Beta-Testers
by Prizrak ("Ghost")
Episode 9: Protectors of Fatherland
first published in "Best Computer Games" magazine №1 (50) Jan. 2006, №2 (51) Feb 2006, №3 (52) Mar 2006, №4 (53) Apr 2006
Mission 01: Baptism of Fire.
Testers' den.
November 12, 10:34 real time."So?"
"Soon..."
"So?"
"Banzai, go wash yourself!"
"Xen, launch it already, you bastard!"
"Wait a bit... Wait a bit... I'll check the textures..."
"Check them from the inside. Launch it already! I'm dying here..."
The overall atmosphere in the computer hall resembled something between mass psychosis and fan crowd of a random rock group before a concert. The programmer Xenobyte — a pale lean lanky guy with unevenly cut unkempt long black hair, long fingers seemingly having a life of their own and wearing sun pince-nez — was frantically thumping on the keyboard, occasionally making belly groans. The "walkers" McMad and Mahmud — two strapping guys with crew-cuts, wearing military camouflage — nervously consumed coffee, now and then exchanging phrases like "And plasma pistol, actually, sucks", "Sure, should take heavy plasma from the start". The stealth and puzzle specialist Melissa — a girl in her twenties, with long black hair, wearing leather vest, short skirt and very tall jackboots — like an orchestra conductor waved a manipulator, wandering the net. And only the gaming journalist Granddaughter — a girl with pigtails in her late teens, wearing sneakers, worn jeans and striped T-shirt (and who wouldn't look out of place in anime) — stood in the middle of this chaos, staring at her friends gloomily. [Translator's note: I added character descriptions from earlier stories.]
"Banzai," she pulled the sleeve of bored Grandfather Banzai (no relation) — a sixty-something man with long gray hair braided in the Viking fashion. "While others are going mad... Could at least you explain, why the panic?! Just another game... Polikarpych also was jumpy, when he gave me the disks..."
Banzai looked at Granddaughter with fear, like a medieval peasant, who was asked "what is this barn?" pointing at a church.
"Granddaughter," he moaned with pain. "I thought Xenobyte was our backwoodsman. But you?!"
"What about me?!" Granddaughter asked gloomily. "Well... let me think... Last time you were crazy like this when I brought 'Star Convoy'. What is it, some other legend of old?! Right?"
Banzai thought deeply.
"Well, sorta — yes."
"Spill out," Granddaughter sighed, making herself comfortable.
Banzai smoothed his mustache. His stare went blank; Granddaughter shuddered: the old tester started to look like a shaman, ready to tell the tribe some scary legend.
"The history of Protector of Fatherland is rooted in the mists of old," he started like a chant. "In the era, when RAM was measured with megabytes, 5-inch disk surprised nobody and comrade Kimersen[sic] was still alive..."
Granddaughter had trouble remembering who, this Kimersen was, but the mention of 5-inch disk suggested appropriate respect.
"In that era few had heard of 3D acceleration, much less VR. So, there was a game called 'UFO: An Unknown Aggressor', or something like that..."
The old man's voice fell to a mystic whisper, after which he seemed to exit to astral completely. His eyes watered, his fingers and mustache moved mysteriously.
"And was the game good?" Granddaughter pulled Banzai's sleeve impatiently.
"Good? Hmm... It wasn't just good. Though nobody figured where was the trick. The graphics seemed to be — for its day — quite decent, but not really outstanding. Ditto the music. The plot — there'd been more elaborate ones. But all that put together... In short, people were binge playing it. The whole generation. And then weirdness started. The company that released the game decided to release a sequel too. And so they did. Fans, of course bought everything, but... But it didn't make such a furor. And everything seemed to be the same. But many turned away: something was insincere there. A few years later another sequel appeared... And failed again... All in all, the pre-virtual era saw 5 installments of the legendary game. Each time employing the latest achievements of computer technology. The poor game had been a turn-based tactical simulator, a real-time tactical simulator, space fighter simulator and just a shooter. All in vain. The new generation turned away, the old fans wept, unearthed their old computers, late at night installed old DOS and ran the first, the legendary variant of the game."
"But today many old games are reworked for virt," Granddaughter remarked.
"Yeah," Banzai nodded, "and note that the legends like Doom, Quake, Dune — they all immediately found their virtual incarnations. But no less legendary Aggressor — no way. Despite all the years... Do you know why?"
"Why?"
"They are afraid. Still afraid, because they don't understand what in the first game touched the soul so much," mysteriously whispered Banzai.
"But somebody finally tried, didn't they?"
"They did. Samara Soft. Cunning guys, I respect that... But even they didn't dare to make a true remake, or what would you call it... They said 'inspired by...' And rightly so — remaking a legend is no use. Now, inspired by legendary images one can..."
"Enough tall tales, Banzai. Let's go! Mount your machines, comrades!" — Mahmud joyfully roared from somewhere.
Chkalov Air Defense secret base.
November 12, 10:55 real timeGranddaughter found the intro somewhat boring. With Levitan-like narrator's voice solemnly telling the story how mean aliens started terrorizing Earth, over an incredibly beautiful snow-covered forest landscape a pancake-like vehicle floated by, mysteriously blinking its outlining lights. Suddenly the camera shifted. One snowbank stirred, an old man in ushanka and sheepskin coat emerged from it. With a disapproving glance at the vehicle the old man dramatically raised a Berdan rifle, aimed carefully and pulled the trigger. The vehicle shuddered, shook and, leaving a trail of smoke, dashed somewhere beyond the forest where it crashed, judging from the thunder. Around the geriatric sniper equally gloomy peasants started to gather, getting out of the thicket, armed with axes, forks and stakes. It looked like the troubles of the flying saucer pilots had just started.
[T.N.:
Yu.B.Levitan was the primary announcer of Soviet Radio in 1940-60s, an iconic voice of WW2 archive footage.
Berdan rifles are single-shot 10.75x58 or 7.62x54 mm rifles decommissioned in the 1890s. The name is used scornfully since mid-20th century.]
Meanwhile, the narrator explained in simple terms that although the government pretends that nothing extraordinary happens, the population resists the alien intervention the way it can. And now it's time to set about this task orderly, on an industrial scale. Which is what the players are suggested to do. To begin with, they get one Air Defense base and the task: stop the disorder.
Finally, the surrounding reality blinked. The testers found themselves in a grim bunker.
"Armory, armory!!! Where's the armory?!" Mahmud shouted immediately.
"Laboratory!" Xenobyte interjected.
"We should take the inventory!" suggested Melissa in a business-like manner.
"Shaddup!" proclaimed Banzai, taking the familiar coordinator's position. "Well, let's sort this out... Yeah... Well... From here it's just like the good old UFO, only with you being louses in there... Here's the base plan... Mahmud, McMad, dart to the barracks, take the corridor, then right. Xen, lab's on the second level, the lift's behind you. Melissa, dart to the command center. Check the base inventory, find how are the interceptors armed...
"And me?" asked Granddaughter resentfully.
"Walk around the base, look for picturesque angles..."
Testers ran in all directions. 15 minutes later hey gathered in the room marked as "VIP hall" for some reason. After a nervous glance at the fountain with a golden dolphin rising in the middle of the table and a monumental fax machine with "Sony" and "Xerox" stickers, everybody settled around the water-sprayed table. The testers' faces were long. They spent the next two minutes in silence. Finally, Mahmud very carefully said:
"Errrrr..."
Nobody followed his lead. The pause clearly stretched too long.
"OK, comrades, I looked after you..." Banzai made a sound. "Express yourself. Let's start with the laboratory. Xenobyte?"
"Odd," the programmer shrugged, "the finest device there is a moonshine still. The personnel gave me a painful impression. Out of seven employees there are four managers and a secretary. Nothing to develop yet."
"Hm... OK, I hope the first downed saucer will give them work. Go on. What's in the armory?"
"Banzai, I don't know yet what is the balance in this game," said McMad gloomily. "But the local defense doctrine seems to be based on AK-47, 3 Mosin rifles, 2 RPG-18 and 1 decent SVD rifle, which I take for myself. The latest in assault weaponry is Saiga carbine. Frankly, I'm slightly panicking."
"Don't worry," Banzai tried to calm him down. "We'll look at them in action, can't tell much before that. What about means of protection?"
"As you can guess, a standard issue army armored vest. That's all."
"Mahmud, did you check the barracks?"
"Boss," said the walker quietly. "If those rookies must repel the invasion... It's time to learn to speak Martian."
"That bad?"
"Even worse," said Mahmud with meaning. "We're saddled with 5 degenerates flunked out of colleges."
A minute of silence followed.
"You mean... Conscripts?"
"Exactly."
"And... Regular military?"
"That's us."
"OK," mumbled the coordinator with a slightly hoarse voice. "Melissa..."
"What's a 'Tunguska'?" the girl asked instead of an answer.
"How should I put it..." [T.N.: 2K22 Tunguska, NATO name SA-19 Grison — a tracked self-propelled twin anti-aircraft gun with SAMs.]
"We've got two. According to the inventory, they come with diesel fuel and ammo. Thus: we've got a bit of ammo."
"And what about early warning systems?"
"A sentry on a watchtower," Melissa replied caustically. "There's also a radar. The local McGyver is busy repairing it."
"And interceptors?"
"Two MiGs. Fuel for five missions, ten missiles. Thank god, at least enough cannon rounds. But no pilots at all. Some of us will have to recall air simulators."
"And what about the funds?"
"And what do you think?"
"I get it. But it's strange... Where did it all come from? I mean the fountains and other color music?"
"And this," Melissa replied gloomily, "is called realism. We live off state money and volunteer donations. And a sponsor will enjoy giving a fountain more than real money. Then again, maybe they have trouble selling those. And weapons are in demand..."
"Well," Xenobyte groaned sourly. "Maybe it isn't all that bad. Maybe..."
Suddenly an overly joyful march started.
It took the testers some time to find it was being produced by a mahogany end table, which on thorough investigation turned out to be a telephone.
"Post number 3 reporting," a cheerful voice sounded from an earpiece. "An unknown flying object detected!"
Air combat.
November 12, 11:23 real timeBanzai had no time to enter the game. Thus, it were McMad and Xenobyte who madly dashed to the interceptors. Mahmud rushed to prepare the landing party to the mission.
"Xenobyte, don't show off. The plan is: lure the saucer, start a dogfight and inconspicuously lure it toward Tunguskas."
"Let's fly... Damn, why so many buttons? Couldn't they install a proper keyboard?"
"By god, that's already a simplified simulator! McMad! Remember, the ammo is limited. Cause I know you, when you get a new gun... I wish I was in the cockpit..."
"Yeah, and who'd stay at the helm?"
"Xenobyte, go!"
"Giddyup, go, dear!" the programmer screamed, accelerating the airplane.
The plane thundered along the runway, rose its nose and lifted off.
"Xen!" Melissa remarked with worry. "Do you have any idea of the cost of such an airplane?"
"Better don't tell... But shouldn't they be replaced for free?"
"They should. If we file a convincing statement of fair wear-and-tear. Remember those 'puzzle-adventure elements'?"
"Belay talking!" Banzai interrupted them harshly. "Xen has trouble with controls as it is, and then you..."
The other plane hit the sky. Snow-covered taiga dragged below.
"Fifteen seconds, all systems go... Banzai, check the map, where to?!"
"Turn left, we'll approach from the sun side..."
"Who the hell cares? The sky is all clouded..."
"It's a tradition... OK, belay yammering. Eyes on radars, you should see it soon..."
"I see it!" declared McMad shortly after.
"Mine's empty," Xenobyte grumbled.
"McMad, take the lead, Xenobyte's radar looks dead."
"I knew they'd slip me a defective plane!"
"Better look out the window, you'll reach visual contact soon... Xen, what's that thunder from you?"
"I'm fixing the radar, somebody conveniently left a crowbar..."
"And?!"
"As usual... Here! Target's on the radar!"
"It's in sights already," McMad chuckled.
And truly, a classic "flying saucer" sailed leisurely under the low clouds.
According to the "lure the enemy to Tunguskas" plan, both interceptors started with sweeping past the enemy craft menacingly. But the UFO paid no heed to the hooligans and continued going about its business.
"The nerve," Xenobyte was outraged. "What should we do then?"
"McMad, fire!" Banzai ordered.
The walker must have waited long for this moment, because his interceptor made a gut roar and spit fire from all barrels and sent a missile from under its wing.
The missile drew a silver line in the sky and hit the saucer. An explosion thundered, the flying misconception shook. The lights contouring it started blinking perplexedly...
"At least I broke his headlight..."
"And that's all?" asked Xenobyte in surprise.
"McMad, retreat!!!" Banzai screamed with a mad voice.
The interceptor skyrocketed. Good timing: formerly phlegmatic flying object quickly released some sort of a proboscis and flung itself into dogfight. Xenobyte engaged the airbreaks, but was too slow: the glowing droplet spit by the disk slashed the base of a wing and the cockpit. The turbine started coughing in an asthmatic fit.
"Oy vey! I mean 'Mayday'!" the programmer screamed, spinning down.
"Straighten the machine, cretin!" Banzai replied. "McMad, distract the saucer!"
McMad made a loop-the-loop, showering the enemy with cannon fire and shooting two more missiles while at it. Before the object could turn its gun, he turned around and sped somewhere northeast.
"Yeah," he remarked several seconds later, "looks like we've got an ally here. I can see something like Xen's castle in Transylvania."
The building did resemble the vampire castle from "Epoch of Chimeras" MMORPG. Even the round window, from which Xenobyte usually flew to get breakfast, was in its proper place. Probably, it wasn't a coincidence — the same 3D artists were rumored to work on both games.
And the UFO suddenly, without warning or paying proper respect to inertia, rushed after him quickly closing the distance.
"Ayeee!" scared Melissa's voice sounded from speakers. "Draw it away from there! Away!"
"Melissa, what's with you?" Banzai replied "We should save money. If it's shot down without us, that's better."
"I told you — draw it away! Anywhere!"
"Run for the clouds!" suggested Banzai.
The interceptor skyrocketed. The flying saucer, despite its absolutely improbable horizontal maneuverability, seemed to be weak at climbing. After "missing" by several meters the UFO stopped abruptly and started to "rise on edge", after which it continued its movement. This short delay let the plane disappear in the lead-gray clouds. Somehow, the saucer didn't want to follow it. It also became interested in the building with fancy towers...
"Listen," Melissa's vice sounded calm, but menacing, "don't let a single crock fall off these towers... I mean roof tile. Do anything. Up to ramming this flying bowl with your plane..."
"What the hell is that, anyway? A nuclear weapons storage?" McMad howled.
And then airwaves brought the wail of forgotten Xenobyte:
"My castle! It's shooting at it! I'll crush you-u-u-u-u!"
"What does he mean?"
While McMad was running away from the saucer (which took much shorter than retelling the events), the programmer managed to break out of the spin, missed the frozen ground by five meters and sent the interceptor up.
The object started jerking, torn between McMad and Xenobyte. The fatal hesitation... Xenobyte's fighter, wheezing strainedly and smoking, raced to ram it.
"Bail out, Xen!!!"
"No pas-sa-ran, motherfuckers!"
Four rockets, one after another, fell from under the fighter wings, and the fighter itself finally screamed like a wounded mammoth and drove its nose into the defenseless belly of the saucer.
That finally seemed to do it. The craft started shaking, spasmodically jerking to and fro and sped to the side, inexorably losing the altitude.
"Wounded beast," Banzai sighed. "McMad, after it! Xen, you were the real programmer! The people will never forget you..."
"Yeah," Melissa confirmed, almost weeping from disappointment. "Wasting the full load of ammo with an almost new interceptor! Losses, staggering material losses!"
"Shouldn't have given the idea."
"Who knew you'd take it all so literally..."
"OK, we'll have a debriefing later. Now Mahmudych's going to exact losses from those humanoids."