Aero put the final station design on the drafting room's main screen and stretched before sitting back down at the drafting desk. Using the game's station design software, he and Sinn created a custom station design within the span of an hour. Before him, Mayto and Stevie stared at the display, heads turning in confusion.
“What is this?” Mayto asked.
I suppose it doesn't look anything like the in-game stations, Aero thought.
“It looks like a giant radiation warning symbol with a bread basket on top,” Stevie said. “And are those asteroids that you've tied to the station's modules?”
Bread basket? That's a medium ship dock.
Sinn motioned to the display and bowed. “Allow me to present our new base – a three-segment counterbalance station with an attached space dock.”
Both Mayto and Stevie stared at Sinn with expectant eyes. Sinn looked back with a smug grin.
That was your explanation? Aero sighed. After an uncomfortable silence, Aero said, “Sinn, just start from the design constraints.”
“Fine,” Sinn slouched. “Aero wanted to design a new station because the in-game stations were either too small for the Phantasm to dock to, or had too much habitat space to for our small dominion. We needed something big enough to service the Phantasm but cut down on costs from having unneeded livable space.” Naturally, the medium size stations were designed to support orgs capable of constructing medium ships. As an exception to the rule, the Temple Wraiths needed a station too large for a small dominion, but too small for a large one.
“Okay, that makes sense,” Stevie nodded.
“At the top and center is our main ship dock,” Sinn said. “It's big enough for two ships up to six hundred meters long. Right underneath it is the station core.”
“So what's with the asteroids?” Mayto asked.
“That's how we save costs and improve defenses – the counterbalance segments,” Sinn said. He pointed to the lines between the asteroids and the station. “Each segment has a habitation module tethered to an asteroid by nanofiber cables. Each unit will rotate around the core module with the asteroid twice as far away as the habitat. Since we have the planet, three of these will give us enough living space for the whole dominion.”
Aero glanced over the segment schematics with satisfaction. The design, presented in a seminar only weeks prior, required nearly an hour of time to input into the forge ship's system. However, it provided a cost and energy efficient means to maintain artificial gravity by leveraging the asteroid's mass without the need for processing.
“Couldn't you use a small habitation ring?” Stevie asked. “Nanofibers are much more expensive than steel.”
“We could,” Sinn said, “but this design's more defensible. The asteroids are perfect weapons platforms. Each one has a huge range of fire, and they're easy to upgrade. We can place positron cannons on them in the future.”
You mean you tried to sneak them in and I made you remove them, Aero thought. What made you think this station has enough power for three antimatter production plants?
“Also,” Sinn continued, “this arrangement isolates habitats from the weapons platforms and from each other, so damage to one area won't spread to the others.”
“Why didn't you use the space below the core module?” Mayto asked. “There's three dimensions in space you know.”
“That's where the elevator cables go,” Sinn said.
“Elevator cables?” Mayto looked back at the schematics.
“I wanted to put another turret there, but Aero thought that the station itself contained enough mass for a space elevator's counterweight, so we designed that function into the structure for the future. We can't build the elevator yet, but this space station will act as the first port of entry when we start colonizing.”
“So how do its cost and performance compare to the small and medium stations?” Stevie asked.
“Aero, the numbers?” Sinn asked.
“Well,” Aero said, “construction time with the Mint will be five days, compared to three for a small station and seven for a medium one. For energy costs, they will be equivalent to a small station. They have equal habitat space to maintain. Peak energy is the same as a medium station… thanks to Sinn giving it just as much firepower. Since the primary structure elements are redundant carbon nanotube cables, lifetime repair and maintenance require fewer resources over conventional habitation rings on steel struts. So compared to a medium station you wanted to build, we're seeing a twenty-five percent upfront cost reduction and an estimated sixty percent lifetime cost savings.”
Mayto jumped from his chair. “Damn! Seriously!?”
“So, what do you have to say, Mayto?” Arms crossed, Sinn puffed out his chest and smirked.
“Well, I knew this about Aero already,” Mayto said, “but you're actually pretty smart too, Sinn.”
Aero mustered all his willpower to suppress his laughter as Sinn's jaw dropped.
“WHAT DID THINK OF ME BEFORE!?”
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Later that evening, Mark sat at his desk, grumbling with his tablet in hand. True to his word, Ivan lay near motionless on his bed, still immersed in Parallax Gate after four hours. But unlike Ivan, Mark had one more exam that week in his most despised introductory biology course. While he could excel in other classes by understanding their fundamental principles and mastering use of their formulae, Mark had no way of avoiding the absurd volume of memorization common in the biological sciences. Well, let's get this over with.
With a quick command, lecture notes and figures appeared on his monitor, and the upcoming exam's demon, the citric acid cycle, hovered in his face. It's eleven enzymes and multitude of input and outputs threatened to haunt his dreams. He accepted that the cycle was a critical pathway for life, but its processes were irrelevant to aerospace engineering. As long as people in space had a consistent source of food, water, and oxygen as well as proper waste recycling, the engineers didn't care what the human body did with its intake.
Mark read through the cycle's steps twice over. Then, with a blank tablet on his desk, he attempted to draw the biochemical pathways from memory. The citric acid cycle starts with pyruvate conversion to acetyl-CoA by pyruvate dehydrogenase…
Damn it…
Halfway through, he looked back at his screen. Succinate, that's what it was called…
He resumed his sketch of the pathway, and after stalling a second time, put down the tablet and looked over the figure another time.
Over his shoulder, Ivan finally stirred from his dive. “Mark, we have a problem,” Ivan said.
Malate dehydrogenase reduces NAD+ to NADH and converts malate to oxaloacetate… Mark glanced up from his biology lecture notes. Ivan sat cross-legged on his bed wearing a nervous grin. “What is it?” Mark asked.
“Well, I was talking with Stevie and Mayto, and I realized… We are building a dominion now, right?”
Mark turned back towards the screen, but the demonic chart blurred in his sight. “Yes...”
“Weren't we supposed to expand our org membership to support it?” Ivan asked.
I'll memorize this later, Mark thought. He dropped the stylus and looked back to his roommate. “Yes. Yes we were.”
“And Regina is the only member we accepted in the past two weeks, right?” Ivan asked.
“You're right,” Mark said. He hadn't noticed with their uptick in org fund-raising activities, but Ivan correctly observed that their membership growth reached a standstill. The Temple Wraiths had over thirty members, but dominion defense normally required twice that.
“So, Mr. Strategist,” Ivan said, “what should we do?”
“How many membership applications did you reject since we decided to build a dominion?” Mark asked. “I think I helped you check about thirty.”
“Hmm,” Ivan paused to think. “About eighty, not counting the ones before we switched systems.”
So we have enough applicants, at least, Mark thought. “I know we're worried about spies, but maybe you're being too careful with who you accept.”
“It's not spies I'm worried about,” Ivan said. “Ever since Elaris, half the applicants were self-centered egotists who wouldn't have fit in our community. The other half were people who didn't put any effort into their responses. They would've leeched off our efforts without giving anything in return.”
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“You're more selective than I thought,” Mark said.
“I'm careful because I know what happens when org-mates don't get along.” Ivan shook his head and sighed. “MMO games stop being fun when that happens, and there's no way I'm reliving that with my own org.”
What kind of drama happened in your previous orgs? Mark wondered. “Sounds like we can't count on applications then.”
“Our reputation changed, Mark,” Ivan said. “The people who'd want to join us aren't the same as before.”
“We could invite others,” Mark said.
“How many people do you know outside the Wraiths?” Ivan asked. “I've already invited everyone I can think of.”
Mark thought for a moment. “No one comes to mind.”
Ivan flopped back onto his bed. “It's not just defense personnel either, we have to find people to handle mining and ship manufacturing too.”
Setting aside his biology notes, Mark sat back and thought aloud. “Specter is a private system, so we have some time to build things up. But if we're too slow, another org can waltz in and claim everything we build. We need some way to offset your slow recruitment.”
“Oh, I know!” Ivan jumped out of his bed. “Let's get our friends to help us!”
“Friends?” Mark asked. “I thought you already invited all your friends from other games.”
“No, I mean friendly orgs,” Ivan said. “We already have good working relations with orgs like Arms and a Leg and Opulence. Why not create an alliance of player orgs?”
“So you don't mind the potential drama between orgs?” Mark asked.
“That's fine,” Ivan said. “Conflicts between orgs are part of Parallax as a game, but conflicts within orgs become personal.”
“In that case…” Mark considered the possibility. It was true that a coalition of specialized orgs could function as well as a single, multifaceted one. At least, it could in theory. But, most specialized orgs had little interest in game activities beyond their specialization. Mark had no idea what forms of persuasion would be necessary to form such an alliance. Though not convinced, Mark agreed. “It might work, but you're giving Myles a lot to handle Ivan.”
“Oh, it will work out,” Ivan beamed.
“How can you be so sure?” Mark asked.
“I can feel it.”
You say that based on feelings!?
----------------------------------------
A week later, Remmy Kaga sat in his office on the Black Opal scanning through his production reports and credit ledgers with a passive eye. Days earlier, the Fortune Divers' output of precious metals in the Lucre system reached their barge's maximum, and their profit margins met the Divers' best case scenario. Or rather, they had exceeded the assumed best case. Thanks to their profit sharing with the Temple Wraiths, the Fortune Divers' convoy escort costs vanished in the previous weeks along with their expected losses to piracy. The Fortune Divers' position in Lucre could be considered perfect. In fact, it was too perfect. Remmy glanced at the calendar on his tablet screen. Two months remained until Lucre became a public system. A long time, but he needed to plan for the system's inevitable public release.
At first, he viewed the exclusive work contract between the Divers and the Wraiths with suspicion. In lawless space, no higher power existed to enforce contract terms, and common sense dictated that contracts signed at gunpoint always broke down in flames. Yet here stood their pact with the Temple Wraiths, negotiated in the shadow of a destroyer, reaping extreme profits for the disadvantaged party. Though the Wraiths kept a fifteen percent share of all profits, their provided services far outweighed the costs. Even so, his intuition blanched at his anomalous position. Something will happen soon.
No point in worrying, he sighed, there's nothing I can do about it anyways. Remmy shook the doubts from his head and pushed his tablet away. At this stage, his org leader had little intention of dissolving this arrangement. He moved on to his export inventory list. Another shipment with Wraiths escort was scheduled for the evening, and their ace pilots, Nova Streya and Jake Arfall, arrived an hour in advance to drill his defense team on interceptor maneuvers and group tactics.
I should check on those training sessions, he thought. With a swipe of his wrist phone, Remmy called his squadron leader. “Hey Mitch, how are things going?”
“Is it that bad?”
“Sure, I have some time.” Ten minutes remained before the escort fleet's scheduled arrival, so Remmy made his way to the training room, where he found Mitch reclined on a couch watching to separate screens. On the right, a Nova chased his newest pilots, Rush and June, through an asteroid field.
The Viper on screen spun around and launched a missile at June. His Wasp pulled up and released a cloud of hot chaff.
“Locust? Stink Bug?” Remmy asked. “Why are those two answering to such demeaning names?”
“Those are nicknames she came up during our first encounter,” Mitch sighed. “If you didn't realize, we're still insects to her.”
A missile flew at Rush, and he dodged into a stream of plasma. Holes dotted his Wasp's hull before it exploded.
Remmy took the seat beside Mitch and watched as the two Wraiths toyed with his guard squadron. The Wraiths even went as far as switching out their interceptors for gate divers to improve his team's reflexes against their expected opponents. To his dismay, he witnessed Nova defeat two Wasps using an unarmed Trident gate diver. Remmy cringed and shook his head. “This is embarrassing. How can you be so passive Mitch?”
Mitch stretched and turned over on the couch. “Easy. They're our allies.”
“They're just business partners,” Remmy said. Though considering our profits, Harold will do everything possible as an org leader to keep relations friendly.
“Well also, Nova's sim rating is over twenty-five hundred. She's the eighth ranked interceptor pilot in all of Parallax, so there's no need to beat ourselves up over it. If we really needed to defeat her outside of sim battles, we'd overwhelm her skills with numbers. You'll have an easier time gathering ten average pilots than recruiting a true ace like her. Might cost less too.”
Remmy recalled their earlier skirmish two weeks prior. While Nova deftly handled four of his Wasps simultaneously, adding a fifth pilot shifted the situation in the Divers' favor before the Wraiths' destroyer traversed into Lucre. Just like prospecting in Parallax Gate, a group's effectiveness in combat depended more on group organization and org resources than individual skills.“You're probably right,” Remmy said.
Just then, his wrist phone chimed and showed his assistant on the line. “What is it, Wes?” Remmy asked.
“Transfer his call to the lounge,” Remmy said. He faced the display as Myles's youthful face appeared on the screen.
Myles said.
“The waste iron? It's not worth much, so we dump it.”
“That's fine,” Remmy said. “Our freighter is idle half the time anyways, so if you send me the location, we can deliver. But why do you want waste iron? It's obtainable from every other asteroid.”
A forge ship? Are the Wraiths starting a dominion?