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A TWENTY-TWO-HOUR journey... As strange as it seemed, I had no problem keeping busy. First, I helped Dmitry Zheltov learn the control panel, translating the captain’s words. After that, I had a Geckho writing lesson, which was again given by the strict and quarrelsome navigator Ayukh. The short elderly Geckho was especially fierce today, giving more and more complicated tasks with more new words and an emphasis on mathematical and spacefaring terminology.
Elliptical plane... Back point traverse... Relative bearing... Sideslip angle... Mainstream speed vector... Ionic and gravitational thruster interlink system... Ship stress tensor... Adaptability of graph theory for the warp beacon system...
But there was a certain sense in how hard he was pushing me. My Astrolinguistics skill was leveling very fast, especially considering the bonuses from his Pedagogy skill. But the pace and volume were just frying my brains! After an hour, I was about to howl and climb up the wall, but I forced myself to concentrate, staring at the loops and broken lines on the tablet screen. At a certain point, Zheltov tried to join our Geckho lesson, but the Starship Pilot left the bunk fairly quickly with a look of traumatized shame and even fear.
By the end of the second hour, when I was about to give up, a double message jumped in:
Intelligence increased to 22.
Intelligence increased to 23.
What? I mean, I wasn’t especially surprised the stat had gone up two times. Any added point after twenty gave a bonus, as I’d recently become aware. But I’d heard from my faction that a stat would only increase for the second time after two or three weeks of use! Either I had been misled, or our trainers didn’t know, but a stat could grow much faster if it was practiced at extreme intensity. At any rate, that gave me a second wind, and I was again bursting with energy, soaking up new information like a sponge. Another half hour later, I earned another portion of messages:
Astrolinguistics skill increased to level forty-five!
You have reached level forty-two!
You have received three skill points!
Wow, awesome! And although I was willing to keep going, the old navigator was tired and gave up:
“Gnat, you’re young. You’re like some kind of computer, you could go all day! But I’m a living being... Let’s wrap it up, I can barely think...”
Authority increased to negative 5.
Uline was looking on, and her eyes squeezed into barely visible slits, while her breathing grew strained and raspy. When the old Navigator left the bunk, the Trader commented in astonishment:
“I never thought such a thing was possible! You wore out old Ayukh! By the way, Gnat, you missed a very funny scene! While you were studying, your friend was offered Geckho food for the first time. Naturally, our traditional spicy stew was the only thing on the menu. Well, Dmmmitry sat for a long time after the first spoonful, all red with his cheeks puffing out, then he said every curse word he knew in any language. He’s seemingly already learned around a dozen phrases in Geckho! But the funniest part was that Dmmmitry finished it all, then asked for seconds!”
I went off to look for Dmitry and discovered him asleep on a bench in the second bunk. Woah! The Starship Pilot, lying there in his armor, had already reached level forty-two just like me! I was reminded that, before the raid behind Dark Faction lines, Dmitry Zheltov was just level thirty-two. It had only been a day since then, but my friend had gained ten levels! What an appetite he had for his profession!!!
My attention was drawn by the senior engineer, Dmitry’s bunkmate:
“Gnat, tell Dmmmitry when you get the chance that he shouldn’t leave the game in space. This is a red zone and his body froze in a doorway. I dragged him to a cot, so he wouldn’t be in anyone’s way, but that is not how it should be done. According to the safety protocol, one must never go offline in space because surprises can sneak up on you, and a character stranded the game is vulnerable and useless to their crewmates. If he wanted to sleep, he should have done it in game. His real body would get all the rest he needs.”
Useful information. I’d take it into account! I promised to have a talk with my friend, then decided to follow the senior engineer’s sage advice and got some rest in my bunk before we reached the space station.
* * *
ULINE WOKE ME up. She was lying on the next cot in her short puffy robe reading something that must have been amusing, because she was rumbling happily through her teeth, like a purring kitten. When she saw me stir, my bunkmate covered the screen of her tablet with a hand, then turned it all the way off. I didn’t embarrass the furry lady and pretended I hadn’t noticed. I felt very well rested, beyond belief really. Looking at the clock, I discovered that nine hours had passed.
“We won’t make it to the Medu-Ro system for another ummi, so you woke up too soon!” Uline said.
I answered something like, “this world is full of so much interesting stuff, I can’t just sleep!” Uline rumbled back happily, unfolded the table and started setting up a game of Na-Tikh-U.
“Gnat, how about we play a round or two then? No one else on this ship is any match for me. Some don’t even know how to play, and the others are too stupid or unlucky.”
Sure, why not? I didn’t want to just waste the next few hours on mindless entertainment, though, so I added a condition:
“Before I went to sleep, you said I was a total newbie and sometimes ask stupid and weird questions that betray a deep ignorance. And you were right. I’ve got a million questions about this world, alien races, and the rules of the game that bends reality. But who can I ask without opening myself up to mockery? Heck, some of my questions could even cause trouble. I need someone I can trust! So, let’s do this: as we play Na-Tikh-U, you fill me in on things I don’t know. Sound good?”
The Trader agreed, and while she opened the game box and generated a map, I asked my first question:
“There are rumors that a player can change faction. And not just the tag next to the name on their clothing, but completely move their body from one place in the real world to another. Is that true? And how is it physically possible?”
Uline had already finished generating the game and suggested I go first. And while I thought over the placement of my pieces on the map, the Trader started to answer:
“Yes, that is true. I am not an electronics specialist and don’t know the finer details, but I can say for sure that, while playing, the physical body is somehow ‘cut out’ of the world. I read about one case that happened a hundred tongs ago during a war between Geckho clans. One group infiltrated another’s base, but found they were hiding in their virt pods. The attackers were pissed off and shot through all the pods, riddling them with holes, then smashed them to pieces in search of bodies. But, other than twisted metal and electronic chips, there was nothing there. Eventually, the Geckho hiding in the game made peace with the other clan, joined it and left the game through one of their former enemy’s virt pods. But how that happens, as I already said, I have absolutely no idea.”
Very interesting. But that meant the traitor Tyulenev could fully defect, not just joining the Dark Faction in the game, but moving his obese body into their dimension. How could he even get into a pod, the fat bastard!? So, when Minn-O La-Fin praised my blue eyes and said women in her world would like them, she knew that wasn’t strictly hypothetical.
Fame increased to 36.
Authority reduced to negative 6.
Authority reduced to negative 7.
What was that??? My game with Uline couldn’t have caused all those messages, so it must have been something in another place. It was probably something in the H3 Faction. Most likely, my name was put in a negative light. But what could it have been? I got distracted and made an obviously stupid move in Na-Tikh-U, which Uline immediately jumped on. I looked at the starships that had broken through my defenses and admitted defeat, suggesting we start a new game.
“Uline, why are there magic points in my character stats? What can I use them on and how?”
“Gnat, do you actually have magic points?” she answered with a question.
“That’s the thing, I do! One hundred forty-four magic points. And I don’t even know if that’s a small or large amount.”
Uline thought for a long time before answering.
“There are some game classes that actively use magical abilities from the get-go like Shamans, Psionics, and conjurers of all kinds. There are other classes that are entirely barred from using magic: Traders, Mechanics, Scientists, Soldiers. But there are also classes in neither category, who can gain magic points under certain circumstances. One such example is Healers. They can heal with skills or medicine from first aid kits and get along without magic just fine. But some Healers do have magic and use it in their work. As far as I know, other than mana you need a skill to actually use magic. But you’d better talk to our ship’s healer. He knows much better than me and might actually be able to help.”
This game of Na-Tikh-U was still going and, at points, it seemed I might win. But eventually Uline came out on top due to her greater experience and extensive knowledge of winning strategies. I suggested we play again.
“One more question, Uline. How long can a player stay inside a virt pod? Basically, how long will a real body last, with only virtual rest, sleep and nourishment?”
“Those are dangerous questions,” the hairy lady responded. “I really hope you aren’t planning to test that! I do not recommend it! Anyway, a body can stay in the game perfectly well for a short time, three or four days at least. When our crew was under arrest on Medu-Ro IV, I spent four days in the game with no break. The prison cell there was a yellow zone, and I was with a bunch of suspicious guys, so I was wary of being robbed and stripped bare while my character was helpless and vulnerable. I’ve heard some mention of an eight-day maximum. But every race has a different physiology, so it can vary. At any rate, sooner or later, you hit a wall, and your body will die. And you really should not try to find out where it is!”
I won the next two rounds, and the last was a crushing defeat. Then Uline, clearly roused by my double victory, suggested we play one more for keeps. And this time, she wanted to bet something serious:
“Gnat, I bet my Annihilator! You have to bet something just as valuable, your Listener bracelet or some platinum!”
I really wanted the Annihilator, and I figured the odds were in my favor. I knew the rules of Na-Tikh-U now, and my high luck modifier gave me a leg-up. But still I refused.
“No matter who wins, the other will be upset. Uline, I really value our friendship and couldn’t stand to lose it, no matter how bad I want your Annihilator. But if its burning a hole in your inventory, name your price. Maybe I’ll have enough to buy it.”
Authority increased to negative 6.
Was it just me, or was Uline embarrassed? No, it was clearly embarrassment. The Geckho lady lowered her semi-transparent eyelids and pointed her snout at the floor.
“I was wrong, sorry... You guessed it, Gnat. I cannot use the Annihilator, because I don’t have the Rifles skill. Also, I’ve never engaged in combat before and don’t plan to, so the Relict weapon is worthless to me. What can I say? My price is one hundred thousand crystals. I’ll also take platinum at a fair rate.”
I set out sixteen large crystals on the table in silence, then poured out a handful of metal powder. It was half the platinum I had. I looked at Uline inquisitively, and the Trader mutely set the Annihilator on the table. After that, she waited a few seconds and... added her Na-Tikh-U box and a little remote control.
“This is a roll manipulator. It lets you fix a roll however you like,” my bunkmate told me. “You can figure out how it works on your own. Gnat, I have something to confess. I purposely lost to you in the last two rounds. I wanted to make you bet big. But I changed my mind after what you said. Just one more time, I was wrong. I’m sorry.”
Just then, Dmitry Zheltov walked in and stopped our chat. The copilot looked startled and, from the doorway, said that the faction was displeased with my prolonged absence and expected me to exit soon and give a report.
“Did something bad happen? Or is leadership just tugging on my leash to test its strength?”
“Both. Something bad happened and they’re mad you’re acting so independent,” my friend admitted. “Radugin has a new deputy, and it looks like he’s FSB[1]. He wants to talk to you. Radugin and Lozovsky are just as impatient. If I were you, I wouldn’t keep annoying the higher-ups. You should leave the game as soon as possible. They aren’t mad quite yet, but if you keep ignoring their commands, it might blow up in your face.”
I promised to leave the game right after the Shiamiru docked at the Medu-Ro IV station and I found a safe green zone. I also told Dmitry that space was a red zone, and the Geckho didn’t like him leaving the game here, because it violated their safety protocol. The copilot looked seriously embarrassed. Clearly, he didn’t know that. But he quickly came to his senses and said:
“Anyway, we’re already in the Medu-Ro system and the captain has set a course for the station. If I understood Uraz-Tukhsh correctly, he will be piloting as we dock, because he needs to talk with the dispatchers and follow their commands.”
“How did you understand such complicated Geckho without Astrolinguistics?” I asked in surprise.
With a happy smirk, Dmitry answered that he hadn’t. Instead, the captain put on a long and complicated pantomime to communicate. The Geckho aristocrat tapped his clawed fingers many times on his furry chest, then pointed at the control panel and imitated moving the levers. The, he pointed at the microphone and speakers, then his tongue and ears. Even the dumbest person could guess what that meant.
“I’m sad I missed it,” I laughed, imagining the amusing spectacle. But then I turned serious and said: “Dmitry, I’m leaving the game at the station as promised, but there is one little nuance. When I went into the virt pod a day ago, my knees were shattered, and my leg was broken. I have a hard time believing regeneration has healed me already and I would feel really stupid if I left the game but couldn’t get out of my virt pod. Plus, I’ll still have to walk down the corncob!”
“Don’t you worry about that, Gnat! I’ll leave a bit before you and come help. Plus, I’ve heard that cameras were added to the corncobs to keep tabs on all the kernels. I’m sure as soon as yours opens, someone will notice!”
