Free The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2) by Andrei Livadny Page B
Authors: Andrei Livadny
security in the meantime. If ever you decide to abandon the quest, I'll forward the frigate's coordinates to the Outlaws.
You will receive help as promised. May nothing surprise you. More importantly, don't resist anything. Once you're on Darg, you'll have to play it by ear.
Ingmud
He was something else, really! In some cases being a vendor was a diagnosis rather than a trade!
I forced my eyes open, trying to work out where I was after all.
I could make out the outline of a translucent lid sporting the logo of the Colonial Fleet and the following inscription,
Reserve cryogenic chamber 34672
The hydraulics hissed again. The sealer made a smacking sound. The chamber filled with vibration and the humming of engines.
Attention all personnel , a voice said. A cryogenic platform approaching Dock Five.
A soft jolt.
Attention all new arrivals. Heavy equipment is working in the personnel collectors of the Eurasia station airlock area. Please be careful.
Chapter Three
Eurasia Station
“W hat's that now?” a muted voice asked. “This capsule is marked as Reserve. What's this player doing in there?”
“Do you care? They said, everyone get in line. So that's what we'll do!”
“His tag is funny. A level 20 Pilot? Did he complete training twice?”
“What difference does it make to you? We've got too much on as it is. How are his vitals?”
“Look okay. He'll come round any minute.”
“Let's move it, then. The captain's already here! He'll be on our cases in a moment.”
The voices died in the distance. I opened my eyes again. It was cold. My teeth were chattering. The translucent lid over my head was gone. I lay exposed.
Is this one of Eurasia's cryogenic platforms? the thought throbbed in my temples. They will seize me! I tried to suppress panic.
“D'you need a special invitation, you?”
An NPC stopped by my capsule. Gaunt cheeks covered in ginger stubble, a “helmet special” crew cut, an unknown uniform. His stare was cold but not unfriendly. “Get the hell outta there! Grab your gear and fall in!”
The alternative plot line had changed my affiliation to “Alt Outlaw” but it looked like Ingmud had somehow managed to delete it from my settings.
Hadn't he said to me, May nothing surprise you ?
I grabbed at the capsule's sides and forced myself out. Here, I couldn't surprise anyone with my emaciated body (from the time when my metabolic implant had been in overdrive, burning my own body's resources in its fight against the toxic environment).
Attention all personnel. A cryogenic platform approaching Dock Seven.
A jolt, followed by more vibrations.
So! This hybrid was a genius! Was this the surprise he'd spoken about? If it went like this, they would deliver me to Darg protected by the full force of the Colonial Fleet! And I had been wondering how to jump their orbital defenses!
Two corporate types and an android walked along the wide passage between the two rows of sarcophagus-like capsules. I turned my back to them and grabbed the first piece of gear I could see, clueless about how to put it on.
They stopped next to me. One of them slapped my shoulder condescendingly, “You need to put the uniform on first! You are a newb, aren't you?”
“He can't think straight, Sir. They're all like that after suspended animation.”
I mumbled an unintelligible reply.
The room was packed with people. All gaunt and too confused to follow orders. I cast a few inconspicuous glances at their name tags. Players, levels 7 to 10. Mainly Soldiers, a few Pilots and Mechanics. I couldn't see any other specializations.
I hurried to pull on the uniform and began to kit up. It would be safer to blend in with the crowd. But Ingmud! I'd heard, of course, of the Founders' transmitters capable of sending cargos and passengers from one station to the next. But to beam me up right into a cryogenic chamber on board a platform which wasn't part of the Founders'
You will receive help as promised. May nothing surprise you. More importantly, don't resist anything. Once you're on Darg, you'll have to play it by ear.
Ingmud
He was something else, really! In some cases being a vendor was a diagnosis rather than a trade!
I forced my eyes open, trying to work out where I was after all.
I could make out the outline of a translucent lid sporting the logo of the Colonial Fleet and the following inscription,
Reserve cryogenic chamber 34672
The hydraulics hissed again. The sealer made a smacking sound. The chamber filled with vibration and the humming of engines.
Attention all personnel , a voice said. A cryogenic platform approaching Dock Five.
A soft jolt.
Attention all new arrivals. Heavy equipment is working in the personnel collectors of the Eurasia station airlock area. Please be careful.
Chapter Three
Eurasia Station
“W hat's that now?” a muted voice asked. “This capsule is marked as Reserve. What's this player doing in there?”
“Do you care? They said, everyone get in line. So that's what we'll do!”
“His tag is funny. A level 20 Pilot? Did he complete training twice?”
“What difference does it make to you? We've got too much on as it is. How are his vitals?”
“Look okay. He'll come round any minute.”
“Let's move it, then. The captain's already here! He'll be on our cases in a moment.”
The voices died in the distance. I opened my eyes again. It was cold. My teeth were chattering. The translucent lid over my head was gone. I lay exposed.
Is this one of Eurasia's cryogenic platforms? the thought throbbed in my temples. They will seize me! I tried to suppress panic.
“D'you need a special invitation, you?”
An NPC stopped by my capsule. Gaunt cheeks covered in ginger stubble, a “helmet special” crew cut, an unknown uniform. His stare was cold but not unfriendly. “Get the hell outta there! Grab your gear and fall in!”
The alternative plot line had changed my affiliation to “Alt Outlaw” but it looked like Ingmud had somehow managed to delete it from my settings.
Hadn't he said to me, May nothing surprise you ?
I grabbed at the capsule's sides and forced myself out. Here, I couldn't surprise anyone with my emaciated body (from the time when my metabolic implant had been in overdrive, burning my own body's resources in its fight against the toxic environment).
Attention all personnel. A cryogenic platform approaching Dock Seven.
A jolt, followed by more vibrations.
So! This hybrid was a genius! Was this the surprise he'd spoken about? If it went like this, they would deliver me to Darg protected by the full force of the Colonial Fleet! And I had been wondering how to jump their orbital defenses!
Two corporate types and an android walked along the wide passage between the two rows of sarcophagus-like capsules. I turned my back to them and grabbed the first piece of gear I could see, clueless about how to put it on.
They stopped next to me. One of them slapped my shoulder condescendingly, “You need to put the uniform on first! You are a newb, aren't you?”
“He can't think straight, Sir. They're all like that after suspended animation.”
I mumbled an unintelligible reply.
The room was packed with people. All gaunt and too confused to follow orders. I cast a few inconspicuous glances at their name tags. Players, levels 7 to 10. Mainly Soldiers, a few Pilots and Mechanics. I couldn't see any other specializations.
I hurried to pull on the uniform and began to kit up. It would be safer to blend in with the crowd. But Ingmud! I'd heard, of course, of the Founders' transmitters capable of sending cargos and passengers from one station to the next. But to beam me up right into a cryogenic chamber on board a platform which wasn't part of the Founders'
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