《Crafter's Heart (Preview)》


 The Immigrant

    The Story So Far:


    The year was 2038. Stan Cooper lived on a collective farm in California. It was a typical job for young people like him, doing their mandatory national youth service years before college. He saw little point in his work until he got involved with Thousand Tales, a video game run by an artificial intelligence called Ludo. The game was just entertainment for most players, and it was hardly the only one around. But for rich people it offered a special service: a form of digital immortality called brain uploading. Stan had no hope of ever affording that. Still, he began doing favors for the AI, which took him on real-world errands.


    His work inside and outside the game world made him some unusual contacts. But it also caused his old friends to question his loyalties... and criminals to threaten his life. Stan left them all behind, to seek a new start. He arrived at a town floating just offshore of the Free State of Cuba, to work directly for the AI''s growing corporate empire. Would he sink or swim there?


    South of Cuba, 2038 December


    The young man''s first steps on Castor Colony were unsteady, since he expected the ground to move like the ship that took him there. The floating, artificial island did sway and vibrate, but due less to the Caribbean Sea beneath it than to the thousands of people walking, working, and playing where nature had said there was nowhere to live. Stan hefted the backpack containing nearly all he owned and crossed the dock to get started.


    The colony was a sort of jungle gym or raft made from an oil rig, a retired cargo ship, a set of purpose-built "seastead" platforms offering a flat surface well above the waves, and a flotilla of boats that rearranged and jostled constantly. He smelled something baking until the wind shifted and brought him a scent of seaweed instead. Under his feet the ground was concrete reflecting the warmth of an early winter day. Stan left the dockside view behind as he got in line beneath a canopy, which led him to the entry gate.


    Minutes later he faced an automated kiosk where a bland digital face appeared on the screen, asking, "Papers? Reason for visiting?"


    Stan let it scan his US passport and eyes. He''d been coached on this moment, as on many other things over the last year. He took a deep breath and said, "Immigration."


    The face smiled. "Your record shows that you have provisional citizenship in the American Free States, and an employer. Welcome to Castor, newcomer. Respect the laws and earn your way." A gate clicked open for him and an ID card dropped into a slot.


    He''d expected to be quizzed in detail, even taken aside to talk with a human, but aside from the one dour guard ignoring everyone from a central booth, it seemed there wasn''t enough manpower to interrogate everyone who wanted in. Stan officially entered Castor''s territory with no fanfare, no oath or signature.


    Now, how was he going to live here?


    Beyond the entry chokepoint was the district called Libertalia. What he could see of it was one big platform, a crowded public square lined with shops. Stan tried to find a place where he could slink into a corner and just observe, but everywhere he moved there was a current of people eager to get somewhere. He let himself pinball around the square for a few minutes just to take it all in. Booths selling drinks competed with one that sold illegal drugs -- illegal almost anywhere else. A brothel labeled "Congress" faced off against a beleaguered little church. A souvenir shop advertised knives, synthetic diamonds, and pornography whose very titles made his eyes bug out. Stan walked past that one feeling shaken. This ongoing low-level riot was completely different than the Community he''d called home just a week ago, where everything was wholesome and quiet and neatly regimented.


    A trio of self-proclaimed guides tried to talk the new arrivals into hiring them, and a few others were already wandering off with clients. One of those was a naked woman, he belatedly realized. "Sure, why not?" he muttered.


    One of the remaining guides was dressed in spandex like a superhero violating at least two US copyrights. "Greetings! Do you need assistance, good sir?"


    "Ah, no. I''m heading to my job." Stan left before the sales pitch could continue.


    At one end of the main Libertalia platform stood a building decorated like a castle, with cannons and pennants. The flags included not just the AFS banner and the Cuba state flag, but the one that made him proud: wings of red, green and blue on a silver field. The mark of the new boss, the master of the game.


    #


    Stan walked into a small lobby with an elevator and stairwell. A human clerk there was intent on a screen behind his podium. Stan grinned; the man was busy gaming. Stan said, "Do you play while you''re waiting for people?"


    He startled and looked up, mouth twitching faintly. "Sometimes. Hi. Says here that you''re a new employee?"


    "That''s right. I''m here to work on the VR rigs."


    "Good. Nothing''s broken right now, but they all need a checkup. Excuse me." A mother with a gaggle of kids had arrived. The clerk hopped off of his stool, surprising Stan with how short he was, and left for a moment to bring them to a table. He returned and said, "My name''s Dahl. Looks like you''re not on duty until tomorrow."


    Stan was a little rattled from seeing the customers walking in along the same way he''d come, but had the sense not to make fun of Dahl''s name. "This place is a stone''s throw from all the drugs and gambling and nudity, and it''s family-friendly?"


    The clerk gave a wan smile. "When you live this close you can''t afford to throw stones, considering that what we offer in the basement is controversial too. If you want, have a look around before work. You might ask for VR pod time."


    "Thanks." Stan sat down on one of the benches for a moment and studied the place. There was a logo for Thousand Tales, the game that was this place''s whole reason for existing. The tables were more crowded than he''d seen at the franchise in Mexico, and the decor was more nautical, but the restaurant and gaming center was another Fun Zone just the same. Already he felt out of place on Castor because of the constant chaotic bustle, but this place was a tourist attraction. It was meant for bewildered newcomers. Stan took a seat at a bench with only three seats free, and watched the games and stories playing out on the many wall-mounted screens. Dragon battles, a party of fantasy explorers, a starship bridge. Some customers were passively watching these while they ate, but most were more intent on steering the action using handheld tablets.


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    He watched them for a minute while he tried to relax. There was little point in putting things off longer, though; the boss was waiting. He pulled out his own personal gaming pad, a Talisman Mk. II with a sturdy blue case, and turned it on to say, "Hello, Ludo; I''ve arrived."


    A man appeared on the screen, with wind-blown blue hair and a dark cape that glittered with stars. He gave Stan a wide grin and said, "You came all this way here and you still want to play, huh?"


    "Of course, sir. I''m here because of you."


    Stan had been living at Youth Community Center #6 in Imperial Valley, California, doing his two years of required national service after high school. He''d been coasting. He began playing Thousand Tales and talking with Ludo, the Artificial Intelligence who ran it. Now he was thousands of miles away with a new job ahead and several burned bridges behind.


    Ludo said, "You''re the one that earned your way here. It looks like the boat arrived just minutes ago, so you came straight here instead of seeing your new home first. If you''re so eager, do you want to head for the VR pods? Gives you an excuse to see the hardware you''ll be working on, and you''re entitled to a certain amount of free time in them as part of your pay. Though, try not to say the word ''entitled'' around here; it''s not very popular."


    "Okay."


    The Fun Zone was a three-level building. Stan walked around to get a feel for the place. There was the big main room that was basically a restaurant, with one giant screen occupying the back wall like a theater. The entryway, he''d assumed was just for customers to wait in, but on second view his eyes went wide. There were cleverly hidden, segmented panels worked into the walls and ceiling, as though there were hidden cameras besides the obvious one, and as though steel doors could drop into place and hidden weapons emerge on a second''s notice. At first Stan laughed the idea off as paranoia, but... that was probably exactly what the room was for. That and helping the air conditioning.


    Above the main room''s low ceiling was the VR floor. Stan took the stairs next to the elevator, and arrived in another entryway room with more screens on the carpeted walls. A list showed info on the pods'' current occupants, mostly with nicknames; someone going by AtomSmasher was listed as "Assaulting a starship" for instance. Another screen showed elaborate VR tutorial instructions. He was neither drunk nor pregnant, so he should be good to go, but he paid close attention anyway to what the customers were being told. Basic safety, how to attach the various straps, how to move without hurting himself. What he didn''t see was a human clerk here to help him. "I guess that''s my job?" he said aloud.


    A light blinked for pod #3. A man walked out of one of the alcoves lining the hall ahead and made for the exit.


    "Cool outfit," Stan said. The guy had a sort of hybrid of medieval tunic and dive skin, down to the knee. Stan had seen similar things on people here, especially the ones who seemed to know what they were doing. In contrast, Stan still had the standard-issue shirt and pants that marked him as a Community kid.


    "Thanks." The player left Stan to take over the VR pod he''d been using.


    Stan reached room #3 and brushed its curtain aside. The hardware filled most of the soundproofed space with a set of rods and motors and a tube that could swivel around to any angle. He climbed in, a little weirded out that there was no attendant, and hit a button.


    #


    Instead of a world selection menu, he appeared on the deck of a fantasy airship that soared above a forest. A woman with a pair of bat wings on her back removed her tricorner hat and bowed. "Good morning, mister Cooper. It''s nice to meet the new crewmember."


    "You''re... miss Cassini, I think? Ludo gave me some basic info, but I was a little busy in the days leading up to my coming here."


    Wait a minute, Stan thought. He raised one hand in a gestured that told the game world to scan her for information. Text appeared in his vision, saying:


    [Sonia Cassini


    PUBLIC INFO


    Class: Merchant


    Faction Flag: Brightmoon Privateers


    Note: Wanderer of Two Or Three Seas!]


    If she''d been a mere Non-Player Character he would''ve gotten a report on what level of AI she had -- it was a perk he''d earned -- but he''d been hoping to somehow confirm his suspicion about the new boss. "Are you an uploader?"


    "That''s right. It''s not a problem for you, is it? And call me Sonia."


    "It''s not. I''ve made some friends among the native AIs. So, I''m Stan. I was expecting somebody who could walk around the building she''s managing. You use robots, then?"


    "I''ve got access to some. Now, your first few weeks you can expect to be useless, but try to learn. Something you''ll have to understand is that I''ve got sensors everywhere, but I''m only really available sporadically. You and the other employees have to be seen so that the shop doesn''t get mistaken for being abandoned. Or vulnerable."


    Being an uploader meant digital immortality -- getting your brain converted to a digital format and being stored in the game world -- but it had drawbacks. Besides not having a physical presence in reality unless she piloted a robot, Stan had learned, she probably only experienced eight or so hours in a day. The processors just didn''t run human minds as efficiently as actual meat brains did. He looked around the airship, which was crewed by some generic-looking pirates in brown and gold. "This is your office, then? Which part of Talespace are we in?"


    "Midgard, the main fantasy world. I should let you get on with playing. So, show up tomorrow to start work. Any burning questions that can''t wait for e-mail?"


    Stan laughed. The first time he''d met one of these rich immortals, he''d jumped at the chance to curry favor with the guy. Now, Stan actually had things to do besides wish for an easy life. Not that he''d turn down uploading, if he got the chance. He tried to think in diplomatic terms. "I want to ask a career question about uploaders, but I don''t want to offend you."


    The skyboat captain said, "I don''t offend easily; shoot."


    He said, "If regular humans like me are just here because customers can''t yet grasp the idea of an all-machine business, then how long will it be before I''m obsolete?"


    "Between you and me? A couple years at this place. Both for money reasons and, like you''re already thinking, because of what our guests think and assume about what it means to run a business. But if what Ludo tells me about your ability to learn and adapt is true, then you''ll never run out of ways to be useful."

 Back To the Endless Isles

    The VR pod''s view faded out from showing Sonia''s airship. "Where the heck was I?" Stan asked to the void that replaced it. He''d been playing Thousand Tales a little just this morning, while riding a ship across the real Carribbean Sea to reach the seastead, but that now felt like ages ago. "Take me back to the Endless Isles, please."


    The darkness gradually lifted to show a world of sea and sky. He now stood on the shore of Island West-3 South-10, a volcanic crag with a beach of black sand. Behind him, the Work In Progress lay at anchor. His simple one-masted boat had enough space on deck and in the tiny cabin for the three passengers he''d given a ride, plus a treasure chest he''d also made for himself. Now that he was in VR he waded closer, feeling water lap around his knees, to put one hand against the sun-warmed wooden hull. He smiled. This thing he''d made was real, within Ludo''s world, and it was his.


    Stan took out a flag from his inventory, a simple blue square on a stick, and stuck it into the ground. The interface announced, [You have discovered this island and can now save here!] If he found a suitable save crystal, that was. There was always a feeling of accomplishment to "discovering" a new island, even ones that''d been seen by thousands of other players. If all of their flags were visible to him he''d see the entire shore littered with them. Yet seeing his own standard fluttering on the beach by itself was true in its own way, because he really had marked out another square on his map, another place where he had a little more control over the rules.


    He did the scanning gesture again, this time on himself. He''d earned some basic powers so far without actually killing a lot of monsters:


    [Stan Cooper


    PRIVATE INFO


    Account type: Standard


    Mind: Tier-III


    Body: Element-Touched (Earth)


    Main Skills: Smithing, Woodworking, Inspect, Merchant, Hammer


    Talents: Pack Man, Gadget Inspector


    Shamanic Magic 1: Growth, Metal, Create. 2: Tailwind.


    Save Point: Tourney Isle


    PUBLIC INFO


    Note: Wielder of hammer and drones.


    Class: Craftsman]


    His talents so far let him carry extra stuff in his bags and make minor upgrades to items, powers that were useful both for trading and for building. Many other players favored powers that let them hit harder or run faster; they were missing out on the interesting ones.


    Time to go seek some adventure. As usual he didn''t have much armor, and the sparkling blue cloth he''d made into pants and a sail did nothing for his defense. What he needed today was a low-pressure trip. He called out to a party of wanderers who were just coming onshore. "Hey there! Need a pack mule while you''re exploring the volcano?"


    The trio hauled a raft onto the sand. The wood splintered and cracked, making Stan wince. All three looked like newbies, equipped with little more than wooden spears and bits of palm-bark armor that even Stan hadn''t tried making. All were human but for one who''d earned the first stage of a birdman transformation, growing a fringe of gold feathers along his arms and hair.


    The one girl in the party said, "Who are you, hanging around on a random island? Say, are you an uploader?"


    Stan laughed. "Not yet. There aren''t many of those. I just showed up to give people a ride in my new boat here and then I had to sign out."


    "Sorry. It''s just that you''re way out away from the starting area too, and you obviously played enough to get that partial transformation."


    Oh yeah, that. Stan glanced backward and saw the fuzzy, ringed tail he had in this world. In VR it felt like something twitching at the base of his spine, matching some faint flicking that hinted at the raccoon-like ears atop his head, but there was only so much that the gaming rig could do to simulate a different body shape. He was basically still human anyway despite being "element-touched" like the birdman, and wasn''t sure he wanted to go any farther with those changes.


    He said, "Fair enough, though your friend there obviously did the element thing himself. Speaking of giving rides, hang on a sec." He used a private message window to contact the group that he''d ferried here. [Sorry to strand you; I was offline. How are you doing?]


    Their reply popped up as text: [We''re on the northwest beach building a raft to get back to Tourney. Want to help?]


    Stan relayed that to the newbies and added, "What brings you so far away from Central Island so soon? Most players get better equipped first. No offense."


    The feathered one said, "We''re sequence-breaking!" The girl explained for him, "Jumping ahead to get a cool ship early. And for that we need an Anchor Stone, which I guess you know, and for that we had to go far off."


    The third guy said, "But yeah, let''s find the other group."


    Stan led the way. "This is a chance to learn, especially if you plan to build your own boat after this trip. I take it you''re following a specific quest that said this island could give you that Anchor Stone you need?"


    They talked for a bit. A new window popped up in Stan''s vision in the distinctive shimmery blue of his sail and pants, like sunlight on water. [Are you seriously going to spend your VR time doing woodworking, again?]


    Stan grinned. "Ocean, is that you?"


    "Huh?" asked one of the adventurers.


    "Sorry; I meant to say that privately. Ocean is the main supervisor AI of the Endless Isles. She''s taunting me, so... Weapons ready for trouble!"


    He''d called it: a pair of monsters bubbled up from the sea, conjured just because Ocean thought it appropriate. Not the shark-men he''d seen before, but black-and-white trollish creatures with long fluked tails and holding knives of colorful glass.


    "Orcan!" said one of the experienced folk. "Get a tooth sample!"


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    How was Stan supposed to... oh. He grinned and took out his bronze hammer he''d built, then looked at the monsters'' toothy snouts.


    The battle began. The newbie explorers with their spears tried to fend the monsters off, but one orcan swung a segmented blade like a stained glass window that shattered the simple wood. The beast''s own weapon shattered and it fell back, holding its webbed hands together in a magical pose that began to summon another knife.


    While it was doing that, Stan leaped into the fray and swung underhand, connecting with the creature''s jaw so hard that a tooth flew out. "There''s your sample!"


    The other orcan slashed at Stan, forcing him to parry twice with his hammer and dodge the third blow. Even so, it gashed him against his left arm. A red [Major wound!] icon flashed. The impact felt to Stan like getting hit in the arm and having it heat up, but it was a real enough sensation to make him stagger back and yelp.


    The more experienced travelers closed in with their swords and a dart of magically flung gravel. The two orcan growled, emitting puffs of vapor from their blowholes. Each time they swung they usually inflicted a wound with their razor-sharp glass or damaged somebody''s weapons or armor, but their own weapons broke each time. Soon the pair didn''t have enough chances to re-summon more, so they resorted to punching with their meaty fists. Stan darted in and out of the fray to deal hammer blows or try to cover for the new guys.


    At last both monsters dropped to the beach and died, squeaking pathetically. Stan was breathing hard from the effort. "Is everyone still alive? Good."


    One of the new crew said, "We''re disarmed, though. Except it looks like they dropped backup knives." The birdman had already begun searching the bodies and discovered that they''d left behind a knife each as treasure.


    Stan said, "Cool, but those obviously won''t last long. If you give me one to study, I''ll make you some quick replacement weapons."


    One of the elder group scooped up some of the black sand into a vial. "It''ll be tough for you to do the volcano quest if you''ve got that minimal equipment."


    "We know, we know. How are we supposed to do the quest now that the game''s AI just wrecked what equipment we had?"


    Stan grabbed a few likely-looking bits of driftwood and fallen branches from nearby palm trees. With a simple knife he began shaping them into clubs and a spear.


    [Crafting result: Crude Wooden Spear. "Best point: it''s pointy."]


    Stan shrugged at the AI''s criticism. "That''s all I can do without a proper crafting station."


    "Thanks," said the birdman, "but have we got any real chance?"


    "They might get an easy version of the volcano dungeon," said the wizard who''d done that gravel-flinging spell and sampled the sand. "But if they''re given the version that has a worthwhile treasure in it, then I wouldn''t bet on them winning. I''d offer to help but that''d just scale up the difficulty."


    The newcomers said, "That''s not fair. We should be able to do this dungeon at any level."


    Stan handed over the junky improvised weapons and took a glass knife. He said, "You shouldn''t expect the Endless Isles to be fair. Random stuff happens all the time that could be good or bad. Instead, you need to be in control of how equipped and ready you are, so that you can get past something like this fight without getting worn down."


    The wizard said, "Come on; let''s all go back to Tourney and get you set up to try again with better odds. Stan, can you carry us all?"


    "Sorry, no, max of four including me." There was only so much detail to the physics, and some limits were arbitrary.


    "Blah. Can you help us do a quick raft, then?"


    Stan nodded and they all got to work to make one. Stan did a lot of the work of laying out the fresh logs and connecting them with improvised rope, giving the whole thing a quality bonus due to his success in a little puzzle that was half abstract, half a real judgment of wood quality and balance. Then, reluctantly, he left the higher-level group behind in his wake to ferry the new guys east.


    Besides using his limited knowledge of sailing to cross the sea -- mostly by pointing in the direction he wanted to go and adjusting the square sail until it Just Worked -- he had some magic. He struck a pose on the deck of the Work In Progress and called up the spell system with a gesture. A loose and rippling 3D grid of colorful points appeared around him. He opened one hand and conjured a rune that resembled a swirl of golden wind, then guided it along a spiral pattern through ghostly walls and spikes. His movements made him turn and dance in place to steer the mark to where he needed it, and then to guide another symbol for the word Create, and to target the combined energies. At last the magic field faded out and a gentle breeze began to blow from behind him, filling the sail more strongly than before. He smiled; he was getting better at this.


    Stan''s boat was faster than these disposable "noob rafts" that low-powered characters used to get around. He didn''t need to chop down trees and lash them together every time he wanted to cross between islands, then have his creation sink. Instead, some durability meters on the thing slowly declined. And since he''d proven his commitment to the boat by installing a hard-win Anchor Stone, the little vessel was nearly impossible to destroy completely. Despite its speed as it crashed through the waves, it still took a long time to travel between West-3 South-10 and the town at Tourney Isle, just South-10.


    Stan didn''t mind. Here in VR he could feel the wind on his face and the way the creaking deck shifted beneath his feet with every wave. Seagulls circled overhead and the sun slipped slowly behind him.


    "Wait. How long have I been in here?"


    [Two hours, six minutes.]

 His Sailing Skill Is Titanic

    He''d been playing for two hours and more? His eyes widened and he addressed Ocean directly. [Where was the hourly timer warning?]


    [At your real-world location, no automatic nag is legally required. You can turn one on using the options menu.]


    That was weird. He was so used to living where practically everything had an "automatic nag" system.


    And now he had a problem. He saw Island West-1 South-10 ahead and to his right as he passed by, and there was a faint shimmer in the air close behind him that marked the boundary between map grids. In other words he still had a ways to go yet before reaching Tourney Isle, and logging out right now meant the boat would be stuck, or worse.


    He stretched, feeling faint stiffness to his left arm that marked the lingering major wound. He checked on the boat''s cabin and found his passengers "sleeping", which meant they''d logged out and trusted him to get them to shore. So, he had a responsibility to people inside the game. He sailed on.


    He wondered what it''d be like to have this digital world as his permanent home. The first time that he''d met an uploader -- a bored Mexican gunslinger hanging out in a dungeon -- Stan had assumed that their lives were a rollercoaster of adventure and ultimate luxury. Afterward he''d kind of pitied them, since rich as they''d been, they were now trapped in their inner world and only able to set foot "outside" in reality by using robots. The truth lay in between; the uploaders and native AIs were often busier than they seemed.


    The boat hit a tall wave, then another. Stan checked his sail and thought back to what little practice he''d had with it. Maybe a storm was coming? No, the sky all around shined clear. Instead he caught sight of rippling water ahead, and his eyes went wide. He pointed forward and commanded, [Inspect!]


    That was one of his best skills. In response, a flash of sunlight highlighted a set of rocks dead ahead.


    He cursed and hauled at one of the sail''s confusing array of ropes. It folded like a Venetian blind and killed his acceleration. Unfortunately he was still heading toward the rocks, and now he couldn''t do much to steer! Stan grabbed the backup paddle and tried to shove forward against the oncoming obstacle, but he had too much momentum. The boat crunched forward directly over the jagged boulders, shaking Stan hard enough to knock him down. Warning icons flashed as though he were the one taking damage.


    Mercifully, the hull splashed down in safer water on the other side. He dashed into the hold and saw his passengers sleeping like nothing had happened, despite the obvious noisy leak beneath their sleeping spots on the floor. He was not going to have his time with this ship start with getting his passengers killed, on a clear day in the middle of the open sea!


    Stan cursed and brought up the magic menu again. He''d never gotten the Wood element, so the best he could do was try Growth on the shredded hull. The symbols moved around at his fingertips, but fixing lumber this way was only good for adding a few points of durability to a noob raft, not patching a long ragged hole. Water burbled up past his spell attempts, soaking the sleeping passengers.


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    And of course he didn''t have a whole set of repair tools or spare lumber. Stan looked wildly around, then seized on his treasure chest, a copper-bound wooden box in a classic style. He whipped out his hammer and knocked out the pins holding the lid on, then slapped the top down over the worst of the damage.


    Casting another spell was hard, mostly due to having to stay in place and kneel on the box lid while waving his hands around. This time he could work with the Metal element along with Growth, giving the rule system a more specific reason to let him repair the wood. To help it understand what he was trying to do, he said, "I try to make the metal seal off the damage. Sacrifice the lid''s quality." Wrecking one item to fix another was worth a bonus if it made sense.


    His first casting attempt fizzled but he second took, melding the box''s metal parts and some of the wood into the damaged hull. A feedback message said, [Partial repairs have made the boat''s major wound minor. Leak rate reduced by 75%. You can bail out using the same chest.]


    Good. Stan stood up, feeling sweat on his forehead. "But I''m not bailing out now!" He looked at the lidless box and at the water slowly filling the cabin. "Oh, that''s what that means." He''d only recently been learning about ship stuff. He began scooping the water out. Once that was under control he raised sail again and used a wind that had stirred just now by natural weather in a roughly eastward direction. Soon he was moving, and every so often removing more water, and the now-familiar Tourney Island emerged on the horizon. The sun was already falling.


    Stan relaxed as he maneuvered toward the short dock. The wind shifted so that he had to zigzag or "tack", and eventually gave up to glide onto a beach instead. He barely remembered in time to swing up the bottom fin, the daggerboard, or whatever was left of it. "Is this going to sink while I''m offline?" he asked, watching the western sky blaze with sunset.


    [A protected vessel takes no damage while the owner is offline.]


    He started the thirty-second logout ritual, then remembered his passengers. "Obviously they have permission to exit...?"


    [Noted.]


    The world swirled away into a pale sky that faded to a Thousand Tales title screen. His version -- it varied by player -- showed a silhouette of a man sailing under a logo made of wood. "Whew, I need a break. Thank you, Ludo."


    The AI didn''t answer him, so he shut down the VR pod and opened it using a latch on the inside. It hissed open. He expected someone to help him get out without hurting himself, but since it was unattended he had to trust his own muscles. "I''m off to move into my new apartment. See you tomorrow."


    He headed downstairs from the VR pods, passing by two eager teenagers talking about dragons. The people on the main floor were busy eating and playing. Back where he was from, farm work occupied most of people''s attention. Here, well, the name of the building was a "Fun Zone". He''d need to get used to both playing Thousand Tales and seeing the stagecraft that made it all possible for others to play.


    Maybe someday, he''d be one of the players on the inside.

 Sargasso

    Seeing the Fun Zone and its VR systems had been nice, but it was time now to find his new home. Stan''s backpack weighed on him in the bustle of Libertalia Platform''s concrete deck. The tropical sun blazed overhead. It was still early afternoon in reality, which felt jarring. It meant he had plenty of time today, though.


    His new housing was over on Sargasso Platform. Finding it meant trying to see past the brothel and the casino and the other vendors clamoring for attention, to the rest of the colony. He weaved out of the plaza and its surrounding support buildings until he saw the ocean again, and Liberty Bridge. The view reminded him that he was around thirty feet above the waves with nothing but a flimsy railing keeping him safe. He was even below the level of the platforms themselves, so crossing was like dipping closer to the sea.


    The bridge itself made him grin. He''d read about it while preparing to move to Castor. It was originally a toll path designed to extract maximum profit from people traveling between platforms, with a simple metal span for pedestrians and the small electric carts that were the biggest practical ground vehicles here. There was still a scar where the payment gate had been. After a group of self-proclaimed "pirate bridgers" erected a long, dangerous rope crossing right next to it, the Castor Corporation had arranged to buy the bridge and operate it through the "fees" it charged for things besides walking. So, the super-capitalist seastead had introduced taxes and public infrastructure under another name. The fun part was that it''d happened because of people merrily screwing around in ways that didn''t actually hurt anyone but that made a mockery of the rules.


    He patted the railing and reflexively tried to see below it. A layer of metal boxes was bolted to the side of each platform, like barnacles on the original oil-rig-like structure. Some of the boxes were standard cargo containers and others made from scraps or something. Here and there a metal staircase or ladder led down to these lower places.


    Along the way the wind strengthened, carrying the smell of fried dough from somewhere behind him. The sunlight was dazzling on the water and the air felt surprisingly chilly for the tropics. Stan looked outward from it to the array of other floating districts that made up the colony. Everywhere people were in motion, including some who were giving him dirty looks for being in their way.


    His welcome to Sargasso was a rusty sign and a powerful smell of fish and seaweed. Instead of a carnival, this place felt like a giant refinery. Stan made his way past a well-placed snack shop and a few nondescript businesses built into cargo containers, until he reached a staircase leading down into the bare, dirty concrete floor. Supposedly, this was a way into the lower deck he needed to reach.


    A man in a black jacket with scaly green shoulders approached and said, "You don''t want to go down there."


    "I''ve got an apartment waiting."


    The man had digital i-glasses with text flickering across them. "Oh, you''re not a tourist? Sorry."


    "You''re one of the Dragons?" Stan asked. There were no police, just private security companies that did the same thing in much the same way. And that had cooler names.


    "Sure am. If you''re going to live here, watch yourself and be armed."


    Stan nodded, feeling more vulnerable than before as he took the stairs down into darkness.


    Under the sunny top deck it was like a cave, or the inside of a warship. The lights were a cheap sodium yellow and he hadn''t gone ten steps before he spotted a discarded syringe. Every so often there was a metal bulkhead door, one advertising "Madam Tso''s Psychic Readings" and another, "Best Vodka". It turned out that Stan''s new digs were on the level below that, with the entrance back outdoors. He opened a door and blinked at the sunlight again. He stood on a catwalk with a dizzying drop below, though on second glance it wasn''t far. The salt-crusted outer wall was one of those barnacle formations of after-market containers. Stan shrugged. He was in apartment 8A, which was...


    Here. The upper of two doors, this one below his eye level. He opened it with his ID card and found his new home. It was a compartment about eight feet long, four wide, and four high. A couple of metal bits bolted onto the seastead wall offered hand- and foot-holds for climbing in. Stan stared at this space and muttered, "Coffin."


    To be fair, he''d been briefed about cramped living quarters and had signed up for a "micro-apartment" from Zeno Simple Living. Still, seeing this entirely grey box in person tempted him to turn right around and go back to California, where the ceiling had been a few feet higher.


    Stan sighed. I knew it wouldn''t be easy to live here, he thought. Give it a chance.


    He slid his backpack inside and climbed up after it. He was still on his hands and knees when he spotted a cheerful note that suggested storing his shoes in the convenient cubby just beside the door. Stan did that, then explored his new domain. It was a box.


    No. Stan forced himself to quit whining, and to see instead. Every surface was sturdy plastic or rubber with no sharp corners to hurt himself on. In fact it''d be easy to clean, maybe even to spray out with water. A video screen was built into the ceiling at an adjustable angle. Most of the right side, if he faced outward, was a set of shelves and racks and drawers. More storage hid below the thin rubber pad built into the floor, making just enough room there for his full backpack plus a tiny fridge. There were several power outlets, three light settings, and no furniture but a pillow made of cotton-stuffed paper.


    When he turned the video screen on, an intro video welcomed him to his new "affordable housing solution" and urged him to pray every day. Inspiring music played over instructions about how to avoid hitting his head or getting mugged by leaving the door open at night. Stan shut it off, closed the door, then lay back on the cheap pillow and laughed. He''d started Thousand Tales as a totally unequipped newbie, and it looked like his adventure on Castor was beginning the same way.


    Without meaning to, he fell asleep. He dreamed of the game, of sailing out from this manmade island and finding a fantasy world of magic beyond the shipping lanes.


    #


    He woke and sat up suddenly. The door''s porthole showed evening outside. He was angry at himself for missing the day, until he remembered that he''d had an eventful last few days. A certain Mexican organ-harvesting gang had so far shown no interest in hunting him down for getting some of their dudes arrested, but he''d still high-tailed it thousands of miles east in other people''s cars and then taken a ship to a whole other country. It was okay to be a little tired.


    He unzipped his backpack and took inventory. He owned a few changes of clothes, a bathroom kit, a Talisman Mk. II gaming tablet with enough data and processing power to run a small village Internet, a photo of Mom, a towel, six sheets of blank paper for some reason, his wallet, and the new AFS photo ID card. He turned that over in his hands. Was citizenship a kind of property? Not that he had it yet other than the "provisional" kind.


    The author''s content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.


    These and a small bank account were pretty much all he owned. He was glad for one thing he didn''t have: a Slab, the small computer he''d had back at the Community back in California. That thing would have been beeping at him hours ago to tell him to get up, to eat, and to obey a whole set of "suggestions" about nutrition and exercise or it would dock his points on an arbitrary scoring system and start grounding him.


    His stomach rumbled, having figured out for itself that he''d completely forgotten to eat lunch. Stan crawled over to the door and cracked it open to peek outside like a prairie dog. Just the metal catwalk outside and a view of the dark, crowded ocean beyond.


    He got out and returned to the "subterranean" decks of Sargasso, apparently the only path back to the platform''s surface. Now that it was evening there were more people in sight. Several of the bulkhead doors stood open, letting light and music spill into the gloomy halls. He peeked into one of them and found people shouting around a felt table, tossing dice and pushing chips back and forth. Past the next corner was the General Lee Pub, which sounded promising.


    In a cramped steel room with a bar and bad lighting, a mostly male crowd of rough people drank, ate, and arm-wrestled. Most wore beards and wore the same kind of windbreaker, encrusted with salt. Stan took a seat at the bar. Above it stood a portrait of a heroic general in grey riding an ironclad warship, with a saber in each hand.


    "You look lost," said the nearest man, giving him a cold stare.


    Stan smiled. "Just new and hungry."


    "A better place for you would be over in tourist-trap land."


    "I''m not a tourist," Stan said, not liking this grizzled guy''s tone.


    One of the other nearby drinkers began to stand, but the barkeep slapped a bottle of beer down next to his hand, so loud it startled him. The old bartender told Stan, "What my esteemed customer means is, this place is for sea farmers. He gave you advice to try someplace else; I suggest you take it."


    Fire surged in Stan''s veins. Who did these people think they were, telling him he couldn''t eat practically across one hallway from his home? But the barkeep was giving him a tiny shake of the head, others'' eyes were turning to watch, and Stan felt the blood drain from his face. He was in over his head. He eased himself slowly off his barstool and backed out of the room. Conversations started back up the moment he was out of sight.


    "What just happened?" Stan muttered. there was at least one place around here where he was welcome, anyway. He warily made his way back topside to cross the bridge and see if the Fun Zone was still open. It was, and still busy.


    One of the wallscreens flickered and showed Ludo''s face, looking concerned. "Back so soon, Stan?"


    "Yes, sir. Excuse me a minute; I didn''t find the bathroom in that excuse for a dormitory."


    Stan scurried off to the restroom. The Fun Zone had a shower room between the restrooms, similar to a setup he''d seen in Mexico; Stan figured he was going to be seeing it a lot. A strange thing there was that the sinks used filtered seawater and the whole room smelled of salt; anybody who tried drinking tap water was in for a rude surprise. Stan had done enough research to figure he''d be buying bottled water and doing most of his showering in saltwater, then scrubbing extra well.


    When he returned, he took a free table for two and consulted one of the Talisman pads attached to it. Nobody challenged his presence here. "I tried to get dinner," he said, and explained.


    Ludo winced. "Good idea, to walk out. That place sounds like it''s for the roughnecks, the real blue-collar crowd here."


    "I''m going to be working with my hands too."


    "They don''t know that, and I suspect they don''t count what you''ll be doing."


    Stan said, "Then is there anything on the menu besides pizza? I''ve got no kitchen so I guess this is my main cafeteria."


    "You do get a free meal per shift. But this isn''t your full-time home, understand?"


    He leaned back in his seat, surprised by Ludo''s sharp tone. "I wasn''t planning on spending all of my time here."


    "Good. You have other things to attend to."


    Stan said, "I really don''t, yet. I just moved in." Ludo said nothing, which made Stan uncomfortable. Finally Stan added, "I''ll buy dinner here if that''s all right, then go... home."


    He tried to watch the people while he ate a synth-burger. It was a Sunday night and most of the people looked like obvious outsiders, judging from their souvenir t-shirts and overheard conversations about what a scandalously wicked place Castor was. The strange thing was that there was a group of kids here, playing with a robot wolf while a parent looked on. Stan pictured them having walked here from the main immigration checkpoint, and blinked. He said into a Talisman pad, "They marched right in past the other fine businesses?"


    "This is a good chance for you to look around," Ludo said from the screen. "Why don''t you answer that one yourself?"


    Stan wolfed down most of his remaining food, then got up. Back in California, Ludo had encouraged him to try seeing the flow of money and rules and tradition around him in the real world as well as the game. He wandered again through the Fun Zone and saw no other entrance, but then looked in the elevator. There were buttons for the main floor, the VR pod level above it, the "Clinic" below it, and "Dock". He tried pushing Clinic.


    "Nope," said Sonia''s voice from a speaker.


    "Why not?"


    "No offense, but you''re new and it''s not your department."


    There was no keycard slot or anything. "So when customers inevitably push this button, you always say Nope?"


    "N -- I mean, sometimes I string them along about secret codes and scavenger hunts. It''s fun for them, actually. A few times we''ve really let somebody visit if they''re determined, and if we''ve checked them for security reasons. And if I like them."


    Stan shrugged, for now, and hit the Dock button instead. The elevator whirred and carried him down to the top of a ramp leading right into the water. He was in the shadows beneath the edge of Libertalia Platform. It was relatively quiet here, but more cheap housing or other containers clung to the underside and to the platform''s legs. There was a mechanical roar overhead. He looked up to see a roller coaster and its shrieking riders drop off the platform''s edge and spin upside-down beneath it, weaving between the pillars. One of the barnacle buildings offered a big window view of it and another pane looking straight down at him. Still, for being the place''s literal dark underbelly, this area was understated.


    "They built a whole dock just so that squeamish customers could bring their kids into the Fun Zone by boat, without seeing the brothel and the other topside stuff?" Stan asked. He considered the flow of people, money and supplies. "No, it''s mainly a freight elevator."


    A tinny speaker nearby let Sonia answer. "That''s right, though yes, some groups enter by sea. There''s a busy ferry service all over." Even as she said that Stan spotted a red boat veering beneath a distant platform. Moonlight slanted down to glint off the water, bouncing light even into this gloomy place.


    Stan said, "I''d better rest. Busy day tomorrow."

 Free Immortality Consultations

    Back in his little box of an apartment, he discovered some features built into the overhead screen. He could override the thing to use it as a second monitor for his Talisman or another computer, but by default it had helpful info like a guide to Castor and to the living facility. At its suggestion he slid out of his room and discovered the shared area: a tiny hallway reachable by anyone with a room key. It had bathrooms, showers, an excuse for a kitchen, and vending machines. Strangely, the snacks and drinks included not just the usual soda and candy. One whole machine was devoted to a line of nutritious protein shakes called Manna. The snack machine also offered tiny Bibles.


    Stan returned to his room, mindful of the metal walkway under his feet and the ocean below. He looked out for a while at the Caribbean Sea and at the few stars shining through the lights of the colony. It was eerily quiet. Occasionally he heard the rollercoaster go by in the distance, or something loud happening in one of the subterranean bars, but where were the group activities he was so used to? Every night at the Community there''d been a movie night, a sing-along, a lecture about health or sharing or some other educational thing. Often he''d blown those things off, especially since taking up Thousand Tales, but it''d been nice to know the events were there if he wanted.


    He had a hundred questions to ask Ludo, but there was work to do in the morning and the stress of the last few days was getting to him again. He shut his door, spread a spare shirt on the room''s bare floor, and slept through the night.


    #


    In the morning the living-pod''s alarm of deep bells woke him when he''d asked. What he hadn''t asked for was the bonus text:


    Consider how the wild flowers grow. They do not labor or spin. Yet I tell you, not even Solomon in all his splendor was dressed like one of these. If that is how God clothes the grass, which is here today, and tomorrow is thrown into the fire, how much more will he clothe you, you of little faith!"


    Stan frowned at the advertising. He bought a carton of milk and some cornflakes, wolfed those down, changed clothes, and headed to work across the bridge. He was dressed better than a flower today, in a t-shirt with a Thousand Tales logo that he''d gotten -- earned -- by working hard to build a playground in Mexico. He still gawked at the array of sex, drugs and rock-and-roll in the Libertalia main plaza; he suspected the "fun" never stopped.


    Sonia was the one to greet him first, appearing on a screen in the lobby. The bat-winged sky pirate said, "Good timing and welcome, new employee. For the moment, we need you at the front desk. Hop on up there. And put on the uniform; currently it''s just that spare apron."


    Dahl the front-man was vacuuming the restaurant, occasionally turning off the cleaner to look around as though listening for something. Stan looked behind the front podium and found a folded blue work apron with pockets, which he tied over his old Community shirt. He stashed his backpack into a cubby and sat on a tall chair. Instinctively Stan glanced at the podium''s simple wooden parts and how they were attached; just junky plywood and screws. "Okay, I sit here and...?"


    "The good news is you''re not required to be bored out of your skull," said Sonia behind him. "You get to game, some of the time. Or, you know, read a book."


    The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.


    Stan turned toward her. "I thought I was going to be maintaining the VR machines."


    "That''s part of your job. In fact, you should read the basic maintenance guides while you''re sitting there."


    "Already did. Had a long car ride here."


    "Huh. Try the basic customer service video, then."


    No customers were coming in; the Fun Zone was nominally open 24/7 but stood idle now. Stan shrugged and took out his Talisman to get connected to the local network. Employee training material wasn''t the only special content on here; there was a Thousand Tales game zone only reachable from this location, and another from only the Fun Zones in general around the world.


    The customer service tutorial tried to be engaging, but Stan rolled his eyes at the gags and was glad when an actual customer came in. A corporate guy who didn''t look like he was here to play games. "I''m here for a consultation," the man said. looking terribly nervous and clutching a briefcase.


    "About what?"


    "Uploading. I want to do it. Can I go today?"


    The video had covered that topic already. This was the kind of customer that brought in big bucks, after all, if he went through with it. He''d become an immortal and get the glamorous life people wanted, or thought they wanted. Stan smiled and told the man, "We require a waiting period of three days between declaring your interest and getting the procedure done, but we can get you a free consultation right now and accept a deposit if you like what you hear."


    "Three days! I''ve already decided, and I have the money. Come on, let me talk to the AI."


    Stan tapped a few buttons on his Talisman to root through some menus, and said, "All right. VR pod #1 is open for you, so you can talk directly with Ludo."


    "Great. Thank you." The man marched upstairs.


    When he was gone, Stan looked at the nearest video screen and said, "Did I do that right?"


    Sonia appeared from inside the game, looking haggard and wearing a bathrobe. It seemed to be night in there. She sat on a bed in her ship''s cabin. "Yes. What''s your impression of him?"


    "A guy that intent on hurrying through the process is weird. If I''d made up my mind and had the money, I''d be eager to get it over with too, like a guy holding a magic lamp and wanting to wish before somebody can snatch the thing away."


    "Your first instinct is right. We''ve gotten a couple of people who''ve committed fraud, then run to us so they can conveniently be legally dead when the cops catch up. That''s one reason for the waiting period. ''The wicked flee when no man pursueth.''"


    Stan frowned. "Is that another Bible thing? Somehow I got put into a religious hotel."


    With a laugh Sonia answered, "Oh, that one. Yeah, I''m not a fan, but it''s as cheap a place as you''ll ever want to live in. Got your room decked out yet?"


    "Not at all."


    "No wonder you look like that. Well, back to work; I see another customer coming."


    This one was just a lady here for breakfast, so Stan directed her into the restaurant. Then came a lull. Stan finished watching the basic videos and after sending another few people through the doors, turned to the game. Finally, a chance to play again!

 Game, Interrupted

    In the Endless Isles, he had a damaged ship on the shore of Tourney Isle, coordinates South-10 on the vast ocean map. Tourney had a good arena on the mesa that filled the island''s center, and a market, but what it didn''t have was an endlessly respawning wilderness that could be strip-mined every day. He hopped off of his boat and frowned at its stricken hull, then headed inland and uphill to get the rest of his stuff.


    The ruler of Tourney had a one-room house of bricks next to the fighting ground. After some incidents involving a meteor and then an over-enthusiastic battle tournament, he''d rebuilt his home mostly underground with just his "parlor" above it. Seven flags snapped in the breeze behind the bandstands: Stan had learned them as the seven banners of the nations that had ruled Texas, most recently the American Free States.


    Stan went to the brick building and knocked.


    After some fumbling somewhere below, the door opened. A tan-furred rabbit named Davis stood there, ears lifting up when he saw his guest. "Stan!" Davis was one of the stars of Oops! Universe Repair Crew, a comedy show about AIs gone wrong. It was a popular side business for him besides being a character within Ludo''s game.


    Stan said, "Hello, sir. Sorry to keep storing things at your house, but I need my axe and pick."


    "Come on in."


    Stan passed the entry room, which still had nothing in it but a storage chest, and went underground to a bunker with dirt walls reinforced with wood. A basic wooden bed, table, weapon rack and chest were all of the furniture. Stan said, "I thought you''d have done more with the place." It was quite a change from the mansion Davis once owned full of furniture fancier than you could actually build through the crafting system.


    "I will; just busy is all. Need a better room for entertaining for one thing. Suppose you''d like to help setting that up?"


    Stan said, "I''d be happy to. I managed to get my ship beaten up already, too, so I need lumber for that. Want to go woodcutting?"


    The bunny gave a bucktoothed grin. "Back when I first learned about boats, there wasn''t any way for them to take damage, so you didn''t have to worry about fixing them." He blinked. "Am I really reminiscing about the good old days, already?"


    Stan grinned and hit a button to emphasize that he was speaking a command to the game. [Pat him on the back.] Aloud he added, "I''m trying to get used to my new home myself."


    "The sea apartment? I warned you it''d be small. Too bad you can''t just dig a hole in the ocean to expand it. But... I kinda envy you getting to solve problems like that. If there''s any way I can help, lemme know. And yeah, I''m up for a forest trip."


    Davis put on a suit of shining armor, plus a sword that Stan had forged for him. They went down to the docks. One thing that Tourney Isle didn''t have a lot of was lumber, so the easiest way to get it in large amounts was to sail elsewhere. "Guess you need me to bail while you sail?" asked Davis, looking at the hull.


    "If you don''t mind. Unless you can lend me some money for lumber."


    "You want to get wood, so you can fix the ship to get wood to fix it better? Is this how your banks work out there?"


    "I think they''re more complicated. It''s tough to get started with no resources."


    They hit the market for lumber. While he was thinking about the chest he''d ruined, Stan took a moment to use magic again: his spell elements for "Create" plus "Metal". When he swirled the right icons into place, a drop of copper swirled into existence and congealed on his palm as a coin-sized lump. "I could start making coins this way, but it''d feel like counterfeiting."


    "Why?" said Davis. "It''s real copper. Stamp it flat and it''s as real a coin as this." He held up a shiny one with a fancy braided design.


    Come to think of it, Stan had seen a few other patterns. He grinned. "Then I''m going to sell custom coins. Your choice of design, for an inflated price."


    "Ha! I''ll take a carrot one."


    Stan was working on the hull repair, a mix of actual carpentry and a tangram-like puzzle, when a voice from another world startled him. Stan looked up from the game screen to see the real world. He was facing a mother with two kids, who''d entered through the front. "Are you open?"


    "Yes; sorry. Come on in and someone will be right with you."


    "They let you play games on duty?"


    "They encourage it, ma''am."


    She snorted and walked in. Stan supposed the policy was an advertisement among other things. He made sure nobody else was following her in, then returned to his repair work. "It''s going to be awkward working and playing at the same time. How do you balance your work with your adventuring?"


    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.


    Davis said, "You mean the cartoon I do? We have regular meetings to plan the episodes and act them. And the Lady is understanding about me needing to get pulled away for serious business once in a while."


    At last the hull was as good as new, without the melded-on treasure chest. He scavenged some of the material from that for spare parts. Time to set sail!


    Island South-11, just south of Tourney, was a hilly place with a forest of high quality wood. Stan made it there with Davis easily and hopped out with a hatchet to chop down some trees. The bunny went plant-gathering. Stan claimed the island with a flag, as many other adventurers had done.


    "Good morning!" said another customer.


    Stan was jarred out of the game to see the man facing him in the real world. He was dressed in that tunic-style outfit and carrying a waterproof tablet. Stan welcomed him and got him a seat and a menu. Stan went back to the game, but minutes later some corporate gal showed up. And then three tourists. It was hard to get a chopping rhythm going on the fantasy island while he kept getting interrupted! Even so, he''d soon felled a small trunk and started on a larger one. At last his co-worker Dahl peeked in from the dining room. "I''m set up over here. If you want I''ll take over the front, and you can get started on the pods."


    Stan groaned. Duty called, but he was in the middle of something. "Ludo, I''ve got a little problem."


    [I see], Ludo sent.


    Since Ludo wasn''t volunteering a solution, Stan said, "I can abandon the wood, but can you at least put me safely back aboard and get Davis a teleport back home so I''m not jerking him around by leaving every five minutes?"


    [Good reaction. I''ll have Ocean arrange it if she approves.]


    "Isn''t Ocean one of your sub-programs?" She was the lesser AI who managed this part of the game world. Stan wondered what here relationship to Davis was.


    [Yes], said Ludo, [but the Isles are her show and it''s her decision.]


    Stan sent Davis a quick apology and logged out, thinking, I''ve got to find some better arrangement than this. I look like an idiot, switching back and forth.


    Dahl handed him an ID badge and said, "Thanks, and good luck."


    He headed upstairs and stood in front of a supply closet, realizing he had no key for it. The door clicked open. Right; cameras. He grabbed a heavy toolkit and said, "So, just do standard maintenance on them all?"


    It was Sonia the boss who answered, as a ghostly voice from the speakers. "Yes; everything seems to be working, but check on each one. Give them a standard cleaning while you''re at it."


    Pod #1 had its own little room like the others. Stan used a weirdly-shaped key from the toolbox to open up the panels of electronics inside. As a customer, he''d seen the pods as simple devices, but when he was kneeling like this in front of fans and circuitboards and multicolored wiring he began to remember what amazing devices they were. Each one contained a graphics card rendering two stereo images at once, plus other sense feedback, plus more input than a typical keyboard-and-mouse setup normally allowed, and it had to whirl the pod around in various ways while keeping within certain safety limits. All of that complexity applied to built-in programs like the rollercoaster sim. On top of that, the Fun Zone''s pods were hooked up to the Thousand Tales game worlds and their AIs and the uploaders and wherever the main computer centers for them actually were.


    "Penny for your thoughts," said Sonia, looking at him from the wallscreen.


    "A heck of a lot of work went into designing and building these, even aside from Thousand Tales."


    "There''s a story behind every part. The motors, the graphics cards, the circuit breakers."


    "I know a little about the last one." He looked over a maintenance checklist again and shined a flashlight into a dim panel.


    He kept at his work. It was straightforward until pod #6 which had a broken strap to replace, and #8 which had a motor that''d need to be replaced soon. As he moved down the hall he sometimes heard customers coming in to use the pods he''d checked, and to sweat up the padding he''d just sprayed down. Fortunately most of the parts that''d get dirty were washed regularly.


    The nearest screen lit up with Sonia again when he''d finished the eighth and final pod. She was in a dress now and eating in a dim cabin by lantern-light. "You''re done for the moment. Take fifteen and then come back to help with the lunch rush."


    Lunch already? This was an easy job so far. He''d get in some uninterrupted gaming soon, too.

 Reading the Wind

    When work ended, it was starting to get dark even here in the tropics. Stan was due some VR time but he''d been inside the building practically all day. He stepped outside and watched the lights of Libertalia starting to flicker on for the evening. "So this is home, huh?"


    Back in California he''d have been "nudged" into attending a health lecture or something tonight, or risk losing points on the Social Credit System. Instead he could do whatever he wanted, which was a strange feeling.


    He breathed the ocean carnival air and watched people for a bit. All around him tourists flowed. He''d trained a little at recognizing how money and goods flowed, so it was instructive to watch people flitting between the shops and attractions like bees. He then noticed a cargo ship headed for the long dock of Sargasso Platform, and began to sense he''d been missing something. He went back inside and addressed Ludo through an idle screen: "Most of the money isn''t on this platform, is it?"


    The screen lit up with the AI''s familiar face. "Right. Usually it takes people longer to realize that the colony is an actual working town, and not just this wretched hive."


    Stan beamed. "I''m off work. What should I do now?"


    Ludo paused in thought. "This is your free time."


    "Yeah, but I''m up for a quest or something. Do you have any mysterious errands for me?"


    "Not today. Give me time to find one. Until then, you''re free."


    "Okay, well... I''ll hit the VR rigs before dinner."


    He climbed into one of the VR pods and strapped in to re-enter Thousand Tales. He hesitated at the title screen, not sure what he wanted to be tonight. "I want to try something different for a bit. Could I try... a dragon?"


    A game world popped up, in which he got to fly around riding a dragon through an airship battle. He swooped and dived to blast the enemy and dodge flurries of ballista fire and spells. After a while the novelty began to wear off, though. "That was fun, but I''d like to get back to my main character."


    The world shifted, and the Endless Isles returned. That little dragon world had existed for only a few minutes, just for him. The Isles were a persistent world that mattered more, one where he could make things.


    #


    Back in the Isles, he found he''d been moved with his boat back to Tourney, but with only a little of the wood he''d come for. He set about smithing. He had an easy time hiring himself out for that; in fact a few NPCs he''d befriended had started to make requests. So he had a sword to make, an axe to upgrade, and another treasure chest to craft. Easy income. What he didn''t have was his own forge. It cut into his profit, because he had to rent space in the NPC smith''s shop.


    Dominic, a masked and robed mage Stan had been adventuring with, stopped by while Stan was shaping bronze into a simple lock. "Why don''t you build one on your ship?"


    "Hi. Not enough space."


    "Build a bigger one, then? I think you can swap an Anchor Stone into a new hull to claim it as your own."


    It''d be substantial work, but Stan had time -- and an idea. "I think I can do that and even make money off of trading up. Now, what can I do for you?"


    "Armor. I''m thinking of ditching the masked look and going for more of a paladin theme. Can you do steel yet?"


    Stan said, "Yeah, it takes the same tier of skill as iron. I can give you a good price." Stan grinned. "I''m not going to make fun of you for uprooting your whole imaginary life after what I did."


    "Heh. How''s the new job?"


    "It''s all right so far." Stan chatted with him about it. "And my new boss is an uploader. Sky pirate or something in the background."


    "That''s got to be weird. If I uploaded I wouldn''t work a job."


    "I would," Stan said. "At least a job of making things. Are you up for adventuring tomorrow?"


    "Sure."


    Stan sent out a note asking the newbie "sequence breaker" party if they wanted to buy his first ship when they got their own Anchor Stone. Then he returned to his smithing.


    In VR the rules were a bit different than on a handheld tablet. As he switched from the brass lock to an iron sword project, he also switched techniques. He had to heat the blank metal rod he began with to red heat and then strike it, less with raw strength than with precision. Timing mattered too, since he had to strike while the iron was hot. Since the anvil sucked heat away rapidly, he kept several "irons" in the fire at once and alternated between them. As he pounded the upcoming sword blade he began to see some daylight, a gap under the deforming bottom edge, so to straighten the metal again he beat the daylights out of it. He grinned, feeling like he''d been initiated into some ancient jargon.


    The sword slowly took shape not as a mathematical curve but as a slightly imperfect tool showing the effort of a human craftsman. He had to get the angle of his hammer blows right. It wasn''t just about turning a strip of metal edge-on and hitting it to think it toward the tip; he''d learned to tilt the strikes as though working around the face of a clock so that the iron wouldn''t get stretched out at the end. With each blow the anvil rang pleasantly, giving the mallet a little bounce. He turned the metal to lay flat and with repeated heating started to thin the edge down in that dimension. He used some Metal plus Create magic, but otherwise his technique was pretty close to the real thing.


    If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.


    "Still not done?" said a man with dragon claws.


    Stan looked up from his work. "I''ve almost got it." With a few more blows he completed the rough shape, and then he took up a file and began smoothing the metal out with amazing speed, striking a shower of sparks. He timed the moves precisely and then doused the blade in water. "There! Just need to do the handle now, which for a basic wooden one is easy."


    The adventurer couldn''t take his eyes off the blade. "It''s a little jagged."


    "I used the advanced process, which comes out slightly imperfect."


    "No no, I like it. People can tell you put in actual effort. Do you do this for a living?"


    "What, in real life?" Stan said.


    "Either."


    Stan began attaching some simple wooden pieces using drilled holes and pegs. "No, but Smithing is one of my main skills. It seems like not many people want to bother with more than the most basic crafting.


    "They''d rather be out slaying dragons."


    "True. And... here you go!" A gratuitous lens-flare camera effect made the new weapon gleam.


    "Good stats, too!" the customer said. "Thanks!"


    Stan smiled as the man left. Then a notice popped up:


    [You earned another magic element! Upgrade a word or select from: Water, Repair, Wind, Cloth, Strengthen.]


    "What''s my current set again?" All around Stan, adventurers were running around trying to collect good equipment and rare ingredients for the latest potion or something.


    [Level 1: Growth, Metal, Create. 2: Tailwind.]


    "I''m not sure Cloth is much of a cool magic power."


    [You''d be surprised,] the AI said.


    He''d been slowly advancing toward being a useful crafting mage, but... "Hey, Ocean," he said. "You''ve put up with me and you don''t just say canned game status messages. Can you tell me what strategy to use?"


    Ocean said, [I really can''t, human. There are plenty of strategy guides and discussions, though. Including guides to how to wheedle the most power from me.]


    Stan groused; he''d have to take up the strategy discussion with Ludo. "Thanks anyway. For now, how about I just add Water? Can''t go wrong with that in an island world."


    [Granted! Note that your first-level words are full again.] A swirly water droplet appeared on his skin in brown.


    He''d need another verb element to do much more than create water, but that could come later and he''d find a use for anything he had. "Thanks."


    He mentally stepped back from the game. He needed to get his boat repaired, still, but his stomach was rumbling. Since Ocean had been nice enough to let him keep part of the wood he''d gotten with Davis, he checked out the hull damage again. He had just enough lumber left to use his skills and the Growth magic element to patch the damage. The new wood blended seamlessly into the old, eliminating the "wound". He nodded in satisfaction, and logged out of Thousand Tales.


    #


    He was short enough on money that he walked back to Sargasso to return to his housing, the box apartments of Zeno Simple Living. He peered at the vending machines again and picked a bottle of Manna, allegedly chocolate flavor. He watched the sunset while drinking the thick protein-rich sludge, and let the tropical wind blow through his clothes. "Job, check. Housing, check. Something to do, still waiting." Feet tromped on catwalks above, and boats bumped and motored below the platforms. The roller-coaster rattled by in the distance. Stan looked for a trash can, found one in the Zeno kitchen. On the way out he bumped into Dahl, who was dressed in a robe and wearing a knife on his belt.


    Dahl said, "You moved here, too?" The young man was standing at the entrance to the little hall of the kitchen and vending machines, in Stan''s way.


    It felt better to be cornered in an alley by a man with a knife, than it had been to stand in that bar where Stan was unwelcome. Dahl was a fellow employee, so he wasn''t exactly a stranger. There was a different emotional vibe. Stan answered cautiously, "Ludo helped me get set up here."


    "Me too. I''m in apartment 4B." Dahl smiled. "Where do you play? Within Talespace, I mean."


    "The Endless Isles."


    "I''m mainly in Threespace, the starship area. I hear there''s a crossover event coming, so maybe we''ll meet up, or we can do a shared temp game sometime."


    "Sure." Stan yawned. "I''ve had a rough few days, so I should get to bed."


    "Of course. Rest for the body makes us ready for the Game. I''m in your way, aren''t I?" He stepped back. "Is it true that you''ve been exploring deeper?"


    "Underwater? No, my boat doesn''t submerge on purpose."


    Dahl shook his head. "Befriending the natives and even one of the Talespinners, the masters of the game zones."


    "A little, yes. You?"


    "I''ve been blessed that way, too. We''re lucky to have been chosen for big things."


    Stan excused himself and retreated to his room, where he removed his shoes and slid inside. He still had no bedding. Mercifully, the box had air conditioning, so he didn''t really need sheets. He lay down, thinking back to his dormitory room in California where he''d had a proper bed. It was comforting to have blankets even if there was no logical reason for them.


    Curious now, he peeked outside and then returned to the vending alley. As he''d vaguely recalled, the machines sold "space blankets" in ridiculously tiny packages. He bought one and unfolded it into a sheet made of aluminum and plastic, that''d probably cook him if he used it outdoors on a balmy night like this. It seemed like the Zeno owners had thought of more than his technical needs.


    Back in his room, he lay down under the blanket and felt vaguely satisfied.

 Bun and Iron

    One odd thing about connecting to the local network using his "Talisman" gaming pad was that there wasn''t any built-in monitoring software. There''d been a mandatory user agreement saying that the apartment company had no responsibility if he did something illegal, but he wasn''t being rated or judged like he was back home. So... was he doing well so far? He wasn''t sure, without a constantly updated letter grade.


    He was at least doing his job, and Ludo would have some exciting mission for him soon. For now, he logged back into Thousand Tales.


    On Tourney Isle, he tried using the crafting system with magic to make those custom coins he''d mentioned. First he cast a Create + Metal spell to make a bit of copper from nothing, then paused, stumped. "How were coins made in the olden days?" With copper, he supposed, he should use a mold. And for that he really needed a smithy that wouldn''t charge him money to use it. He''d started to run into this problem before he moved to Castor; upgrading from one level of power and responsibility to the next meant a greater need for tools, maintenance and other dues.


    An elven messenger brought him a little scroll from the sequence-breaker party, enthused about his offer to sell his starting ship. If he''d help them get the necessary Anchor Stone, which meant giving them a ride and then helping with the dungeon. "Sounds good," he said, and offered a few good times for that. Next, he needed to build a smithing station of his own if he were going to hang around on Tourney, and instead of buying land here he''d prefer to have a better ship. He made his way up to Davis'' burrow on the hill.


    The bunny knight answered the door, dressed in a spandex space uniform. "Switching from fantasy to live in one of the sci-fi worlds?" Stan asked.


    "Just gearing up for making the next cartoon episode. It''s about this maniacal pinball machine that rules a planet." Davis gave a buck-toothed grin. "We could use an extra to get killed by aliens."


    "Really? I''d be honored. Anyway, I came to offer a trade. I''ll install a basic smithy in your house if you let me use it to get up and running with my next boat."


    He''d set up a basic card table in the guest room, but still had plenty of room for better furniture. "Sure. Sell me some stools and cushions while you''re at it. I never gave you a key, did I? Here." He cupped his fuzzy hands together and a spark of light appeared, creating a brass key. "Stop by whenever you want."


    "Thanks, Davis. What do you do these days, anyway, besides the ''Universe Repair Crew'' show?" For a native AI like Davis, money wasn''t something he really needed. But Stan knew him well enough to know the bunny needed to feel useful.


    Davis said, "Miscellaneous adventuring, and trying to learn about human-land. Same as most of my kin. I get a stipend from the boss for setting up little quests for people and offering advice, when I''m not doing the dungeon-crawl thing. And sometimes I''m in that ''Rebels of Norwood'' zone I took you to; the prince there would probably like you back."


    "I was a spy for the villains, last time I was there."


    Davis shrugged. "You were playing a role, one that got handed to you with the prince really being in on it, out of character. Stan the Real Human, Stan the Ocean Adventurer, and Tin the Forest Spy are three different people, and nobody''s holding it against you that you worked from a script as ''Tin''." He chuckled. "Oh yeah, and you''re also a princess, right?"


    Stan scoffed. For a while he''d had a fantasy character in one of the specialized educational game-worlds, and he''d played as a girl on a whim. There were people who uploaded and ended up permanently changed into something else. He wondered what it''d be like to turn into a magical pegasus or something and feel a different body.


    He said, "The princess? I don''t even know anymore. I think it''s time to move on from that character, if I''m going to build influence in Talespace." Stan thought about his co-worker. "There''s a guy at the Fun Zone named Dahl who talked about ''exploring deeper''. I''ve done that in ways like getting the power to read what level of AI I''m talking with."


    "I don''t know the lad. Let me look him up." Davis gestured, conjuring interface windows in carrot orange, and frowned at them before swiping them away. "Frequent player, I can say. He could use a friend more than an adventuring partner."


    "Is that a quest?"


    Davis thumped the floor with one foot. "Has everything got to be a quest with you?"


    "I... I guess not."


    "I''ll arrange a time for the bit part in the cartoon, and you can stop by for the smithing work."


    #


    Stan had his trusty hammer, a hatchet he''d been meaning to replace, the glass knife he''d analyzed and learned a design for, a few disposable stone-bladed picks, and the Work In Progress. The main thing he needed for a smithing station was iron, and he''d rather not buy it or keep trying to grind out a gradual profit on Tourney. There were too many smiths here already.


    You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.


    He tried sailing northwest to West-1 South-9 in search of ore. It was a forbidding marsh, slumped low against sea level and having only one safe harbor. As soon as he reached it he started to wonder if this trip was a bad idea. Moss and vines reached down from the dense trees like tentacles, and slick things splashed in the larger murky puddles. "Should''ve picked a Fire element," he groused.


    There wasn''t a known dungeon here, so he was scavenging. He put his Inspect skill to good use here, because there was a path of sorts through the mire. Every so often he turned aside because the light flickered and revealed a sinkhole or a giant leech waiting in ambush, things that other players might not see. A flickering will-o-wisp danced in the distance to lure him onward to something, but Stan ignored and searched for his real prize, the lumps of "bog iron" said to settle in the stagnant pools. He grabbed a few handfuls of useful alchemy plants along the way.


    He found a reddish pond with dark blobs, but there was a flicker of motion there. Stan flicked the game into third-person mode so he wouldn''t have to see any giant leeches attack "him". Instead it was a watermelon-sized toad that leaped out and lashed him with its tongue.


    [Grappled!] said the interface.


    Stan''s arms were free, though, and he slammed his hammer down on the beast''s head. "I''ve killed bigger frogs than you." The weapon squelched into the monster''s flesh and killed it in a single blow, freeing him. Easy enough.


    A chorus of croaks sounded from all around.


    Stan reluctantly reached into the dim pond and drew out a few fist-sized nuggets of rusty ore. He stuffed them into his backpack. The croaks of doom grew closer. "A press-your-luck game, huh?" There was a lot more ore, but probably little time before an overwhelming threat. Stan changed the rules. He set down his backpack, opened it, then opened himself to magic. The world around him filled with glowing nodes and glyphs... except he was really just seeing his character on a screen doing that, and it didn''t feel right. He switched the camera back to first-person and set about summoning the Metal and Water elements. Water harmonized with the local magic field in the sense that he could drag and steer the icon for it around more easily than Metal. He concentrated his power on the pond and the spell exploded upward with a burst of force. A hail of ore flew out. Stan directed it to fall into his pack, grinning as nearly all of the bog''s supply clattered into it. He snagged the bag again just as a dozen frogs burst into view from inland, led by a humanoid toad-thing with a feather-tipped blowgun.


    [You are encumbered!]


    Even with his carrying bonus? He opened the bag''s inventory screen and saw he was only a little over the safe level. He threw out his mining picks and was fine.


    Until the frog warrior shot him, anyway. A sickly green haze filled the screen and the notation [Poison!] appeared. Stan looked up as the frog croaked a command and his amphibian minions moved in for the kill.


    Stan cursed and turned around, hustling toward the shore. The marsh ahead wavered green and tilted so badly that he felt queasy. Aggressive croaking stalked him but he refused to look back. A giant leech reared up like a horrible black snake. By mistake, he veered toward it. It came down at his head. Stan mashed buttons to jump and duck at once, diving into the filth in front of him. The leech flickered on one side of his view, but there was no time to fight. Stan scrambled ahead and fought the broken controls well enough to only get gashed for a major wound as he broke free of the jungle to the sunny beach.


    The poison effect worsened and he saw, [Major wound from the poison! (A one-time effect.)]


    He waded toward what was probably his ship and plunged into the water, sinking. Right, I''m carrying a bag of rocks. He dropped the bag into the shallow water and fought his way to the surface to breathe. With his air meter refilled, he dived again and yanked out some of the ore to salvage. Meanwhile the monsters waited on the shore, taunting him to come back. Stan ignored them, struggled to dive in the right direction, and made two more trips to get back his bag and the rest of the iron. He climbed aboard the Progress and flopped down. Then he sat up in his little room and set down the Talisman pad, laughing. "That was not a good plan."


    [Since we''re in contact,] sent Ocean the AI in the distinct rippling font of her personal messages, [Was it fun?]


    "Hmm? Yeah, it was. I guess you wear multiple hats too, trying to kill us adventurers but really to help us."


    [That''s my function.]


    "Must be nice to know that."


    Ocean didn''t answer. Stan shrugged and set about making sure he wouldn''t die of poisoning aboard his ship. He had two major wounds but was safe with his ore, and could take that back to Tourney at his leisure. He set the ship to head southeast, yawned, and thought about tomorrow''s work. He had real-world obligations at the Fun Zone, but getting more influential within the game was important too. The people inside, mattered.

 Humble Jobs

    He woke up to the overhead screen chiming with bells. It said, "Make every effort to enter through the narrow door, because many, I tell you, will try to enter and not be able to. Once the owner of the house gets up and closes the door, you will stand outside knocking and pleading, ''Sir, open the door for us.'' But he will answer, ''I don''t know you or where you come from.''"


    Stan sat up, troubled by the nagging Bible talk. He saw that his Talisman''s screen had gone dark. It re-lit at his touch to reveal a still image of his boat with the notice, [Automatic log-out.] That much was good, but he had work ahead and he was a mess.


    He tapped the overhead screen and flipped through menus to confirm that there was a washer and dryer. He squirmed around to change clothes, used the communal bathroom, and was out the door to the Fun Zone. Along the way, some bleary-eyed Sargasso residents who might''ve spent all night at the bar were watching him from the halls. Stan hurried past them.


    At work, Sonia appeared on the foyer''s screen and said, "Good morning. Please do the standard VR pod inspection, then wash and report to the kitchen."


    Stan didn''t complain, but he hadn''t signed up to be a cook. Not that he was a bad one. He did a system check on the pods upstairs except for #1, which was in use. Back on the main floor he rounded a corner to the kitchen. There, he found a big Italian guy working alongside robotic burger-flippers and pizza-toppers.


    "You''re it?" said Stan, over the whirr of fans.


    "On weekdays. Hi there. You know how to cook?"


    "Yes. I''ve done salads, cakes, cookies..."


    "We do pizza and burgers. So watch what I do."


    The cook didn''t offer much instruction, but he had Stan watch the approved process for cranking out the Fun Zone''s simple menu. The kitchen literally ran itself for the most part, with the man mostly being there to solve what problems the machines couldn''t. Stan had heard horror stories about how there were no safety regulations on Castor, but there were signs and warning labels all over the kitchen anyway. The cook felt that Stan had been initiated enough to start throwing some pizza dough on his own while he went out to smoke some weed.


    Stan peeked into the restaurant. A few customers had trickled in, which explained the call for what the menu called a Sunrise Calzone. Stan accepted scrambled eggs and bacon bits from a robot to pour onto the dough. He asked one of the cameras, "Who''s running these?"


    A metallic voice said, "Tier-II servitor Leo, sir."


    Not a real mind, but maybe smart enough to have feelings. "Looks like you work hard."


    "Yes, sir."


    He worked on the calzones. "Do you show up in the game, too?"


    "No, sir." Was that a note of sadness to its voice, or was he imagining that? Just a little AI existing to work for humans.


    Stan worked for a while cranking out meals, finding a rhythm that let him work with the bots and not bang into them. "When is that guy getting back?"


    Sonia took over the monitor that was showing orders. She was in her skyship''s cabin, reading. "He takes a while on his breaks. Likes to stare out to sea. Are you overwhelmed?"


    "Not exactly. I think I just mastered the menu. Have you thought about livening it up?"


    His boss pursed her lips. "We''ve proposed it, but your colleague is set in his ways. I''m not sure I want to disrupt his life any further right now."


    "Is something wrong?"


    "He recently lost his wife. I suggest not bringing that up. Now he doesn''t do much but cook, smoke, and play."


    Stan dropped the subject for now, but his hands twitched as he made his twentieth identical Sunrise Calzone. Back at the Community, there''d been variety and he''d needed some actual skill to cook for everyone. He glanced back at "Leo" the cooking robot with some sympathy.


    #


    Eventually the cook got back, smelling of marijuana, and kicked Stan out "for lunch rush". Stan found Dahl working the front desk and waiting tables, and joined him for both duties. There was no time for gaming, so Stan used his free moments to clean tables, check that last pod and clean the rest, and otherwise make himself useful. Finally he got a break and Sonia called him to the front room to say, "How would you like to try the evening shift?"


    "You''ve hardly got anyone here during the day."


    "And now I''m informed that our main evening guy has quit. Says he''s going back to the US."


    Stan shrugged. "If that''s what Ludo needs, then okay."


    "Thanks. After tomorrow''s shift, take the next daytime off and come back in the afternoon."


    After his work ended, Stan hopped into a free VR pod. Before playing, he asked Ludo, "Do you have a quest for me yet, since I''ve got time off?"


    The game world appeared in the form of a royal bedroom. Stan hadn''t seen this place in a while, and he looked down to see if he was playing his princess character. He was still just Stan the Craftsman. Ludo walked in as his usual self, the man with the cape of stars.


    He said, "I wanted to run something by you. You know that I appear to different people in different ways, but you''ve usually seen me in this shape. It''s not exactly standard. If you don''t mind, I''d like to switch my usual interface for you to my most common appearances." Two more figures rippled into view like a mirage beside him: a woman in a flowing toga with surreal blue hair like the sea, and a griffin in similar blue fur and feathers. "Is this all right?" the three asked together, and the man stepped back and bowed.


    Stan said, "All right, sir, but why?" He''d gotten used to thinking of Ludo as male, so this encounter threw him off. "I learned about gender identity stuff in school."


    All three of the AI laughed. "That''s not what this is about. I''m a machine; I don''t have genes or organs. I pick a mask because humans need to see something they can relate to. I''m trying to standardize somewhat as part of my brand." The woman tilted her head. "Does this bother you?"


    "I''m a little confused, sir. Um, ma''am. I''m used to taking my marching orders from your other self."


    "Mm-hmm. Well, this shift gives a chance to start fresh, doesn''t it? Would you still like a quest for your free time?"


    That was familiar, at least. Stan stepped toward her and nodded. "I would."


    "Then here''s one. I would have you increase your powers." A message beside her said, [Quest offered by Ludo: Skill Upgrade. Learn a new real-world skill. Reward: an equivalent in-game bonus.]


    "That''s generous. I could even use one of your teaching programs in here." He waved around the royal apartment.


    "I''d like you to go elsewhere for this. Learn more of the ways of Castor and its people." The griffin stood slightly behind her, mockingly copying her movements.


    The story has been illicitly taken; should you find it on Amazon, report the infringement.


    Stan smiled. "Yes... ma''am. I''ll do it." He felt a little derailed somehow, for having this other "interface" to talk with, but at least he wouldn''t confuse people now by talking about Ludo as "him".


    #


    He went back to his living-pod to nap, then checked out the built-in computer to access the seastead''s network. New skills, huh? He''d love to find a real magic teacher, and he probably could learn stage magic, but Ludo wanted him to go outside and he didn''t have a ton of money. What could he study cheaply?


    There was a two-session first aid class being offered for almost no money, on his upcoming free days. Nice. He signed up. That wasn''t for a while yet, so for now: Game time!


    Back in Thousand Tales, he''d recovered from one major wound. He''d paused in the sea northwest of Tourney, where gulls wheeled about. He sailed onward and docked. Along the way he''d conjured up a few more copper lumps to sell, so he now had a little spare money to get wood and bricks. With his raw materials and the rental of a general crafting station and a forge, he made the main parts he''d need for an intermediate-level smithy of his own. He went to Davis'' place and found the rabbit absent. Stan shrugged and went in. Now came another crafting puzzle to assemble his new anvil, stand, table and so on into a whole that the game would recognize.


    [Are you trying to install this station aboard a ship?] asked Ocean.


    "That''s the plan, once I''ve built the next tier of hull."


    [Note that the station you''re assembling won''t fit on a second-tier boat.]


    Stan frowned and brought up a wiki within the game. The easiest kind of forge to make was the most primitive, and you were supposed to use that to make a better one. The interesting thing was that there wasn''t a single "better" model. Instead you could get a higher quality rating (to build better items), or make it compact, or a few other options. Stan had been hoping to apply the first two upgrades at once. He said, "According to this, I need some exotic material to do both. A springy fire-resistant material... Frostwood, maybe, for a wooden anvil?" The hard wood would drain heat from metal slowly, increasing the time he could work it.


    [That would be an interesting but viable choice. Gems are a more common ingredient.]


    He scoffed. There wasn''t a logical reason why gluing emeralds to an item would make it work better. "Tha''ts not my style."


    For now, he set the equipment up as a respectable but non-compact forge that Davis could play with. Stan needed lots of wood for a new hull anyway, and he needed to get that stockpiled before selling his boat. Off to the south island, then!


    He took along a party of two people in pirate getup who wanted to team up for resource harvesting. They sailed south and set about chopping trees, covering each other''s backs.


    "Have either of you seen frostwood?" he asked. The forest here was mostly ordinary oak and cedar.


    "Probably it''s only on icy islands," said one guy. "There are a few of those if you go northwest. And east, I think."


    He could handle that. They got attacked by a couple of wolves before they were done loading the ship, but it wasn''t much of a problem and hey, free hides. They made it back to Tourney and Stan stockpiled his share.


    He checked a public map. There was usually frostwood on Island West-6 South-5, which was a long sail away. It was treated as a treasure, too, not a terrain feature you could sneak in and harvest right from shore. That meant doing some adventuring, and he wanted a party for that. He contacted Dominic and Alaya, another former partner.


    Alaya sent, "You''re out to saw logs again? I swear you''re part beaver. I''m up for whatever though."


    "Hey, it''s a legitimate part of the game!"


    In the background a song started up, something about how being a lumberjack was OK.


    Dominic wrote, "Sounds fun, but I can''t do it tonight."


    Stan yawned. "Yeah, I''m working nights starting in two days." They arranged a late session for the weekend, including having Stan transport them while they caught some sleep. Heh; he was providing transport service.


    He did two smithing odd jobs to earn money, made a few iron bits he''d need for his next ship, and was about to log out when he saw:


    [Special Techniques: You''ve earned another talent! Make a selection.


    -Mighty Oak (from Woodworking): Wooden objects you craft are 50% sturdier!


    -Box of Scraps (from Smithing): Reduce smithing penalties for poor materials/equipment!


    -Alloy Expert (from Smithing): Use exotic metal alloys'' bonuses without penalties!


    -Spellbinder (from Magic): Store spell effects on your allies!


    Did you know: the Enchantment skill is used to apply magic to items.]


    "No straightforward combat upgrades?"


    [You don''t seem to like them. Shall I start including them again?]


    "Not at the expense of the cool stuff." He checked his stats. "Wait a minute; I don''t have Pack Man anymore for the carrying capacity bonus?"


    [You have it, but the linked Merchant skill is now #7 on your skill list.]


    That felt like a step back! He now had Magic in his #5 slot from frequent use, and Sailing in #6, since he hadn''t been doing much trading lately. "Is there way to refund upgrades I''m not using?"


    [Not easily, but it can be done.]


    He frowned. His official class was Craftsman, and he wasn''t sure how much he wanted to continue being a trader rather than a maker. "You always make these things tough choices."


    [Thanks!]


    He''d rather have the power to work easily than to create the best possible equipment. What good would it do for his fellow adventurers to have one suit of super crystal armor when what they really needed was a dozen suits of iron? "Box of Scraps, please. And change my public note to... ''Smith For Hire''."


    Now his stats read:


    [Stan Cooper


    PRIVATE INFO


    Account type: Standard


    Mind: Tier-III


    Body: Element-Touched (Earth)


    Main Skills: Smithing, Woodworking, Inspect, Hammer, Magic


    Talents: Gadget Inspector, Box of Scraps, Pack Man (inactive)


    Shamanic Magic 1: Growth, Metal, Create, Water. 2: Tailwind.


    Save Point: Ship


    PUBLIC INFO


    Note: Smith for hire.


    Class: Craftsman]


    Which still raised the question of where to go from here, what to do with his powers. He tried out a little more smithing, making a custom carrot coin for Davis using conjured copper. It seemed not to matter, now, that he didn''t have exactly the right tools. Stan nodded, returned to the boat, and logged out.


    Back in reality he stretched and slept. There was a lot to do, to get ahead.

 Healer Training

    The next day of work was dull. He puttered around in the game. The morning after that, he started heading for work, but remembered he was expected elsewhere. The address was on Franklin Square, a different platform from Libertalia and Sargasso. He crossed the bridge to Libertalia, where the eternal carnival was quiet today, then headed to a new place.


    Franklin Square was created as a seastead: not repurposed from an oil rig or a ship or something, but built to ride the waves and endure hurricanes. A halo of floating bars circled it for increased wave protection, and as he crossed the flexible bridge leading slightly up to its "ground level", he saw a hexagonal tower that stood both above and below the waterline. The upper floors had shining glass windows and the main floor was the base for three smaller office buildings that stood up proudly like the points of a crown. He saw two of the Dragon security men wandering about. A space had been roped off in the middle for construction.


    Everyone seemed to have someplace to go, here. Stan explored the main level and spotted the glint of cameras watching him. Tower C had a cafe, an "Interfaith Chapel and Multi-Purpose Room", and a few shops with stodgy names like "International Liaison Services" and "Anders & Smith Consulting". His destination was the multi-purpose room, a white trapezoid with cheap folding tables and chairs and a mural of stars. Four other people had gathered for the class, and a quadrotor robot buzzed in to perch on a shelf and watch silently. Stan asked, "Are there a lot of events like this?"


    One man dressed in Sargasso work clothes said, "There''s usually something every week. You can bid to reserve the place."


    "Bid?" Stan blinked. "It''s private property being rented out?"


    "Of course."


    "Then who''s sponsoring it now? The Franklin company?"


    "Me," said a woman with dark skin and blue hair. She was young, tall and built like a swimmer, wearing the sort of wetsuit/tabard style outfit in sea green. She had fancy i-glasses, a gleaming computer tucked into one of her pockets, and a video projector cube in one hand. She scampered back to the door to hold it for a man who was rolling a cart of fruit and pretzels into the room. "Molly Franklin."


    The people around Stan drew in a breath. The event had been listed as run by Franklin Forge, one of Castor''s main corporations, but it wasn''t stated that a member of its owner''s family was involved. Stan fumbled to try to help with the snacks, but she waved him off.


    She set down her projector and it lit up one wall with a slide show made by the Red Cross organization. "Everyone please help yourselves to food, and have a seat. We''ll begin with a lecture and move on to basic demonstrations. Next week we have a follow-up session for CPR and some injuries specific to the seafaring life."


    Molly looked to be about his age, yet she''d mastered this subject and launched right in like a professional. He figured he was memorizing not only her every word, but how she sounded while saying it. The lecture notes appeared on the public network for everyone to study. Finally she asked, "Are there any questions for today?"


    One of the men said, "Miss Franklin, do we get certification for purposes of hospital work?"


    The teacher raised one eyebrow. "As I already said, actual employment in medical jobs takes additional training, which is beyond my skill. Our Web site can direct you to paramedic courses."


    Ouch, thought Stan. He''d wanted to ask a question just for the sake of getting her attention for a moment, but dumb questions weren''t worth earning that cutting tone and brush-off from her. Come on; there''s got to be something worthwhile to ask!


    When the few other questions died down, none of them earning much response, Stan asked, "Uh. You mentioned we''ll study problems that come up often around here." She started to do that eyebrow arch again and he plowed ahead: "And I figure you''ve listed those in the lecture notes or the Web site, so I''ll check those. But what kind of problems should we train for as we get more robots and AIs working alongside us?"


    "Now, that''s a question nobody''s clearly answered yet. I propose that it be a homework assignment for you." She smiled when she said it, and that was worth having to write a dozen essays.


    #


    The Sequence Breakers (formally titled now) contacted him, saying they were ready for that Anchor Stone quest that would get them their own ship (or rather, let them buy his). Stan now had that on his to-do list along with getting the special wood for his forge, building his new ship, and... trying to advance in general. Surely something else would come up.


    If you stumble upon this tale on Amazon, it''s taken without the author''s consent. Report it.


    The first thing was to help out Davis with his show! Stan logged in using the Fun Zone''s VR pods and appeared aboard the Work In Progress. He told Ocean, "I have an appointment with Davis."


    [Then you''d better hop to it!]


    No free teleport, then. Stan went ashore and reached Davis at his burrow entrance. "Good timing," said Davis. "Follow me! Hi-ya!" He took off running toward the cliff at the far end of the flat hilltop battlefield.


    Stan ran after him, and leaped into the glowing portal that appeared just past the edge.


    He warped out of the Endless Isles entirely; he was elsewhere within the game. He appeared in a dull concrete hallway lined with precariously placed brooms and buckets. Davis ran onward and Stan struggled to keep up. "Is there a reason we''re running?"


    The rabbit grabbed a doorknob and skidded to a stop. "Is there a reason you play this silly game? Here we are." Beyond the door was a hangar with a few computer consoles and a room-sized movie set of a spaceship full of crates. The other actors Stan recognized and one man he didn''t know were there.


    Stan beamed at the sight of them. "Hi there! I''m a fan of the show. Nice to meet you ''in person''."


    The others shook his hand. The dour crewman told him, "Now we shall see how well you can die." He waved Stan over to the set. "I''d offer you snacks, but..."


    Stan nodded. "Wouldn''t do me any good, in your world."


    "We''re not all uploaders and AIs," said one of the actors.


    That was surprising to hear. Pleasant, too; this little TV show was a cross-species effort. Stan said, "I get killed by an alien, I hear?"


    The main character was a dimension-hopping genie named Machere, an AI in real life, dressed in a family-friendly outfit of veils and silk. She told him, "This starship is making an urgent delivery of pillows to a remote colony planet where the people can''t get any sleep. Little do the crew and my party know, the ship''s computer has been programmed to make the best possible use of the cargo. And it''s decided to provoke a rival ship. Which means that you, unlucky crewman, are doomed to be killed in an interstellar pillow fight with the catgirls of Sylvestris IX. Here''s your uniform shirt; you won''t be wearing it long."


    "This sounds like an excellent way to go." He changed the note on his profile to say Nemesis of the catgirls of Sylvestris IX.


    Stan took the uniform he was handed and got the momentary reminder that he wasn''t in reality. His attempt to remove his actual shirt just brought up his inventory window so he could tap and slide his items out of view and get properly outfitted.


    Then came the actual acting. They were just doing his scene for the moment, while most of the crew faded out of view. The stage set became a little world surrounded by a complete set of walls, so that he seemed to be aboard a crowded starship... with a pride of catgirls advancing on him in the cargo hold.


    He fought sincerely and got forced out an airlock by an unlikely series of choreographed accidents. They weren''t doing realistic decompression effects, just sending him tumbling through the void surrounded by pillows.


    "Cut!" said Machere, holding a director''s cone. "Good. Now do it again."


    They did four takes they could splice together. Stan had a blast, chatting with the alien catgirls between attempts. (They were human actors themselves, who''d also played killer robots and other minions.) Then there was a very short scene taking place earlier, where he got to interact with one of his favorites from the cast. When it was over, Stan was exhausted despite not having really done much.


    Davis said, "Thanks for helping out, Stan. You fought with honor if not dignity."


    "What''s this episode going to be called, anyway?"


    The genie told him, "''The Hot, Steamy Equations''. Don''t put out any spoilers, mind you." She tossed him a small bag of coins.


    Stan got to stick around to watch a later scene where the heroes confronted the ship''s mad computer. Davis fended off the catgirls while Machere asked the machine, "What is your purpose?"


    "To use my resources most efficiently for the most noble goal."


    "Then what''s ''noble''?"


    The cheesy blinking computer said, "Serving the survival of the Confederacy of Man and all its planets."


    The genie launched into a dramatic speech questioning the computer''s moral logic, so it would deactivate and the catgirls would stand down. Stan barely paid attention. He was thinking, They do all these episodes to criticize AI. But really, how many humans can answer questions like those without getting tongue-tied? Can I?


    "You all right?" asked the dour crewman, standing offstage.


    Shaken, Stan told him, "Just distracted." He was working for an inhuman AI himself.