The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2)

by Andrei Livadny

  Nickname: Vandal.

  I had no time for talking so I just repeated my trick with the first aid. I had a funny feeling that behind the swamp's yellow fog lay a very unfriendly welcome.

  Novitsky had come round somewhat. I could hear him wheeze as he followed me.

  “Lieutenant, help the soldier! Quick!”

  I didn't give a damn about Admiral Higgs' rules. Okay, so they would fine me for lack of respect and subordination, big deal. Still, no XP sanctions followed. Instead, a very interesting message came into view,

  A superior officer has obeyed your orders! New characteristic available: Charisma. As it grows, so will be the other players' desire to join you. Some NPCs might have unique quests available only to you.

  I stopped reading. It was pretty clear. Been there, done it. With a swipe of my eyes, I accepted it. This upgrade was quite clever, come to think of it. If indeed a character's development now depended solely on his or her actions, that was truly good news.

  Novitsky gave me the evil eye but obeyed. He picked up a heavy pulse machine gun (Vandal's standard-issue weapon) and helped him to his feet. I went on, checking the remaining seats.

  The fourth survivor was a tall gaunt fellow that reminded me of the Haash for some reason. I had a good feeling about him.

  Nickname: Foggs.

  “My foot is trapped,” he croaked without waiting for my question. He must have been in a lot of pain but he was taking it well, suppressing his fear.

  I grabbed at the mangled shock absorbers of his seat and forced them apart. “Give me your hand! Try to get up! We need to go!”

  Foggs ground his teeth. “It hurts. What a bunch of idiots! You'd think they'd switch off the perception filters, would you?”

  The ship was rapidly filling with water. “Vandal and Novitsky,” I said, “I want you to collect everything you can: ammo, gear, batteries, life support cartridges, everything! Grab it and get out, quick!”

  As if confirming my words, we heard a loud screeching sound. The floor listed. Chemical-smelling water poured down into the cockpit. The swamp wasn't so shallow, after all. We'd been lucky to have landed on top of an underwater ledge but now the ship had begun sliding down its slope, threatening to bury us in the muddy depths.

  * * *

  We helped each other out.

  I was the first to jump waist deep into the muddy water. I couldn't see the shore: the area was enveloped in a thick yellow radioactive fog. The ship's reactor was overheated so my implant's sensors were reading its bright-red mark clearly. The disturbed mud was bubbling; its oily brown surface heaving with a thick web of intertwined algae.

  Novitsky cast a desperate look around. Vandal was still in shock, grinning fearlessly. Foggs was white as a sheet. The metabolytes had helped him to overcome the pain but he could barely move.

  “We're leaving! Over there,” I pointed.

  “Don't you think you're too big for your boots, man?” Vandal glanced at the lieutenant, seeking support, but found none.

  I shrugged. “You can go if you want. It's up to you.”

  “Quit arguing,” predictably, Foggs showed he had guts. “Personally, I can't see anything. Can you?” he glanced at the lieutenant, wincing with pain.

  He shook his head. “My sensors have packed up with all the radiation.”

  “Some gear!” Vandal spat in the mud through the broken visor. “I'm going over there,” he pointed to a place where the mud was the deepest. “Who's with me?”

  Zander, my PM box kicked back to life with the lieutenant's voice. You sure you know where to go?

  I marked the terrain down as we fell, I answered, not quite prepared to tell anyone about my implants' true properties.

  Are you sure?

  Absolutely.

  Then you'd better take us.

  He switched over to the common channel and repeated for everyone to hear, “We're following Zander. Once we're safely back on the ground, then we'll decide what to do.”

  We soon left the radioactive fog behind.

  I always thought that a swamp was a swamp, in any online world. Still, this time the game designers must have decided to make up for their apparent lack of imagination when it came to interior design of space stations. Just for a change, they'd tried to show some ingenuity.

  I led the group, using my scanners to weave a complex path along the rocky bottom. We waded through the obnoxious ill-smelling knee-deep mud. On both sides of us lay a bottomless bog. In places, a complex pattern of tree-like shapes grew through the thick layer of algae, their hardened trunks arching overhead, covered in acid-yellow balls of fluff that kept shooting clouds of spores in our direction.

  The biological hazard sensors kept beeping anxiously. We had to seal our helmets, thus wasting our suits' limited resources. After Vandal's encounter with the fluffy microscopic aggressors, we had to replace his broken visor double quick. Luckily, we'd found some spare parts among the supplies we'd lifted from the sinking module.

  But back to the landscape. The thin trunks intertwined, forming complex shapes and glowing softly in a variety of colored auras. Fine fringes of translucent fibers swayed in the wind, but once you passed under them, they'd reach out, touching you, trying to sting you with their little barbs of electric shock.

  So much for the delights of alien vistas. No one would survive here a minute without a pressure suit.

  It took us the whole of thirty minutes to finally see the curve of the shoreline that the hybrid had marked on my map. By then, we were so exhausted we could barely move. Before, Phantom Server didn't have the Physical Energy stat. You were either tired or you weren't. Nothing had changed much in that respect, apart from a new bar on your interface. You still had to battle your exhaustion. I was already quite used to it but the others staggered along in silence, gritting their teeth.

  We clambered onto the shoreline and collapsed under a squat shady tree, catching our breath.

  Ashen discharge clouded the horizon. Darg's atmosphere was quickly losing its clarity. Clouds thickened; occasional gusts of wind showered the ground with a fine layer of ash. The recent orbital attacks hadn't done the planet any favors. The climate was sure to change, destroying its wildlife. Why was I thinking about any of this? I had to decide what to do next, not ponder over an alien world's ecology problems.

  A far-off flash sparkled weakly from the direction of the swamp, followed by a rumbling noise. Waves ran ashore. A new message popped up,

  Your landing craft has been destroyed. From now on, your unit has been disbanded.

  Oh. So it was every man for himself, then.

  The lieutenant sat up, staring incredulously at the water. Vandal leaned against the tree trunk, looking absent. Being attacked by the microscopic spores had done nothing to improve his disposition.

  I opened Foggs’ communication channel. He seemed to be the most level-headed of all three. “How's your leg?”

  “It's okay. How d'you plan to get out of here?”

  “Why are you asking me?”

  “The lieutenant isn't the sharpest knife in the drawer, is he?” Foggs said unabashedly. “Vandal is too much of a solo player.”

  “What can you say about me, then?”

  “Nothing. I haven't worked you out yet. Why did you land the module? We could have respawned, that's all.”

  I could see he was in pain despite all the metabolytes. “The respawn points' positions are a bit funny,” I didn't tell him where I'd gotten the information from yet. Let him use his own head. “They're spread over in a thin strip and they're sort of clustered over it. It's as if someone scooped up a few and poured them on the ground. And their locations just happen to coincide with Dargian positions. So I had a hunch that dying might not be such a good idea.”

  Foggs put two and two together. “They say there used to be a Founders station orbiting it,” he said. “You really think respawn points are all tied to its fragments?”

  “Sure. And they're packed with Dargians. Did you
see the picture from the probes?”

  “Yeah. Dammit! Listen, Zander, if we don't get to a safe respawn point quickly, we might not last. Then again... we really should check out the nearest locations,” he pondered aloud, considering our options. “We need to find a newb location and do a bit of leveling, work as a team. Novitsky and Vandal might be a problem, though. They don't seem to be much of team players. One is too green and the other too independent.”

  “Hey, look!” the lieutenant ducked, pointing at the sky.

  Two swift shadows streaked out of the low clouds.

  Dinosaurs! Their wings span a good fifteen feet. They'd noticed some prey on the ground and were diving for it.

  We froze. These were some seriously dangerous mobs. I read one's stats,

  A Tergan. Xenomorph. Level 230. Life: 370,000/500,000

  If I remembered rightly, even Crystal Sphere dragons had less HP than these birdies.

  The sight of the creatures had shaken Vandal out of his lethargy. The barrel of his massive pulse machine gun rose, following the target. I hurried to make some calculations. His gun dealt 70 pt. damage per shot. The clip contained five hundred rounds. Vandal's Combat Skills were level 2 at best. Which meant that most of his ammo would just kiss the sky, enraging the winged monsters and exposing our position.

  I came upon him just in time and pinned him to the ground, preventing him from shooting.

  He cussed and tried to struggle out of my grip. Then he slackened, apparently realizing what consequences his initiative could have had.

  “Let me go,” he croaked.

  * * *

  The dinosaurs circled above us for a while, then took off. Still, the whole thing left an unpleasant aftertaste.

  Novitsky removed his helmet and sat down on a tussock. Hugging his knees, he stared at the distance. His chin shook. His lips were glum. Apparently, the metabolytes in his body were running low. This way he might burst into tears soon or even end up with another nasty debuff of his own making.

  Considering his state-of-the-art macho avatar, he was a sorry sight. Just looking at him gave you the idea of this world's ugly deceptiveness.

  I had no idea what to do about it. I knew of course that they had to be freaking out right now. It took me a whole year to get used to my own neuroimplant — and I did so in the safe and familiar environment of the Crystal Sphere where you didn't have to experience anything traumatic if you didn't want to.

  “We're gonna die,” Novitsky began to shake. “We're all gonna die...”

  The wind died down. Ash began falling from the sky, its flakes whirling gently in the air.

  “Shut up!” Vandal snapped. “It's bad enough as it is!”

  He seemed to have the opposite reaction to stress. Feverish spots flecked his cheeks with red. For some reason he'd removed his gloves and was now clenching his gun in white-knuckled fingers, casting paranoid looks around. He was about to lose it. He kept babbling, swallowing half the words and generously peppering his speech with gaming slang.

  Foggs didn't say anything. He kept casting occasional glances at me, as if wondering whether I really was what I was supposed to be. Actually, I expected the lieutenant to corner me with questions about my ability to highjack the ship's controls but he didn't look as if he was capable of thinking straight at the moment.

  So what should I do? Vandal: too unpredictable. Novitsky: a liability. Foggs: a dark horse.

  As a matter of fact, I didn't need a group. But I just couldn't get up, turn round and continue on my way leaving them behind. I might have done so — some other time in some other world. But not here, not now. Phantom Server had made me rethink a lot of things.

  “Now, guys,” I decided to spit it all out. I couldn't think of a better solution right now. Pointless dragging it out. Whatever I held back now I'd have to explain later whenever I had to use my inexplicable skills and abilities. “I suggest we stick together. This is a good game even though sometimes it can be tough going, I have to agree. I didn't sign up for any of this, either. But I got used to it... over time.”

  “What d'you mean, over time?” Vandal choked, staring at me. “Have you been here long, then?”

  “I'm one of the alpha testers. Been here for just over three months. So I've learned a thing or two. That's why I could take over the module,” I was economical with the truth, waiting for their reactions. If they freaked out, it was their problem. I wasn't going to force anyone to join me.

  Novitsky jumped to his feet, swinging toward me. “Are you an Outlaw?” he shuddered, fear and animosity in his stare. What was this now? Had they been purposefully brainwashed?

  “Does it make any difference?” Foggs spoke before I had the chance to reply. “Had it not been for Zander, we'd all be locked up now in Dargian cages. He saved us all and gave us a chance to level up a bit. Personally, I think it's good enough. Novitsky, can't you see what respawning is like here? This is hardcore! We'll all have to learn to survive, I'm afraid.”

  “They can't have abandoned us here!” the lieutenant screamed, hysterical. “We need to lie low and wait! The second wave will wipe the Dargians out!”

  Foggs smirked. “Which second wave? Haven't you read the quest message? No one's gonna come and wipe your nose for you! As long as the Dargian space defenses work, we're stuck down here. There'll be no cavalry!”

  “Are they all mad?” Vandal lost it. “With these authenticity levels we won't last twenty-four hours! They've blocked the logout!” his voice grew hoarse. “And did you see the mobs flying here? There's no magic even! How do they expect us to heal? What do they think they're doing?”

  I completely agreed with the last question. I kept thinking about it myself. What a strange approach to worldbuilding. What other weird technologies they might be testing now? Was the entire beta crowd supposed to die here trying to settle down on the planet? Why would anyone need such sacrifice? Why throw your players into the grip of agony, fear, death and torturous respawns? They could have thought of creating some safe locations and resurrection points. Still, I had a funny feeling there were none.

  The lieutenant's face fell. “So what do we do?”

  “We think out of the box!” Foggs snapped. “What's that for their imbalance shit? The local NPCs are way above us! If we follow the script we're toast! You wanna go and check if there're any respawn points nearby free from Dargian control? Be my guest.”

  “Right, so what do you suggest?”

  “I suggest we play it by ear.”

  This Foggs must have been a player of considerable experience. I could tell he'd already grasped the gist of our situation.

  “The mission has no deadline,” he said. “First we find a suitable location with some decent mobs and use it to level up a bit. Once we're level thirty or so, we'll think what to do next.”

  Vandal nodded his agreement. “Zander?” he turned to me. “What do you say? Have you been on Darg before?”

  “No. Didn't get the chance. But I do know how we can get out of here. I have a quest to locate a lost exobiologist raid. I suggest we do it as a group. They had a cargo module. I think it's our best chance to get out of here. Besides, from what I know, that region,” I pointed at the thin strip of the woods on the horizon, “isn't particularly dangerous.”

  “Which is why?” Foggs demanded.

  “When I accepted the quest, I was level twenty. So I'm sure it should be doable.”

  “Don't listen to him!” Novitsky shouted. “He's an Outlaw! He's gonna feed you to the xenomorphs!”

  “Where exactly am I an Outlaw?” I snapped back. “You check my stats first before accusing me of anything.”

  “But how about healing?” Foggs turned the conversation back onto a practical track. “My stimpacks are all empty.”

  “You use exo,” I cautiously introduced the new word. “You can use virtually every local monster to extract some ingredient or other,” I turned to the lieutenant. “You have a scanner?”

  “Yeah,” he mumbled
. “Universal standard issue.”

  “Then it'll be your job to analyze all the critters we meet. I'll forward you all the metabolyte databases in a minute. So?” I looked them over. “Are we doing it? Or are we all going our separate ways?”

  “Let's make a group,” Vandal agreed easily — instinctively almost. Psychologically it must have been very important for him to regain the traditional gaming atmosphere. “Who's gonna tank?”

  Foggs looked up at me. “Zander? Will you do it?”

  This was an important decision indeed. Not many would agree to face the local mobs' attack at these authenticity levels. Our gear was more or less equal, but my abilities were sure to generate more aggro. If I took Vandal's pulse assault rifle, all the local mobs would be drawn toward me like moths to light.

  I decided not to argue. He was probably right. “I could, I suppose.”

  I sent them invitations to join the group but not before I checked how Ingmud's quest would look in their interfaces.

  The quest chain hadn't changed. Not a word about the artifact. Perfect.

  Vandal and Foggs joined without hesitation. Novitsky paused. Still, he apparently wasn't looking forward to going solo. With an unkind glare in my direction, he accepted my invite.

  I waited for them to finish reading the first two steps in the quest chain, then answered their questions about Ingmud by saying that he was a hybrid character that was part of the latest update.

  “Now you two,” I turned to Foggs and Vandal, “you'll be our damagers. Your pulse guns aren't that powerful so I don't think you risk aggroing anything. Whatever skill points you receive, I want you to invest them in Combat Skills. You,” I turned to Novitsky, “I want you to keep scanning plants. Scanning them and scanning them until you get the Exobiology skill.”

  He startled. “Why Exobiology?”

  “Because the quest raid just might have been wiped out already! What kind of a noob question is that? In order to survive, we will need metabolytes. And to do that, we must have an exobiologist in the group. Am I clear?”