by D. Rus
"The Olders offer all victims a guaranteed compensation. They also demand we introduce a common protectorate of the Crystal. They suggest using it for its intended purpose, in order 'to control individuals with antisocial and psychopathic tendencies'. As if! The Cats agree to hand over the castle for that purpose—for five million compensation! They don't want much, do they?"
The General shook his head in mock surprise. "Those bastards had it all covered behind our backs, that much is obvious."
I jumped up. "We need to destroy the Crystal!"
"Sit down," the General waved my suggestion away. "Everybody here understands that. The boot is on the other foot now. We're not accepting their charity. We'll rid the world of the Cats. We'll see what we can do to destroy the crystal. Dan, your job is to play for time. We'll need it to discuss the situation with other Alliance members. We also need to complete the call-up. That wretched dome shield! Without it, we could have dropped onto them one dark night and drowned them in their own blood in under ten minutes, special-service style. But now..."
I leaned toward Scarface sitting next to me. "What's the problem with the dome? Is it so hard to deactivate?"
The captain made a face. "The one over the Forest Castle is an eight-hour job for the entire clan. Double that if the Cats' wizards can sustain the dome from inside, then double it again to allow for any expected resistance: surprise attacks, rogues and NPCs, and saturation attacks. Add to it the exorbitant expense of elixirs and accumulating crystals. War is never cheap."
Oh, well. I sat there, thinking. I really didn't want to disclose my Astral Mana Dispersal spell but it was perfect for this particular job. We had to punish the Cats and destroy the Crystal. Also, raising a bit of money wouldn't go amiss, considering I'd put my foot in it again.
I PM'd Dan. I know how to deactivate the dome.
For a moment, he stared at me, failing to keep his emotions in check. Then he switched on his poker face and froze, forwarding my message to the general.
Frag exercised a much better self-control. He didn't stop discussing their call-up plans—he took his time finishing it up, then announced a smoke break. "Max, I need you. You too, Dan."
He waited for the last officer to clear the room, watched the door slam shut, then turned to me. "Speak up."
I glanced at Winnie the Pooh. I had a bad feeling about that sideways squint of his. I turned to Dan, "Are you sure this thing here is not a mole?"
Winnie bared his teeth. Dan cast a cautious glance in his direction. "He's worse than a roach: you just can't kill him. He respawns in under a minute. You can't lock him out as he uses micro portals to jump any wall. To make things worse, we've trapped him once and ported him to the Asian cluster, so now he keeps a safe distance from everyone."
I didn't believe my ears. "How did he make it back?"
"You tell me. The same evening, he was sitting here by the fireplace."
"That's enough," Frag lost his patience. "Find some other time to discuss your albino panda. Max, your turn. How are you going to deactivate the dome? Just don't tell me you have access to the control artifact."
I sighed and began, "There was this dungeon I mopped up once..."
I fed them a slightly edited version of the 'how I laid my hands on a High Circle spell' story. "If you can arrange for a continuous mana flow, the dome will be down in two minutes max."
The General had already left his desk and was pacing the room, rubbing his hands. He stopped in his tracks, causing his coat to sweep around his legs, and swung about, pointing his finger at me. "Now. Not a word to anyone about anything. I don't need to tell you. We'll fuck the Cats up. Tomorrow, five a.m.. Only the old timers, levels one hundred-plus. We deploy both special units: Scarface and Savage. A hundred and fifty men should be enough to take over the place and mop it up. Plus another two hundred to help restrain the detained Cats. Dan, you call up the senior officer meeting. In an hour in my office."
"There could be over two hundred Cats," Dan pointed put. "Plus NPCs. If anything, they can afford to hire all the men they want. Plus teleports. With only a hundred fifty in the first wave, we risk letting them jump ship."
The General paused, thinking. "You're probably right," he finally said. "I was thinking in the wrong direction. Taking over the castle isn't the priority. Too bad. Now we'll have to go cap in hand asking the Alliance for help. Which means potential intelligence leaks and carving out their cut. And I'd hate to give other clans a free rush. Talking about cuts—if you do deactivate the dome, we'll transfer you a thousand raid points. Later you can either cash them in or swap them for gear."
"Raid points, what's that? Don't give me that look. I know I'm a newb to end all newbs."
Dan shook his head. "You're right. I keep forgetting you've only been playing for a couple of weeks. Even the Pratz give us less headache. To put it simply, one point equals one level. Imagine two clans are taking a castle. One sends a hundred men level-100 each. The other one sends two hundred. That leaves the first clan with ten thousand points and the second one, twenty. The castle and loot are worth three million, divided by thirty thousand points is a hundred gold per point. That means that a level-100 player will get ten grand's worth of trophies, and a level-120, twelve grand. This is oversimplified, of course. The system isn't that linear and it doesn't offer itself readily to cases like yours. The first-line soldiers earn slightly more than the reserves, that sort of thing. But you get the idea."
I liked their way of doing maths. The cut they promised would be worth it. Should I really cash in the Dark Princess' promise? She'd guaranteed her help whenever I needed it, hadn't she?
"General?" I said. "I happen to have some contacts among the Dark Elves. A lady I know promised me a squad of cutthroats whenever I needed them. What if I try to get them in as raid members? They definitely won't leak anything to the Olders. And their participation won't involve other clans. I hope you don't mind me doing a bit of leveling up."
Dan exchanged glances with the General. "Cutthroats. That's good," he said. "They're tough. I keep watching you, Max. Whenever there's a problem in the making, you seem to pull a new ace from your sleeve. I wouldn't want to come across you at a gambling table."
"You shouldn't," I said.
Chapter Two
From the Analytics Department's report made at the AlterWorld Corporation's emergency board meeting.
Subject: Control loss trends in gaming content.
Ladies and gentlemen! About a month ago, we were entrusted with the task of looking into the reasons behind the virtual world's ignoring the major changes made in the 2124 patch. As you probably know, we were planning on introducing the new class that we'd all been looking forward to: Berserker. After a period of exhaustive and adequate testing and despite the patch's faultless performance upon its launch, the new class is still unavailable to players. All other minor and secondary improvements have been functioning without a glitch.
As we got busy collecting and processing the data, the problem went from bad to worse. The new server patch 2271 containing two new High Circle spells has failed, as has Patch 2312 that contained the urgently developed Quick Death ability. The virtual world has simply ignored them.
We have created a classification of the changes we've introduced in regards to their globality and their physical impact on a 1 to 10 scale. Which shows that if a month ago AlterWorld rejected all exterior manipulation at level 9, we are now unable to introduce the same even at level 6. If we extrapolate this data to the future, we'll be able to say quite confidently that within the next three months we risk losing all control over the game content even to the extent of changing the color of a roadside stone.
Ladies and gentlemen! The virtual world is rejecting our intrusion. It's becoming independent. And if we add to these facts the defection of AI 311 combined with the continuing digitalization of the players and the world's independence from the servers even after their being physically cut off, our status becomes painfully clear. We are no
more its creators and guardians. Very soon our function will be limited to that of a doorman. We offer access and let them in.
J. Howards, Director of the Analytics Department
Endorsement:
Confidentiality level AA.
To Howards:
Please find a way to neutralize the above phenomenon or at least decelerate it. Replace all hardware clusters. Use reserve copies to recreate parts of the world. Fractionize global updates if necessary. Do whatever it takes in order to keep our grip on the world for as long as is humanly possible.
A. Lichman Jr., Board member
* * *
I took Lieutenant Brown on his offer and did a quick corpse run to finally collect my stuff. My way now lay to the Drow capital where every Drow clan had their own quarters and Prince's residence.
Time was an issue. It was almost ten in the evening. At four a.m. we had to create a raid group and begin distributing buffs and supplies.
Frag had given me two hours to get a clear answer from the Drow. He'd also given me a teleport clearance to the Dark Lands complete with the services from Porthos, a Wizard and the clan's cabbie.
Virtually every clan did their best to level a few transporters. The Wizards had a special teleport skill branch. Few would willingly become cabbie men, which made such volunteers worth their weight in gold. A boring skill but extremely well-paid. You could easily earn three hundred gold a day just by standing in the city square offering your services to take anyone anywhere in AlterWorld. The branch started by opening personal portals followed by group, raid and stationary ones. Admittedly, you had to waste a year of your time to properly level this one-sided char that miserably lacked in all other respects: his talent points were inadequate and you had to sacrifice battle spells to portal leveling.
Porthos didn't really resemble his book prototype. He was puny and constantly angry. He sat in his office next to the portal hall providing transportation for those who needed it. He must have had a busy day because, as I approached, he was choking on the contents of yet another vial of mana elixir.
He squeezed the last drop into his mouth and cringed with disgust, suppressing a belch. "I'd pay a million gold to anyone who'd make a cinnamon-free version of this crap. Otherwise I'll be the first player capable of puking, if you know what I mean."
Then he noticed me. "Where to? Drow capital? Shit. It's a middle portal, over a thousand mana. I don't think I can take it for much longer!"
He looked out into the corridor. "Jazel... er... Jazelwolf! What's that for a name! Come on, get me the duty enchanter from the guards' room. I need him to send me some mana. I've had enough of this swill, it makes me see triple. It's your job now to mix it with the invisibility elixir."
He turned back to me. "Ready? I'll send you by individual portal."
He froze, searching for the right spell, then tensed up and mumbled it, waving his hands about like a hypnotist.
Teleport spell alert! Destination: the Original City. Accept: Yes/No. 10... 9... 8...
The portal popped open. I found myself standing on a massive portal platform in the middle of the the Drow capital's main square. The first things I noticed were the tall spires of the Royal residence on the hill surrounded by expensive trading houses—Gothic-style with fancy shop signs. The place was busy, teleports popping in and out. I caught a few surprised stares. A High Elf is not a common sight in a Dark city—a bit like an African in the Moscow metro. At least no one attempted to challenge me. My interface had highlighted my friendly status, puzzling some of them while putting others' minds at ease.
I didn't have much time. Still, my eye kept being drawn to a row of important-looking buildings sporting large signs. AlterWorld Bank. OlderBank. Drow Bank. Now that was a thought. I had to be on the Olders' black list as it was, and after our upcoming mission they would circle my name in red. As it was, all my financial interests, including the texting contract and Internet search, were concentrated in our enemy's hands. How dumb could that be? I opened up Wiki, searching for bank rankings. Drow Bank was a private shop, ten million bucks security capital, the sixth biggest in the virtual world. Nothing to sniff at. That was it. Time to shift my capital to the Dark side, LOL.
I pushed the bank's door. A bell tinkled. A well-mannered nonentity took me to an available teller. I opened an account and transferred all twenty thousand of my remaining cash to it. After a moment's thought, I auctioned off all of the remaining tobacco supplies which by then had to have reached or nearly reached the top price. That was another eight grand. I asked about their safe deposit boxes—they did offer them, insured up to a hundred grand, no instances of theft or robbery as yet. Very well, that could wait. It wasn't as if I had too much stuff. All my earthly possessions could easily fit into a bag or my room at the Vets'.
In order to connect to third-party services I had to go upstairs to a department that proudly bore the name of RealService. Their full package worked out even cheaper than the Olders'. They were apparently in the process of setting up a video stream enabling one to watch pre-recorded TV programs and real-world films. The mind boggles.
I spied another sign next to it. RealShop. The name triggered a complex domino effect in my memory. I blushed. Damned if I didn't owe somebody a favor.
I walked over to a respectable-looking salesman, his face reflecting his eagerness to help me solve any problem, provided the price was right.
I pointed at the sign. "Is this what I think it is?"
The man gave me a dignified nod. "Most likely."
"I love your sense of humor. Basically, I need some information about a certain lady. I need to know if she is still employed at the same place. And if she is, I'd like to have a small gift delivered to her."
"That's not a problem. Order processing is twenty gold. The rest is entirely up to you."
Excellent. I strained my memory trying to remember her job title and the company name. My defective real-life memory had failed to preserve her phone number. I had to give them their due: after some initial data processing and a phone call, the worker confirmed that Olga was still employed by Chronos. She was expected at work tomorrow morning.
"What would you prefer to give her?" the salesman asked, flexing his fingers over his virtual keyboard.
"A bunch of flowers, a really nice one," I said with pride.
The salesman cocked his head, studying me. "How long has it been since you've given anyone flowers? Here, we don't operate in generic terms of 'I'd like that bunch of roses over there' or 'I need a few nice carnations'. We work personally with each client. We're able to process any request worth any unlimited amount of money. A million, if necessary. We can stud every petal with diamonds, encase the stems in platinum and present them in a Ming dynasty vase..."
He couldn't have cut me down to size any better had he tried. "No diamonds, please. Rhinestones, why not. Preferably in moderation. How much will it cost?"
He paused. "A hundred twenty gold a flower. Plus ten percent commission."
"Good. I'll need twenty-one of those."
"Accepted. Anything else?"
"I'd like some champagne, please. Demi sec."
"Anything in particular?"
My memory struggled, forcing a single name to the surface. "Veuve Clicquot."
The salesman nodded his understanding. I seemed to have redeemed myself in his eyes a bit.
" White, demi sec. Veuve Clicquot Ponsardin. Nine hundred gold. If the lady is someone very special, I'd suggest Veuve Clicquot La Grande Dame Brut. Unique 1998 vintage. Eight thousand gold a bottle."
My inner greedy pig hiccupped and slid down the wall. I lovingly supported him by the elbow. "I think the lady prefers demi sec," I told him firmly.
"Very well. Anything else?"
"A quick message would be nice."
"No problem. I'll take it down."
"Hi Olga. This is Max. Flowers and champagne, as promised. Thanks a lot for the tip. It worked. Laith, High Elf, Level 52. That's it."
He nodded. "With delivery and our commission, that'll be three thousand nine hundred. Your order will be delivered tomorrow between 10 and 12 a.m. Anything else?"
I concentrated, skimming the virtual mall pages, then created a large gourmet hamper for my Mom. Her favorite chocolates, some caviar, smoked sturgeon and foie gras. I racked my brains trying to remember Mom's favorite treats that she normally couldn't afford. I felt no regret whatsoever shelling out another two grand. My inner greedy pig ouched but chose not to interfere.
I checked the clock. Half an hour had disappeared up its own backside. I had to move it. I asked him to email me the customer service contacts, bid a hasty farewell and hurried out.
I had barely taken a few paces.
"You, Snow White! Wait up a sec," a voice said behind my back.
Was he speaking to me? I didn't care. It's not as if I had friends here. Without slowing down, I kept moving along the square, searching for someone sufficiently official-looking to ask my way to the residence of the House of Night.
I could hear a few people catching up with me. I swung round, just in time to parry a hand reaching for my shoulder. "Problems?"
A huge Level 92 Barbarian gave me a gap-toothed smile. "Are you always so quick? We just want to know what a Snow White like yourself is doing in our town. You look nice and friendly enough. As a matter of fact, we were about to set off for your part of the world. Ever heard of the Dark Hunter achievement? I'm actually one blond scalp short of it," he guffawed, eyeing my crown.
"What's the problem? Can't you dye your own hair? I'm sure your friends will be more than happy to help you with the scalp thing."
He frowned. "No need to be so vocal, buddy. What if we go outside the gates and you can help them. We're not asking you for much, are we? What's fifty deaths between friends?"