The Starfighter Invitation

24 skip

After arriving at the lunar ring, I gazed at rocks for some considerable time, ran through more of the tutorial, and then played with the controls until Dio made acerbic comments about the inconvenience of starting again with a new Bio, if I succeeded in ramming myself into a piece of the moon. After that, I worked out how to turn off the Snug’s artificial gravity, and lost myself in acrobatics.

Zero-G was glorious, of course, and the interior of the Snug the perfect size for bouncing around without getting seriously stranded. I tired myself out until all I felt equal to was floating on my back. Happy.

"This thing needs a skylight," I said, eventually.

[[One structural weakness is enough,]] Dio said. [[If the shields fail, the cockpit is sealed off because those viewports are far too vulnerable.]]

"And you fly blind?"

[[The cockpit isn’t at all necessary, since piloting may be done from anywhere, but you Type Threes like to look out.]]

"And you don’t?"

Dio just laughed at that, drifting overhead. There was an odd difference in talking to Dio when I was floating myself: it made tem feel more real, somehow. Impulsively, I waved my hand slowly through the point where te was floating, and as I expected te went right through and out the other side, but te bobbed a little, like I had swirled water around a paper boat.

"Um, I guess I should have asked if that was polite first," I said.

[[It’s not something I’d do to random Cycogs,]] Dio said, sounding like te was suppressing further laughter.

"Even though we’re mist to you?"

[[Your bodies are mist. Your lan is tingly.]]

"Oh, uh, sorry," I said, trying to will fiery burn from my face. Dio had, thankfully, dropped any suggestion of flirtatious subtext—probably sensitive to my lack of response—and I didn’t want to ask just exactly what tingly was to a Cycog in case I had to feel awkward every time te drifted in my direction.

My favourite method for dealing with embarrassment was a complete change of subject, and so I tried to orient my feet to the floor while turning my gravity back on. Fortunately gravity appeared to be a gradual process, and as I drifted downward I said: "Do you think I could do an actual Skip today?"

[[No, I don’t want you to try that until you’re fully rested. Ten game hours from now will do.]]

"Hm."

I called up menus, looking over the destination possibilities, but found myself reluctant to set a course to any of the stations. I didn’t want people right now, or more Challenges. I wanted to be a mote in the universe.

"At this Rank, do I need multiple Skips to get to the other planets?"

[[You should be able to make planets in the inner solar system in one Skip. I would doubt Jupiter is within your reach at its current alignment. You will achieve Rank Six with your first successful skip. Rank Seven and 8 are achieved single-Skipping to further planets in your solar system, and 9 would allow you to Skip across the whole of your system. Rank Ten is a very large step up to inter-system Skips.]]

"I guess I’ll log and come back after I’m fully rested. And then I’m going to Mars."

[[As you wish,]] Dio murmured, which prompted me to shoot tem a doubting look, but then I did just as I had said and logged.

It was now a little over 24 hours since Dream Speed had unlocked. Lunchtime. I didn’t feel overly hungry, however, just that odd mix of refreshed and gluggy. I glanced at the news, but then hunted out my running shoes and went for a sedate jog around the country road that bordered what had once been my family’s farm.

It had been far too long since I’d done anything of the kind, and muscles complained, but I was tired of being reminded of how unfit I’d become, every time I came back to myself. And I wanted a proper break. I felt like I’d been playing DS for an age, and in between sessions I’d spent all my time reading about or drawing art for the game.

Coming back to the real world was also tough for the sudden loss of screens in my head. I kept trying to bring up menus with the tiny jab of attention that was so productive in The Synergis, and such a disappointment when out jogging. I liked future-tech, and wanted it fulltime.

The absence of my own personal alien overlord also felt uncomfortably like a loss, and I didn’t enjoy that reflection. My play style with MMOs always balanced the social aspects with my love of wandering off alone. My guild was used to me going dark, and this game was not the first I’d spent large portions of the early days with guild chat muted. Of course, Dio was part of the game, and fascinating in ter own right, but I still expected the constant presence of an audience and auditor to grow increasingly trying.

Not to mention I couldn’t help but ask whether Dio was grooming me to accept a Chocobo role.

After a shower and a light meal, I logged back in and asked straightaway: "Dio, how are Cycogs assigned to Bios?"

[[Bios are assigned to Cycogs.]]

"To-may-to, To-mah-to?"

[[Not really. There are more Bios than there are Cycogs, for we don’t reproduce at anything like the rate of the more common species. The majority of Bios are assigned to City Administrators. It is those we find valuable that are assigned individually.]]

"And value is always tied to lan rank?"

[[Lan progress. Sometimes non-lan Challenge ability. Or sheer entertainment value.]]

"Will you do that in this game? Start assigning the less valuable Bios to the City Administrat…oh." I laughed, though the sound came out flat. "We’re already assigned to City Administrators, aren’t we? Or Game Administrators. Because there are only a handful of Cycogs running this game. And you’re just someone pretending to be a fledgling."

[[Reliving my disreputable past,]] Dio replied, cheerfully.

"You’re reputable now?" I didn’t need an answer for that. "What happens if a Bio really dislikes the Cycog they’ve been assigned to?"

[[It’s rare that a Cycog can’t keep their Bio complacent. Cycogs who do not are generally deemed not able to manage Bios properly, and not assigned further Bios. The Quadrant Administrators see no value in a miserable populace.]] Te changed colours. [[Of course, people being people, assignment can be a messy, complex process. But be assured that Bios are not without rights and redress, within certain limits.]]

"And those limits depend a great deal on a Bio’s Rank?" I didn’t wait for Dio to answer, but sighed and said: "Ready to try Skipping?"

[[Yes, let’s,]] Dio said. [[No, don’t go to the cockpit. You’ll find Skipping easier from a central position. How fortunate that you thought that mat a useful décor item. Pull it into the exact centre, and lie down.]]

I eyed my plush green and red mat, suspecting a prank, then tugged it into position, pulled off my boots, and sat down. "If this is how Snugs are usually Skipped, why isn’t there some sort of piloting couch here by default?"

[[Not all Bios Skip.]]

"I bet most of those playing this game will be giving it a shot," I said, lying back.

The curved ceiling of the Snug presented a featureless expanse. It seemed very large, and I considered the prospect of enclosing it in lan, and then activated my focus. Helmet formation when I was lying down felt thoroughly odd: my head pushed up a little, and then settled back, and I had to touch my face again to reassure myself that the helmet was simply a projection.

As usual, the focus gave me a weird sense of looking at myself from the outside. I drew breath to ask whether I should start trying to form the Pocket, but then the lights shut off, and stars rolled out around me.

I gasped, because I’d had no warning that Skipping would be like this: lying on my back on a memory of rug, a bare sketch of my Snug around me, and all of those stars. It felt like nothing separated me from the universe, and I could look at all of it at once. Somehow I could better compass the enormous length of the lunar ring, and I felt I could see more details of the dinner-plate of Earth. I even noticed tiny, brighter points that I realised must be ships or stations. So many, so much.

Dio let me gape for a while, then brought up the familiar pill-shaped outline I needed to create with lan.

[[When the Pocket is complete, I will project a small extension of the shape. You will expand the Pocket as precisely as is possible for you, and when I instruct, open the Pocket. It is important to open the Pocket exactly at the point marked, because that is your destination.]]

"What happens if I let the Pocket drop altogether instead of opening it properly?"

[[You’ll emerge in this locale—at not quite the same point, since there’ll be some drift.]]

The knowledge that an error wouldn’t be disastrous eased an inner tension. I took several long breaths, then began.

Days of lan training had at least made the process comfortably familiar. Not allowing myself to be distracted into wondering why it seemed no thicker after all my increase of strength, I sent blue mist wafting, starting up two vertical shields at the furthest ends. The hardest part was the slow spinning out of the shields toward each other. During training I’d started trying to rush this part, because maintaining the shields became an ache, but speed frayed my control, and gave a result like knitting full of dropped stitches.

I passed the point I’d reached in my Rank Five Trial, and almost lost control just thinking about that. The two shields flexed in response, but not enough that I couldn’t bring them back into shape, join them smoothly together, and feel the universe go away.

There really was a distinct sense of transition, even though the stars and planet and lunar ring remained around me. That wasn’t all that surprising, since everything I could see was probably a projection of the focus. I found it difficult to explain what felt different, noticed that my Snug seemed to be drifting rather rapidly away from the planet, and had to push self-examination aside because Dio had created an extension to the projected form, like a tiny curving finger reaching out from an overlarge hand.

That was a whole new level of difficult. While I could more-or-less lock a lan creation in place without having to continue to focus all my attention on it, I’d never tried to build out a shape from an existing completed shape. But I couldn’t just add lan on top—the Pocket had to be one whole shape.

For a long moment, my attempts did nothing at all, but then the section I was trying to change belled out while, thankfully, not breaking. It helped to think of the Pocket as glass, and my attention an imaginary heated poker exactly the shape that I needed, something that pushed without piercing. That worked very well to shift the extension of the Pocket to the exact configuration Dio projected. I paused, imagining the removal of the poker, and a moment to cool, before I snipped the very tip of the extension off.

Again I felt the shift, the sensation of difference, but this time Earth with its lunar ring disappeared and instead I was looking at a pale reddish circle, smaller than the moon is—used to be—is, from Earth. And just in time, for I was starting to feel achy, and had to drop the rest of the Pocket immediately.

[[Precisely on point. You’re not increasing in strength particularly quickly, but you have good control.]]

"I’ve lots of practice colouring inside the lines," I said, panting and glad that I was lying down. "Though it really would have helped to do some Skipping as a passenger before trying it as pilot."

[[Far less entertaining from my point of view, though.]]

I gave Dio a Look, then studied the projected starscape around me more thoroughly. "We’re a long way from the planet."

[[It’s important to remember that everything is moving. The planet, the system, the galaxy. The drift you experience when Skipping isn’t as drastic as a complete separation from universal momentum, but the slower a Skip is completed, the further you will emerge from the target point. Until I fully trust your Skip ability, you will always be directed to the outer limits of the planetary free zone. About a half an Earthly day’s reach via the propulsion system.]]

I sat up, and called up my [Navigation] options.

Selecting [Surface] brought me up a whole stream of names, many familiar. I hesitated between [Valles Marineris] and [Olympus Mons], then made my choice.

True to Dio’s word, there was no need to go to the cockpit to pilot the ship, but when I felt equal to standing up, I went to peer out my window, just to see an actual other planet with my eyes.