Hypercage: Instant Reality Prequel One by Craig Lea Gordon Page A

sequence. Two reticles flew in from the edge of his HUD to snap onto the approaching craft. Pterax smiled to himself as he imagined their surprise as their cockpits shrilled with a lock-on warning. He fired off two missiles at nearly point blank range as he shot between them. On the rear-facing camera, he watched as they exploded together, the expanding fireballs from the detonating craft overlapping each other, creating a single blossom of destruction against the blackness.
    He yanked back on the stick and swung around to realign on the enemy capital ship. He checked the distance until it was in firing range of the Ticonderoga. There was still time. He primed the sun crusher warheads and opened his comms channel.
    “Command, this is Missile Boat 7. I am on final approach to the enemy capital ship. Request Ion fire in 30 seconds,” he said.
    “Roger that, Pterax. We’ll give you support.”
    Are you ready to order, Dave?
    “Affirmative, command. Four sun crusher warheads are primed for delivery.”
    Dave!
    “Excellent work, Pterax. We’ll get those laser batteries deactivated for you. You’re our last chance to turn this around.”
    DAVE! Did you hear me?
    “My pleasure, command. Get ready for Ion blast in 10...”
    I’m ready to order. Have you chosen yet?
    “9... 8... 7...”
    DAVE! GODDAMMIT! Will you answer me?
    “6... 5... 4...”
    If you don’t answer me right now, I’m leaving.
    “3... 2...”
    I mean it.
    At the tone of that last sentence, he knew he couldn’t push it any further. But he was so close. He could almost see the payload of sun crushers firing off towards the capital ship. The sound of experience points racking up in his ears was almost enough for him to ignore the voice and continue on his approach. And then it came.
    Now.
    A single word. But he knew its intent. Its low, almost guttural inflection rolled around inside his head. He could imagine the way her mouth formed the words, the way her bottom teeth would be bared. This was it. He had to cut the connection.
    With a thought, the cockpit broke down into thousands of triangles, dividing the view of the interior of the spaceship. As they floated away, a luminous hex grid of his gaming construct was visible between the gaps. One by one, they flashed rapidly and vanished. The glowing purple grid collapsed down into a single point, leaving only blackness. With a lurch that turned his stomach, the blackness switched back to reality as the connection severed. He lowered the menu. His wife’s face a frown of danger across the restaurant table. He was in trouble.
    “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” she demanded.
    Dave paused as a set of notifications slotted up the side of his HUD, glowing vividly against the romantic lighting of their corner booth.
    +200 Session XP
    +100 XP Mission flare
    +1000 XP Enemy craft destroyed

-1500 XP Mission objectives failed
Net score: -100 XP
    Daily XP total: 71,265
    Minus 100 experience points? And only a hundred XP for mission flare! That was fucking bollocks. He slammed the table with his fist. The two glasses of red wine wobbled uncertainly from the impact. Dave reached out and grabbed both stems to stop them from falling over. The sudden motion slopped a good mouthful out of each glass, where it covered his hands and ran over the top of his skin to stain the white tablecloth. He watched as it soaked into the material. More waste. Just like wasting that mission. Now it was going to take him even longer to get to Battle Rank 40. He was way off his daily target. All because she had to interrupt him. She couldn’t simply give him a second. Couldn’t simply wait.
    “Dave!”
    That tone again. He snapped his head up to look at her. Sure enough, her bottom teeth were bared. The expression she always used when she was about to give him a bollocking.
    “What?” he snapped. The sharpness of his words matching his frustration at her impatience.
    “Don’t you dare take that tone with me. What the