Rebel Star: A LitRPG Post-Apocalyptic Space Opera (System Apocalypse Book 8)

by Tao Wong

  The background hum and groan of straining metal disappears, the noise gone as we breakthrough the atmosphere and enter space proper. The sudden lack of resistance sees us accelerating even more and I cut off Thousand Steps to conserve Mana. Missiles that were following us drop away, unable to keep up in the lack of atmosphere, so I cut the last of my Skills. I look over the damage reports, noting the decreased durability of the point defense system.

  Disengage Safeties (Level 2)

  All technological weapons have safeties built in. Users of this Skill recklessly disregard the mandatory safeties, deciding that they know better than the crafters, engineers, and government personnel who built and regulate the production of these technological pieces.

  Effects: Increase power output from 2.5-25% depending on the weapon and its level of sophistication. Increase durability losses from use by 25-250%.

  Cost: 200 Mana + 25 Mana per minute

  “I told you to turn off your solar-flared Skill. The point defense is already twenty percent down,” Dornalor says. “Hold on. We’re going to afterburn.”

  I grunt, pulling the straps tight. Dornalor’s eyes turn silver, his body radiating with Mana as he stretches his Skills to encompass the ship. The cockpit turns dark as armor plates fall over the screens, protecting us within. And then his Overdrive Skill kicks in, along with the afterburners. The entire ship burns brighter than the sky, durability dropping like a rock, along with our fuel.

  In minutes, we’re well away from the planet, pulling away from all the closest ships, stations, and planets. The ship flies forward, faster and faster, crossing the hundreds of kilometers in a second. Ships from the station and hovering destroyers chase us, but even with their Skills, none of them can keep up. Dornalor bought, rebuilt, and customized the ship with speed and stealth in mind. Also, short-term durability for when his Skills kick in like this.

  Offering me a wolfish grin, Dornalor’s eyes narrow as we attempt to escape the gravitational pull of the nearby planetoids. At first, I think we’ll have no problem escaping—until a pair of destroyers drop from hyperspace, right in our flight path. Dornalor hisses in exasperation, his eyes darting side to side as he runs the math.

  “Shields at seventy-three percent and climbing…” Ali says. “We’d need to be at at least ninety percent to survive a single shot from their primaries.”

  “They’d have to hit us first,” Dornalor replies. The ship continues to corkscrew and twist, dodging incoming fire beam fire. Most of it is fired without any real hope of actually hitting us, but it does force us to dodge. “Diverting to exit point B still leaves us in range of the first destroyer and lets at least four of the ships behind us catch up. Point C puts us away from the fire entirely, but we’ll definitely get caught by Sigma and Epsilon squadrons. No guarantee they don’t have galactic mines to deploy.”

  “I could check,” Harry offers.

  “Probably too late,” Dornalor says, a hand coming off the stick that he doesn’t actually use to control the ship to wave away some other notifications. “We just passed breakaway for point C. And we have twenty seconds before our chance to go to route B is gone. Think you can figure that out in time?”

  “Twenty…” Harry clamps his mouth shut, shaking his head before he realizes that Dornalor’s probably too focused to see him. “No.”

  “Figured,” Dornalor says.

  “You know, if I knew you were going to do something like that, I’d have bought another Shielding Skill for the ship,” I say.

  “Yeah, no. Stop helping,” Dornalor says. “I do not need your help. I’ve got this.”

  “Oh, come on, it wasn’t that bad.”

  “You burnt out half our point defenses two runs ago. I still haven’t gotten the main particle beam cannon fully fixed. At this stage, we’re likely going to have to replace it and all its conduit entirely.” Dornalor sounds exasperated. “Do you know how much that is going to cost?”

  “Two hundred forty-three thousand Credits from the last quote you received,” Ali says. “With the Heartbreak in docks for two weeks and one day.”

  “Exactly!”

  Before I can point out that we still have to survive, and another Skill, even a low-level one, might offer us a little more of a survival opportunity, we reach the first interception zone. The destroyers open up with even more beam weaponry, the initial slew of high intensity fire supplemented by the next series of wider beam attacks that have a bigger radius. We’re right at the edges of their effective range—any farther and even if we didn’t dodge, the dispersed attack would do nothing to our shield.

  We jerk and spin, bouncing at angles and speeds that are literally impossible in atmosphere. But without any major source of gravity or air resistance, we can twist and turn, corkscrew and draw zig-zags through the empty void, attacks invisible to the naked eye missing us by inches. Of course, using the sensors and AI overlays, it does look like a bad eighties’ sci-fi movie.

  “Fighters. Four squadrons. Liskas IV.2 and Ares Creed 2.1s,” I report the moment the data updates. Not that Dornalor hasn’t seen this information, but not everyone is tapped into the datastreams like me.

  “I see them,” Dornalor says.

  “How are we going to get through?” Harry says.

  “The same way we always do. By flying like a pirate,” Dornalor says.

  Dornalor falls silent, concentrating on the flow of attacks and sliding us between each attack. He can’t dodge everything, and our Shields power levels drop and rise constantly as the engine does it best to recharge the shield. The closer we get, the greater the drain as we are struck with greater frequency. And all I can do is watch.

  “Entering final zone in three,” Ali says.

  The tension in the cockpit rachets up. Harry can’t use any of his Skills, at least not actively. His passive Skills and his high Luck stat are working for us, twisting things in our favor a little. Mikito’s already doing her best with the few Skills she bought, and I only have a pair to use. I’ve got Thousand Steps running along with my aura, increasing regeneration rates for everyone. The problem with Skills is that many of them aren’t stackable, and those that are stackable aren’t that powerful.

  In a well-run ship, each individual has their own area of responsibility with only the Captain having a couple of Skills that stack on top of each other. But a Pirate Captain can’t afford to do that. He’s got to be able to do everything himself, so his Skills are slightly different. Even if we can buy Skills from the Shop, many of the best Skills are specific, highly expensive, and require a corresponding skill knowledge to make best use of. The best we can do is offer minor help with non-specific Skills.

  “Three. Two. One,” Ali counts down for us all.

  The moment we cross that invisible line, additional beam weaponry opens up. Missiles that have been accelerating for ages arrive next, exploding into miniature suns as nukes go off around us. Lasers briefly engage from within many of those missiles, pumping out lethal x-rays, while other solid projectiles attempt to connect and finish us.

  “Here we go,” Dornalor says.

  His words end with the activation of his trump Skill—Pirate Fleet. Much like the doppelganger skill in my armor, multiple copies of the ship appear. We don’t disappear, just become one of the twenty copies that dash outward. Unlike my Skill, the Pirate Fleet is a powerful third-tier Advanced Skill that replicates the ship in its entirety, from weapons to shields. It’s not something he can hold for very long, but in the short period that it’s active, it makes us an army. Unfortunately, the Skill has quite a few limitations—including the fact that it’s only workable in a spaceship.

  The fighters that have been closing in on us start disappearing, the doppelgangers combining their attacks to wipe one after another of them off the map. Not that we don’t suffer losses too, but our ships are much more powerful than the fighters.

  Perhaps it’s because we are taking less damage, because our shields are receiving less of a beating as our comb
ined Skills do something that the doppelgangers can’t. Perhaps some Scanner Technician on the other side uses a Skill and realizes we’re the real ship. But it only takes half a minute before the fire that was initially dispersed focuses again.

  That’s when the doppelgangers switch to the next stage, going on defense. They boost forward, the ships placing themselves between us and the attacks. The entire group moves in concert, a dancing snake that shifts and dodges attacks, each portion ahead of us slowly dying, disappearing in flashes of spectacular metal and dispersing Mana.

  “Can we make it?” Harry asks, slightly breathless. In our crash seats, we’re constantly thrown from side to side as the inertial dampers can’t keep up with the motions. The man is pale, his ombre skin an unhealthy grey as his lower Constitution leaves him feeling the effects more than the rest of us.

  “Coming up on the destroyers,” Ali answers. He flicks a hand, making the sensor data appear in the middle of the cockpit. Not that any of us really need it, but on the 3D map, we slide through the center of the pair of destroyers, all of us boosting as we try to get around the attack.

  “Point defense. Now!” Dornalor snaps at me.

  I find my lips pulling into a rictus grin as I trigger my Skill. “Told you.”

  My mana and durability drain, but I’m intercepting short-range missiles that accelerate without care for their fuel reserves, attempting to intercept us. The AI helps me do the math, picking out the missiles we can’t dodge, that will block our way. Charting the path we need to open, Dornalor, the AI, and I play a quintuple bluffing game with the ships, their staff, and their AIs. I blast apart missiles and drones, laying down new routes.

  The ship creaks and groans. Our shields fail and a blast tears through the back quarter of the ship. It punches a hole through multiple decks, destroying wiring and armor plating. Blast doors slam shut, but even before that last successful attack finishes, another lands. Armor fails, first a few then dozens of holes appearing all across the ship.

  “Come on, baby. Don’t break my heart again. You can do this,” Dornalor whispers to the ship, entreating it.

  “Ali!” I snap.

  The Spirit reaches out, using his greater gift of the greater elemental force, and suddenly, we’re moving even faster. Beams that should hit us curve away, shifting just enough to reduce damage or send it away from vital areas. I feel him pulling upon my own Mana reserves, borrowing my connection to the System and my own talent. I lend him what aid I can, offering him as much attention as I can provide.

  A portion of my mind notices that Mikito has left the dining area, doing damage control along with the droids. She’s gotten quite good at in-field battle repairs, a skill picked up from the numerous run-ins we’ve had with both sides of the law and those who exist on the line.

  “Just a little more, sweetie. Just a little… now!” Dornalor crows.

  There’s no warning as we transition from sub-light travel to hyperspace. We burn for a fraction of a second then suddenly drop out, already hundreds of thousands of kilometers away from our original position, if not more. Dornalor kicks in another Skill, masking our trail and our drop-out while shifting our position in the System records before entering hyperspace again. We’ll shift positions and trajectories a half-dozen times at least, laying down a confusing trail for anyone trying to catch us. It’s no guarantee, but it’s unlikely the planet’s defensive forces will chase us past the first three or four at most. Space is massive and getting lost in it is easy. Especially for a single ship.

  Chapter 3

  Half a day later, we’re all gathered in the dining room, supping on the massive portions of consumables that Galactics consider an average meal. All those high attributes, all that running around killing and fighting requires energy. And while we suck down Mana to support the over-built attributes, we still need actual physical nutrients too.

  “Did we lose them?” I say.

  “No sign,” Dornalor confirms as he chews on what looks like a purple piece of corn, twice as large and with a bitter seed within each kernel. “Even if they dropped in, we’ve powered down for the most part. It’d take a Tier I sensor to find us now.”

  “Nothing on the Shop,” Harry says, confirming Dornalor’s words.

  None of that is that surprising after all this time. Even if our enemies are adapting to our tactics, we’re adapting to theirs too. Add the fact that planetary forces have to worry and plan not just for us but for any potential attackers, and there’s only so much effort they’re willing to put into dealing with us. Not even a loss in reputation is that much of an issue for them since it’s a given that life in the Galactic System is dangerous. Even for non-combatants.

  And I have to admit, there’s probably a certain degree of passive resistance. The people we’re targeting are well-known asses, people who stomped on anyone beneath them. And when you’re expecting the people beneath you to help out to their full efforts, well, you’re probably going to find something else coming. They might not shirk their jobs entirely, but they won’t be putting in overtime either. Which can often be the difference between success and failure.

  At least I think so.

  “One thing,” Harry says.

  “What?” Ali says.

  “Slimwese wasn’t lying about the bounty increase,” Harry says.

  I grunt. No surprise there, but the way Harry says it, it seems as though it isn’t the usual couple hundred thousand increase or the like.

  “I think we broke through a new threshold,” he says.

  “Out with it,” I say.

  “You’re now part of the top hundred. Mikito’s at one twenty-four,” Harry says.

  The top hundred most wanted individuals in this sector of the galaxy. Which still puts me in the top five hundred in the entire Galactic System mostly likely. Is it weird that I take some pride from that? “So what? It’s not as if we haven’t been trending for a bit.”

  “Kind of the difference between the best of and new on a Reddit forum, boy-o,” Ali says. “You were on the radar for a few of the hunters but being in the top hundred means you’re attracting all kinds of attention. Some of that will be good, but most of it will be bad.”

  “More importantly, it means our initial planned rest stop won’t work,” Dornalor says. “Cagiavis is willing to look the other way for most things, but this is the kind of heat that they can’t take. We’re going to have to find a new place to fix the ship. And there’s going to be a lot of fixing.”

  I grunt. Part of our deal has been that we pay for the majority of the repairs, over and on top of our existing payments. It’s an expensive deal, and one that benefits Dornalor more than us, but it isn’t as if Pirate Captains are growing on trees. We were lucky to find him, especially considering the kind of work we do. And while we could learn to pilot our own ship, the issue of specialization comes into play. Never mind the fact that having someone in the actual ship, piloting it while we do our thing, is extremely helpful. There’s more than one story of automated dropships being hacked, leaving their passengers stranded.

  “Recommendations?” I say.

  “Spaks.”

  “Spax?”

  “It’s a pirate station, boy-o.” Ali’s fingers dance and information blooms. “Spaks is the largest pirate haven in this quadrant of the galaxy. It’s located in the middle of a particularly dense asteroid field and ringed by multiple gravitic and dimensional lock mines. Because of that and its ability to shift its location, it’s yet to be rooted out.”

  “Not as if the Galactics want to get rid of it. Whatever they say, they need us and they know it,” Dornalor says. “Now that we have no choice, we’ll have to make use of it. Not that I expect a great reception for you guys.”

  I grunt, understanding his point. We straddle a weird line, of being bad guys and not. The real bad guys— pirates, smugglers and worse don’t like us—me—while truly upstanding citizens aren’t going to be happy to deal with us. It’s why we generally use slightly
shady ports.

  “Need?” Mikito speaks up, eyes narrowing.

  “The System might make it easy to contact one another, but the conversations held in there are cheaper to purchase. Even with Skills, your secrets are more easily provided. There’s also something to be said about meeting people face to face. Spaks and places like it give the Galactics a place to send their dirty deeds. And, as you can tell”—Dornalor waves his hand, indicating the damaged portions of the ship. As he does so, a pop-up appears, giving me a status notification about the ship—“we need places to rest and refit. Not to say they don’t try to wipe us out once in a while but doing so just raises the price on our services.”

  Nothing’s Heartbreak (Modified Voos Fast Courier Kimi 23.4)

  Core: Class 3.8 Voos Fast Courier

  Speed: 9.8 Doms

  Processing Unit & Software: Class B Xylik Core

  Armor Rating (Space): Tier II

  Stealth Rating (Space): Tier I

  Hard Points: 8 (6 Used)

  Soft Points: 11 (9 Used)

  Crew Capacity: 5

  Weaponry: 2 x Ares Beam Turrets, 4 x Missile Turrets (1 Damaged)

  Defense: 1 x Imola Interplanetary Force Shield, 11 x Point Defense Lasers (5 Damaged)

  Core Durability: 73% (more…)

  Of course, this was just the summary. If I wanted more, I could drill down to see specific durability. Anything listed here as damaged was too damaged to actually be used. Thanks to the permissions provided to me, I could drill down a little for specific items, but there were still large sections that Dornalor had locked off. Which was perfectly fair. It was kind of like the smuggling operation he ran in his hidden storage location. It wasn’t any of my business so long as it didn’t impact, well, my business.

  “As if you’re cheap,” Ali mutters.