The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2)

by Andrei Livadny

  Jesus. His mangled flesh was fused with metal gleaming blue. You couldn't tell where one ended and the other started.

  I felt uncomfortable. He must have suffered a torturous agony.

  “You think it hurt? Nope. It didn't. At first this constant mess in my head really bugged me. Then I got used to it. It was worth the new abilities I got. Like when you brought me that Dargian gear, I could see right through it. I knew which devices were still in there.”

  “Why didn't you offer me a normal price, then?” I couldn't help asking.

  “Just a habit. A second nature, as they say. Had I noticed the Founders' neuronet inside you then...” Ingmud stared at the floor, silent. I understood him without saying. Had he noticed it, neither Charon nor myself would have left his shop alive.

  “Zander, you need to understand. I wasn't myself then. The Founders' artifacts are sick bastards. Especially those AI modules. You're doing the right thing denying them access to your mind. Because they do things on the sly, you know. First they help you, then the next thing you know you're not yourself and the thoughts in your head aren’t yours anymore: they're cold and alien. And then there's this voice constantly whispering, Go and look... go seek the missing pieces... So many times I gave in to that whisper, and every time I ended up in places so deadly you don't want to know!”

  “You're still alive, though.”

  “Depends what you mean by alive,” he sighed. “I'm a hybrid, and that's that. I don't know all of my abilities yet, but as for Mnemotechnics and the Alien Technologies, I've already leveled them up almost to 100. How do you think I run this place? I see a mob, I immediately know what it can and can't do and whether I can use him. Then my head starts swimming with codes and commands until I cast a God-awful bunch of debuffs over him. Some serves just explode on the spot. Others freeze. Then I can come close and tinker with their programs. When it comes round it follows me everywhere like a dog.”

  “You mean you don't know how you do any of it?”

  “I didn't, at first. Honestly, I can't even remember leaving Argus. I spent some time wandering around this station, alone. The things I've been through! So, little by little I learned to understand and control my abilities. Then I met up with four mercs. They had set up camp under a dome shield on one of the decks and survived there by hunting xenomorphs. Basically, scavenging.”

  “Mercs, you say? No girl among them? Her name is Liori.”

  He shook his head. “Nope. Can't remember anyone of that name.”

  “Shame,” still, I activated a holographic model of the station and marked the alternative start point through which I had entered Phantom Server. “Was it here you met them?”

  “Oh, no. This is the other side of the station. I've never gotten that far. No idea what's there.”

  Shame again. “Can I speak to the mercs?”

  He closed his eyes, switching to the local network. “None of them are at the Oasis now,” he delivered the bad news. “They're all on Argus, raiding it for supplies. There're a few old stores there that aren’t yet completely looted. We're only setting up our life support system, you see. This,” he swept his hand along the ragged deck remains, “is what will become our eco system.”

  “Will it really? All I can see is dust and force fields. What's in there?”

  “Just some basic terraforming,” he answered cryptically. “I'll show you,” he focused, creating a holographic screen running with data.

  I glanced at the people in safety suits picking at something resembling poor soil. Some of the mobs tamed by Ingmud helped them, bringing what looked like rubble, then pulverizing it. A thick cloud of dust hung in the air.

  If you asked me, it looked aimless to the point of stupidity. Just a waste of time and effort. What did they hope to grow in these conditions on a space station, of all places? And even if they did it, what were they going to do with a dozen sickly saplings?

  “The Oasis will live!” he snapped as if he'd been reading my thoughts. “And it will live up to its name!” Then he added in a quiet voice, “It's my redemption...”

  Redemption? It sounded melodramatic. Which was actually quite normal for NPCs.

  * * *

  I cast another glance at Ingmud. He hadn't buttoned up his jacket yet. His flesh, infused with metal; spots of what looked like chemical burns; the steely purple sheen of his skin — all this didn't create a good first impression. By a sheer miracle, his face hadn't suffered at all, but it was repeatedly contorted by a strained expression — whether of physical or moral suffering, I couldn't tell.

  I had a funny feeling that next to him, Avatroid was a joke. Especially considering the hybrid's uncontrolled and in many respects yet unstudied abilities.

  “I have a proposal for you,” he finally broke a long pregnant silence. “Think you can help me?”

  Ah, finally. A quest. I knew it wasn't for nothing his serves had pilfered my reactor block. They'd been luring me in. That's why they hadn't aggroed me!

  The hybrid misunderstood my silence. “I'm not rushing you. But hear my advice. If you want to grow, you absolutely need to level Mnemotechnics and Alien Technologies. You just don't seem to realize their potential yet.”

  I got the hint. “What kind of help do you need?”

  “I want you to go to Darg. I have a daughter. She's an exobiologist. Kathryn's the name. She set off to Darg just before the Phantom Raiders attacked us. That was the last I heard from her. All I know is their landing coordinates and possibly the mission's objective. She might still be alive.”

  That I didn't doubt. If Kathryn was a player, barely twenty-four hours had elapsed for her.

  But Ingmud's story raised quite a few questions. Why did he remember Charon and myself? I couldn't get rid of the thought. True, you didn't forget Charon in a hurry but somehow I had my doubts that our lame attempt at selling him some scrap cargonite could have inspired the scriptwriters as they’d worked on this particular NPC's story.

  Should I try and test him? I had nothing to lose, really. If Ingmud's new role in the game was mentoring the few players who'd chosen to level the rare Mnemotechnics skill, he couldn't very easily say no.

  “A Darg mission takes quite a bit of preparation,” I said. “I'm sorry but you can see yourself that my level isn't quite up to it. I have a counterproposition. If you help me to contact my friends, I promise to come back in a few days with a well-prepared group. Then we'll talk about it.”

  I thought he'd frown and change his attitude, maybe even reduce my reputation with Oasis. Instead, he just lost it.

  He leaned forward out of his chair and grabbed my hand anxiously. “Zander,” tears glistened in his eyes. His chin quivered. “Help me. Please. In a couple of days it’ll be too late!”

  I expected anything but that. I'd seen my fair share of NPCs and clever animation, but the way Ingmud behaved was far too human!

  “Zander, I can teach you anything. For free. Please don't say no.”

  Watching a hybrid capable of sending me to my respawn point within seconds as he collapsed in a heap on the floor, kneeling and looking askance into my eyes, felt weird — spooky even.

  “You're not mad at me because of the cargonite, are you? It's because of your pet, right? This Haash, correct? You think if I wanted to buy him off you and sell him for organ harvesting, then I'm hopeless?”

  A tear rolled down his puffy cheek. “I was doing it for my daughter! Fifty grand for a xenomorph! We'd had a falling-out, you understand? She had just started organizing this Darg raid. She knew I had a whole boxful of neurochips stashed away so she came to me asking for money. She wanted to hire a good ship and pay for the mercs,” his voice broke. “Tell me,” he wheezed, “how could I have told her I wasn't even a human being anymore? I couldn't tell her the truth. And she took offence, you see. She thought I begrudged her the money! She stopped talking to me. Then they left in an old transport module without a support group. And... and they disappeared. And there's not a moment when I'm not
thinking about it!”

  He let go of my hand and wailed, bitterly and hopelessly.

  Admittedly, I was shaken.

  Ingmud wasn't just any old NPC. He was something much more than that. True, the scrap dealer I'd met on Argus had died there. But his neurograms had survived.

  I shuddered as I stared at the hybrid, realizing that he lived and suffered for real.

  You say it's not possible?

  And I tell you that the corporation had the technology for producing artificial neurons. They were used in the implants we had, mine included. The tiny device processed the gaming events, filling the user's mind with a whole range of unique experiences — but it also streamed the user's neural activity to a dedicated server.

  Basically, Ingmud's was a synthetic identity, a neuromatrix pieced together out of the many neurogram fragments collected during his lifetime. Was it a daring attempt of a superpower gaming corporation to create an artificial brain? Is that why he could remember the slightest details of his own past?

  Why do I care, might you ask? Wasn't it the corporation's business to create whatever it fancied? It made the characters more real, your emotions more authentic — so why did a shiver ran down my spine every time I thought about it?

  Because I lived in cyber space. I too had a neuroimplant. Reluctantly I tried on the skin of an NPC — and it didn't make me feel good. I couldn't help thinking, one day you die, then they'll use you as a base for another “advanced” NPC, patching your identity together like a quilt as they hadn't yet learned to do it any better...

  I honestly felt sorry for the hybrid. “Okay. I'll see what I can do. Just tell me, you've been waiting a year already. What difference can an extra couple of days make?”

  “Don't you understand? The Eurasia fleet! Darg is their primary target!”

  “How d'you know?”

  He cracked a smile, pulling himself together. “I have a level 36 Founders' neuronet and the location tower just outside. I patched it up so now I can listen in to the command frequencies. Will you help me?” he asked me again, his voice brimming with hope.

  “What are our chances?”

  He grunted, scrambling back to his feet, and waved his hand in a practiced gesture, commanding the air to thicken into a holographic map of some Dargian location. “This is where the raid was heading. You can see a rocky range shielding a plain followed by a wooded area. Lots of exo ingredients and virtually no Dargians. Once Kathryn and the others heard about Argus being attacked, they must have realized they had nowhere to come back to. So they must have set up camp somewhere deep in the forest hoping to sit it out.”

  There was logic in his reasoning.

  The freshly-patched serve came into view again. It shinnied up the beams and froze overhead. I had the impression it was listening to us and could understand everything we were saying. The unpleasant feeling of being watched washed over me.

  My nerves had definitely been playing up since my encounter with Avatroid. My imagination was getting out of hand, too. What would a utility robot want with our conversation?

  “So you think they're still alive, then. You don't think they've been captured and enslaved? Why didn't you go there and see for yourself?

  “I wanted to! I tried! But I couldn't. Something won't let me off the station. Like I'm tied to the wretched place! No matter where I point the ship, I can't go further than one light second away from the station! I pass out,” his voice dropped. “All these neuronets, may they burn in hell! You see, Zander, most of those fragments I foraged for chips were from this station. So now the Founders and their AIs won't let me go and look for her! But I'm getting better at resisting them,” unconsciously he clenched his fists. “Although if you bring Kathryn back to me and rescue the artifact, there'll be no need for me to go anywhere anymore. I'll just settle down here for good.”

  I pricked up my ears. “Which artifact?”

  “Didn't I tell you?”

  “No. You didn't.”

  “It's a Founders' device. Its name is complex and difficult to translate, something that can be described as ‘Genesis’. It's basically what the raid went to get.”

  “Can you expand on this, maybe? What would exobiologists want with a technological artifact? That's not what they specialize in, is it?”

  “There, take a look,” he changed the picture on the screen. “It might help you understand. This is how this station used to look millennia ago.”

  I was looking at a chiseled spatial structure permeated with light and made up of a multitude of transparent domes. The glow of force fields, the intertwined support beams, the fragile petals of shield-protected external platforms that recreated landscapes of yet undiscovered planets — all this was humbling.

  So the way the station looked today was only a miserable shadow of its past glory — only what was left of its sturdy technogenic frame?

  “Genesis stores all the databases and DNA samples designated for cloning,” the hybrid's voice interrupted my thoughts. “From what I know, it can turn dust into fertile soil within days. It's not science fiction, Zander. There are certain types of bacteria capable of feeding on metal, ore, toxic and nuclear waste,” he pointed at the terraces still enveloped in dust. “I'll use the artifact to recreate the station. I'll call it Oasis and will invite everyone who wants to come and settle here. It's a good project, trust me.”

  “But how did the artifact end up on Darg?”

  “I don't know for sure. The past events are not clear. The Exobiologists clan deciphered a few of the Founders' log entries that said that after an accident at the station, its AI had rescued Genesis' core unit by sending it to the nearest planet. The coordinates point at these ruins in the forest,” he gestured at the map. “The Dargians don't seem to know anything about it, otherwise they'd have already dug the whole place up.”

  No player would ever miss a chance like this. This yet unassigned quest was in fact a whole scenario with a multitude of unique plot lines.

  If I refused it, I'd be forever kicking myself. But this Ingmud wasn't that simple. He'd forgotten to tell me about the artifact, yeah right.

  “I still don't get it,” I keep pushing the envelope. “Are you worried about your daughter or are you trying to lay your mitts on the artifact?”

  “The two aren't exactly incompatible, are they?”

  “Do you ask everyone who happens past to go to Darg? How many people have already gone missing there?”

  His face darkened. “My men tried to do it. They couldn't.”

  “Why?”

  “They don't have pilot's skills. Most of the Oasis settlers are either Mechanics or Vendors. Darg's orbit is patrolled by the slavers' ships. It's not easy to slip past them unnoticed. But unlike all the others, you'll have help.”

  “What kind of help?”

  “I'll tell you all the details later,” his tone switched to businesslike suspiciously quickly. “We'll make a contract,” now he was speaking like a gamer. “I offer you one neuronet upgrade of your choice. In return for this, you stop asking questions. When you come back from Darg, I'll teach you lots of things I've already learned. That'll raise your Mnemotechnics and Alien Technologies at least twenty levels.”

  I tensed up. If after all this I don't receive a new quest, all my speculations about corporation-made AIs would prove pure fiction.

  Quest alert! New quest available: Restoration of the Oasis.

  Quest class: Script (within the alternative plot line).

  Step 1. Ingmud seeks your help to bring his daughter from Darg back to him. You can accept his proposal.

  Immediate Reward: you will receive a unique neuronet upgrade of your choice.

  Future reward: The hybrid will teach you for free until you reach level 20 in both Mnemotechnics and Alien Technologies. Your relationship with Oasis settlers will improve considerably.

  Step 2. Find Kathryn.

  Reward: Unknown, varies.

  For your information: if you choose to complete
the quest chain within a group, all other group members will receive a unique set of gear (depending on their character class)

  Fine for failure or quest rejection: your relationship with Ingmud will be ruined irrestorably.

  It looked like he was one of the key figures on this station. I wondered why the quest message hadn't mentioned the artifact. Or could Kathryn already have had it?

  I absolutely had to accept the quest, no doubt about that. Gaming balance wasn't something I could ignore. If I received this quest, it meant it was doable for someone of my level.

  Also, I had to remember that both Mnemotechnics and Alien Technologies were the key to restoring the Founder's frigate.

  I focused on Accept, activating it. Still, the quest left a lot of unanswered questions. What kind of help had Ingmud meant? How was I supposed to safely clear the planet's orbital defenses? Was my char's level up to tackling that particular region?

  At least Ingmud had cheered up. He must have already received the message informing him of my decision. “So, Zander. I'm going to send you a list of all available upgrades.”

  I waved his offer away. “Don't need it.”

  “Why? What's up?”

  The decision flashed through my mind instinctively, at gut level, and I wasn't going to reconsider. “I want to ask you about something,” I kept pushing my luck.

  “Okay,” now it was his turn to look puzzled. “Tell me.”

  “You were right saying that I have two of the Founders' neuronets implanted. I would like you to remove one of them without damaging it. Think you can do it? Here's its icon,” I forwarded him the pictogram I’d noticed during the test activation.

  He didn't say anything for a long time. Finally he nodded. “It won't be easy but I think I know how to do it. Would you like to get rid of it completely or do you want me to throw in a handful of nanites and form an external connection module?”

  I had to think quickly. “That would be good.”

  He scratched his head. “You sure you're up to the risk?”