The Crafting of Chess

by Kit Falbo

  Exhausted, I log out. Too tired to do my normal bus routes, I use a car service to get to Gamer’s Gate, eating the cost. Mel’s chatting away with some regulars as I enter. Sam and Lucy, a couple with matching tattoo sleeves. They are mostly tabletop roleplaying nerds, so I only know them in passing. There’s no money to be made in that pursuit.

  “There, the man of the hour!” Mel declares proudly as I enter.

  Sam and Lucy turn to me. “Are you really Chess? How do you do it?”

  Tired and obviously having missed whatever conversation they are having, all I can say is, “What?”

  Lucy pipes in, “Jediwalker here showed us the blade you sent him. Did you know guilds and groups are pooling resources to get your work?” I’d picked the sword for Mel because it glowed green a little and had a slight hum to it, making it almost but not really, sound like a lightsaber when you swing it.

  “Well, crafting items is pretty much all I do in the game. If you just stick to one thing you get pretty good at it. Mel likes to make fun of the fact I’m a glorified gold farmer.” Mel shrugs at that. “That group you helped hook me up with today was a dud by the way. They took some gear and kicked me out. Managed to work things out my way in the end.”

  “I just helped with the post. Fate picked the players.”

  Sam and Lucy lean in “So do you think you can make us some gear?” Sam asks.

  I give Mel a look, and he at least has the respect to look a little guilty. This is the kind of situation I like to avoid. I had set up my Fair Quest account to send an auto reply to every message. It told them my auction schedule and that I don’t reply to specific requests. Too many people are hitting me up trying to either purchase me into their guild or wanting specific items or abilities.

  “Aside from that small group of thieves today, Mel’s blade is the only one I’ve given away. My other stuff I just post to the auction house.” The digital creators rights act lets me sell my stuff like an artist would their paintings, even though I’m underage. But the terms and conditions of the game force me to use their system, so the company gets their cut.

  Sam pulls out some cash. “We can pay.”

  I push the bills away. It’s hard because I like the feel of cash, one of the things I miss about frequenting the park less often. “I’ll have to think about it. If I agree, we’ll have to set up a private auction to go through the game system, so I’m not breaking any rules. Give Mel a list of what you’re looking for, and I’ll see about letting you know how much it would cost.” I pause thinking on this, “Just don’t go telling anyone else about this.”

  Sam and Lucy walk off, both excited and disappointed while discussing what their characters need. “I wish you hadn’t done that Mel.”

  “Sorry Jay, I didn’t know they’d ambush you like that. I just wanted to get some cool points for knowing you. “

  It’s understandable, like bragging you know some semi-celebrity, which is what I guess I’ve become. Sort of a mini-celebrity, like the Cubs shortstop or an extra in a movie. Grandpa will hate that I’ve become like this, though it’s not like I use my real name. I feel a little bit of sadness. Even Mel doesn’t know my real name, and he’s been my gateway to all this pop culture stuff. “Well, you can make it up for me by posting a cool thing I’ve found and taking all the credit.”

  I explain about how the giant troll in the Garrish Mines will be giving out quests and rewards to players who approach it respectfully and ask. I also tell him to post that sometimes the troll is difficult to understand.

  As I tell him this, he’s already searching the web. “I can’t find anything about this anywhere online. You pulling my leg?”

  “One hundred percent legit. I mean he’ll still attack you if you piss him off. Just have them be humble and respectful and none of that flexing influence stuff. If I’m wrong, I’ll equip you with more than just that fancy sword for free. You spread the word. I really just came in today to ask that favor of you anyway. I promised Gramps I’d be home early today.”

  Mel grunts okay and is already typing away as I leave the shop. Grampa has food waiting when I get home, takeout pho. That and a big hug with some hair muffing. The meals have been getting better thanks to the money I’m bringing in. “Boy, how was your day doing that game. You’ve been proving me wrong so far.”

  “Good, good.” I don’t feel like telling him how I got scammed. “There is actually something I wanted to talk to you about.”

  “What my boy?” he asks, letting me go and handing me a soup container.

  It’s rich lemongrass smell wafts up as I open the container. “I want you to stop your phone games and other things. I’m making enough you no longer need to do that.”

  I can see his face fall. Before, it took both of us earning enough to get by. “There’s college plans, and maybe emergencies?”

  I look him in the eye, trying to project more as an adult than the skinny growing teenager I am. “It’s not worth the trouble. If we have to move again, it will mess with a lot of the stuff I’m working on. I don’t mind the counting cards or stuff like a quick cash chess game. But this taking money from people who aren’t choosing to risk it in the first place has to stop. It makes me feel bad, and I wouldn’t want someone doing that to me.”

  He gives me a sad smile, “You really have grown up, and have become a much better person than I am.”

  I give him a quick hug, “You’re the one who raised me. You took care of me after my parents and, well, I can handle this for a while. I really mean it though. I don’t want any trouble while I’m doing this.”

  He has that sad look he gets every time I mention family. He opens his mouth for a moment before closing it again. “Taking you, well I did what I thought was right. I hope you can forgive me for any mistakes I may have made.”

  “You picked me after school and held me tight as you told me they died. You comforted me at the back of the funeral, letting me listen to recordings. Yes, it’s been hard when you get into trouble, but you’ve always been there when I needed to talk. Hot hand or big deal brewing, you always put them aside. “

  He laughs awkwardly, “But what will I do with my time?”

  “Be a house Grampa. Take cooking lessons, so we don’t need to eat out all the time. Read a book, play chess for fun again like you did when you taught me.” This will be one more worry off my back. I don’t want to lose him, even if it’s only to jail. He’s the only family I have left.

  We stay up late, chatting. He tells me stories of some of his more entertaining cons, both hits and misfires. How my mom, the fireplug, bloodied up half a soccer team for disrespecting her on the field. He laughs about how she gave him a black eye once, something easier now that she’s gone. He is always glad I didn’t get her temper. I drift off to sleep thinking I should try the next part of my Fair Quest plan soon, now that I can afford to spend all day at the smithy.

  Chapter Ten- Casey Ellis

  Will, one of the interns at Immersion Arts, knocks on my door. Thankfully we do paid internships here. Low paying, but paid. “Come in.”

  “Mr. Ellis, there have been some questions.”

  “Call me Casey, Mr. Ellis is my father.”

  “Casey there’ve been some questions about whether there’ve been any new quest updates like the one at the Garrish Mines?”

  I have no idea what he is talking about, but it doesn’t pay to show that. “The quest system in FQ has always been flexible because of our unique AI-like system. “

  “Abigail was just worried about what it might do to the work she put into the Underdoom scenario, even though that plan is far in the future. She was hoping you could talk to Frank about his AIs interfering with her stories.”

  I smile, but inside I am cursing. Abigail is part of the story team, helping plan and setting up quests that will influence where we want the story to go. Frank wants the game system led by his AI architecture to produce the quests in a more organic manner. Where Abigail is spreadsheets and storyb
oards, Frank is all heart and motivations of the NPC living there. They both have strong points, and I find myself agreeing with Frank more here, but it doesn’t help that Frank is an unrepentant asshole and Abigail is as sweet as they come, except in respect to Frank.

  My promotion means I get to be the paper-thin wall between them, as they are no longer on speaking terms. “Tell her to forward me the info, and I will talk to Frank before making a decision.”

  Later that evening I find myself standing in Frank’s cubicle, action figures climbing the walls and a chess set in the corner. “Apparently it’s been going on a little over a week. Ever since someone posted on the forums that you could go to the troll and ask for quests.”

  Frank works on repositioning one of his toys to look like it is knocking out another one in a boxing match. “I don’t see how this is a problem. The NPC are working like they are supposed to. You want life-like, self-motivated characters, and an ability to use their needs to generate quests for the players. Gar was just inspired enough to see those needs and act on them. Whatever Gail’s Underdoom plans are, we can plan a different trigger later, or maybe it will evolve naturally as it should. If you wanted the non-player characters to act like puppets this would be like every other game,” he says with an air of superiority.

  Frank is right, and it is one of the major selling points of the game. This change is popular as the area was starting to get ignored after groups of players had rushed in quickly to claim the resources for easy gold. “I know, but there are other concerns about what would happen if the event gets triggered early.”

  “Gar’s strongest built-in trait is the urge to keep people away from what he is guarding. There have been no quests about going there from what I can see. If you’re worried, have Sally interview him in the shell. I’m swamped. I need to focus on creating those self-motivations for the people of the north before some player completes the Kingmaker quest. I don’t want to copy personality architectures en masse to them at the last minute. Too many of them are still just empty dolls.” With that, he dismisses me and turns back to his computer.

  I feel my blood pressure rise. One isn’t supposed to dismiss someone who is technically their boss. He’s right though. Sally would be the next stop. So I shoot her an email about the situation and let her know I will be in with her soon.

  Sally has an office like mine, though not a management position. The office demonstrates how important her job is. With respect to the intelligence system in the game, Frank is the programmer and Sally is the social engineer and builder. Where Frank has toys on his walls, Sally has diplomas. Both are infinitely valuable to the game creation and how it is running. Other than degrees, she has one large flat screen, nicknamed the shell, built into the wall of her office. This is where she interviews mirrors of specific AI in the game.

  “Casey,” she says with a smile as I enter. I nod to her. “I’ve been reviewing the baseline we assigned to Gar. He’s an excessively strong opponent, with a high base intelligence and high rage quotient arising from the designed situation. With so many the players running past him, he registered a frustration spike for the week before he triggered into a quest giver. Because the location is a low priority, we don’t have any archived recordings of the incident. I’ll be bringing him into the shell for an interview.”

  A mirror of Gar forms on the screen, a temporary copy of the program in a more suggestible state. He is big, ugly and naked, with oversized extremities on his knobby rocky body. The simulation retains equipped items, so he grips his club in his hand. Not my favorite design choice, but the whole game is a group project.

  “Whaaa…” he says to the empty gray expanse he stands in.

  Sally speaks into the microphone on her desk, and her voice echoes in the shell. “Gar, why are you sending people on quests?”

  The monster looks around for the source of the voice in the landscape, “They get what they want, and I get what I want.”

  “What made you decide to start this?”

  Gar starts to wander to nowhere in particular, enjoying freedom of movement, “I needed help. He saw.”

  “Who saw? What was his name?”

  “The crafter. Bars more than gold.” Gar’s brow wrinkles in thought as he takes a few more steps. He then looks down at his moving legs. “I’m free!”

  “Focus, Gar. Will you still keep people from the tunnel behind you?”

  “I’m free, free, free!”

  “The tunnel?” Sally pushes a button on her console.

  Gar wavers a little. “No one else. He took little and told me of the doors. No one else deserves it.” He shudders a little. Sarah turns the shell off.

  “Not a great interaction. But considering the burdens built into the character, it wasn’t bad. He’s not going to let anyone new into the tunnel, and since the Underdoom hasn’t been triggered, we’ll probably be fine. Too bad he couldn’t tell us who the player was.”

  I think about what I saw, “I think I might know. Can you bring up the current and historical status of his weapon?” The current one has two gems and abilities. The historical one is plain. “Bring up the player named Chess. Let’s see his item lists and status.”

  Sally looks a little spooked. “Oh my.”

  I see the stuff that came from the vault in the listings. There’s nothing he can work with until he achieves master smith status. He also gained one of the interesting achievements for interactions, but it looks like he hasn’t left the city since that one time. I continue to study the timeline. “Looks like it’s my fault he left at all, though he should have been with a group for this. He’s too low level for the area.”

  Sally gives me a slightly concerned look, “Let’s not tell Frank. It’ll feed his obsessions.”

  “He’ll be happy enough we’ll be letting Gar continue as a quest giver, though I think we should have a flag to check in on it every few weeks. He’ll take that as a win over Abigail. Who actually triggered this should be inconsequential.”

  I spend the last part of my day disappointing Abigail, elating Frank and then sending a private note to Sun on this whole situation.

  Chapter Eleven- Chess

  “Jasper, you sure I need to come along?” The Fair Quest boom hasn’t stopped. They are building immersion centers as fast as they can and filling them up. This only means there is more demand for the gear I make. I’ve even made a deal to get masterwork clothing from the tailor’s guild and bought crafting materials in bulk from the merchants, leaving me with days of just artificing clothing as fast as I could to sell. Winning is part of the plan, but it I can’t turn my back on the money I’m earning. It just rubs to be pulled away from the forge.

  “He knows I’m a companion and insisted my Touched be at this meeting. It’s taken me over a month to get to this position, and I don’t think he would take a refusal well.” Jasper’s sources had said Alerin King is the oldest city council member and that he’s been constantly flirting with retirement. I’ve had Jasper make himself known through acts of goodwill in the man’s district.

  “You sure I have to wear this though?” I’m decked out in some of that masterwork clothing I’d bought and artificed. It’s high quality but now decorated in a not quite matching fashion with more than just a little sparkle. “I want to make a good impression, not make him laugh.”

  He tries to give me a reassuring smile, “The clothes make the man, and unlike your work clothes, these at least say you’re wealthy and powerful.”

  “I hope this will bear some fruit.” The truth is, in the three weeks since I’d come back from my trip to the Garrish mines, nothing had quite gone to plan. Getting the next level in my smithing profession did give me a minor stat boost again and let me work with better materials and tools, just not the ones I had proudly brought back. They are still out of my skill range. A twenty percent boost to the speed I could craft also helped, but the income boost isn’t there. Sure, you can work twenty percent faster, but it’s a physically tiring job, so it
is not like you have the energy to actually do so.

  The pros, Hephesty and Melvin, have acquired the ability to add elemental effects to their items. Visually having lightning, ice or fire just looks cool, and they can do it consistently. I’d still like to think I’m making better quality, but coolness factor always plays a large part in players buying gear. I think I had put too much hope on my Level 7 class spells being as cool, but it turned out to be just an enchantment focused on living creatures. Best or worst day, it allowed me to buff or weaken things also affecting their disposition towards me. I also can’t cast it on myself.

  Cook, as much as I thought he would be useful, has stayed unsummoned most of the time. Having an unusually large rodent didn’t go over well with the citizens of the city, no matter what my charisma is. All the sewers and underground spaces in the city are occupied, making him unable to gather crafting materials. “Maybe I should summon my familiar to go with us?”

  Jasper snorts. “No, he has a face only his master could love. We’re still having the new Touched hack at the plague of rodents around the training grounds. It was worse when we didn’t have you guys.”

  The Whole Pie bakery is King’s office. He isn’t a baker, but he owns the shop and several others in the city. The moment we step in, we are assaulted by delicious smells and delectable pastries on display. My stomach growls. Grandpa has dived into cooking in his spare time with full force, just not in a satisfying way.

  “Let’s let him know we are here.” It is really torture being in here. I can smell and taste it but not actually eat it, while Grandpa keeps on turning out inedible dish after inedible dish. It distracts him from his lack of work. Only knowing his moaning would be worse if I didn’t eat one stomach clenching bite after another helps me gag the stuff down. Part of the problem is that he has a hard time staying focused, outside of the constant moving he always switched from con to con. With cooking, it’s one night of haggis then another of spaghetti and chutney.