Jurgen gave me the evil eye. Suddenly he stepped forward and stood next to me, apparently wishing to call my bluff.
Frieda startled, staring at him in horror.
I knew very well what was happening. It couldn't be any other way. A single player may initiate a certain development, but it would affect the lives of many.
I turned my head to read their markers.
Liori. Outlaw. Level 51. Pilot.
Jurgen. Outlaw. Level 43. Technologist.
Charon. Outlaw. Level 23. Sentient Xenomorph.
We had become wrenches in the works of the game.
We were the Alts. The ones capable of giving this world its alternative history.
Whether that history would be long enough to recount depended on the numbers of the mercs who'd cross the line.
Their eyes were filled with some sort of superstitious fear — but they also glinted with hope. They had enough experience to know what it meant to go against the flow.
Their ranks quivered. Five more stood next to me.
I hurried to put their nicknames on a special list. I had my reasons to question the others' sincerity. They must have already realized that joining the alternative plot line would save them from immediate elimination by the developers; and still they sat on the fence, making mental calculations — which meant that their loyalty would be of the I'll join him and then we'll see kind.
I wasn't happy with that. My responsibility was too high as it was.
The rest of the mercs began to cross the line, singularly and in groups, taking their places next to me.
These were the only fighters we had. There wouldn't be others. The future was nebulous but at least it was in our hands now. It lay in our intentions and our actions.
Chapter Seven
Phantom Server. Outer Space
Our journey to the station took eight hours.
Charon and I took turns flying our craft. Its slow speed and smooth maneuvering (these cargo modules would have disintegrated otherwise) even allowed me to take a nap. But now it was time to act.
I took the controls. Considering we only had five fighter craft, a blatant entry was way too risky. We had to act inconspicuously, collecting whatever information we could, and then try to come up with a plan of action.
The two cargo modules changed their course, moving toward the coordinates I'd ordered. While Jurgen and Frieda gingerly maneuvered their craft, they remained within our line of vision meaning we could maintain laser communication.
I killed the engines. The other pilots followed suit. We coasted on, keeping a low profile while gathering intel.
Until now, everything was quiet. No one seemed to have noticed our approach to the station. I used the local network to forward the others the screenshots I'd made three weeks ago. I tried to draw the mercs' attention to the Guides as our most mysterious and potentially dangerous opponents. I had no information about them at all, secretly hoping that the mercs might know something. But they maintained grim silence as they listened to my meager explanations.
Unexpectedly, Frieda joined in.
Apart from her other specializations, she also possessed the unique profession of exotechnologist which demanded an extremely rare combination of abilities and skills like I'd never met before.
I told everyone about the mental pressure I'd sensed in the Guides' presence when I'd encountered them during the Dargian raid.
Having listened to my explanations, Frieda published several images on the local network. You could distinctly see five living domes that shielded the ruins of a mine on some asteroid or other. By the looks of it, these domelike creatures could survive in a vacuum at freezing cosmic temperatures. The medusa-like beings emitted a subdued glow. Their translucent bodies were threaded with capillary energy channels. Protective power fields shimmered around each of them.
"Zander, why did you think that it was the Guides who controlled the Dargians?" Frieda asked.
"Dunno. That's what I thought."
"The Guides is a rather dated name for what we now call the Emgles. They are as a matter of fact a presentient exobiological life form," she began to explicate. "They live in the atmosphere of the gas giant, just like the Wearongs do. When the First Colonial Fleet had just arrived in this star system, you could see them virtually at every one of the Founders' stations. The Dargians used them as living dome shields."
I compared them to the screenshots I'd taken. Those on the pics differed considerably in a number of ways. They'd apparently been cybergized. I pointed this fact out to Frieda but you couldn't confuse her so easily.
"It must have been the Dargians who did this," she said. "The Emgles are strong and fiercely independent creatures but they can be easily tamed during the earlier stages of their development. Young Emgles develop a strong bond with their owners provided they're well treated."
I struggled to imagine anyone "taming" a gigantic medusa from outer space. Still, Frieda insisted,
"It's their empathic nature that makes Emgles so susceptible. They're naturally curious. The adult ones can be described as defenders rather than aggressors. Their bodies may look fragile but they are in fact unique biological reactors refined through evolution, complete with an integrated power field generator. You just can't survive in the gas giant's atmosphere without one."
"But how about the planet's enormous pressure?" I insisted. "And how do the Dargians even manage to domesticate them?"
"They catch the young ones during the short period when they rise to the top layers of the atmosphere to benefit from the abundant solar energy," she explained. "The implant you noticed apparently points at the Dargians' inability to establish positive mnemonic contact with them. So they use technology to enslave them, turning them into dangerous and aggressive creatures. They use surgery to remove certain body parts, replacing them with implants. Such barbaric modification has one grave side effect. It arrests their development. As a rule, those Emgles which are unlucky enough to be trapped stop growing and don't live long afterward."
"Does that mean that those I saw were... teenagers?"
"Judging by the pictures, they were," Frieda answered.
"And can you tell me how I can deal with them?"
"The most important thing is, you should never provoke them or try to attack them first."
"Yeah, right," the mercs raised their sarcastic voices. "Just sit there and wait till they send us to our respawn points?" Their indignation was quite understandable.
"The Emgles never attack anyone first," Frieda insisted. "You must understand. The Dargians have hurt them a lot. If we treat them differently, they're bound to notice it. Also, they are very sensitive to mental images," she added. "I might try and contact them mnemonically."
Somehow I had my doubts. "What if it doesn't work? How close do you need to get to them in order to make sure they can hear you?"
"I must get within their direct line of vision," she said.
I shook my head. The Dargians weren't that stupid. They must have already put the station on high alert and taken additional security measures both on the Founders' ship and at the station's living quarters. Getting close to them wasn't going to be at all easy.
As for the mercs, their combined opinion was pretty clear: the only way to handle any Wearong creatures was by shooting to kill.
I contacted Jurgen. "What do you think?"
"We could use the Emgles at some later date, I suppose. I could look into their implant controls."
That got me thinking. "Can't we disable their implants somehow?"
"We probably could. They're only technology, after all. But it might take some time. We still don't know their power shield's frequencies. As far as I know, they may vary."
I couldn't believe my ears. "You mean each creature has its own unique frequency?"
"It does and it can also vary its parameters," Jurgen confirmed my worst suspicions. "I suggest you listen to what Frieda's saying. The Emgles are known for their powerful empathy.
Her idea just might work."
"Very well. Let's wait for the recon results and then we'll decide."
* * *
The modules left for the location I'd pinpointed while we drifted, collecting intel in passive reception mode, studying any signatures and watching the chosen sector of the station's surface via optical multiplayer, comparing and combining the data received.
The Dargians seemed to be continuing their restoration works on the Founders' starship. This was the only advantage we currently had. The Haash were busy working there — and by liberating them, we were going to get ourselves both some loyal allies and access to the unique ancient ship's controls.
As for the rest, things weren't as rosy. Our sensors detected ten space defense units that now encircled the station, installed in the better preserved hull structures. I was pretty sure such a reinforcement to their defenses had everything to do with the developments of the last few days. About fifty combat drones patrolled all accesses to the Founders' ship. Five Emgles enveloped its carcass, covering the larger holes and controlling the main airlock.
My eyes hurt from all the tiny shapes of Dargians. There had to be at least a hundred of them.
As the raid leader, I had to come up with the correct tactic, taking every detail into consideration. In normal gameplay, mopping up a location is a rather simple and straightforward thing. Each mob has its aggro radius. When pulled correctly, they can be taken out by ones and twos or in small groups, allowing you to advance toward your goal slowly but surely.
Here and now it was all different. Only the drones could qualify as NPCs — they and also the space defense systems. The Dargians' potential reactions remained a mystery. In the worst-case scenario, they'd be able to quickly assess the danger and kill all the Haash, then barricade themselves in the ship. This was something we couldn't allow to happen.
Then there were the Emgles. These were capable of foiling any amount of the best-laid plans timed to perfection. How were they going to react to our attack? Would they join in battle to confront our fighters? Or would they continue blocking all entry to the ship?
I knew nothing about this empathy thing. I could just about grasp its meaning thanks to Frieda's explanation but I wasn't sure I would trust it as a combat technique.
I kept watching, analyzing and mulling over what I was seeing.
There were just too many Dargians there. Even though the Haash were sure to take our side, this was going to be one desperate battle.
Whoever wanted to win had to ensure control over all respawn points and delay enemy respawning when killed by a player. These two points were paramount.
I absolutely had to speak to Jurgen but the modules had already left our line of vision, making laser communications impossible.
"Zander?" Liori PM'd me via my mnemonic inbox. "We don't have enough strength to attack the station."
"So what do you suggest?"
"The station is enormous. If we find a place that's sealed and undamaged..."
I knew of course she wasn't worried about herself. Still, I insisted, "If we want to survive, we need to take the ship."
"Impossible," she obviously had no illusions about our situation. "Ten space defense units won't let you anywhere near the station."
"That we're yet to see," I replied. My plan of attack was admittedly daring bordering on insane. But this was something the Dargians definitely didn't expect.
I sent my idea to Liori.
She paused, weighing up all the pros and cons. "You know what, Zander? It might just work," I detected a spark of hope in her voice. "Who's gonna do it?"
"You and I."
"We need to think every maneuver through. Are you that sure of the Haash prisoners?" I could hear that she'd already bought into my idea, prepared to take the risk if necessary.
"I am. They've been awaiting my return."
The mercs were apparently struggling to put their trust in xenomorphs. All their experience screamed otherwise. Still, I didn't suffer from the same kind of phobia so I didn't give in to their unspoken pressure. I told the three pilots to stay put within the path of their drift, out of the Dargian scanners' range, and to watch and perform all the necessary calculations. Liori and I were going to follow the cargo modules. Charon and I still had work to do on our craft; besides, I had a few questions to ask Jurgen. His answer might decide the outcome of the upcoming combat.
"Zander."
"Yes?"
She didn't say anything. Liori and I seemed to have some heavy chemistry going on. I just couldn't help it. The feeling had swept over me, sudden and sharp.
She never answered. Averting her gaze, she switched to the common communications channel.
* * *
A toxic haze clouded our view.
The once-icy floor of the enormous hall was now covered in pools of thawing water.
I could see the xenomorphs' hunched silhouettes in the distance. Their wailing sobs echoed from afar.
The two cargo modules moved slowly in, their landing supports jolting as they touched the ancient deck, damping their vibrations.
The scanning radius was clear. I didn't count the Kickers' signatures: they couldn't scramble away from the scene fast enough.
There is was, my first respawn point. I made out the familiar green glow in the distance. The mound of radioactive ore had to lie in that direction.
The mercs disembarked, dispersing to set up a perimeter.
The melting ice on the floor was flecked with dark blood. I pointed at it, marking the respawn point.
Jurgen sprang into action and scanned the entire depth of the floor. "Got it! A stationary respawn device. Fully functional. It's all as you said it would be, Zander."
I bet it was. How could I ever forget this place.
I walked over to Jurgen. "Mind telling me how you detected it?"
He sent me a screenshot of his interface.
I studied it, comparing it with mine. Apparently, I too had a similar scanner installed in my suit. When I activated it, an inscription read,
Search of active power imprints initiated
Just below, three buttons lit up:
Scan the device's frequency
Create a bind point
Scan the frequency and reset your personal marker
I'd love to know what Jurgen thought about respawning, considering that he believed himself to be in real life. I also wanted to know why setting up a respawn point demanded such complex equipment. Why would the game designers waste time on creating meticulous detail deep inside the deck flooring where no one was ever going to see it? They should have invested their effort in improving their interior designs.
"Jurgen? Did your clan try to study the resurrection mechanism?" I purposefully avoided calling it a respawn.
"We did. With little results. You need to understand, Zander: the Founders were tens of thousands of years ahead of us. They solved the molecular replication problem. But their equipment is extremely complicated; it takes a whole lot of energy and a wealth of biological supplies. Which is why functioning respawn points are very few and far between."
So that's how he understood something as simple as a respawn trigger. Never mind. Pointless trying to reason with him.
That got me thinking. Would my top-of-the-range scanners be able to detect other respawn points in the vicinity?
I started fiddling around with their options.
Several identical markings appeared at equal distances from my current location. Most of the markers were red. Only two of the detected devices glowed emerald. Both were definitely location-bound: one was set up in the prison block, the other right under my feet.
Another weak dull green light came on screen with a considerable delay in the vicinity of the Dargian-occupied area, disrupting the others' perfect symmetry. A chill ran up my spine. It didn't look good.
Things began clicking into place. I suddenly realized why Rash had managed to avoid decompression and thrown a pursuit together so quic
kly. He hadn’t respawned in the decompressed area.
I searched through the logs looking for the record of Charon's and my escape. Just as I suspected, the Dargians too had a respawn delay of only ten minutes (when killed by a player). But worst of all was this wretched green marker whose location coincided with the position of the Founders' ship.
"Jurgen? Take a look," I forwarded him the logs.
He turned noticeably pale. "The Dargians must have a mobile respawn point device," he said bitterly. "A super rare artifact! Zander," he switched over to the encrypted communications channel, "I hope you understand that this renders our entire plan useless? The Dargians will be respawning right here on board the starship!"
"Would it be possible to block their personal markers somehow?"
He shook his head. "I don't think so. To do that, you might need to recreate Gehenna-like conditions, and even then..."
"There must be a solution, surely!"
"There is. We'll have to destroy the artifact," Jurgen said grudgingly.
What a predicament. Why did it have to get so complicated?
"Jurgen, and what if I could get you its blueprints? Do you think you could use them to recreate the artifact at a later date?"
He sat up. "I suppose I could try. I can't promise anything, though. I just don't understand how you can get them."
"Do you have a scanner I could use?"
"As a matter of fact, I do. A professional one. It's built into my gear. It can create a detailed model of any technological artifact in a matter of minutes."
"I'm afraid, you might have to part with it for a while."
"Mind telling me your plan?"
"I will, don't worry. First I'd like you to tell me what can happen if the artifact is destroyed."
"The Dargians' personal markers will no longer be tied to this particular device. So the next time they respawn, they'll be redirected to the nearest functioning respawn point."
"You mean, here?" I pointed at the prison block marker.
Edge of Reality (Phantom Server: Book #1) Page 24