The Duty (Play to Live: Book # 3) (15 page)

The camp's elite lay face in the dust under the scorching sun, hands on their heads: officers of every rank, warriors and other unfortunates of today's events.

Aside sat a small but visibly nervous group of informers and slave drivers from the ranks of the slaves themselves, including a few voluntary bed-warmers and other rats. I watched Oksana's passionate exchange with the slaves' impromptu committee and the following banishment of Bianca, a buxom blonde who was kicked out of the first group into the latter to angry laughter and catcalls.

Oksana gave a satisfied nod, then ran to the gangsters and began kicking them, bending down and asking each the same question. I didn't interfere. She'd earned the right.

I headed toward the biggest group of slaves. After all, that's why we were here in the first place: to free them. I stopped, waiting for a wary silence to set in, then made sure the external communication was blocked before addressing them,

"Congratulations on your newfound freedom! To tell you the truth, our raid was on a totally different mission. But once we heard of all the crimes against humanity committed here, we couldn't just ignore it. My first question is: do any of you know of other slave teams who are currently out farming and leveling? Those we could liberate within an hour or two by groups of five each?"

The ex-slaves exchanged awkward glances. "Go ahead," I encouraged them. "It's your friends' freedom we're talking here."

A hand rose, then another, followed by a dozen more.

"Excellent. Now I want you to forward the location's brief description, including all the relevant maps and coordinates, to my aide Alorrienar, a.k.a. Widowmaker. You have two minutes. The time is on... now!"

Not in two minutes, but somehow they managed to do it in the end.

"I've received thirty-six locations," Widowmaker reported. "Twelve of them unique. We're all set. I'm sending groups out."

"Thank you for your cooperation, everyone! Next, as a gesture of good will for your liberation I'd like to ask you to forward me the copies of full sets of all the maps you have. You have five minutes, then I expect to see 407 new messages in my PM box."

Catching Widowmaker's surprised stare, I gave him a wink.

"You're something else!" he managed.

What did he think? He who owns information, owns the world. Judging by his forehead frowned in concentration, soon the practice of "map charges" would take over AlterWorld.

They hadn't met the five-minute deadline—I mean those who'd proven up to the task at all. About a dozen of the smarter ones had managed it in the end, plus another dozen lunatics, thus giving me another problem to solve at my leisure.

They froze, anxious, as I addressed them again, "Now you're well and truly free! You can visit your graves now and receive ten gold for traveling expenses. Then you're free to go wherever you wish!"

I paused, studying the suddenly silent crowd. So far, not one was willing to accept the responsibility for his or her own life. I chuckled. Little wonder! It would take them a long time to learn to be free again. The scars of slavery are similar to those of war: they can never quite go away.

Plan B, then. I suppose I could try to take them under my wing. A few hundred crafters and hunters could come in handy one day. "Alternatively, I could port you to my cluster and offer you a place to stay. That could buy you some time to recover your strength and have a good look around. Then I'll make you an offer to join the clan. Let me warn you, the clan is very young still. You'll be among its founders. We're facing a lot of hard work and a big war—probably, more than one—but our starting positions are extremely high and so are those of everyone who joins us now. I'm telling you up front that we're not going to accept every applicant. We're not a charity. Every one of you will go through a face-to-face interview, trial periods, professional and psychological assessments. That's basically it. The portal to my cluster will be here in thirty minutes."

It was probably better to mention all of the clan's hardships and problems now. This way, the cowardly could leave straight away while the doubting Thomases might later be tempted by other clans' offers. But the grateful ones—those who could see our potential and could appreciate our liberation gesture—they were the kind of people I needed.

"Widowmaker? I know it's out of your jurisdiction but I really, really have no one else to turn to. I didn't lie to you. I have very few people to begin with."

He gave me a long look before answering, "That I do know, First Priest."

Chapter Nine

A
n excerpt from classified paperwork issued by the special ops planning department, NSA:

In the light of the latest intelligence report concerning finalization of Chinese virtual programs, namely Expansion, Insanity and the Great Cleansing, we have developed a number of countermeasures that work on five levels:

1. Isolation and following encapsulation of China's entire Internet sector:

All the Chinese submarine communication cables have been mined. Our divers have planted a number of depth charges that mimic the acoustic signal signature of cable-laying craft which turns any potential repair into a complex and long-winded military operation. The enemy's communications satellites can be promptly destroyed by the joint forces of our missile defense system and NASP aircraft.

2. Destruction of local infrastructure:

We have recently had sixteen superpowerful electromagnetic radiation generators delivered to China labeled as "high tech equipment". Most of their parts are mislabeled in Japanese while others have half-erased Russian markings. The generators have been installed next to large telecommunication nodes and data centers.

3. Targeted elimination of certain key individuals:

Our A-List includes some 900 names of the people whose disappearance would hinder or even alter Chinese expansion plans. All experts and resources necessary are currently on their way to the country.

4. Combat viruses:

We are currently in the process of infecting all systems that employ Chinese interfaces or the more frequently used Chinese fonts. At the moment, the virus has been planted into over 110 million independent processors.

5. Sabotaging interior communication lines:

Acting as electric and communications companies workers, our experts have successfully installed over 6,000 terror-hive nano systems Phobos and Silence in cable wells and on top of transmission towers. As a cover-up measure, we have arranged for the leak of a number of identical systems to several international gun-running bosses.

* * *

I tensed, then gave a mental shrug. How long had I expected to hide my identity, after all?

"Have you known it for long?" I asked.

Widowmaker smiled. "You're about as much of a great secret keeper as I am a ballerina. Don't forget that we were with you every step of the way. More often than not, you also had a free retinue of onlookers, reporters and ill-wishers—and quite a few overt enemies, too. Add to that our absolute memory multiplied by the clans' security and analytics departments, and you'll realize that everybody who's anybody knew about your status. The only people who didn't, just weren't interested enough."

"I damn well hope not..." I muttered, annoyed. "So what do I do now, then?"

He shrugged. "Nothing. Just keep going the same as you did before. All the smartasses have already realized it's time for them to pick the right side to support. The rest will have to do so later. Players are trying to suss you out. The stakes are too high for them to make rush decisions."

"And you? Are you prepared to join the dark side of the force?"

He chuckled happily. "You see, it's not about your flag or the color of your mana flow. A one-sided world is bad, period. If they suppress the alternative in the face of the Fallen One, then in another hundred years' time we'll all be herded into temples to kneel and pray without as much as a chance to dream of miracles or divine intervention. The current competition forces the celestial dwellers to fight for our faith, offering more and more complex skills and freebies in exchange for our loyalty. You can see it for yourself: before, the Pantheon of Light didn't give a flying fuck about their worshippers' requests. But in the last few weeks they've been leaning over backward like you wouldn't believe! Divine quests, weapon blessings, omens and miracles—you name it. They seem to be pulling out all the stops."

That was useful to know. I made a mental note to create an outdoor surveillance group and monitoring service to keep an eye on the media and public chats. So many things to do! Why didn't I have two years of quiet leveling to build up my virtual muscle? Yeah right. That's the question every nerd asks himself when someone's spoiling for a fight. But then again, it wasn't as if I'd been a couch potato. I could liken myself to a submarine propeller caught on a mine cable, my every turn pulling the silent death ever closer.

In the meantime, Widowmaker went on,

"Two more things. First, the Pantheon of Light is headed and controlled by NPCs who are far removed from the players and their problems. You can see it in their summoned gods list, can't you? Asclepius, Aphrodite the Beautiful, Hestia... the wretched Olympic bunch, each of them just as ancient and twice the schemer as any member of the Soviet Politburo. Now you—you did the right thing from the start. Instead of summoning some powerful war god like Mars or Ares, you were quite happy with the weak and fanciful Macaria who managed, however, to liberate everyone from their fears of violence and imprisonment. A lot of people appreciated that. Never mind the dubious pay-for-dedication attempts..."

I felt myself blushing again. Did he really need to rub my nose in it?

"I'm not saying I can't understand you," he went on. "I'm sure the situation demanded an urgent cash injection."

"It still does," I grumbled.

He nodded. "In any case, Macaria was smart enough to rectify your blunder. Her manifestation to the crowds in her skimpies gained you quite a few followers. Actually, there's a collection of some very raunchy screenshots doing the rounds. Your iconostasis turned out to be a bit saucy, don't you think? Even if it does arouse the young players. So actually, that turned out to be a good alternative to Aphrodite in the end. But we, being older and not so affected by TSB, are attracted to you by your deeds which tell us more about you than a thousand publicity managers could."

"I see.
Do what you must and come what may
."

"Exactly. No need to wallpaper the streets with the Fallen One's picture and promises of a lifetime buff for every voter. Those who are in charge—clan leaders and heads of security—are very good at putting two and two together. So you should really keep brownie points coming while you still can. Take this, for instance: even though I've no idea of our raid's actual objective, what we've just done—provided the media manage to report the right angle—automatically upgrades you to one of the movers and shakers. This is a deed worthy of ballads: a crusade to faraway lands to rescue the downtrodden from their captors whose evil doesn't require explanation, followed by the liberation of slaves and the taking of bounty!"

He faltered, glancing sideways at the chat channel. "Talking about bounty. Lt. Gray's group has finished mopping up the donjon. They broke into the Castle Commandant's personal residence. Can you imagine what he had there? A Minor Power Dome all for himself, activated and all, plus a complex system of traps. Accumulating crystals, full to the brim, were used with a whole range of vials: from poisonous clouds to electro pulses. The guys were in such a hurry they lost three men. You should hear them cuss!"

I nodded my understanding. "Our opponents have some sick imagination, especially when it comes to traps and torture."

"You're right there, dude. In short, that's where the gangsters kept their treasury! A hundred eighty thousand, all in gold!"

My inner greedy pig began poking at his calculator. I rubbed my hands. "Excellent. You can say one day of raiding has paid for itself. It's a good job it's gold as you say. Had it been silver we'd have needed to hire more mules to lug it all."

Widowmaker gave me a puzzled look. "Are you joking or are you serious? When was the last time you checked the gold to silver exchange rate?"

I stared at him. "Er... does it actually fluctuate? I thought it was fixed at one to ten."

"That's what everybody thought until somebody started pulling gold out of circulation. No idea who's doing it and under which mattresses they're stashing it but you won't be able to find it for less than one to fifteen these days."

"That's funny. What about the banks?"

"What about them? As long as you're in the system, moving money from one account to the other is no problem. But once you decide to withdraw a large sum, they'll offer you the choice between silver and a bill of exchange. If you want gold, it'll be strictly under the counter—and the rate will change accordingly."

"Jesus. Can you imagine how much gold someone must be creaming off to create such traffic? Do other clusters have the same problem?"

That got him thinking. Widowmaker rubbed his chin. "Actually, I don't know. I might send someone to check on the Chinese seeing as we're already here. If their exchange rate is even one silver different, we could make good money on it."

I grinned. "Here comes AlterWorld's first currency trader. Talking about this someone you've just mentioned... I need a person to help sort out the slaves. We can't go anywhere with them in tow. Expenses are not a problem. I'd be more than happy to pay, it's just that I don't have time to do it myself. He'll have to jump to the Original City and rent some private premises, then port the slaves there and accommodate them relatively comfortably. He'll need to feed, clothe and reassure them and be a general agony aunt. Think you could spare a good quartermaster like that?

He frowned, then slapped his forehead. "I know one! Our superintendent, Sergeant Major Zaruba. He's a superintendent not in name only—it's his vocation. Responsible, attentive to detail and disgustingly meticulous. Perfect for the job."

"Excellent. Get hold of him, then. He has very little time. We'll begin evacuating the prisoners in thirty minutes. Tell him not to worry: I know it's not in his sphere of competence so I'll pay him double."

Widowmaker waved my last words away, indignant. "Don't offend us. Who do you think we are, making money out of other people's misfortune? My men are eager to help them as it is. Haven't you noticed anyone shoving prisoners bits of money or a handful of food? After what Oksana told them, they're all a bit emotional. So we'll do whatever we can, don't worry. You now have the raid to worry about. I don't know what you think about it all, but personally, it looks like we've stepped on a sleeping tiger's tail. Now he's still half-awake and scared, screaming and pounding the air, trying to escape unnoticed. But once he looks back—then instead of a terrible unknown enemy all he'll see is a grinning monkey..."

I threw my hands up in dismay. "Some imagery! What he'll find behind his back is a Russian bear! As they say, whoever doubts our peaceful nature will pay for it in his own blood! Come on now, time to see what these slave-trading bastards have to offer. Call me a dork if I don't squeeze this castle dry."

We walked over to the prisoners who were still lying face down in the dust.

"Sit up," I ordered in a calm but commanding voice.

They obeyed without a sound. Two of them cringed, unable to conceal the pain in their stiff limbs. I made a mental note of those: finally a display of weakness in this show of impassive poker faces. The Asians! We all dream of making contact with aliens while we can't really understand our neighbors across the border. I remembered watching a Japanese entertainment channel once. No need to look for aliens after that...

I tried to take them all in. Seventy-three prisoners in total: some warriors, some petty authorities and some unidentified but rather arrogant-looking individuals. To my disappointment, we'd failed to capture any of the self-appointed local aristocracy. I hadn't expected a prince or anyone of his family—they must have had their digs in the vicinity of their capital city—but someone of lower standing, like a commandant for instance. I'd have loved to ask him a few unhurried questions, preferably in the comfort of one of those chilly dungeons...

Interesting, wasn't it: once we'd found ourselves in the virtual world where everyone was equal by definition, we'd immediately begun to recreate social ladders, establishing familiar barriers and building hierarchies to be able to know at all times who should be kowtowing to whom. The Vets had restored their habitual system of military ranks, sending their cringing rookies scurrying around the training grounds to the strains of the sergeant's booming commands. The Chinese gangsters had modeled their system after their classic power pyramid which was only natural considering how proud they were of their history.

It was true though that the gaming lifestyle had considerably affected it, virtually eliminating the pyramid's base classes like farmers, craftsmen and servants. As far as I could see, they were almost completely replaced by slave labor. This situation reminded me of wartime Germany where about seven million Slavic slaves—or, as the propaganda genius Joseph Goebbels used to call them, "Eastern forced laborers", had turned the poorest German peasant into a small feudal seigneur holding his own serfs.

Once again I looked over the impassive faces, the slanted eyes and yellow parchment-like skin. My ancestral memory was tolling the alarm bell, raking up the centuries of the Mongol yoke and the invasions of the Nogais and the Crimean Tartars that had turned Russian lands into a lunar landscape.