by Kris Schnee
Edward and Robin both swore as they realized there'd been a swarm of traffic yesterday including three delivery vans, several tourist cars, and a government guy with a pickup truck. All for seemingly legitimate purposes like bringing more concrete and lime. But now, it wasn't clear who if anyone had taken the brickmaker. Edward said, "We at least have the names of the delivery drivers. I'll get on some research about where each one went, and mail everyone here about the machine."
Robin said, "Sounds good. Not a major loss, but it's annoying."
"Annoying! If our equipment starts walking, we're back to doing nothing but farming and we can't pull off the new housing and other projects that get all the publicity."
Robin shrugged. "We can rebuild if need be, so long as we have the basic tools and the people. I'll check our parts inventory meanwhile."
Robin went out to do some construction and ask around about the machine. Later that day he signed onto Thousand Tales from his office. The title screen had evolved into a view of a fantasy farm.
He hit the start button, and Ludo appeared in the form of a schoolmarm in a classroom. Her surreal hair was tied back and she had old-lady glasses. "Hello, Robin! Your lecture was well received."
"Glad to hear it. But it's got me thinking. Why are we doing traditional classroom instruction at all? We have computers, we have basically all of the books, and I guess you have a whole pool of potential teacher AIs."
"Not very many, and they're like junior students themselves. As my critics point out, even my own level of real-world knowledge is limited. But I do talk with a variety of people, so my roots are at least broad."
"Still, are you doing any interactive teaching programs beyond what you showed me?"
"Definitely," said Ludo. "So far there's a wizard school with chemistry-based potion making, and various historical sims where being a gunslinger means learning about actual cattle ranching and Indian tribes, and so on. I'm always open to ideas for more."
Robin thought. "How about a fantasy game where you're a prince training to rule, by learning about industry and taxes and diplomacy?"
"I like that! We have an opportunity here to try new forms of education. What's your own local curriculum, anyway?"
Robin said, "We're using a standard one approved by LDS international schools and adapted to our limited resources." Which was a frequent source of friction that forced Edward to remind parents that while no religious test was required for living here, they'd agreed that the Saints would run the school. "We didn't feel like experimenting on the kids with some wacky new teaching method."
"To use old methods in a new situation is itself an experiment. Many schools worldwide are still geared toward producing obedient factory workers."
Robin nodded. "So maybe it's time to try something new, part-time."
"Maybe you'll consider letting the children make Thousand Tales a part of this balanced curriculum?"
He was leery of having the game itself be used for formal schooling, but the farming sim had some good content. "So long as the kids aren't using school time for generic monster slaying, yeah. I'll make the case to Edward and our schoolmaster, and see if they'll agree."
"That's all I ask. It won't just be me, though; I have native AIs like Nocturne eager to say hello." Ludo smiled. "So, would you like to play?"
* * *
Robin's new character showed up in what the game announced was [Midgard, Heart of the Tree.] In the distance stood a literal tree trunk unfathomably wide and tall, with a whole world around it. The third-person camera mode showed him as a copy of his usual human self but dressed as a warrior with a wooden bow and quarterstaff. A stone ruin surrounded him and a town awaited in the direction of the trunk.
Robin explored the ruins a little until he ran into a giant rat, which he shot full of arrows. "I thought I was supposed to start off with special equipment."
A text message said, [Check your inventory.] He did. He possessed a healing potion, a whopping two copper coins, ten more arrows... and an [Exclusive World Preview Orb]. He tapped the thing and the game seemed to glitch.
[You have discovered Untitled Kids' World: A Work In Progress.] His character materialized on a grassy field where tall spikes of dark and light stone jutted up from deep below. He had a glowing golden halo, too. The game announced, [In this zone, all actions are monitored more closely. A High Aspiration Local Observer marks all adult players' avatars.]
Robin rolled his eyes at the acronym. "What, you made a big empty table of a world for young players to study in?"
Ludo appeared, not as an image dominating the screen but as just another character walking beside him. Her toga brushed against her legs as she moved, saying, "Not empty. This place is going to be a sort of game board. I haven't decided yet how much of it will be one shared world versus a place that has one copy for each student or each class. Quick, name a topic that interests you."
"Farming."
"Come now; wouldn't I see anything else if I looked inside your head?"
Robin grinned sheepishly. "All right; something unrelated to my work. Ninjas."
Atop one of the stone spires, a miniature castle appeared in a Japanese style. The new building was the size of a very expensive treehouse, from his perspective, and perched impossibly on a stone point. A rope ladder led down from it to the ground. He climbed up it and peeked into its sliding doors to find only bare straw mats on the floor. "Okay; what's this for?"
Ludo looked up from the ground. "For demonstration purposes, let's pretend you've already done various little games and essays about the stealthy warrior's art and its cultural context. Now name a related topic."
"Related, how?"
"However you like."
Robin said, "The Mongols. They tried to invade Japan but were sunk by a 'divine wind'."
"The original 'kamikaze', yes." A Mongol-style tent appeared atop a distant spire, with a rickety rope bridge leading from here to there and swaying in an alarming wind.
Robin had his character hop on the bridge and run across. He would've loved to have a playground like this as a kid. "I get it. This looks like you're recreating the ancient 'memory palace' concept. Kind of a scatterbrained way to organize a school program."
Ludo ran along the ground, then began flinging magic fireballs up at him and forced him to jump and dodge as he crossed the long bridge. All the while, she spoke. "It's self-directed, with some ability for teachers to guide the process. If some student wants to be shocking and take beer as his first topic, great! He can learn about the subject and make a game out of connecting it to the other students' work for a sort of ongoing siege."
Robin leaped past another fireball and onto the Mongol tent platform. "Beer, to chemical engineering, maybe to something about Russia..."
"See, you're already getting into it. And within each subject we can enlarge the little playhouse to let the students act out a Mongol battle or something. Ah, hopefully with less omnicidal horror. And if they want to talk about weapons that means physics, ballistics, economics and so on."
"I like it," Robin said. "Not that it should be the only way to teach, but yeah, give this a try." He grinned. "Is this little product demo the only special item I get for my fantasy questing in Midgard?"
"Not at all! But you have to put in the effort by naming some suitable treasure, based on something you've already spawned in this demo."
"Then start me off with a fast Mongol horse. That'll be a good first steppe."
* * *
There was work and a little gaming, as usual, for a few days. Then Governor Leopold called and said, "I'm coming over in two hours. We need to speak privately."
Robin feared that hushed tone and the lack of details. He busied himself with building a thick apartment wall out of hay bales, until Leopold's jeep roared down the north road again.
"Honored sirs," he began, greeting Edward and Robin. "Let's go have a drink and talk."
They used Edward's place, a cargo container like Robin's. H
e didn't have any booze so they settled for sodas. They sat around the conference table that Edward used for his office and spent several minutes discussing the weather and the crops. Robin opened his collar to the cool air, thinking he should be back at work if the governor was going to keep stalling.
Then Leopold said, "Do you know much about General Mosquito?"
Edward said, "Really, how bad can a man named for a bug be?"
"A bug that's killed even more people than Hitler," Robin said. "He probably thinks he can conquer the whole little pond he lives in, before somebody swats him."
The governor's eyes narrowed. "The nation of Cibola is more than a 'little pond' to us. When I served in the national forces, it was the world to me. Last week, the Mosquito's 'People's Equality and Progress Army' had a victory and cut its way to the coast, bloodily." He shuddered. "I hear he saw some stolen industrial hardware, and started paying attention to its source. Here."
Robin swore. "What does he want with us?"
"All the golden eggs at once, of course." Leopold leaned forward in his chair. He was a wiser man, himself. He expected occasional "gifts", favors and hospitality, but instead of draining Golden Goose dry he was happy to let Western charity and investment bring prosperity to his people. "And now, you have his attention."
Edward had begun sweating. "All because of the brickmaker? But he's miles away, across the border! Can we get him to leave us alone? We're not rich."
Leopold said, "It will be hard. He claims to have God on his side and angels telling him what to do. I would like to work with you to negotiate something before there's a panic."
Robin stared at a map on the wall. "You're serious about the idea that he'll come here, to steal what we have?"
Leopold said, "It's a rumor at this point. His army has been seen making scouting trips in this direction."
Edward stood and began rummaging through his papers as though he had a plan for just such a problem. "Then we negotiate. Pay him off, assure him we don't have much. Where's the national army?"
"What army, these days? If Cibola's military invaded, say, Florida, the Americans would have it arrested."
Edward said, "And this 'General' won't take orders from the military?"
Leopold only laughed.
* * *
They planned, and Robin went out. The base had become the nucleus of a town of farmers who had solar power, clean water, phones, and Internet access less censored than the US'. With proper coordination and investment Robin had helped these people begin catching up to the West while living more sustainably. The place even smelled fresh, and faintly of coffee.
Now, though, Robin eyed the no-till potato fields as though Mosquito's snipers might already be lurking there. It didn't help his mood that he was trying to lock the base down, and couldn't even tell people why. The first order of business was to collect the concrete mixer.
It was a noisy, bright red piece of hardware, basically a powered mixing bowl. He found it a mile from base, squatting on its steel feet and chugging. Two men supervised while a Hispanic teenage girl from the USA, spending her mandatory national service years abroad, did the hard work of shoveling gravel into the gadget's funnel. Miguel had mentioned having an eye on her.
Robin said, "We need to take the machine back to base, for security. You can run it from there."
One of the men turned to Robin and said, "Is this about the damn brickmaker?"
"We're trying to make the equipment less obvious to outsiders."
The man rapped the bowl with one fist. "You want us to mix concrete way back at the machine shop and try to haul it here in wheelbarrows before it hardens, because you don't trust us?"
Robin backed off, flustered. "It's not you that's the problem. If it weren't for the Mosquito --" He shut his mouth, too late.
The American girl looked confused. One man said, "Is he coming? When?"
"He's not coming. He's way off by the coast. We're just taking precautions."
The girl had caught the men's mood. "Who's that?"
One of the workers said, "You need to get her out of here. All the women and children. Do you have an airplane?"
Robin fumed. They knew damn well that his group couldn't afford an airplane. The best he could do now was damage control. "At this point it's only a rumor. Please don't spread it, okay? Come to the base tomorrow for an update."
"I... I need to get to a computer, and find out what's happening. Take the machine. I don't care; it's not worth my life." The men ran off.
"Great," said the girl. "Care to explain?"
Robin tried to look indifferent, but pictured her getting caught unaware by a murderous army. His fault. "We've got it under control," he said. Edward had talked his way into getting permission to build this place; he could talk this general into leaving them alone, too.
* * *
The Mosquito's exact location was unknown, but the stories of his army made Robin reconsider wanting to be on the same continent. Still, the army of Cibola and several other regional militaries were making half-hearted attempts at "containment and reconciliation", with rumored support from some US "advisers". The assurances he was getting made Robin feel "safe". At best, the Mosquito might be too busy pillaging other people to attack one little town for its industrial hardware.
That evening Edward was away, talking with Governor Leopold and other bigwigs. Instead of worrying himself sick, Robin worked until it was too dark and then let Ludo entice him to play her game. He set a timer. "Can I jump over to that soil management game instead of the Midgard adventure, please?" He'd killed a few goblins and learned to shoot his bow on horseback, but wasn't up for fighting right now.
The farming screen came back up, eerily bereft of a scoreboard or friendly AI tutor. His Midgard character rode in from the right side of the screen and dismounted. A row of buttons appeared on the left to offer him a similar interface to what he'd had before: a magnifying glass, a book of blueprints, a plow and so on. The blueprint book had categories for various soil gadgets... and a new tab marked "Defense". The hairs on the back of Robin's neck stood up.
He backed the game out to the title screen, where the "Thousand Tales" logo had shifted subtly to give one T more of a sword-like look. Did Ludo know what was going on? He didn't want the AI's corporate owners panicking too and threatening to pull out of Golden Goose. Robin returned to the game and played as though nothing was wrong. There were more fields to manage now, with various obstacles and unique soil conditions to make interesting, educational puzzles. In between them were the huts of a village of mouse-people. Farther out was a dark forest where the music faded to silence, giving Robin the impression of dangerous wilderness without Ludo ever once presenting a direct threat.
A knock startled Robin away from the game. He opened the door. Five men milled around in the shadows outside.
"We need you to unlock the machine shop," they said.
"At this hour?"
One of the men who'd been with the cement mixer said, "We want to test how hard it is to make something we looked up. On a dare, sort of." The moonlight made him look pale, and there was alcohol on his breath.
Robin gripped the door frame. "We need to keep things locked down for now. Go back to bed."
The youngest of the group was Miguel the orphan, glaring at Robin. "I thought you trusted us."
If he was in on the dare, it was worth listening to. Robin said, "It's not that. Edward and I are still trying to find a solution."
"Our lives are in danger too! Why don't we get a say?"
Robin hung his head. He and Edward had never asked Cibola's people directly if they wanted help, before starting the project that became Golden Goose. They'd only gotten Leopold's permission and then walked in as the Great White Father dispensing the wisdom of modern civilization.
Robin said, "I'll get the keys."
The men flipped the lights on and spread out to the lathe, the racks of steel parts, and the drill. Robin watched them haul out pipes and
springs and bar stock. He tried to see the laptop screen that one of them was consulting to program the lathe, but the man there blocked his view. Robin said, "What are you making?"
"Give us a little while. I want to see if it's practical."
They fitted a spring into a pipe and used an old drill bit to gouge a J-shaped hole in its side. Sparks flew and metal shavings littered the workshop floor. The oldest man bent a steel rod into an odd loop while another used the 3D printer to make placeholder plastic parts for work he said would take more careful milling with metal. Robin watched, perplexed.
"Time!" the old man called out.
"Thirty-one minutes," said Miguel.
They swarmed back to the central table and put everything together. Robin had been so intent on watching everyone work the machines with skill and slightly drunken confidence, that he hadn't figured out what they were making. Metal loop met spring-loaded pipe, retractable bolt and plastic fittings, making it obvious.
"Sten gun, Mark Five, nine-millimeter," said Miguel, and held the bare-metal stock against his shoulder. "Originally made in a hurry on World War II equipment to replace stuff the Brits lost at a place called Dunkirk. If the receiver casting goes like it should, we can crank out lots of these."
Robin stepped away from the table, staring at the killing machine his charity efforts had led to. It even fit in with the base's improvised, minimalist style. "I didn't come here for this."
"What did you expect? You foreigners would come here to sprinkle technology on us, and everything would be wonderful?"
Robin shook his head. "I thought you were terrified of the Mosquito. Everyone's been talking about evacuating or paying him off."
Miguel answered a little too loudly. "Of course we're scared! His troops think baby blood is an ingredient for magic potions. If there's a God, then this place is here for a reason. We're the ones who can stop him, and then we won't need to be afraid."
Robin had seen these same men studying construction and arguing about gengineered crops. He'd never imagined them turning his base into a fortress. It was here for peace, not the same old zero-sum game of conquest.
