by D. Rus
Again the sonarman reported: "An unidentified group target detected. Approaching from below, bearing – 148, speed – 20 knots, motion vector – interception of the Delaware. Estimated time till interception – 7 minutes."
"Commodore to CIC. Report every 60 seconds."
The Americans who employed all types of active scan-set techniques had also spotted the potential enemy. The Virginia turned around to face the threat, baring her 2-foot-wide torpedo launcher sockets just in case. Has her crew mistake the object for the Russian submarine?
Drip! Drip! Drip! Came the deafening sound of the nuclear submarine’s sonar.
The Delaware was blatantly probing this strange vessel which was crossing the neutral zone.
The sonarman reported: "The target is creating artificial noises, almost entirely absorbing our sonar’s echo."
Shatrov smiled to himself. It was a good thing that the Americans would have to solve this puzzle instead of him. He himself had no idea what that third thing rising from the depths was.
Americans would be glad to do this anyway. They were looking for the Russian submarine, and this thing sure could pass for one from a distance. No matter what they would find below, they’d certainly suspect it to be the Borei.
"Launch the minor video probe!" ordered the commodore. "It’s to be hand controlled at all times so that it doesn’t move a single grain of sand!"
He was dying to see what was going on. Plus, walking into the general’s office to hand him a crystal with all the access codes of the nanorobots nestled in enemy territory would certainly land Shatrov some more stars on his epaulets.
The target’s aggressive behavior alarmed the Americans. The sonar pinged non-stop. The density of encoded radio exchange soared as did the numbers of persistent friend-or-foe identification requests. Soon the Americans directly ordered the target to "halt and indicate its country of origin."
The video probe sent a picture. It was of a so-so quality despite the multistage noise filtering system. Its contents could be clearly seen though.
Despite having nerves of steel, some of the senior officers lost it when they looked at the image. "But this is…" they muttered.
The OX stared at the picture, wide-eyed. "Whales, dolphins, sharks, and some unknown mammals. They’re all attacking the U.S Navy’s NPS. Fuck me!"
There was no way of knowing what the Americans saw, but they clearly received permission to escalate the conflict. They had been very patient. An ordinary NYC cop would’ve already classified the situation as "dangerous to the officer" and opened fire, having every reason to do so.
The hydroacoustic complex speakers crackled as the submarine’s AI said in alarm: "Torpedo attack! Jet torpedoes have been laucnhed! One…Two…"
"Motion vector 77…79…Estimated target – the unidentified object in the center of the fish school covered by shields of an unknown make. Direct hit in 17…16…15 seconds…"
Strange as it may seem, the odd school of fish sensed danger. They got closer together and regrouped so that the least valuable individuals would be hit first. Killer whales raced to intercept the torpedoes. These whales truly were killers, striking fear into the hearts of other underwater creatures.
"Collision, explosion! Another explosion! Losses among the first wave predators are negligible. Another round of torpedoes is being launched. One…Two…Three. Enemy’s out of torpedoes."
"Sonarman here! I’m picking up torpedo tube reloading sounds, and also the shooting sounds of the containers of antisubversive anti-aiborne defense bow clusters. Explosion! Registering the formation of a destructive agent cloud. Size – 28,000 cubic feet, density – one agent per foot."
Borei’s video probe was already close enough to capture quality images. Now the officers could clearly see the unbelievable spectacle; the battle of a 4th generation NPS with the strongest creatures of the deep.
But the drama had only two acts. The first involved making mincemeat of the first wave of the marine armada by using tungsten balls. Around a hundred sharks, dolphins, and killer whales either slowly rose to the surface or sank to the bottom, wrapped in clouds of red. The wounded mammals thrashed. A rare spermwhale cried out as its tail got ripped off.
Act two; leaving behind a veil of blood, the school made it to the submarine’s vulnerable body and attacked. The 150-ton blue whales easily crushed the 2-inch armor of the hull. Smaller marine animals chopped up the external machinery, jammed the thrusters and all the access slots.
In a minute, the U.S. Navy’s pride hit the ocean floor like an empty beer can. But few saw this impressive victory take place. Most of Borei’s officers stood there open-mouthed as they continued to watch the videostream from their probe.
Keeping a safe distance from the battle scene were full-bosomed mermaids, frowning as they closely watched the Borei…
Hummungus pushed forward, his broad chest cleaving the water and his ears jerking in alarm. The artificial sea was growing deeper, approaching six feet.
The bear’s brain was in a fog due to the temperature difference. The ardent Frontier sun was beating down on his back while the cold waters of the Baltic made him suffer cramps in his paws.
It was upsetting to see the thick patches of gasoline on the water’s surface. I wondered if this was just a result of negligence or whether an oil ship with half a million tons of cargo got stuck in a hole between the two worlds. It would’ve been really nice to get my hands on something like that. I probably didn’t need oil in a magical world, but I wanted it. I’ll take two!
The distant gunfire died down. The rocket’s trail of smoke got blown away by the wind. A flock of level 200 gryphons was circling overhead. They looked satiated. There was much prey that day, from wounded to drowned men - plenty to go around.
There was one really nasty thing about the creatures of the Frontier; they got XP from killing players and their natural prey. The reasoning behind this was clear; monsters needed to level up like players. But this didn’t make things any easier. If this new world retained the respawn function, then these desert lands would still be dangerous for lone travelers and small groups even in a hundred years from now. The Frontier knew how to guard its secrets and treasures quite well.
If my bear had a gas pedal, I would’ve floored it. Hurry, my friend! The sudden cessation of gunfire was alarming. In these lands, any monster could kill the real world migrants, even if these migrants had machine guns.
The tiny waves brought along all sorts of technogenic junk from wiring fragments to plastic kids’ slides. A used bookstand was going round and round in a whirlpool.
The book lover in me gave an exasperated sigh while my greedy pig moved its paws up and down. There were hundreds of books, thousands of glossy pages, priceless special edition trinkets. With the Earth far out of reach, any little thing from the real world became a treasure.
Hummungus avoided the whirlpool. He waited, sneezed as if he caught a cold and backed up. I sighed in disappointment and took a screenshot. After making sure that the image’s digital signature contained local coordinates, I sent it to my economic managers to spite them. Let them rack their brains over how to properly handle the situation; that way I wouldn’t be the only one with a stress-induced gastric ulcer.
The next round of gunfire sounded completely random. It indicated that someone else had the gun now, and that I better hurry.
Hummungus sensed my concern and started with a jerk, skillfully avoiding underwater ditches and scaring off the local beasts. One of the benefits of my super-high level was that most of AlterWorld monsters didn’t get aggro with me and didn’t try to eat me for dinner. Nobody dared to attack a stranger marked purple. They stared at me with evil eyes from their caves and hiding places, cherished ill will, but never attacked.
I kept leaning down in my saddle like a lifelong cavalryman as I pulled out the more interesting junk out of the water. There was a fresh newspaper of short-lived plastic; a costly pleasure for those who loved to rustle through y
ellowed pages. Is it really today’s? Real world news are priceless!
Five suitcases floated by, pointing to the sad end of some Boeing that had run out of fuel. I couldn’t collect much on my own. I needed my people to line the sea from shore to shore and to sieve the entire area, carefully picking everything up drop by drop, grain by grain.
Empty castles could wait. AlterWorld’s physics were destroying the treasures of the real world. Little things would disappear within minutes. That trash can over there that had run aground might last a few hours. And that mangled half-sunken minivan would probably be there for a day.
Whoever failed to take advantage of the opportunity now would be kicking themselves for years to come. This supermarket might never be restocked again.
Hummungus suddenly stopped, sniffed the air and sharply turned right. I was met with a warning growl when I tried to get him back on course. It was stunning how impudent mounts had become. Would I be the one with the saddle on my back soon?
As I pondered over what sort of reprimand would be appropriate, the bear gave a blissful purr as he edged his way into a canal of a soft turquoise color. Its width equaled to the distance from my helmet to the lowest clouds. The water was pleasantly warm. Colorful tropical fish were swimming in it belly up. A beautiful sight.
Hummungus changed direction again and headed toward our target, swift as a swimming tank. To make out the orange dot on the horizon, I cast Eagle Vision on myself. An x10 zoom significantly narrowed my field of vision but gave me a terrific view of what lay far ahead.
A little liferaft from a small-size fleet was bobbing on the waves. A red beacon light blinked on its beam. I figured they were broadcasting an SOS signal over all emergency frequencies.
It took us three minutes to reach the raft. A conveniently positioned dune which had now become a sand spit saved us from more swimming. But we did not see any survivors.
My bear roared like a passenger ship siren in the hopes of drawing the attention of any nearby sentients. He scared away a group of varans who pretended to be crocodiles. Those things were huge. I hoped it wasn’t because they had binged on human meat.
I could already make out the name of a vessel and its home port written in white letters on the liferaft: "Hatikva, Eilat." Wow, how did they end up here? They had their own tiny yet unique cluster located in the middle of a desert without any water. That’s what the Jews had received as a gift from their former allies; a good reason to build aqueducts, send caravans, and open portals to get water. The nearest spring was only 700 miles away.
The inflatable liferaft looked really crappy close up. It had torn and sagging parts and carried a handful of still-hot bullet casings in rather large puddles of blood. But what caught my attention was the sky-blue obelisk of an unusual shape whose weight made the raft squeak.
That’s how I came upon one of those nameless gravestones that Dan had told me about. Who were you, unknown migrant from the real world?
I passed my hand over the stone. My greedy pig whispered obligingly into my ear: "Blue marble, almost 200 euro per square foot. Hide it in your inventory. I believe in you, big brother!"
"Ouch!" I cried out as a sharp-clawed little paw slashed my palm.
Of course the damage was zero. I cried out in surpise and shame rather than anything else, as if I was caught thinking about something obscene.
A ruffled cat peered out from behind the obelisk. It arched its back and hissed threateningly as if warning me not to touch what isn’t mine.
"Your master, was it?" I asked sympathetically, giving the cat a businesslike glance.
It was a beautiful Maine Coon, wet as an otter and huge as a bobcat. A splendid animal.
Monsters were plentiful in AlterWorld. But house familiars were hard to find and thus quite expensive. Plus no one’s ever seen Maine Coons ingame before. I was sure that this breed had many fans who were willing to pay any kind of money for it and even take out a loan if need be.
My interface promptly marked the cat a salad green with orange stripes – someone’s pet in aggro mode, then labeled it as:
Cat: "Tomcat." Level: 12.
Not very creative, but acceptable. I slowly held out an open palm and said: "Hey there, fluffy, wanna be friends? Get on the bear, and I’ll pack up the liferaft. Your master’s gone bye-bye."
Whoosh! The cat slashed at me and missed as I pulled back my hand reflexively. When it came to agility, the cat was at a disadvantage. The Always Make the Bull’s-Eye bonus applied to the first blow one deals during an ambush or a stealth attack didn’t work for the little critter.
This abrupt motion made my brain wake up. I froze for a second, open-mouthed, then clasped my hand to my forehead. "What a fool!"
I hurriedly reached into my inventory, nervously glancing at the obelisk. Fallen One knows how much time it had left in our reality. Judging by the fancy stone, this wasn’t just an ordinary man. Was he the president of some banana republic? A hero, an Olympic games champion? A distinguished ayatollah?
I had an unconventional gravestone myself, made of white marble, making other players jealous. I’ve had to elbow my way through a curious crowd many times in order to retrieve it.
Here lies the hero who revered the memory of fallen warriors. Stop for a moment, traveller, bow your head and think of the eternal.
Wow, I thought as I read this.
The cat was watching me closely.
"Hold on, soldier, " I told the pet. "We’ll revive your master." I broke the seal on a Resurrection scroll. I waited twenty seconds like I was supposed to, then gave a constrained sigh. "I meant mistress…"
The figure of a young girl appeared in the revival orb before me. She wore a sports tank top with the well-known checkmark-shaped logo in black. How did the ads put it? The wing of the goddess Nike?
Apparently looking at spawn avatars was another good way of telling who the real world migrants were. Those who had gone perma in game avatars appeared in designer boys’ underwear or semi-transparent peignoirs for girls. And those whom AlterWorld had sucked in got respawned in their own undies.
By the way, this one was cute, by the standards of both worlds. I had grown pretty tired of the ideal symmetrical faces generated by AIs according to plastic surgery templates. When you saw was crowds of stereotyped hotties all the time, even orcs and goblins became a pleasant sight. Your consciousness changed, became its own opposite, and you found yourself looking with interest at the faces of foolish and plain girls because they were the unique ones now.
The figure of the girl spun as did the orb. She was down on one knee, balancing herself by holding her arms out to the sides. Ten seconds inside such a centrifuge could make you sick at first.
Her gaze was surprisingly calm as she looked carefully at all the things around her. Her cheek twitched at the sight of the 15-foot-tall bear. She lifted a brow when she noticed the rider in artifact armor.
I sat up straight, filled with pride. It’s always pleasant to rescue a pretty girl. I didn’t need any special thanks; a hint of admiration and a chaste kiss would suffice, which I would accept with dignity.
Ding! The orb disintegrated into a cloud of tiny pieces of ice which quickly melted away. The girl fell, disappearing underwater. The raft had drifted a few dozen feet to the side, and her resurrection took place right over the warm waters of the tropical sea.
The girl came up to the surface, coughing up water. She pushed away a level 4 dead jellyfish with disgust . The jellyfish was also clearly a child of the real world.
I wondered if the girl was mute. Had I been in her shoes, I would’ve probably started cussing or muttering in horror after a visit to the Great Nothingess.
I squinted, pulling up my interfaces and staring at the soaked girl in an impolite manner.
Katherine Medvedeva, level 43.
This threw me off a bit. Why would the system grant a newbie level 43? Who was she? A hitman, a special agent, or a quest genius?
Meanwhile, the girl picked
up the purring tomcat, brushed her wet bangs out of her face, then finally turned to me and said "Thank you."
She had a pleasant voice, and I heard a very light accent. Was this a glitch in my Hebrew translator? But that didn’t explain her Russian name.
I shrugged. "May you grow big and strong and die less often."
The girl wasn’t made of steel after all; she shuddered slightly, then gave me a crooked smile. Her blue-gray eyes looked frightening; her pupils jerked and shifted from side to side as if she was trying to read a microbook attached to the back of a flying mosquito.
I knew what that was. I had seen it many times when someone tried to go through virtual interfaces really fast or was simply lost in them. The next generation of humans would be goggle-eyed, with bulging eye muscles…Homo Oculomotori – an opticokinetic human.
"I’ll try. Hey, these pop-up windows are blocking two thirds of my view, like ads on VirtNet’s social channel. Levels, more levels, some random achievements. ‘Sister of David?’ Just wow! I have very little gaming experience. Is there something important in these pop-ups, or can I just close them all?"
I was stunned by her composure, quite frankly. She had gotten thrown into a different world, killed, then resurrected, and now she was hugging her cat, wringing her tank top dry and customizing the menus like nothing was bothering her.
"Sure, close them. You can pull up your logs later to read about your achievements." Then it hit me. "So you managed to kill a monster with your gun?"
I scooped up a handful of brass bullet casings, then let them fall through my fingers. They could also make valuable souvenirs and probably go for a few thousand gold at auction. A lot of us missed firearms.
Kate frowned. "Not I, but my bodyguard, Andrew. He unloaded a clip right into the first varan’s eye. Hollow point bullets, .45 caliber. The lizard’s skull burst open. That’s when we got swamped with these pop-up windows. Unable to see anything, Andrew got pulled into the water. There were lots of these varans. As they tore him apart, he got pulled downstream. I couldn’t shoot because I would’ve hit him. Then they came back for me."
