The Gene of the Ancients (Rogue Merchant Book #2): LitRPG Series Read online

  We didn’t get on very well, and I preferred to keep our communication to the minimum. Alena’s parents had wanted her to find a different husband; I definitely didn’t meet their expectations, and even if they seemed to come to terms with their daughter’s choice over the last two years, sometimes, they still let something slip. In short, I had never become a part of the family — and it’s not like I tried.

  They greeted us, as customary, with a table full of food and immediately started feeding us traditional dishes accompanied by alcohol. That was par for the course.

  Like a proverbial grandmother, they nipped all my attempts to protest in the bud, even calling me thin despite having gained fifteen pounds over the last three months playing Sphere. I had also abandoned the gym that I used to visit with Alena in the morning, as the nightly battles forced me to sleep until noon.

  “Waste of good food,” grumbled Victor, Alena’s father and a former military officer, a stern old war dog. Men such as him weren’t the sharpest knife in the drawer and usually retired at Major. They might be salt of the earth and a cornerstone of our armed forces, but for a civilian, talking with them was a monumental effort. After getting to know him, I realized why Alena fled her family to marry me without pausing to think. I would have done the same if I were her. They say that women often pick men similar to their fathers; in my case, it wasn’t true at all. I was Victor’s polar opposite. And for us, it was dislike at first sight.

  * * *

  “So how’s it going, do tell!”

  “It’s fine, Mom.”

  “Don’t talk with your mouth full! How’s your work, Oleg?”

  “It’s the same, I have a small business on the Net.”

  “The Net!” Victor chuckled derisively. “What a load of nonsense!”

  “Come on, honey. Everybody’s doing it these days.”

  “Everybody? Don’t speak for everyone, woman!” Victor barked, expressing his disapproval. Then he raised a cognac bottle (the one given to me by Sphere’s admins), but I refused a shot. After all, I still had to drive Alena home.

  “Where are you going on vacation this year? Don’t you usually go in May or June?” Alena’s mother, Mila, asked. As I looked at my bleeding-heart mother-in-law, I could easily see my wife in her place. That’s how she would look in her sixties, I thought.

  A slight shadow came over Alena’s face. Those words had clearly struck a chord.

  “We thought about going on a cruise, Northern Union to New London, but it didn’t work out, Oleg has work problems...”

  Mila flung her hands up and broke out in a smile.

  “Oh, that’s great! Maybe you could come with us? Your dad’s gotten four tickets to the Star for an entire week! But the flight’s the day after tomorrow, we couldn’t pick the date...”

  “The Star? I wanna go so much!” Alena clapped her hands, and her eyes lit up.

  “Oleg, sweetie, we’ll go, right?”

  The Star was a low-orbit space hotel, not the trendy Nova Cosmo, a plainer one, but still pretty great. Artificial gravity, suites with a scenic view of the Earth equipped with powerful telescopes, and a full range of space tourism recreations: swimming in a floating water balloon, spacewalks, zero-gravity sports. Everyone who had ever visited raved about it.

  I would have loved to go there as well, even accompanied by my in-laws, but now was not the time for that. Sphere and its problems became an essential part of my life. I still had to give my answer to the Magister, finish my business with the marketing team, pass the exam into the Watchers, and finally start earning money, and all of those matters couldn’t wait. I was in no position to drop everything and leave for a week; it would disrupt all of my plans and throw me off track.

  Even that night, when Alena tried her damnedest, even using her feminine wiles, but I didn’t break. Still, we had to compromise, sending her with her parents. That outcome seemed to satisfy everyone: she would get to visit a space hotel, getting bragging points with her girlfriends, and I wouldn’t have to worry about my wife vacationing all alone. I did want to go myself, of course, as swimming in zero gravity was my long-held dream, but that had to wait.

  The next day, during a barbecue, they were cheerfully discussing plans. The fourth attendee, to his chagrin, would have to be Ruslan, Alena’s youngest brother. The boy was anticipating a week-long freedom from his parents, but I had to screw him over. Now, he was scowling at me.

  The flight would happen the next day.

  * * *

  After packing up and saying our goodbyes, I drove Alena and her family to the airport. The New Tokyo flight was departing at 7 PM. I put them on the plane and watched the silvery airliner disappear in the darkening sky. Now, I could go home — to Sphere.

  When I got home, it was already dark. Right at the turn to our apartment building, a muddy black sedan cut me off, barreling from the roadside. I almost crashed into its rear, then swore, pressing the car horn a couple of times. Way too many road hogs these days!

  The black sedan — now I could see that it was a Hurricane — drove ahead for some time, then stopped right in the archway leading into my courtyard, the hazard lights turned on. From behind, I got blocked by another car, its headlights reflected in my rearview mirror.

  “The world has really gone to hell in a handbasket!” I cursed, then honked a few more times, but the Hurricane didn’t seem to react, still flashing its hazard lights. Was it broken? I doubted it.

  I was sick and tired of idiots like that parking anywhere they wanted. Why couldn’t they find a proper spot and give way to others? After cursing one more time, I got out of the car to tell that asshole to clear the road in simple terms.

  The window of the Hurricane came down, releasing a cloud of cigarette smoke. Inside, I saw a round face in a baseball cap and a week’s worth of stubble. There was one more guy next to him, blond and lanky. He was shifting his gaze from me to the screen of his wrist communicator.

  Not mincing any words, I asked them to clear the way.

  The bearded guy smirked, then cast a glance at his companion. The second dude nodded, looking at the green signal light of his comm.

  “It’s him. Definitely his voice,” he said.

  I had a sinking feeling in my guts. Doors slammed behind me. I looked back: two guys came out from the other car, headed toward me. When I turned my head toward the Hurricane, someone punched me in the head. Almost blinded by pain, I was sent flying into a wall, crashing into it headfirst.

  After that, it was a blur. For some reason, they didn’t hit me anymore. The men from the second car grabbed me, pinning my arms down, and when somebody pulled me by the scruff of my neck, I saw that round unshaven mug. The man was stroking his left fist with his right hand, squeezing a shiny knuckle duster. So that’s why that first punch almost knocked me out cold.

  “Hello, Cat.” I saw his lips moving. “Don’t you recognize me? Goggy sent me! He did promise to visit you, didn’t he? Surely you remember that!”

  “Well then, if you don’t — you owe us a fair amount. With interest, too. Got it?”

  Finally, it dawned on me. Those friendly guys arrived from the good old days of COSMOS ONLINE. After the admins had identified and banned all real money traders, including me, they had also deducted double the amount of the purchased money from the accounts of all players buying it illegally, sometimes making it negative. Goggy represented the alliance that used to be one of my major customers, and the sums they had been dealing with were pretty serious.

  After recovering from the blow, I tried to break free. No dice; they had a death grip. Blood from my smashed lip dripped onto my chest, smearing my new shirt. Bastards.

  “Go ask Nick from COSMOGOLD,” I spit under his feet, my saliva red and viscous.

  “You don’t get it, do you? We don’t give a damn about your Nick. We were working with you! He’s nobody, deal with him yourself. Got it, hustler?”

  “I don’t owe you anything. Forget about it, or sue me.”

/>   “What? Sue you? Kitty boy, did we hit you too hard? Are you a basket case now? Do you think I came here to talk?”

  Goggy’s henchman seemed to be more and more worked up. His face was red with anger, and he was clenching and unclenching his fist. And then, his blond friend chimed in, “See, Cat, the deal’s simple. We know who you are, what you are, where you live, where you park your car. Lots of idiots around. Would be a shame if any of them broke your legs in a dark corner with a crowbar, or your pretty car burned down in the yard,” he nodded toward my white Toyota, squeezed between their two cars. Or if something happened to Alena on the way back. Think for yourself, do you really need these problems?”

  He slipped a piece of paper folded four times into my chest pocket.

  “It’s the amount and the account number. You have two days!”

  * * *

  Thank God Alena wasn’t home. After taking a shower, I examined my face in the mirror, touching my teeth with my tongue. Thankfully, they seemed fine, and I had gotten off with a smashed lip — a pretty great outcome, considering the power of that blow. I was shaking a bit. Still, I tried to calm myself down and consider the situation.

  Of course, I wasn’t going to pay off those scumbags. I hadn’t expected anyone who had gotten the short end of the stick in COSMOS to ever get to me. I wondered how they had found me, as I had always kept my real profile secret. Very few people even knew that I lived in Kazan; somebody must have helped them. My only lead was COSMOGOLD. Apparently, it was good old Nicky who had delivered me to Goggy — he had known where I lived, after all. One more reason to have that bastard. Whatever; I would make him remember me. Vague thoughts about dealing with him almost crystallized into something of a plan. I just had to put some time and effort...

  All right, then. Going by his attitude, Goggy was clearly prepared to make good on his threats. Back when I had played COSMOS, I had known something about him: he was a pretty unpleasant fellow, stubborn and angry, who had dragged his alliance to the top by hook or by crook. I needed to solve that problem, and I needed to do it fast.

  My first thought was to contact the police. But what exactly did I have in the way of evidence? Unsupported threats and caked blood on my lip? I needed proof that it had been done by them and not by my face hitting a table. I had no witnesses and no recordings. Those sons of bitches knew their business — they had caught me late at night, when I was alone, probably having picked that moment for our alone time.

  The doorbell rang, interrupting my contemplations. The communicator screen displayed “Unknown caller.” Somebody was calling me via the Courier, a super popular online messenger that had replaced its predecessors and supplanted mobile telephony. Who could it be? I was already having a bad day; anticipating another problem, I put the comm against my ear.

  “I’m listening.”

  “Hi, Cat.” The soft, calm voice seemed familiar, but I couldn’t quite place it.

  “You haven’t logged into Sphere for four days, so I decided to call you up myself. Have you considered my offer?”

  I couldn’t understand who was calling. My head was full of my squabble with Goggy. Into Sphere? What offer?

  “I’m sorry, but who is this?” I asked after a pause.

  “Haven’t you recognized me?” the voice laughed dryly. “It’s the Magister.”

  “Is this some kind of prank?”

  My thoughts were frantic. How could the Magister, an NPC in a video game, even if he considered himself a digital copy of a developer, call my comm in the real world? That wasn’t possible. But who else could know about our private conversation?

  “I see you’re surprised. That’s understandable. But it’s really me. We talked about the Seven Brothers, remember?”

  “Yes. But how could it be?”

  “You mean my call? What’s so amazing about it? You can call your friends via Courier when they’re playing Sphere, and vice versa.”

  “But you’re an NPC,” I said, confused.

  “Oleg, my boy. If my avatar looks like an NPC, it doesn’t mean that I’ve lost all connection to the outside. I still have a lot of friends left there. They’re helping me. I hope that you and I will become friends as well. I’m looking after you.”

  “Umm...what do you mean?”

  “For instance, I know about the sudden visit of Sphere’s marketing team to your home. What did they want, by the way? Use your sword in a commercial? I hope you were wise enough to keep our shared secrets private.”

  “Yes, it’s like you were here yourself,” I said. “As for your offer, I still need time to consider it carefully. I haven’t decided anything yet.”

  “When will you return to Sphere? We need to finish our talk.”

  “I don’t know yet. I have real-life problems; I need to deal with them first.”

  “Calm down, Cat. I sense you’re agitated. Real-life problems? Let me help you solve them. The goings-on in Sphere are more important, I need you here.”

  I fell silent. Apparently, the situation was more serious than I had thought. The Magister called me on my comm, and he knew that I had done a commercial for the Sphere admins. I was under surveillance — both in real life and probably Sphere, too. Suddenly, against my wishes, I was thrust into some sort of power play, and the weird fussing around me was a huge indicator. On the one hand, this seemed risky as hell, but on the other, it opened a world of opportunities. Didn’t it?

  I gave the Magister a brief retelling of my misfortunes with Goggy from COSMOS. He didn’t say anything: no comments or interruptions. In the end, he finally spoke up, “I see. We’ll help you. Tomorrow, a man will pay you a visit. Give him all the information about those guys. They won’t bother you after that, so stop worrying. All clear.”

  I was in no mood to log into Sphere. I had to settle my nerves and reflect on everything. Goggy’s attack and the Magister’s follow-up call completely knocked me off balance. Would he really help me? It felt impossible. I went to the kitchen, tapped the touch panel, and the Magic Home system fired up, mixing whiskey and ice. I needed to come around and get a good night’s sleep.

  * * *

  The man who arrived at 7:30 AM didn’t seem like a fighter at all. Mostly, he looked like an elderly Jew, with his intelligent face, grey whiskers, and round nose glasses, which had just gone into fashion again. The only feature to stand out were his eyes, hard and probing. He introduced himself as Mr. Leo, took the piece of paper with Goggy’s details, and asked me a couple of questions about car brands, number plates, and the men’s appearance. Judging by his wording, he clearly had some kind of relationship with law enforcement, either now or in the past.

  After he left, having gotten the information, I took a peek from behind the curtain and saw a black Turbo with tinted windows drive out.

  * * *

  The situation was complicated. To put it bluntly, it was all-around bad. I was in over my head: it was a big game played by big boys, and the bets were much higher than I could even imagine. If the plane crash of Balabanov’s team had been indeed orchestrated, nobody would ever notice if Cat disappeared for good, too. Still, it promised new possibilities. I would get to play in the major league, even if as a pawn. I knew very well that by assisting me with Goggy, the Magister wanted to secure my support, making me feel obliged to help him. But why not use that?

  I sighed deeply, calculating my options. What would I receive by giving up Balabanov and the information about the Seven to the Sphere’s admins? In the best-case scenario, a commendation and maybe a few bonuses — and also get put on the corporation’s watchlist as an owner of one of the Keys. I would also become a troublesome witness who knew way too much about the deaths of the first developer team. This option was too risky; I dismissed it right away.

  If I agreed to help the digitized Balabanov, I risked only getting discovered — and once again, becoming a problem for Sphere’s owners. So pretty much the same thing, essentially. The profit, however, was spectacularly different, starting w
ith the Magister’s real-life help and ending with a nontrivial chance to hit the jackpot, provided Balabanov’s plans came to fruition. A sum with so many digits that I shuddered at the thought. The game was dangerous, but at least, it was worth the cost. Almost physically, I felt my father’s genes wake up inside me — he had spent his whole life embarking on such gambles, trying to win big. I had always condemned him for that, and now, I followed in his footsteps. Truly, the apple didn’t fall far from the tree.

  I didn’t really have anything better to do, so I did the exact thing for which I had sent Alena off with her parents: got into the capsule.

  For three days, Sphere’s marketers exploited me inside the Workshop — a feature inside Sphere that was separate from the game itself. In effect, it was a constructor for designing quests and locations available for everyone with Silver accounts or higher. We had played out hundreds of scenes and camera angles on a special shooting stage, and eventually, it had become a full-fledged video that I had secretly shown Alex. The Workshop, by the way, was a pretty nifty feature of Sphere. There was a whole forum subsection devoted to it. I discovered that lots of players actually spent more time there than the game itself, building something. The opportunities were amazing: you could create a basic quest or an enormous city, provided you had the patience for that.