The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2) (19 page)

His position offered a good view of the area. There were a few rooms on the ground floor tiled with some stone slabs. Grass grew in the cracks between them. The windows were narrow, more like gun slits.

That was it, then. We would stop here for the night. In the morning, we'd have to carry on.

“Set up camp, everyone!” I ordered. “I'll keep first watch. Vandal will relieve me. Foggs next. Kathryn, I can see that my sensors detect no bio hazard. Is it really so?”

“It is. We can unseal our suits. This way we'll save on the cartridges.”

Night fell quickly. For a while I kept a watchful eye on my sensors. Still, the place seemed remarkably quiet — deserted and forgotten. Various low-level critters kept a respectful distance from our camp.

I decided to use the opportunity to take a better look at my new skills and abilities. Before deciding how to distribute my available points, I opened the Mnemotechnics tab.

Level 7. Not bad at all, considering my now-unblocked Plasma Blast ability and the new replication matrix available: a Small Recon Probe.

I skimmed through some of the messages concerning command sequences.

You now have five nanite colonies available that can follow pre-set command sequences.

That got me thinking. The tab offered no other prompts or templates. In the current situation, I was much more interested in nanobots' combat potential.

I opened the logs and located our Daugoth encounter. Molecular Mist dealt 300 DpS to all creatures or machines within fifteen feet of the epicenter. No exceptions were made for allied or neutral characters. The thing was lethal. Shame its effect didn't last as nanites syphoned all of the resulting cloud's energy to self-replicate.

I couldn't yet compare it to Disintegration as this particular ability required lvl 8 in Replication and lvl 1+ in Differential Nanite Control.

The Differential Nanite Control was used to minimize their losses during replication. This way only part of the colony was used, enough to recreate a particular object or device. The remaining nanites stayed active until their numbers dropped to a hundred (the minimal number required for replication).

That made sense.

Which meant that Disintegration, when used wisely, could consume only a small number of nanites to destroy complete objects, devices and even smaller obstacles. That sounded almost too good to be true: almost, because the nanites would still need a source of energy. It would be a good thing if a mob were to be fitted with its own battery (as had happened to the
serve
back at the space station), otherwise that meant more micro nuclear batteries to power nanites. Indeed, nothing appears out of nowhere nor does it disappear without a trace.

What did combat sequences have to do with it, might you ask? Well, I had an idea. Take Plasma Blast, for instance. I would bet that up to eighty percent of the energy it released was wasted, not counting the cases when your enemies surrounded you.

But if you think about it, you could put it all to good use with a very simple command sequence:

1. Plasma Blast

2. Object Replication (let's take a Small Recon Probe for the sake of argument) to allow nanites to utilize all of the wasted energy
.

My thoughts kept going back to Disintegration. No idea how much damage it dealt. No prompts available. You had to open it to find out.

Right. And what did leveling up Replication have to offer?

Each new level will give you +2% to the energy spent on nanite replication.

Okay. I invested eight of the available points into Replication, bringing down the energy required 16%. Excellent. I had two points left. I used them to unblock Differential Nanite Control. Finally I could look into the Disintegration stats.

Disintegration. Destroys any object or living being selected as target, creating an incandescent molecular cloud which deals 500 pt. Damage to everything within 15 feet. Every new ability level increases damage 100 pt. and adds 3 ft. to the damage range.

For your information: the molecular cloud can be used to create new objects and devices using the Object Replication command.

Got it! I seemed to have almost found the answer to my question, namely how Avatroid had managed to create his own Phantom Raiders.

I made a mental note. I absolutely had to level it up. Just think that I could disintegrate an enemy and use the resulting molecular cloud to build a couple of combat drones!

But that's in the future. In the meantime — I glanced at my watch — it was time to wake up Vandal.

* * *

I couldn't sleep. I just lay there breathing in the fresh night air and listening to the forest. After the gloom and the chill of space stations, the tart disturbing smells of an alien planet intoxicated you. You just couldn't get enough of them. I'd never been particularly wildlife-minded. I used to look at the world as a succession of gaming settings, gradually allowing them to become my reality. How I would have loved to now find myself in some sacred Elven forest where millennia-old trees shielded the sky, their vines entwined in the mysterious gloom; where moss crept up their wrinkled trunks and crystal clear brooks warbled amid their roots.

Enveloped in my reverie, I didn't notice sleep overtake me. I dreamed...

* * *

...A narrow river was flowing deep within the intoxicating gloom of the Elven forest. Willows lined its banks, their branches reaching for the water. The golden shafts of midday sunlight beamed down on its still waters; water-flies swarmed above them; the warm wind ruffled the leaves above.

The sunken roots overgrown with moss sheltered all sorts of little critters. Walking along a shallow sand spit, I noticed their keen wary eyes watching me from the darkness of their lairs.

I sat down by the water and removed the glove. My fingertips touched the mirrored surface of the water. It was so cool and clear. I scooped it up and drank, restoring my strength. I might make it to Malheim City by nighttime; in which case I deserved a rest. I knew the place well. This was a safe location. Nothing to fear.

I removed my sword sling. A stray spot of sun snaked down the silver inlay of its leather straps. I'd like to have gone for a swim. This recent invention, the neuroimplant, had completely changed reality for me, filling the world with new sensations I'd never experienced before. It was as if I was young again — as if I'd shaken off the burden of the past years, once again capable of appreciating my every step and discovery. All the colors in the world were back with me now.

I laid my armor higher onto the grass where it didn't risk being covered with sand.

A slight rustle, more like a touch of the breeze, forced me to turn round.

My moonsilver blade was asleep, undisturbed, in its scabbard. The shoreline beyond the strip of vegetation that edged the bank was quiet in its slumber.

Was it my imagination?

But what was this hole amid the willow tree's roots? And what was this steep drop which surely hadn't been here a moment ago?

It was seeping viscous darkness. I couldn't have overlooked something like that!

Reality distorted. A timid small light appeared in the dark, its weak glow pulsating, calling me. Something clenched at my heart. I lingered to reach for my sword which was so unlike me. It was as if I knew there was no danger ahead.

The golden shafts of sunlight had gone out. The forest exuded bitter cold. The river's dark heavy waters rippled and turned leaden.

The trees transformed, overgrown with rambling metal. Their wrinkled bark acquired a purple glow. The crystal sky had broken out in stars. The darkness wasn't as viscous and hostile as it had just been; it felt warmer than everything else around me.

I entered it.

The thick mess of roots had transformed too. Now I could see them for what they truly were: a tangle of scorched, molten cables. The hole ended abruptly in the fat hatch of a pressurized airlock. The faint light I'd noticed earlier turned out to be an indicator on the access panel.

Mechanically I laid my hand on the scanner. A thin whining sound was replaced by the echoing clatter of the drives moving the hatch aside.

I entered.

My knight’s doublet clung to my body, stretching, transforming into a sleek pilot suit. Its computerized bracelets hugged my wrists, glittering with connector plugs.

One reality had replaced the other. So why wasn't I surprised? I couldn't understand it.

The module was small. One of its walls was completely taken up by a screen streaming the panorama of outer space. I could see the brown sphere of Wearong and the clusters of stars. The darkness and the cold of the vista started to get to me. Honestly, I was sick and tired of them. I turned away from the screen to study the room.

On the bedside table an unclasped personal nanocomp bracelet glistened its fine links. A carved box next to it was open, revealing a small pile of cargonite jewelry. Next to it stood a dainty figurine of a dancing female Drow. This was a fine item: a fragment of another world, apparently of great personal value.

Two high-backed seats faced each other. On a low table between them, a bowl groaned with elongated fruit, its velvety skin glistening with dew: the fruit similar to those grown on board Argus in its greenhouses.

In a niche to the right from the door I could see a flight simulator. To the left, a portable gym.

I sat down in one of the seats. Something was about to happen, I could feel it in the air. And still I startled when I heard the light sound of footsteps.

I rose in my seat. “Liori?”

She hadn't noticed me. She walked in, staring intently at the screen. In a swipe of her eyes she removed the space vista, replacing it with another image.

I could see an aerial view of the hill slope where my group had set up camp. The picture was excellent, pieced together from the data transmitted by hundreds of sensors.

For a short while, she studied the area, changing the angles. A faint smile crossed her lips, lighting up her face. I'd never seen her so beautiful!

“It's all right, Zander,” Liori turned to me. Her smile faded away, then came back, fluttering on her lips.

Our gazes locked. We stood there, flooded by the surge of feelings we'd failed to declare to each other.

I knew that tomorrow morning I'd think of this dream as an exhaustion-triggered tribute to a failed love. Even now as I stood here enveloped in reverie I understood that I couldn't bring anything back. Still, her face was so close, so real, that it transgressed reality.

We were two neural matrices, two miserable digitized souls staring into each other's eyes. We didn't need words.

Her lips quivered. Her breathing hastened.

We were both in a twilight zone brought about by state-of-the-art technologies. We stood frozen, unable to move: an abyss lay around us.

I took her hand. Our fingers entwined. If we fell, we'd do it together.

Too late. The world fractured. I was hit by a premonition of mortal danger which pushed me out of my dream.

* * *

I awoke and sat up.

I could feel the nanites cling closer to my body. There was tenderness in their touch.

I must be going mad.

The external neuronet has activated an ability unavailable to you, creating an additional layer of molecular defense.

Quest update alert: The Facets of Reality. You have initiated a direct neurosensory contact with Liori's identity matrix.

Step 2: Find out what happened to Liori. The safe communication time limit with an external neuronet: 1 hr. every 24 hrs.

Night circled over the ancient ruins. Disturbing alien smells tickled my nerves. Strange squawking sounds echoed in the distance. Mechanically I checked the audio files: no, the local critters hadn't been alerted; they were minding their own business. Untouched by the orbital strikes, this sanctuary of Dargian wildlife seemed to be safe and secure, as if some magic spells shielded it from the hostile and ravaged world outside.

What was going on? I slapped my hand around me, feeling for the gun.

I can't identify the danger. It's everywhere,
Liori's voice echoed in my mind. Oh well. I suppose I'd better get used to it.

I pricked up my ears but couldn't hear anything — no sounds of footsteps, not even a twig snapping underfoot. All I could hear was Foggs’ sleepy nasal sounds.

“Vandal, are you asleep on your watch?”

“No, I'm not,” he sounded offended.

“Forward me the data,” I pushed Foggs awake, then crouched by a narrow gun slit. My gun's breech rustled. Data began streaming in my mind's eye. Alarmed by my request, Vandal was scanning the undergrowth by the foothill but I couldn't see anything special through the trees' canopies. A few weak thermal peaks turned out to be a lizard stealing through the bushes. A handful of neutral markers momentarily spotted tree branches as a disturbed flock of tiny birds took to the wing. About a hundred feet from us, a Dargian python lay in waiting. To his right, a deer trail weaved down the hill slope toward the brook.