“Grandar, you have,” I glanced at my PDA, “three hours to find someone authorized to negotiate for this information. I will call you back in exactly three hours and I beg you—make sure that whoever’s beside you at that time is someone who is capable of making serious decisions. Not some advisor to the junior deputy et cetera et cetera. The information that I have is much too serious to be disclosed to unauthorized parties. Do you understand me? Three hours! If in three hours you don’t find someone, then I will publicize what I know about Rrgord to all of Galactogon. And trust me, your boss won’t like that one bit. Three hours!”
Without giving Grandar a chance to respond, I stepped out of the “call” circle. Funny how things worked out. I had unwittingly managed to contact someone from the Precian Emperor’s administration. I now had an ever so slight chance to save Yalrock. Just over ten hours remained until the Precians could take control of it, so I decided to use the next three hours in finding the number to the ship. If Grandar produced another deputy to a junior advisor, I’d have nothing to say to him. I wasn’t about to surrender my info about Rrgord for free. War between the Precians and the Qualians didn’t bother me one bit. All I cared about was gaining access to the Precian prince’s ship.
“This is the command circuit for the klamir Yalrock.”
“Braniac is that you?” I yelped joyously, having entered the next sequence of buttons.
“Boss?” the computer asked with surprise. “Why are you calling from an unknown number?”
“Braniac, they’ve taken away my comm. Block it before it’s too late.”
“I am sorry but I am unable to fulfill your request. The current comm number is not registered in my database. I am therefore unable to execute any orders issued from it. Be advised that the previous comm has already been blocked. I received a command from it to provide full access to protected system resources from it—in contradiction to my earlier instructions.”
“Braniac, how can I prove to you that I am me?”
“That is an invalid question. You are by definition you.”
“Okay, how do I prove to you that I am the captain of Yalrock?”
“You must import data about the current communications device into the ship’s internal database for authorized command numbers. You may do this only from the captain’s deck inside the ship…”
“Braniac!” I yelled wrathfully. “Have you lost the plot? What captain’s deck? We don’t even have a captain’s deck!”
“If you continue your aggressive conduct, your number will be blocked,” the computer rebuked me. “Access to the ship’s configuration is possible only from the captain’s deck. The area that you (if you really are Surgeon) piloted the ship from is called the captain’s deck.”
“Braniac,” I explained slowly, trying my best not to raise my voice, “if you don’t activate the self-destruct procedure in seven hours, the Precians will assume control over you and they will do whatever they feel like with the ship. You have only seven hours! I need you to activate the self-destruct and return to Blood Island. Understand that I really don’t want this…”
“I cannot accept a self-destruct order from an unregistered number,” rattled Braniac. “Your number will now be blocked. Have a good day!”
The call dropped. It took all I had to keep myself from slamming my mighty fist into the paltry wall and thereby breaking the communicator to pieces. I needed to talk to Grandar. But how about that Braniac, huh?! A real digital bitch. I told him in natural language—blow yourself up! Why wouldn’t he listen to me? If I managed to retain possession of Yalrock, I would do such a number on that stubborn, brainless tin can…
“Surgeon?” Grandar’s tinny, deferential tone was so sharply different from earlier that I was stumped momentarily. Why the change all of a sudden?
“That is correct. Did you find someone who can make decisions?”
“Is the Emperor of the Precian Empire enough of an authority to make important decisions, as you say?” said a voice so authoritative and powerful that I unwittingly straightened to attention.
“Absolutely, your imperialness,” I retorted, mentally giving Grandar a grade of “Excellent.” I had no idea how the junior advisor to the deputy weeding assistant to the gardener of the Third Palace managed to reach the emperor himself, but the fact remained—I was speaking with the head Precian. In Galactogon, this was not a joking matter.
“Why could I not reach you on your number earlier?” The emperor instantly went on the attack.
“Because this is not my number. At the moment, I am on the planet Vozban in the Gantanil-3 System. I was forced to flee here from the Zatrathi station where I witnessed the death of the Qualian prince. The general in charge of Vozban killed me and is planning on taking my ship, despite me telling him that I have information concerning the abducted princes.”
“You are calling from the Labyrinth?” the emperor showed his familiarity with the game. “What level?”
“The eighteenth,” I replied, trying to conceal my surprise.
“You said that the Qualian prince was murdered. By whom? The Zatrathi?”
“No your imperialness. Rrgord killed him.”
I could hear Grandar gasp in surprise and this was followed by silence descending on the other end of the comm.
“Who else witnessed this?” the emperor asked at last.
“The other ten princes and princesses. They were all there when it happened.”
“Why did Rrgord kill the Qualian?” Despite the fact that the emperor’s voice was authoritative and neutral, I could hear a barely concealed irritation in it.
“Because I told him that the KRIEG had been built.”
“WHAT?!” roared the Precian and I thanked my lucky stars that I was in a different place. He sounded like he could’ve killed me. “How do you know this?”
“Two months ago, I was an ordinary recruit in the Qualian Training Sector…”
Over the next hour I told the emperor (who kept interrupting me to ask various questions) about how I learned about the KRIEG’s creation. How I was thrown in solitary, how I exchanged knocks with the unknown creature, how I told Rrgord about the KRIEG, and how he destroyed the Qualian prince—throwing him past the boundaries established by the Zatrathi. It didn’t make sense to keep this information from the emperor—you don’t haggle with locals of his stature. Either you get an imperial reward or you get an imperial kick in the butt (one that’ll send you flying clear across all of Galactogon).
“Remain on the eighteenth level,” the emperor ordered, once my testimony and his cross-examination came to an end. “In three hours, someone will come for you. Do you have any other requests of me?”
“Yes, three,” I decided.
“Speak.” It sounded like the emperor had furrowed his brow, since the static in the comm suddenly vanished. There are not many who would venture to ask an emperor for a favor.
“I don’t know who Grandar is or what he does, but if it weren’t for him, we would not have been able to speak. I have no idea how a Precian of his level managed an audience with your imperialness, but his effort is worthy of praise and a reward. I ask that you treat him graciously and generously.”
“That’s your first request?” the emperor asked surprised. “You ask a favor not for yourself but for a Precian you do not know?”
“If I get my ship back, then I’ll need little else in this life. I am trying to acquire what I want on my own.”
“This is worthy of praise. Your ship is your second request?”
“Yes. At the moment it is in orbit around Vozban. In seven hours, the Precian Empire will take control of it. I really do not want to lose it.”
“The ship will remain yours. You have the word of an emperor. What is your third request?”
“Rrgord gave me the access key to the capital system. I would like to receive your personal permission to explore one of Zalva’s three moons.”
“One of the moons?” the emperor asked surpri
sed. “For what?”
“According to my information, there is an Uldan base located on it.”
“The Uldans are a legend,” the emperor cut me off.
“My ship is a legend then too. She is a klamir.”
“You are the owner of a klamir?” the emperor said slowly, as if spelling out each word. “Very well, I gave you my word that you shall have your ship back. All your requests will be granted. You have an emperor’s word!”
Your Rapport with the Precian Emperor has increased. Current Rapport: 10.
Mission Unlocked: “Ancient History.” Description: For all of Galactogon, the Uldans are nothing but a legend—without any basis in fact. You can begin the search for this vanished civilization. Do you wish to accept this mission?
YES! Regardless of how my search for the billion-pound check turned out, I really wanted to have a hand in solving one of the great mysteries of this game. The Precian Emperor seemed to know something about the Uldans; therefore, my search would begin with him. If this was just an in-game legend, then there had to be a way to prove this legend real. The devs wouldn’t have done it any other way.
“I will grant you audience in my palace,” the emperor continued. “We would like to hear how you managed to obtain this ship. Remain in your place. My soldiers will come for you.”
“But the general said…”
“Forget about that poor creature. On behalf of the Precian Empire, I officially beg your pardon. You will be awarded any material damages upon your visit to Zalva. End transmission.”
In a shocked daze, I stepped out of the calling circle and sat down on the floor. I wondered how often players in Galactogon had the chance to speak with an emperor. What would one normally have to do to make this happen? As far as I could recall, this persona was like some unreachable goal for an enormous number of people. The emperor really did provide imperial gifts but as I mentioned above, he also dispensed imperial punishments. No doubt, that general who had trapped me on this planet had already been destroyed—quickly and to the point without any superfluous ceremonies.
What a cool game this was.
“Please follow us, Surgeon.” Twenty minutes later, as I was dozing off, the wall containing the comm mic slid aside. I saw three Precian marines in a large cargo lift, clearly built to the best safety specifications. Well, well. So the Precians had access to every level of the Labyrinth? Why didn’t they come on down earlier then? It didn’t much befit a general to allow a criminal to wander around on the lam—and with a blaster too boot. Well, the ex-general, I guess. The only excuse I could see was that he’d been unaware of the lift. How that was possible, I had no idea—it was simply the only possible explanation. Of course, there was also the possibility that I was in a game and the locals were only playing out their role in it, but for whatever reason I didn’t really want to think about it this way.
The second exit (or entrance—everything depends on how you look at it) to the Labyrinth was located a few hundred yards beyond the premises of the Training Sector. I was stunned by the huge stone walls that towered high above us, marking the limits to where the recruits could go. During my time in the Sector, I had never considered what lay beyond them. I never got much of a chance to. Now that I was outside the system so to speak, I began to appreciate the scale of Galactogon’s worlds. The developers had even designed this nursery—the place where all newbies would start—to include multiple levels, multiple components and all kinds of options for developing and leveling one’s character. What could you say about the world that lay beyond these walls after that? It was not so surprising that less ambitious games like Runlustia had gone extinct. Who could compete with a giant of Galactogon’s magnitude?
“Surgeon, as the acting commander of the Training Sector, I wish to apologize for any inconvenience you have experienced.” As soon as we entered the walls, I was met by a squad of soldiers. One of them addressed me in Qualian. “By way of preliminary compensation we have taken the liberty of filling Yalrock’s cargo holds with forty tons of Raq. We have also fully repaired your ship. The external shell of metallic debris has been stripped. The crew’s Functionality has been restored to 100%. All confiscated items have been returned to your holds.”
“What about my armor?” I couldn’t help but ask. I just didn’t feel normal in Galactogon without this second skin. In fact, I felt naked. You couldn’t just buy an A-class marine armor in Galactogon. You needed connections like Marina. Losing an item like that was the last thing I wanted.
“Pardon?” the Precian asked uncertainly. “What armor?”
“I was sent to my resurrection in the general’s office,” I explained calmly. “Everything that I was wearing remained in that office. I’d like it back please.”
“Erm…” stammered the Precian. “You see, we have a situation at the moment…Erm…The general’s office is inaccessible. No one can get into it at the moment. If your armor suit is still there, then…”
“The general is still alive?” I asked with surprise and watched fear flicker across the acting commander’s eyes.
“A temporary misunderstanding. The emperor has no need to know about this,” he began yammering. “The office of the Training Sector’s commander is located in a place where heavy weapons simply cannot be employed and we do not have any specialized cutting equipment on this planet at the moment. We have requested it, but it will take another three hours before this misunderstanding can be resolved. It goes without saying that all of the emperor’s orders will be followed to a T.”
“It doesn’t matter to me,” I shrugged my shoulders, calculating how I could turn this situation to my advantage. “But when the emperor inquires why a mighty pirate like myself would walk around without any armor, I will be forced to tell him the truth. I would never lie to an emperor, you see.”
“You could consider waiting a little…” the Precian began.
“Emperor’s orders!” interrupted one of the marines who’d escorted me from the Labyrinth. “We are to deliver him immediately!”
“So my favorite item in the whole universe is lost to me,” I sighed bitterly. “What can I say…”
“Nothing is lost! We will send it to you on the next flight out. You will have your wonderful, mighty item before you can blink twice.”
“I don’t even know how I’ll be able to go on without it…”
“We are prepared to make it up to you, oh mighty pirate. What is your wish?”
Finally!
“There is a recruit in this Training Sector. Her name is Nurse,” I said, using Eunice’s in-game name. I’d lost it when she had told me—the betting masters obviously had some kind of fixation with medical occupations. “By way of compensation, I would like to invite her to my meeting with the emperor—if she agrees, of course.”
“You wish to remove a recruit from the Training Sector?” the Precian asked surprised. “That’s impossible.”
“Lying to the emperor—that’s what’s impossible. Temporarily taking a recruit on a trip is extremely possible.”
“But she has no clearance to go to Zalva.”
“Yes, but I do—isn’t that right?” I turned to my escorts who were waiting with us for the shuttle to land.
“The emperor has granted a sentient named Surgeon permission to land on Zalva,” the marines confirmed.
“You must understand…” the Precian began.
“I request once more that you give Nurse permission to travel with me.” I cut him off. “I have an additional access key to Zalva, which I will be happy to transfer to her. Is this key valid? Can a recruit use it?”
I opened my PDA and showed the access key that Rrgord had given me to the marine standing beside me.
“That key grants one sentient access to Zalva. There are no limitations on what type of sentient the sentient is,” came the laconic reply. “The key may be used by a recruit to make landfall on Zalva.”
“My friend,” I turned back to the Precian, “I am seeing severa
l options here. Either I’m flying to Zalva with Nurse and not saying a word to the emperor about your little situation with the general, or I’m flying there on my own and hanging you out to dry. Let the emperor decide whether or not you could smoke the general out of his lair or not. In the end, this is just not my problem to deal with.”
“Alright!” the acting commander almost yelled. “She will be given permission to leave the planet—but only if she agrees to do so. I won’t force her to go against her will!”
“Call her,” I replied, barely containing my smile. “We’ll see shortly what she wants…”
“Welcome back, Captain,” said Braniac as soon as I entered Yalrock. “The ship’s status…”
“Braniac, why did you ignore my direct order?” I cut off the computer.
“The number that you called from did not correspond to the authorized ship command numbers. The number that was authorized had been blocked due to…”
“Leave off the malarkey!” I interrupted again, raising my voice a bit. “I will repeat my question—why did you ignore my direct order?”
“Because he didn’t feel like getting respawned,” said the engineer, popping her head out of the wall. “Not so fun to lose a whole class.”
“More fun to get a new captain, eh?”
“No one was going to change captains! If we didn’t hear from you, we were going to blow ourselves to kingdom come and that’s all. A few minutes before we lost the ship. We had a whole think session here—and here you are flaming Braniac.”
“Where’d you learn all these words?” I asked the snake. “‘Not so fun,’ ‘think session,’ ‘flaming.’ You didn’t speak that way earlier.”
“I didn’t get out much earlier either. I have no idea what it means, but that’s the way people talk on the web I’ve been reading. So don’t get all butthurt about Braniac—no one wanted to self-destruct. It’s no pleasure to blow yourself up.”
“Braniac?” I asked the computer.
Start the Game (Galactogon: Book #1) Page 33
