by James Walker
“There,” Koga said. “That's where our quarry will go to elude us.”
“That would be the logical conclusion,” Ridley agreed.
Koga scrutinized the map for a while, then indicated the various points of egress from the city. “Our greatest fear is that the rebels manage to escape the city after emerging from the transcontinental tunnels. Can you set up roadblocks and establish regular patrols around the city's perimeter for the duration of this operation?”
“We already have checkpoints at every route leading in or out of the city, but I can beef up security at each of them,” Ridley replied. “As for the patrols, no problem. We have enough recon choppers to keep several in the air around the clock.”
“Perfect.” Ryu pointed at the outer districts. “Once the city is locked down, we need to flush the rebels out of their hole. No half measures. If storming the Undercity with an army is what it takes to catch them, then so be it.”
Ridley frowned. “I'm not sure that brute force would be the best approach. The outer ring is dangerous. Even well-armed P.S.A. teams have been known to get killed in those alleyways. As much as I hate to admit it, these days the Undercity is more the criminals' territory than ours. A reckless foray into that region could result in heavy casualties.”
“That's why I said 'storm' it,” Koga said. “It's clear from your lecture that you don't have proper control over your own domain. Therefore, we're not treating this operation as some kind of crackdown. It's an invasion into enemy territory.”
A tense silence filled the room. Ridley and Koga glared at each other. Liumei watched them both through calculating eyes.
“I don't think you appreciate the difficulty of our task, Commander,” Ridley said finally. “And with all due respect, we are not the military. We're a domestic security force. Invasions are your job, not ours.”
“I'm well aware of the gap between your operational capabilities and ours, Director,” Koga replied. “That's why I'm proposing a joint operation. Our first objective is to lock down the city and prevent the rebels from escaping. Only you have the resources to accomplish that.
“Second, we locate the rebel force. Again, your men are better equipped for that task, but I'll be glad to lend you our assistance if you wish.
“Third, once the rebels are located, we crush them with overwhelming force. Our assault company will be more than willing to act as vanguard and take the brunt of the fighting.”
Ridley looked at Koga with disdain. “Along with the brunt of the credit, I'm sure.”
“You don't like my plan?” Koga waved one hand dismissively. “If you think you can take the rebels by yourself, be my guest. I have no objection to you doing all the work for us, if you think you can.”
“No, your plan makes sense,” Ridley said. “You can count on our support.”
“Good.” A cold smile creased Koga's face. “You have my thanks, Director Nimh. And you as well, Governor. We appreciate your cooperation in helping us to apprehend these nefarious terrorists.”
Liumei inclined her head. “Do you require anything else of us, Commander?”
“No, that will be all for now.”
“Very good.”
At Liumei's command, the same serving girl who had poured tea came forward and waited expectantly.
“Meifen, show the commander to his quarters,” Liumei said. “See that he is comfortable. Anything that he requires to make his stay a pleasant one, it is to be granted.”
Meifen bowed. “Of course, my lady.” She gestured to Koga. “Please follow me, sir.”
Despite a rocky start, Koga was satisfied with the outcome of the meeting. He rose from his seat, bowed to Liumei, and followed Meifen out of the room.
*
Ridley turned off the holographic projection of Hongpan and looked at Liumei. Once Koga was safely out of earshot, the governor sighed and crossed her arms.
“What a boorish man,” she said.
“Spacy is always like that,” Ridley replied. “They think having all the big guns gives them license to boss everyone else around.”
“He seemed much too desperate to capture the rebels that escaped them on Port Osgow,” Liumei mused. “He was obviously hiding much from us. I think the rebels escaped with that object that they're so frantic to acquire.”
“That would make sense,” Ridley agreed.
“Don't let the honorable commander forget to forward us a copy of their orders,” Liumei said. “While you're at it, do some investigating of your own and see if you can discover anything else about their mission.”
Ridley inclined his head. “Of course.”
“And if we should happen to acquire the object of their search before they do...” Liumei smiled at Ridley and tilted her head, causing her meticulously styled bangs to sway across her brow. “Well, we needn't be too forthcoming with that information, wouldn't you agree?”
Ridley returned her smile. “I would indeed.”
*
Escorted by a group of P.S.A. agents, the Spacy troops and their captives rode the cargo lift from the kilometer-high roof of the palatial skyscraper all the way to ground level. They stepped past a pair of stone statues fashioned in the shape of chimeric creatures with mixed piscine and bovine bodies and draconic heads sporting antlers. Beyond the statues, they entered an ornate garden surrounded by towering trees that blocked most of the city from view. If not for the skyscraper that marked the center of the villa and the containment dome overhead, it might have seemed that they had stepped through a portal to a remote nature preserve.
The P.S.A. agents began breaking into two groups, one to escort the captives to prison and the other to show the Spacy troops to their accommodations. Before the groups separated, however, Omicron interjected.
“Hey, pizza boy,” he addressed the ranking P.S.A. agent. “You can show me my quarters later. I want to be there when you throw these drug runner wipes in the slammer.”
“As you wish, Lieutenant,” the agent replied.
“I'll go too, then,” Lambda said.
They broke off into two groups. Omicron and Lambda accompanied the agents escorting the prisoners to the palatial complex's small internal prison, located at the edge of the villa. The utilitarian structure seemed out of place amidst the natural beauty of the courtyards. After passing through a security checkpoint, they made their way to the cells in back and prodded the prisoners inside.
“Hey.” Omicron walked up to the bars of the cell and stared at one prisoner in particular: a large man with white hair and a cybernetic eye. “Mr. Cyclops. You were the one piloting that tin can of an exosuit, weren't you?”
“What of it, Spiky?” the smuggler demanded.
Omicron crossed his arms and smirked. “I just thought you'd like to see the face of the man who kicked your ass, you drug-running piece of shit. When they take you to the gas chamber, tell them Omicron sent you.”
The smuggler snorted. “Easy to act tough when you're jacked up on the latest enhancements, using state-of-the-art weapons, with a whole army at your back, isn't it? Why don't you come in here and try spewing some of that garbage.”
“Sounds like fun, wipe.” Omicron took a step forward.
One of the P.S.A. agents intercepted him. “I'm sorry, Lieutenant, I can't let you do that. No unauthorized contact with the prisoners.”
Omicron shot the prisoner a venomous glare. “You got lucky, punk.”
The smuggler laughed at him. “You're the lucky one. You think you'd stand a chance against a real fighter without your fancy toys and your drone armies and your chemicals, you coddled little shit? I'd tear your head off without that kill juice to inflate your shriveled balls.”
“Hey.” Omicron's voice grew cold. “I think you'd better open that door before I break these bars in half and beat the little wipe to death with them.”
“That's enough, Omicron,” Lambda snapped. “This isn't accomplishing anything. You're just making us look bad.”
The rage f
ell from Omicron's expression, replaced with tired disdain. “You're right. This scum isn't worth it. I got to see his smarmy ass rotting in jail before they send him and his pals off to be gassed. I'm satisfied.”
As Omicron and Lambda turned to leave, one of the P.S.A. agents whispered to another, “Can't say he's wrong, though. I heard these Spacy brats are here on the surface because they can't stop failing their mission.”
Omicron froze. He turned around slowly and growled, “Hey, pizza boy. You got something to say to me, say it to my face.”
“Omicron,” Lambda warned him.
The agent did not back down. “Yeah, I've got something to say to you. We don't appreciate your high and mighty attitude when the only reason you're here is because you keep screwing up, and now you need our help cleaning up your mess.”
“Well, somebody thinks highly of himself,” Omicron said. “You do realize that if we wanted to, we could level this entire city with just the one company we took down with us? Or did the pizza force finally recruit some real fighters when I wasn't looking?”
The agent could barely contain his disgust. “You have got to be kidding me. You Spacy jocks are the most coddled forces in the Union, while we do all the dirty work, and you've got the nerve to say you're the real fighters?”
“You tell 'em, pizza boy,” one of the smugglers called.
“Shut up,” the agent snapped.
“Hans is right,” another agent piped up. “Maybe I'd be more willing to take your crap if you had something to back it up, but from what I hear, the rebels have given you the slip twice even after you trashed all of Port Osgow trying to take them out.”
Spurred by his comrades' defiance, a third agent interjected, “Maybe they just programmed 'em wrong. Set 'em to wipe out their allies instead of their enemies. That would explain why they keep blowing up everything except their target.”
The agents laughed.
Omicron's mouth spread into a dangerous smile. “Oh, so you think you're better than us?” He extended one hand and beckoned to the agents. “Well, c'mon. I'm right here. Or don't you have the guts without a set of bars to hide behind?”
“Don't play into their hands, Omicron,” Lambda said. “They're just trying to provoke—”
“Step off, sister,” Omicron interrupted her. “If you're not gonna back me up, then just keep out of it.”
A long silence ensued. The smile did not leave Omicron's face. The P.S.A. agents tensed, but remained where they were standing. Finally, Omicron let his hand fall to his side.
“Big mouths but no balls, huh?” he said, disappointed. “Just what I'd expect from the pizza force.”
The agent called Hans balled his hands into fists. “All right, fine.” He stepped forward and dropped to a fighting stance. “If the rest of you won't put this jerk in his place, I will.”
Hans lunged and swung at Omicron. With barely any movement, Omicron grabbed Hans' wrist and forced him to the ground with a rapid twisting motion. He pressed Hans' arm tight against his back, keeping him immobilized.
“Well, at least one of you has some guts,” he said. “Too bad he doesn't have the skills to back it up.”
“Hey,” an authoritative voice barked from behind Omicron. Omicron turned his head and saw a P.S.A. officer entering the cell block.
“What's going on here?” the officer demanded.
“One of your boys took a swing at me.” Omicron shoved Hans at the officer. “I know Pizza's not up to Spacy's rigorous standards, but even you guys should be able to keep better discipline than this. This is disgraceful.”
The officer caught Hans and glared at him. “Is this true?”
“Y—yes, sir.”
“I see.” Deep furrows creased the officer's brow. “Your punishment will come later.” He turned to Omicron. “I apologize for my men's behavior, Lieutenant.”
Omicron waved his hand dismissively. “No big deal. Their skills are as bad as their discipline, so no harm done.” He cast a smug grin over his shoulder at the other agents, then strutted out of the cell block.
Lambda's expression was apologetic. “I'm sorry about this. He's like that with everybody,” she said quietly, and followed Omicron out.
Many hate-filled stares followed the augments out of the cell block. The smuggler pilot dropped onto his cot and laughed.
23
The journey from the apartment complex to Mirion District proved long and stressful. Unlike the slum where the rebels had taken refuge, Mirion District more closely resembled the wards Vic had grown up in on Thera. The architecture was in better repair, traffic was heavier, and security was tighter in this section of the city. Surveillance drones floated from block to block performing random scans, and Vic spotted numerous fixed cameras hanging above the streets. Despite Pierson's assurances of the impenetrability of their fake identities, Vic's heart pounded in alarm every time he spotted one of the surveillance devices.
After many blocks, they arrived at the Illusion Castle dive shop. Esther waited for an opportune moment to enter the alley next to the shop and slip around back while the others entered through the front door.
Pierson paid for all three of them at the front desk, then they entered the dive room, a toroidal chamber filled with coffin-like dive pods laid out in concentric circles. Vic climbed in his assigned pod and stretched out along the cushioned bottom. He relaxed his muscles as the pod's interface prongs unfolded and touched lightly against his skin. Once the interface was initialized, the pod's cover slid shut, plunging everything into darkness. Vic closed his eyes and waited for the interface to activate.
For an instant, a barrage of contradictory sensations flooded Vic's senses. Then there was nothing but a vague floating sensation; and finally, after a few moments, Vic felt a cool breeze and entered the cybersphere.
He stood on a shimmering platform beneath an endless sky filled with planets of every color and description. Fluffy white clouds floated in the azure sea. The words “Central Hub: Coven Server” flashed on the platform. Fellow cybersphere users milled about the platform, most of them heading for swirling portals at the platform's edge.
After a moment's searching, Vic found Pierson and Eliot, their disguised appearances recreated with almost perfect fidelity. He made his way through the crowd and joined them in a secluded corner of the platform.
“Don't forget to broadcast the proper signal,” Pierson whispered. He conjured some text in midair and said, “Just broadcast this on auto-repeat on the global chat channel.”
Vic and Eliot nodded and complied.
“Now...” Pierson looked around at the portals surrounding the central platform. “Lots of servers to choose from. We won't be able to try them all at once, but we'll get better coverage by splitting up.”
“I'll take the sports dome,” Eliot said, nodding toward a portal displaying a stadium with an ongoing gravball tournament.
“All right.” Pierson looked around for a moment and then said, “I'll take historical reenactments.”
“Then I'll take...” Vic swept his gaze across the portals, each vying for the cybersphere users' attention: Peaceful Nature Getaways, Pleasure Palace (Adults Only), School Days, Ultimate Soldier...
“Ah, I recognize that one.” He pointed at a portal labeled Grand Fantasy Universe. “I'll take the fantasy world.”
“Fine,” Pierson said. “Let's friend each other so we can send private messages. As soon as one of us makes contact, notify the others so we can log out.”
“C'mon,” Eliot wheedled, “can't we spend a little time here? I don't get many vacations, you know.”
Pierson sighed and shook his head. “Don't make me regret putting you on the contact team, Harper.”
Vic's brow furrowed in concern. “Is it safe to be talking in here? All of our actions are logged by the system.”
“That's why we've got Dr. Klein out back, with physical access to the cables, filtering our data,” Pierson said. “Speaking of which, every minute we spend i
n here increases the chances that the good doctor's tampering is discovered. So let's get moving, shall we?”
The trio split up and made for their respective portals. Vic stepped through the Grand Fantasy Universe portal and emerged in a great cathedral, surrounded by stained glass windows depicting scenes from myth and legend. An angelic presence appeared in the air before him.
“Do legends speak of you already, mystical traveler?” the presence asked.
This was the virtual world's thematically appropriate way of asking whether Vic already had an account. He did, back on Thera, but not here on Chalice, and certainly not under his assumed identity. He answered in the negative.
“Then would you like an explanation of how to confront the great adventures that await you in this realm?” the angelic presence asked.
Vic had no need of a tutorial. Back on Thera, he had spent a great deal of time in this world to fill the long, empty moments of his aimless youth. Once again, he answered in the negative.
“Very well,” the presence answered. “I will always be close, should you change your mind. Before you enter this realm, traveler, give form to the vessel that shall act as your avatar.”
Account creation time. First thing was choosing a username. Vic decided to go with the same handle he had always used in the past: Outlier.
With his name chosen, the next step was to create his virtual character. Vic fashioned for himself a black-robed void sorcerer, then departed the cathedral that acted as the login area and entered the virtual world proper.
He now found himself standing beneath a crimson sky occupied by two looming moons, one blue and one red. The fantastic landscape of a magical fantasy world stretched away in all directions. Vic checked his settings to make sure he was still broadcasting the contact message, then considered where to go first. In case he was the one to make contact with the Greenwings agent, a secluded location with little player activity seemed best. That left out the starting town and the nearby forest that served as a hunting ground for new players.