by Peter May
Chas: How can you possibly know that?
Doobie: Well, someone might have erased his account from the database, but his AV’s corpse is still here in the house. Lying where it was shot.
CHAPTER NINETEEN
Chas and Twist teleported into the house almost simultaneously. Doobie, dressed in a sober, tailored grey suit, her hair tied back, stood in the middle of the shambles that was the interior of the house. Sunlight streamed in through enormous picture windows on either side.
Twist: Is someone going to tell me what’s going on?
Chas: Arnold Smitts was in Second Life, Twist. He had an AV called Maximillian Thrust. He was a bigshot land dealer in here, and this is his house,
Twist: So?
Chas looked around for the body.
Chas: Where is he, Doobs?
Doobie climbed over a jumble of beams and planking, disjointed sections of floor and wall, and through a moongate that led to the bedroom. They scrambled after her. Maximillian Thrust lay in an oddly twisted heap between two sections of floor that had been pushed up, as if by an earthquake. There were three gaping holes in the centre of his chest. There was animated blood all over his torso, and it was pooling on the floor beneath him.
Twist: Jesus Christ! How’s that possible? He must have been logged out for days.
Chas: Even more impossible, Twist. There is no record in the Linden Lab database that he ever existed.
Twist: So how’s his AV still here?
Doobie: Because it’s not his AV.
They both turned to look at her.
Chas: How do you mean?
Doobie: Well, it can’t be. It has to be a clone.
Chas: Explain.
Doobie: Not an explanation, Chas, just a guess. His AV was shot with a scripted gun of some kind. Most weapons in SL fire scripts at their targets that generate the desired graphic effect. Smoke, fire, a cage, whatever. My guess would be that the script in this gun actually destroyed the original AV, but made a clone of the victim, showing the damage and the blood. And that’s what we’re seeing here.
Twist: That makes sense, Doobie. I’m Twist, by the way. Since Chas doesn’t seem to be going to introduce us.
Doobie: Hi, Twist.
Chas: What we have here, then, is a virtual crime scene. Undisturbed. So we should be able to piece together at least part of what happened.
He looked around.
Chas: How the hell did the house get into this state? It looks like it got blitzed by something at the top end of the Richter Scale.
Twist: Something pretty close to that, I’d say. The only way you could do this amount of damage, Chas, would be if you were in Edit mode.
Chas: What’s that?
Doobie: A mode you go into when you are building, so you can move stuff around.
Twist: Thrust must have panicked when he was attacked, and hit the wrong button. If he went into Edit, everything he touched would have started shifting around with him. Just like a real earthquake.
Everything had been moved or dislocated. Whole sections of floor and wall buckled out of place. The ceiling was dragged down almost to the floor in one corner.
Chas: So how come none of this has been disturbed since it happened?
Doobie: Because the whole place still belongs to Maximillian Thrust. If you click on the name of the property—it’s written in blue at the top of the screen—it will bring up the Land Window. That tells you who owns the property, and how many prims it supports.
Chas: Prims?
Twist: Primitives. The name given to the bits that go to make up everything in SL. It’s a kind of measurement of processing power. Every object has a prim value in here.
Doobie: Anyway, the Land Window shows Maximillian Thrust as the owner. And there’s a rock out there on the beach where you pay your tiers. Thrust was paid up for several weeks to come, so no one would have been coming to reclaim the property for some time.
Chas sighed.
Chas: One of these days we’ll get back to speaking English. What are tiers?
Doobie Littlething smiles.
Doobie: Even though you own a property, Chas, you still have to pay a kind of rental on it. Land-use fees. They’re called tiers. How do you think Linden Lab make their money?
Twist: Better take some pictures, Chas. You are the photographer, after all.
Chas: How do I do that?
Twist: There’s a Snapshot button on your toolbar. You can work it out yourself from there.
Chas found that he could easily line up the shots he wanted to take, just like using a real camera, uploading to his Inventory and then downloading to his desktop, so that he had RL and SL copies of each.
He took pictures of the body from various angles and of the interior damage to the house, and was able to give copies to Twist and Doobie by dragging them on to their AVs.
Chas: How about we take a look outside?
He clicked on the door. But it wouldn’t open.
Doobie: Both doors are locked.
Chas: How did you get in, then?
Doobie smiles knowingly.
Doobie: Same way we’re going to get out. An old griefer’s trick.
Twist: You know it, Chas. It’s almost the first thing I showed you.
Doobie climbed over the broken floor to the door and zoomed in, swivelling tight on it to get an exterior perspective. Chas did the same and watched as Doobie rezzed a couple of poseballs from her Inventory onto the wooden deck outside.
Doobie: Just click on the blue.
Chas right-clicked, and his AV immediately appeared out on the deck, standing legs astride, arms open wide. Doobie clicked on the pink, and her AV ran to Chas, throwing herself into his arms, crossing her legs behind his back, and the two turned two full circles before locking together in a long, passionate kiss.
Twist stood watching impatiently from inside.
Twist: When you two are finished, would you mind vacating a poseball so I can get out of here!
They both detached themselves, and Twist materialised out on the deck, disentangling himself quickly from the animation. Chas stood breathing heavily.
Chas: Wow! Wasn’t expecting that.
Doobie Littlething smiles.
Doobie: Sorry about that. It’s called Awaited Embrace. First poseballs I could lay my hands on.
Twist: Yeh, right.
The three AVs stood looking around them. Asian windchimes made a constant musical accompaniment to the ambient sound of SL and the constant crashing of waves on the beach. Wooden steps led down to a pier, where a junk with a red-and-black striped sail was anchored. Torches flamed on the end of long uprights strategically placed to light the garden at night. Sunloungers with sunbathing and cuddle animations sprawled on the deck, and at the side of the house, a wooden bridge arched over a small stream to a tiny, sandy island shaded by leaning palms, where deckchairs were arranged around a campfire.
A path led round the side of the house to the back, where another landing stage providing docking for a red-sailed yacht anchored between the uprights of a tall Japanese gate. Hanging lanterns provided light for a circular table and half a dozen seats where food was set out for a picnic. More stairs led up to a raised deck, another Japanese gate, and a swinging bench seat with a view across the property. A screen of sand dunes hid the far side of the island from view. It was empty, as yet undeveloped.
Chas followed a wooden path around the edge of the dunes and climbed steps down to yet another deck. Slow-dance poseballs were placed with a view through a third Japanese gate toward the spot on the horizon where the sun would set. He wondered with whom Maximillian Thrust might have danced in the red light of the setting sun, or whether they had been placed there in anticipation, or hope, of future romance.
Doobie: It’s a stunning property.
Chas turned to see Doobie and Twist coming down the steps to join him.
Chas: What will happen to it when the tiers fall due again?
Doobie: If they remain
unpaid, ownership will revert to the sim owners, and everything you see will automatically be returned to Thrust’s inventory.
Twist: Which doesn’t exist.
Doobie: No. Which, I guess, means that they will simply be deleted from the asset server. Lost forever. Like most things in SL, nothing lasts for very long. Someone else will buy the island, and six weeks from now you won’t be able to recognise it.
Twist walked to the edge of the deck and stared out over the ocean. Distant islands had partially rezzed close to the horizon.
Twist: What I don’t understand is how it was possible to actually “kill” Thrust’s AV. I mean, I know we can do passing damage to avatars. But it’s not usually permanent. And I’ve never heard of anyone actually being able to destroy one.
Doobie: No.
She paused.
Doobie: But clearly someone did.
Chas: How?
Twist: Well, if anyone in SL can tell us, it’s Kuro.
Doobie: Who?
Twist: Gunslinger Kurosawa. He crafts some of the best weapons in SL. It’s where we got Chas his handgun the other day.
***
Kurosawa sat behind his desk, feet up in his favourite animation, glancing from time to time at his watch, as if he was impatient to be rid of them. Twist and Doobie sat in leather client chairs, and Chas stood with his back to the window. A green laser security beam moved disconcertingly about the office, and downstairs they could hear Kurosawa’s guard dog barking.
Kurosawa had been giving the notion that a script might be able to destroy an AV some silent thought.
Kurosawa: I guess it would be possible. You hear rumours of such things. But I’ve never actually seen one that would do it.
Twist: How would it work, Kuro?
Gunslinger Kurosawa releases a long, thoughtful sigh.
Kurosawa: Well, like Doobie suggests, it’ll be a script of some sort. Something pretty sophisticated. Way beyond my abilities as a programmer. The only way it could actually destroy the AV would be by hacking into the main server and deleting it. Cloning it and creating bullet wounds and blood, is just a bit of window dressing. A bit of fun for the programmer.
Chas: Is that possible? I mean, that someone could write a script that could hack into the mainframe?
Kurosawa: In theory, yes. In practice very difficult, but not beyond the bounds of possibility. In this world, my friend, almost anything is possible.
Twist: So if the script hacked into Linden Lab’s main server to delete the AV, presumably it could also delete the whole account and any record of it.
Kurosawa: Sure. Once you’ve actually hacked your way in, you could write your script to do whatever you wanted.
Chas: Which would explain why there’s no record of Maximillian Thrust ever existing.
Twist: It also means that whoever killed him in SL probably murdered him in RL. So we’re looking for a killer in both worlds.
Doobie suddenly interrupted.
Doobie: Hey, guys. Fascinating though this is, I’m afraid I’ve gotta go. Rendezvous with a client. Seeya.
Her head tipped up to the top left of her screen as she selected an LM, and then she vanished.
***
When they got back to the office, Twist jumped into the seat behind his desk and sat gazing idly at his screen. Chas slipped into the client chair opposite and crossed his legs. Each was lost in wordless contemplation of a question that neither was sure he was ready to address. It was Chas, finally, who broke the silence.
Chas: What are we going to do about this, Twist?
Twist O’Lemon shakes his head.
Twist: I don’t know. What do you think?
Chas: I think if we were being sensible about it, we would pass on everything we know and leave it to the pros.
Twist: But?
Chas sighed beyond the screen.
Chas: Well, I can just hear us telling Laurel and Hardy that we are private investigators in Second Life, and that we think Arnold Smitts’ AV was murdered in the virtual world before someone killed him in the real one.
Twist: Yeh, and that his AV was shot with a virtual gun that hacked into Linden’s computer and erased his account. I’ve been sitting here myself trying to make any of it sound like the reasonable conclusion of a sane person. I mean, by the time they stopped laughing and asked us if we had any proof, what would we say? Yeh, sure, there’s a body and a crime scene. Come with us into SL and we’ll show you.
Chas: FSS would have us up for psychological evaluation before you could say, “What’s your prim count?” And you know what? I’m not sure I’d pass.
Twist: So what are we going to do?
Chas: I think we need to follow up on this ourselves, Twist, until we come up with something a little less virtual, and a little more concrete. And, anyway, you wanted to be a private detective, didn’t you?
Twist: Hahaha, yeh. Quite exciting, isn’t it?
Chas: Scary, Twist. I think that’s the word I’d use for it. I’d be happy if it was all a little less real and a little more virtual.
They continued to mull it over in silence until Twist introduced an abrupt change of subject.
Twist: So tell me about Doobie Littlething.
Chas: Nothing to tell, Twist. She’s a dancer at Sinful Seductions.
Twist: More than a dancer, I’d say. She was pretty smart to track down Thrust’s AV to that island.
Chas: She knows her way around SL, that’s for sure. She’s been in for three years. And she’s certainly smart. Gave me a thrashing at chess yesterday.
Twist: You were playing chess? Was that before or after you took her to dinner?
Chas Chesnokov grins.
Chas: Why? Are you jealous, Twist?
Twist: How could I be jealous? I’m a guy, remember.
Twist paused for a moment.
Twist: She said she had a rendezvous with a client. What kind of business is she in?
Chas: The sex business. She’s an escort.
Twist: Ah. Ok. Lots of girls in here are. Easy way of making money. Hard work, but risk free. Unlike RL.
Chas: Twist…How does it work?
Twist: What?
Chas: Sex in SL. I mean, I know you get these poseballs, and I’ve actually seen Doobie with a client. But that’s just cartoons humping. I mean, there must be more to virtual sex than that, surely?
Twist O’Lemon smiles.
Twist: You want a demonstration?
Chas: Not with a man, thank you. But maybe you could show me how it works when we’re back in RL.
Twist: Yeh, dream on.
Chas smiled but knew that in reality Janey would jump at the chance, even if Twist wouldn’t. It was unfair to tease her.
Twist: By the way, are you still showing that three million dollars at the top of your screen?
Chas glanced up.
Chas: Yes.
Twist: Hummm. Maybe you should try logging out and logging in again.
It took Chas thirty seconds to transition through the log-out/log-in process. He checked his screen again.
Chas: It’s still there.
Twist: Very strange. Well, keep an eye on it, Chas. I’m sure it’s either a glitch or a mistake of some kind, but you don’t really want to be sitting there with three million dollars’ worth of unexplained cash in your account.
Chas was thoughtful.
Chas: No. No, I don’t.
***
By the time he logged off and became aware again of his real life surroundings, Michael saw that he had missed the sunset. It was dark out on the terrace as he wandered out with a glass of wine in his hand. Since opening that first bottle with Angela, he had decided that he should drink as much of it as he could before her late husband’s family laid claim to it. Mora had bought it to drink after all, not as an investment.
He sipped on the pale pinot noir, a vintage from the Ambullneo winery near Santa Maria, and let the smooth, silky, oaken vanilla of it slide back over his tongue. On the peninsula
, beyond Balboa Island, the ferris wheel and the Maritime Museum were all lit up, a tracery of neon light. The sky was almost as black and star-studded as those he had seen in Second Life, and the sound of the ocean mimicked the ambient atmosphere of the virtual world. A plane roared overhead, outbound from John Wayne Airport. Something you never heard in SL.
It was strange how quickly it had all got under his skin, how rapidly Chas had taken on a life of his own. But one thing, at least, that both Michael and Chas had in common, was a growing sense of unease about the real and virtual parallels in the murders of Arnold Smitts and Maximillian Thrust. Michael knew that they should tell the police what they had discovered. But he also knew that Janey was right. They would be laughed out of court. Literally.
His thoughts were disturbed by the telephone ringing in his office. He closed his eyes and tried to ignore it, as he had done several times while he was online. When it stopped, the silence was deafening, and he couldn’t stand it any longer. He carried his glass back to his desk and sat down. A winking red light told him that there were several messages. He pressed a button to listen to the first of them, and was greeted by the velvet tones of Mr. Yuri of the State Bank of Southern California.
“Mr. Kapinsky, I just wanted to let you know that the bank has had a report back on the appraisal of your property. We’re having to cut our losses, I’m afraid. In the current marketplace, the house has been valued at $2.75 million. So we will be selling to the first bidder who comes closest to that figure. Which, unfortunately, will still leave you owing us $433,000. I’d be obliged if you would call my secretary to arrange a meeting to discuss the current value of your stocks and shares, and any other assets you may possess. Have a good evening.”
Michael closed his eyes again and felt his hands trembling. He didn’t have the heart to listen to any more messages. But the phone was not about to give him any peace. Its shrill warble filled the office once more. He opened his eyes and snatched the receiver.
“Yes?”
“Michael, where have you been? Did you not get my messages? I’ve been trying to get hold of you all evening.” Michael drew a long, silent breath. Sherri was just about the last person on earth he wanted to hear from right now.
