Two hundred students packed the lecture hall, twice the attendance of a normal physics lecture, yet only the taps of styli on touchscreens drifted through the air. Each pupil sat, hunched over their tablets, furiously scrawling formula, calculations, and solutions into their exam files. The first test shocked half the class with its difficulty, but this time, there was no such surprise. With their first semester at MIT in full swing, everyone had learned painful the truth behind the school's reputation of academic excellence – that is, course curricula arranged where the standard for passing flew far beyond much of the world, where even the brightest of young minds would find challenge.
Mark wrote his equations and responses into the tablet on nearly muscle memory alone. The hours of study at the library provided enviable returns as he untangled every question with a practiced mind. He met each task with familiarity, and not a single issue hampered his progress.
A shuffle reached his ears. A classmate rose from his seat. Mark's eyes trailed the noisemaker for a second as he walked to the lectern and handed the school-issued tablet back to their proctor.
Damn, he's finished already? Mark checked his own progress. With twenty minutes to go in an exam lasting fifty minutes, he nearly completed the last sub-problem in the fifth of six problems. Still plenty of time.
After scribbling the completed solution into the dedicated examination software, Mark tapped the screen to reveal his final trial of the day. Dr. Macklin always arranged problems in order of presumed difficulty, with the most complex saved for last. Mark's first glance confirmed his suspicions – that the professor would throw the class another nightmare-inducing question which combined several concepts cumulative of the semester's topics. This time, that nightmare arrived as a classical collision problem, but required the conservation of both linear and angular momentum and threw in the splitting of an object for good measure.
Mark diagrammed the problem in his head and mentally dissected each of its parts. As a whole, the question seemed overwhelming, but each component was an approachable task. With the last hurdle laid bare before him, Mark smiled to himself. You got this.
He sketched out a vector diagram, then wrote out the relevant formulae from memory. After the variables were plugged into each equation, only calculating the correct answer remained between him and freedom.
Another student stood from behind him, followed by a third across the lecture hall. Fifteen minutes remained. Mark clenched his teeth. Ignore them, ignore them… Finish correctly, not quickly…
Ten minutes later, the trickle of students with finished exams grew into a stream flowing by the lectern and out the door. Mark finally set down his stylus after checking over his work one last time. Satisfied, he tapped the 'Submit' button and uploaded his answers to the class server. Thirty seconds later, his results arrived on screen.
'Exam Score: 93%, Current Course Grade: A', the tablet reported. With MIT's home built exam software, even handwritten exam responses could be graded automatically by computer, and students received their grades instantly once they submitted their final answers. Mark slumped back into his chair for a moment, then stood and joined the queue to return the school's exam tablet.
Moments later, he stepped out the exam room and found a crowd of students milling about outside doors. Half waited for the physics exam to end so they could enter for their next class while the others discussed the latest monster of an exam created by Dr. Macklin's mind. As Ivan always utilized the full time available, Mark stepped away from the lecture hall's double doors to wait. He reached for his phone to check his mail. Out of habit, he then navigated his way to the Parallax Gate news sites.
Though the weekend had passed since Sid and the Innocent Bystanders conquered all of Phalanx space, the battle's shock-waves had yet to dissipate in the Parallax community. Even now, speculation abounded on the nets on the future impact the Bystanders' meteoric rise would have. While the Temple Wraiths avoided the spotlight, several observant individuals noticed their participation in both recent dominion wars alongside the Bystanders, and rumors began to spread of a secret alliance between the two organizations.
Not quite right, but denial won't do us any good either, Mark thought. As far as the Wraiths were concerned, their relationship with the Bystanders remained purely contractual, though Aero no longer considered them a source for future jobs. The upheaval Sid would cause on the Parallax landscape stretched beyond imagination should the Wraiths continue to assist them, business relationship or not. But, the Wraiths certainly had no desire to antagonize them either.
He continued browsing through the news until a voice called out to him.
“Hey Mark, thanks for waiting.” Ivan stood before him with a radiant grin, one which Mark associated with success.
“Looks like you did well,” Mark said.
“Eighty-seven. Still got the A,” Ivan said.
“I got ninety-three points.”
“Damn it! I thought I'd beat you this time.” Ivan sighed. “Oh well, still eighty-seven's good enough.”
“I'm amazed 'good enough' is something you can achieve by just cramming it all in one night.”
“Works for me,” Ivan said. “And now that the exam's done, I'm logging into Parallax and reclaiming the time I spent studying last night.” He waltzed toward the building exit on his way to their dormitory, and Mark followed in kind.
“By the way, Ivan,” Mark said, “I came across an interesting article on the PGN website just now.”
“Oh?” Ivan looked over his shoulder. “What's it say?”
“I'll read it out,” Mark said. He scrolled back to the article's headline. “Anyways, the article's titled 'Black Flags Ambushed by Destroyer'.”
“That is… interesting… I guess?”
“For the past two weeks, the notorious role-playing pirate org Black Flags preyed on small orgs in space outside the dominion of production org Arms and a Leg. With their strength in numbers, they robbed high-quality ships and fighters from A&L's transient customers. But the reign of the Black Flags pirate org came to a screeching halt Saturday evening when a routine raid tripped what may be considered the ultimate honeypot ambush in the history of Parallax Gate.”
Mark looked up from the page. Ivan's pace quickened.
“In the Blue Steel system, Edy Shoal and his pirate org the Black Flag encountered a Parallax pirates' dream when a ship worth sixty million credits fell into their lap. The ship, a Hagane class forge ship belonging to the Temple Wraiths, was escorted by only two Aoshima frigates, four Rattlers, and three Vipers. Having more than twice the ships, the Black Flags fleet fell upon the Temple Wraiths, only to see their dream scenario evolve into a nightmare. A fully laden destroyer, commanded by Temple Wraiths leader Sinn Omon, emerged from Vulcan gate three minutes after the attack began and instantly overwhelmed the entire Black Flags fleet. Without destroying a single escort fighter or ship, the Black Flags suffered credit damages of thirty-seven million credits.”
Ivan stopped. “You found out,” he said.
“Confirmed it on the killboards too.”
“Uh… sorry?” Ivan smiled sheepishly.
Royal Road is the home of this novel. Visit there to read the original and support the author.
Mark sighed. “Well, it's not like I can control what you can or can't do in game. I bet the guys all got a kick out of it anyways.”
“Eckos got it all on record.” Ivan grinned. “I didn't use any torpedoes either.”
“I guess that's good enough for now,” Mark chuckled.
“Exactly!” Ivan said. “The forge ship is acquired, our physics test is done with, and its time to start building our dominion!”
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Once he dove into Parallax Gate, Sinn appeared on board the Phantasm's crew quarters as it orbited the third planet of the Specter system. A glance at the comms panel informed him that Stevie and Mayto were also somewhere in the same system. He tapped a few buttons on his wrist phone to contact them. “Hey Stevie, hey Mayto. Anything going on right now?”
“Be right there.” Sinn strode down the hall to the shuttle bay and hopped into a transfer shuttle's pilot seat. Seconds later, the shuttle engines roared to life and he flew directly to their new forge ship. Above the shuttle loomed the cyan oceans and rust-orange continents of Specter III, inviting him to explore their expanse. I should ask April for a detailed survey soon. Speaking of which, I forgot to ask how her date at the library went.
He smiled to himself. Ahead of him, a gray speck emerged from behind the planet, steadily growing as he approached. His computer identified it as his destination, and Sinn watched as the forge ship filled his viewscreen. After he finally acquainted himself with the scale of the Phantasm, the Mint arrived to dazzle him with its immensity. “I said it before, and I'll say it again, nice job getting this thing for so cheap Stevie.”
“Roger.” Sinn turned the shuttle toward the open hangar doors and nudged the ship into position. The automated docking system took over, and Sinn sat back until a clang echoed through the shuttle hull and indicated the landing procedure was complete. He soon met Mayto and Stevie outside the shuttle in the spacious yet lackluster docking area.
“Welcome aboard the Specter's Mint,” Mayto said. “But I think everyone's just going to call it the Mint.”
“Hey, I spent a lot of time coming up with that name,” Stevie said.
“This place seems even bigger on the inside,” Sinn said. “And I already thought the Phantasm was roomy. Bit drab though, especially compared to the Fortune Divers' mining barge.”
“It's a standard industrial ship,” Mayto said. “They're not built for combat durability, so they can afford to have smaller bulkheads and wider corridors. I don't think we should decorate too much though. It's just unnecessary cost and weight added to the ship.”
“Well now that I'm here,” Sinn said, “I think I'll take a tour of the ship.”
“Wait,” Stevie said, “what about the station construction plans?”
“Oh please, Stevie,” Sinn chuckled, “How can I not inspect the ship when you went through the effort of getting such a good deal? Aren't you going to show me around?”
“What?” Stevie stepped back and shook his head. “I still haven't determined how much living space we need on the station. Ask the crew foreman for that, he's in the mill room down the hall.”
“Okay, see you later then.” Sinn strode down the hallway.
“Sinn!" Mayto called out from behind him. “Just join us in the design office once you're done.”
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Nearing the end of his tour, Sinn stood within the Mint's foundry room with his mouth agape. The cavernous room at the ship's center spanned the entirely of the ship's beam while measuring nearly a hundred meters in length. By his estimate, the entirety of the Wraith's small ship fleet could fit within its confines, had the space not been occupied by a single monolithic apparatus. The object matched the height of the cavernous foundry room with opaque input lines toward the ship's bow. Sinn turned to the burly foreman and asked, “Brecht, what is this thing? It's like sixty meters tall at least!”
“This here be the Silane induction furnace,” Brecht said. “Crude steel from the mill room be smelted down to feed the printer.”
“Oh, so the ship uses three-dimensional printing to build parts?” Sinn asked. “But where's the printer? All I see is the furnace.”
“Haha! You're standing on her!”
“Wow, seriously?” Sinn could not contain his excitement. “That's amazing! How big is this printer?”
“Two hundred meters long, one hundred wide.”
“And where do the printed station parts go?” Sinn asked. “I don't see an output port anywhere.”
“Out the ship's bottom!” Brecht laughed. “This lady prints a meter every minute. She can build a medium station in a week if you feed her enough iron.”
Sinn's wrist phone beeped and indicated Mayto's presence on the line. “Just a moment Brecht,” Sinn said. “What's up Mayto?”
“Brecht is showing me the steel printer right now,” Sinn said. “This thing's amazing! We could print a full-scale model frigate within an hour!”
“The Mint's foreman.”
“Is there a better tour guide on board?” Sinn asked. “This is much easier than reading ship schematics.”`
“Alright, I'm coming,” Sinn grumbled. He clicked off the wrist phone and turned again to the foreman. “Thanks for the tour Brecht. I'm needed in the design room apparently.”
“No problem boss,” the foreman grinned. “I be here whenever you need me.”
Sinn bid the foreman farewell and pushed himself down the ship's central corridor. He swung into the meeting room and found Aero seated at a drafting station with Stevie and Mayto looking over his shoulder. Several NPCs milled about the room watching their employers. “So what do you need me for?” Sinn asked.
“Neither of these guys has ever drawn a load path diagram before,” Aero said, “so I need your help.”
“Load path diagram?” Sinn asked. “What's going on?”
Stevie dropped into a chair and looked back at Sinn, rubbing his temple. “Aero's designing a new orbital station, and we're trying to convince him it's not worth the trouble.”
Sinn's eyes went wide. “Wait, really? Designing a new station? We can do that?”
“Uhh… yes…” Mayto said. “But player designs have never-”
Sinn sprinted up to the drafting screen. “WHY DIDN'T YOU TELL ME THAT EARLIER!?”
“Well all the parts customization adds additional cost to construction,” Stevie said. “I don't see the value.”
“But we can build a custom station! It's something I dream about!”
“Now I have a headache,” Mayto sighed. “As I was saying, player designs so far have never outperformed the ones already in-game. The Parallax developers consulted with a space engineering firm back when the game was barely on the drawing board. The default designs are already cutting edge.”
“You mean they were cutting edge,” Sinn smirked. “You think aerospace engineering hasn't advanced since the game was designed? Stevie, Mayto, sit back and watch the masters.”