“Did the Zatrathi attack everyone in the system or your ship alone?” I frowned, hearing her account. As I had assumed, Marina’s troubles stemmed from the devs’ having moved Blood Island. If I understood Reynard correctly, the planet was still in Galactogon, but only Brainiac, my ship’s computer, would know its coordinates. But anyway, what were the Zatrathi doing in Qualian space? My many years spent playing Runlustia paid off—the plot twists remained similar. If the invaders attacked only Marina’s vessel and ignored everyone else, then the Galactogon playerbase had some merry times ahead of it.

  “Is that all you care about?” came the indignant cry from the comm. “I lost my ship! What’s the difference who else the aliens attacked?”

  “You haven’t lost anything yet!” I snapped back. “In a couple hours, I have an audience with the Precian Emperor, I will ask him for help. They are in the same alliance with the Qualians. Let me ask you one more time, did the Zatrathi attack only you or everyone?”

  Kiddo did not hurry to reply, seemingly mulling the ambush over in her head.

  “You’re right, they only attacked us. They didn’t bother with the other players raiding Shylak. What does this tell you?”

  “What does it tell me?” My fears had been confirmed. “Do you have assets with the Qualians?”

  “Oh only my legendary cruiser!”

  “Aside from the ship. Other ships, mining facilities, valuables? Everything you can take with you.”

  “Suppose I do. What’s it to you?”

  “Get it all out. Logic dictates that within the next week, the Qualians will announce their withdrawal from the Alliance and join the Zatrathi. First of all, the Qualians have lost their prince. Second of all, there is news that the KRIEG has been completed. Third, the players are being pushed to fight on two fronts, just the way the developers like it, and now there’s this Zatrathi ship ambushing you. All indications are that the Qualians are about to start a power struggle for mastery of Galactogon. I’ll figure out what happened to my planet and try to get your ship back. By the way, where are you now?”

  “I’m in prison on Raydon, the Qualians’ second largest trading planet. I’m under arrest until the investigation runs its course.”

  “So sit tight and wait quietly. What about your business in the Precian Empire? Don’t hold back. Consider it compensation for the loss of your ship. I have the audience with the emperor coming up and I don’t really have anything to ask him. Just some trifles. It would be foolish to waste such an opportunity.”

  “Precians, you say? Yes, there is one piece of business. There is a corporation called Hansa that’s based on the planet Belket in Precian space. Hansa specializes in weapons, ammunition and high-end ship weaponry. They are the best gunsmiths the Precians have and by extension the Alliance as a whole. Their services cost astronomical amounts of money, but their products are always singular. You can’t buy them from players, even after the latest update. It would simply be the bees’ knees if the Precian Emperor grants me permission to work with them and throws in a discount for the cooperation, of say, twenty percent. I know plenty of people who are ready to purchase Hansa products, but who don’t have the chance due to the current limitations. If we manage to set ourselves up as middlemen, the income will be modest but stable. We can go in fifty-fifty if you like. Galactogon’s accountants can generate the relevant reports. What do you say, partner?”

  “I say I look forward to doing business with you, partner,” I replied. “You’ve got a deal. Do you know where Wally and the team are right now?”

  “I don’t know for sure. I don’t keep track of them, but I think they’re out hunting small ships. All right, I have to go. They’re about to take me on my daily walk. Call me in about four hours and let me know how it went with the emperor.”

  Marina disconnected and I grinned. Naturally, Kiddo had no reason to track my ship herself, since Wally would do that for her. Every chance he got, he sent reports about what was going on to his true boss.

  “Mister Surgeon, it is time.” A Precian appeared next to me with clothes for me to wear. “You are already expected in the audience hall.”

  Compared with its analogues in Runlustia, the emperor’s ceremonial hall in Galactogon could be called ascetic. I was used to the fact that every detail of the palace interior had its own history—everything had artistic and, most importantly, material value, which meant it could be stolen and sold for a profit. Here, however, the eye had nothing to latch onto. The place was like any other ordinary gray room that had been labeled the ceremonial hall and which had a psychedelic throne in its center. It was an odd approach on the part of the devs to the design of a location that many players wanted to get into. But it should be noted that the palace matched its owner. Outwardly, the emperor differed little from his subjects. He was a blue-skinned humanoid wrapped in a legendary suit of armor and therefore looked more like a space marine than one of the twelve most-influential NPCs in Galactogon. Only the hologram of a crown above his pointy-eared head and long, thin neck suggested his higher status.

  There were about twenty attendees in total, but I was the only player among them. Standing last in line for my reward, I realized the reality of what was going on. Reynard warned me about this—there would be no more concessions. If I had met the emperor before Constantine’s attack, this reception would have been in my honor. Now I have to stand and wait for my turn. It was boring to watch the NPCs receive orders, titles or planets. Finally, the celebration reached my end of the woods.

  “Outlaw of the Qualian Empire,” announced the court clerk, “gifted with the grace of our emperor, witness of the heroism of the Precian prince, the first to destroy the ship of the Zatrathi, the first to kill a Zatrathi in melee combat, who set forth upon the path of piracy, captain of the Orbship Warlock: Captain Surgeon!”

  The emperor nodded, allowing me to approach.

  “I’m glad you could recover from your illness, Surgeon,” said the head of the Precians, officially restating the reason for my five-day absence from the game. “You were able to obtain the orbship and showed that the Uldans are not a myth. I heard rumors about the search for this amazing civilization, but I thought it was a fairy tale. Now, I am overwhelmed with contradictory feelings. I am both unhappy and pleased that I was wrong. Tell us all about your adventures. How did you manage all this anyway?”

  There were no other players around, so I freely recounted how I had received Warlock. I kept the drama to a minimum and emphasized my fortune. My professional self-esteem squealed from the effort. I had lucked out so many times that anyone with a modicum of humility should have put it together: Something was going on. Ordinary players don’t get their hands on special prototype engines while still in the tutorial.

  “Now I understand how you learned about the KRIEG,” the emperor shook his head and said instructively: “Remember this lesson for the future, Surgeon, luck is a fickle mistress. Do not imagine that she will hold true.”

  The developers had just used the emperor’s mouth to inform me that my walk in the park had brought me to uncharted waters. And I was yet to find out exactly what lay in store for me.

  “The Precian Empire is grateful to you for the information about the KRIEG and my son’s actions,” the emperor continued. “The prince did the right thing in killing the traitor. Accept this gift as a reward for the news.”

  One of the Precians gave me a small piece of paper on a golden platter.

  “A check for two hundred tons of raq,” the emperor solemnly declared. “You may redeem it in whole or in parts on any of the planets of my empire.”

  I accepted the emperor’s first gift, bowing my head gratefully. Two hundred tons of raq at a cost of fifty credits per kilogram made me the owner of ten million GC. My current balance barely exceeded one and a half, so this generous gift from Galactogon would be very useful. I guess they decided to finally give me some money.

  “You were the first to destroy a Zatrathi ship, proving to the skeptics that such a feat was even possible. Accept this gift as a reward for your valor!”

  Again a Precian with a golden tray approached me.

  “A ship that has achieved such success should be rewarded. This is permission to contact the Hansa Arms Corporation and an order to upgrade one of your vessel’s systems. Hansa should find something that will please even the owner of an orbship.”

  It’s a good thing that Kiddo had told me about Hansa, otherwise I would not have realized the value of the second reward. Happy, I bowed my head again, accepting the document.

  “You were the first to kill a Zatrathi, demonstrating that the enemy may be killed not only in space, but also on the planets it has captured. Accept this gift as a reward for your courage!”

  Instead of a golden tray, a cargo drone flew into the hall, hauling a sparkling suit of armor in its tractor beam. The properties of the gift were hidden, but one glance turned out to be enough to understand that the A-class Qualian marine armor that I had never received was an ancient prototype compared to the sleek killer in front of me.

  “Armor and arms are the alpha and omega of any marine. This legendary marine armor and ranger’s blaster will allow you to more effectively vanquish our foes. Wield them with honor!”

  A solemn fanfare followed, marking the end of the award ceremony. I took a step back to take my place, but a light tap on my back indicated that the emperor had not yet finished.

  “Once you have visited Zalva’s moon and received your upgrade from the Hansa Arms Corporation, you shall be expelled from our empire. Pirates have no place in the Precian Empire! I cannot trust someone who voluntarily chose the path of piracy. From now on, and as long as you remain a pirate, you shall find no safe harbor in Precian space. Escort Surgeon to his ship and see that he leaves Zalva immediately.”

  This marked the end of both my audience with the emperor and my walk in the park. Two armored marines appeared on both sides of me and unceremoniously turned me to the door. My eyes followed the drone with the armor suit, which turned around after the escorts. It looked like ‘the alpha and omega’ of any Precian marine would be delivered directly to my orbship.

  Until I reached the spaceport, I still harbored some hope of secretly meeting the emperor. Things like that happened in Runlustia all the time—when it was possible to solve problems with the rulers behind the scenes, bypassing the officially announced political course, or even get non-trivial tasks. But this time, there was no miracle forthcoming. As the dock with the now-kindred Warlock loomed on the horizon, it became clear that the Precian Emperor did not entertain any intrigues. If I wanted to stay on Zalva, then I had to give up on Hilvar’s mission. It’s a shame that the issue with Kiddo’s ship remained unaddressed. My mission log appeared before my eyes and I cursed. It was impossible to cancel the mission. My choices were either to slink back to Hilvar and confess my inadequacy or wait a calendar year until the deadline expired. There were no other ways of quitting my path to piracy.

  Yet the nearer I came to the dock, the calmer I became. The mere sight of Warlock dispelled my doubts. Come what may. I could of course, fly to Hilvar, abandon piracy and join the glorious horde of those fighting against the Zatrathi. But why not try to live the Pirate Dream? The Confederacy did not refuse admission to freelance privateers. If I joined them, there would be no obligations and, therefore, neither foreign allies, nor foreign rivals. I would be the only one to decide whether to attack a ship that came across my path or not. The more worrying question was how I was going to make my living. Although, on the whole, it wasn’t such a pressing one for the moment. There was even time to consider my other missions.

  Thinking these thoughts, I stepped onto the dock. Thanks to my rhino marine, a desolate zone had formed around my Warlock. Watching the maintenance men cautiously skirt in an invisible circle around my ship, I realized that my cryptosaur had already become infamous on Zalva. I jumped off the platform and waved to the rhino. He roared menacingly and rushed straight towards me, paying no attention to the technicians and repair equipment in his way. It was petty, of course, but still nice to see the Precians jump out of the way at the last moment, abandoning their instruments in their flight. Oh, what a pity! I was not going to reimburse the cost of the equipment. That’s what you get for exiling me.

  The cryptosaur rushed up to me like a locomotive at full steam and, ignoring all inertia, stopped dead in front of me, blasting me with hot air from his flared nostrils. I patted the marine on his nose and climbed onto his back, which had morphed into a comfortable saddle.

  “Wait, Surgeon! We need to talk…” was all I heard before my mount brought me to my ship. I was in such a hurry to get back that I paid no attention to the voice.

  “Our lost lamb has returned!” It may have seemed that the ship herself had greeted her captain in a deeply-buried voice, but this was really my engineer who dwelt in the vessel’s depths. Of the entire Warlock crew, she was the only one who could speak. I dismounted my rhino and waited for the engineer to crawl to the surface. “We thought you decided to settle here, Cap’n. To sprout roots, find yourself a blue wife and make some blue kids. You surrendered to the blue meanies without a struggle or a fight?”

  “Don’t hold your breath,” I smiled, affably patting the head of the slizosaur who had bent down to my height. My engineer and permanent shieldsman was a huge and extremely snarky serpent. “Someone needs to captain this tub. You lot would grow rusty without me. Then I’ll have to go about sanding everything back to order.”

  “Surgeon! We need to talk! Don’t leave!” sounded the voice again. The rhino marine snarled menacingly, cautioning the stranger from approaching. I turned around and saw a player in a typical suit of armor with Precian insignia. It was the kind of insignia you got for grinding rapport with the empire. The man was standing beside a tent, pitched right there on the dock as if he had been camping out waiting for me for a long time. Such perseverance should be rewarded, and I was curious to hear what he wanted from me.

  “I’ll listen, but not for long,” I glanced over at the Precian guards. The marines’ postures suggested that they were ready to see their emperor’s orders performed to a T.

  “Mr. Eine wishes to speak with you. If you could wait for a half hour—he is on his way here as we speak.”

  “I don’t think I can spare even five minutes.” The guards had perked up noticeably. “At ease, fellas…I’m going, I’m going…”

  Before entering my ship, I turned and yelled to the stranger:

  “Sorry, if I don’t go now, these courageous fellas will blast me to pieces. So take care and don’t hold it against me.”

  “This man is under the protection of Mr. Eine!” The stranger turned to the guards and flashed a sparkling badge. “Leave him.”

  “Emperor’s orders. The pirate must leave Zalva immediately!” One of the guards replied in a metallic voice and knocked the player away with a single blow.

  I had no desire to get into a fight with the Precians, so I ordered:

  “We are leaving! Everyone aboard! Space awaits us!”

  This was mostly addressed to the cryptosaur, who had decided that the guards were posing a threat to the ship and was about to attack them. A platform extended from the bottom of Warlock, and the rhinoceros stalked inside with a business-like snort as if to say that if it hadn’t been for my orders, he would have wiped the entire dock clean with the Precians. The ship’s hull meanwhile wavered and parted, forming an entrance for me.

  “Welcome back, Captain!” the ship computer greeted me.

  “Hello, Brainiac! I need a full report on the current status of the ship, crew and equipment.”

  “All systems are operating normally. Crew readiness is at 100%. The droid squadron is back at 100% as well. We have two suits of armor, one of which we received a few minutes ago. I am currently running diagnostics on it. There are ten tons of elo reserves, forty tons of raq and two tons of tiron in our holds.”

  “Send the new armor suit to the bridge and synchronize it to the ship. Anything important that I should know about before blast-off?”

  “Unauthorized persons made twenty-eight attempts to breach the ship’s security perimeter. I deployed the marine to protect the perimeter and hull integrity. In response, the enemy detachment set up a camp at the far end of the dock and engaged in intelligence gathering until you appeared. The guards were changed around the clock, every two hours. An enemy parliamentarian requested permission to speak with you several times. That is all. The new armor suit has been synched to the ship. I congratulate you on your new equipment.”

  My curiosity subsided, sending a fiery farewell to the stranger picking himself up out on the dock: just another hunter of rarities, trying to get into my orbship. The hell with him. And yet…well, if he’s a potential buyer, I should sound him out just in case…

  “Stan, I need information about a player named Eine. This process is high priority. Have you finished collecting data for the previous process?”

  “I have. The information has been uploaded to your PDA. New process accepted. Getting started on it now.”

 

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