Volper

by Ros Per

  - “Maybe you’d better ask the techies for help?” I couldn’t stand watching him mock the mechanism with his oafishness.

  - Nah ... they’re always charging way too much money there, so I’ll be broke soon, if I do, - the Cyborg replied to me.

  - “Well, that’s your business. By the way, I’ve long wanted to ask how a Cyborg differs from a real human being.”

  - Well, that’s a piece of cake, cyborgs are reborn with their tricks, and human beings, after respawn, have all their installed implants disappear, so you need to buy and install them again ... - He finally got distracted from tinkering with his mechanical hand and looked up at me. - Err... Wait, man, who are you again? -

  - A terrorist, damn it. I’ve already captured the entire top management of your clan, and you were the last one that had to be dealt with, but you were so passionate that I felt it was a pity to distract you from what you were doing.

  Upon hearing this, he fell down from his chair, smashing it along the way, jumped up from the floor, covered in plastic fragments, and with a panicked look, rushed off somewhere toward the depths of the building. However, at the last moment, he realized the absurdity of the situation, stopped with an expression of extreme resentment and turned back to me again.

  - A joker, fuck you, - he grunted to himself, and continued in an eviler tone of voice. - Come on, tell me why you came in here, or get out. This is, in fact, private property. -

  - “Elephant left a parcel for Volper.”

  - Am I a courier or something? -

  - “I’ll write to Elephant to tell him that I wasn’t welcome here, then.”

  - Okay, okay, don’t get angry, there’s some kind of trash for you here; they told me to give it to the man who would introduce himself as Volper. So here’s your backpack and now get out of here, I’ve already said everything. -

  When I got to the counter and took out a plastic bag from below, I just grabbed it and threw it over my shoulder, as if nothing had happened, and then left the building. If anyone asks why I didn’t talk to Rumple, I’ll just tell them I’d been told to get out of there. I’ll say I figured maybe this Rumple had changed his plans. If they need me so much, they can find me. Quickly sorting out the things, to my disappointment, I saw that the backpack, rifle and machine gun were in order, but everything else had turned into trash. Now I understood why Elephant had offered to talk to their supply manager for me.

  If I hadn’t had spare gear, I would’ve had to run around the outpost naked. Reaching the nearest mobile utilizer, which the various recovery services had simply put everywhere around the outpost, I threw all the trash in and went to see Carefire. On my way to him, I went to my room first and left the extra weapons. After a little thought, I put the “Punishment” in the case and fastened it to the backpack. Why? Quite a good name for the weapon: Punishment, Punish, Pushy. Now, there will be something to talk about with the commander of the outpost when I try to clarify everything. Entering the administrative building, I witnessed an interesting situation. Right in the lobby of the building, an unconscious man was being loaded onto a gravity platform, and judging by the actions of the men in the uniform armor, this operation had already been worked out to the smallest detail.

  - Hey guys, what’s happened here? - I decided to ask about the situation.

  - “Well, one of the replicants has blacked out at the wrong time again,” one of the soldiers replied to me, without even turning to me.

  - “You mean he crashed out, right? - Well, I, of course, understand perfectly well that the player had just went back into real life, but it’s really terrible to learn what the local NPCs think about it.

  - “They have this situation,” said the second soldier. - “I don’t remember exactly how the scientists explained it to us, but in a nutshell, replicants have a problem with adapting after their recovery, and sometimes they crash down in unexpected places.”

  - “Well, they told us differently,” the first one got up again, “I’ll try to phrase it correctly ... Yeah, it seems like they said: ‘The casts that have been in storage for more than ten years have some sort of storage conditions so that the replication process does not greatly affect the mental state after replication.’ I don’t understand it all fully. But that's not the point, the problem is that now, when these casts were restored, the majority had a problem with their perception of reality. That’s why the Server periodically sort of turns them off, so that they don’t go crazy, and the server determines the duration of the shutdown of consciousness for each replicant individually. Hence, the problems they have with communicating, when they begin to say all kinds of nonsense, like claiming we aren’t real and all that other stuff.”

  - “Now I get it! You said that as if you’d been reading it from a book! Ok, we’d better go because we are up to our eyeballs in work. Right now, we have to deliver this body, and then we have to take care of some techies, who’ve also had their bodies turned off.”

  After saying that, they drove off, along with their gravitational platform. And I was left standing, looking at the entrance where they’d disappeared, and trying to collect my thoughts. Now I understand how the developers worked hard and came up with twisted plots and tricky solutions for this game. It would be great to meet and listen to the full version from one of the scientists. Everything would probably be described in detail, with references to medicine and various sciences. Honestly, I’m beginning to respect them for the enormous amount of work they’ve done, that’s for sure - there is a complete background story, and all of the events can be explained in terms of real physical laws.

  At last, I managed to get to the place where I’d wanted to go. Mr. Carefire, to my delight, was in his office, but I had to wait in the corridor for almost forty minutes until he finished his meeting. When a dozen people left his office, discussing something, I was finally able to enter. At first, I didn’t even recognize him, only the name with his level was still above him, which proved that it was really Carefire.

  - “I see you’re parading around in your underwear today.” He was also wearing only a silver set of clothes, similar to the ones you had on when exiting the replicator.

  - Yes, I sent my armor in for repairs, - he said. - The creatures broke through the perimeter; almost everyone had to join the battle. Where have you been all this time? – He asked me.

  - “I’ve been raiding; they hadn’t informed me that you had such big problems here.”

  -You haven’t received the newsletter, have you? -

  - “No.”

  - Hmm ... that’s very strange, since it was sent to everyone. – The slightly detached look in his eyes and the shifty pupils meant that he was searching through his interface. - Damn, you're on my other mailing list. Done, from now on, you will receive all the notifications. -

  - “And how often does this sort of thing happen around here?”

  - It depends. Sometimes once a week, sometimes a couple of months pass between the breakthroughs. It’s hard to predict. A breakthrough begins somewhere under the first level, and then, like a wave, goes up through the levels. It can come here in a day, and sometimes it goes sluggishly, and it only reaches us after several days. It should be noted that we have no observers at the fourth level. – And then he sighed heavily. - They never survive the breakthroughs there, so we know by virtue of them not surviving that there’s going to be one. -

  - “So, we should constantly expect such breakthroughs?”

  - Well, it’s not always the same. For it to happen next week is almost improbable, but then, every day, the chance for it is higher and higher. -

  - “Okay, that’s clear, but I'm here to ask about something else as well. Do you remember the items I was asking about? The ones which Carso gave me the data on. “

  - I remember, by you’ve received the data, haven’t you? - he asked.

  - “They sent me the info, but another problem has arisen.” I uncovered the rifle and laid it on the table in front of him. I also sent
him a packet of information about it. “The question worth a million: what kind of profession is that, the one in these restrictions?”

  - That’s a good rifle! - Having studied the info a little, he added: - Well, I haven’t even heard of such a profession. -

  - “That’s bad, then I have to go to Sanych.”

  - You can try, if no one else knows; only that old man may have the answers you need. -

  - “Then on to the next point: I need a good technician, preferably one specializing in Cyborgs.”

  - What, you’ve decided to install a pair of implants? -

  - “No, it’s not for me but for another person, I will not tell you all the details right now, so as not to jinx it, but believe me, in the end, you will profit from it.”

  - This is already becoming a tradition: you appear in my office, and you have some sort of crazy idea that will probably work out great. -

  - “Um ...” I’d already had such a thought as well. “Well, yes, it seems that way. Damn, now I just feel very uncomfortable somehow.”

  - Calm down, I am not bored with you at least. Hell, if not for you, I would die of boredom here, sorting through all these reports and all the problems of the outpost. I’ve contacted the commander of my engineering service; he’ll be waiting for you in the technical zone in half an hour. -

  - “Well good! And the last thing: I need a good doctor...”

  - What for? - He interrupted me - A couple of hours in the regenerator, and you’ll be good as new. -

  - “No, I specifically need a doctor, a real one, and not just the operator of the regeneration capsule; preferably from the ranks of the replicants.”

  - What happened? -

  - “Well ... Uh ...”

  - Don’t mumble, I have a vested interest in your staying healthy. Who else can find such interesting things for me? The others, if they find something, immediately go to their clans, as you call them. And the outpost doesn’t develop at all. -

  - “Yes, I have problems with my head. At first, I thought it was because of stress and constantly going too far, but the more time passes, the more often it happens.”

  - What sort of issues do you have? -

  - “I behave a bit differently than I would in real ...” Damn, I almost said it. “Than I remember behaving: I’m more easily distracted, I act more irrationally than before, and so on.”

  - Hmmm ... the mind is really a problem, especially with replicants. Yeah, and on top of that, I haven’t noticed any spontaneous outages with you. Okay, I'll find a doctor for you, but I can’t promise I can find him right away. -

  - “Thank you all the same. I have to go now.” Then I added: “I won’t disturb you any further, you can flaunt your nakedness now.”

  Picking the rifle up from the table, I quickly exited the room. Just as I closed the door behind me, I heard something crashing into it from the other side. I suspect that the boot was the only item of clothing that had remained on him from his armor. set Okay, now I shall go to the store to buy some drinks, and then I will have a talk with the techie and visit Sanych. I hope that the old grump will be able to tell me something about the profession, otherwise I won’t even be able to sell this crap, and I’ll have to just throw it away into the garbage recycler, because I’m being mocked, surely. I’ve been carrying these things for god knows how long, and I haven’t been able to use them yet.

  CHAPTER XXV: GOING OUT ON A LIMB

  I’ve spent nearly two hours going over the details of my order with the technician: he keeps insisting on a pragmatic approach while I’m trying to stick to the original plan.

  - How do you still not get it! - He shouted at me. - These items don’t have any real combat potential! You’re wasting my time. -

  - “I can find a use for them, don’t you worry. Just do what I asked you.”

  - You're an idiot. At first, I’d thought you wanted something that would be useful in a fight, but now I’m starting to realize that you’re just ordering a toy for yourself. -

  - “That’s just not true! One person is going to be using this, and for them it’ll be a perfect fit.”

  - Just don’t come crying to me later, saying: "Leksha, you were right, please make the alterations you suggested before." -

  - “Don’t worry; should I return, I will only ask you to improve this thing, not make any annoying changes.”

  - It’s your money. What do you want me to change here? -

  After talking to the technician, I left. I must’ve gone temporarily insane since my order cost me nearly all my savings – fifty fucking million credits! And that was at a discount. I couldn’t have imagined spending so much money before, but now, when I had it, I had reluctantly agreed to spend it all at once. After all, if everything works out, it’ll be an extraordinary boon for me. It should be done in two weeks, or maybe less, depending on how things go.

  Since I’d done all I had to do and bought a lot of booze, I could now visit Sanych. He was delighted to see me again, but when he saw the liquor that I’d brought with me, he was even more overjoyed. Twenty minutes later, we were sitting around and chatting about all kinds of things, but then I remembered why I’d come to visit him in the first place. I laid the rifle out on the table which caused him to hit it so hard it nearly broke as he began to yell at me:

  - Take this ***** and go ***** yourself! Make sure I never see you or that ***** again or I’ll make sure you die enough times to stop being replicated! -

  He didn’t even let me respond; he made me pick up the rifle and, after grabbing me by the collar, threw me out of the room like a kitten. I got the “concussion” debuff by smashing my head into the wall when I landed. Now I was lying beside the wall, holding the rifle and I couldn’t understand what had happened. Just seeing the rifle had apparently been enough to provoke him. There was more to this set, if Sanych had reacted so violently. Hell, even the fact he’d thrown me out wasn’t as important as what he’d tearfully murmured as he’d done so:

  “I took care of him like my own son and this is what he ...”

  I didn’t hear anything else, but even that tidbit was enough to unsettle me. Especially since I didn’t understand why he’d reacted like that. Getting up, I stood by the door for a bit, wondering if I should try to clear the air. Remembering what Sanych had been doing at the shooting range, I decided to wait and let him cool off. I wanted to let myself calm down as well. I’d been very hurt by how callously he’d treated me, after all. In the meantime, it would be better to have Carefire talk to the old man and explain to him that I’d had no idea he’d get so offended. After another minute of standing by the door, I turned around and headed toward my room.

  I have to first calm down and then I can deal with Sanych. I don’t know how others relieve their stress, but, in my personal opinion, you can only get rid of it in three ways: you either get drunk, have sex with a pretty girl or punch someone in the face. I wasn’t used to drinking alone, I hadn’t yet spotted any brothels around here, so I was left with getting some ammo and going out to commit genocide on the local animal populace. When I reached the room, I got everything I’d need while also writing a letter to Carefire. After explaining the problem, I asked him to talk to Sanych. Then I went over to the information terminal, using it to look for a group.

  There were so many things to sift through and all kinds of people were available, but there was one constant – melee fighters, especially tanks, were in high demand. This was quite easy to understand: since pain was so intense, very few people wanted to get injured. Before I found an ad I was interested in, I had to scroll through three pages’ worth of useless idiocy. However, there was a rather interesting announcement on the fourth page. I was surprised to see they hadn’t yet found a group; I would’ve thought a lot of people would be interested.

  Posted by: Tilorn

  Required: Fighter proficient at medium and close range

  Note: We’ve been tasked with clearing out territory by the outpost and we need an exper
ienced close to mid-range fighter, preferably armed with automatic weapons, to support the frontline and supporting fighters. The game mode is 12/4 and we will only work with those that agree to making a contract that the Server approves.

  After sending an e-mail to this Tilorn, I received an invitation to a local bar to discuss all the details. Upon arriving, I almost immediately found the man. I, of course, have a rather high level of perception, and even in real life I am good at noticing details, but there was no need for my skills here. First of all, besides the bartender, there was only one other person there. Even if the room had been full, he would’ve immediately been conspicuous. He was even bigger than Elephant!

  He was about seven feet tall, maybe even 7’2. Definitely bigger than anyone I’d seen before. He couldn’t fit in a standard plastic chair, so he was sitting on a large box that had apparently been made specifically for him. Yes, I understand that there are quite a lot of plus sized people in the world, but this guy was just unreal. He had a long, disheveled beard and curly hair down to his shoulders. Both were completely gray. He wasn’t blond, he didn’t dye his hair white, he was actually gray-haired. Approaching him, just in case, I decided to confirm things and avoid any possible confusion.

  - “Are you Tilorn?” He nodded in response and then asked me, in turn:

  - Are you Volper? - To which I also nodded. - Sit down, let’s talk. -