The Outlaw (Phantom Server: Book #2) by Andrei Livadny Page A

began to melt; then the thin purple streaks dissolved into a cloud of incandescent dust which rushed toward the hole, sealing it with a crimson film.
    “Zander, hold him for me, will ya?” Ingmud suddenly asked.
    I didn't mind, of course. My muscle enhancers worked fine, but the serve was rather large too. I had my doubts that I could do it. But I could try, I suppose.
    “What are you doing?” Ingmud very nearly lost his concentration when he saw me stand up in my seat trying to get a good grip of his patient. “Hold him mentally !”
    “I can't!”
    The hybrid was lost for words. The serve removed the debuff, forced itself free and ran off. After a couple of dozen feet, it stopped and flooded us with scorching waves of scanning radiation. The fresh patch on its hull still glowed crimson, cooling down.
    “Shame. I wanted to add a couple more modules to him,” Ingmud complained. “Never mind.”
    “What made you think I could immobilize him?”
    He shrugged. “You've got two ancient neuronet modules implanted, right?” he said dryly. His piercing stare made me want to shrink. “And you've got the Mnemotechnics skill. Wait a sec... you don't use them, do you?” the amazement in his voice was sincere.
    Pointless denying it. The hybrid could see right through me. “I'm a pilot, not a Technologist. I got them accidentally, both the nets and the skill.”
    Ingmud's face darkened. What could have caused such a change in him?
    “So what do we do about the reactor?” I wanted to ask him about so many things, of course, but business had to come first. The rest could wait.
    “Sorry, Zander,” the hybrid answered reluctantly. “I understand it wasn't very nice. But I had no idea! You won't believe the things serves bring here.”
    “Tell him to take it back, then!”
    “Impossible. You see, I've already tweaked it a bit. Your reactor unit won't fit your Condor any more. But I'm sure we can sort it out,” he slapped my shoulder and scrambled back to his feet, groaning. “I'll need some time to find you a replacement.”
    Oh. Did that mean I was stuck here at the station?
    I tried to pull myself together. It wasn't the best of situations but I was sure I wasn't going to stay here for long. As soon as the Haash finished repairing their ships — forty-eight hours max — they were going to start searching for me. In the meantime, there was no point in ruining my relationship with the hybrid. Around me lay heaps and heaps of Founders' devices, unscanned and unstudied. A treasure trove for a novice Technologist. They would keep me busy, that's for sure.
    “As far as I remember, you used to trade in cargonite? Where did you get all these abilities from?” I nodded at the serve still hovering around while I was rummaging through my video archives. After the Phantom Raiders' attack on Argus, Charon and I had done a quick check of the depressurized market deck in search of supplies. We'd popped into his shop too — that had been Charon's idea who said that he'd seen a set of gear in Ingmud’s shop suitable for his size.
    There! Found it!
    The view of a dark hangar consumed by cosmic cold appeared in my mind's eye. Cargonite piled everywhere. The only little spot free from scrap was taken by the vendor's chair. Ingmud slumped in it, his face distorted with a spasm, his tag missing — he was long and decidedly dead. Most likely, his own physical body back in real life hadn't survived the decompression shock. The neuronets they'd implanted us with knew no difference between real and virtual pain.
    In which case who was it in front of me?
    I remembered Ingmud as a greedy and cunning player. Somehow I had my doubts that he'd had a complete makeover within the last twenty-four hours, changing class and growing 82 levels. The only explanation I could think of was that he'd been made into an NPC. The update must have used his vendor avatar as a base for the new Ingmud. This version answered most of the questions and removed