Omegaverse 1 3, p.13
Omegaverse 1-3, page 13
From the first, he had realized why they were so enthusiastic about it. He had not only been drawn in by the amazing realism of the experience; the camaraderie of sharing it with his friends had also captivated him. A loner by nature, he felt more at ease within the game world. Perhaps, he mused, the natural barrier of the computer interface placed enough distance between himself and everyone else that he could feel comfortable.
Then there had been his incredible, unbelievable, luck. From the start he had been showered with a wealth of fortune in the game. The first night, he had received a rare object - a ship-powered rail-gun mounted with a formidable scope - that he’d been able to auction off, within the game, for a literal fortune. That fortune he’d turned over into a top-of-the-line clipper ship, which he named Shepherd Moon, that allowed him to travel freely, to explore, and, most importantly, to mine and trade.
In addition to the rail-gun, he’d found an artifact - unique, as far as he knew - that allowed him to establish himself as the sole player to trade with a hostile alien race. A trade route that brought, so far, a constant and large increase in his wealth.
But all of that paled compared to his singular luck in finding, and claiming, an entire space station. He was still exploring the possibilities that provided; still trying to grasp the implications it brought.
All he knew about it, so far, was that it had provided him with a business partner. An Indian man named Phani. A good man, seemingly; conscientious, ambitious and smart. Duncan had no doubts about their partnership - it felt ‘right’, from the very beginning, when Duncan had saved Phani from attack by a privateer. As a result, Phani had entered into a deal with Duncan where the American purchased, through monthly payments, a very expensive terraforming kit.
The privateer, named Eric, captained his ship, the HMS Westy, with a force of iron will. He’d hunted Phani - driven by desperation to piracy - down, despite the man’s pleas. Duncan had no choice, he felt, but to save Phani; and to do that he’d had to reveal the secret of the space station, Shepherd’s Crook. A secret that he’d kept from the very friends who’d talked him into playing the game in the first place. The very friends he saw sitting, laughing, through the bar window.
Duncan turned, began walking back up the pedestrian mall, to return home. Alone.
Chapter 1
Duncan Sheriden pushed his faceplate into the loose, black scree as he crawled his way up the hill toward the defensive position at the top. He paused behind a boulder, a large rock really, that he hoped would hide him, or at least cover him from the laser fire being poured downslope by the group of Arn at the crest.
“Are we having fun yet?” he asked, bringing up the tactical map that showed his position relative to the rest of his group. He was further along than any of the rest, he mused grimly. Were the rest using him as cannon-fodder; bait to draw the fire away from themselves?
If so, it wasn’t working. Most of the enemy fire seemed to be aimed at Pope, his friend Matt, further down the slope; also prone, but in a more exposed position.
“Hang on a sec,” Duncan radioed, then opened his backpack. He took out a small, baseball size object - a laser-refractor smoke grenade called a Snell grenade - and pulled the pin. Judging as best he could, he lobbed it toward Matt to provide his friend some cover. The grenade bounced close, then hit Matt in the head.
“Thanks,” laughed Matt, grabbing the grenade and tossing it a few feet upslope, between himself and the Arn. The grenade began belching smoke, hued green by the night vision filter Duncan was using. As the smoke enveloped Matt, Duncan saw that lasers fired into the cloud were being diffused and refracted by something - nobody understood the specific lost-tech responsible - that impregnated the smoke particles.
Matt was able to raise to his elbows and begin returning fire with his plasma rifle, through the cloud; as long as the smoke lasted he’d be relatively safe, his plasma bolts ripped through the refractive cloud without dispersing it. The Arn fire slackened as Matt’s accurate shots tore up the ground, the crest of the hill, in front of them.
Vince and Clancey each took the resulting opportunity to advance toward Duncan’s position, but the Arn quickly shifted to targeting them, forcing them to ground, perilously close to each other. Heavy laser fire tore into their position as they sought any cover they could find.
“Wait up,” said Shannon, over the radio, busy in the shuttle in orbit above their position. “I’ve got to recharge some shields.” Matt slowed his plasma fire, which also drew upon the conduit of power from the shuttle, to let Shannon focus more power on his friend’s shields, raising them more quickly.
Duncan peeked around the rock and noticed, for the first time, that all of the fire from the peak had been split between Vince, Clancey and Matt, which piqued his curiosity; none was directed at him. Then he realized why.
He rolled away, to the left, and slowly rose to a crouched position, testing his theory.
“What the hell are you doing?” asked Clancey incredulously.
Without answering, Duncan rose fully, still untargeted, and continued making his way up and to the left, through the loose basalt, toward the right flank of the Arn position. As he began to approach the crest, its top silhouetted crisply in a halo of the Milky Way, undiffused and brilliant on this atmosphere-less planet, he could see the outline and movement of the four defenders, still spraying laser fire downhill toward his friends. He crept, as silently as he could, the last few meters, looking around to ensure that the four little green men at the top were the only ones around.
Duncan again opened his backpack and took out a grenade. This one, however, wasn’t engineered to spread laser diffracting smoke; it would explode spewing good old, low tech, white phosphorous, Duncan thought grimly. He pulled the pin and underhanded the ball as close as he could to the center of the group, then ducked below the rim of the hill crest. The four Arn simultaneously looked to the ground, startled by the thump, and were just as simultaneously enveloped in the flaming mass that exploded from their midst.
Duncan walked onto the top of the hill and put a blast from his plasma rifle into each of the inert aliens, just to make sure, then called to his friends.
“All clear, get your lazy assess to the top of the hill.”
“What the hell just happened?” asked Matt, standing with his three friends, surveying the scene of melted and smoking Arn.
“I noticed the little green men weren’t shooting at me, just at you guys,” answered Duncan, smiling, “so I realized that the Arn were using infra-red instead of night vision to track us.”
“The werewolf cowl!” yelped Clancey.
“Yep,” confirmed Duncan, “it provides IR cover. I hoped that meant I could move up the hill without being spotted by my heat signature.”
“That’s cold,” laughed Vince. The rest groaned at his pun.
“Did anyone get a ‘mission completed’ message?” asked Matt.
They shook their heads, Shannon added “Nope,” over the radio.
“Shannon, is there anything on your magical sensors?” asked Clancey.
“Checking.”
They began to look through the Arn corpses while they waited, finding nothing. The Arn looked like goblins had mated with spindly, ‘Area 51’ stereotypical aliens. They had large, oblong heads with large eyes, but heavily ridged eyebrows. Their gray suits seemed only a shade or two darker than their skin. Their blood was red; a common trait among the oxygen breathing creatures of the universe, it seemed.
“Ok,” continued Shannon, “there’s nothing in the area, but that hill is still putting out a faint IR signature. It’s hot, and not just where you guys are. The whole thing.”
Clancey dropped to his knees, began looking around, then pushed aside a few handfuls of basalt.
“There’s a door,” he said, “it looks like it’s handprint activated.” He put his hand to the depression. “But not human.”
Vince bent over, grabbed one of the short, meter long Arn corpses and dragged it to the door. He dropped the body, then lifted an arm and pressed the hand into the shallow divot.
A door began to open. It was round and opened upward on one hinge. Light blazed out. Duncan switched his helmet from night vision to normal light view. He looked into the hole. It was a small, maybe two meter deep, pit, well lit, with a ladder running up one side. At the bottom was another door. An airlock. They needed to get into it, close the top door, and cycle the air before opening the bottom door.
His friends were looking in as well.
“Looks like it’s all button controlled down there,” said Vince, “so we won’t need to take the hand of an LGM,” he pronounced it ell gee emm, “with us.”
“Not much room in there,” added Clancey, getting into the hole. He stood, the top of his head nearly poking back out above the surface, “Might be room for one more.” Matt joined him. Duncan lifted the top door and pushed it over until it closed, with a hiss.
“Ok,” said Matt over the radio after a moment, “we pressed a pretty red button and the bottom door is opening.”
“Heads up, guys,” said Shannon, “My connection to Clancey and Matt is down to thirty-five percent. There must be a lot of interference in that rock. I’ll only be able to regen your shields at one third the rate, and you’ll have a similarly slow recharge rate with your energy weapons.”
“Understood,” said Matt. “We’re through the airlock, and it’s closed again. Duncan and Vince, you should be able to join us.”
Vince once again pressed the dead Arn’s hand into the door, which began opening, releasing gasses as the dark hilltop was once again flooded in light. Vince tossed the Arn’s arm, which wrapped over the corpse’s faceplate like it was shielding itself, then jumped into the hole. Duncan followed, pulling the door closed over his head.
There was barely enough room for the two of them; they stood face to face as Vince pressed the red button. A long hiss was followed by a click at their feet. Duncan and Vince pressed their feet as far against the wall as they could, and the door below pushed up from the floor.
Clancey was below, looking up, having opened the door. He smiled, “Thought I’d save you two from the gymnastics Matt and I had to go through to get the door open with both of us in there.”
“Gymnastics, hell,” said Matt. “You practically got to third base. I feel so used and ashamed.”
Vince jumped into the hole.
“Buck up, sugartits,” laughed Shannon. She added, “I’ll be next to useless as far as my sensors are concerned while you guys are down there. I can’t see shit. All I have is the display for the conduit which, as I said, isn’t running at peak efficiency. Don’t expect me to be able to save your asses down there!”
“Gotcha, Shannon, but keep an eye out on that hilltop. I don’t want anything sneaking up on us from outside,” said Matt as Duncan joined the other three below the airlock.
Duncan looked around; if you didn’t count the spartan shell that was the Canis Arcturus space station, this was his first time in an alien civilization’s building.
Chapter 2
Pune, Maharashtra India
Phani Mutha pushed the mouse resting on the card table he used as a desk, looking through the bare room that was, apparently, the only room in the Canis Arcturus space station. He moved to the plinth in the center of the room and focused on the screen it held; a marketplace interface for trade goods, with prices displayed for either purchase or sale by the Werewolves.
He began by selling off the entire cargo load of the Shepherd Moon, the ship he’d piloted to this remote and dangerous corner of the galaxy. Then, taking the listings for the two closest space stations, what Taipan had called the ‘American’ and ‘Indian’ stations, he found resources that sold here in Eta Bootis for much less than either of those stations; noting which player station would pay more as he bought each resource.
Almost always, the American station paid a percent or two more while the Indian station sold for a percent or two less. Taipan had, incorrectly Phani thought, referred to this as a ‘triangle trade’; buying in India to sell in Eta Bootis, then buying in Eta Bootis to sell in America. A triangle, he mused, needed a third leg - a route from the American to the Indian station - there just wasn’t enough profit in the run, however, to justify it.
Whatever he called it, Taipan’s wealth was growing quickly. Phani almost regretted that the entire hold of the Shepherd Moon was dedicated to Taipan’s trades while on these runs, and that, due to treaty, that ship was the only one allowed in this system.
Phani couldn’t even buy his own ship to take advantage; but he knew he was still very fortunate in this business agreement. He had free use of the ship after he had made his daily run ferrying trade goods collected from Taipan’s space station; resources that were purchased and shipped by cargo container from the Indian station. Phani would return this purchase from Eta Bootis to the station, and Taipan would then ship it off to the American station for sale.
Phani then noticed that the sales list was categorized; the default category listed mineral resources, but a secondary page showed objects for sale. Blueprints. He clicked through and scanned down the list.
“This must be loot that the werewolves got from their raids into human territory,” he muttered to himself, in awe at the length and variety of the listing. Weapons. Armor. Sensors. Ship parts. He clicked through to another tab; certificates. There were dozens of listings for incremental upgrades in player skills. Piloting. Sniping. Mining. Heavy Armor.
The variety looked impressive, but most looked, Phani thought, to be fairly common; though if he could get them for less than retail cost, he could still make money selling them in volume. What really attracted his attention, though, and what really got him excited, were some high level advancements. They were fairly rare and sure to be in high demand.
He needed to learn much more, though, about the market for such goods before investing. He also needed to know how Taipan wanted to handle this aspect of the market. No mention had been made in their agreement; informal as it was, he didn’t feel he should take advantage of it before bringing it to his partner’s attention.
He began to think through a proposal. Phani would take the risk of purchasing these items; as they took no cargo weight or space, their addition to his daily runs wouldn’t impact Taipan’s trades in any way. Taipan would be provided a right of first refusal on these items, which Phani would sell to Taipan at cost. Any other items, Phani would sell on the open market. He would leave it up to the American to decide what percentage of any profits he felt was his due.
Phani sat back and took a sip of his warming beer, the condensation on the bottle puddling above his fingers. It felt unbelievably good to have a few months living expenses in the bank and to know that would be the case for at least the next year, roughly. He opened a box of new, fresh, cigarettes, put one between his lips. He reached for the bright yellow plastic lighter, sitting shining next to his keyboard, and lit the cigarette. Pulling the smoke deeply into his lungs, he ran his other hand over his forehead. The cold condensed water, still on his fingers from the beer bottle, cooled his brow.
Phani finished making purchases of minerals for Taipan and returned to the bridge of the Shepherd Moon. He was still overwhelmed every time he entered. The size dwarfed the default mining ships he’d be allowed to use through the mission control; and not only the size, but the details were noticeably different, noticeably better.
There were more colors around the bridge; it was carpeted in a soothing green where the mining ships looked like bare, off-white plastic. The consoles looked better, brighter somehow. There was no reason for it, that Phani could see, that improved aesthetics would matter.
Maybe, he thought, it wasn’t to make the owners of the expensive ships feel better about themselves, it was to make the users of the generic ships desire the more expensive option. He shrugged.
In any case, he thought, he shouldn’t, luck willing, ever have to see the inside of the generic ship again. He brought up the nav map, selected a jump point from his saved selections; the jump point near his space station. He paused, realizing he’d thought of it as ‘his’ space station. It wasn’t, but in a way it was. If he didn’t own it, he at least had full use of it. The only other person besides Taipan to do so. He understood the American’s desire to keep the station secret, and he agreed with it.
He began accelerating the Shepherd Moon; this far outside of a planetary gravity well, he’d be able to jump as soon as he reached the minimum percent of light speed, C, required to jump to hyperspace. As the ship started moving, Phani brought up a message screen and began writing his business proposal to Taipan. After typing a few lines, he checked the ship’s speed, then pressed the keyboard combination that jumped the ship into hyperspace. He returned to typing during the short trip back to the station.
He closed the message window, saving the draft message, as the Shepherd Moon came out of hyperspace, near and above the ring around a blue gas giant. Near the planet’s shepherd moon that helped that ring form and stay well defined. He brought up another message, containing Taipan’s instructions for returning to the space station.
First, he was to jump into system well away from the station. He’d forgotten that. Angry with himself, he read the reasoning behind it. The American had pointed out that the treaty with the Canis Arcturus forbade using a cloaking device in their system, so in order to arrive cloaked at a jump point near the space station, he would have to jump into an outer part of the system, engage the cloak, then jump to the station. After he engaged the ship’s cloak, he began writing a checklist on an old, mildewed notepad next to his computer, determined never to betray Taipan’s trust again.
Second, he called up the station control and had it report all traffic that had entered but not left the system for the last several hours. There was none. He engaged the engines, full speed, and the ship began moving toward a waypoint he’d lain on the rear of the station; at the hangar door on the opposite site of the system jump point. While the ship travelled, he continued writing, then proofreading, his business proposal. As he reached the waypoint, in the crater of the moon, he sent the proposal then had the station control again report on any new contacts. There were none.
