Edge of Reality

by Andrei Livadny

  I didn't even notice when this Berserk thing had worn off.

  Yes, it looked like my life bar had grown a bit. Five percent or so. I tried to make a furious face to scare off any imaginary NPCs, but winced. The gaping wound that stretched from my chin to the crown of my head smarted immediately.

  Never mind. I looked scary enough as I did. I couldn't see myself in the mirror and it was probably for the better.

  The haze seemed thinner in one particular direction. So that's where I headed toward the unknown.

  * * *

  This time I'd chosen the right direction. The haze thinned out quickly. I could breathe easier. Then I started coming across some weird objects.

  Unfortunately, they did little to change my opinion of the designers' skill and attention to detail. Various molten structures suggested that this place had witnessed some incredibly high temperatures.

  I tried to explore a few of the items. I'd stop and focus, touching a surface that looked like glass strewn with air bubbles. Pointless. The interface wasn't working. I had a funny feeling that the developers didn't really know what it was they had erected here or how we were supposed to use it.

  You think it absurd?

  But did you ever have to test a shamelessly raw product? I had. And I'd had the same feeling as I did here: lots of empty locations with markers that were supposed to represent most gaming objects. Utterly boring. Vast spaces where you could walk for miles without encountering anything of note.

  Wait. The interface seemed to work, finally.

  Now if I concentrated hard I could see the blurred, shimmering outlines of the items lurking inside the molten overhangs. I couldn't make out any details, though.

  But it had to be something truly valuable.

  The vitrified surface had cracked in places. I began exploring a few of these weak spots, wincing as I tapped them with a clenched fist. I didn't try too hard. My life was restoring slowly. Their regeneration rates were crap. It had been ten minutes since I'd fought the xenomorph but my every movement still hurt.

  Whatever had they hidden in there? I was dying to find out. My decades of gaming experience screamed that this was some long-abandoned site. Possibly, I was the first person to have ever made it here. The items could turn out to be priceless — unique, the only ones of their kind.

  There you have it. I was already drooling over it. Leaving all this booty behind was worse than nonchalance — it was a crime. Especially in my situation when I had no chance to do some proper farming.

  So what did they have inside?

  At that moment I sensed an unpleasant nagging feeling, as if I were a bug being watched. As if someone was deciding whether to squash me or leave me be.

  I stopped and looked around but saw nothing unusual. The same darkness as everywhere else, studded with the flowing outlines of vitrified mounds.

  But the objects that were inside them, I could see them much clearer now! The nagging feeling had left me, replaced by a message,

  You cannot fully explore the concealed items without a mind expander.

  You need to install a mind-expanding implant or purchase a mobile scanner. You can also destroy the obstacle with a suitable tool of your choice. Chances of damaging the item: 90%.

  Oh well. I heaved a sigh. Those implants again. Where was I supposed to get them?

  Never mind. I could always come back. I switched over to the location map. Aha. This was where I'd found the radioactive ore. And this was where I was now. I added a placemark. I absolutely had to come back at the first opportunity and do my bit of archeology.

  In the meantime, my life bar had grown to thirty percent. More messages kept flashing, reporting available skill points, but at the moment I had nothing to spend them on. All of my char's talent branches were still closed.

  The Admins never replied to my ticket.

  * * *

  I slowly limped toward a yellowish glow I'd noticed from afar. I'd been in the game for an hour already. So far, my initial impressions had been mixed.

  The terrain gradually changed. The annoying toxic haze was now gone. The enormous ceiling had become lower while the molten objects had become more diverse. Here they were taller, repeating the shape of some of the unidentified devices, forming chimeric figures, columns and arches leading me from one room to the next. There were more sources of light here. Some of those weird shapes glowed weakly, too. Now the damage to them seemed superficial; soon it was gone completely.

  I had already realized that I was walking away from the epicenter of some ancient disaster. Subconsciously I expected the normal gaming process to start any minute now: the low-level NPCs would arrive, putting everything back into place.

  As I took a closer look at the massive devices surrounding me, I noticed that most had been reduced to mere skeletons. Someone had done a good job ripping out everything that was still salvageable or usable. Exactly. It made the artifacts still concealed within the molten shapes all the more valuable.

  If I could only find a suitable tool, go back and try to break into the vitrified mounds...

  Deep in thought, I missed the new danger entirely. The floor became steeper and caved in, forming an enormous impact crater that sneered at me with its stumps of broken concrete beams and fractured construction steel. Bunches of cables snaked everywhere. I slipped and lost my balance, tumbling over, cutting myself on the sharp edges of the metallic debris.

  I somehow managed to grasp onto some eroded pipe or other and clung to it, casting cautious looks below.

  It was a good fifty-foot fall, no less. A yellow light seeped through an ugly gaping hole below framed with some gleaming metal. The crater was deep, almost vertical at its center. As I grabbed at the dangerously squeaking bits of crumbling ancient pipework, I looked around, taking in the opening panorama. The crater's steep sides were littered with mummified remains. Everywhere you turned, you could see bits of unknown creatures stuck between the warped pipes and the snaking cables. I noticed several steel lines disappear inside a hole at the bottom and some sort of jury-rigged welded grating that had apparently been added after the crater had appeared.

  My eyes were getting used to the dim yellowish light, allowing me to see new details. Apparently this was a regularly used route and a place of many a desperate combat. Only a few of the bodies impaled on the protruding bits of construction steel looked like victims of an accidental fall.

  A sudden bout of vertigo made me cling to the crumbling pipes.

  You're deprived of oxygen! -2 pt. to Strength, Stamina, Agility and Perception. You can't survive much longer without a metabolic implant!

  I know, I know.

  I froze trying to sit out the bout of sickness — which in fact had saved me some much more serious problems.

  Long shadows rushed below. A muted screeching sound crept through the rarefied air as about a dozen skinny sinewy creatures hove into view underneath and shinnied up the grating. They had no clothes on, only the familiar slave collars.

  I focused on one of them. This time the interface reported without delay,

  A Haash. Sentient Xenomorph. Level 17. Pilot. Current status: Prisoner.

  Sentient they may be, but their frame gave me cause for serious concern. The Haash were over eight foot tall, skinny but incredibly strong, with a reptilian-shaped skull. Their arms were long, ending in four-digit hands with strong multi-phalanxed fingers.

  I froze studying them, pretending I was part of the surrounding scenery, as more shadows appeared below and began scaling the grates. This time they were stocky armor-clad warriors.

  Again I focused, but much to my disappointment received no information whatsoever.

  Without a mind expander, you cannot identify an opponent in a pressure suit. Find and install the implant in order to read the stats of your opponent's armor and weapons.

  Well, that remained to be seen. The squat "gnomes" definitely looked familiar.

  I kept watching. The Haash creatures had already scramble
d up and disappeared from view.

  The gnomes climbed noisily albeit with equal ease. The hum of their micromotors and the clatter of steel reached far even through the rarefied air.

  A raid! This was a raid!

  I counted about fifty squat figures in total. They were followed by some truly weird creatures: a separate group of what looked like jellyfish hovering in the air.

  The Guides, the interface reported.

  Chills ran up my spine — purely mentally, of course, considering I was dripping with sweat trying to stay inconspicuous.

  The Guides definitely seemed to be the ones in control of the raid. I squinted till my eyes hurt, following their unhurried travel. Their jelly-like bodies permeated with some gristly cartilage substance were generously stuffed with various cyber modules. This became especially clear when one of the creatures brushed against a sharp metal fragment. I expected it to rip the thing open. As if! A force field flashed open. Molten metal splashed everywhere. The creature's translucent body filled with a visible grid of what looked like white-hot wire — the power fibers connecting the multitude of implants into one integrated system.

  Dangerous things.

  A couple of dozen heavily loaded Haash followed up the rear. Despite all their power and stamina, they staggered under the sheer weight of the huge cratefuls of equipment, struggling to climb up the grating.

  I decided to check the information I'd received earlier. Locking my stare onto the last Haash in the group, I read,

  A Haash. Sentient Xenomorph. Level 21. Pilot. Current status: Prisoner.

  You can set a Prisoner free by destroying the collar's control module. Doing this will affect your reputation. Not all Humans will appreciate your helping a Xenomorph escape. This will affect your reputation among certain human groups depending on the levels of xenophobia they practice.

  Finally some good news! I'd already started to think this was a game for some rather sick individuals. Then again, why not? Lots of people play for goblins, orcs and other mythical creatures — so why not xenomorphs?

  While I was thus thinking, the Haash group in the rear had already climbed out of the crater and disappeared from sight.

  I breathed a sigh of relief, then asked myself: now where could this raid be heading? They're not after my unique items by any chance, are they?

  Stop it, I told myself. No need to be greedy. I'd already done well for my level 2. I took a closer look at the crater's almost vertical walls with their mummified bodies pinned to the mauled metal. This was my chance to find something worth my while. I needed to get some gear and weapons before I even thought of pushing my luck further by going down the crater.

  * * *

  I decided to leave the grating well alone and start from the opposite side of the crater.

  My first impression proved to be wrong. This wasn't a crater — not technically, anyway. I'd no idea what could have caused a huge hole like this to appear nor why would its walls, initially quite shallow, had suddenly grown so steep.

  Forcing my way through the chaos of misshapen metal wasn't easy. In actual fact, the structure's walls resembled a layer cake conceived by someone far removed from the culinary profession.

  Imagine strong sheets of unknown metal interlaced with compact layers of various technogenic filling, such as pipelines of various diameter, power ducts (which I'd initially mistaken for reinforced steel), unidentified devices and narrow service tunnels.

  I counted five such layers in total, their contents partially gutted, broken and molten. Their mechanical guts hung out, interwoven, forming an unstable and dangerous support.

  I took my time climbing over. Every now and again the seemingly reliable objects betrayed my expectations, collapsing or dissolving into a treacherously loud avalanche of rubble. If I lost my grip, I'd fall to my death. My respawn point was located in the worst possible place. Considering the raid that was heading in that direction, I had better not take any chances.

  I froze every time the debris came crashing down, but no one had arrived to check out the suspicious noises. Gradually I got a handle on it and threw caution to the wind. I advanced faster now.

  The unusual — I'd say, excessive — authenticity levels kept reminding me of themselves. The palms of my hands were now covered in blisters. Every muscle in my body ached. Any reckless movement made my heart miss a beat.

  I couldn't help it. My neuroimplant seemed to have a life of its own. It got completely out of hand, playing with my instincts and reflexes. Apparently it wanted me to know what it really felt like, doing aerobatics fifty feet up.

  Whew. I made it. A five-foot pipe led deep into the floor's mysterious depths. I crawled inside it and lay there restoring my breath, my muscles sore and shaky from the unusual exercise.

  Once I caught my breath, I rolled over onto my side. A yellowed skull grinned back at me, pieces of flesh still sticking to the bone. A "gnome". Let's see what you have for me, buddy.

  His pressure helmet lay some distance away. I reached out and picked it up to study it.

  Not my size, definitely. The catches didn't fit, either. I focused to read,

  Cargonite helmet. Part of the Cargonite armor suit. Equipped with an integrated combat scanning system. Typical of the Dargian civilization and worn by Dargian pilots, raiders and scouts. Effect: +1 to Armor. The device in the slot is a slave collar controller. The device is damaged and not in working order.

  You can improve or alter the helmet to fit your own size. In order to do this, you will need a molecular converter (you will have to provide the blueprints of the desired alterations). Alternatively, you may have it done by a master craftsman in possession of the Alien Technologies Expert ability and Repairs and Science skills. Skill points required: 70.

  They didn't want much, did they? I turned the helmet over in my hands and found the slot they'd mentioned. When I tried to prize the damaged device out, the following message appeared,

  Skill required to remove the module: Repairs. Points required: 25.

  They did like to complicate things. I put the helmet away into my generous hundred-slot inventory. The weight was a problem though. Considering the low gravity, I could carry a hundred and fifty pounds. I had no idea how it was going to affect my speed and agility, but I had my doubts. How was I going to climb down those flimsy gratings if my weight had doubled?

  So he was a Dargian, then. The gnome's mummified body stuck to the pipe. I turned him over, disregarding the sickening crunching sound. One of his arms came off. Further inspection brought another discovery and yet more disappointment. His Cargonite armor didn't fit my body type, and I only managed to rip a couple of implants out of his body. Their stats were reduced to three question marks and a reminder that I needed to level up Science.

  Thanks for the tip. The implants — the cyborgizing modules — weighed next to nothing, so I took them along.

  The discovery I'd meant was the weapon.

  It looked like a submachine gun. The entire length of the barrel was bulging with the casings of electromagnetic accelerators. The stock housed battery slots. That much was clear. But how about actually using it?

  This time I was in luck.

  IMP34, the interface reported. Suitable for use by all humanoid-type creatures. Weapon class: pulse. Bullet propulsion is produced by battery-powered accelerators.

  The two indicators of the micro nuclear batteries glowed yellow. All the mechanical parts seemed to work. The rate of fire slider and the stiff firing button looked simple and well-conceived.

  I couldn't help myself. I just had to try it. I had to find out how it worked, didn't I?

  The result was impressive. It was a good job I'd had enough sense to point it at an old crate fifty feet away. The single shot sounded woolly. The impact produced a burst of flame as the bullet evaporated the timeworn metal, leaving behind a fire-polished hole the size of a fist.

  The blast wave shuddered through the air. I ducked inside the pipe and lay low, waiting for all of
the location's NPCs to come running and make a quick job of me. I changed the clip and braced myself.

  I kept waiting. The pulse in my temple clocked up the seconds.

  In the last hour, I'd been indecently lucky. No one came.

  I'd tested my weapon. Things were looking up.

  * * *

  I scrambled further on but encountered nothing extraordinary. Most bodies proved to belong to the Haash and the Dargians. They'd had one hell of a fight here. The traces of combat were everywhere: molten gaps in the metal, impact craters of energy weapons; in places, whole sections of utility lines had been cut cleanly as if with a knife.

  The Haash's gear was way too large for me. Shame. Too much weight with nothing to show for it. I expanded the map and added all the details I could, marking down every item I'd found in order to come back. If only I could find a vendor trading in armor and high tech devices. I picked up two more types of pulse weapons: something that looked like a handgun and an analogue of a 12-millimeter sniper's rifle. This particular Haash had fought to the last. I counted about a dozen and a half dead Dargians around his position. Hit by his large-caliber, their armor was only good for the scrap heap.

  I was seriously tired. It was time to log out and give myself a break, but I knew from experience that leaving a char in a place like this even for a short while was asking for trouble. A couple of times I glimpsed the xenomorphs' stooped outlines almost out of my field of vision. I didn't get the chance to have a better look but I took the point.

  Better safe than sorry. I had to find a safe place before taking a break.