The Starfighter Invitation

43 a cunning plan

I met my Oma on Earth Gateway Station, and did not recognise her.

I’d seen old photos, of course, and looked about for someone resembling faded Polaroids, but it was only by opening the player information panel of the woman in company of my parents that I could do more than guess. My mother’s side of the family is all tall, and I had many memories of my Oma towering over me, grim, silent and faintly disapproving, but my Oma’s Core Unit was a giant, almost seven foot tall. On closer examination, I could discover the resemblance to my mother, but it was far from obvious. This new Oma was grand rather than grim, though her bare nod in acknowledgement of my greeting was all too familiar.

My family were not—thankfully—part of any of the rival teams gathering for the System Challenge, but instead had been drawn into an elaborate multi-planetary Challenge my parents' guild was trying to complete.

"It doesn’t unlock anything, but it has a large, guaranteed reward—especially if your guild manages to complete it first," my mother explained.

"Has—have you joined the guild, Oma?" I asked, trying not to boggle. I’d spent time in my parents' guild, which roleplayed with great virtuosity, and a tendency to chew the scenery.

"The friends of Mieke? An excitable group." My Oma spoke with the indifference of a queen. "We must hurry, Mieke, if we are to find the talisman in this place."

She strode away, and my mother, with a bemused smile, waved to me and followed.

"Good luck with the System Challenge," my father said hastily. "We’ll be cheering you on."

The crowd parted before Oma as if spelled. With her head held high, back ramrod straight, and eyes unwavering from a point across the busy entry hall, she seemed touched with an otherworldly aura. Her hands were loose at her side, but I caught a brief flutter of motion to them, as if she were touching thumbs and fingers together: the only unnecessary movement in her progress.

"Oma unchained," I murmured, and wondered if she would be like this out in the real world, if arthritis had not taken so much away from her.

[[Incoming surge of people,]] Dio said.

The arrivals hall was already too crowded for my tastes, so I moved on. Earth Gateway Station was an enormous stacked snowflake of interconnecting corridors, viewing platforms, and hydroponic atmosphere purifiers, all beaded over with the regular shapes of tens of thousands of Snugs. The second wave of players, earning their release from Earth, had flocked to the orbital stations, and the Gateway Station was particularly popular because of the chance to wave off those heading to The Wreck, as if we were athletes on our way to the Olympics.

My own group had been twenty-first to unlock the System Challenge, which is the first time I’ve been so high on a leaderboard for any large game. As Dio had pointed out, I’d lucked into a very strong team. Hopefully they’d all log back in in time to make the next departure of the transport ship to The Wreck, which was a limitation we hadn’t factored in when deciding on our meet up. Our additional delay meant there were now more than forty teams qualified, and more than half had already checked in for the transport, which only departed every twenty game hours. And the next departure was nearly half a game hour before our meet-up time.

I wanted to be on that ship. Beating the System Challenge, coming first in a big way, hadn’t felt real to me until I could sit and watch the chance for it tick away.

To stop myself fretting, I asked Dio for directions to the quietest eating area on the station, and sat nursing a drink while working at the design for my custom suppression modal. I didn’t want to create Kazerin again: the memory of that knife in the back was still too sharp. But having now experienced a few different bodies, I couldn’t decide what I wanted as an alt. The fantasy beauty I’d first designed? Or someone that didn’t resemble me in any way? The discovery of a randomise button kept me mesmerised, but did not take me any further.

Silent>> You near the transport? We’re nearly ready to sign on.

>>Silent: I’m a couple of levels down. Couldn’t get a seat anywhere near the big dock.

Silent>> Yeah, it’s quite the circus. Meet up by the green line elevator?

A group invite came with a handy directional indicator for Silent’s current location. Glancing at the departure schedule, I didn’t head up immediately, taking the time to visit the nearest bathroom, and then working on my breathing, timing each inhalation so that at least part of my attention was devoted to measured rhythm. By the time I was ready to go up, we had the full group in party, and had completed the registration for the System Challenge.

The big dock was one of only two servicing large ships on the whole station, and was positioned at the very top, in a low gravity zone. Light gravity and the swarming crowd put me in immediate danger of a foot to the face, as people were popcorning up and down in order to see something toward the centre of the large, circular space.

I tucked myself hastily against the wall, and then blinked as a series of shimmering force fields rose, and people began to move away from the elevators. I wouldn’t have understood the sudden orderly arrangement if not for the multiple comments directed toward the inevitable drifting motes above them.

"Not sure I care about stupid demerit points."

"But the rest of my guild’s in the other direction."

"How do I get through to the ship with these force fields in the way?"

"Following arrows is getting so automatic to me that I’m in danger of doing it out in the real world."

Sticking to the wall, I made myself follow my own arrow, finding Arlen and Imoenne first, distinctive even with their faces hidden by sculptured inky curves. The only person in the group who hadn’t activated their focus was Silent, and he did so as soon as he spotted me.

"Let’s head right in," Nova said. "We almost missed this."

"No thanks to our Cycogs, who didn’t bother to mention departure times," I commented, then hoped that my voice didn’t sound as weird to everyone else as it did to me. I needed more space.

[[With a System Challenge, never count on extra help,]] Dio replied.

"So long as you don’t actively sabotage, I guess," I sent back.

Two people walked through the newly-formed shield instead of being directed away from them, the shield creating a gap and then reforming around them. We followed them into the clear circular space in the centre of the room, and then up a spiral ramp that led to a ceiling hatch.

"I guess we stand on these ridges?" said one of the two ahead of us, bouncing upward. They disappeared through the hatch, and Arlen and Imoenne, at head of our group, were quick behind them. The ramp took me right up to the ceiling, and halfway into the vertical cylinder of a room beyond, well provided with handholds, and notches in the walls that could work as ladders.

"It’s the airlocks that always get me," said one of the two strangers ahead of us, as the hatch below us rotated shut, and there was the faintest whine of equalising pressure. "More than anything else, the airlocks make the whole idea of outer space seem real."

"Going on a spacewalk didn’t do that?" asked the speaker’s companion.

"It’s something about how weighty the doors are," the first replied. "The EVA suits are so light they don’t seem possible, and the Snugs are pottery or something ridiculous, but the airlock doors feel like serious business."

The inner hatch slid open just then, and we climbed effortlessly upward into another airlock, this one squarer than the first.

"Allowing for post-Singularity magic science, everything reads as possible except when they suspend players," Silent put in. "They drop the illusion there, in favour of making a point."

"Magic science is the right word for it," the first stranger said, wryly. "I swallowed the tech as a possibility, up to the soul space travel."

"If it’s magic science, then all aboard the Hogwarts Express," said the second, and pushed upward as the innermost hatch opened.

The transport ship, named Delina, did have some faint resemblance to a train, for most of the entry level was divided into compartments—though no train featured such wide and comfortably moulded seating, with leg and head support, and safety straps. We followed our arrows into one of the few remaining empty compartments, and settled in, the door closing behind us.

"Good," Nova said, deactivating her focus. "The stream won’t start until we get there, so this will give us a chance to talk strategy. I take it everyone’s watched the attempts of the handful who’ve gone before us?"

These had not been as spectacular as the first unfortunate team. A half dozen groups, making cautious forays over the curving surface of The Wreck, searching for a hatch but failing to identify anything. They’d run short of air, and retired to a small satellite station that could be used as a staging ground in the absence of the Delina. Most had taken a rest break, and then returned to poke about the edges of the rift in The Wreck’s side, carefully venturing a level or two downward, and then exploring sideways, only to be defeated by a lack of any through-corridors.

Arlen, however, was more interested in Nova’s appearance than a planning session. "Is it that you can change the age of your Core Unit?" he asked, for Nova was wearing the older version of herself, and a simple jumpsuit rather than the magical girl outfit.

"This is my Core Unit. I was using an alt for the gateway series." Her attention flicked to her Cycog, perched on her shoulder. "Is there no way to suppress names in the live streams? I was hoping our group could fly under the radar."

Silent, with the faintest of wry smiles at our confusion, said: "Check out her info. She’s set to party-visible."

I stared, and then laughed.

"Pick a number between one and ten," I said to her.

Nova-Nina gave me her usual dry smile. "I did think it a lucky number for you. Although this ridiculous notoriety might prove me the wrong choice after all."

"But is it not that Nina Stella made the trip to a new system while we were amusing ourselves in the park?" Arlen said, apparently caught between delight and suspicion.

"Yes. I took a transport back, since I wanted to recover my energy."

"No wonder I hadn’t seen anyone else’s Cycog wearing a synth," I said. "Is it something that comes with Rank Ten?"

[[A reward for me,]] Artemis said.

I was always disconcerted when someone else’s Cycog answered me: an especially weird reaction given that it sounded like there were only a handful of Cycogs pretending to be all the rest. Every Cycog here could really be Ydionessel.

The problem was a big one, though. While Artemis' synth wasn’t an obvious giveaway of Nina’s Rank, as soon as our livestream came up, her name wouldn’t be hidden any more. Going into a PVP-enabled area with Nina Stella was like painting a target on our group.

"Can we delay formally starting the Challenge?" I asked, glancing from Artemis to the rest of our accompanying drift of light motes and Renba. "I was thinking we should do that anyway."

"You were?" Silent said. "Why?"

"Because there doesn’t seem to be many options left other than heading further into that rift. And over a hundred people are going to try to do that at once. We could race to be first, to get into a side passage before the crowd sets the whole thing ping-ponging, but that would only make it more likely we’d injure ourselves being hasty."

"True enough," Nina said. "Can we delay starting, Temi?"

[[Yes,]] Artemis replied.

"We’ll decide how long to hold back closer to arrival," Nina said. "And concentrate for now on figuring out possible entry points." She put an image of The Wreck up in our shared visual space: one of the much-analysed annotated versions that were circulating on all the DS sites. "Presuming we do go in through the damaged area, the next big question is whether the area beyond the damage is still pressurised."

"It is a derelict," Arlen protested. "For many years. Centuries. Can there be any chance?"

Nina shrugged. "This is a simulation, and set up to be the most difficult Challenge in the system. There could be anything."

"Fair point," Silent said. "The important concern is that if we punch into an area that’s pressurised, we’ll be blown away by our own success—even if we don’t cause an explosion. But, here– " He added a set of diagrams where the images of The Wreck had been dimmed and overlaid by enormously detailed pencil lines.

"A group with the game’s strongest player, and a structural engineer," I observed. "I’m starting to think we could actually win this."

It shocked me to discover how much I wanted that to be true. I’d always considered it a near impossibility, a thing to give a try, with failure almost inevitable. But now that it seemed achievable, I kept remembering Dio talk about the Boon, about the prospect of real answers. I wanted to know what was really going on with this game, even if it only meant that I could finally relax and just let myself enjoy it.

Silent had smiled and shrugged. "I’m far from the only person who has put in this sort of work, but I have a few ideas that depart from popular opinion. You can see that the majority of levels exposed appear to be a combination of bulwark and large empty chambers—probably water or fuel storage. There’s even a few mini icebergs floating among the debris that suggest escaped liquid."

"Juice." I made a little face when they all looked at me. "I keep thinking The Wreck looks like an orange that someone’s put their thumb into."

"I’m guessing it was a ship collision. Something relatively slow that was pulled away afterward—see the warped metal here, but also here?" Silent pointed at the annotated image. "A consequence of this is a loss of access to cross-passages in the upper levels—if there’re any present, they’re hidden by debris, or pinched shut, so to speak. The next several levels down look to be more promising, with dozens, even hundreds, of rooms and corridors exposed. Plenty of side-passages to try, at least. From the look of the contents, I’d guess these levels to be systems levels: engineering, processing, and perhaps warehousing. No living quarters appear to be exposed, except possibly in the small section visible at the deepest point of the impact crater, where we can see what’s been dubbed the dentist chair."

"Flight couch," I murmured.

"That is just as likely," Silent agreed. "It’s the only item we can make out distinctly at that level, which is nearly half a kilometre down."

"And it’s where half these teams are going to aim for," Nina said. "I was thinking the shafts are the best option for avoiding the debris." She indicated the numerous green circles on the publicly annotated map, marking anything that could be an exposed tube, shaft or other vertical passage.

"Same," Silent agreed. "Though I’ve excluded what I suspect are liquid channels rather than transport corridors. The same problem holds with any of these entry points, however: any sensibly designed ship is going to have interior bulkheads to manage hull breach. Entering the ruptured area is only going to bring us up against a barrier."

"Wouldn’t those sensibly designed ships also have some method of dealing with getting between damaged and undamaged areas?" I asked.

"A few internal airlocks would be logical," Silent agreed. "I’ve some guesswork on probable locations for them, but that’s going to take some trial-and-error exploration, which is the third-best option. I want our first objective to be this."

He highlighted two of the many vertical lines partially visible through the damage. "Of all the conduits, these appear to be the most likely to form part of a transport system. See this ridging? Think of it in terms of rails."

"We’re definitely not going to be the only people heading into them," Nina said.

"No—and it’s very likely going to be sealed as well. But what I want is to investigate upward, not down. A transport corridor leading to the skin of the ship is likely to point directly to an airlock. If we can identify any airlock entrance over this damaged point, we can shift to looking for other external airlocks, using the distance between the two visible transport corridors to extrapolate the location of a third."

"Allowing us into the proper ship," Arlen said, delightedly.

"We will be watched," Imoenne murmured.

"Definitely," Silent said. "And Nina’s presence in our party will bring extra attention. But most everyone will be racing downward, and we won’t become really interesting until we’re inside the second airlock. And then, well, we could leave the inner door open, which should prevent the outer door we’ve used from being operated."

Nina brought up magnifications of the twisted edge of the ship where we’d be searching first. "It’s a gamble," she said. "We need external airlocks to be identifiable in a way the groups searching randomly missed. We also need them to be active. And then we need to succeed in opening one." She smiled at Silent. "But it’s a smart play, keeping us out of the debris zone during the initial rush, and, ideally, separates us from rival groups."

"We’ll have to keep our mouths shut once our stream starts," I said. "The other groups will have people feeding back to them on rival groups."

Silent nodded. "I’ve arranged for Amelia to coordinate our guild in monitoring the competition. We can probably manage a bit of misdirection—make it appear we’re just hanging back, searching randomly while we wait for it to be safer to head into the impact crater."

As the others debated code phrases over strict text communication, I thought again of Dio’s suggestion. Could we really win this? And would that lead to actual answers, to the truth about Dream Speed? Or the Starfighter Invitation?

Did I even want that?