Hostile Takeover: A Space Opera Adventure (Luminous Void Book 3), page 10
How would it twist a person to live that long in an illusion? “Don’t you get lonely for real people?”
He waved it off. “Make yourself someone to talk to,” he said. “And there are always other pilots.”
Most of the pilots Mwassaa had met tended to be manipulative and prone to superficial connections that mainly served themselves.
He shrugged. “If you’re not interested in sex, I might as well show you around the game.” He rose from his couch and another door appeared in the middle of the room. The surface of the wood was carved in scores of little panels. Each panel contained a scene of some kind—tiny cities, forests, planetscapes. As she stepped closer, they became ever more detailed, and she saw they were in motion. Ships flew, oceans rocked, alien creatures walked or crawled or hopped.
The door swung open, and she followed Adamh out into a transparent glassine terrace. It overlooked a crystal city that captured and reflected all the colors of a nebula-streaked sky. Darting vehicles flashed between minarets that looked too fragile to resist a strong wind. It was beautiful but empty.
“This is mine,” he said, hardly seeming to look at the glittering cityscape. “Just a toy. The real game is played against other pilots. Or if you don’t like that, you can become a godhead and build worlds. Then sell them. If you’re a good designer, you can make a decent profit.”
The city melted and became a jungle. They stood on a tree branch as wide as a road. It jutted horizontally from a trunk big enough to contain an entire housing block. Sheets of flowering moss hung down hundreds of meters from the branches above them
The air smelled wet and thick with a floral scent so heavy it made Mwassaa’s head spin with digital anoxia.
“Not my creation,” Adam said. “I don’t know who the original builder was, but it was abandoned when I found it. I keep a couple of interesting predators here when I’m in the mood to hunt something that can really fight back. I paid a hundred thousand Standards for that one up there.”
He pointed up at another branch fifty meters above their heads where something slick and amorphous oozed over the side.
A hundred thousand? That would be enough to cover Mwassaa’s treatment and go a good way toward paying off her debt to the guild. “How do you fight something like that?”
“I’ve tried several ways,” he said, “and lost my avatar every time. I’ll get it eventually.”
The puddle of moving ooze started to slide off the edge of the branch and a glistening drop formed, ready to break loose and fall. “It’s a lot faster and stronger than it looks,” he said.
Mwassaa backed out of the splash zone.
Adamh froze the organism with a flick of a finger. “Don’t like this?” The scene spun and came apart around her. It reformed, becoming the bridge of a battleship overlooking a roiling red gas giant. An armada of warships drove toward them, firing plasma bolts.
Adamh surveyed the scene. “I’ve been fighting Plato Radek for this system for seventy subjective years. The atmosphere of this gas giant is rich with metal vapor. When I finally beat him, I’ll siphon the atmosphere to an orbital processing plant and refine the ore to build more ships.”
To Mwassaa, it just seemed sad. “I appreciate you showing me all this, but I need to get back to Ramadi.”
“Have it your way.” In a moment, his baroque apartment reformed around them. “Are you sure you’re not interested in sex?”
“No thank you.”
He shrugged. “Come back if you change your mind.”
Mwassaa couldn’t imagine any circumstances under which that would happen. She took herself out and back to Ramadi.
“No cargo to sell when we get there?” Witbeck was saying. “That’s nine hells of a detour.”
“We can give you a cargo.”
What cargo was Ramadi talking about? The LV wasn’t carrying anything salable apart from the rods.
Witbeck’s eyebrows arched. “What do you have in mind?”
“Have you seen the recordings from Elysia?” Ramadi asked.
“You mean the firefight?”
“That’s it.”
Witbeck leaned his elbows on the bar, looking intently at Ramadi. “I’ve seen it.”
“We can’t give you our hull shielding, but we can give you enough to heat-shield some of your equipment. Or sell it for whatever you think it’s worth.”
He was talking about their supply of blue dust from Shangri-La. Lurayne kept several canisters in case she needed to repair the shielding on the ship’s hull or their little asteroid guns.
Witbeck’s eyes glittered. “How much?”
“Three kilos.”
He couldn’t give away the blue dust. It was one of the advantages that kept Luminous Void one step ahead of whoever was after them. “Ramadi,” she said into his earpiece, “shouldn’t you check with Salome first?”
He couldn’t answer her in front of Witbeck, so he rapped one finger sharply on the top of the bar, a clear message for her to let him do his job.
The problem was that it wasn’t really his job. This was Mwassaa’s personal business, and she couldn’t let Ramadi bear the responsibility.
She switched her attention to the section of herself who had been browsing through the shops with Salome and the others.
Captain Salome had been viewing a series of Carnivalia costumes in a fashion boutique. The holoprojector in front of her displayed a replica of Salome dressed as Queen Ormo the Inimitable in a gown of blue and white crystals. The collar of crystal spires rose from her shoulders to half a meter above her head. The Salome in the display looked like a walking crystal mountain and wouldn’t be able to see someone standing right next to her without turning her entire body. Sitting down would probably feel like perching on a pile of sharp rocks.
Standing beside Salome, Lurayne sputtered with laughter. “How much do you think that weighs?”
“More than I do,” Salome said. The gown in the display changed to represent a version of the prince of the sixth hell. Ribbons of red, orange, and yellow fluttered straight up from the sleeves, and instead of a skirt, florescent hoops a meter wide revolved around her hips.
“Doesn’t go with your hair,” Lurayne said.
The display changed again. This time, the Salome in the holofield wore an overdress of dark-green carbon silk that complemented the lighter green of her skin.
Lurayne nodded approval. “That’s more like it.”
“Salome,” Mwassaa said from the audvid unit mounted on Demi’s chest. “I need to talk to you.”
“What’s wrong, Mwassaa? Are you getting bored?”
“It’s Ramadi,” Mwassaa said. “He’s talking to the captain of another ship about making a trade for some of the blue dust in our secure locker.”
“I’m sure he knows what he’s doing.” The figure in the holofield turned in a circle, making the light play up and down the gold trim on the dress.
“And he’s offering them our last fuel rod.”
Lurayne frowned at that. “What’s he trying to buy?”
Mwassaa collected her thoughts. “I got a message from my sister today. Someone has been watching my family and asking questions about us. Ramadi thinks someone may try to use them to get me to surrender the ship.”
“What?” Salome spun away from the hologram. “What’s he wasting time for? Mwassaa, get everyone back to the ship and tell the station we’re leaving as soon as we’re all aboard.”
This was why Ramadi hadn’t gone straight to the captain with Mwassaa’s problem. “We can’t, Salome. It’s obviously a trap. They’ll be waiting for us to show up.”
Salome’s red irises couldn’t actually burn, but when she got angry like this, you somehow expected them to. “Of course it’s a trap,” she snarled. “And they’re going to find out what happens to people who threaten my crew.”
“I won’t pinch us there,” Mwassaa said. She wanted to. She desperately longed to be where her family needed her. “Ramadi’s found someone who can help.”
Baku joined them with Fran at her heels. “What’s a trap?”
Lurayne glanced at her. “That son of a leper-dog from Elysia is threatening to do something to Mwassaa’s family.”
Mwassaa said, “I only told you because this affects everyone on the crew. If Ramadi trades away our last spare fuel rod, we could be stuck somewhere with no way to pinch out. And if we go around sharing the blue dust, it will draw attention eventually. It could expose us and anyone we share it with.”
Salome heated up again. “I’m not going to let anyone get hurt because of us.”
“Cool down, Sal,” Lurayne said. “It sounds like Ramadi has everything under control. Mwassaa, just tell him to leave me a canister or two of dust for emergencies. We can always collect more when we get back home.”
Salome finally switched from raging hot to absolute zero. “That’s fine, Mwassaa. Tell Ramadi to do whatever he has to do.” There was still a threat in her voice. Someone, somewhere, was going to be very sorry when she got her hands on them.
The shopping party was evidently over. Mwassaa had suggested that the rest of the crew go about their business and enjoy themselves. There was nothing they could do anyway, but Salome was determined to get back to the ship and arrange transfer of the payment.
“Salome,” Mwassaa said as they passed through the inner hatch, “I ordered a transport cart to carry the fuel rod to Cheerful Singularity.”
“That’s good,” Salome murmured. She turned to Demi and Tano. “Do you think you could get the last rod out of the container and load it onto the cart?”
They gave her identical short nods and broke off toward the storage pod at the back of the bay.
“I’ll collect the dust canisters,” Salome said.
“While you’re doing that,” Lurayne said, “I’ll see about transferring the money to Cheerful Singularity’s account. That’s really going to cut into our funds. I’ll still be able to get the primary two drive back up and running, but it will be tight.”
“Come on, Fran,” Baku said. “I want to put some sprayseal on the twitchy circuits in life-support.”
Fran, however, let out a squeak and scuttled after Salome.
Salome stepped into the vault with Fran on her heels and looked around at the banks of storage lockers across two walls. “Which one is it?” she asked.
Mwassaa’s audvid pickups were positioned to prevent the ship’s pilot from seeing the lockers themselves or their contents, but she knew approximately where the canisters were stored. “On your left and top row center.”
Fran scurried ahead of the captain, and Mwassaa heard a locker open.
“Thank you, Fran,” Salome said.
Fran reappeared in Mwassaa’s field of view with three silver canisters in her manipulator arms. She scurried out of the room, carrying them toward the airlock to await the cargo cart alongside the fuel rod.
“What’s gotten into her?” Salome asked.
“Just being helpful, I suppose,” Mwassaa said, although she wasn’t really sure. The bot wasn’t exactly known for spontaneous helpfulness.
Salome snorted. “Well, if she was going to help, she might have saved me the trouble of walking back and forth. If anyone asks, I’m going to my cabin. Maybe I can finish my shopping over the station network.”
She looked tired. She’d been excited about her party, and Mwassaa’s problems had spoiled it for her. As Salome crossed the cargo hold, Mwassaa said, “I’m really sorry about all this.”
“About what, Mwassaa?”
“My family. Having to go outside the ship for help.”
“It’s not your fault. Why in the galaxy couldn’t my incompetent Uncle Captain Mix have left well enough alone? He had the perfect life, even if he wasn’t very good at it.”
Mwassaa surprised herself with a laugh. “He really wasn’t. But if he hadn’t come across the coordinates, whoever is after us would already have them by now, and the galaxy would be tearing itself apart to get to Squiggulon.”
Salome sighed. “Yes, but it wouldn’t be my fault.”
While one part of Mwassaa’s attention was with the crew, another part was thinking. She couldn’t send a message to Nyssaa, but Adamh, the pilot of Cheerful Singularity, had given her an idea.
She sent him a query to see if he was willing to talk.
He replied instantly. “What is it?” He actually sounded almost friendly.
“I need your help with something.”
A door appeared in front of Mwassaa. Not the blank panel this time, but a gilt and lacquer thing with a crystal knob. She stepped through into his palace of excess. He lay on his couch in the same position and costume as the last time she had been here.
“What is it now?” he waved her toward the chair she had occupied on her previous visit.
“I’ve been thinking. I can’t send my sister a message over the Pinchnet, but can’t straight-timers play the Big Game?”
“There wouldn’t be much point. A hundred years could pass in the game before they had played ten minutes.”
“But it doesn’t have to be that way, does it? If you had an environment where nothing was happening, then it wouldn’t matter what speed the rest of the game was running at. Couldn’t Nyssaa come into the game and talk there?”
He frowned. “I don’t see why not if you want to do that, but if you’ve got the guild watching for you, that’s going to be risky. Too easy to be spotted in the game space.”
“Is there a way around that?”
“You’d need an anonymous sector, but that can get expensive for someone like you. Every new player starts out with a thousand terabytes of free game space. If you want more, you’ve got to buy it. To get an anonymous space, you’ve got to buy it outright. Then you’d have to send the access code to your sister.”
“So if I could set up the space, you could pass her the code?”
He looked amused. “Why in the galaxy would I want to do that?”
“It wouldn’t cost you anything.” She sighed. “And I would owe you.”
“That could be interesting.”
“Not that interesting,” she said.
He shrugged. “Fine. If you can set it up, I’ll try to pass it along.” There was an unspoken implication of, “If it’s not too much trouble.”
“Can you help me set it up?”
“That favor you owe me is getting bigger.” But he stood, and the door with the carved panels appeared.
She followed him through and found herself in a tight corridor between apparently endless banks of blue and yellow lights. It looked like the virtual representation of her databank on the LV.
Adamh said, “Start by picking out a sector.”
“How do I pick?”
“Any yellow cell.”
She moved down the corridor, scanning until she found a section freckled with empty cells. She pointed to a cluster of three yellow lights. “Like this?”
“That’s not big. Maybe fifty terabytes of game space.”
“I don’t need a whole world, just a room.”
“There’s plenty of space for that.”
“How do I buy it anonymously?”
“Touch it.”
Mwassaa did. A visual printout scrolled down empty air in front of her. She picked out the price. It would eat up all her tiny share of profit from the sale of the fuel rods. She tried two contiguous cells. The price dropped, but not as much as she would have liked, so she tried a single empty cell. “Would this be enough?
“Depends on what you want. A single room probably.”
She paid for the sector, then received a long code identifying it as hers. If she lost the code, she would lose the sector and it would be unrecoverable. She did what she rarely did and stored it in her physical brain.
She turned to Adamh. “Thank you for your help. I can take it from here.”
“You’re trying to get rid of me now?”
“I thought you’d want to get back to whatever you were doing before I interrupted you.”
He shrugged. “I can do both.”
She took them out of game storage. They found themselves in a white void. It wasn’t big enough for her family farm. She was a little disappointed about that, but it was plenty big for a re-production of her father’s study. The beautiful warm room shuffled into reality like a house of cards building itself around them.
Adamh eyed the paneled walls, the big hardwood desk, the leather-covered couch. He looked unimpressed. “Are you sure you wouldn’t rather…?” He raised a hand.
She blocked him. “My sister is going to be coming here. I don’t want it to look like a bordello.”
“Does she look like you?”
It occurred to Salome that if she gave Adamh the access code to give to Nyssaa, he would be able to come here himself whenever he wanted. “She’s getting married soon.”
“So what? This is pinch-space. Nothing that happens here is real.”
“She won’t be in pinch-space. At most she’ll be looking at a holographic projection.”
“I don’t suppose she has a neuro-jack.”
Mwassaa tried to imagine her sister with a mechanical interface implanted in her brain. “No, she certainly does not.”
“Too bad.”
It could be worse. At least Adamh was trustworthy as far as pilots went. As long as she was giving him what he needed. In this case, that was the excitement of defying the guild.
“Here’s the access code.” She passed it to him. “Store it in your brain, please. I don’t want it in your databank where someone might get access to it.”
He complied. “It looks like we’ll be leaving in two or three hours straight-time, then eight hours from the pinch point to the planet.”
“That’s good. That means you’ll get there while the whole family is gathered at the home farm for Fifth Night.”
He raised his brows. “Really? What do they do for Carnivalia on Ouroboros?”
“Nothing that would interest you. Thank you for helping me, Adamh. I owe you more than I can say.”
He snorted. “You go around saying things like that, and an unscrupulous person might take advantage.”
