A Check for a Billion

by Vasily Mahanenko

  The first thing that caught my eye was that the hull’s color had changed. Whereas the orbship used to be a cascading silver, Warlock now proudly sparkled all in gold. Nothing had changed to the touch, however — it was all the same cold metal.

  “Cool, huh?” The snake’s head popped out of the orbship. The hull functionality that allowed the crew to form passages at will had remained unchanged. “Load up and get ready for blast off. We need to test this baby’s combat maneuvers!”

  The snake’s excitement was alarming. The only other time I saw her like this, it was after we’d gotten our paws on the third list of Hansa upgrades.

  “Brainiac, give me a report on the upgrades!” I ordered, getting comfy in my chair and handing the Anorxian prince over to the engineer for safekeeping.

  “Cap’n, could we do a performance test first? Pleeeaaase?” the snake begged. Eunice and I exchanged glances, perplexed by such childish impatience from the engineer.

  “All right. Let’s take off. Brainiac, take control. Let’s see what you’re all so raving mad about.”

  The launch went smoothly without any jerks or shaking whatsoever. Brainiac made a few orbits around Shurtan, demonstrating our improved inertia dampeners. And he did all this still within the planetary atmosphere, without popping out to space. The sensors read a significant increase in the hull’s surface temperature, but everything went just fine. After we’d had our fun, Warlock shot straight up, leaving the stratosphere.

  “Our hyperdrive is being disrupted. We are being locked on by an EM cannon. Twelve torpedoes have been launched at us. Their speed is 50% our maximum. What is our destination, Captain?”

  There was no panic in Brainiac’s voice — just unvarnished bravado. Having already lost a flying fortress and an orbital station, the Zatrathi rallied four more of the enormous vessels to the system, so as to nip any further trouble in the bud. Itching for a fight, the reinforcements were happy to see someone they could beat up on and the first thing they did was make sure we wouldn’t be able to slip away. As a result, Brainiac’s question came as a surprise, yet I replied coolly:

  “I’m supposed to meet the Corsican in the Silmar system in a few hours. Let’s go there.”

  “Roger. Calculating hyperjump now,” Brainiac reported officiously and deftly dodged the torpedoes. The Zatrathi fighters and frigates, who had begun to circle around us did not last long. Warlock now had some new cannons to match her engines, and the gunner was blasting single stroke fours at the enemy bandits with terrifying accuracy.

  “EM blast detected!” reported the engineer. I looked at my screens — but the customary flicker of light never came. We never even noticed the hit.

  “Hyperjump calculation complete,” said Brainiac. “Captain, please confirm jump activation.”

  “I confirm.” I was slowly beginning to understand what Mercaloun had given me and what it would mean to an ordinary player like me. I mean, this was as good as cheating…

  “Entering hyperspace!” the ship computer announced proudly and the stars turned to white lines. “Estimated flight time: twenty minutes.”

  A pause ensued. Brainiac was giving me the opportunity to process what had happened — but couldn’t contain his excitement that long:

  “Captain, they upgraded my CPU! The disruptor beams can still pull us out of hyperspace, but they can’t keep us from jumping into it! Let’s go take over a flying fortress, what do you say? I’m sure that I’ll be able to hack one now!”

  A list of upgrades scrolled across my screen. When Mercaloun was being generous, she didn’t mess about. In addition to the upgrades mentioned in the mission description, she’d upgraded almost every aspect of the orbship. The overall performance characteristics had only increased by 10–15%, but that was enough to turn the orbship into a destroyer in terms of combat potential. The new hull, the new computer system, the new reactor and the new cannons were something else. We were so absorbed in studying every upgraded detail that we barely noticed the time fly by. As soon as we emerged from hyperspace, several ‘flycatchers’ locked onto us. The pirates were much more on the ball than the Zatrathi. The Silmar system was packed with orbital stations. Brainiac reported a dozen of them, located around various planets in the system. On top of this there were five Grand Arbiters here, keeping the peace and looking out for the pirates’ interests. Where did they get this firepower? A scanner beam ran along our hull and the dispatcher’s voice roared in the bridge’s speakers:

  “Orbship Warlock, follow corridor 2-2-1. Dock five. The Corsican is expecting you.”

  Access to the Silmar system granted.

  Only now did it occur to me that before coming here, we should have headed back to Blood Island to restore our planetary binding. After all, who knew how our meeting with the head of the Jolly Roger would turn out?

  Chapter Twelve

  The Corsican’s residence was so ‘impressive’ that it was hard not to roll your eyes. No simplicity or modesty here — only magnificence multiplied by vanity. Everything reeked of luxury: marble statues, three-meter-long tapestries, ornamental plants, vintage fountains, mirrored ceilings, a white piano, fur carpets (large enough to house a tribe of mice) and a huge crystal chandelier in the shape of an imperial crown above it all. This place seemed more like a deluxe showroom than the home of the most powerful pirate in Galactogon. Although who am I to judge the Corsican? Maybe this tasteless, frilly interior concealed some deeper sacral meaning, which was simply beyond my comprehension.

  In deference to our host, I entered the Corsican’s conference room alone and without my armor suit. Eunice had remained on Warlock at my request. I didn’t have much faith in the pirates, so someone back home who could respond if things went sour was useful. The sumptuous surroundings pressed on my mind, which was accustomed to visual modesty. The walls draped in red velvet, the immense table which occupied most of the room, and the pompous armchairs, all made me want to snort like a bull, bow my head and charge the pirates who had assembled in the room. Instead I scuffed the floor with my foot and stopped unexpectedly.

  Fresh out of respawn after I’d blown him up on that cruiser, the head of the Jolly Roger met me in a guise I did not expect. All his scars and mangled features were gone. The Delvian was now a handsome prince, sitting at the head of the table, conferring in hushed tones with his secretary who had bowed down to him — without any chest speakers or other devices.

  Arcana, the Precian, sat on the Corsican’s right. She was his assistant, deputy and who-knows-who-else. The only NPC woman who had earned her right to speak at the pirate council. And I mention her being an NPC because there was another woman at the table. The captain of Cruiser Alexandria — Kiddo. Marina was conferring with Anton, and looked up only for a moment in order to nod me a greeting. I did not know the other three pirates, but when I saw none other than Tryd — may he rot in his foxhole — sitting a few places over from where I stood, I could barely keep myself from pouncing on him. The pirate looked at me with undisguised malice, and I could tell that his glance boded nothing well for me. But even Tryd wasn’t the most curious attendee of this council. Hilvar sat to the Corsican’s left — chatting with his adviser, defiantly turning away from his former boss.

  All eight pirate captains, all eight gentlemen of fortune, all eight endowed with the power to vote on the council were seated in a semicircle of chairs that resembled thrones. Meanwhile, the only seat allotted to me was a tiny wooden stool before them, either as a reminder or an emphasis of my novice status. Having appreciated the jest, I ignored the stool and remained standing.

  “You made us wait,” said the Corsican in a velvet baritone. His voice was not as deep as Oleander’s but it did indicate clearly that he was a high-born Delvian.

  I checked the quest timer — the three days that the Corsican had given me after the cruiser blast had not yet expired. I suppose I could object to this accusation, but the fact that Kiddo was here already told me that I had arrived fortuitously to a meeting
that was not just for me. Marina was no ‘local’ and could not instantly teleport from one point of the galaxy to another.

  “No one gave me an exact time. You gave me three days and they haven’t expired yet. I’m here on a personal matter. Well, and I’d like to tour the pirate capital. Since you granted me access, I figured I’d make use of the opportunity. Anyway, no one told me that you were waiting for me. Before you make a complaint, you should deal with your subordinates. Galactogon is my witness.”

  A snow-white aura erupted around me confirming that I had told the truth.

  “Tryd? Explain yourself,” demanded the Corsican, and the eyes of all those present turned to the mutilated Delvian.

  “I don’t have to,” the pirate growled. No wonder he’d given me such an ugly look. I imagine my appearance wasn’t part of his plans. “The scallywag is here, so we can get on with it.”

  The Corsican fixed Tryd with a stare, but the marine merely stared back. Two strong-willed individuals had met, and neither one would back down. It did not escape me that both Delvians began reaching for their belts. Regulations are regulations, but weapons aren’t armor. Pirates don’t surrender their weapons under any circumstances.

  “Calm down, Tryd,” Hilvar decided to defuse the tension, ordering his subordinate to back down. Although, I guess I wasn’t really sure that Tryd was his subordinate anymore. An ordinary rank-and-file pirate wouldn’t be sitting at this table as an equal. “Surgeon, our base on Shurtan was seized by the Scourge. What do you know about this?”

  “Everything,” I replied quite simply, defusing the standoff between Tryd and the Corsican. Everyone’s attention again switched to me. “What exactly are you interested in, and how would you like to pay for the information?”

  “You’re forgetting yourself, you mangy cur.” Of those assembled, Tryd was the most unrestrained. “You were asked a question — answer it!”

  “Oh but of course, master, right this instant,” I snapped. It was childish but also well-suited to stoking the tension. “If you’re not willing to pay me, all I’ll offer is that the base is gone. It’s been destroyed.”

  This caused a hubbub of outrage to erupt among the pirate council. The pirates jumped up from their seats and, flailing their hands, began shouting at each other, arguing and gesticulating in my direction. I didn’t understand anything because for some reason everyone had switched to their respective languages and I didn’t have a link for Brainiac to translate for me. Having decided that everyone had yelled their fill, I heaped more fuel on the fire:

  “I imagine this belongs to you.”

  With these words, I pulled out one of the wooden figurines I had found in the third warehouse and tossed them onto the table before Hilvar. He picked it up as the entire assembly watched in perfect silence. Seeing the piece of wood, everyone seemed to forget about me entirely.

  “This is Realdean oak,” the Pyrrhenian managed, nervously twitching his little wings. His gray skin flushed darker. I had no idea whether this was a good or bad sign. “Where did you get this?”

  “At the base,” I replied enigmatically and asked: “I still haven’t understood — what am I going to get for telling you what happened to it?”

  “Pirate rank three,” Hilvar ventured.

  “Pff!” I snorted. “You promised me rank three for the video. I got that too, so your offer is redundant.”

  “There was no way you could get the recording! The Scourge devoured the base!” Tryd even lunged at me, but the bodyguards standing behind him restrained him. What is wrong with this fox anyway? Is he playing some scripted role here?

  “What do you want?” The Corsican turned out to be the most civil member of the council, asking me what they should have asked to begin with, instead of going on with this stupid play.

  “I want the Lora. I will tell you what happened at the base in exchange for the coupler unit from the Vengeance.”

  “Isn’t that in your possession, Tryd?” The head of the Jolly Roger addressed the still-restrained fox.

  “He can’t have it! He screwed up,” the Delvian growled with rancor. “We had a deal: He delivers the prince, and I give him the Lora. No Anorxian prince — no Lora! I’ve said my piece!”

  In the ensuing silence, Hilvar’s pensive voice sounded somehow unkind:

  “The Realdean oak was in the same warehouse as the cube. I placed it there myself. And after that, I sealed the vault. How did you get the oak, Surgeon?”

  I shrugged, feigning complete disinterest in what was happening.

  “What did you tell him about the third rank, you blabbermouth?” the Corsican turned on Hilvar. “Has your tongue been sweeping the floor in front of your brain again?”

  “Watch how you talk to me,” hissed Hilvar, his skin now fading to a light gray. A curious discovery! I guess when Pyrrhenians get mad they grow pale. Go figure. “Surgeon’s got the evidence to prove that you’re the blabbermouth! Roll that video! Let’s see what you have to say for your rotten deeds!”

  I had to compete that mission anyway, so I obediently took out the memory crystal and tossed it onto the table. It never had a chance to land — one of the bodyguards decided that this was some kind of bomb and blasted it mid-air with a well-aimed shot. For a moment, my heart sank into my heels — but then a 3D hologram of the recording from one of the cameras appeared right in the center of the table. It showed an empty room.

  The seconds ticked, yet nothing happened. This at first caused puzzled whispers among the council and then gradually the pirates began to openly laugh at Hilvar and me.

  “What is this?” The Pyrrhenian frowned and my Rapport with him immediately plummeted by ten thousand points. I began to explain myself as fast as I could:

  “You didn’t say which camera you needed. There were twenty in that base and I pulled the recordings from all of them. They’ll cycle in series, so we just have to wait.”

  My Rapport increased by five thousand. Hilvar believed me but not completely.

  “Each recording will be three minutes long?” scolded one of the pirates I didn’t know, when the picture changed to the next camera. We saw a corridor along with a patrolling guard.

  “Uh-huh. When I got the recordings, I didn’t have a chance to edit them so you’ll just have to be patient,” I replied, entirely unembarrassed.

  Another change of scene and an empty chair appeared in the center of the recording. The Corsican instantly leaned forward, narrowing his eyes. He was obviously familiar with the chair. After two minutes of inactivity, Hilvar fell heavily into it. His barrel-shaped torso swayed, but remained in place. The Pyrrhenian’s head nodded and swayed as if he’d had too much to drink. Leaning against the table, the pirate raised his head. Because of the location of the camera, it was difficult to see his face, but we could hear his slurred voice quite clearly:

  “Didn’t expect this, did you, you stupid chunks of silicon? You bits ‘n’ bytes, hic! We have your prince! Haw, haw — hic! — haw! I will re-solder him personally for ya with plenty of flux! You’re a damn fool, you Motherboard! You really thought we needed your empire’s help? Well you just let old — hic! — Hilvar show you where you can shove your charity!”

  Hilvar stood up, turned and bent over, wishing to demonstrate where on his anatomy he was referring to — but then lost his balance and collapsed. Here the recording ended, cutting to another, empty room.

  The silence among the council was broken only by inarticulate grunts as Hilvar tried to master his breathing. Unable to catch his breath, he finally croaked softly: “It can’t be. That’s not me. I don’t remember that,” and he went limp in his chair. No one uttered a word, neither as support nor as censure. The Corsican was the first to break the silence.

  “The Motherboard ended all relations with us after this recording. Five years!” The aristocrat’s fist came crashing down on the table with surprising force. “For five years I sacrificed everything to eke out an alliance with the Anorxians and you ruined everything in m
inutes by running your tongue!”

  “But I…I don’t…” Hilvar interrupted, pleading, but the Delvian refused to listen.

  “Shut up! I let you live only on the strength of your past merits!”

  He was about to add something else, but just then the camera cycled again. Three creatures appeared on the screen: Tryd, Arcana and Hilvar. Hilvar was lying on the floor unconscious.

  “Don’t do it!” Tryd stepped in front of Arcana, but it took her a lazy swipe to brush him aside and send the fox flying off to the far wall. The pirate queen was holding a manipulator.

  “I’ve calculated everything! Try and stop me — and I’ll feed you to the Scourge! You know damn well that the Corsican will believe me over you!” With her second manipulator Arcana lifted Hilvar into the air. Three assistants ran up and collected the body. “Take him to the conference room!”

  Arcana departed with the rest of the pirates, releasing Tryd. The pirate slumped down to the floor and remained seated, his paws clapped over his ears and his knees tucked to his body. He stayed that way for two minutes until the image changed again to the corridor along which Hilvar was being dragged. Arcana and her assistants had already disappeared from the camera’s view when her voice sounded: