The Clan (10 page)

The female Troll came closer. My eyes were at one level with her powerful chest protected by half-inch thick armor.

I stepped back and looked up. "Zena?"

"You blind or what, blondie?" I heard a squeak from below. A female goblin's steel boot gave my knee cap a rather sensitive kick.

She—Zena, apparently—stepped forward, shaking her head. "All you men are alike, really. Stupid as old boots. All you can think of is a pair of boobs. No one's interested in a girl's psyche. What are you staring at? Come on, General, the team's awaiting your orders," she glared at me with sarcastic interest, as if expecting this old boot to speak.

All that time, I was mentally swearing, wishing every ill on the goblin consultant's green head. Sullen s
quad, he said? Very well, then.

"Right!" wincing from their sarcastic grins, I cleared my throat and said in my most imposing voice, "Enough of your feminist trash! What are your names, girls?"

The rosy smiles waned on the warrior goblins' mugs. They exchanged puzzled glances. So they didn't like me breaking the mold, then?

The leader was the first to regain her composure. "Zena's team, all-female Sullen squad, number 18 in the independent mercs' ratings. Levels 140 plus, gear unique plus. On twenty-four hour hire until o-fourteen hundred hours tomorrow. Today's agenda: rushing the customer from level 52. I recommend the Oasis location, it's teeming with amphibians levels 60 to 100. Freckle Face will port us there, she's our wizard, Freckles for short as it's quite a mouthful in the heat of battle. First we need the Ferryman to jump
us to the Frontier, then Freckles will set up a navigational beacon so that tomorrow she can jump us from there herself. Now what next? I can see you've already met our warrior? Yes, Bomba is very likeable, her boobs certainly are," she grinned.

She pointed to a small goblin maiden all kitted out in complex leather armor, her two swords hanging recklessly from two steel rings on her hips. The naked blades emitted a burgundy sheen, sparkling occasionally. At the time, the maiden was ignoring us, engrossed in a heated discussion with some merc over the pros and cons of the latest trend in power leveling, Savage-style. Whoever Savage was and whatever advantages his modus operandi could offer, I didn't have the slightest idea.

"This is Whizz, our rogue. A mage killer. Note the swords. I don't think you've recognized them. Those are Vampire's Fangs, both of them, mind you. There're only seven full sets of them in the whole cluster."

The last one was a quiet enchanter chick going by the moniker of Charmsy. God only knew how she'd ended up in that bunch. She stayed behind the others' backs, blushing every time somebody paid attention to her.

I clapped my hands, asking for silence. "Attention, ladies! Let's get this show on the road. Once we jump to the Frontier, the ferryman's job's done. Then it's Zena's turn to give orders until further notice. I warn you all, I've never had to hire anyone to level me before, so I apologize for any blunders. Ready, everyone? Off we go."

With a long spell and an almighty pop, we teleported to the location.

The bright blue sky spread overhead, the white-hot ball of the sun blazing against the back of my head. Good job we had to start out the next morning. As our wizard got busy setting up a navigational beacon, I had a good look around. The scenery reminded me of the African savannah with its vast open spaces interspersed with rocky outcrops and formidable canopied trees.

A massive mountain ridge loomed on the horizon. I checked the map: that's right, that was exactly where I had to go. The savannah was anything but empty, dotted with single figures beelining in every direction. About half a mile from us, a pride of aggro lions lounged in the shade of a tree. With any luck, we should make it past them.

"All done!" Freckles reported.

Zena glanced at me. I nodded: it was her turn to give orders. She gave me a faint smile. You never knew, we could make a good team.

The portal to Oasis will open in 5... 4... 3...

Bang!

Oh. The location was different but the white-hot plasma ball was still blazing overhead.

"Report!" Zena ordered, studying the area.

The rogue answered first. Apparently, she was the one responsible for reconnaissance and counter PK measures.

"There're two hundred seventy players in the location. Roughly one PK group
—the Pratz, low level, no threat for us, plus three singles we're not sure of, all three on the unofficial black list, each already implicated in a few unmotivated attacks. Chat activity: standard. Everything OK," she added in a calmer voice.

"Buffs for all! For the team, type four, anti PK. For the client, type six: DpS, plus you can add whatever you have as magic resists, all kinds. Make sure we don't lose him, that would be a shame to end all shame."

Then she saw Hummungus who'd just appeared next to me, followed by the summoned pet. "And throw in some buffs for his critters too, for hits and damage."

She made a few steps toward the hissing teeth-baring demon and studied the infernal monster. "Who are you, dude?" she shook her head, uncomprehending. "You wouldn't believe it if they told you, a level 52 Death Knight with a level 65 pet. Either you're worth more than a Bentley or I just don't get it."

I gave her a wink, trying to look as cool as a cucumber. Which wasn't easy. Level sixty goddamn five! I was my own train! In his new gear, Hummungus looked truly brutal and as dangerous as a busload of AK-47s. This was going to be a ride!

Buffed up like a power house, I felt impregnable.

"Mana at sixty," Zena reported for the team's sake.

"Seventy," Charmsy echoed.

"Whizz? Make a quick area check, nose to the ground, security evaluation. Give us a couple minutes, then you can pull the first croc."

Zena turned to me. "That's it, then. We're at the Oasis. Sort of miniature Nile delta. The further down the river, the tougher the mobs. Reptiles and other water beasties, mainly: crocs, hippos, a few gators."

"Excellent! See you later, alligator," I waved my hand at the Oasis.

"In a while, crocodile. One last thing: you'd better keep an eye on the Roc."

I looked around, searching for any Gibraltar-shaped cliff.

"The bird," she corrected me. "Level 100-plus. It comes hunting a couple times a day. She can take you out without you even noticing it.
"

I nodded.

"Now for the pull," she went on. "Whizz will keep increasing the pull speed until she feels your limit. Try to aim for about 50% hits, the rest we'll take care of, you get the XP. The ideal time/XP ratio is when the pulled mobs are 10% above you—15% even, given your critters. In our case, it's level 60 give or take. That's it, quit yapping, here she comes with a gator."

Indeed, the little goblin chick was already scampering toward us pursued by a huge croc. Rotting weeds and fountains of sand burst from under its massive clawed feet. Gosh, I hated those yellow-eyed monsters. Good job I wasn't a warrior. At least I didn't have to step in the creature's way blocking its access to the group's soft underbelly: the casters.

Whizz rushed past us. The croc was only a few paces away when Freckles stood up and cast a spell. Powerful roots burst out of the sand, entangling the creature's feet.

"Don't sleep," Zena poked me in the shoulder. "He's all yours. Whizz is off to get a new one."

I shook myself free from my stupor. Okay, so this was a croc, big and stinking of fish, so what? Teddy, demon, attack! The still-restrained croc growled happily at seeing a proper opponent. He sunk his teeth into the demon's hip. The creature showered it with blows, Teddy's mithril claws tearing through the croc's hide. The stench of fish was overpowering. The waves of uprooted sand lashed us like a tropical storm: three bulldozers locked in combat on a dune top. In silent agreement we stepped back, spitting out the sand.

Zena cringed, sniffing her glove stinking of fish guts. "
Gosh! I'd already forgotten how shitty it is out here!"

I nodded.
"My kingdom for a pair of ballistic goggles! Freckles, do us all a favor and control them a bit further away, at fifteen paces or so, would you?"

While we recovered, the croc's life had sunk into the yellow zone. The restive silent Bomba reached into her backpack and produced an impressive club of meteorite iron
studded with diamond shards molten into its impact surface.

Bang! Crit! Corpse!

Wow. Having said that, the croc was all of a hundred levels below her. You would hardly expect a drawn-out combat at these odds. She had just swatted him, end of story. My pets were full of life, having barely lost 10% hits. Which was also quite predictable, really: the demoness' level was higher than the croc's with Teddy not too far below.

Aha, there was Whizz bringing a new customer. I immobilized the arriving anaconda and set off both pets, casting a couple of Life Absorptions. The rogue chick ran past us and turned round, skidding in the deep sand, then headed back to the water edge for more clients to stuff.

"Bah, it stinks," she dropped sarcastically as she ran past, "has something just died here?"

Followed by some hearty f-words, she laughed happily and hopped over the dunes, reaching for her throwing knife.
Things got rocking!

Four hours later, we took a break. By then, we'd already advanced more than half a mile down river. I'd surprised them by my XP building: one level every forty minutes. The pet had long since been raised again so now we were sitting next to an enormous hippo, his bulk frightening the pants off occasional players who tried to approach us. That's right, I'd allowed the girls to do their own little bit on the side so they made a small announcement location-wide, offering their buffing and resurrecting services. They charged a good rate for those but in the absence of competition, they could ask for whatever they wanted. The way it was going, they would make at least a grand by evening
—a nice little bonus for them. It didn't really affect my leveling, we had plenty of mana, we'd had no emergencies even though by now Whizz alone couldn't always deliver and had to occasionally turn to Bomba for a successful pull. Zena made sure no one dropped below 40% in case we had to deal with an unexpected pull or a PK. The loot wasn't much to write home about. Lots of meat and pelts, a few gems and various bits of gear—probably, whatever was left of the less lucky players who'd tried to swim across in full armor with a double-handed sword on their backs. I could, in theory, get about four hundred gold out of it toward my operational costs.

My girls turned out to be foresighted and domesticated. In their bottomless backpacks they even had a few sitting rugs, a spotless white tablecloth and a good dozen pots filled with various edibles. We had a hearty lunch and a bit of a siesta as the girls talked between themselves, discussing very ungirly things like the pros and cons of spears as a close-combat weapon. We all seemed to be getting along. They didn't drag their break out until the last, so in less than forty minutes the well-oiled wheels of our conveyor belt were rolling again.

Half an hour before midnight, I dinged for the last time that day. 65!

"Congrats," the tired girls managed.

I nodded. "Thanks, ladies. Great job. I'll be seeing crocs for a week now."

Whizz grinned. "They will, too, after the genocide you committed."

"Not without your help. Freckles, you can port the team back now. Having said that, know of a decent hotel to spend the night?"

"Everything's been taken care of," Zena answered. "There're some nice apartments in the mercs guild. Third floor. They're not cheap, but that's not your problem. Consider it our gift to you. We can appreciate generosity."

I didn't say no. No need to disappoint good girls like those. "I can, too. Okay, tomorrow eight a.m., meet you all in the guild hall. We'll buff ourselves up and off to the Frontier we go. The Dead Lands are waiting. I've got unfinished business there, ladies, that's the whole thing..."

Chapter Nine

S
trictly confidential

Foreign Intelligence Service to the President of the Russian Federation
.

Memorandum (excerpt):

Alternate checks have supported the information received from independent sources about China's latest short-term development trends regarding the recent perma mode effect.

1. Their building of an underground perma mode facility is nearing completion. Intended to hold 200,000 FIVR capsules, this class-A sensitive installation is protected by an efficient anti-aircraft canopy and is capable of withstanding a strike from a 10 kiloton tactical warhead.

2. The production of unlicensed cloned versions of iVirt4 capsules has been launched at a classified assembly line aiming to produce 4,000 capsules every 24 hours.

3. A strictly classified Expansion program aims to establish China's domination and control of the more promising virtual worlds. In the light of the latest confirmed independence trends, we deem it vital to develop a similar program of our own.

4. Their new confidential software, Insanity aims to spread terror in the worlds chosen for research or immigration purposes. Over 150,000 mentally ill patients from all over China have been handpicked and are ready to be dropped into the aforementioned worlds. Several hacker groups will be waiting on standby, ready to take over the worlds' l
ogin servers within a few hours if required.

5. They have created a seven-level secret program entitled The Great Cleansing aiming to conduct the step-by-step digitalization of the following population segments: criminal elements, political unreliables, long term convicts, the terminally ill, the handicapped and, finally, all sections of the population unfit to work. The final figure of the individuals chosen for the program exceeds 80 million.

All of the above is the subject of deep concern. The success of the aforementioned programs would enable China to dominate not only the virtual worlds (if we can still call them so) but also the world as we know it.

* * *

The teleport made our ears pop as it ejected our A-team under the Frontier's striking sun. Fortunately, the teleport point was up the hill where the breeze fanned us against the heat and the visibility allowed us to survey the area before hitting the road.

"WTF
?" I heard Bomba's voice full of indignation. We swung round, staring at an old road skirting the hill several hundred feet away from us. A column of prisoners dusty beyond all recognition dragged their feet toward the depths of the Frontier.

Behind me I heard the sounds of a spell being cast: Eagle Vision x10, immediately allowing the group to zoom in on the approaching procession.

"Gnolls," Zena concluded.

"Yeah," added Whizz. "Tiny. Not one over level 30."

I peered at the crowd loaded with their meager possessions: messenger gnolls, overseers, warriors, shamans... It reminded me of some WW2 footage: the hot summer of 1941, fugitives fleeing their homes, trying to shake off the creeping front line. Warily I looked up, searching the clear sky for any cross-decorated wings eclipsing the sun, descending deathlike onto the helpless stream of refugees.

"Fancy a bit of genocide?" the Troll patted her club with a shovel-shaped hand.

I startled at the scary accuracy of her suggestion. "No, don't. Let them go. Don't know what kind of exodus that is. Could be some community event. In any case, they're not an army. They're refugees. We're not animal enough to assault them."

Bomba's face blackened. I thought at first she was furious, ready to squash her employer like a bug. But the next moment she slung her club over her back and even wiped her hands on her thick leather pants for some reason. Only then I understood it was the troll's black blood flushing her face. The girl had blushed.

The gnolls noticed us. The column stirred, falling into formation. The more battle-worthy gnolls were lining up, shielding casters, gatherers, messengers and other more rare gnoll specimens with their bodies.

"How naïve can they be," Freckles dropped sarcastically.

A gnoll officer emerged from the crowd, waving a shred of something white in one hand and clutching a handful of arrows in the other. Stooping, he ran uphill toward us. Surprisingly, he was well suited for running uphill, dropping on all fours and leaping, pushing with his front legs. I shuddered. Almost like a werewolf.

Soon he stood before us, panting, his tongue hanging out. Waving his white rag, he barked something, then dropped it at our feet. Demonstratively he broke the arrows on his knee, then threw them to the ground in the same way.

Zena turned to look at me. "Need an interpreter, boss?"

I shook my head. "Not really. Everything's quite clear. They're asking us for peace. They don't want to fight."

As if understanding my words, the gnoll glared at me, barking a long sentence that ended in whimpering followed by a threatening growl.

Zena shook her head. "For a fugitive he's a bit too forward, don't you think?"

I shrugged. "Who can understand their logic? He could be trying to assure us that fighting the weak is not kosher. Then once they level up a bit, we might be looking at a good scrap."

"Oh really?" she raised her eyebrows. "You think that's supposed to make us feel better?"

"Oh well, this is pure conjecture. Right, sheath your weapons, show him your empty hands, then turn your backs on him. It's not exactly our direction, anyway."

We nodded to the watchful gnoll and performed the requested motions. Then we summoned our mounts and trotted down the slope. Just another two hours, and I'd finally see those mystical Dead Lands.

Yeah, right. Dream on.

The first half-hour went rather quietly. Small game scattered in front of us, trying either to flee, bury itself in the sand or otherwise pretend it had never been there. The bigger non-aggressive ones followed us with their puppy eyes while the real predators huddled up between rocks, swallowing their hungry drool
—we were way out of their league. As their levels grew with every mile, soon it became our turn to give a wide berth to a pack of coyotes, squeezing our way between a pride of lions and an inviting but birdless oasis circled by giant level-100 vultures perched in nearby trees. As I eyed the welcoming shadow, Zena shook her head. With her experience she knew better, of course.

Soon we made our first unscheduled stop by the iridescent mouth of a cave that glowed in a rocky outcrop. A pop-up kindly informed us we had just discovered a one-off dungeon: A Mature Manticore's Lair. The word
mature
meant that the dungeon hadn't been discovered for over a month allowing its mobs to gain in power and treasures. The girls grew restless, casting those buttery pleading glances at me. So much for your feminism, sweethearts. The moment you need to manipulate your man, you use your eye artillery with the best of them.

"Sorry, ladies, we've got work to do. Just bookmark the place or let's wait a few minutes until Freckles sets up a beacon. Once we're finished, you can come back here and pull their tails off all you want. I'm not going to lay claim to that."

Zena was the first to come to. "Now! Stop huddling together like a bunch of greenhorns! We don't need no compact group targets! Whizz, I thought you were our point? Off you go and circle round the group, then! Freckles, set up the beacon, then join Bomba at point."

She turned to me, faking some semblance of regret on her sly goblin face. "Sorry, dude. Greed got the better of us. Mature one-off dungeons are a rare find. Usually they get mindlessly purged already a few hours after their discovery. When a strong guild manages to lay their hands on one, they would sometimes let it mature for a couple of weeks to allow the mobs to fatten up, giving time for XP and loot bonuses to grow. It's non-linear growth, mind you. Those rangers who were lucky enough to discover it
and
keep it under wraps often hire mercs to help them purge it. And between mercs, we have the habit of sharing our war stories—and discussing our clients' loot. I tell you, cleaners later have to mop up the drool by the bucket."

Oh, well. Looks like I'd have to do the same for my inner greedy pig who was already foaming at the mouth. Well, that made two of us. Still, he'd have to grin and bear it
—I'd given my word I wouldn't lay claim to any loot. Wouldn't be very nice to change my mind to sponge off the girls.

All the time Zena had been closely watching my face. Now she smiled, nodding to her own thoughts. I just hoped that the conversion rate of missed dosh to virtual authority was high enough that day.

After another half-hour of traveling higgledy-piggledy all over the map, my inner greedy pig got a tasty appetizer as a vast prairie opened up to our right. Although no different from any other stretch of virtual grassland, it was overgrown not with feather grass or whatever, but by billions of Gigantic Fly-Traps, no lass, swaying their sticky flagellae in the breeze. I nearly hiccupped when I made a quick estimation of the unclaimed gold just growing there while the greedy pig was already busy driving his virtual harvester, collecting ton upon ton of the precious tobacco ingredient from the boundless fields. Talk about the Admins' playing along with the tobacco business.

Having said that, harvesting the field was still a job and a half considering it was teeming with all sorts of aggressive wildlife. But in a way, it meant protection from the thousands of low-level amateur boy scouts who would have descended on the field for a quick farm had it been located in a safer zone. Then again, how sure was I that I needed it here, fifteen miles from the Dead Lands and the emerging First Temple? And what was I supposed to do with all this treasure: should I delegate it to the Alliance or the Vets, or, a
lternatively, put on my farmer hat and harvest it all myself?

I glanced at the girls who were apparently clueless about the contents of my sensational but still
unavailable product. In actual fact, hardly twenty or thirty people knew the recipe yet: the guild leaders, their security people and inspectors, that had to be it. In any case, I had to give it a good think when I had the time.

Suddenly, Whizz
—until then busy turning circles around us—shrank and bolted toward us, squeezing the alarm button which automatically sent the target's status to the group chat.

Warning! Code Red! Target detected: Junior Vampire, level 123.

The girls perked up and serried their ranks, turning into a cube bristling with steel and magic. The tousled rogue ran up and joined them.

"Report!" Zena croaked, squeezing her shield and her mace.

"Vampires! Three of them tried to intercept me when that cliff shielded me from your view. I detected their shadows just as they went for me. I was lucky I was all maxed out, stealth and all. I managed to select one as target and slammed the alarm before rejoining you."

"Not good. If we've trespassed on a vampires' nest, they'll hunt us down. The bloodsuckers receive a substantial experience both for players killed and for each day survived. Their chief motivation is to kill and to keep on living without dying as they progress in their Nest's hierarchy. As NPCs go, they're pretty weird."

"Vampires? Aren't they supposed to sleep in the daytime?" I showed off my erudition.

"Supposed to, yeah," Zena agreed. "Only they're the wrong sort of bats, and they're about to bite us real hard."

She turned around, poking my shoulder with her tiny fist, her enormous mount tall enough for her to reach me without any problem. "I wonder if you'd have such a thing as a gun about you? I could use it, for sure. Anyway! 'Nuff clowning around. It's all just nerves with me. AlterWorld's vampires have no weak spots. At daytime, they're strong. At nighttime, they're freakin' powerful. All depends how old the nest is we've disturbed, and how many Elders and Higher Vampires it has. Their Prince himself might pay us a visit, you never know. Actually, judging by Manticore's Lair it's been laying idle for quite a while."

"So what do we do, then?"

Zena sniffed, then slapped her helmet down to her eyebrows. "We fight our way through. At worst, we'll die, but when did it stop immortals? At best, we'll smoke the bastards or even find their nest. The loot here is just as good even though we'll need a raid to do it."

So off we went. Our speed, meager as it was already, dropped to a snail's pace. Those who couldn't cast spells when mounted had to walk. I was followed by my personal reinforcement group represented by Hummungus and a level 78 gator I'd raised. We didn't go too far, though. They attacked us by the book, ambushing us at a particular section of the road which was far too troublesome to avoid. A couple dozen vague shadows came at us from every direction. Even a branch of prickly acacia over Bomba's head sported a tooth-baring monster. Two powerful figures appeared on top of a cliff about a hu
ndred feet away from the road: the Patriarch and the Elder Vampire. In less than a heartbeat, the unstealthed shadows were all over our meager force.

"Control them! Back off, gradually!" Zena commanded.

Casters had about ten seconds while passive shields absorbed damage, allowing us to root and paralyze almost half of the attackers. We backed up, leaving in our wake a thin thread of vampires raging in impotent fury. Actually, we did give them the company of two motionless bodies: one smashed by the Troll's unwieldy club, the other perforated by Whizz's swords until it resembled my Mom's colander. Both Hummungus and the gator had turned into two swirling, growling and howling balls of flesh losing stats at a threatening pace as neither of them was up to their quarry. Having said that, they still did what they were supposed to do, drawing a certain amount of paws and claws to themselves. I was anxiously watching Teddy's stats as I alternated between casting Deadman's Hand and the Aura of Fear. The mobs kept resisting! The young vampire was all of fifty levels above me which made him virtually impregnable. And he was dangerous, too, very rogue-like with his two scythes and lightning combos, occasionally interspersed with his attempts to lunge forward at me and sink his fangs into my vulnerable flesh. The constant pressure from some auras they were using weighed my arms down, affecting my speed and attack strength; my miserable agility bonuses blinked red and expired. Even though the shields still held, my mana and hits kept dwindling—and as I looked at my opponent's scowl, I had a pretty good idea of where my stocks were disappearing to.