Countdown_LitRPG Series

by Michael Atamanov

  As soon as his body hit the sand, both diplomats walked unceremoniously over the lifeless corpse toward us.

  “Well... Looks like you guys landed yourselves in some shit...” Ivan Lozovsky told us in the dismayed tone of a teacher who’d caught troublemaking students near a broken window. “The security camera footage has been wiped, the safe of monetary crystals was broken into, and there are only human fingerprints on all the entrance scanners... If it weren’t for the disappearance of thirty shipping containers, I can’t even imagine how you'd get out of this... But the Geckho, despite being extremely angry, understand that you would not have been able to make off with thirty containers.”

  “I need to know what the people saw,” Kosta Dykhsh said in an even tone that expressed no emotions, not addressing any of us specifically. “And the Geckho will have a look...”

  The three of us exchanged glances, and I stepped forward. I started honestly telling why we came to the warehouse, how we got into the fenced-in area, and what we saw in greatest possible detail.

  “Show me!” the diplomat pointed his furry paw at the nearest gate.

  I repeated my trick with the shell glove, though this time I used a different name: Sysa Kuttsh. The gates opened obediently, and I saw Geckho expressing surprise for the first time. All the furballs around me had their nostrils flare, while their eyes turned into narrow little slits.

  Fame increased to 3.

  After a second’s pause, a heated argument began between the extraterrestrials crowded around the gates using many select and idiomatic expressions. Funnily enough, I partially caught the sense of their argument. Stock keeper Sysa Kuttsh had decided to scrimp on security systems and had either bought or just taken as tribute the very cheapest thing he could get his hands on. And it turned out those systems were totally useless and not even able to distinguish between a human and a member of a different race.

  The Geckho seemingly forgot about the humans all around them. Taking advantage of that, Ivan Lozovsky took the three of us aside:

  “They aren’t going to accuse you of theft. But, unfortunately, your vague description was not enough to identify the true thieves. The Geckho have many clans, groups and independent military divisions. And Shiamiru isn’t the name of a single ship, but a very widely-used class of cargo shuttle, which doesn’t help the investigation one bit. Nevertheless, Gnat, I’ll be expecting you this evening in the real world. We need to have a very serious discussion about your risky gameplay. It threatens problems not only for you personally, but for our whole faction, which I cannot allow! But now, while the Geckho are concerned with other things, I suggest you get back to Border Post Eight as fast as your feet can take you, and don’t stick your heads out or get caught up in any new adventures!”

  * * *

  With all the twists and turns, we forgot why we had even come to the pier. Our canteens were still empty, and I remembered that only half way to the border post. Meanwhile, the heat had become totally unbearable. By my estimation, it was no less than one hundred degrees Fahrenheit in the shade, and maybe more. To even take that measurement, I’d have to find some shade first! In the sun, it was far beyond acceptable. I finally had to put all my kevlar armor in my inventory and strip to the waist. Then I twisted my shirt into a makeshift turban to avoid heatstroke. Levelling be damned, if it meant nearly fainting in the heat! It wasn’t worth sacrificing my health!

  But I planned to take a different way back to Border Post Eight, going higher up the mountain slope, so I could level my Cartography and my Mineralogy. But in the oppressive heat, I had no energy to scramble up rocks, and time was pressing. There was just an hour left before the end of our shift, so I resigned myself to scanning for oysters a few more times and giving them to Imran. In the end, that netted me ten more pearls, and got my Scanning to twelve. What was more, my character had reached level nine!

  I put all three skill points right into Scanning. I didn’t want to get scolded tonight for disobeying direct orders on top of the almost guaranteed lecture for my risky behavior.

  Kisly was still sitting on the very top of the tower with his trusty machinegun but, despite the heat, our commander was now suited up. The machine-gunner listened to the story of our misadventures on the pier, and didn’t hide his dismay:

  “I told you to come back! You didn’t listen, you wanted to go where you aren’t allowed. It's your own fault!”

  Imran noted fairly that, with such bad radio signal, we couldn’t make out more than a couple disjointed words. Also, the level-6 Gladiator asked why it was like that. Despite himself, Kisly agreed that our communications devices were atrocious:

  “All our soldiers complain about that... Our technicians initially blamed it on a lack of pure crystalline silicon to make semiconductors, and how hard it is to make capacitors, diodes and other transistors from scratch. The quality varied a lot. In the end, we just brought in components from the real world, but there were not enough. That allowed us to make okay radios for the First and Second Legions with encoding and other bells and whistles. But newbies are still issued old devices that just barely work...”

  The experienced soldier went silent in thought, then changed the topic:

  “So, you wanted to see centaurs. There are a couple near the barbed wire fence now.”

  I looked through an embrasure and saw two centaurs just three hundred feet from our tower! One was a large male with a chestnut-colored horse body that gave way to a muscular human torso. And next to him was a relatively small female with stripes like a zebra. Kisly, holding his sights on the couple, commented:

  “They aren’t crossing the border, just stomping around their territory. They probably came to trade. They sometimes have fabrics, pearls or forest berries to sell. I'm not coming down from my position but, if you want, you can go talk to them.”

  Anya was categorically opposed, honestly admitting that she was afraid. Imran was also hesitant, but in the end decided to stay. He said he’d already had enough adventure for one day. So, I had to go it alone.

  “Just put your rifle into your inventory,” Kisly advised me. “Centaurs are strong, clever and utterly unprincipled. They’ll take your weapon from your hands and run off with it. Then, you’ll have to explain yourself to the leadership and ask Vasiliadi for a replacement.”

  It was reasonable advice, so I followed it, but I couldn’t fathom why the centaurs might want a rifle without bullets. I came down from the stone tower and walked unhurriedly to the border and read the information about these mythological creatures:

  Ness. Centaur. Antiquity Faction. Level-68 Gladiator.

  Phylira. Centaur. Antiquity Faction. Level-48 Archer.

  The centaurs were watching me carefully. The male periodically made loud sounds similar to a horse’s neigh, while the female remained silent and smiled just like a person. I didn’t see any weapons on them, although I understood perfectly that they could take them from their inventory in an instant. I stopped three steps from a gap in the barbed wire and gave a bow.

  “Greetings, Gnat!” Phylira said in quite clean Russian. “Don’t be afraid, we come in peace. I found a good pearl and would like to trade. Have you got any bullets for sale? Or some of that burning white wine?”

  “Vodka?” I suggested, and Phylira nodded in joy:

  “Yes! Vodka! I’ll give you a big handful of pearls, there are even some large ones!”

  But I didn’t have any spare bullets, and especially vodka. Also, I didn’t have anything in my inventory to trade other than more pearls and condoms. Should I try and sell them? I took out one packaged condom and showed it to the filly:

  “I haven’t got any vodka. But I have got something better. This little thing can buy you a magical night of love no foals guaranteed.”

  The centaur woman either snorted in dismay or chuckled, then cast a sidelong gaze at her four-legged companion and turned back toward me:

  “Ness doesn’t understand your language, so we can speak freely. So, can i
t be with any stallion? A magical night of love?”

  I realized my unusual trade good had intrigued the lady, and she wasn’t trying to hide it. I assured her the miracle item was effective, and Phylira gave a whinny of satisfaction, then extended me her cupped hands full of pearls:

  “Gnat, will this be enough? This is all the pearls I have on me. I could add my throwing knife or...” here the centaur lady gave a neigh, “myself. I see how you people look at me. You find me attractive, admit it!”

  The bare breasts on Phylira’s female torso really were exceptional, prim and perky. She also had a nice face and head of hair. But everything below Phylira’s waist was just like a zebra, and I had no idea how she envisioned this going, just from a technical standpoint. Real pervert stuff! Of course I refused. Instead, beyond the pearls, I asked for the right to take water in my canteen from the river behind the centaurs.

  “Water?!” Phylira asked in surprise, seemingly somewhat offended. “That’s up to Ness. He’s in charge here.”

  The language of the centaurs was a mixture of horse-like neighing, short one-syllable words and many tongue clicks. The male had a very stormy reaction to his companion’s request. He neighed in dismay, reared up, and I even saw a short spear appear in his hands. But Phylira was insistent, seemingly even promising something. Ness spent a little while longer being stubborn but eventually allowed himself to be convinced. Both centaurs stepped aside ostentatiously, allowing me through. I politely thanked the border guards and gave a deep bow. Ness gave a contemptuous snort and galloped away.

  “Come back tomorrow, Gnat. I’ll gather more pearls and we can trade again!” Phylira promised, then hurried off after her companion.

  I walked the 100 feet to the dense bushes lining the banks of the small river at a deliberate confident pace and stopped five steps away. I could already see the babbling and tempting water through the greenery, but there was an unnatural silence in the shrubbery. No insects chirring, no birds singing. And that unnerved me

  Successful Perception check

  My intuition was right. I looked closer and saw a figure practically stock-still blending in with the leaves. A dryad with a bow at the ready. And not just one! I activated Scanning. Woah! So many red markers! There was a whole squadron of them! For a moment, I met gazes with one of the archers, and gave a respectful bow, saying in a calm quiet voice:

  “Greetings, esteemed ladies of the forest! Your border guards gave me permission to gather water.”

  In reply, I heard a rustling of leaves. On the mini-map, I noticed that practically all the red markers started moving away. Thirty seconds later, only the first dryad I’d spotted remained. It seemed I was being allowed to approach the river. I removed my canteen and started poking through the thick bushes.

  Fame increased to 4.

  Astrolinguistics skill increased to level ten!

  Cartography skill increased to level ten!

  Fortunately, it was a fast-flowing river, so it was untainted by salty sea water. I drank some water at my leisure then filled the canteen and clipped it onto my belt. I thanked the dryad, turned around and headed back to my faction’s territory with just such a deliberate gait.

  As soon as I’d passed the rows of barbed wire that marked the border, Anya flew at me in anger:

  “Why did you leave our node??? We were dying in worry! The commander said he’d pummel you into the ground if the centaurs didn’t do it first!”

  Kisly was so upset he abandoned his post and came down from the stone tower to give me a piece of his mind:

  “Bonehead! Idiot!! Imbecile!!! What were you thinking going that far?! You could have been kidnapped! To be honest, I was sure you’d be attacked. I was holding you in the sights of my machinegun until you reached the bushes to make sure they wouldn’t take you alive. I nearly pulled the trigger when you crawled into the bushes! I thought it would be better to shoot you myself than to have the whole faction gather goods to ransom you back from the centaurs!”

  Chapter Fifteen. Return to Base

  ANYA’S DISAPPROVAL of my thoughtless behavior did nothing to stop her from greedily drinking from my canteen, though. Kisly also stopped frowning fairly quickly and changed back to his usual relaxed and confident face. The commander heard out my story and even chuckled at the negotiations with the centaurs.

  “Huh, how didn’t I think of trading rubbers with them before?!” the machine-gunner moaned. “But it's too late now. Such a great trade opportunity, and you cut it off at the root…”

  “Why do you say that?” I didn’t understand.

  Kisly gave a wry chuckle and explained in great detail:

  “Did you see the wood the centaur stallion was packing? Below the waist, he’s just like a horse with all goods that go with it. A human condom will never fit a centaur! Phylira will think you tricked her after the magical night of love does not work out. And it's too bad, it was such a good idea. It weighs practically nothing, and it would be easy to bring even a hundred from the real world and get a whole handful of pearls for each!”

  “And what’s the use of pearls?” I asked the experienced commander.

  “You can exchange them with the Geckho. The Geckho have been using electronic payment amongst themselves for a thousand years. But with savages like us, they use a special form of currency: artificial red crystals cut in a special way. They’ll give one crystal for thirty pearls, and you can use the crystals to buy goods in their shop. But everything they have is expensive. For example, one blaster battery is seventeen crystals while the blaster itself is just under a thousand!”

  I just whistled at the sky-high prices. A thousand crystals was thirty thousand pearls, and there was only one pearl per ten shells… I’d have to gather pearls for a whole year to save up enough for one blaster! I said just that out loud.

  “Exactly,” Kisly agreed, “they’re robbing us blind! The Geckho pay us outrageously low prices. A ton of good, sanded lumber is just twelve crystals! When we bought an exoskeleton armor suit for the leader of the Second Legion, our whole faction had to grub along morning noon and night for a whole week to gather the crystals!”

  “The leader of the Second Legion? Gerd Tamara?” I clarified, and the machine-gunner confirmed with a nod.

  Choosing his words very carefully so he wouldn’t accidentally offend the esteemed girl, I enquired what made Tamara so special that the whole faction had worked together to pay for her armor.

  “Do you really not know?” our commander was surprised and even seemingly somewhat flabbergasted.

  Neither I nor Anya knew, which we told Kisly honestly. He looked around nervously, as if we might be overheard and told me quietly:

  “Alright, I’ll tell you. But if it comes to anything, you didn’t hear this from me. Got it?”

  Anya and I nodded in silence. Our commander then, taking another look around, started his story:

  “As I'm sure you already know, many terminally ill people were brought under the Dome once it was discovered the game that bends reality could cure them. But no one had a story as gruesome as Tamara. Her father was a judge, and one day he sent a few high-level of drug traffickers to jail. He wasn’t afraid of taking them on, but he should have been. They came from a large and influential gang. For years, they controlled a whole city in the Urals. With connections both in the administration and police, they basically ran the place. They barely even had to hide. Higher-level investigators and the prosecutor's office were constantly trying to hook them by the gills, but they never did. Some witnesses would disappear without a trace, others would get scared and refuse to testify. Everyone in the city knew about these drug traffickers, but they were afraid. Plus, city administrators and local police were actively defending them. Tamara’s father was also pressured during the trial, and he and his family were threatened many times. But he wasn’t afraid of giving them long prison sentences...”

  Kisly lowered his gaze and spent a long time in silence before continuing his story barely au
dibly:

  “At night, a group of armed men broke into the judge’s house and the whole family was violently murdered. Tamara was tortured while her dying father looked on. They broke her arms, pulled out her eyes, punctured her ear drums, stabbed her in the chest and left her to die. But despite it all, she survived. Her wounds were so severe, the doctors said she’d never make it, but she eventually crawled back from the brink. Even when she got better though, she couldn’t see or hear, so she might as well have been a vegetable. That all happened four years back... Tamara spent a few years in a hospital, cooped up with her thoughts until she was brought under the Dome. I didn’t see her before her recovery, but I’ve heard it was a nasty sight. Practically no one believed Tamara would get better. But miraculously, in just a few weeks, she fully regenerated her lost body parts, and her sight returned. After that, Tamara came forward on her own accord and testified against the men who murdered her family. She’s been under the Dome for six months now. In the game, she is always on the front lines in the toughest battles. She’s garnered a reputation as an extremely strict leader with no patience for anyone who doesn’t quickly carry out her every order. The Second Legion adores her. They’d tear their enemies’ teeth out if she asked. Also, Gerd Tamara is the only player in our faction who can use magic. When Leng Radugin announced we were collecting funds to buy exoskeleton armor for Tamara, practically everyone in our faction pitched in. And I was one of them. Without hesitation, I gave up all my crystals and spent seven days from morning to night slaving away as a lumberjack.”

  Kisly finished the story and went silent. After that, I knew no one in our faction would support me if I complained about Gerd Tamara. Her status as a Gerd was not even the biggest factor.

  “I see the little bus on the mountain road!” Imran shouted down to us from the tower.

  Our commander glanced at his wristwatch, gasped and started getting ready to go. He put his trusty machinegun into his inventory, changed his metal armor for civilian clothing and ordered all three of us to line up in formation outside the tower.