"Including some spare batteries, the ammo's technical description and its chemical formula so I could make it myself," Dietrich said unflinchingly. He wasn't worried about the task's potential complexity. Hadn't they said he'd been granted absolute memory? "Plus some food and water."
Rich frowned, thinking, then stated, "In that case I want two memories, complete with every detail."
"Not a problem. It's a deal. Only I don't quite understand how we're supposed to make the swap."
"You need to concentrate on a couple of the more vivid memories, then will me to have them."
"Should I maybe throw a couple of my ghosts into the bargain?" Dietrich grinned, suddenly cheerful. As long as this world had free trade, he'd be fine. Especially once he'd laid his hands on a weapon which was a fast and proven way of solving any problem.
"No ghosts for me, thanks," Rich said, deadly serious. "You can keep them. Just remember what I've just told you."
"Okay, okay. Let me try. Don't you want to show me the Steiger first and teach me how to make the ammo?"
"As soon as I get your first memory, I'll make the gun. No ammo. Once I receive the second one, I'll show you how to make both ammo and new batteries."
"Being careful, are we? Never mind. It's a deal."
* * *
"AND? How did you like it?"
"Don't ask," Space Forces Major Richard Rowly winced with disgust. "At least the guy has some imagination, I have to give him that. What's with my neuromatrix?"
"It's stable. The memories are yours now. They integrated no problem. Can you imagine? We've just proved that it's possible to copy and paste neurograms! Don't you understand? Now it'll take days to train an expert in any field!"
"Not a healthy idea," the Major ordered a coffee and sat in a chair.
"Why? What's your problem?"
"The neuroimplant has too many mind traps. It's way too dangerous. We all have our own demons. Our job is to let them sleep undisturbed in the darkest corners of our minds."
"Did you have issues with that?"
"I did. But I can keep them in check... for the time being. But I don't think that Dietrich will survive his seven-day term."
"You feeling sorry for him?"
"Oh no, I'm not. It just got me thinking. Nobody's without sin. Implanting the whole Forces personnel with these things... I don't think it would be a good idea. Not a clever thing to do."
"We'll do that but not now, don't worry. First we're going to test the device in a computer game. The Chrystal Sphere, if you know what I mean. We already have an agreement with Infosystems. We'll have to block most of the implants' options for the time being. All we're going to leave is the full-immersion experience and the neurointerface. We also need to add a transmitting device which will allow us to read the neurograms and learn to work with them."
"Not exactly commendable, is it? This is a breach of privacy."
"I don't give a damn. Infosystems will keep their mouth shut. They're obliged to, for this kind of money. In the meantime, we're going to open a project of our own. Phantom Server. We'll recruit very selectively. We only need loners with no families or friends to worry about them, whether in real life or online."
"Why won't you try it yourself?" the Major snapped. Despite his mission's success, he felt like shit.
Colonel Jonathan Jyrd ignored his subordinate's quip. "I will when the time is right," he finally said. "I'd like you to do something else for me. There's a Corp technologist who works with us here, Jurgen's the name. I want you to keep an eye on him. I think he'll be good for us."
* * *
DIETRICH WAS ANGRY, exhausted and depressed.
He didn't know how long it had been since Rich had left. Without the change of day and night you couldn't really tell. Hunger and thirst had ceased to be a problem; his memory, however, kept offering up nasty new surprises, materializing yet more ghosts of the past.
A life's worth of wickedness was catching up with him. Remembering his initial failure fighting the ghosts, he tried to ignore them even though it made things only worse.
The adaptable world hung on his every mood change, pelting him with icy wind and pouring rain. Aimlessly he staggered through the unknown as the puddles of water underfoot were being bound by ice.
He had nowhere to hide from the weather. His teeth were chattering. A crowd of phantoms trailed after him, some trying to catch up with him and look into his eyes, others attempting to say something that would remind him of themselves.
No amount of body pain could be compared to this agony of his tormented, trapped soul.
Before, he'd never given any thought to the idea of a soul. It had been easier to think it didn't exist. Having mastered getting rid of his weak pangs of conscience by shoving them deep into the recesses of his mind, he'd believed this to be the ultimate solution. In fact, he'd only been accumulating problems.
His Life bar kept shrinking, slowly but surely. He was already sick of all the system messages,
You're starving.
You're exhausted.
You're on the verge of a nervous breakdown.
New quest alert: Purgatory. It's time to reconcile with your past. In order to survive, you need to embrace your memories.
Dietrich stopped and looked behind him. The disorderly crowd of his mortal sins scared him witless. Even if he managed to last the required seven days, what kind of person would he leave this place?
A drooling idiot with a shaking head? Would he be able to live as if nothing had happened, ignoring the consequences of his deeds?
They'd called it a deal! They'd surely known he wouldn't survive it!
A new surge of fury flooded his thoughts. To hell with their quests! There was no way he reconciled with this bunch of monsters! He should forget them, as simple as that. Amnesia sufferers could do it, couldn't they? They just started a new life from scratch. Sounded all right to him!
His finger touched the gun's yielding trigger.
There was only one way to check if he was right.
He raised his hand and fired. Again. And again.
Time to purge my memory!
Each flash echoed with pain. His vision darkened. Still, he continued firing at the crowd, knowing he couldn't miss.
* * *
HE FAINTED several times, regaining consciousness only to continue exterminating the unwanted memories. Surprised, he concentrated on the new emptiness taking root in his heart. Each new shot came easier than the one before it.
He got used to the pain. The weather improved somewhat. Gradually the wind died down.
There was very little of him left, literally. Having lost most of his life's experience, Dietrich had turned into somebody else: someone angry and obstinate. The only thing he still remembered was his name.
By now, he didn't differ much from the ghosts that used to surround him. His body had turned translucent and ephemeral, distorted by surges of interference. His face was flattening, losing its individual features as it turned into a crude grotesque mask.
Finally, it too disappeared.
Dozens of people witnessed his loss of identity.
"Gone," Colonel Jyrd commented. "Dead."
"His physical body is still alive," Jurgen pointed out.
"His physical body is only a mantle. You can switch off the life support systems now. I'll sign the paperwork. The convict volunteer didn't survive the tests performed with his written consent. End of story. Block the neuroimplant's Absolute Memory function until further notice. That's it, let's do it!!"
* * *
THE TESTING GROUNDS were divided into separate locations controlled by reliable secure servers. This included the neurocomputers providing the automatic neuromatrix support.
Months turned into years as new technologies advanced, introducing new settings. Sets of tests followed non-stop. New models of in-game objects were being downloaded in order to be fine-tuned and consequently deleted.
The world of the Crystal Sphere was growin
g popular. Quite a few players received new devices which offered a 100% authenticity of their gaming experience. Rumors began to circulate about the mysterious Phantom Server: a game of the future based exclusively on neurotechnologies. Still, no one really knew its release date.
The introduction of neuroimplants had allowed many of the Infosystems workers to relocate online, working, living and even sleeping in cyber space.
* * *
THERE WAS VERY LITTLE of him left. Only a few neurograms were still held together by his last and only memory: Dietrich still remembered his own name. That was the only thing that kept him from complete disintegration.
He'd become the rustle of the wind; a ripple in the fabric of reality; a barely visible haze floating in the air. A faint shadow that couldn't even trigger the scanners' sensors.
Sometimes as he watched humans, he experienced a vague longing: a craving born of desperation. He wanted to own their emotions; to reap their experiences. In moments like those he felt strangely confident that he could lay his hands on their neurograms — provided he was just a little bit stronger.
The craving kept growing, the desire to reap what he hadn't sown thwarted by his own impotence. He was too weak to attack — so he didn't, shrinking into the shadows whenever humans approached.
It all changed overnight. As he watched a well-equipped group of corporate workers test out a new batch of mobs about to be introduced into the Crystal Sphere, he witnessed a man die.
One of the team members failed to dodge an ugly monster's blow. It had happened before. Normally, it ended with some quality cussing and the hapless player's respawn.
Not today, though.
Enveloped in a pale glow, the identity of the unfortunate worker began to disintegrate into separate neurograms. Back in the real world his physical body had died, unable to survive the agonizing pain.
Dietrich didn't know that. Instinctively he darted forward, trying to imbibe a few of the melting sparks of light.
He grew somewhat. It hadn't quenched his craving, though. He needed more.
The worker's few disjointed memories contained a basic weapons skill.
This incident showed him the way. He knew that sooner or later he'd be lucky enough to come across another such accident, enabling him to imbibe a few more drops of another person's identity.
One of these days he'd have enough neurograms to attack and take what was rightfully his.
Having completed their testing, the Corporation workers finally left.
He stood alone in the deserted location. Barely visible, helpless and pathetic. The first fruit of the looming digital Apocalypse. His craving grew stronger.
He was now ready to reap.
May 2016
Translated from Russian by Irene Woodhead and Neil P. Mayhew
Throne World
(From the Life of Crown Princesses)
A tale from Perimeter Defense series
by Michael Atamanov
The Arites are an intelligent, nonhumanoid, non-protein-based life form. Their homeworld is thought to be a planet in the Arite star system, which is located in the Swarm cluster, though they can also be found in all neighboring star systems. The Arites possess a surprising ability. They can perfectly imitate the physical form, communication patterns and behavior of any creature they've had contact with. In their subsequent interactions with other intelligent life forms, they also learned to detect and bypass electronic security systems. The Arites were discovered around two hundred years ago by the Iseyek (a symbiotic federation of intelligent insectoid races commonly known as the Swarm) and were declared dangerous parasites. This determination would lead to a two-hundred-year war between the groups. However, the Iseyek were never able to fully exterminate the Arites and, finally, with Human mediation, a historic peace treaty was signed, which made the Arites members of the Swarm.
(from an online encyclopedia article)
Imperial Core. Throne World.
An elite preparatory school for children of the upper Imperial aristocracy.
Girls’ dormitory wing.
WHY DO CROWN PRINCESSES have to bring so much stuff with them? I stared in horror at the mountain of suitcases and boxes my friends and I had brought back to school after summer vacation. Back at home, there were servants to carry our bags and suitcases, but here that wasn’t possible – servants weren't allowed at our elite school. What a pity...
I clicked open the lock of the nearest huge suitcase and looked glumly at the neatly folded packets of clothing. Were these even my things? Not so long ago, we were all looking through a catalogue together, and my friend Crown Princess Natalie came up with the idea for us all to buy the exact same bags to bring back to school. Back then, it seemed like such a cool plan. But now, with all our baggage piled up in the entryway, we realized just what a bad choice we made. We played rock paper scissors to decide who would have to dig their bags out of the towering pile first. And I lost. My friends were now off in the next room watching cartoons, leaving me alone to break first ground in the heaps of luggage. I picked right on the first try, though. I looked at one of the transparent packets inside the open suitcase, and saw the neatly packaged souvenirs I'd been given by loyal insects in Dekeye, the Swarm capital.
I opened my wardrobe, and froze for some time, staring at my reflection in the big mirror on its inner door. A pretty, healthy girl was looking back at me with big gray-green eyes and long hair dyed an alternating pattern of emerald-green and pink just like in all the teenage fashion articles. I held my gaze on the image for a few seconds, and an interactive guide popped up before my eyes:
Likanna royl Georg ton Mesfelle-Unatari, Crown Princess of the Empire, ruler of the Yal star system
Age: 13
Race: Human
Gender: Female
Class: Aristocrat
Achievements: Swarm Princess
Fame: +8
Standing: +2
My fame in the Empire had grown sharply in the last few months. It was pretty awesome! I'd become the bona fide ruler of the Yal system, which had a population of eleven billion nonhumanoids. And beyond that, I was now first in line to the throne of the sprawling Unatari State, which consisted of nearly one hundred inhabitable star systems. Recently my father, the ruler of Unatari, told me I was now one of the most desired brides in the Universe, and soon, there would be a line of bachelors asking for my hand stretching from my palace gates to the very horizon. And my dad proved to be right. Despite my young age, I already had plenty of admirers. I constantly received personal messages from aristocrats I didn't know suggesting we get acquainted. But on my father's advice, I simply ignored them. I already knew my worth and understood that the true upper crust of the Great Imperial Houses wouldn't make such crude overtures.
My thoughts were interrupted by a shout from my friends:
"Lika! You have to come over here! Your dad's about to give a speech on the news!"
I set the suitcase aside, its contents already hung up in the wardrobe, and bolted into the common room. My friends, the Crown Princesses Joan and Natalie, scooted over, making me a place to sit on the small couch in front of the huge screen on the wall.
And just then, my father appeared–Crown Prince Georg royl Inoky ton Mesfelle, the ruler of the interstellar Unatari State and one of the greatest fleet commanders of the modern era. From the screen, a fifty-year-old slightly chubby man with a visible flock of gray in his dark mane was looking down sternly at the viewers. My father's right cheek was crossed from one brow to the opposite lip by a jagged scar he'd gotten in the explosion of his flagship, the heavy assault cruiser Joan the Fatty during one of his innumerable battles with the Aliens.
I had suggested that he get it looked at by a cosmetic surgeon many times. They'd have been able to get rid of that repugnant disfiguration. But Georg refused. He said the old wound reminded him of his grandiose victory in the Aysar Cluster and made him look more manly. To my eye, it was a bit much. Everyone in the Empire alread
y knew my father as a hero of that war, and the only thing he needed to emphasize that was his dark blue fleet commander uniform with gold epaulets.
Georg royl Inoky ton Mesfelle, Crown Prince of the Empire, Ruler of the Unatari State, Swarm Five-Star-Admiral
Age: 49
Race: Human
Gender: Male
Class: Aristocrat/Mystic
Relation to you: Your father
Achievements: Elder Chameleon Female, Discovered Arites, Got through Alien Blockade, Researcher of the Unknown, Imperial Land Grabber, Ex-Fleet Commander for Sector Eight, Malingerer, Respected by the Swarm, Dekeye Champion of No Rules Fighting, Defender of Humanity, Master of the Hive, Favorite's Iseyek Mating Dance.
Fame: +68
Standing: +21
Presumed personal opinion of you: +100 (completely trusting)
Yes, my father's achievement list was an impressive, dramatic retelling of his tumultuous life story.
Just after he started his speech, my friends and I started gaping in surprise, unable to believe what we were hearing. It was pretty shocking stuff–my father, in no uncertain terms, was accusing Emperor August of a treacherous attack on an Unatari diplomatic mission, the murder of his bodyguards, and also an attempt on his very life, as well as that of his cousin Duchess Katerina royl Unatari.
My father gave Emperor August exactly one day to issue an official apology and pay five billion in compensation for the destruction of his personal yacht, and the murder of his bodyguards and crew members. If not, the ruler of Unatari promised to declare independence from the Empire and was threatening to give an order to destroy all military divisions and fleets in Unatari space still loyal to Emperor August. And it was all said in language far too biting to be used in typical diplomatic correspondence. In fact, "bearded nutjob" and "old goat" were the most appropriate names my father called the Emperor.
You're in Game! LitRPG Stories from Bestselling Authors Page 4
