The Clan (21 page)

The air over the conference table thickened, materializing the White Winnie. Casting a puzzled glare in our direction, he made the screwy gesture against his temple, grabbed a couple of meat pies and reached for an open folder. All documents in it were lying text down (that was Dan and his professional vigilance). Dan growled a warning as a throwing knife glistened in his hand. The weapon glowed crimson, dropping sizzling sparks onto the floor.

Winnie snatched his paw back, baring his teeth, then kicked the folder off the table right into the pool of water. The room echoed with a simultaneous popping of a teleport and the sound of cold steel piercing wood.

"How I hate him," the agent groaned, fishing out the waterproof pages. "I dream of the day when I retire to my rocking chair by the fireplace, sipping brandy and relishing my cigar, admiring two white ears nailed to the wall."

Eric added, apparently missing the two pies, "I just hope that by then it'll be the only unique pair of ears ever available. Let's pray this creature doesn't propagate. In that case, you can forget about a quiet retirement. These teleporting monsters will pop by every two minutes to borrow a cigar or to help themselves to a shot of brandy. Privacy will become problematic, even for matrimonial purposes."

"Touch wood," I whispered
, knocking on a table leg. Everybody followed suit. Soldiers are superstitious by definition, and the above prospect justified a couple of rituals just to be on the safe side.

The General leaned forward, groaning and forcing himself back to his feet like the old man he in fact was, then jumped up effortlessly: the mental inertia of an octogenarian in a young healthy body. This is how inexperienced astronauts use their entire body weight from their back muscles to their ankles in order to get to the space station's dome instead of just sending their body there with one well-directed nudge.

"Now, Dan, you owe me an explanation," the General said. "What's this stuff we've been filling the vials with? You jumped at it like somebody dying of thirst seeing an oasis."

"Haven't you copied its stats, Sir?" Dan asked innocently. "My educated guess would be that this ingredient is AlterWorld's long-sought Holy Grail. It allows one to create spell scrolls. Any spells
—Unique and High Ones included."

The General raised his eyebrows. He grabbed a vial and brought it up to his eyes. "Holy
shit."

"What about it?" I asked. "Would you like to create a one-off teleport scroll so that magic-deprived players could use it in case of emergency?"

"You might," Dan answered. "You could use a gold shovel to clean the snow off your driveway, too, I suppose. You could also use it for more appropriate things. Teleport scrolls are already on the market—expensive, it's true, as they call for some unconventional ingredients, but it's simply a question of money. But locking a High Spell in a scroll..." Dan gave me a meaningful look as if estimating how many Astral Mana Dispersal scrolls he'd love to have in the Vets' arsenal. "Or a unique spell like the Inferno portal that has recently been auctioned by some painfully familiar auto buy..."

Oh. Apparently the Sparks, while solving a lot of problems, were at the same time generating a whole new bunch of the same. A Dome Shield Removal scroll, if auctioned, would win the People's Choice award and fatten up my wallet no end. But it'll also bring new headaches. First, someone would suss out the principle behind the dome removal and the scroll itself might later resurface in some truly unsavory place, raising a lot of dirt in the process.

Dan was watching my face, apparently pleased with seeing my furrowed brow and not the idiotic joy of a tramp who'd just found a suitcase full of heroin and was now celebrating his good fortune. In any case, the Sparks created new opportunities: a new tool for my workshop that I was sure I could use to solve a multitude of problems. I did get his message about the auto buy. It was time to ignore my inner greedy pig and hire a new one-time vendor for every risky transaction.

This was something I should have remembered a long time ago. There's no such thing as anonymity any more. Neither online nor in real life. It's only the question of how much the interested party is prepared to pay for the information. While you're small fry, you've nothing to worry about: you'll remain anonymous simply because you're not worth the trouble. Just remember that when the time comes, all your cyber trail will come to the surface. All your phone records, your entire web surfing history, all your bank card transactions, all the CCTV footage with your face on it and lots of other things.

Under Dan's greedy stare I placed two of the vials—those I'd filled myself—into my pocket. He then cast a meaningful glance at the remaining pots and gestured over his head imitating a whirlwind. "Think we'd better discuss it."

"Not now," I cut him short. "I'm desperate for some sleep. I still need to have a briefing of my own."

The General turned to me. "Do you think you could ordain me personally?"

I nodded. That wasn't a problem.

Ding!
A flash of green light colored our faces an alien tinge.

"Heh, I've already done half a Faith level," the General didn't really sound surprised. "It looks like the starting point depends on the ordainer's rank. There was something I heard about a year and a half ago, if my absolute memory is anything to go by. I met some dude who'd done this quest that entitled him to be ordained by the First Priest. A Light NPC, naturally, but it's of no
consequence. So when I met him he was in the process of celebrating all the gold and time that he'd saved."

Dan didn't say anything, his glare indignant. He wasn't a cheapskate and still the fifty dollars that he'd just wasted on the experiment he could have spent on a bunch of flowers for his wife and an armful of chocolate for his rugrats.

The General gave me a pleading look. "You think you could dedicate my men, as well? It's still a lot of money, you know, we could save almost forty grand."

Exasperated, I was about to protest. What kind of attitude was that? He wanted all the gain without any of the pain. I didn't have time, that was exactly why I'd given them a priest of their own. The Temple had to grow! Actually, that was reason enough. Eric could do with a rank boost, too.

I shook my head and pointed at a hesitant Eric. "Even not mentioning a whole host of other problems, it's in your clan's interests to level your own priest. If you think about it, Eric will only get a percentage of Faith points from those he dedicated personally, while he's desperate for some growth simply to be able to tackle the clan's problems. Which means that on top of his personal skills like Voluntary Death, he'll also need to invest into everything the clan might need, like raid buffs and all sorts of curses and anathema spells. So my advice to you would be not to skimp on his services."

Catching Eric's grateful glance, I gave him an inconspicuous wink. He must have already looked through his skill list and
—knowing his appetites—must have already chosen a dozen abilities he could use had he not been nearly stripped of referral XP from a good seven hundred of already-dedicated players. Thank God I didn't depend on these parameters, otherwise I'd have been running around like a headless chicken doing other people's jobs instead of my own farming bit.

The thoughtful General nodded. "Very well, Max. Now go and get yourself some rest. You look like a vampire with those bloodshot eyes."

I exchanged handshakes, waved my goodbyes and left the room, heading for my apartment.

There, Cryl and Lena were happily lounging in the soft chairs, all bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, talking over each other as they exchanged their last farming experiences. They'd very nearly done level 30 in just a few days which admittedly couldn't have been too hard for people who'd invested real money in the game. Lena screamed with delight when she
saw me. As she fell around my neck, I felt something warm inside as if hugging my little sister after a long separation. Cryl didn't seem to be jealous. His eyes betrayed his pleasure at seeing me. This was my family, the Children of the Night.

Once we've had our hugs, I sat them down and gave them a summary of the last few days' events. The news of our own castle, with its First Priest as their leader and Macaria as their patroness brought my authority to a height previously unknown. That's why they enthusiastically accepted my request of joining the ranks of religious workers. Even the Help of the Fallen One didn't automatically make Cryl a priest but rather defined his religious preferences and offered him some unknown freebies.

The kids jumped up and pulled some serious faces, preparing for the ceremony.

"Not so fast," I stopped them. "We need to get everything ready first."

As they stared at me, uncomprehending, I scooped a couple handfuls of vials out of my bag, lining them up in strategic rows that ensured prompt grabbing, filling and closing.

"Now listen," I said. "I'm pretty sure the goddess will come to have a look at her new disciples. Her arrival will be accompanied by the natural phenomenon of the Sparks of Divine Presence, which will be the first pillar of our upcoming financial well-being. Once the celestial window is closed, grab the vials and scoop the Sparks into them."

I looked around the room choosing a relatively empty corner. Pulling the rag aside, I pointed, "Come and stand here."

Casting one final glance at their deadpan faces, I stuck my tongue out and gave them a wink. It wouldn't do greeting the goddess looking like a funeral procession. Young people are naturally giggle-happy and they don't need much prompting. When, to the jingling of the bells and the glittering of the snowflakes, Macaria's face peeked out of the celestial window, all she saw was two happy geezers grinning from ear to ear. Herself blushed with (I suppose) the Fallen One's energetic advances, she nodded and gave me the thumbs-up.

The portal window glazed over, shrouding her face. With a pop, the air thickened, revealing the bastard Winnie standing right in the middle of the precious sheet of celestial snow. Cringing, he wiped his filthy paws and sloshed across the puddle toward the fireplace, kicking and stomping out the precious Sparks.

"You pig!" I selected him as target and slammed a mental fist on the priest skills panel.

I really don't know what I meant by doing this. It all happened too quickly. Either I meant to cast a curse over him or report him to the gods for getting in the way. Instead, Winnie got ordained.

The bells jingled again, anxiously this time, and the goddess' annoyed face
—her lips slightly bee-stung—didn't promise a joyful rite. Seeing the would-be priest, she raised her eyebrows, her eyes fixed on me in surprise. I shook my head, shielding myself with my hands, gesturing I had nothing to do with him. The white bastard finally awoke from his momentary confusion and was now trying to make himself scarce. As if! Panicking, the creature launched a string of unsuccessful teleport attempts rattling like a machine gun while Macaria, having blocked his teleport skill, turned round and said something to somebody behind her back.

Could it be I'd been too cruel to the white monster, I thought seeing the Fallen One's scowl. As his glare fell onto Winnie, his face cleared; tilting his head to one side, the Fallen One chuckled in surprise.

"That's funny," I heard him mutter. "I could use that..."

Reaching out of the window, the Fallen One grabbed Winnie, pulling the creature toward the portal window. Have you ever heard a wounded hare scream? Probably not, otherwise the ranks of animal protectors would have soared into millions. That was the kind of scream Winnie had emitted. Meeting Lena's begging stare, I nodded and activated my Appeal to Gods ability.

"Listen, AI 311, make sure you treat him well, okay? He's not bad at all..."

The Fallen One glared at me, his voice pounding in my immediately-sore head. "Don't you talk back to me. It's my business what I do to him. And one other thing. I'd appreciate it if you gave your dedication shit a rest for tonight. Otherwise I'll be forced to make sure you don't enjoy your own matrimonial state for the next hundred years or so."

The window slammed shut. My two friends grabbed the vials, hurrying to pack away the glittering carpet of snow.

I just stood there scratching my head and thinking of an appropriate answer.

* * *

An economic evaluation of the Happy Dreams private virtual prison model.

The first private for-profit correctional facilities were officially introduced in the USA in February 1983.

The Act of Congress 6133 approved April 203X makes provision for the digitization of long-term inmates.

Social advantages:

Complete elimination of violence, drug trafficking and escape attempts in digital mode following the procedure recommended by the Department of Corrections
.

Psychological testing shows that digitizing increases the first-time offenders' chances of successful reintegration into society 19%. This figure is 5% for repeat offenders.

Financial advantages:

A six-fold increase in prison population density;

Guard staff decrease 75%;

Payback period of 11 months;

Expected profit: $9000 per convict per year, depending on the virtual world, the more popular and populated ones being the most desirable in regard to their farming and crafting potential.