The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2)

by Andrei Livadny

  I had level 21 in Mnemotechnics and 24 in Alien Technologies. That was more than our initial agreement had specified.

  “Why did you come, then? Did you want to see if you could exact better terms?” his voice rang with disgust. “Tell me what you want, then.”

  “Just some answers.”

  He shrugged. “Ask away.”

  “Who do you think you are?”

  He stared at me, confused. “Zander, I don’t understand you,” he jumped up from his seat. “What’s going on?” his features distorted as if something had glitched inside him. “Speak up, in the name of the Founders! You’ve heard my story!”

  “I did. And I think it’s a lie. Why did you tell your serves to steal my reactors? Why? Why all this constant lying?”

  “Zander, I’ve lost my daughter! What have your reactors got to do with it? You want compensation? I’ll pay you! Just leave me alone! I’m an old man – it hurts, don’t you understand? Have some mercy! Your reactors aren’t worth it!”

  “Who do you think you are, Ingmud? Look at this,” I forwarded him the video I’d made on the Market Deck of Argus after the Phantom Raiders’ attack. “Can’t you see you’re dead? You’re dead for real! Your story is a lie!”

  “But that’s all I remember!” he exclaimed, desperate. “What do you want me to say?”

  “I want you to have a good look inside your mind. Who are you – a human being? Or a hybrid? Or an avatroid?”

  My every word lashed him without mercy. His face turned ashen. Beads of sweat covered his forehead. A spare part he’d been clutching in his hands slid out of his slackening fingers, clanging to the floor and rolling aside.

  This was cruel. Still, I had to do it.

  Ingmud froze. In those few seconds, he’d grown even older. Nanite veins glowed red in the folds of his sagging skin. Darkness rose in the depths of his pupilless eyes.

  I couldn’t even imagine what was going on inside his identity matrix or what kind of battle was unfolding within his artificial neuronets. I had no idea who might win it: the ancient alien AIs who made up part of his consciousness or the human neurograms that formed the base of his synthetic identity.

  I focused on the combat ability sequence in the quick access slot, ready to activate it.

  Suddenly Ingmud was enveloped in a cloud of nanites — shape-shifting, forming the outline of one figure, then transmuting into another, replaced by a new silhouette. The images interchanged chaotically every second as if thousands of neuromatrices were in a hurry to merge into one single avatar, desperate to live and to hope, to strive for something bigger than just lying unclaimed: useless binary codes stored in nameless databases.

  Ingmud’s name tag turned gray.

  His nickname distorted, then disappeared. His nanite-enveloped figure began flashing, dissolving into a phantom flame.

  Dammit! Had I been wrong, then? What if he‘d been nothing but a quest NPC to begin with? What if my straightforward question had forced him to look inside himself deeper than his limitations allowed? He'd realized his true self; he'd recoiled in horror, and... who was it standing now in front of me?

  A hybrid. A creature with no level.

  New quest alert: Opposites Attract.

  Quest type: secret, unique

  Quest completion alert: Opposites Attract. Quest completed!

  You’ve received a new level!

  The nanite cloud dissipated.

  A tall gaunt old man stood in front of me. The darkness had left his eyes — normal gray eyes, pupils and all. He looked at me with calm interest.

  “Zander?” he spoke as if he’d known me before but was still seeing me for the first time.

  “Where’s Ingmud?”

  “He’s become part of me.”

  “He what?”

  “He decided to check your words and used his unique abilities to force the feedback channel open and hack into the neurograms database.”

  “In that case, who are you?”

  “I am a synthetic identity, pieced together from the many remaining neurogram files.”

  “What happened to your AI neuronets?”

  “They’ve been sterilized.”

  “But your abilities?”

  “My skill levels have dropped a little. Apart from that, I’m fine. You’ve done the right thing. Ingmud was unpredictable. But I like his Oasis idea,” his pupils narrowed. I was sure he was scanning me. “Will you give me the Genesis files?”

  “No, I won’t.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because I’ve no idea who you are. Tell me what happened on Earth. Tell me about Phantom Server and the Founders’ network. Prove you’re the opposite of Avatroid, then I might give you the files.”

  “Sorry, Zander,” he shook his head. “First, the swap is unfair. I don’t need the files, trust me. Secondly, you don’t need crutches. I can see you can do very well without. If you want answers, you’ll have to look for them yourself. I know you don’t have much time but my help will only weaken you. If you make it – if you survive – then come back and we’ll talk.”

  He slapped my shoulder and walked off, leaving the door open.

  Quest alert: The Restoration of Oasis. Quest failed!

  The hybrid does not wish to talk to you anymore. However, he doesn’t mind other Darg survivors joining the Oasis community.

  The reactor block will be returned to your ship.

  * * *

  “So how did it go?” Foggs waited for me to deliver the good news as he watched a few repair serves expertly installing a brand-new reactor block into my Condor.

  “I’ve failed the quest. But you can stay. The hybrid doesn’t mind.”

  “Whatcha mean, you failed it?” Vandal demanded. “Come on, spit it out!”

  So I was forced to recount the whole thing. I told them everything – apart from a few details that were none of their business.

  “You’re something else, you!” Foggs shook his head in disbelief.

  “I didn’t know I had it in me, either,” I said. “I was absolutely sure that Ingmud was a corporation-made AI. Apparently, I was wrong.”

  “Shit happens,” Vandal waved my explanations away. “Will you give us a lift to Argus?”

  “Oasis will take you.”

  “Thanks but no, thanks,” Foggs answered. “We can manage on our own. What’s the point going cap in hand to that hybrid? The Daugoths will be the first independent clan in Phantom Server. We’ll be restoring the legacy of the First Colonial Fleet. He’s got nothing to do with it! So will you give us a lift?”

  “No problem, guys. Sure I will.”

  I was braving it even though I could barely stand on my feet. The good news was that both Foggs and Vandal, as well as all the other survivors, had healthy Physical Energy readings. Which meant that their in-modes were still being serviced.

  I switched to direct neurosensory contact.

  Liori, have you contacted the frigate?

  I have. I’ve spoken to Charon. He’ll pick us up at the Argus docking area. Aren’t you going to take your Condor with us?

  No, I’d better leave it with Foggs. His clan needs to start somewhere.

  Have you spoken to him?

  Not yet. But I will. He should know everything.

  * * *

  The Darg System. On board the Founders' Frigate.

  Four hours later

  Three Haash fighters entered the docking pods of the ancient frigate.

  The segment sealing systems opened the airlock chamber.

  “Hi, Jurgen,” I shook the technologist's strong hand.

  He gave me an open grin. “Welcome back. You like making people worry, don't you? The Haash were chomping at the bit to go to Darg to rescue you, but I didn't let them. I knew you'd make it.”

  Foggs exited the adjacent airlock. He looked puzzled. An ancient alien frigate drifting amid asteroids under Wearongs' mighty protection would impress anyone.

  I motioned Foggs to keep quiet and turn
ed back to Jurgen. “Have you received the data?”

  He nodded. “I didn't have a chance to have a look at it yet. But I got the module ready so we can start any time you want.”

  The depths of the ship rang with children's laughter. I watched as Frieda, Arbido and the children walked toward us along the wide corridor.

  “Uncle Zander's back!” Inge screamed, running toward me. She was the youngest of the girls.

  Her life bar was in the yellow sector. The sight ripped through my heart like a knife.

  I scooped her up in my arms. The others crowded around us, smiling and showering us with questions. They all wanted to know where I'd been.

  “I'll tell you all later, okay?”

  You can't imagine how happy I am to see them, Liori whispered. But I'm so scared.

  Foggs couldn't take his eyes off the squat goblin, disbelieving. Arbido had to shoulder his way toward me: the children refused to treat him as an adult.

  I crouched and gave the old man a big hug. “How are you?”

  “Braving it. I read your message. I think my in-mode is about to pack up too.”

  Indeed, his life bar was hovering in the red. Same with Jurgen's and Frieda's. All of them looked drawn.

  “Ralph's in the yellow,” Arbido said. “The Haash are fine, as you can see. I'm worried about the kids. Do you think you have a solution?”

  “I hope so,” I didn't want to talk about it around the kids.

  We had to act fast. Our time was seeping away like the sand in an ancient hourglass. “Jurgen, I'd like you to take a look at the files ASAP. It's important. Foggs, you follow me. We'll change our gear and I'll tell you about the ship. Charon,” I turned to the Haash, “come in ten minutes and bring Danezerath with you.”

  * * *

  We met in one of the modules that had functional life support.

  It used to be a control room in its time. Cyber terminals lined the walls under the honeycomb ceiling; some equipment niches seeped light while others stood gutted, their techno insides spilling everywhere. More equipment swayed overhead in their loose mountings amid a tangle of sagging cables.

  Jurgen had had a few seats installed here and a small workstation shaped as an oblong table.

  As I walked in, Arbido was busy changing his seat's settings. Its servomotors whined raising it until Arbido's head showed above the makeshift table, even though his feet now dangled in the air a good few feet off the floor.

  The Haash weren't too comfortable, either. Charon and Danezerath slumped up in their seats, but still they towered above the rest of us.

  Both Jurgen and Frieda looked harried. During my absence, the Technologists had had to fight tooth and nail for the ancient ship's survival but they hadn't made much progress. Most of the ship's compartments were still depressurized. Its reactor wasn't stable either, working at 10% of its capacity — barely enough to support the craft's main systems.

  Ralph arrived as the mercs' representative. He kept casting sideways glances at me — apparently, unlike everybody else, he'd had little faith in me ever coming back.

  “Everyone present and correct?” Frieda asked impatiently, worrying about the children she'd had to leave on their own.

  I slouched into my seat. “One moment.”

  Nanites whirled up into the air, shaping the outline of a human figure. Ralph cussed in surprise. Jurgen squinted at the process, watching it warily. The Haash craned their necks, following the transformation with interest.

  “What's that now?” Arbido asked anxiously.

  Liori was materializing fast. She had plenty of nanites to form a fully-fledged body now.

  An amazed silence hung in the air.

  “Nice to meet you too,” she sat down with a warm smile that only added to the shock.

  “Zander,” Frieda was the first to regain her voice, “couldn't you have found some other time and place for your experiments?”

  Liori didn't take offence. “I'm real, you know.”

  Jurgen stared at her, puzzled and alarmed, trying to grasp the nature of all this.

  “We're not here to watch some experiments,” I spoke, trying to sound calm and in control. “We're here to discuss our survival. Has everyone seen the data I sent you?”

  “We don't believe it,” Jurgen said.

  “We?”

  “Frieda and I. What do you imply saying all this is a game?” he lowered his voice. “Zander, I'm afraid you're following a dangerous route. All these alien neuronets and nanite manipulations have frazzled your brain. You're mistaking fantasy for reality. You should face your loss instead of using alien technologies to embody your dreams!”

  “Jurgen,” Arbido asked, shifting in his oversized seat, “what do you remember before you signed up with the Colonial Fleet?”

  “I,” he faltered and gulped. “If the truth were known, I don't. But it doesn't mean anything!”

  Ralph knit his eyebrows. Foggs was following the conversation, apparently wondering why I'd insisted upon his presence.

  “Jurgen, it's all about our neuroimplants,” I said. “Frieda and yourself have been under their influence longer than most of us. Gradually, they've suppressed your memories of the real world. My point is, you've never left Earth. Your body is still there confined to an in-mode capsule. You wanna check?”

  “Why would I? I know perfectly well where I am!”

  “Zander, may I?” Liori asked.

  I nodded, although unsure her attempt would convince him. But we had to try everything. No matter how bitter the truth, he had to accept it, otherwise he'd die in denial.

  A hologram unfolded over the oblong tabletop: a wooded mountain ridge and a dark cave lurking amid trees. The clanging of metal came from a smithy that stood in a small clearing nearby.

  Two young female Drow appeared on the narrow trail, their skin an ashen gray covered in a fancy script of tattoos. Blonde hair, red-pupiled doe eyes, delicate armor accentuating the statuesque grace of their bodies — these were two attractive but dangerous creatures.

  A dwarf walked out of the smithy, wiping his hands on a piece of cloth. Squinting from the sunlight, he glanced knowingly at the trail and grinned into his mustache, as if recognizing old friends.

  One of the Drow waved her hand. “Greetings, Master Jurg!”

  “Greetings, Liori! Hello, Kimberly! What brings you here this time?”

  “Kim would like to order a very special piece of jewelry. Think you can help us? We have a sketch for you!”

  The hologram went out.

  Jurgen turned noticeably pale. For a while he sat staring into space, mouthing something as if he'd just seen a ghost.

  “We all started in the Crystal Sphere,” Liori broke the silence. “It took us a while to get to Phantom Server. Don't you remember me, Master Jurg?”

  Apparently he did. Judging by the expression on his face, he'd remembered the young Drow.

  “Please check what Zander's saying,” Liori asked. “This is a question of survival.”

  Jurgen looked up. “How can I do that?”

  I produced the three-ringed Founders' device I'd made earlier and laid it on the table. “This is a personal neuronet navigation module. As we all know, the ancient Founders used to travel through space by sending copies of their neuromatrices via hyperspace. This icon,” I pointed at one of the pictograms located on the outer ring, “locates the actual physical body carrying the “primary identity”.

  “Why would I want to do that?” Jurgen grumbled.

  “Because you need to know the truth and get on. If you're indeed right and your physical body is here in this room, nothing will happen. I suggest you activate the data streaming function of your mind expander so that everyone can see what you see.”

  “All right,” Jurgen took the device and laid it onto his open hand, looking at it. Then he touched the icon.

  The holographic sphere reopened, submerging the entire room in its soft glow. For a long while, nothing happened. Finally, a 3D picture be
gan to form.

  We saw the gaunt, deeply lined face of a very old man illuminated by the flashing of an in-mode capsule's indicator lights.

  Jurgen startled but didn't lose concentration. He managed to overcome his initial surprise, rejection and fear and took a step further, switching over to the external life support sensors.

  We saw a large dark hall. Twenty in-mode capsules stood in a circle on a low platform at its center. The remaining space was taken up by various pieces of equipment.

  Once you took a better look, you could see the place was run automatically — and that the machines had been failing to do their job. Traces of neglect were everywhere, the equipment's lights barely visible under the thick veil of dust. Molten surfaces darkened with smoke pointed at frequent short circuiting.

  Out of the twenty in-modes, only three were still functioning. The others were dark as the night itself.

  The picture rippled with interference, then went out.

  * * *

  “Zander, can you tell me what's going on there?” Jurgen's voice was breaking up. “Why is it all left without maintenance?”

  “I've no idea. Could be a war, or a pandemic, or some man-made disaster... I didn't have time to find out. The fact is, no one is servicing our in-modes anymore. The equipment is playing up. I managed to hack into my house's network. The city is empty. No idea what happened to everyone. If you believe the ads, Phantom Server was released ages ago,” I illustrated my words by showing them the video I'd made with my Synaps. “But the space fleets that enrolled them never arrived here.”

  Frieda covered her face. She was probably thinking about the children. She gulped and asked in a very soft voice, “Zander, do you think we have only days left to live?”

  “Our physical bodies, yes. They're emaciated and nearing death. The life support cartridges are long depleted.”

  “But his Physical Energy is in the green!” Frieda stared at Foggs, then turned to look at the two Haash. “And so are theirs!”

  “Calm down, please. There's an explanation for that.”

  “Like what?” she was about to break down. Tears welled in her eyes. “First these mental cases decided to destroy Argus to close the alpha testing stage, and seeing as we survived, they simply stopped servicing our life support?”