Forbidden Zone, page 4
They’ve been fighting one another all across the planet, causing alien-made disasters everywhere they go. The System and the planetary defense force is hard-pressed to limit the damage, trying to restrict the Skills being used. They’re doing everything from stabilizing earthquakes and continental shelves to deploying planetary shielding so that the entire planet and its atmosphere doesn’t just ignite. Notations from the Administrators cross the ticket board constantly, lower-Leveled ones making adjustments and pulling on surplus System Mana to aid the planetary defenses on the backend.
I’m looking for details on the Weaver and the Lady, hoping either still live and are contactable. If they are, I could use their help. Of the three Council Members ostensibly on our side, those two are the most willing to help us for their own reasons. The Dragon is just… well, he’s in it for himself.
Unfortunately, no matter how much I peruse the data, I don’t get a definitive answer. There’s a lot of it, and since the charts are just showing shifts in the experience distribution and Mana flow, when there are tens of thousands—and I do mean tens of thousands—of Adventurers and Artisans dying, the numbers are hard to gauge. What’s the difference between a city getting blown up and the spike in experience from that or a Legendary dying? Not much, I’ll tell you.
I give up and try a few other ways to search for information. Tapping into communication protocols, reviewing current planet- or even solar-system-wide Skills in effect. A lot of it is blocked, as I don’t have the security clearance. In other cases, the System Administrators have pre-blocked my access. I tap away for nearly an hour before I finally give up.
“I could throw a Hail Mary and try to contact them directly and hope that whoever actually picks up is the right person.” But I say that half-jokingly, for the fact stands that the Administrators could easily take over the communication if I did call them. Even under normal circumstances, it’s dangerous to make a move like that.
Which means Plan E is out, unless I have another bright idea.
In frustration, I scroll through the tickets again, reviewing them just because I can. With the time dilation effect in play, I can afford to spend time on this.
An annoying tic from too many hours playing with ticketing systems, I find myself opening tickets on reflex. I even fix a few, my mind splitting a bit as the System helps me process the data. High Intelligence is useful for something, and the experience is always nice.
Eventually, my brain catches up with me.
It takes me a bit, but I realize I don’t need to worry about contacting the Legendary’s if they aren’t here.
I pull up the data of Mana inflows, of how the energy is shunted. I pull together data for quadrants and the planet and the solar system. I watch the data change as it shifts from a constant flow from before I started all this to the constant drop off as more and more sapient creatures die. I tag the spot where the first Legendary dies and the Mana chart takes a huge nosedive.
Then I catch a second one, and another two more drops. Except the last two drops are localized, from quadrant to quadrant to planet to solar system. I realize that some Legendarys have left the planet, altering the graphs as they do so.
Possibly more than two Legendarys, but those are the biggest jumps.
Once I finish reading the charts, I realize that really, I don’t know who is out there and who is still alive. It could be friend or foe just as easily. As such, I can’t afford to contact anyone.
Which leaves Plan E as dead as the dodo.
***
Plan E is scuppered. While I’m growling to myself about my luck, Ali mentally prods me. It’s a weird connection, since he’s not in the Administrative Center and it’s moving much faster than he is, but he seems to handle the disparity with ease. Being a being of matter, energy, and thought probably makes it simpler for him.
“By the way, why are the three fansketeers Plan D and not Plan C? Seems like a simpler thing to use whatever craft they’ve got than steal another one.”
I hesitate, then decide to be blunt with Ali. “I assumed they’d fail and get caught or get killed. And if not, they’d provide a good distraction.”
“Cold.”
I send the equivalent of a mental shrug. It wasn’t as if they didn’t know the risk. They’d volunteered to help us out, as best as they could. And while I might have a little trace of guilt toward involving them, a part of me finds the entire weeb culture they have going on just… distasteful. And maybe I’m being a little judgmental. After all, they truly do seem to be trying to embrace Mikito and the entire Japanese samurai heritage wholeheartedly. It’s still disturbing.
Truth be told, with so many balls in the air and with the threats there are, I’m struggling a little to keep anyone—even us—safe. The best I can do is make use of what resources I have and then, as I did, throw everything into the air and hope to catch what’s important.
“Well, you want the good news or the bad news?” Ali sends back.
“I’ll take the good news.”
“They’re incoming. Give or take twenty minutes our time.”
I nod. That’s a significant chunk of time for me in here. “And the bad news?”
“They’ve got company.”
I send back a mental groan. Realizing my Mana is full, I pull out an Extra Hand. After he finishes coming into being, he nods at me before heading for the exit, leaving me alone once again.
“You coming out?”
“Got to check on plan F.”
Ali sends a mental grimace, and I can’t help but agree. He’s not who I’d like to contact, if I even can. But we’re getting to the point that something is better than nothing.
If the worst-case scenario happens, I might even revisit plan E. Though I’m more leaning toward Plan I. Even if in this case, I isn’t set up alphabetically but to stand for Idiotic.
Pushing aside the thought, I reach into the Admin Center, searching through its communication interface. Mana floods into me once more, and I grit my teeth as it threatens to tear me apart as I tap into the System Edit Skill.
Hacking the System to make things work for me is such a bad idea. But I need to talk to someone, and this is someone the Administrators might not actually expect. It’s the only real reason I’m willing to risk the chat.
***
“Well?” Mikito asks when I finally emerge.
The alien sun is finally setting on Irvina, casting the world in shades of pink and orange. In the distance, dark storm clouds roll in on this planet’s east, covering up the distant mountains. The very air hums with power as Mana, overused and abused by the multiple Master and Heroic Classes throwing Skills around, shift the atmospheric environment. I shiver a little, feeling the hairs on the back of my head stand up.
“No dice,” I say.
“None of them?” Mikito says with a frown. She’s seated, watching the clouds and the surroundings, scanning for trouble and finding nothing. In her hands, she holds Hitoshi and a whetstone. Not that she needs to actually care for the Legacy weapon like that, but it seems to reassure her. Or maybe it’s Hitoshi that needs the reassurance.
As if my presence is a beacon, Feh’ral comes back to himself fully, the faded-out portions of himself reforming. He raises an elegant brow, one bereft of hair, while Harry and Ali keep chatting in their own corner of the observatory, playing with the data sets they have access to.
As there’s still a little time left before the fans arrive, I pull out another Extra Hand, wincing at the Mana usage. I need more Intelligence.
Both ways.
With Mikito waiting, I explain my reasoning and my utter failure to contact the Lord of Time and Space. He’s either shifted his location, or his location in the local equivalent of a Forbidden Zone shrouds him from my attempts to contact him via the System. In either case, he’s not going to yank us out of our pickle.
“Then we’re relying on my fans. Or your idiotic plan,” Mikito says.
“Or a combination of both. Unless…?” I raise an eyebrow at Feh’ral, who cocks his head. I shiver and am forced to explain. “You punched us through the dimensional lock once before.”
“Yes,” Feh’ral said. “I could try again Knowledge Acquisition. With your System Edit, we could manage the minor issues surrounding the constraints. However, I suspect they will be waiting for me to attempt to use my Skill.” I grimace as Feh’ral continues. “It’s a possibility, but the Skill itself is restricted. You know that. With so many…”
Mikito purses her lips then touches the Manop Galactic Positioning System pin we wear. They were given to us by the Erethrans. A chance for us to escape, maybe. Except I don’t think they were expecting the fleets out there. And even if they are part of the opposing teams, I’m not sure we can make use of the pins. Not under the planetary screen.
If the Erethrans were going to do something, I’d expect it to have happened by now. That nothing has happened tells me we’re likely on our own.
Still, I wear it. Because sometimes, you need a little reassurance.
Chapter 4
The vessel the Three Stooges stole for our getaway is more sleek Galactic mid-life crisis than bounty hunter ship that can blow through blockades and do the Kessel Run. It’s small, thin, and angular with sharp-edged wings, and it’s painted red with, yes, yellow racing stripes down each side. It swoops in fast, hitting the anti-velocity thrusters at the last second and coming to a sudden stop as it drops to the ground. A second later, a door near the cockpit pops open and a ramp unrolls. If a young Galactic woman was waiting on the other end in a hostess outfit, I would not have been surprised.
Instead, there’s a very stressed looking dwarf in medieval Japanese ghost armor, a pair of katanas over her back, waving us in. The only way to tell her sex, what with the armor and all, is the lack of beard really. In the distance, fast moving dots are approaching.
“Hand One…” I say even as the team runs for the door.
“Yeah, yeah, yeah. Go die with glory. Utter goblin shit, that’s what it is.” My Extra Hand doesn’t even stop as he blips away, high into the sky, before he triggers Beacon of the Angels.
The dots waver and some of them swing aside as the Skill tears a new hole in the atmosphere, but seconds later, even more craft appear, some of them heading for the Extra Hand. He’s surrounded within seconds as the Dimensional Lock around us flexes and more enemies race toward us. No time to watch though, as we all pile into the ship.
“Where to?” Agr’us shouts. We’re all patched in automatically to the ship’s local broadcast network, so the pilot can hear my answer.
“Up.”
“Are you insane? That’s a suicide run!” But as much as Agr’us protests, the ship twists around on its axis and points almost directly upward. We burn fuel, shooting straight up.
“Guns?” Mikito shouts to the Gimsar, the woman bowing to Mikito, looking around the cramped and luxurious spaceship. It reminds me of the pictures of luxury private jets, with all the lounging chairs and places to play pool with small sections cordoned off for personal use. Leather and tiger stripes abound everywhere, with the lighting a little subdued and off-human norm.
“Nothing worth mentioning. This is a personal ship, not a fighter jet,” Agr’us says as she comes out of her bow.
“Ali, plot us a course that gives us the best chance out of here?” I send to the Spirit.
He zips across the spaceship, phasing through walls as he heads for the cockpit. “I’m assuming you mean where the fighting is the worst and we can try to sneak in, not where there’s nothing and the Admiral can just lay the smackdown on us.”
“Your call. We’ll likely have to do Plan I anyway…”
One of my Extra Hands has wandered down the ship, a small notification window of the fight that is going on outside floating above his raised hand.
“Why’d you get it then?” Harry shouts, waving his hand around. “We needed a way out, not to be sitting ducks!”
“Because it’s the fastest damn thing we could get our hands on with the best shields!” Ruvuds calls back from the cockpit. I can almost see the way his cat-eyes narrows at being questioned, and I’m sure his skin has flushed green blue. “Now shut up and strap in unless you have something you can do to help us.”
“Damage Control,” Mikito calls, heading for the engines.
“Bystander is running but…” Harry shrugs. I get it.
I head for the cockpit even as I feel a mental shudder run through me. My Hand is in one hell of a fight out there, taking on multiple Master Classes at the same time. I wish I could do more for him, but I’m still waiting for my Mana to regenerate. And truth be told, I’m going to need it. Even the extra sets of equipment I picked up are running low, what with my doppelgangers dying constantly. He’s working with the equivalent of Advanced Class stuff, but since he’s mostly using his Skills to dish out damage, it’s all well and good. As I head for the cockpit, I feel when my on-board Hand throws up a Quantum Lock.
Good thing too, because I feel the shudder in the Mana sphere as people trying to teleport in are bounced off. That secondary sense the damn System has given me keeps shuddering as System Administrators and the planetary government bypass their very own blocks on teleportation. The Dimensional and Quantum Locks they put in place are like a sheet of steel between us and escape. Yet each exception they create, each person who arrives is a hole punched through their own Skill.
Soon enough, all these gaps will fill in by themselves. But in the meantime, the entire teleport block is weakened, broken as they try to catch us. All across the planet, where our assailants originated, others take advantage of the gaps. They tear into the holes, widening and forcing the Council and the Heroic Station Master to throw more Skills into the fray.
The Mana sphere shudders, and the System bucks a little as it tries to deal with all of it. Even so, the bad guys, they keep coming. They fall to my Hand, to the few defensive measures in place around the observatory. More die when the on-board Hand triggers Grand Cross to give Hand One a moment’s reprieve, the area of effect Skill sloshing ocean and compressing ground and sapients in one move.
Experience and Mana floods in with the attack, dozens of Master and Advanced Classes dying.
The world bucks and the very membrane of reality twists as we race upward.
To be met by fire from the heavens itself.
***
The shields hold. They glow iridescent as the fighter ships and the Galactic defense force dressed like Rocketman-wannabes shoot through the air, circling our ship then peeling away as we refuse to divert course. They hammer our shields, but they hold, even as I tap into the ship with Linked Skill to use Disengage Safeties and boost our defenses.
“You know, we can dodge…” I grunt, feeling the strain as energy rushes out as our shields threaten failure. The shield generators are top of the line, Grade A+ stuff, something you would only see on military class ships in most cases. I’m boosting them even further with my Skills. A discordant hum passes through us all as the shields strain.
“You want fast or you want to live? ‘Cause I can do one but not the other,” Ruvuds says.
Even then, I see the waterfall chart showing our shield integrity dropping as more and more enemy ships peel away from other vessels to target us. They know it is us by now. They have to. They’re diverting everything that can target us toward our single ship. Which gives the signal for everyone else who wants to leave to try their hand at running too.
That helps. A little.
As if someone is getting conflicting orders, some of the fleet and the space stations scramble to divert their firepower again, sending fighters and ships twisting around to cover their zones. Even so, the vast majority keep flocking toward us. Teleporting, doing mini-hyperjumps, blink stepping or just flying as fast as possible.
“Fast. Let’s do fast,” Ali snarls. He’s floating at the top of the cockpit, half-translucent. I feel his strain through our mental connection, the pain he’s under as he taps into his Elemental Affinity and defends us. Beams twist away from our shields before they impact, mass driven attacks are dispersed, their electromagnetic attraction reduced such that their very forms come apart before they arrive. “You know, boy-o, you could help me.”
Warmth across my upper lip. I brush my hand at my nose and lip, and it comes away red. The shield generators aren’t the only things crashing, as my health takes a nosedive. To keep everything running, to divert the attacks, I’ve tapped into System Edit and I’m paying the price.
“Can’t.” I grunt, eyes burning. Tapping into System Edit and connecting the Skills are using up Mana even as I become overstocked with it at the same time. The bypass feed, the balancing act of pull and push is taking everything I have. “Harry?”
There’s no answer from the War Reporter. I’m not sure what he could do to help even if he was in the cockpit to hear me. Then again, we should be connected via the ship-wide intercom. Harry’s build really isn’t meant for things like this, and his Bystander Skill can only do so much.
“Mikito?”
“You didn’t give me any guns,” she grouses. She pops up in a view screen, standing in the middle of the engine room.
I watch as she makes minor adjustments to the flow of the engine, moves around with her Damage Control Skill to deal with the fact that we’re redlining the engines, the Mana batteries, the shields. Everything really.
Her Skills, the ones she bought, are helping to repair the damage, to reduce the damage I do to them with my own manipulation. It’ll keep us flying longer, if we aren’t shot out of the sky.
“Feh’ral?” I call.
The Librarian is looking… thin. His lips twist, before he mutters, “I am already helping. I have created copies of our books. Those are distracting our more serious enemies.”
I blink and decide I don’t have time to deal with his answer. I definitely don’t have time to deal with the library in my head trying to answer it for me.
