificially created.
“Well, let’s get down to the long-awaited shopping,” I said, standing at the half-empty square. It had contracted was now able to accommodate only a few million people. Everyone else was probably reveling in the Free Zone. I had heard that place got a starting zone of its own and many players preferred to log in there, skipping the taxi ride from the Central District. I liked the city streets becoming less crowded, but, on the other hand, they now looked almost deserted compared to that what they had been like not so long ago.
The entrance hall of my apartment building no longer had any real estate buyers or tenants; they had all moved to zones with cheaper accommodation. I loved this change. Now I could reach my apartment without fighting off those clingy fellows.
I had been saving up money for a long while to buy a new ship, no longer happy with the one I had. It did splendidly on missions up to level 4; virtually no one could detect and hit me. But with each new level 5 mission, I felt like I was a hair’s breadth away from death. Like with that cruiser shot that the AI had dodged. Had it not been for its fast response, I would now been fighting in the infantry.
My decision to get a new, stronger ship prevented me from spending any money in the real world save for what I needed to cover my most basic needs. I remembered too well the moment when I was some 600 credits short of completing a purchase. I would rather not face such a problem again. Buying a new ship was too serious to take any chances.
Ordering a delivery of fried shrimps and cold drinks, I collapsed onto my bed and took the tablet.
May I connect?
“Yes, please. But don’t do what you did on Earth.” I could use the relic’s help to save a bit on my multi-million purchase.
This network is above PQ50. I can conceal my presence easily and seamlessly. The data has been loaded. A registration mind limit has been detected.
“Registration mind limit? What’s that?”
Your registered mind in the trade network has a far greater functionality than the one I see operating there on your behalf. I can remove this artificial limit.
“Um... Won’t the admins spot that? There is someone looking after all this. Isn’t there?” I made a broad gesture.
It is your primary mind that is registered in the trade system, Viktor. That’s why you keep the skills you’ve gained while in it when you exit the bio-robot body.
“So, if you change anything, it will only affect my trade system account?”
Correct. I can track the queries addressing your mind and disguise the data sent in response to look like it did before replacement. I’m now a part of your mind. I can process external requests far more efficiently than your brain can.
“Tell me more about that. What external requests?” I was alerted by these words.
Registering your mind in the trade system as a mercenary service provider, you consented to the processing of your personal data by employers. Anyone can access your information: your native planet, your skills, clan membership, completed missions, reputation, and any other characteristics as an employee.
“Hey, I didn’t register anything! I gave no consent to that.”
Didn’t you? Look at Clause 12.8.6.7 of the user agreement you’ve signed when registering your mind in the Galaxy system. It states exactly what I’ve mentioned.
“Who the hell ever reads those user agreements?” I couldn’t believe that the damn aliens included such things in their plan.
You need to read agreements you sign, Viktor. If my brain-mate had a voice of its own, it would probably be dripping venom.
“Well… Remove those limits then,” I agreed to avoid further arguing with a creature that only existed in my head. Talking to it was probably enough for any doctor to diagnose me with schizophrenia.
Changes have been made. Access to full functionality available.
I didn’t really feel any change, neither inside me nor in the world around me, so I opened the character menu. I wasn’t surprised to see that all the labor I had put in leveling myself up along the pilot branch, earning all th
ose skill slots and points, had been devalued. I had the whole skill system fully developed. All infantry, mechanic, and pilot skills were unlocked and maxed out. That made me feel robbed. “How’s that possible?” I screamed. “Can one have all of these skills at once?”
One can. These are all rather low-level skills that require no high intelligence or special education. A mind bearer with a degree in space engineering will always be paid at least a dozen times more than any of you. No shame for you here. With a developmental level of PQ12, humans can’t possibly manage any tasks more complicated than operating various types of machines. The military technology is largely unified. Most manufacturers prefer to follow the standard set by mercenary service provider clans than try to stand out with a unique interface.
“Do you have many mercenaries out there?” Researcher’s words destroyed my little world. It pained me to realize that I was but a cesspool cleaner for the Universe.
Sure. Most sapient races are at such high developmental levels that they’re averse to killing other sapient creatures. And less developed races, like yours, do it gladly. Why not use you to do what you love so much?
“That was really offensive,” I tried to protest but stopped. The damn alien thing was fucking right. But then I found a word to pick on. “So you are averse to killing unless you do it by hiring someone? What a high moral standard you developed races have.” Snakes would envy the venom that could be heard in my voice.
Viktor. The mercenaries are simply assigned to missions. It is up to them to decide whether they’ll kill to accomplish them or not, I was told in a mentoring tone.
“The Jesuits would highly approve of your thinking.” I was still boiling. “How can you capture a planet, or even a shipyard, without killing the resisting locals?”
Through negotiation, for instance. Or you may offer them alternative solutions. Sure that’s more expensive and time-consuming than merely destroying the resisting party.
I was in no mood to continue the discussion. The new info had dragged me, and the whole of humanity, through the mud. I better do what I’m good at and clean their cesspools. Pilot my fighter, I mean.
My food had arrived but did nothing to lift my spirits. Opening the aircraft shop menu, I wasn’t even half as inspired as before the talk with Researcher.
Instead of the familiar menu, I saw my roomie intervening again: User data changed. Requesting full access.
Data scanning...
Verification requested.
Verification accepted.
Full access provided.
The simple interface with several menus that had used to be there before was instantly transformed, flashing with lots of new colors. The number of available folders had been boosted dramatically as dramatically; it was as if I had switched from a small online shop website developed by a first-year web design student to AliExpress.
Dear Customer, we are glad to welcome you to the best retail system of Harosan Democratic Republic.
Your skill level has been verified by the Galaxy trade system.
Your reputation level has been verified.
The regular customer discount provided to you earlier has been confirmed.
We hope that we will be able to fulfill all of your requests. If you fail to find what you need, please contact any available manager. They’ll come back to you with a solution to any issue you may face. Thank you for using our interface.
“What’s that?” I barely had the strength for any more amazement or anger.
Full connection to the trade system you’ve been using for all of your purchases. I activated it by requesting full access in accordance to your current level of skills, Researcher informed me.
“What if they find me by through connection? Can’t they see me buying a ship I technically can’t afford with my skill level?”
I’ll disguise your mind ID for this purchase by creating a chain of resales. Don’t worry. My knowledge of high-level networks is sufficient. I can only fail when meeting a particular problem or request for the first time.
“Then ask me for advice every time you have such a problem,” I offered. “I’m the one taking most of the risk, so I need to have a right of vote in your decision-making.”
Considering the recent incident endangering the bearer, your request has been accepted as sensible. I will ask you next time, Viktor.
“Good. Now, I need some rest.” I shook my head, opened the main game menu and selected Exit.
***
All I wanted was to go out and get a breath of fresh air. Putting weather-appropriate clothes on, I asked Home to clean the apartment while I was away, and took the elevator to the ground floor. As I had no particular goal in mind, I walked wherever my feet took me, reflecting on the recent events.
You’ve mentioned three that need my cooperation. Can you tell more about them? I asked mentally to avoid scaring the passers-by.
We’ll buy a ship with a jumper engine and visit a planet fully connected to the Galaxynet during our next mission. I’ll need a couple of hours to create the viruses that will affect several other underdeveloped planets in the same way Earth has been affected. That will distract the search. I will also plant several timed viruses on other planets for later. The trace created by these splashes will make it look as if my bearer and I are moving deeper into the inhabited space.
You think that’ll help?
Yes. I’ll time the viruses so as to create an impression that we are constantly moving, exploring new worlds. This behavioral pattern is expected from Forerunner artifact bearers.
Wait... What artifact? I was surprised.
I was created by the Valuurtian race that lived millions of years ago and is a far removed ancestor of many life forms across a variety of Galaxies. That’s why they’ve been classified as Forerunners in the new age.
Are you saying I have a million-year thing in my head? I froze on the spot and felt someone bump into me.
“Oh, I’m really sorry.”
I looked up and back at the apologizing girl. She was rather pretty. “No, I’m sorry. A sudden call,” I apologized back.
Smiling, she walked past me.
Before I could word a mental question, the girl’s photo, full name, age, national ID and medical insurance numbers, driver’s license, credit card, and all the other social identifiers appeared in front of me. I even saw the PIN code that I could use to extract money from her account if I wanted to.
Wow. Reading carefully through Tatiana Kuznetsova’s dossier, I saw all of her devices that were connected to the web. Selecting the Smartphone icon, I opened it and skimmed through the stored photos. Some of them were more than explicit; she apparently took them in the bathroom to sext them to her boyfriend. I didn’t look through her PC, though. Instead, I resumed my conversation with Researcher.
So you are million years old?
Yes, as a matter of fact. But my activation was significantly more recent so my earliest memories are just two hundred years old.
I don’t get it. If you are million years old, how can you remember only the last two hundred? That really confused me.
We were discovered by the Al’de’ral race during their archeological excavation on a planet previously inhabited by our creators. The Al’de’ral discovered and activated us.
Why ‘us’? Are there others like you?
There are. The Valuurtians were an ancient race of scholars who had been exploring the Universe for ages. The autonomous modules that could integrate themselves into the minds of any other race assisted them with data collection and analysis. They had hundreds of millions of modules like me.
But that was millions of years ago. You say that you’ve only been activated recently. How many of you?
Three modules. The Al’de’ral kept one to themselves, auctioned another, and gave the third one as a gift to the observer race in their sector.
I see. And what happens when two module bearers meet?
The long silence that followed made m
e anxious. The last time it had fallen silent like that, I received bad news. It was the same way this time.
According to my software, the more advanced modules can consume the less advanced ones to increase the amount of data collected.
So I should better avoid other bearers?
Correct, Viktor. But there is one problem.
One? I feel like my whole life since meeting you has been a total mess of problems. What else should I know?
Bearers can sense each other within a particular distance as their modules are automatically trying to synchronize and exchange data.
And how large is that distance?
I don’t have that information. I only know what synchronization statuses are displayed in that case.
As we’ve agreed before, please let me know about any other bearers you spot nearby. And about any synchronization attempts. I’d rather not get in an even worse mess.
All right, Viktor. Your request is well-justified.
This new knowledge actually seemed to increase my sorrow. Not asking my brain tenant any other questions, I started to ponder it over. Do I really need this? The ability to browse the private photos of all girls passing by was not a bad one, but all those global conflicts really scared me. I started to realize what sort of a mess I had actually gotten into. I had to plan each next step with more caution than ever before.
What happens if one module is consumed by another? I asked, just in case. What does that mean for its bearer?
The same as reverse transformation from the mental form. The risk of full brain destruction, came an instant confirmation of my worst fears.
Nothing good, I see. How can we avoid being detected?
Set safety as top priority. That will significantly reduce the detection distance, but the completeness of collected data cannot be guaranteed.
I don’t give a fuck about your data and its completeness! I only care about myself and my planet. So set what you need to set to avoid detection. And take care not to leave that many traces.
Lost in Space Page 19