Fear The Liberator: A Space Opera Novel

by Mars Dorian

  D12 nodded.

  “Looks like you have your second fan. Well, all entourages start small.”

  Loud voices sounded from behind his back. RX peered over D12’s massive shoulders. At least twenty people lay siege upon Arrow, either holed her with questions or buttered her ego with compliments. RX averted his eyes and turned back to the bro-versation. The pilot with the short-trimmed hair continued.

  “Seriously, I can’t believe you’re still a lieutenant.”

  RX sighed.

  “That makes two of us.”

  “Three,” D12 said before he pointed at the common wall.

  Someone had the ingenious idea of projecting the ranking list on the wall, showing everyone the new results.

  “D12,” the man said as he read the updates.

  “New ranking—level 75.”

  The crowd around D12 cheered and patted his shoulder.

  “Well done.”

  RX hugged him.

  “I guess after the next mission, you’re going to sniff your nose at my face.”

  “Heh, not when you’re keeping up with me.”

  More names sounded from the projection, mostly from pilots that RX didn’t care about. But then he heard his number and saw his 3D avatar flickering on the wall-screen. His breath turned shallow.

  D12 whispered to him.

  “It’s going to be okay, just you see.”

  “RX. New ranking—level 56.”

  RX narrowed his eyes.

  “Wha-at?”

  Even D12 looked puzzled. The other pilot squeezed his face.

  “Only five levels? But you were shooting most of the suckers down, and you protected your squad leader.”

  RX couldn’t understand. Maybe there was a mistake, but the algorithm never screwed up.

  “I knew it. I freaking knew it.”

  D12 shut up but poured more Fluffie into RX’s glass.

  “Five levels is still good. You’re going to double that amount in the next mission.”

  RX guzzled more firewater and tried to wash down the defeat of today. Too bad he wasn’t the kind of person who drowned problems in alcohol. After another sip, he put down the glass and licked his lips. The ranking announcement continued till pilot number Z69 was called. Better known as...

  13

  Arrow Dynamics™.

  “New level—91.”

  If RX had his cheeks filled with Fluffie, he’d spill it all over the table. He shot around and stared at the ranking. It was true, Arrow scored a whopping 91. The crowds in the commons burst out in applause.

  Arrow stepped on the table and bowed.

  “Thank you, everyone. But this applause belongs to every brave pilot who gave their everything today. Even RX.”

  A dozen people laughed, RX just wiped the Fluffie from his lips. He saw how a line of admirers walked up to Arrow, grabbing any physical object that could function as an autograph-able object.

  “It’s rigged," RX said.

  “What?”

  D12 turned around with a piece of sausage in his mouth. RX grumbled.

  “There’s no way she can rank that high, not with my performance. I should be the one with her level count.”

  “I don’t know, maybe you lost traction when you moved out of formation?”

  “So moving out of formation is more important than bringing down Separatist fighters?”

  “I don’t know the algorithm, it’s not my fault, dude.”

  D12 was sound. It wasn’t right to use his best co-pilot as the punching bag for his conspiracy rants. RX drank more crystallized water and pondered other possibilities when Arrow stepped onto the table again and shouted her lungs out.

  “Guys and gals, I don’t want much more of your time, but there’s one last thing.”

  Yeah right, RX thought. Whenever Arrow opened her shoddy mouth, ‘one last thing’ turned to five. She cleared her voice and smiled. The commons hummed with anticipation.

  “Stryker Solutions™ has created a new commercial for some selected colonies and sectors—a nifty little spot that features two pilots you may have seen before.”

  RX whispered to D12.

  “Jeez, I wonder who that could be.”

  D12 chuckled nervously. Arrow continued.

  “Without any further blahblah, let me show you the galactic premier.”

  All eyes turned to the wall-screen of the commons. A black void devoured the view when Arrow’s perfectly-pitched voice spoke over the screen.

  “Do you have a problem that requires paramilitary intervention?"

  Flash.

  “Are renegades pestering your colony?”

  Flash.

  “Separatists endangering the freedom of your society?”

  Flash.

  A humanoid silhouette appeared, only to be slashed out by a red X.

  “Fear not, Stryker Solutions is here to save the day.”

  Rapid-fire stills of the PMC’s mighty military toys flashed onto the screen—hovertanks, armored carriers, spacecraft and all that jazz.

  “Toys are one thing, personnel another. We at Stryker Solutions pride ourselves with a trademarked selective breeding process that guarantees the finest soldiers our race has ever seen.”

  The clip showed many heroic poses of the finest Stryker personnel, most of which were holographic motion stills with Arrow in different scenarios.

  Arrow in the cockpit, flashing the observer the victory sign? Check.

  Arrow in the hangar, conversing with technicians and playing buddy? Check.

  Arrow in her APEX, blasting a Separatist fighter into space debris? Triple-check.

  But then another pilot came into visibility, a pilot that RX knew all too well.

  D12.

  RX had to look twice to make sure he saw right.

  “I had no idea you were in the commercial.”

  “It’s just for a few seconds, really.”

  D12 and Arrow saluted in the commercial, fighting side by side and kicking major enemy butt. The majestic camera shots captured them from the frog-angle, giving the two protagonists a larger-than-space feeling. The ad started to remind RX of old propaganda wallpapers when the early revolutions broke out.

  Onwards to glory!

  D12 and Arrow shook hands one last time before they flicked a winning glance at the observer. Big, brazen letters smashed onto the screen.

  “Stryker Solutions™—victory is only a payment away.”

  The audience erupted in applause and whistled at Arrow’s direction. She bowed again and clapped in rhythm with her fan crowds.

  “Come over here, big boy.”

  She waved D12 over and made him stand on the table, which ignited another round of clapping. RX had to move out the way before the entourage squashed him. He noticed how Arrow hugged D12 and pushed him closer to her flaming head. RX snatched a few more artificial meat slices, some crystal water and pushed himself through the crowds, as far away from the pretentious party as possible.

  It was just too much.

  He marched through the hallway when his mission master crossed his path.

  “Are you playing food delivery?”

  “No, sir. I just came from the commons and need a bit of rest. It’s been one hell of a day.”

  “Very well.”

  For a moment, they just stared at each other with nothing to say.

  “Sir?”

  “Yes?”

  “I know this sounds a bit strange, and I’m not pointing fingers at anyone, but do you think the ranking algorithm is rigged?”

  The master's face flattened.

  “What makes you believe that?”

  “Well, I just looked up the updates for today, and it looked as if I didn't rank as high as I should have.”

  “How high should you have been ranked?”

  “Sir, I was by far the best pilot in today’s mission, and yet someone like—let’s say Arrow—reaches level 91 while I merely scrape at the 60s. Maybe there’s been a miscalculation
.”

  “So are you saying that our renowned ranking process, which cost the company billions of credits, is broken?”

  RX pressed his lips. How was he supposed to answer that? The mission master took the initiative with more mildness in his voice.

  “Listen, RX. I don’t make the algorithm, nor does the corporate commander. It’s a complicated cluster of programs that none of us mortals is supposed to hack. But I can assure you it’s 100% legit, or else the integrity of this fine company would be on the line.”

  An answer that didn’t clarify anything, but RX could sense the master wasn’t in the mood to discuss the matter.

  “Thanks, sir.”

  The mission master nodded and faced the opposite direction.

  “Are you going to the commons, sir?”

  “I’ve heard Arrow’s throwing quite a party. Have you seen our new commercial?”

  Unfortunately.

  “I have.”

  “What do you think?”

  “It’s…special.”

  RX saluted while balancing the food dishes in his left hand. The master hurried toward the commons. When the gate opened, the hall filled with the echo of cheering and laughter. RX wrapped his meals and slipped into the hyperloop. He rushed away from the party crowds and their hull-breaking singing. His plan was to gulp down the free snacks, rest for a while and then hit the simulation chambers to practice. Unfortunately, the four ‘visitors’ in his quarters had different plans.

  14

  Four heavy builds in full astrogear hid their identities behind face shields. The human equivalent of asteroids with aggression issues.

  RX sighed.

  “You’re not here to congratulate me on my low ranking, eh?”

  Nope, they weren’t.

  The door closed behind RX while the tall men worked their beat-up magic on him. RX brought down one with a kick to the ribcage but lost against the fist parade of the other three. He didn’t know who these brawlers were, but they pushed every ounce of strength into their fists and kicks.

  Too bad close quarters combat wasn’t a pilot’s forte.

  RX’s blood splashed on his quarter’s floor as the fists and legs pounded him like cluster missiles. He unleashed one feral sound after another, trying to escape the beating, but these men came prepared. A sharp fist sent him into the locker and rendered him almost unconscious. The men left his quarters, with the last one kicking RX as he walked out.

  They didn’t say anything, not even a curse.

  RX only heard the clonking of their military boots on the corridor’s floors.

  “Fuck you,” he said while the blood bubbled from his lips.

  He crawled back into the main floor and found it empty. At least the brutes called it a day. RX slithered along the floor and freed a river of blood. He climbed into the hyperloop and chose the medical station as his target.

  Bastards.

  A med treated RX’s surface bruises with power plasters and injected a quickheal solution that corresponded with the narnites in his bloodstream. And because health care only covered injuries received during active duty, he had to pay for the treatment.

  100%.

  The endless descent into debt, part II.

  After an hour or so, D12 entered the medstation and shook his head.

  “Next time, be more careful when you masturbate.”

  RX chuckled and cringed. His body ached on every corner. D12 sat next to him and wiped the grin from his face.

  “Who did this?”

  “Four brutes in standard astrogear. But based on their heavy builds, they must have been ground-pounders.”

  “Why did they—?”

  RX cut right through. It wasn’t a mystery to him.

  “Arrow.”

  “What?”

  “I’m sure of it. It was retaliation for what I said about her in the commons. But she’s too much of a coward to come herself, that’s why she’s sending her degenerate entourage.”

  “You got proof?”

  RX smiled.

  “Security cams.”

  Stationed in every room and quarter for personal protection. RX always moaned about the intrusion of his privacy, but this time he was glad the cams recorded him.

  “As soon as I can walk again, I’m gonna call up security. Those ground-pounders will have to pay.”

  “I’m sorry, man.”

  “Don’t be.”

  They shook arms.

  “I’ll leave you alone now. Heal fast and rock on. You’re going to blow everyone away in the next mission. To the 70s and onwards.”

  “Appreciate it.”

  He waved D12 goodbye and laid back down. The meds buzzed around and treated other folk with far worse injuries. RX stopped feeling sorry for himself, at least he still carried all four limbs. He looked up his account and checked the invoices—the medical bill just arrived.

  Flickering like a curse in front of his face.

  Looking juicy.

  Too juicy for RX.

  He summoned the nearest med unit and showed her his vision.

  “You guys are kidding?”

  The female shrugged.

  “Can’t you pay? I thought you were an APEX pilot.”

  “That means I’m crapping out credits?”

  “I’m sorry, sir. But you have 168 hours to pay for it. I’m sure you’re going to recoup your losses with your next mission.”

  “Thanks for your delusion.”

  She bowed and returned to the nearest patient in need. RX rested his head on the pillow and watched the ceiling.

  Closed his eyes and breathed out the anger.

  When the bleeding from his face stopped and the bruises vanished, RX called up inner security, showed his ID and asked for clarification.

  “I’m sorry,” the AI voice said, “but the cams in your deck were offline.”

  “Wha-at?”

  “We ran a maintenance cycle.”

  “During the exact time when four brutes show up in my quarter?”

  Classic convenience.

  RX realized this was a setup from the get-go. He just needed proof to stick it to Arrow. He needed to show everyone what a despicable human being she was.

  Zero hero.

  “Can I help you with anything else, sir?” the AI said via his connection.

  “Yeah, don’t offline your surveillance when crime happens. Kind of defeats the purpose of security cams.”

  “I keep that statement in my RAM until I synchronize with management.”

  “Whatever. Ping me when your cams are back online.”

  “I will.”

  “Bye.”

  RX shut the call and sprang from his ergo bed. The med unit approached him.

  “You don’t have the energy to walk.”

  “Seeing your exorbitant bill gives me all the energy I need. Since when did you start charging by the minute?”

  “It’s a new policy from—“

  “The higher-ups, I get it.”

  He waved her goodbye and entered the corridors. Habit told him to return to the quarter but instinct knew better. RX didn’t want to run into another beating session, besides, the thoughts pained him.

  Rigged algorithms, physical threats and increasing debts attacked from all angles.

  RX targeted the commons and stayed there until the security cams came online again.

  Next time the beat ‘em up bros came for a visit, he wanted their scans on recording.

  Once the security cameras activated, he returned home.

  Just like the terror.

  15

  Back in his quarters, the turmoil continued. A debt reminder battered his vision.

  “RX, this is our twenty-fourth warning. You haven’t paid for your innerweb upgrade yet, and it’s about GODDAMN TIME. We have synced the payment options. All we need is a DNA-signature. Come on now, buddy, it’s only fair. Freeloaders suck.”

  RX rolled around his bed and opened his eyes. The reminder flashed his visi
on, but that wasn’t half as bad as the annoying AI. The digital female with the BB branded clothes switched to her honey & sugar voice.

  “If you continue to ignore our warnings, you will face dire circumstances. We’re giving you a last deadline that finishes in 23:49:09. Until then, have a nice day.”

  She waved him goodbye and disappeared.

  “Next time, don’t wake me up. I’m pissed when I lack sleep.”

  But the AI had already vanished with her message. Only the half-transparent deadline timer remained in the lower field of his vision. RX leaped out of his bed and checked the amount of time he slept: five and a half hours.

  Barely enough to reload his energy, but he was too riled up to lay down, so he hit the hyperloop and transported his sleepy body to the gym. RX had to use the facility as long as its access was still free. Only three lonely suckers worked the machines—a fellow pilot, a colonial ground-pounder and D12. The giant lifted two weights that looked like mineral containers. He craned his neck when RX walked into his field of vision.

  “What are you doing here?”

  “My debt reminded me to keep on hustling.”

  “Are you sure you're ready for the gym? The bruises look bad."

  RX stopped next to his co-pilot.

  “If I can handle Separatist bombers, I can surely handle bruises. Besides, workout in the gym keeps me out of the flamehead's reach."

  D12 chuckled.

  “I understand you. Arrow can be like an eLance—zapping your power at sight.”

  “By the way—what was that deal with you in her commercial?”

  The giant’s voice lowered.

  “It was just business. The Stryker marketing department looked for a male and female pilot unit with good looks and high ranking. You know how superficial that world is."

  “How much did they pay?”

  “Can’t tell. I signed a disclosure.”

  “Come on, D12.”

  “I’m serious. I’ll lose major points if I breach the contract.”

  Can’t let that happen.

  So RX veered off.

  “Was she acting all bitchy?”

  “Actually, she was pretty nice. She asked about my interests and even complimented me on my past missions. She was really curious about my life.”

  “You’re shitting me,” RX said.

  “Nah. I think her cool is only for show—you know, to keep up with the testosterone overload in her peer group. I mean, how many women are in the APEX class?”