The Ultimation (Play to Live: Book #7) Page 20

  The dossier had included his full personal profile, recommendations on how to communicate with him, potential pressure points, and compromising evidence about his wife. Overall, this one was a great officer; the backbone and pride of the army. Such soldiers were always in demand.

  In a soft gait, the captain approached Chimera’s body. He slapped it, getting down on one knee for a second. The corpse disappeared, leaving a handful of gold and silver coins in the captain’s palm. With a friendly smile, he walked over to the Earth soldiers and held out the loot: “Take it, boys. Some gold souvenirs. Can I steal a smoke? Kinda tired of the army’s red-eye.”

  As he drew on his cigarette, the captain looked at the communicators in the cargo and asked, “How’s your connection? Do you have access to civilian lines? I need to make a call ASAP.”

  Without much hesitation, the major pulled a device out of his pocket, unlocked it by entering a password, and gave it to the visitor, “Here you go. The connection will go through our secure communication hardware, but still, keep it under a minute for safety’s sake. This is Alaska, after all; there are but a few signal sources here, so a call like that is easy to trace.”

  Ivolgin quickly took the communicator in his finely-decorated leather gauntlet, and pressed it to his chest. “Thank, boys! I owe you!”

  He stepped aside, hurriedly dialed a number, and held the device to his ear. After ten beeps, he finally said with relief, “Katie, it’s me!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  The portal transfer went well; a second of dizziness, and the cold morning of Alaska turned into the hot morning of the Frontier under its searing sun. Our interfaces regained their power and shone in our faces. The life-giving magic filling the space around us rejuvenated our auras. Everyone’s mana flow began to refill, its blue bar extending further and further to the right.

  Because of the huge size of our trophies, we were forced to switch our exit point to the portal square right in the heart of our Super Nova, much to the delight of our honorable guests. Cramming the Alligators into the concrete anteroom would have been quite pointless, as the helicopters could never fit into a space that was 30 feet wide.

  In a matter of seconds, the entire clan knew we were back; one chat message and ten private friend list updates was all it took to spread the news. The first Alligator’s nose had barely emerged from the portal arch when joyful cries and the clanging of sword against shield rang out all around us.

  Our clan mates welcomed their leader as he returned from his journey with glory and spoils. We heard the incessant clapping of portals as people rushed to greet us.

  AlterWorld inhabitants became ecstatic at the sight of the military aircraft. The dream of any typical looter – looter in a good sense – is “to find a virgin store filled with stuff.” The looter’s age, pleasant memories, and childhood traumas determine the type of stuff: ice cream, jewelry, trashy souvenir kiosks, beer-snack-cigarette stands, ‘Latest Records,’ ‘Apple Store,’ etc.

  And now, this dream was slowly coming true for many; last night, the goblin unit came back with countless small arms and valuables. The wizards that had followed them gained something that couldn’t possibly exist on mother Earth: new spells. The unit hadn’t even finished telling their clan mates about their adventures full of shocking twists and raids and how proud they were of their clan leader, when early the next morning, the portal from Earth opened once again. Only now, instead of petty guns, out of the portal came the K-52M attack helicopter – the worst nightmare of tanks and infantry divisions.

  It didn’t matter that it was slightly damaged, with jagged holes in its armor plates. A bird in the hand is worth two in the bush. It was still the joy and pride of the Russian air force, the symbol of battlefield supremacy that reminded our people that they were part of a great power. And it still had its two four-barreled guns on its external sling. Our blacksmiths and artifact makers drooled at the sight of it. Even the least experienced apprentices recognized the properties of the armor composite:

  Mithril: 9%.

  Gun steel, grade A: 14%, grade A: 12%.

  Armor steel, grade AB: 17%, grade B+: 11%.

  Other: unknown alloy materials (handle at your own risk! Various chemical, magical, and metaphysical reactions are possible. Explosions, artifact destruction, transmutation, etc.)

  The blacksmiths were most interested in mithril. There was nearly a thousand pounds of it. Our strategic stocks of moon silver had been locked up in the castle treasury long ago, and whatever had been allotted to crafters was lost when Gimmick the Hero saved us all from the berserk ubergolem. No one blamed the clan leader for refusing to erect a monument in his honor; the damn genius could’ve built the golem out of something else.

  The artifact makers and other scientists greedily eyed the new metals. It was rare and valuable loot. The chemical components of the new reality had not yet taken their final form; thus, their properties were not yet finalized. The future elements of AlterWorld’s periodic table were still sublimating, oxidizing, and settling in the alchemic retorts.

  The militarists, on the other hand, along with patriots and those who simply felt nostalgic for home, were in ecstasies about the two-inch barrels, the familiar emblems, and the red stars of their homeland’s air force. They were just as excited to see the cargo-and-passenger aircraft; extra metal, heavy machine guns visible through the open doors, and the nearly-invincible mechanisms.

  The heavily bandaged, wounded soldiers on the stretchers were met with bewildered gazes: Why are they still down, still bleeding? Who are they? What’s with their rag-like, snow-white armor, and where did the clan leader recruit these beaten noobs? Last time, he brought us the quite attractive Lady Cornelia, who was a bit too ferocious for her level and had a funny NPC escort. Level 10 wonder-warriors.

  “Laith! Earthlings... Soldiers... They’re our soldiers!” cried an individual who was smarter than the rest upon discerning me and my group of warriors and officers in arctic camouflage.

  The crowd came even closer, held back only by the double-sided force field which had been so prudently set up around the portal square to cover it from both unwanted guests and loot lovers. It was the only thing that saved us from bear hugs and getting thrown up in the air by our cheering clan mates.

  The major passed on observing proprieties and kept turning everywhere as he tried to take extremely detailed pictures with the wide-frame tactical camera attached to his helmet. Unlike the other guests, he kept all of his gadgets instead of leaving them with Filiminov. The chance to take home a high-quality info packet with several videos and gigabytes of invaluable data collected by the sensors in his armor was worth a whole set of burned AI blocks.

  We were quite a sight to behold. Firstly, AlterWorld didn’t look like a virtual world. No minor lagging, which is usually unnoticeable to the eye but causes mild discomfort. The visibility was infinite. Fast-moving objects weren’t blurred. The sun was hot and made you want to take off your clothes. The smell of shish kebabs filled the air. The wine really hit you, and the girl that brought you the goblet, dressed in silk that barely covered her firm body, could arouse you against your will.

  Truly male occupations are like that; they boost testosterone. Risking your life maximizes reproductive instincts, forcing the lively male to want to leave descendants so that his life will not have been in vain.

  Secondly, the castle dwellers themselves were benevolent, happy, and strong, like the legendary hyperborean soldiers or the epic heroes of ancient fairytales. Even the tiny, limping goblin calmly and proudly carried the 500-pound armored pilot’s seat in his arms.

  And inner strength could be seen in their eyes. The major knew this gaze well; he had seen it on the faces of professional hand-to-hand combat soldiers who had perfect confidence in themselves and their ability to deal with any problem. This gaze was also common among people belonging to an influential group or clan such as leading politicians and untouchable secret service officers.

 
; The major squinted at the locals, estimating the potential of the warriors and wizards that flickered around him, and analyzed what that meant for battle units: Dome cover, invisibility, hidden enemy recognition, curing the wounded, adding magical damage to ammunition, and much more. With proper configuration, each of these soldiers could become a match for an entire peacetime company, or even an entire battalion honed by years of service. The major saw before him not thousands of permas, but hundreds of new divisions that – for him – had literally fallen out of the sky.

  Thirdly, he noticed the beauty and riches. Humans had created an entire world with minimal effort. The stonework of the giant castle encircled by three protective walls did not take 150 years to complete like it would have on Earth. The gold that now sparkled on everyone’s attire, armor, and molding, had been acquired easily. No one had to pan for that gold in an icy mountain stream, getting a mere fraction of an ounce for every ton of frozen mud. The dwellers of AlterWorld were lucky. The riches of an entire world had fallen right into their hands like a ripe fruit off a tree. No effort, no cost. All they had to do was to take it and live. A dream come true for millions of escapists and romantics.

  Of course, future generations of AlterWorld would most likely have to master the actual arts of architects and masons. The days of total communism probably wouldn’t last forever. Although... Magic, that damn magic...

  Nazarov, who was leading the short line, stopped for a minute to give a series of orders. He talked rapidly but quietly, sure that the others heard him. The major looked at the gray-haired Elf with professional interest, noting the scars and the distinctive mimic creases, reading them like a book; will, tragedy, smiling, the first traces of toughness, or maybe even cruelty.

  How did this simple fellow go from an ordinary computer technician to a distinguished leader of an entire cluster? Why did the seed of leadership within him remain dormant on Earth and grow only in the virtual world, where he was longing to go throughout his childhood and youth? Even the president mentions him now in his reports. What has been overlooked? What has the Bureau’s education system and their small-meshed net missed in all this? Maybe the generation of PCs and tablets is not lost after all?

  A scary-looking orc approached Nazarov and placed a hand on his armored shoulder. While they greeted each other, the major listened to the crowd’s hubbub. Many were calling to the guests from Earth:

  “Any of you from St. Petersburg?! Sammich, grachki, junk djor, gym shoes! Hey!”

  “The Kravchenko family, from Rostov! Do you know them, by chance? Svetlana and Olesya Kravchenko! Wife and daughter. Come on, fellas, why won’t you answer?”

  “Yo, Chelyabinsk? Earth boys?!”

  “Guys, write this number down! Tell my family I’m still alive! Guys!”

  “Omsk! Dear servicemen, I hadn’t even had time to pick up my son from preschool! Can you find out how he’s doing? I’m begging you!”

  Omsk... The major’s face darkened. He barely refrained from covering his ears. Finally, he was saved as someone offered, “Guests, let’s go to the donjon. We’ll have something to eat and rest while there is still time, and we’ll also discuss our plans.”

  We came back from our break in a whole different mood. The earthmen hopped like bunnies as they proudly carried 500-pound trunks with gifts. No wonder; their HP had been restored to a hundred percent, and they all received the Infernal Raid buff set. Now, even their puny operator could easily kick the ass of any martial arts champion. Their skin was like steel thanks to the 400 armor-factor, which could deflect up to 90% of damage from cold weapons wielded by weak earthlings. Of course, we wouldn’t ask Snowie to test our guests. Even a medium-level warrior from the clan’s combat division would break this type of armor in a second, dealing an injury and a crit; the level gap was simply too big.

  The guests’ new extreme agility allowed them to catch flying arrows, and their HP could handle a short AK round. Yes, we tested that too; found a volunteer among the Earth soldiers, who had become euphoric and blindly believed in magical medicine. Either he was just a fanatical secret service man or a great analyst, who knew that his chances were pretty good and decided to risk his health for yet another piece of information. Who knows...

  Overall, the earthmen now looked like amazingly healthy human beings. They had velvety skin without a single pimple, snow-white teeth without a single cavity, and full heads of thick, bushy hair which had grown out in mere seconds much to the annoyance of the special squad soldiers. That’s what perfect health looked like. Most of the men had never had it even as infants. But now, provided they would change their profession and take good care of themselves, they might live to be a 150 at least.

  We split up their group. The major stayed with us, wanting to gather more information and assess our potential. That would definitely get him a special star on his shoulder straps back on Earth. I didn’t mind. I was sure that the earthmen couldn’t compete with us. Plus, I wanted to help and compensate them for the evil which we had unleashed upon their planet. I had no doubt that the creatures of hell would have found a way to travel to Earth even without me; they had longed to go there for a while. Either way, I couldn’t allow myself to doubt it, for such doubts would have driven me insane; I was looking at millions killed in Russia, a completely wiped out Africa and Australia, and a South America engaged in guerilla warfare. And this wouldn’t stop any time soon. Earth would see new catastrophes; recolonization of the Black and Fifth continents, complete overhaul of the world’s political map. The weak would die. All those who refused to feed their armies would end up feeding demons.

  Captain Sich now wore an XM9 Compact on his back, which he had gotten in exchange for his beloved AK-12 after some long, intense haggling with Dan. Had I not known Dan, I would have fallen for his act myself. The AK wasn’t the only gun he had wheedled out of the captain; Sich also parted with his GSh-18 pistol with high velocity cartridges. One hell of a bargain. We had no Russian weapons at the time, but we sure wanted them. Anyway, both sides were happy with the barter. Sich would write off his AK as a battle loss; it was a war, after all. If you lost two helicopters, you could have easily forgotten the small change inside.

  Badaboom and a clan wizard flew after the special squad soldiers to provide cover. The wizard would mark the path and create the first portal network stations. The GRU officer nearly wet himself in ecstasy when he heard about this opportunity; AlterWorld’s physical limitations were the only thing that saved his pants.

  It was no wonder he got excited; freely maneuvering armies and dispatching reinforcements to any point was a huge advantage. Slow response was the number one reason for human losses. If you have no line of battle and a battle in every home, then where do you get enough soldiers? Let’s say a portal opens up in a quiet neighborhood, bringing a thousand small demons within a minute. A brief zerg rush, and a few long, sixteen-story buildings lose their inhabitants. The fast response units would still be putting on their armor while the demons would already be disappearing back inside the portal arch. How do you win under such circumstances? The government would be able to protect its people only when there would be so few of them left that an army of five million would be able to cover them. A merciless fact of war.

  There was no point in me going with the first group. Two days to get to Moscow – Um, no, thanks. I had plenty of worries here in AlterWorld. Besides, I had an idea how to step on the demons’ toes and help the people of Earth a little.

  The plan was clear; the wizard would mark the territory for future transfers. I would return to Alaska in about 12 hours, when he reached Khabarovsk the wizard would pick me up and send me to the Far East, where I would bury yet another Soul Stone in some safe spot so as to mark the exit point on Russian territory. My next stop after that would be Moscow. The thought gave me butterflies in my stomach. I pictured myself in the political arena of the real world, free from gaming elements, all ‘grown-up’ like...

  The portal to Earth opened with
out any difficulties. We experienced no glitches on our side. The magic worked as usual, like a trusted tool. A stealther dove into the arch. After searching the perimeter and making sure that there were no signs of an ambush, he returned.

  We first dispatched our cover party accompanied by a pride of hounds Belka had gained six levels during her last raid, and now had an intricate design of weapon marks on her armor that aroused envy among the other hounds.

  Next went the soldiers with the gifts – vials mostly; Healing, Invisibility, True Vision... Basically everything that worked on its own and didn’t require mana or a talent for magic. I couldn’t even imagine the price of a Healing vial at a Sotheby’s auction... Considering how the human body ages on Earth, 30 percent HP must be an extra 20 years of life. Maybe someone had already pocketed the precious vials? Americans still had their Alpha Zone, after all. We would have to research their generals, politicians, and moneybags, in case some of them suddenly started looking younger.

  On Earth, four more Alligators and a couple of huge trucks were waiting for us. A Tupolev 160 White Swan – a heavy strategic bomber aircraft – was making circles in the sky. Not bad! Looks like the mission status had gone from ‘All right, let’s risk a few vehicles’ to ‘Get this done at all costs!’

  The helicopters kept their engines warm, burning precious fuel. The major who had come back with new reinforcements nervously waved to us: “Hurry, hurry! Get in! The exit point has been discovered, we’re leaving the hard way! We had to shoot down a US drone, and an R-7s got one of our copters, broke off its tail! They made an emergency landing though, so they’re not going anywhere. Can you take the copter to your world? We don’t want to leave that kind of evidence. We’re already in enough trouble as it is.”