by D. Rus
He didn't deign to answer, just squinted at me and spat on the paving stones. The agent gritted his teeth and commented,
"The digitized individuals still don't have any legal status. You are either a game character belonging to a legally incompetent comatose individual or a piece of uncontrollable binary code."
Now it was my turn to squint. I took a step toward the cop and waved my hand in front of his face. "Hey, fancy communicating with a sequence of zeros?"
Unperceivably, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it in his iron grip. My life bar blinked, reporting damage sustained.
"I suggest you don't move if you don't want to spend the next week in a FIVR Police Department cell for assaulting a police officer in the course of his duty. Understood?"
I yanked my hand, indignant, but he didn't budge. "Understood?"
What was that now? Even here these Federal bastards could get at you. Well, they could try! The long arm of the law wasn't long enough to haul me out of the First Temple.
"Not, it's not understood!" I yelled. "Your department won't stand for much longer if you keep people in cages on such petty charges!"
The officer grinned, reaching for a pair of handcuffs gleaming purple. "Threatening, well. Article 119 of the Anti-Terrorist Act doesn't require an arrest warrant and allows to keep a suspect in custody for up to three years, including third-degree questioning and the use of special interrogation techniques."
"Officer," the agent butted in, "I'm afraid I'll be forced to file a complaint about an unprovoked arrest on personal grounds."
The cop looked at him. His glare glinted with promise. "And you're his associate, I presume?"
The agent wasn't easily frightened. Meeting the cop's stare, he said, "I've videotaped our exchange. I'm authorized to do that. Based on the video, our legal office AI predicts 96% probability of the arrest being ruled as illegal."
The cop grinned. "Well, if it makes you feel better in the cell. You really think we can't stand up for our own? So you'll have plenty of time to repent while waiting for the case to go to court. You might even hang yourself with guilt. These things happen, you know."
"Is this an official statement?" the agent snapped, his gaze vacant.
The cop paused theatrically. He cringed and shoved me aside. "Very well, you may live... until the next time."
Rubbing my arm, I walked over to the agent in awe. This was the kind of man you could go to war with. What was his name again? Yes, Chris. I needed to get his office's address. One of the first things a man of means has to obtain is his lawyer's business card. It helps solve a lot of petty everyday problems, everything from falling victim to bumper crime to successfully discouraging police sharks.
"Thanks," I said.
He shrugged it off with a smile. "My pleasure. That's racism. Some hate Africans, others can't stand Jews. And this is a new trend, disliking perma players. They say the permas cause the economy to collapse by embezzling loans and siphoning off funds into the virtual world. They apparently become contract killers because they can get away with it. It's easy to blame those who have no right of voice. It's like with self-defense: you really shouldn't leave any enemy alive. Funnily enough, that gives you a better chance to avoid a prison sentence. So that's what turns virtual cops into digiphobes. Your unclear legal status drives them up the wall."
"I'm recording it, too," the cop said icily.
Chris smirked and nodded: like, he was welcome. Paper can't blush. "There is a 99.8% probability that my words can't be qualified as insulting a Virtual Police officer."
The cop growled. The agent grinned: he must have enjoyed annoying him.
I lowered my voice. "You don't seem to like them, do you?"
"Well, you know. We were two brothers. One was a lawyer—that's me, actually. The other was a typical underage bonehead. The lawyer once took on a case you may have heard of, David Cuffman Vs. New York Precinct #47. He was defending someone. First he received a couple of subtle warnings followed by an open-text threat. The lawyer was too young and too ambitious to see reason. Then his brother was arrested with nine grams of coke in his pocket. What a coincidence, don't you think?" he raised his voice turning to the cop who ignored him pretending he was monitoring the crowd.
"I had to give the case up," the agent went on. "I did manage to get parole for my little brother but I wouldn't have been able to save his backside from prison, that's a fact."
He fell silent, reminiscing.
"And then what?" I reminded him. His story seemed to be getting quite educational.
He smiled. "He couldn't attend the hearing. His body had apparently been hospitalized in a comatose state. One of those family dramas," he gave me a wink.
Curiouser and curiouser. I pointed a meaningful finger at the crowd and rounded my eyes in silent question. Chris grinned and nodded, pleased with himself. He was too much! I gave him the thumbs up, causing him to frown in puzzlement. Yeah, right, he wasn't Russian, was he? He probably didn't know this sign. I made a circle with my thumb and forefinger, gesturing an OK. Now he understood it!
The cop stirred unhappily. "It's time."
Yes, of course it was time to start. The chat was boiling over with impatient customers. It wasn't a good idea to cross them: these were short-tempered people quick to pigeonhole you. I highlighted the clan chat. "Let's start!"
Cryl and Lena had all this time been mixing with the onlookers. Now they chose the first random pair of customers, checked their list and activated the dedication spell. The first flashes of light caused the crowd to shrink back, but then the freshly-baked disciples screamed with joy, attracting everyone's attention. The crowd surged forward, trying to get a glimpse of them and shower them with questions. The screams of joy promptly turned to half-smothered squeaks. A new dose of holy light saved my nearly squashed converts as the crowd abated, drawn to newer attractions.
The auction workers were screaming at the top of their lungs in the chat, begging those already served to leave the sacred zone.
With a faint smile on my face, I could almost physically sense my wallet getting ten grand heavier with every flash of light. I could almost see Macaria in her opalescent wrapper painting her eyelashes at a fancy dressing table in the Fallen One's once-ascetic bedroom. She froze, taking in the significance of the moment as her first followers started flooding in.
A portal popped open behind my back. I didn't think I'd pay any attention to it under the constant gun rattle of ins and outs. The familiar little bells made me prick up my ears. Talk about the devil. What if the goddess herself had decided to take a look at what was going on?
I turned and my jaw dropped. Okay, some transparent Greek robes were barely covering her body—I might have guessed as much. I didn't think the two gods had got out of bed before midday. But why did she wear makeup on one eye only? Was it my clairvoyance skills or was it the Divine Spark influencing reality?
She either didn't notice me or ignored me completely. Instead, she touched an onlooker's shoulder who stood with his back to her, apparently enjoying the little squabbles flaring up within the crowd. "Excuse me? Could you please tell me what's going on?"
The man glanced back. Appreciating the inquirer's appearance, he hurried to share the news, "It's a dedication ritual. They've all paid to become worshippers of the Goddess Macaria. Have you bought it, too? You think it's worth ten grand? Then you'd better move under that arch over there. You see, where those two priests are waiting."
Holy shit. It's possible that at least half of all world's secrets had remained secrets simply because no one had bothered to tell their owners the truth. Don't people just love to leak information? They just can't keep anything in, happy to tell everyone whatever they've seen or heard, with this proud I-know-it-all message.
I had a funny feeling the goddess wouldn't appreciate my clever money-making idea. Well, I couldn't have been more right. She squinted, her eyes fast becoming slits. Her nostrils flaring, she swung her head round, looking for the
culprits. I stepped aside, concealing myself behind the agent's back. He looked at me, puzzled, then traced my stare back to its source and tilted his head in the most ironic manner. The goddess was bursting with fury. The crowd around her was dissipating, pushed away by a strong wind borne from her slim frame. Even the sight of her weightless robes fluttering in the gusts didn't challenge anyone to make a pass at her, so strong was the pressure forcing them to stumble back over each other.
A mini portal flashed. In a swirl of opalescent snow, the goddess teleported to the center of the square, hovering high above it. Her legs were amazing. The Fallen One was one lucky guy.
The crowd stared up, enjoying a miracle and a free striptease show. Then the goddess' voice thundered down making them duck and cover their ears,
"Sentient beings of all races! I, Goddess Macaria, now tell you that from now on, a sincere prayer is enough to become my follower! And so be it!"
The earth shuddered. The world around me quaked as the new law of magic elbowed its way past the universe's unyielding constants, making itself at home.
I must have been the only person who, instead of admiring the goddess' voluptuous charms, peered hard at her young face praying she didn't hurt herself. Indeed, two red streaks showed from her nose, threatening to ruin her snow white robes. Her eyes rolled back.
I slammed the Appeal to Gods button. Macaria needs help! She's strained herself!
"I can see that," the skies rustled.
Already the goddess had lost control of her levitation and began sliding down onto the paving stones when a portal noiselessly opened under her feet. With a flash, Macaria was gone. The Fallen One had made it just in time. I don't think anyone realized what had just happened. Dumbstruck, people stared at each other, at the now empty sky, at the few colored snowflakes floating away in the wind. Flashes of bright light enveloped the crowd as some of the smartest disciples checked their dedication gift.
Women. It was so like them, ruining a perfect money spinner on a mere whim.
"Well," the virtual cop's sarcastic voice broke the silence at our table. "I can attest that services have been rendered to seventy-three customers. The rest are advised to cancel the deal as unnecessary and unavailable. A notification from the Control Department has just been sent to the customers' addresses.
"What do you mean, cancel the deal?" I demanded. "The services were rendered in full. All the customers were dedicated to Macaria at the stated time and place."
The cop shook his head, smiling sweetly. "My investigation has shown that the paid dedication took place in violation of the goddess' will. I have in my possession a video corroborating this conclusion. Macaria publicly denounced any and all middlemen and personally dedicated everyone who so wished. You had nothing to do with it, which renders your charges unjustified."
What was that now? I cast a helpless glance at Chris who made a helpless gesture.
The cop beamed, suddenly very pleased with himself. "What will your office AI say to that? What's the probability of a successful appeal?" He wasn't upset by not getting the answer he wanted. With a sarcastic salute, he disappeared in a portal flash.
Life was a bitch. First it sent you a cop who could be Tavor's big brother for all I knew. And then it sent you another female canine, no names mentioned for fear of her sensing the full range of my emotions.
Talk about gratitude. I pulled her out of oblivion, and the first thing she did was sweep the Temple clean of tons of mithril and other artifacts. And in less than twenty-four hours, she graced me with another blunder, this time for a million and a half bucks! This woman had a talent for being a nuisance.
I opened the auction and stared at it with a silent groan. The number of automatically processed complaints had already reached seven hundred and counting. The consumer rights protection worked without a glitch, making mincemeat out of the dodgy auction vendor.
What a bunch of jerks. Good job that the first seven hundred thirty grand had already been released into my account as was the Vets' million. Some of the unlucky first seventy customers were cheeky enough to contest the transaction but they had no chance in hell. Some consolation, I suppose.
The financial question had once again raised its ugly head. I just had enough cash to pay off the federal tax and all the current costs, but there was no way I could pay my first installment on the castle. Oh, well. Easy come, easy go. I still had a couple more ideas up my sleeve. I could still cook something up... provided Macaria didn't interfere.
Women. Having said that, she did look a sight. Taali, my sniper girl, where are you?
Chapter Seventeen
The morning of the new day came late, largely due to the rain that hadn't stopped for the last twelve hours. The heavy clouds scraped their bellies against the flagpole over the donjon, their grayish haze enveloping the Vets' clan banner that hung off the rooftop like a wet cloth. Looked like I was grounded.
That was actually the first rain I'd seen here. At least they didn't have seasonal changes in this land of eternal summer laced with occasional instances of sunny autumn and blossoming springtime. If you happened to fancy snow or scorched desert, that wasn't a problem, of course: plenty of desirable locations here in every stage of exoticness. AlterWorld had something for everyone provided they paid for it: from a mammoth safari in the tundra to those wishing to add a lava-living salamander to their trophy cabinet.
I stumbled out of bed and ordered some breakfast, then pushed open the wide mosaic-pane window and, pulling my soft chair closer, began watching the raindrops' incessant play. Water and flame, the two things that hypnotize you allowing you to relax and forget your mundane troubles—be it the monotony of the surf washing over a sandy beach or the quivering dance of a candle flame.
With a cautious knock at the door, the servant girl rolled in the breakfast trolley. Wonder why they had set her character to being so humble? Was it that their majordomo was a Victorian type who believed that domestics should fade into the woodwork and be neither seen nor heard?
I lifted the heavy silver lid and flared my nostrils in anticipation. An enormous plate of Russian salad and some saucers containing extra cream and mayo. Yes, Russian salad for breakfast, so what? The castle chambermaids could see right through me: they knew very well what breakfast choice guaranteed them a tip of a gold coin and they weren't going to overlook my weakness. No idea what NPCs would need money for but their joy at seeing gold was genuine when they stashed the coins away into their little secret pockets. Were they saving money for buying themselves out? Which was why I was on a Russian-salad diet to a degree. Even when I ordered a barbecue dinner, I was bound to find a little bowlful of the salad lurking somewhere on the tray, the servant girl's stare watchful and just a tad hopeful. I had to live up to every pretty face's expectations: the coin would disappear into the depths of their cleavage, and the salad, into the depths of my dependable digital stomach.
Having finished off the main course, I poured a hearty dose of cream and sugar into my coffee and habitually turned to my morning mail.
Two raid buffs had already sold making me a hundred grand richer. Bids for the Inferno portal had hit two hundred grand. Excellent. I also found some responses to my shield removal offers. Predictably, what the vendors wanted from me were guarantees, evidence and discounts. Among them, a letter from the Minediggers clan breathed anger and hatred. They didn't seem to worry much about the money. Their message read:
Agreed. Will close the deal via the auction through an agent. When can you remove the shield?
This was the kind of businesslike approach I liked. But in any case, before risking my own skin and anonymity, it might be worth trying to transfer the spell to a scroll. That would considerably limit my chances of blowing my incognito, at the same time removing most of the customers' questions. A scroll was exactly what it was: a scroll, no personal factors and no dirty tricks. So I decided against answering them on the spot. Instead, I opened Wiki in search for a skill that had suddenly proved t
o be so useful.
Glory be to the gods—calligraphy turned out to be a skill and not a profession. That saved me dozens of hours and thousands of gold I'd have had to spend in order to be able to create my own High Spell scrolls. In this case, they had used another restricting tool: the rarity and high cost of the ingredients necessary. The skill itself you could learn for a symbolic fifty gold from the Chief Scribe of the King's Library in the City of Light. Whom I could go and see straight away.
I walked downstairs to the Portal Hall hoping to hitch a ride to the city. The guard on duty turned out to be Porthos the Wizard who sat there in a long-suffering pose, hiccupping, his stare fixed on a mana vial. On the wall over his head hung a newspaper cutout saying,
The first case of heartburn among the perma players: How long till we get toothache?
Porthos raised the eyes of a sick cow. "Where to?"
"City of Light. The City Library."
He shrugged. "Couldn't do it even if it were the red light strip. It's the basic portal to the main square. I'm not the Porters guild impersonated. Don't expect me to have five thousand exit points."
"The square is all right," I didn't want to argue. The main thing was, he didn't have any questions which meant my right of passage was still valid. Which was good news.
I transported to the city, got everything settled in under twenty minutes and teleported myself back to the castle as the proud owner of a new skill. At first I wanted to go straight to the First Temple and spend some quality me-time staging some visually impressive hazardous experiments. But then both Lena and Cryl began PM'ing me demanding to take them along so they could explore our clan's new home. Nothing prevented them from going there themselves using their Journey Home ability, but they were understandably wary of showing up there in the absence of the owner.
'Porting, grouping in, 'porting again. Home, sweet home. Inside the Temple, a Hell Hound was busy shepherding their litter. She'd all but jumped at us barking when she noticed me and cooled off.
