Virtual War: Alpha Centauri (A LitRPG Novel) Read online

  One hundred virtual combatants filed into a sleek shuttle for transfer to the Terangdor, the Irian flagship. The journey was mercifully swift. Talbot was seated next to Agar, a sweaty young engineer with an interest in xeno-botany.

  “I’m gonna need you, Private,” Talbot said, looking to instill confidence in the poor lad. “Just think - a whole world to explore.”

  “Aye, sir,” stammered the boy.

  The shuttle lurched as it connected to the Terangdor’s docking bay. Admiral Gann and a parade of high-ranking soldiers disembarked under heavy guard, leaving Talbot’s marines to stew in their nerves for several minutes.

  Talbot was feeling a little edgy himself by the time he reached the end of the connector tunnel. The Irian hangar was gargantuan, easily twice as large as the Aurora’s main facility. The ceiling was so high Talbot couldn’t make out any details.

  The expansive floor was dotted with regularly-spaced Immersion tanks. In a nice touch, the gel in the Terran tanks had been died navy blue. The Irian gel was forest green. Enemy pixel runners had already taken up positions in front of their Immersion tanks.

  Talbot was welcomed by a gaggle of pretty female Irians before being ushered to a tank opposite the leader of the opposing virtual army.

  The Irian standing there was tall and spindly, yet sported a perfectly round belly. The black fuzz on his jowls might have been an attempt at a beard, but Talbot couldn’t be sure. Most Irians were willowy bipeds with pleasingly sharp features, but this man was hideously ugly. His scalp lacked the thin mat of hair other Irians exhibited, exposing a misshapen, veiny cranium. Talbot immediately felt like cracking the thing open.

  The only thing Talbot knew about the man was that his name was Ashby. It didn’t matter whether it was a real Irian name or a human translation - it was annoying. The Irian nodded in his direction, but the gesture dripped with such fierce mockery that Talbot couldn’t possibly respond.

  Instead he focused on a balcony set high into the opposite wall, where Admiral Gann and other members of High Command mingled with their Irian counterparts. The Irian High Chancellor himself stepped forward to address both armies. Talbot recognized him from the countless propaganda viruses the Irians like to release into Terran media channels.

  The Chancellor began speaking in his strangely harmonic native tongue. A translating device fixed to his ear converted the sounds into Terran words.

  “Friends,” he began, “I am thrilled to be here on this auspicious day. A watershed in the history of our two great nations. A time to come together. A united stand against the death and destruction we have all witnessed. The best of the best stand before me, ready to engage in fair and valorous battle. My heart sings with the knowledge that, at last, we do not prepare for life without them. The very nature of war has changed, and I cannot help but feel that through this wondrous feat of engineering, we are edging closer to lasting peace. May each of you find glory in this new world. And remember what is at stake. I wish you all eternal honor.”

  The High Chancellor bowed and withdrew.

  “What a load of horse shit,” Talbot muttered under his breath.

  He’d never heard such insincere, pointless platitudes. There was something sinister beneath all the honeyed words that betrayed what was really about to happen. One civilization was going to win the Alpha Centauri system and ensure future prosperity for decades. The loser would begin its descent into a nightmare of resource depletion, poverty and likely civil war.

  Ashby was still gazing at Talbot as Irian technicians encouraged the pixel runners to climb the Immersion tanks. Pointedly ignoring the alien, Talbot gripped the cold iron rungs of his ladder and made his way to the top. At the top there was a small locker for extraneous clothing, first aid kits, battle stims and a selection of light refreshments. The Irians had thought of everything.

  Ignoring the battle stims, Talbot popped a lidvus cherry into his mouth. His mind was sharp and clear - he didn’t need to add manic energy on top of that.

  “Luck, human,” came a gravelly voice in fractured, mangled Terran. It was Ashby, perched on top of his tank like a panther. “See you inside, yes?”

  Talbot instinctively flashed his widest, most shit-eating grin.

  “You will, Ash,” he replied in what he hoped was a mocking tone. “I’m looking forward to it.”

  The Irian’s head trembled with what might have been soundless laughter. He formed his right hand into a gun and pretended to shoot Talbot. The Major was so transfixed by the gesture that he lost his opportunity to respond. An alien technician rapped on the tank and indicated that Talbot should strip down immediately.

  He did so, taking a moment to admire Lieutenant Fielding as she removed her fatigues on the next tank. She caught him and smiled. A sudden thought flashed through his head - he could marry that girl one day. His banished it as soon as it had arrived, marveling at the curious notions his brain burped in times like this.

  The gel was thick, cool and strangely pleasant. The technician on the ground motioned for him to wear the respirator hanging from the lateral life support unit. Talbot had heard about this technology - apparently the gel’s chemical composition allowed the filtration of oxygen through the respirator’s membrane. Immersion tech wouldn’t have taken off if the user was tethered to a life support unit. Complete, unfettered movement was a must.

  Talbot’s respirator glowed green and the technician raised his thumb. Talbot sank beneath the surface, letting his body drift. He wondered how many soldiers were freaking out at that moment. Probably most of them. The wait was mercifully brief. The gel darkened and Talbot tensed for action.

  5

  A gentle breeze kissed his left cheek. He was standing on a goat track circling a grassy headland. The digital environment was incredibly life-like. Apart from the occasional pixelation of very fine objects, he may as well have been on the real island of Arcadia. He made his way to the headland as more soldiers materialized around him, stopping just short of a sheer cliff face. The hazy mainland was visible across a strait of foam-capped water.

  Talbot was overwhelmed by a feeling of pure joy. He savored his first taste of Immersion, reveling in a level of sensory detail he’d never thought possible. There was a lightness to his movement, as if the usual physical forces that held him in thrall had been dialed down a little.

  “Leader’s box, sir,” a young soldier murmured, flipping open a large container bearing a Terran Seal.

  “What’s your name, Private?” Talbot asked.

  “Killeen, sir.”

  Talbot turned to address his gathering troops.

  “Form an orderly line and Private Killeen here will kit you out,” he roared. “Once you’re done, report to your section leader and assemble for inspection.”

  “Yes, sir!” came the enthusiastic reply.

  Talbot smiled as he found a flat rock to sit down on. The early signs were good.

  A soldier brought Talbot his officer’s supply crate. It contained two plasma pistols, field fatigues, a combat knife, a compass and a wrist pad. He didn’t have an inventory screen, but could see the attributes of his gear just by looking at each item. Subtle holographic tabs sprouted from anything that could be used or upgraded.

  Geared up, Talbot went to check on the quad and thopter, which were set back a little from the cliff face. The quad was a solid, near-unbreakable amphibious vehicle. It carried four marines or a shit-ton of gear.

  The thopter looked light and vulnerable, but its tiny size and maneuverability promised to be extremely useful. A skillful pilot could, in theory, avoid trouble from the ground. Air reconnaissance would be critically important in the days ahead. Capturing the beacons was the main game. Predicting enemy movement was key.

  By the time Talbot returned to the headland, his crew had formed into squadrons. Ready to receive orders, Quantum, Fielding and Wilkes stood before their respective units. The engineers were the most numerous by far. Talbot had to admit the commando group looked very small.
He prayed that he’d made the right strategic decisions.

  “Who’s the best pilot here?” he barked.

  An engineer stepped forward and saluted.

  “Captain Burdon, sir, at your disposal.”

  The man’s confidence wasn’t mere hubris. When they weren’t fighting battles, marines were constantly drilled and scored on every attribute under the sun. Skill leader boards were firmly at the forefront of their minds. Excelling at a particular discipline engendered respect with one’s peers, and there was no doubt as to who was the best.

  “Who’s the best craftsman besides Quantum?” Talbot asked.

  This time a female engineer stepped forward. “Sergeant Jenner, sir.”

  “Is your wrist pad functional, Jenner?” Talbot asked.

  She nodded.

  “Burdon - fly Jenner to the mainland and help her survey a suitable base location. Take some basic building materials with you. Ping me when you’re done and I’ll send more troops over.”

  The soldiers saluted and disappeared into the shrubby thicket that encircled the headland.

  “Wilkes - I need four men to travel with the quad. They can use the com channel to rendezvous with the thopter. Load up with building materials and start on our primary defensive post. The rest of your men can use the remaining gear to build a temporary structure up here. This headland is defendable and we can see right across the strait from this position. What construction materials do we have?”

  “Twenty-four plasteel wall sheets, eight corner pieces, twenty-four roof pieces. Four motion-sensitive laser turrets.”

  “Load most of that into the quad,” Talbot instructed. “I want something simple erected here by the time I get back.”

  “You’re going somewhere, sir?”

  “Lieutenant Fielding’s scouts are thirsty for beacons,” Talbot said brightly. “I believe there’s two on Arcadia. I can’t let them take all the glory.”

  “And if the Irians have also chosen to land here?”

  “Then I’ll be extremely annoyed, Captain.”

  Wilkes didn’t look too happy with his relegation to building duty, but he followed his orders without question.

  “Fielding, tap seven of your best scouts and come with me. Quantum - I want your engineers to learn the crafting systems of this game. You can start by collecting local materials.”

  The Terran host cracked into action. The engineers ventured eagerly into the foliage while the stony-faced commandos set about erecting a defensive structure.

  Fielding had selected her troops and directed the rest to assist the engineers.

  “Let’s go,” Talbot said.

  “Nikken - take point,” Fielding ordered, falling in alongside Talbot as they descended a sandy track. A swarthy, saturnine scout took the lead, his boots whispering over the chalky dust.

  The island was an incredible re-creation, near-perfect in every detail. A storm cell flared with lightning further up the coast, further enhancing the realism. A stiff, salty breeze buffeted the party as they pushed down the track.

  Fielding projected a map from her wrist pad. The locations of all beacons were available to the soldiers. The island beacons glimmered silver, just ripe for the plucking. The nearest was around two clicks to the south, tucked around the seaward beach.

  Nikken led the party over a dune of squeaky sand. The roar of surf filled Talbot’s ears as they scrambled up and down a series of sand ridges. He held his assault rifle at the ready, almost hungry for a skirmish. At least that would allow him to shed these initial nerves.

  He hoped for an animal of some kind, perhaps a sand critter.

  “Sir,” Fielding said urgently as they reached the top of the last dune and gazed out over a feisty stretch of surf. “You’d better have a look at this.”

  Talbot peered at her map projection - the southern Arcadian beacon now glowed forest green. Which could only mean one thing.

  “The Irians have reached it first,” Talbot said bitterly. “They had the same plan we had.”

  Or, he reflected bitterly, Ashby had read him like a book.

  “Hold,” he barked. “We need to reconsider-”

  Harpoon bolts rained on them from the cliff top. A young scout standing next to Fielding had sprouted a bolt shaft from his eye. Talbot sprinted instinctively for the cliff face. The scouts also pressed along the sheer wall, eyes wide with shock.

  “North dune!” Talbot yelled, dropping to his stomach and letting rip with a full plasma chamber. He peppered the distant dune, lining an Irian dragoon in his sights. A warrior class in the real Irian army, dragoons were a force to be reckoned with . They were highly mobile, terrain-adaptive, near-amphibious and stunningly lethal with their favored weapons. Harpoons were devilishly accurate at small to medium range and were as silent as a summer breeze.

  Talbot’s assault rifle had a decent magazine, allowing him to rake the dune ridge for several seconds. At first his plasma charges bit the sand, but he smiled with delight when he spotted a pop of greenish ichor and a number drifting from the dead Irian dragoon. ‘100XP’ flew toward Talbot and sank in his chest. It gave him a profound feeling of achievement.

  “Better than cocaine,” he said to himself. “Come on!”

  He rushed down the dune. He had to disrupt the enemy line.

  Harpoon bolts hummed with whispered death on all sides. A scout to Talbot’s left was thrown back violently, a bolt skewering his neck. Talbot sprinted up the face of the dune, Fielding and her scouts close behind. As he cleared the ridge he tumbled through lancing cross fire, narrowly avoiding two harpoon bolts. He finished in a kneeling position and hammered his assault rifle at the dragoon haring toward the surf. Showing elite agility, the enemy disappeared into the water.

  Fielding was taking aim at a second Irian, who was now darting up a goat track toward the headland. Nikken dropped to all fours so she had something to rest her rifle on. There was a pregnant moment of silence before the rifle’s retort echoed across the beach. The dragoon, over three hundred yards away and moving in irregular spurts, dropped like a wet leaf.

  “Great fucking shot,” Talbot said, filled with adrenalin.

  Ashby stood at the top of the cliff, staring down at the Terrans with undisguised contempt. He leveled a long-barreled pistol at the scout standing behind Fielding - an extremely difficult shot. The scout’s head exploded in a cloud of fine red mist.

  “Cover!” Talbot sneered, his voice thick with anger.

  The Irian leader gave a mock salute as the Terrans pressed themselves against the cliff face a second time.

  “Should we pursue?” Fielding asked breathlessly.

  “No point,” Talbot said. “The skirmish is over. Ashby played us. Played us good.”

  “We dropped two of them,” a scout pointed out.

  “What’s your name, soldier?” Talbot said, heaving with anger.

  “Lieutenant Porter, sir.”

  “I recommend you address me correctly, Lieutenant.”

  It was petty, but Talbot was lousy with bitterness.

  “Their objective was to show us their tactical superiority. They dropped more of us just to set the tone. We need to get better.”

  The Terrans were silent as they headed back up the goat track. As Talbot had predicted, the Irians were nowhere to be seen.

  “Quickly,” he muttered darkly, breaking into a jog.

  The party headed south through the coastal scrub. Alpha Centauri was high and scathing, leaving Talbot drenched in sweat by the time they reached a lone tee-tree on Arcadia’s southern cliff face. He dropped to a commando crawl and crept to the edge. There was a beacon on the southern beach all right - held by the Irians. The enemy had erected rudimentary palisades around the orb, blocking Talbot’s view.

  “Fuck,” he said. “We can’t claim that beacon unless we rush them.”

  “The ambush was a feint,” Fielding murmured. “While Ashby engaged us, they were setting up down here.”

  “Like I said, pl
ayed,” Talbot said. “Let’s get to the other beacon.”

  The party headed west across the cliffs. On the way they encountered a family of black pigs, which they slaughtered for a few XP points.

  “Take the carcasses back to the camp,” Talbot said to Nikken. “I want them roasting by the time we get back.”

  The scout saluted and set about his task. Talbot and the other scouts continued west through the scrub until they arrived at the lip of a ravine. Across the way they could see a small fortification through the stunted trees. The Irians had fortified the second beacon in the same way as the first. There was no apparent way across the ravine, let alone a safe approach to the beacon.

  “Our maps only show the beacons,” Fielding observed. “Landmarks and terrain are blacked out.”

  “Let’s double-back to camp,” Talbot said. “We’ve lost the first round and need to consolidate.”

  Talbot stewed as they marched back to their original spawn point. Ashby and his Irian force hadn’t just won the first round, they’d won the first four or five. The aliens now had the upper hand and at least two well-defended beacon nodes.

  Wilkes and his commandos had set up a primitive command post. The engineers had wisely stayed within a short radius and were now returning from their various foraging missions. They reported that XP could be gained from the harvesting of resources. One enterprising young woman had accumulated enough XP to level up by harvesting a huge lode of raw honey.

  “Name?” Talbot demanded.

  “Private Shaw, sir.”

  “What does your character screen look like?” Talbot asked. “They’re only accessible with skill points to spend.”

  “I have a choice between the five base engineer disciplines,” Shaw said. “I can’t see the detailed skill trees yet.”

  “Damn,” Talbot said. “Looks like you’re a guinea pig, Shaw. Choose ecology. I want you researching raw materials as we go.”

  Shaw nodded, her eyes losing focus while she accessed her screen.