Edge of Reality Read online

  "I had no idea where I was going, don't you understand! I sure didn't go there to save you!"

  "So why the fuck did you go to purgatory? You gonna tell me you didn't see the warning? That you can't read or something?"

  "I went there to get him!" I pointed at the goblin. "I've had enough of this. I'm sending you my logs."

  The beauty of log files is, they document everything that happens in a game. Damage dealt, damage received, quests completed, locations visited and everything in between: all the levels, abilities, artifacts, all your gaming record in strict chronological order.

  Battle logs and relevant screenshots can be used as direct proof of a player's claims.

  Jurgen could fully appreciate my gesture. His stare clouded as he focused on the data he was receiving.

  Soon he came out of his trance. "That's rough," he looked at me with respect. "But you've done really well for a newb. I owe you an apology. When I scanned your neuronet, I really thought you were an Outlaw. They're the only ones brave enough to install an alternative identity."

  "A what?" I stood up. "What kind of identity?"

  "One of the Founders' artificial intellects. Sit down, will you? I can see now you didn't mean to absorb it."

  "Do you mean I'm now a host to an ancient AI?"

  "Not all of it," he said. "What you host is only a fragment. But it explains a lot," he added.

  "Like what?"

  "The Founders' AIs are a combination of several neuronet modules," he explained expertly. "You need five of them to form the simplest AI," he sounded as if it was good news.

  "I have one but it seems to work!"

  "Exactly. That's because it's merged with your nervous system. It can't change you radically but it can add certain new abilities. Take your movement coordinator, for instance. Without a mind expander it's virtually useless. But judging by the logs, you seem to be using it, don't you?"

  "I do."

  Was this the Phantom Server's attempt to finish me off through anxiety?

  "Relax," Jurgen repeated. "Nothing bad has happened yet. I used to know some Outlaws who had three of these module implants."

  Well, if this was good news... My throat was dry again. I got up, gulped some rusty water from the tap, then came back to the table. "Is there a way to remove or at least neutralize it?"

  "Not that I know of. We already tried. The Founders made sure their neuronet modules implant themselves into the host, then leave him when he dies. No good trying to get it out."

  "Can I use it?"

  He grinned. His opinion of me seemed to have upped a notch. "You might. The thing is, no one knows where or when it might happen. These artifacts are unpredictable. They can grant you control over some ancient system suites, unblock a sealed room or suggest a solution when you're stuck."

  "What's the catch?"

  He paused. "The catch is, if you find another one of these you won't resist the temptation to absorb it too. You'll honestly think it's your own decision. But it's really the Founders' neuronet that does the thinking for you. I've seen it happen before. So be warned."

  "And what if I don't resist this... temptation?"

  He gave a non-committal chuckle. This wasn't the answer I was looking for but apparently I couldn't expect more from him at the moment. Either he didn't know the answer or he didn't want to talk about it.

  "Well, now," I said. "Your turn. How did you end up in respawn purgatory?"

  He struggled with the answer. "It was an insider job," he finally admitted. "We have our own laws here. They may be unwritten but they're tough, trust me. The Technologists clan was founded by five men. Two of them got mixed up with the Outlaws. Had they had their way, they would have gradually sold the whole station down the river on the sly. I discovered it all. I'm not going to give you the names, they won't mean anything to you. So basically, it all ended in a set of clan purges. They found those two and brought them to justice — but they did let them live which is a shame. How could they not? The pair of them were the clan's founder fathers. So they banned them from Argus and thought the question closed. But they thought too soon. The traitors had plenty of hangers-on left at the station. Technically speaking, I was captured by some Outlaws during their last raid. They threw me into purgatory. Only I know whose orders they acted upon. Lots of people aren't happy to see me back, trust me."

  "Why are you at war with the Outlaws then? Aren't they human like ourselves?"

  His face darkened. "There're humans and humans. This you should know. We're so few. The colonial fleet is defeated. Every deck of this station has been awash with blood. Argus is our home now, don't you understand? Divided, who are we? — We are a mindless mob. The xenomorphs would crush us and make us all wear slave collars. You've been their prisoner so you should know. And the Outlaws don't give a shit! They sell the Founders' technologies to the enemy!" crimson spots spread over his cheeks. "The Dargians don't have the guts to farm the Founders' artifacts themselves! They only survive thanks to the slaves and various renegades!" he spat out the last word. "So basically, Zander, it's like this: it's either them or us. No compromise is possible. Why do you think all the other stations are not explored yet?"

  "I don't know. Why?"

  "Because the moment a group ventures there, the Outlaws are already there waiting for them! Selling them into slavery and vending their artifacts and research results to the enemy!"

  I didn't say anything. What could I say? I could understand the lay of the land perfectly well now. The Outlaws were to be avoided at all cost.

  "Does that mean I have problems now?" I asked him. "Because of my rescuing you?"

  "That remains to be seen!" he blurted out. "There're plenty of rotten hearts around, no doubt about that. Take the mercs — they keep themselves to themselves. They're accountable to no one. I'm pretty sure they work both for us and our foes. All the other clans and corporations are at each other's throats all the time. Listen, Zander," he gave me a crooked smile. "You've been honest with me so I want to repay you in kind. There'll be no problems. At least I'll do all I can to make sure you're safe."

  This confession made me feel uneasy. In terms of gameplay, Jurgen was one of the top players. But he definitely had his realities mixed up. Or should I say, his mind had made a reality shift to the Phantom Server. I wouldn't be surprised if he'd even removed his Logout button: out of sight, out of mind.

  "How long have you been here?"

  He looked up in surprise. "Five years. I arrived here with the Colonial Fleet. I was a mechanic on board the Titan."

  Aha. He must have been one of the first guinea pigs who had to work with virtually untested implants. That could explain this weird reality shift in his mind.

  "Your idiots in those colonial centers should have calibrated their machinery a long time ago!" he clenched a fist. "What's the point in sending you one by one and release you in the most unexpected places? I can't wait till they can finally employ warp drives! If they could send us a few fully manned spaceships, we'd sort this mess now and for all!"

  "I'm pretty sure they're working on it," I just didn't want to argue with him. He'd had it bad as it was. After five years of using the implant, he wasn't likely to rejoice at my reminding him that this was only a game and that reality lay on the other side of it.

  "Right," all of a sudden, he was in a hurry. "I've put you on my friend list. I'll be in touch. I'll sort it out with your ship. No one's gonna bother you with questions. If ever you decide to join the clan, I'll give you a recommendation. Having said that, you're more of the pilot type. It's up to you. And now sorry, I need to split."

  He rose, about to leave.

  "Jurgen? One more thing."

  "What's that?"

  I pointed at the Haash.

  He frowned. "What's the problem?"

  "He won't wake up. He's been like this for the last few days."

  He shrugged. "That's fine. From what I heard, the Haash have this tendency to hibernate if they overexert them
selves."

  "D'you know how I can wake him up?"

  He chuckled. "Well, you can go to the Exo sector, I suppose. Or just ask some vendor. There must be a metabolite that will do it."

  "Will do, thanks."

  "I'm off, then. Take care. Sorry, I really need to rush. Lots of things to do. Let me know if you have problems."

  The door closed behind him.

  I was left alone with my "menagerie" and tons of new information to digest.

  * * *

  The goblin didn't move. He curled up nice and snug. Like, he was fast asleep.

  "Get up!"

  Arbido startled.

  "Get up, I say! I've had enough of your playing dead! Time to have words!"

  He raised his head, looking bleakly at me. Someone must have tweaked his avatar: he was too gaunt and puny compared to the classical goblin build. Oh no. This time I'd be immune to his sob stories.

  I pointed at the chair. "Now sit down and tell me everything. Don't play any games with me or you might regret it."

  He touched his collar. Grunting, he staggered toward the chair and scrambled into it, hunching up so that only the top of his head showed above the table.

  I folded the table to look at him, then waited.

  He started shaking. His mouth contorted, his heavy gasps tearing through the silence. He didn't at all look like the shameless street-smart dealer I used to know.

  What was he afraid of? My wrath? Doubtful. Not after the agonizing succession of deaths and respawns he'd just been through. Then again it depended on how exactly it had affected him. He might be scared witless of any kind of pain now.

  He wasn't. His shaking subsided. He looked up at me from under his eyebrows and I could see the old expression in his eyes. Then it died away, his frail little frame shaking with renewed force.

  "I can't," he finally managed.

  "You can't what?"

  "I can't speak," his voice kept breaking.

  "Try it. If you put me in the picture, I might remove the collar. It's simple, really. The moment I remove the collar, the Logout button will go live again. You can fuck off back to the real world, on one condition. I need the truth. And I want my savings back."

  He sank into a sullen silence. "Zander, I really can't."

  "Why?"

  "I don't remember!" his voice rose to a shriek. "There's nothing! Just the pain, death and more pain!" the chair under him began to vibrate with his shaking. "Zander, please... let me stay here for a while. I don't remember the last few days. Only the pain... I'll pay you back... I will, I promise... I can be useful..."

  The old boy didn't make sense which was only understandable, I suppose. A day or two in Gehenna would have driven anyone off their trolley. Still, I'd have loved to have known who'd fitted him with an implant and thrown him into purgatory. The way it looked, it was probably some turf war.

  Possible. Arbido did business on a grand scale. There had to be quite a few people around wishing to take it over.

  Memory loss, yeah right. He still remembered my money though. What was that supposed to mean? "So how can you be useful to me wearing this collar?"

  Apparently, I had a heart. I actually felt sorry for him. I could clearly see that he didn't want to go back — but he was too afraid to admit it even to himself. What had they done to him? Didn't he understand that staying here wouldn't make it safer? He couldn't change his avatar. He was doomed to forever remain a xenomorph — and he might live to regret it.

  After some thought, I decided to give him more time. He needed to get a break and find his bearings. I was different: I was already hooked on the Phantom Server with its adrenaline rush and the promise of a life as the adventure seeker I'd secretly believed myself to be. I'd long given up on real life. But Arbido wasn't cut out for this.

  Or was he?

  "Very well, then. You can stay here for a while," I just couldn't watch him shake for much longer. "Hungry?"

  I expected him to forget his "poor goblin" mask by showing some interest. I was mistaken. Arbido wasn't pretending. He was still shaking violently and uncontrollably.

  I seemed to attract some truly whacky partners. One of them had been in a coma for three days in a row while the other had gone all shaky and amnesiac. What was I supposed to do with them both?

  * * *

  About an hour later I had finally sorted out my gear and decided to go out and do a few things.

  Arbido hadn't said a word. He'd curled up in the far corner and was sitting there shaking and chattering his teeth.

  "Are you cold?"

  The room was warm though. The old boy had a nervous breakdown, that's all it was.

  "Come here," I moved the chair to the network terminal and adjusted the seat. "Sit down."

  He obeyed.

  "Stop shivering for a second, will you?" I faked anger trying to shake him out of his shock. "If you plan to stay you'd better start by reading the Wiki or checking the markets!"

  He shrank and nodded.

  "Very well," I said. "I'm off. I have a quest to close."

  The market deck was crowded. I took the familiar route. The shop vendor was idly twiddling his thumbs behind the counter.

  Seeing me, he perked up. "Zander! I thought that you..."

  "Dream on," I lay the chunks of Dargian pythons on the counter. "Good enough?"

  "Of course! Look how fat they are!" he began weighing them. "You even cauterized the wounds with a laser! What an excellent thought! This way the blood gets clotted and you don't lose any! You're a born exobiologist, man!"

  Okay, so I wasn't. I admittedly had only shot one of them — the Founders' drones had slaughtered the rest. But I didn't let him in on it.

  "Fifteen hundred in total," he summed up.

  I didn't object. I really needed the money. "Know a place where I could get some Haash metabolites?"

  He raised a puzzled stare. "Why?"

  I shrugged off his question.

  "You got to go to the exo sector."

  "Thanks. How do I get there?"

  "The first block to the right of the elevators."

  I walked out and headed there, connecting to the network as I walked in the hope of finding out at least something about the Haash.

  No one seemed to know that much though. The Haash seemed to have arrived out of nowhere. I found a mention of a battle between a Dargian cruiser and an unknown ship. The battle had taken place in Darg's orbit at quite a distance from the station. The Dargians had shot the intruder down. The ship had allegedly burned up on entering the planet's atmosphere. Twenty-four hours later, a group of unknown fighter craft had been sighted near Argos. At first they were mistaken for Phantom Raiders which set off a combined attack from all of the station's forces. The invaders were wiped out. Not a ship fragment was left over for examination. And afterwards, about a dozen creatures had respawned at the station's resurrection points. They called themselves the Haash.

  Not a word was said about what had happened to them later.

  The exo sector was nauseating with all the stench and the samples in shop windows. I'd done my fair share of alchemy in the past — you just couldn't avoid it in fantasy worlds — but the Phantom Server's authenticity levels seriously messed with one's head. Pardon me for saying so, but the sight of various organs floating in jars and the offers of exococktails made to unique recipes while you wait made my stomach churn.

  I found a shop that looked slightly more respectable than most and walked in, looking around.

  A pretty young girl greeted me, beaming with pleasure at seeing a customer. No surprise there. One glance at the price tags made one realize that every customer was literally worth his weight in gold.

  Nayri. Human. Level 15. Exobiologist.

  I got straight down to business, ignoring her inhuman charisma and beauty. Inhuman being the right word: the girl's neck sported tiny metal-clad sockets for exo injections. She wore them openly. The air around her was poignant with an amazing fragrance. I wouldn't
be surprised if its biochemical formula was influencing me even as I spoke.

  "I need a Haash metabolite."

  "Made from a Haash," she clarified.

  Why was I constantly cringing with disgust? I needed to get a grip. I, who used to drink various elixirs by the bucket without batting an eyelid!

  The thought didn't help.

  I clued her in. Nayri gave me an understanding nod. "It's true the Haash have this ability. They can survive the most extreme environment without the need for sleep and only a minimum of food. Then they fall into hibernation."

  "How long does it last normally?"

  "We don't know yet. We've had very little research material. But luckily, we still have some metabolites left over after some experiments we conducted two years back," she added cheerfully. "Those are some very special samples. Here, take a look at the price list."

  I glanced at the numbers.

  A metabolite capable of completely restoring Charon's depleted energy cost a hundred and thirty-two grand!

  Nayri noticed my hesitation. "It works for humans as well, increasing strength ten times and allowing you to go without sleep for a month. People buy it for emergencies such as long-distance raids to the outskirts of the star system."

  She paused. "You know what? I have a counterproposition for you. Why would you spend so much money on drugs for your Haash? We can buy him off you."

  "Are you soliciting organ harvesting?"

  Her mask of helpfulness faded, revealing contempt underneath. "You've only been here a few days. There're lots of things you don't understand yet. We'd have never survived had it not been for alien metabolites. These days we have life support systems in place, allowing people to make do without them. But it wasn't always like this."

  "I need to think about it."

  * * *

  I came back to my hotel room an hour later. Things weren't looking good. I'd been offered ten grand for the five "cyber ingredients" I'd farmed. The two chips I'd decided not to part with yet. It would have probably been better to show them to Jurgen first. At least he'd be able to test them and advise me on the price.