Black Sun (Phantom Server: Book #3) (23 page)

The hum returned. More monitors lit up. The configuration of indicator lights on both the processor columns and the neurocomp boxes changed.

“
Attention all personnel for an incoming arrival,
” said a cybernetic voice.

The power consumption soared. Data flooded the channels.

“
Coordinates confirmed. Now commencing hyperspace jump.
”

The dome of a power shield unfolded over the platform at the center. The familiar dull green mist filled its interior, forming a human outline.

Invisible vents ejected a cloud of nanites which mixed with the mist.

The hum died away, replaced by the hiss of compressed air.

“
Materialization successful
,” the cybernetic voice reported. “
Reverse in ten seconds. Dematerialization. Aborted. Security protocol failure. Multiple identity matrices transportation impossible. The experiment cannot be continued.
”

None of the guards seemed to be interested in what was happening. They paid no heed to the system messages. The power shield collapsed, leaving behind a perfectly normal-looking man made entirely of nanites.

His clothes surged with interference, then stabilized. The stranger turned and headed for the exit.

The servodrives of an airlock thudded, unsealing the hatch. Its armored shutters parted, letting the newly-arrived Reaper out into the corridor.

* * *

“I had no knowledge of these experiments, I swear,” Dominic managed.

The machinery kicked back in, reopening the hatch. Two Reapers rolled in a trolley equipped with a built-in antigrav. The trolley was loaded with a neat pile of broken armor and pieces of equipment.

Cargonite.

A deep bay opened in the floor. Two Reapers began to unload the platform, placing the pieces of the alien ship into the converter.

The doors of an elevator slid open with a melodious jingle. A warrior walked out, clad in top-level armor. I used to know the artisan who made it; actually, I used to wear a very similar set of gear once, famous for its excellent characteristic-boosting stats.

“Wait up,” his dull voice ordered.

I couldn’t see his face behind the richly decorated helmet. The scanning results brought more bad news. This one too was made of nanites.

He touched a few sensors, entering a command sequence, then stepped onto the platform. The power shield activated again.

“
Attention all personnel. The object is about to be dematerialized
,” the level cybernetic voice said. “
Reception of neuromatrix transfer coordinates acknowledged.
”

“Watch the screen,” Dominic whispered.

One of the 3D monitors blinked but showed nothing.

A flash consumed the insides of the shield dome. Wisps of the dull green mist shot up, then dissolved into the air.

150,000 active nanites detected.

The Reaper disappeared. The remaining nanites were sucked into the same microscopic vents. The green monitor screen rippled with interference. The picture of a carved stone arch filled the screen. I recognized its chiseled patterns. Behind it, a crooked pole fence listed to one side. I could make out the corner of a log cabin complete with a cat sleeping on the porch.

This was one of the Crystal Sphere’s standard-issue respawn points. There were hundreds of them over there.

“Have you been to these labs before?” I asked.

“Absolutely not,” Dominic seemed to be equally shaken by what we’d just seen. “I’ve got nothing to do with this place whatsoever. But I did hear something about Sector 14 experimenting with nanite codes,” he tried to explain his choice of itinerary.

“Okay. Give me another couple of minutes,” I continued studying the mysterious lab.

Now I could understand how Reapers had crossed over into the real world. But what was their business in the military space bunker? Why did they keep sneaking in and out of cyberspace?

As I pondered over this, my mind expander had created a detailed scanning file.

I honestly expected both my Technologist and Alien Technologies levels to soar. No such luck. I’d received a bare minimum of XP.

Did that mean I’d already come across this device in the past?

I ran a search of all my databases and promptly received my answer. The respawn points at the Founders’ stations had almost identical signatures.

In the meantime, the Reapers had unloaded the cargonite they’d brought in and set off to get the next load.

Dominic touched my shoulder, attracting my attention.

“Yes?”

“We need to go,” he said. “There’s nothing for us here.”

“Then what do you want us to do? Keep wandering about all these service corridors?”

“We can’t take on ten of the enemy,” he wisely assessed our situation.

“You really think that the communications station or the in-mode room are less protected?”

“I suggest we try the Alien Technologies sector,” he said. “I have a funny feeling that’s where they used to make the special-purpose ammo,” he cut himself short as the power shield sprang back to life.

“
Attention all personnel for an incoming arrival
,” the calm cybernetic voice sent inexplicable shivers down my spine.

This time not one but two Reapers appeared under the dome shield. How could I forget their armor — or the battle by the frozen lake.

In an eruption of green mist, lights began to flicker because of the peak power consumption.

Nanite control code intercepted: Object Replication, level 20.

In a hiss of compressed air, the two Reapers began to materialize slowly and laboriously. Apparently this time the process didn’t go as smoothly. I focused on them, reading their fading name tags, then activated penetrative scanning at the risk of exposing myself. Luckily, they didn’t seem to be in possession of Mnemotechnics. Good.

In which case, who or what had activated Object Replication and for what purpose?

The green mist filling the power shield began to disperse. The two Reapers were carrying some semblance of a two-handed trunk similar to neurocomp modules. Building it had taken over 300,000 nanites which had formed permanent links and couldn’t be reused.

What was inside it, then?

My implants-enhanced vision struggled to pierce the protective covering.

Neurograms!

A few scraps of other people’s mental images singed my mind, even though the memories themselves weren’t traumatic. Judging by the plethora of complex machinery inhibiting them, I was looking at the inside of research labs.

That was the extent of it.

I just couldn’t get it. What was the point? Who were those people and why were the fragments of their identities so important? Why were they brought back to the real world, wasting precious and hopefully non-renewable resources?

“Connect it over there,” a stifled voice said.

Two guards picked up the box and placed it on top of a stack of identical ones.

“Testing.”

The Reapers didn’t waste time. Indicator lights glowed behind the box’s dark housing. New monitors lit up, showing some schemes and diagrams.

“Not enough,” the other arrival said. “He won’t make the next skill level.”

“Shame. We’ll have to go back and search for more.”

* * *

Help... me...

Filled with inhuman suffering, the barely audible whisper cut me to the quick.

Help...

“What’s going on?” Dominic cast anxious glances around.

He kept refusing to use mnemonic communications on the pretext that the Reapers could tap into the unique frequencies. Well, well. He definitely had something to hide. His neuroimplant only worked in reception mode: all transmission was blocked.

“Did you hear it too?”

He nodded. “This is the emergency mnemonic frequency.”

“Were any of the military space personnel in possession of Mnemotechnics?”

“A few, yeah. But their advance was negligible. Level 2 or 3 at the most.”

“Did they work in the virtual testing grounds? Were they involved in the Hybrid project? Did they have anything to do with the Oasis update?”

He gave a reluctant nod. “We’re not going anywhere, are we?” he peered into my eyes.

“Not yet. I need to understand what’s going on. If you have something to tell me, now is the best time to do it.”

“Zander, I didn’t work here! I’ve no idea where this voice in my head has come from! It might be a mind expander glitch! You’d better tell me what these creatures want. I thought they were just some dumb NPCs with a craving for neurograms. But it’s much worse than that, isn’t it? Are they trying to build another hybrid?”

“They’re trying to finish what you started!” I snapped. “They’re building a special-purpose computer. They want to make a machine with mnemotechnical abilities.”

“A machine cannot control nanites!”

“Oh yes it can!” I remembered the alien shipyard and the drones busy restoring the ship’s hull using Object Replication.

“There must be somebody controlling them! They’re only NPCs! They can’t have evolved so rapidly!”

“Some of them could have done. The neurograms they’ve consumed are not only emotions. They’re also knowledge,” I repeated what Jurgen had told me. “The problem is, the Reapers weren't the first. Do you know what this is?” I highlighted a section of equipment.

“No idea! This has nothing to do with my job description!”

“This is a respawn point! And it’s identical to those on the Founders’ stations. The funny thing is, it has some neurocomps connected to it. Now I wonder what could be inside them?”

Dominic turned pale. “No need to aggro me, man.”

“Well, I think that these comps contain a human identity. It may be mangled and fragmented but it still might preserve certain skills. It has to be someone from Argus. You
built him into
the computer!

Dominic kept a broody silence. What could he say? Most likely, he’d indeed known nothing about the experiment. Still, making a neurochip called for at least 100 in Mnemotechnics. Question: how had the military space forces managed to organize their
mass production
?

“How many serviceable implants were found on the alien ship?” I asked him.

“Twenty...”

* * *

The first twenty.

Of them, Jurgen and Frieda were the only survivors. The others had died; still, their identity matrices had been pieced back together from their neurograms, crumb after laborious crumb.

They’d left Kimberly alone — she hadn’t lasted on Argus long enough to have completed the necessary development branches. Jyrd had founded the Outlaws. That left sixteen people whose names I didn’t know.

“Dominic, I want you to keep an eye on the Reapers. I’ll try to find out who it was speaking to us.”

My mind faded as I opened mnemonic communication channels, searching for available connections.

A gust of gray wind swirled around me, twisting and pulling me into a rapidly forming vortex.

This reality resembled shards of a broken looking-glass, with many of its fragments missing. I could see a cramped personal module, its bulkheads haphazardly patched up. The air was cold and acidic.

The creature hunched up in a corner couldn’t be called human anymore. Its flesh and its cyber modules had long fused into each other.

I knew how it must have happened. They couldn’t have had enough neurogram fragments to build a fully-fledged identity. A few years ago, they hadn’t had enough experience with these things, filling in the blanks with all sorts of technological data. The result was repulsive. This was a case of appearance reflecting reality.of the First

“What’s your name?” I crouched next to him, unwilling to tower over him.

“Kyle.”

“Kyle, did you call me up? Did you ask me to help you?”

“I’m cold. They keep coming and telling me what to do. I can’t say no. This is what they leave in return,” his prickly glare shifted to a small messy pile of slimy flesh in the room’s opposite corner. “I won’t eat this. I can’t leave. I remember nothing... almost...”

New quest alert: The Last of the First. Save Kyle.

I had very little time. The mnemonic channel I was using could have been detected and tracked back to me at any moment.

“Do you remember them?” I created a few fully-fledged visual images.

“Her,” his servodrives screeched as a biomechanical hand pointed at Kimberly. “She’s good.”

“Would you like to leave?”