Author's note: So, not much happens in this chapter. I wrote these first four chapters (technically scenes) as one chapter to be posted, but since I'm trying to work through familiarizing myself with this site (and allowable bbcode), I decided it'd be better for me to post them as I have them structured in Scrivener.
It appears as though my bbcode options are limited. Table formatting isn't exactly how I want it to appear, but it will suffice, I guess.
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In short, the central station was cylindrical, roughly 200m in diameter, and had ten levels of varying height. Each level had the same basic design - mimicking the outer ring, but with rooms filling the entirety of the interior volume. A three-meter wide hallway traced the perimeter. On the outside of the hallway was a window to outer space (the station’s shell was composed of windows, modular for easier replacement). It was a game, after-all. Great effort was put forth in the design to remind players of the genre and where they were located. Elevators, instead of access portals, made up the wall between the hallway and interior section. The arrangement of the interior sections varied by function, but each had only four access points (commensurate with the placement of the connecting tubes).
The tubes connected to the central station at the fifth floor (counting from the top, in terms of the artificial gravity’s pull), but surrounded the geometrical center of the station. This floor was labeled a congregation zone. It was where the players were expected to gather and meet up with their friends who started at the same time. An entrance to the congregation area was found across from each of the connection tunnels. The lights were on, but no one was home.
The sixth floor was the cafeteria. It was completely void of life and activity, just a vast empty space with closed and unused restaurant stalls lining the wall space. When Barbzilla entered, a single table and four chairs rose from out of the floor (in the very center of the room). As she left, they sunk back into the floor, which appeared seamless.
The seventh floor was agriculture. A notification told her the plants were in stasis. The eighth was warehouse space. It may have technically been one level, but it had a height of 30m, and there was a maze of catwalks and platforms throughout. The ninth was an ore processing station (currently idle). And, the tenth was the hangar bay. Like the warehouse, the hangar had high ceilings, except it consisted of mostly empty space for small ship traffic. The only activity was a single maintenance bot cruising around and keeping the powered down ships in working order.
The docking bay and communications center was located on the bottom of the station. “When you’re done with your training and ready for adventure, you’ll come here and register for transportation,” Pod told her.
“Oh, cool! Since we’re already here, I might as well take care of that.”
“beep beep Does not compute. beep beep You haven’t done any training yet. How can you determine when you’ll be ready to leave?”
“That’s easy. As soon as possible. I don’t really plan on training. I don’t see the point in it. It just feels like work to me, and I’m here to have fun, not work.”
“This is unprecedented. Everybody trains. You won’t be able to compete with the others, much less function, without some training. And, encounters are predicated on a minimum level of training.”
“That seems like such a bother. Can’t I just pick it up as I go?”
“Theoretically, but a little training goes a long way towards boosting your chances for survival. You don’t even know how to use the space suits, and with your zero-g sensitivity…”
Barbzilla interrupted. “Hey, that sensitivity hasn’t been proven yet. I’ll mind you not to slander me, you corporate lackey. I’m sure my disastrous experience was the result of a glitch in the system, because I know there is nothing wrong with me and I won’t have you implying otherwise. It’s best you know I’ll be filing some type of grievance when I log out of this session.”
“Are you threatening legal action?” Pod’s tone took on a more serious note, as if the AI had switched personality algorithms.
“I wouldn’t go so far as to say a lawsuit is in order, but I also can’t rule it out. It all depends on how serious a glitch it turns out to have been, and what kind of restitution I’m offered.”
“Your statements have been logged and sent to corporate.” Pod’s tone went back to normal and he said, “…and there are so many other skills you need to learn. The path of a proximity artificer is tough, but rewarding. I can’t, in good conscience, let you leave without suit training at the bare minimum.”
“Well, OK, but only because you’re insistence makes me think it may be important. But, don’t think you can con me into anything else. This is just a game, and there are rules and regulations and such governing it. Seriously, how hard can it be?”
“As you’ve already experienced, it’s more than just a game…”
“Glitch, I tell you! That was a glitch.”
“I assert it was not a glitch, and you can expect to experience a lot more situations like it, and worse. Powermongerer isn’t a game for the complacent. It doesn’t work like the outside world.”
“We’ll see. So, how much time will this chore waste?”
“Based on what I know about you, I’d say about 25 game-hours to get the skill to Beginner level five. I don’t recommend leaving the station with anything less. Intermediate level one is what you should really aim for, and it’ll take another 50 game-hours to get there.”
“Five hours per level? You’ve got to be ridiculous. I’ll do it in a total of five,” Barbzilla declared, then mumbled to herself, “Which means, assuming the rest of the station tour will take an hour, I should be ready to leave in six hours. I might want to fit in some food, so let’s make it seven, no eight. I can’t believe I’m going to waste eight hours on this shit.”
After making a decision, she said, “Pod, schedule me a transport in eight hours to the nearest civilization. It doesn’t matter where, just make it somewhere I can find some good quests.”
“beep beep Does not compute. beep beep It is not within the parameters of my current functionality to perform this function. Players must manually program their own destinations.”
“Ugh! Why does this have to be so difficult? Can you at least tell me what to do?”
“The first thing that you’ll want to do is figure out which ship you want to travel on. You can do that by either looking through the manifest or actually looking at the ships in the hangar.”
“That does sound important. Even if I’m going to go to the best place, I can’t be going there in some rinky-dink rust-bucket. It wouldn’t be good for my image. Could you imagine what would happen if when I’m popular, some tabloid came out with a picture of me getting off a common crap-trap? I’d be ruined. Idols need to travel in style, at all times. Something this important needs to be handled in person.”
Barbzilla and Pod rolled into the hangar. Rows of ships were lined up by size and function: dinghes, scouts, miners, fighters, transports, cargoes. Some looked like boxes, others like mini versions of the station. Still, others like bubbles or cockroaches - this latter group being mostly transports and cargoes. Fighters and scouts, on the other hand, were sleek and pointy. They had an inherent sexiness to their lines that she was drawn to. Nothing in their descriptions restricted them from transport duty, except maybe their range; but, so long as she found a location within, she didn’t see a problem.
This story is posted elsewhere by the author. Help them out by reading the authentic version.
“I like this one.” It was one of the larger scout ships with extra high-output engines and deep fuel capacity, and had a curved barbed arrow shape to it. She wasn’t particularly fond of the matte black color, preferring something in chrome, but it did lend a subtle regality to it. “What do I do now?”
“The Trepidation is an exceptional single-person ship. It’s not the most comfortable vessel and has less than a ton of cargo space, but should get you anywhere within a quadrant’s distance well-enough. Touch the display panel-plaque on the podium beside it and follow the prompts.”
Choose your destination:Price (Credits):
* Arakas
* Copetiddel
* Kulnoose
* Moonlavel
* Obenik
* Pwonsie
* Tarfis
* Velsuame
* 5000
* 2700
* 9000
* 8800
* 3400
* 6750
* 4575
* 8800
Figuring cost was relative to distance, she chose Tarfis. She didn’t want to travel too far and lose any more time than necessary, but she also didn’t want to go to the nearest location based on the assumption that the closer it was and cheaper the cost, the more players had gone there and cleaned out all the good quests. She didn’t understand that many quests reset after a certain length of time, and even if she did, she didn’t want to follow in the footsteps of others. She wanted to blaze her own unique path through the stars towards supreme idoldom.
Insufficient Credits!
Cost:Funds:Deficit:4575104565
Do you wish to purchase credits?
YESNO
Barbzilla pushed yes.
Current Conversion Rate:
1 credit (cr) = 10 real-world dollars (rD)
How many credits would you like to purchase????
“Are you freaking nutso? $45,000 for transportation! How the fuck do people get anywhere?” She canceled the transaction.
“Public transportation.” Pod replied, even though she hadn’t directed her questions at him.
“Which ones are those?” She couldn’t see herself resorting to public transportation, not in the virtual world, but she at least wanted to compare pricing.
“The large caterpillar-looking ones.” Pod carried her over to them.
Choose your destination:Price, Coach (Credits):Price, Luxury (Credits):
* Arakas
* Copetiddel
* Kulnoose
* Moonlavel
* Obenik
* Pwonsie
* Tarfis
* Velsuame
* 50
* 27
* 90
* 88
* 34
* 67
* 45
* 88
* 100
* 54
* 180
* 176
* 68
* 134
* 90
* 176
Extra-quadrant locations on {next page}
“How can every location cost more than our starting credits? Is it expected that we’ll purchase transport with real dollars?”
“Not at all. Some of the training exercises include quests where credits are awarded. I keep trying to impress upon you how important training is. Hopefully, you’re starting to see the light.”
“Not fair!”
“Again, you seem to have a hard time understanding what that word means, but since you keep dwelling upon it. I ask, how fair would it be to the other players if you were able to get off the station without having to go through the training they were required to do?”
“I reject your argument as irrelevant. How many of them wanted to get off the station without training? Take that and shove it up your diodes. Meanwhile, I’m expected to either do something I don’t want to or spend an exorbitant amount of real dollars. I feel like I’m the victim of an extortion scheme here.”
“Your statements have been logged and sent to corporate.”
“Whatever. Since there’s nothing I can do here, continue with the tour. I want to know about the place I’m apparently going to be spending way too much of my in-game life.”
The fourth, third, and second floors were all training centers of some kind. Suit training was on the fourth (the only type she cared to take note of). The first floor was commercial space occupied by fully stocked shops: weapons, armor, clothing, jewelry, electronics, upgrades, and other miscellany. An interesting feature about this floor was the clear dome ceiling. Many things caught her eye, but as she’d learned in the hangar, they were most likely out of her reach at the moment, monetarily speaking. So, she added those items to her personal wish list within Pod’s database and swore she’d purchase them as soon as she could afford to. And, to get into that position, she had to start completing quests as soon as possible, which meant suit training, which meant tedium.
It’s only temporary, she told herself. “Take me to the training centers, Mr. Buzzkill. Let’s get this over with.”
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