by D. Rus
Jesus. What a mess of options, menus, submenus and dropout lists. Had the developers outsourced the creation of this interface to some Indian sweat shop? My unfocused stare fell on a section entitled Summoning the Temple Guards. This might be interesting. I decided to check it out.
Apparently, I had 30,000 level units available, calculated as the temple's rank times ten thousand. You could cash them in, summoning the widest range of creatures, both sentient and mobs. This exchange rate wasn't linear, either: the ratio remained at 1:1 until level 100, then began rapidly growing. In the most irrational scenario you could waste your whole 30,000 on one level-900 uncategorized entity. To give you some idea, I could summon a giant Cerberus the size of a five-story house and properties to match. Wonder if the Hell Hounds would rejoice at seeing their big brother and appoint it their high canine deity? In any case, I wasn't going to hire any guards at the moment. They demanded payment on a daily basis: one gold per point spent. By doing some simple math, you could see that full-scale hiring would cost me three grand a day. In case of a guard's death the spent points returned into a common pool and became available for repurchase after twenty-four hours.
After some hesitation, I decided to hire a few status guards for the Guard of Honor who would also prevent the mobs' access to the donjon. After five minutes of fiddling with the settings, a dozen orcs in heavy armor took their posts by the Temple's doors and gates, led by a Lieutenant in a suit of armor embellished with silver. The pleasure of having them cost me fifteen hundred gold. Actually, was I supposed to keep the Temple army all on my own? Again I buried myself in the menu, finally discovering the finance section which said that the First priest had access to 1% of all donations to the Fallen One. At the moment, the sum was negligible as the sheer motivation to earn Faith points hadn't even existed until less than an hour ago: hardly enough time for anyone to have found a Dark priest and dedicated themselves to the only available deity, i.e. Macaria. I was worried, though, that the digitized community had already sussed out all the advantages involved and was now at boiling point and threatening to explode. They didn't need consecration rituals to appreciate the entire range of services offered, so quite a few people had to be ecstatically looking for a suitable priest or altar.
While I was at it, I looked into their faith point catalogue. To receive one Faith point, you had to either donate 1000 mana, 100 XP of 1 gold. Considering that the first religious rank called for 1000 Faith points, you could easily work out that it would cost the buyer exactly one hundred bucks. Of which I was getting one miserable dollar bill. Still, this was a numbers game. I multiplied one dollar by the number of potential followers, multiplied by eternity. Immortality was a good thing any way you looked at it. The resulting figures were impressive.
Finally I got to the upgrade and rebuild menu and opened the submenu tree. So! Macaria hadn't wasted her time! Apparently, she wasn't one for half-measures, having reanimated not only the Temple hall but also all of the central donjon. I was pleased to see that the First Temple's potential allowed the use of its self-restoration facilities also for rebuilding other castle structures. I could see now that the entire complex had been conceived as an organic unity whose defense and regeneration functions often overlapped or even merged with only one objective in mind: the enhancement of the Temple's defense potential.
Even on their own, both the castle and the Temple must have cost tens of millions. But their combined value was tenfold. A dream goodie, as precious as it was useless. I had to be careful not to choke on it. The only chance I could have in this new game was due to my freshly-acquired post and celestial support. Had I been just Laith, even a clan leader, I'd have already auctioned the castle's coordinates, creamed off my couple of million and washed my hands of the whole thing. But as it was now, fate had dealt me half a pack of trump cards so I'd better use them while I had the chance. Another one like that might not present itself for a long time.
As somebody said, luck is what happens when preparation meets opportunity. Fate may keep opening doors to new opportunities, but how ready are we to jump at them? When you get a dream offer of a job abroad—is it time to regret you never got down to mastering your language skills? When you are confronted by a zombie towering over the body of a policeman who'd just emptied his AK (rather uselessly) in it, is it time to regret you don't know how to change the spent clip? Well, in that case it's no good blaming your luck: you're your own worst enemy.
I leafed through the castle plans, storing the schemes and building's statutes in my memory.
The main flight of stairs. I placemarked it on the map. Status, green: fully functional.
Arsenal. Status, yellow. Partially functional. Restoration time: 28 days using the current configuration, 6 hours if assigned top priority and all available resources.
Underground dungeons, communications and cellars. Status, red. Decay level: 81%.
And so on and so forth. Macaria had poured her main effort into refurbishing the Temple hall and façade, restoring the rest of the facilities to their minimal functionality levels.
Finally, at the donjon's fifth level, I discovered the Control Room marker. Status, yellow: partially functional. Did it mean I could just walk in and take over the castle? My inner greedy pig was throwing a fit threatening to rip the place apart if I didn't go there now and claim control over the abandoned property. For a brief moment, he gave me the creeps as I remembered an ancient Alien movie where the monsters ripped their hosts open from inside. You hear that, porcine face? You'd better not upset me, buddy, or I'll upgrade you to a toad and pretend you'd had always been like that.
Actually, I was curious too. To stumble across an unwanted Super Nova-class castle was cooler than finding an abandoned car transporter loaded with unclaimed brand new Bentleys. I checked the map for a shortcut and had a good look around, adjusting the visuals to the freshly-digested maps. Then I closed the menus, severed contact with the altar stone and dashed under the archway above a far-off flight of stairs.
My corridor run brought me equal doses of disappointments and new discoveries. What had Macaria been thinking about? All the rooms I passed were immaculately clean, their functional granite tiles sparkling. Clean being the operative word! Whatever happened to all the technogenic debris? Where were all the spent shells, empty clips and broken ammo belts, precious mithril shrapnel and fragments of armor? Where were all the heaps of rubble I had counted on in which to unearth a couple of slightly soiled Warmechs? This wasn't cleaning, this was plain sabotage.
I felt like a husband who had unlocked his garage expecting to face the familiar mess where he could find every screw blindfolded, only to discover that his wife had given it a surprise spring clean, sweeping out all the precious bent nails, torn elastics and bits of wire creating a clean, neat and absolutely useless space. What had Macaria done with all the trash? Had she unthinkingly shoved it all away in the astral depths? It might have been worse: she might have processed mithril into energy, no wonder she'd pulled off this sixty-minute makeover single-handedly. What a bummer. I just hoped she confined herself to a surface clean which left me the hope to find a few stashes. And I still had the cellars. I just had to pray her obsession with cleanliness hadn't stretched that far.
The fifth level. A long spiraling corridor circled the windowless donjon, taking the potential attackers past rows of barracks and cutoff zones peppered with gunslots. Massive slabs of basalt stood ready to collapse creating an impenetrable barricade. All you needed was access to the control artifact or even a mere key that could open the intricate Dwarven locks.
The last corridor was angular, its sharp bends getting narrower with every turn. The last thirty feet or so could be successfully defended by just a couple of soldiers who could easily block the passage. That was clever, like everything here. Shame the restoration wasn't on a par thanks to one hasty young lady. This Macaria of Milo by an unknown sculptor deserved having her arms pulled off.
With a sigh, I examined the pa
le tiles lining the corridors. It looked as if a team of cowboy builders had hung cheap suspended ceilings over the Hermitage frescoes.
Shivering with anticipation, I finally heaved open the small but unmanageably thick iron-oak door, entering the castle's sancta sanctorum. I felt sorry for the castle's potential attackers who had to fit into the ever-narrowing corridors, leaving behind first their battle golems, then ogres, and finally trolls. The defenders wouldn't have any such problems, especially considering their monopoly on portals. The high ceilings—twenty feet at least—allowed the defenders to use a whole variety of AlterWorld races, including the latest in golem building. The power center was located behind the fenced-off battle grounds. The walls were lined with empty sockets meant to house accumulating crystals. How many could they hold, a hundred, two hundred? Considering each cost about a million gold, the castle builders had to have been quite ambitious.
I walked down an L-shaped passage between two fenced-off areas and found myself in the castle's heart: the control room.
Almost all of the space inside was occupied by a white U-shaped marble desk gaping with dozens of empty slots for artifacts of truly unknown purpose and nature. It looked rather like the control desk of some high tech submarine or nuclear power station with its empty mountings and ripped-out units. Some mysterious panels—once mirrored and now dented—looked suspiciously like monitors.
In the desk's center, the control panel of the castle artifact glowed a subtle green. The exact location of the artifact itself I was yet to determine; its unknown makers could have cemented it into the room's foundations for all I knew. I crossed my fingers and lay my hand on the imaginary keyboard.
Welcome to the Super Nova Castle control panel!
Your access level: Guest
Information output mode: video-assisted telepathy. How can I help you?
I shook my head, amazed. This didn't look like your ordinary menu options.
Are you sentient? I asked, just to be on the safe side.
After a second's pause, a faceless voice answered,
"Not exactly, even though I am closely approaching that idea. The control crystal contains a dissected soul of one of its mage creators, its freedom of will suppressed and all unnecessary emotions removed. My desire to serve and obey orders has been increased—the only thing that brings me satisfaction. What else can I do for you?"
I could hear a badly concealed plea in his voice: Do ask me something, anything at all!
"Current status?"
A Super Nova Castle. Decay level: 68%. Last authorization: 790 years ago. Last important event: 43 minutes ago, the restoration of 11% of its structure.
"Whose property is it?"
Question unclear.
"Who owns this castle?"
Since the restoration of the control center functionality, there were no registered ownership requests. Would you like to submit one?
You bet! "Yes!"
Forced activation of a one-off script. Establishing connection with the financial center as of instruction 82а.
This is AI Bordeaux7 stream 155. Congratulations! You have discovered an unclaimed castle. Class: Super Nova. As of clause 59 of EULA, you can claim ownership by paying the price of the real estate and repurchasing the land. Would you like to complete the transaction?
Yes! My voice broke. I swallowed. I'd never owned as much as a studio, let alone a castle.
The price of the 3 sq. mile plot is two million gold.
The price of the Super Nova Castle, including the unique Temple Complex with 68% wear and tear is 23 million. For your information, the castle has been recently restored.
"I know, thanks. That's twenty-five million..."
All that was left to do was bite my lip and tap the control panel. Over two million US dollars, an enormous amount even in real life. But more importantly, I just didn't have it. I simply had to wait for some Olders or others to buy the castle, then be cloistered in the Temple Hall without much right to anything else.
If you thought in terms of eternity, there was always the possibility of earning this sort of money. But right here and now? Then again, why not?
"Would it be possible to pay in installments?"
What monthly amount could you afford?
Did this mean it was possible? That's the solution, then! "How about ten thousand gold?" I added a pleading note to my voice.
The installment plan is limited to one year. Considering the state of your bank balance, we suggest the following solution: a down payment of one million gold which would secure your ownership of the castle, followed by twelve monthly payments of two million gold each. This is our best offer.
Oh. Where was I supposed to find two million a month? True, I had indeed managed to raise a similar amount in my first month in the game. The question was, how sure was I I'd have the same kind of luck for a further twelve months? Sure, I possessed a number of unique opportunities, but turning them into cash quickly and error-free was not going to be easy. In case of success, it would indeed consolidate my position in AlterWorld. If I failed—well, I would lose all the cash I'd paid. That was bad but sufferable. Should I go for it? What would my greedy pig say?
For the first time in my memory, he didn't react. Was the million in hand better than a castle in the bush? No answer. How I understood him! I had to do it.
Switching off all self-control and sense of reality, I said in a stilted voice, "Agreed."
This was how I'd always reacted whenever a situation called for inane determination, like doing a high-board dive or approaching a stunningly beautiful girl. I switched off all emotion, shrugged and stepped forward.
"Agreed," I repeated in a more confident voice.
Congratulations on your acquisition! I thought I heard a hint of amazement in the AI's voice. An invoice and standing order request have been sent to your address. Upon confirmation of payment, all deeds will be sent to your Private Message box, signed and sealed by the official AI of the Cayman Islands offshore zone. A copy of the deeds will be forwarded to your official registered mailbox.
Indeed, my Inbox flashed with a new message. That was Drow Bank informing me of the requests received. I heaved another sigh and confirmed the transaction, burning all bridges. Sorry, Mom, sorry, Dad. I know you'd spent a lifetime hammering into me that credits were evil. You knew better, what with your Second Great Depression experience and all. But this thing was completely interest-free. So I just prayed I hadn't made a fool of myself and hadn't just become the winner of the How-to-Lose-Your-First-Million race.
More messages flashed before my eyes.
Congratulations on your acquisition! You are now the legal owner of a Super Nova Castle.
Updating the virtual property register... OK
Sending form H:244 to the tax authorities... ОК.
Control of the funds' provenance... in progress.
For your information: As of 2029 Law 5011 on virtual property, the yearly tax rate of your property is 1.5%. The nonrecurring virtual property tax for amounts over 1,000,000 is 4%. Notice of payment has been sent to your bank. Please note that non-payment within ten days will incur a late-payment surcharge of 5% on every 24 hours.
They didn't mean it. I had barely signed the freakin' thing and already I owed the Feds one million gold. Talk about conjuring money out of thin air. If you closed your eyes and turned round, then pointed your finger blindly, whichever object you pointed to would be taxable. All those excise and customs duties, direct and indirect taxes—the entire society was entangled in a golden web, its precious threads wound into gigantic balls somewhere in the depths of the state machine. How many months a year did it leave you to work for yourself? Two or three? Four max. The rest you were supposed to surrender. I remembered reading that every loaf of bread included over a hundred various taxes. AlterWorld wasn't like that yet.
I imagined a monster dropping one gold and dozens of greedy hands reaching for it. Before you blinked, you were left with a handful of coppers
you'd then take to the shops and pay VAT on top of everything else. The Tartar Yoke with its negligible tithe paled in comprison—a true tax-free Golden Age.
In any case, I had nothing to pay their taxes with. My rainy day million had already cleared my account, leaving me with a miserable twenty grand and over two million in monthly payments. Without the six-digit bank account, the world had changed its colors. The debt load burdened my shoulders, breaking my fragile wings and dissolving all my opportunistic plans. From now on, it was nose to the grindstone for me, only raising my head in order to look around for more work to do and someone willing to give it to me. Mom had been right, after all.
No. They weren't going to do it. No one was going to break my wings. What doesn't kill us makes us stronger.
I'd find the money even if I had to eat dirt.
By then, I was a bit fed up with standing bolt upright, but this sterile box of a room had no seating facilities. I slapped the desk. It reacted so fast I didn't have a chance to speak.
Master! so much passion and barely suppressed joy was in that voice that I felt ashamed.
"I'm Max. Call me Max, okay?"
As you say, Master.
Yeah. "Listen, Castle..."
There's no need for tactile contact. You ownership entitles you to a copy of the control artifact which allows you to stay in mental contact with the castle at virtually any distance.
With a pop, the control desk created an octagonal charm on a thin platinum chain. I weighed it in my hand. It was heavy. I put it on and addressed the Castle AI mentally. Can you hear me?
Yes, Master.