Traitor GIT: A LitRPG Adventure (Traclaon Armageddon Book 2), page 5
Or, in this case, the human.
Eric landed on the wall, and the instant his shoes got purchase, the motion aids sprang off him to be reused by whatever next required repositioning.
The soul Blade expanded in his hands, and he made the directed cuts. The moment they were done, machines swarmed in and exploited the significantly weakened wall. Chunks of rock moved easily. A red glow for his flame boon appeared. Fire without gravity and air currents lacked their usual chaotic nature. The area he targeted glowed, and in his infrared spectrum, the heat increased. A machine hit the spot, taking advantage of the chain reaction of vaporized water that was already occurring.
A green line manifested at his feet. Two motion aids hit him before he thought about what was happening and imparted rotational momentum, and once he had spun upside down from his initial position, they disengaged, canceling his spin, and he was perfectly aligned with the fault the mining algorithm wanted to be expanded.
The Blade formed, and he cut.
Another light shove, and when he was spun around at the top of the cave, two glowing red spots appeared. Eric unleashed his fire on them one after the other. Focusing the energy where he was being asked, machines naturally swarmed the spot, clinically taking advantage of the opportunities that he was creating.
Eric fell into his routine.
This was probably less effective than dedicated training, but emotionally, it felt good to be productive. Motion aids continually landed on him and then sprang off, maneuvering him like a puppet to where he was needed.
More cuts.
For a fraction of a moment, he could create a ten-centimeter-long Blade, though that sort of effort stressed him. The algorithms knew that and would often ask for shallow cuts. Eric used those requests to improve his control. He would align the cut, flick his hand down, and when his fist was millimeters from the rock, the soul Blade would manifest and complete the cut. Sometimes two centimeters, other times five. It was usually one Blade, but occasionally, there was a request for up to four.
A dark green line appeared, and mentally, Eric prepared himself. This required a deep cut, and with his low Soul cultivation, it took a lot out of him. It was effectively a demand for two six-centimeter-long soul Blades starting five millimeters apart to then connect at their tips. It would cut a thin triangular slice out of the wall. He slashed, and the machines moved in to remove the slice of rock and then exploit the extra access the artificial gap would present.
Seventy percent. The number flashed up on his HUD.
Eric grimaced. It was an improvement, but glacial. Two months ago, he had been anywhere from fifty to seventy, and now, while he was more consistent, there had been no true advancement in his accuracy.
Eight hours later, the algorithms dinged.
He had hit the limits of Rose’s capacity. He kicked off the wall, and then a motion aid lightly clipped his shoulder. Eric didn’t panic. His course changed slightly, and he spun in the air before landing perfectly in the cockpit seat. Around him, Rose continued to reassemble. Those spider legs now extended impossibly long to make a cage surrounding the useful material he was mining.
Weight-wise, it was a max load. Unfortunately, the quality they had extracted wasn’t great. Despite his help, which improved efficiency by forty percent, this load was lower-grade ore.
“Not your fault,” he reminded himself.
The asteroid was almost tapped out. The company wouldn’t care. It would frugally reduce his bonus pay.
While Rose had the soul metal frame that allowed him to easily infuse his will into it, the material they had mined did not. His soul slid down Rose’s legs, and then once a loose cage was established, he switched to claiming everything within the frame. From a volume perspective, it was small, but mass was always the limiter, not distance. His soul slowly spread through the payload, and once it was in progress, he switched his attention to the coming jump.
“Straight to Asteroid19,” he ordered verbally, just like he always did.
The station was filled with a frame of soul material, which meant, from a targeting perspective, it was easy. It was almost impossible to jump in a way that would create a collision.
The numbers the crystal generated reflected the ease of the jump. While they still moved quickly with a scattering of chaos, the destination was stable, and Rose was small. It took him less than ten seconds to sync with the flashing numbers, and then he willed himself elsewhere.
Reality distorted.
Exhaustion crashed into him. No proximity alarm triggered, and then just like with the micro-jump earlier, the green ticks swept down the screen.
He was drifting a hundred kilometers from the station. Propulsion jets immediately kicked in to push him toward the massive structure.
“Eric Peters, procedure requires you to communicate arrival before the jump,” the AI said.
“I didn’t have an angle for communications. I had to jump blindly from within the asteroid.”
“You have two prior infractions recorded. A hundred credits docked.”
“No, I said couldn’t send a message. If you dock my pay, I’m quitting and hiring a lawyer.”
“Escalating… Pay will not be docked. But please note, this is your last warning.”
Stupid AI, Eric thought. That was about the fiftieth time that penalty had been waived.
His ship accelerated half a minute of burn. Then ten minutes of drift, and he would be back on station.
He was getting sick of the routine, but in six weeks, he would quit and have some real fun.
CHAPTER 5
Every day, Eric got up, took Rose for a ride, and then returned to have the same inane conversation with the AI, who berated him for not radioing ahead first.
The rest day couldn’t come soon enough.
Eric suppressed a smile, his chest fluttering.
He had a girlfriend. This was going to be their fourth date, and…
Half the time, he cursed himself and railed against the choice. The word breaker echoed in his head. The rest of the time, he did this.
A polished and stylish Eric looked back at him from the mirror. The crisp suit he was wearing was the latest fashion, and because he was going to Mars Close Orbital 2142, he had a DNA-triggered gun at his waist. The gun was one only he could use and, given the lawless nature of the orbital, it was an important addition.
He felt like dancing. They were getting two days together.
Every rest day, they had coincidentally aligned their schedules to be on the same station as each other. They always made sure it was a bigger one where it was easier to disappear.
With a little skip, he left his apartment, grabbed the nearest handles, and then arrows guided him to the ship he was taking. Thankfully, there was no interaction with the company representatives. He was being sent straight to the vessel. He got off the public handles and then onto private corridor handles and went speeding down via multiple docks until the handles stopped abruptly. A closed airlock greeted him, arrows guiding him to a zip-over vacuum suit.
All as per the contract.
Eric quickly donned it, and its seals closed around him, and the fabric shifted and adapted as it molded itself to his body like a second skin. Then he integrated a hacking thread with it and confirmed the safeties were green. LifeLink Jumps Ltd. was not cutting corners. There were two re-breathers along with five minutes of emergency air. The skin was also double layered, and while not military grade, it was rated S-level industrial. The type of suit that you invested in for your super-skilled expert workers like specialized engineers and put on the CEOs when they had to slum it in a vacuum in order to be seen to be like the common worker.
Eric walked forward, and behind him, the airlock slid shut, and he could feel the air being pumped out. Something about that thought rang false. This was a high-level suit, and in the future, the suits were advanced enough to adjust seamlessly. Did humans have that technology yet? Curiously, he checked the suit specifications once more.
Nope!
Everything he was feeling was psychological. Double-blind tests had proven that the suit wearers could not identify the switch to vacuum by feel as it adjusted for everything.
The big airlock doors clicked open, and Eric walked forward. Behind him, the inner set of doors were shutting, but he didn’t slow his stride, and by the time he had crossed the five meters, the final airlock door slid open, and he strolled out of the space station and onto the ship he was going to be jumping. This was the new-style cargo vessel. A central hub and then radial spikes constructed from soul-enhanced metal that spread out and created a sphere. Only that inner space was pressurized; the rest of it was like this.
He was walking along one of those soul struts, with shipping containers packed on both his left and right, above and below. It was a strange feeling. Every now and again, he could see out to the depths of space through gaps in the stored crates. It was an efficient design and very easy to unload with current technology. Two hundred meters later, he arrived at the central ship area. Another double set of airlocks greeted him, and once through them, he exited into a basic jump room.
He chuckled to himself.
This was it. The millions of credits worth of cargo were controlled by this. Lots of screens, simple toilet facilities, and a single luxurious chair in the middle of it all. It was the only pressurized part of the entire vessel.
A couple of thin walls, and then vacuum, so, out of prudence, Eric left the vacuum suit on and sat down in the seat. It puffed around him, shifting to perfectly support every bit of him. His standard entertainment setup appeared on the screens above him, and he began the soul-infusing process. The sooner he started, the quicker he would arrive. Another thrill went through him at that thought.
With a wry private smile, he watched the screens and kept spreading his soul. He was impressed by the engineered quality of the vessel. It had been designed purely for jump purposes, and apart from the size, it was the easiest setup he had worked with since returning to the past.
Eventually, the process finished, and he engaged the crystal. He spent almost two minutes getting his focus right before he willed himself elsewhere.
Reality distorted.
Eric sagged in the seat.
That was a bitch.
It was something, as far as he knew, no one ever got used to. Sudden soul weariness crippled everyone. With his eyes shut while the initial turmoil settled, Eric let his memory run wild.
Two weeks ago, they had danced. She had been like a leaf in his arms, perfectly light and in control while he had stumbled around his experience, unable to overcome the inherent clumsiness of being un-augmented.
She had smiled so much.
There was a beep, and he looked up. Everything had switched to green, and a moderate bonus had been paid into his account.
Thirty-two minutes to docking.
With the station being so close to Mars, which screwed with accuracy, and the ship being as large as it was, getting this close meant it had been a good jump.
He sipped his drink, the sweet flavor helping to relieve some symptoms. He wondered what Fiona had planned for their time together.
This one was her choice.
He laughed inside, remembering the last date.
Fiona glared at him. “That’s it. I’m not letting you plan any more dates.”
“Why?” Eric answered back, trying to look innocent.
She waved her hand. There were smears of blood on it. “It’s not romantic to kill together.”
“To be fair, I didn’t know that they had included two extra heavies on this team.”
She rolled her eyes. “It would still have been killing, just not so personally bloody. I want to make it clear to you, Mr. Peters, executing criminals together is not romantic.”
“Really?”
She snorted at that. “You can’t sweet-talk your way out of this. I’m taking over date planning.”
“Fine. You can plan next week, and I’ll coordinate the one after.”
She looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”
“Well, I owe you several romantic dates, and I can’t do it if you’re organizing everything.”
Fiona didn’t look fooled. “No, I’m organizing them both.”
“But romance.” He pretended to mime a broken heart while physically he kept injecting the neutralizing agent into the barrel. The sooner that finished, they could blow up the evidence.
“No,” she said firmly, rejecting the request.
“If I ask really nicely? Maybe give you a foot massage?”
“Will you promise no murdering anyone?”
“Um…”
“I knew it.” She pounced on the hesitation.
“I was going to ask if drug runners count as anyone.”
“Yes, they do.” She stamped her feet dramatically, though her eyes were amused.
“Okay,” Eric said.
“What did you say?”
“I promise that there will be no drug missions.”
“Good. But I’m still planning for next week. I want to show you some of my history.”
Eric smiled. She was going to show him what she had done after they had faked her death to allow Francis to continue his deception.
Absently, he watched the screens. The mission parameter clicked over to indicate that they had arrived.
It must have been a light landing because he felt nothing, or more likely, the central habitable area had good shock absorbers.
Not that arriving helped him. Eric was still too weak to stand, and if he was hiding his trait, he had to stay for another hour. Lying back in the seat, he was filled with nervous energy. He wanted to go straight away but knew he couldn’t. Fiona was already on station, having made the jump with a larger cargo vessel three hours ago.
Eric watched the news reports and focused on his cultivation. Because he was in public, it was general cultivation rather than practicing Armor or Blade because those two would be two visible. Centimeter by centimeter, he went up and down his skin. Focusing to a point. Snap. Then moving on.
There was a flash of internal light in his artificial eye as his timer triggered.
Move!
He only barely stopped himself from leaping out of the chair. Instead, he picked himself up more cautiously, pretending to be suffering still. With a thought, his helmet clicked on, and he walked the short distance to the airlock door.
This time, with his mind on other things, he had to admit that he could not identify which of the two airlocks had been switched to vacuum as he passed through. Usually, it was the second, but with the suit on, he couldn’t tell.
It was wonderfully engineered.
Once more, he crossed the ship. He was walking along a different strut this time, which made sense as there was no up and down in a spherical ball until it connected to a station and centrifugal forces mimicked gravity. The jump room would have been oriented appropriately to enable that transition.
Once he entered the orbital proper as per the contract, he removed the suit and left it at the airlock. Then, after a brisk walk, he used handles to speed up his journey while following the directions Fiona had given him.
The first time around, she would have arrived on a similar ship to the one he had piloted, but as a ghost. As he moved, he searched for the nearby electronics and then sighed in relief. There was nothing within his range that couldn’t be hacked. Fiona would have been able to cope easily enough. He would definitely ask her about it. In any case, it was history. She had survived, got a new identity, and six months later, emigrated outwards like all the talented young of the orbital did.
Eric referenced the instructions.
Ten levels up.
He did as ordered and ascended, walking toward the center of the station. If apparent gravity altered, it was too low for him to register, and the floors were not floors in the sense of most stations. Each was instead a habitat, with the smallest of them being high enough to comfortably fit seven full-sized apartments on top of each other. Ten floors up had, in fact, been over two hundred meters of stairs and ramps, and gravity hadn’t changed, which gave an accurate impression of the size of the orbital.
“And this thing is populated all the way through,” he muttered to himself.
The orbital was the largest station in the solar system and probably the heaviest ever built, at least by humans. The other historical aspect was also painfully clear. There were no video cameras, and some floors had zero supporting electronic systems.
The paranoia that produced that outcome was fascinating. Hundreds of millions of people willingly gave up modern convenience to avoid the possibility of government monitoring.
Eric shook his head, unable to understand it. In his first life, he hadn’t cared. It was a pretty simple equation. He was a nobody who wasn’t interested in a life of crime, so the government would get nothing out of monitoring him, and now that it mattered, acquiring the tools to force privacy wasn’t that complicated. Even without his special AI, a single trip to this very station would have allowed him to purchase software capable of blinding central surveillance.
Instead of those logical approaches, a hundred million people had gotten up and moved into this station and gave up prefabricated meals and access to entertainment. For paranoia, and because the entire place was low-tech, if anyone wanted to monitor covertly, it would be easy. There were lots of electronic bugs no bigger than a grain of dirt that a government could use if it could be bothered, and this place had no defense against it.
Despite that, a hundred million people had seeded the facility, and since then, biology had tripled that population, even with the continued emigration outwards. It was the sort of stuff out of a story. Absolutely incredible, and no one would have believed it if it hadn’t actually happened.
Descending to the tenth floor, he saw a futuristic pergola with a big I for information on top of it. It matched the picture Fiona had given him perfectly.
Inside, there were dozens of screens and terminals, and because cloak and dagger were in the orbital’s DNA, the setup had an extra addition that allowed code chunks to be deposited for anonymous collection. Chunks of code that would be spread over hundreds of similar setups, and Eric was sure that kids would waste hours of time trying to crack the various top-secret communications, and half of them would be love letters. Now that he was physically present, it was easy enough to pick up Fiona’s instructions anonymously. There were no cameras, and they were all encrypted, and he picked up about twenty of the packages. The eighth was Fiona’s, but if you were going to be information security conscious, you might as well do it properly.
