《Crafter&#x27;s Passion (AKA Gleaners&#x27; Guild)》


 A Scavenged Talisman

    "Do you take scrip?" asked Stan, browsing the pawn shop''s electronics section.

    The clerk looked back with bored, bloodshot eyes. "Yeah. Looking for something?"

    Stan grunted. He''d just spoted exactly what he wanted, but tried to look unenthused. He made a show of looking at old game consoles before picking up the Talisman gaming pad that sat like Excalibur between some stained laptops. "Can this thing run Linux?"

    "What''s that?"

    "Never mind. I could probably use this for parts. How about fifty for it?"

    "The price is marked, y''know. A hundred. Plus 20% for scrip."

    Stan said, "That''s crazy. I could get a real laptop for that, not a low-end console tablet."

    The clerk rolled his eyes. "Dude, I''m not sure those things are even legal."

    "I won''t tell. All the more reason to get rid of it."

    "How about I knock off the 20%?"

    Stan concealed his glee. "Good enough."

    He walked out with the Talisman and looked it over again. Simple rugged rectangle with gamer-style buttons and knobs on the sides, this one in ugly translucent red plastic. This kind of tablet could indeed run Linux, and technically it was illegal for not having built-in monitoring hardware, requiring the owner to pinkie-swear to keep the right software installed. More importantly, a Talisman was the best way to access Thousand Tales.

    Well, other than having a VR pod or the whole "pay several million dollars to have your mind permanently uploaded to the game world" method. But even the first one took money a peasant like Stan couldn''t afford.

    He rode his borrowed bike home to Imperial Valley Youth Community Six. The dry vegetable farm had every material thing its residents needed, so a trip into town was really a luxury. Stan arrived just before sunset curfew and returned to his dorm. Past the cameras and the motivational posters, he had a tiny room to himself. The beige-walled private space and the shared kitchen and other facilities were the most luxury he''d ever known in his nineteen years.

    Thousand Tales came up with a neutral grey logo and a beeps-and-boops song. Stan grinned and for the first time, watched the game''s intro on a machine he owned. It began with a misty hill and a character to control, with tutorial text. A low-quality pixel dragon said in typed text, "Hail, traveler! Newcomers to the Tales should be tested to learn of their fate. Do you wish to send me scrolls of wisdom to speed the process?" A second window popped up, asking "Link to social media accounts?"

    He''d played this game for a few minutes on a shared machine. The guy whose account he''d borrowed was playing a superhero, but Stan''s experience was that he could talk to any of the individual townsfolk and get a coherent conversation. He got completely distracted using his powers to deliver a pizza. Then the game got kinda-banned in that way the Community did for "anti-social" activities, where it''d hurt players'' social credit score and make it harder to qualify for weekend passes and other perks. On his own computer, though, he could probably evade that judgment.

    He touched "No" on the screen. Let the game adapt to what he did in-game, not to the random stupid stuff he''d said online. In response, the game ran him through a series of puzzles. Part IQ test and part personality quiz, the intro had drawn some negative reviews from critics who missed the entire point: that Thousand Tales adapted to each player rather than being a single canned narrative where every player was the Chosen One.The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

    The pixel dragon returned. "I have your results, traveler. The question is, what experience do you want?"

    A trio of worlds appeared, filling the screen. Stan''s choices were:

    -The Merchant of Venus: A starfaring trade adventure! (Personal Zone)

    -The Rebels of Norwood: Creatures of the forest battle a mad scientist! (Group Zone)

    -Endless Isles: A world of ocean exploration! (Public Zone)

    Stan said aloud, "So, a conventional online game versus something just for me, versus some kind of small-group game?"

    The dragon''s text said, "In the group game you can join an existing small community with a shared storyline. How central do you want to be to your world''s plot?"

    He laughed at the loaded question. The game''s AI had a reputation for luring players into doing real-world favors for "her" like teaching other players or researching things. He said, "I don''t need to be somebody important. I''ll take the big ocean world."

    The tutorial dragon rippled and reappeared, drawn in modern graphics. "In your case," it said in a hissing, spoken voice, "you can tailor your character a bit before you start. Any preferences? You will begin as human but can change later."

    Stan''s placeholder character filled out as a better-drawn human figure in generic shorts and shirt. "All that testing and you don''t have a suggested character for me?"

    "You''re choosing to be part of a larger story that doesn''t revolve around you."

    Fair enough. The intro world vanished, and a sea so bright it lit up the dorm room replaced it.

    #

    His character climbed out of a shining pond. Beyond a stand of palm trees was a shining beach with a thatch-roofed bar, with steel drum music coming from it. Stan steered "himself" toward it and got a system notice about discovering Central Island, of the Endless Isles. Primitive wooden airplanes dueled overhead like kites. Stan headed into the bar.

    The Crown & Tail Pub was an adventurer hangout. A big public map of an island chain filled one wall, the bar advertised magic potions along with booze, and the people ranged from humans in pirate outfits or skimpy armor to elves, humanoid dolphins, and an especially talkative parrot. Stan couldn''t eat or drink here except to give his character a health bonus or something. He scowled; the people who''d been rich enough to really live in this virtual world were probably feasting 24/7 while relaxing on the beach. There was no obvious way to tell which of the bar patrons were uploaders, though, so he wasn''t sure who to be mad at.

    A well-tanned elf lady ran the bar. Stan took a seat and said, "What button do I push? Is there a quest menu?"

    The barkeep laughed. "You can talk normally. You''re marked as a newcomer, so here''s the basic rule of this world: explore. There are save points -- the big blue crystals -- but whenever you log in you can only show up at an island where you''ve planted a flag. For flags you''ll need cloth and an enchanter."

    Stan opened his inventory window and found, "I''m dead broke. What should I do first?"

    "That''s easy. You can borrow a fishing rod and bring me fish, or make your way to Island East-1 and try the copper mine, or find some driftwood and craft a weapon. Those are just the basics I''m always handing out."

    "Always?" said Stan. "Wait a minute; what are you? Human, uploader, AI?"

    The elf only smiled mysteriously.

    If he was going to do any fantasy adventuring, he needed a weapon, and free sounded good. "What tools do I need for crafting?"

    "You can borrow some knives, or just use random rocks."

    Rather than get caught up in a chain of deals, doing a quest to borrow tools, Stan walked out and combed the beach alone. He pocketed a sharp-ish rock he spotted, then came across a large gnarled stick bleached white by the sun. Easy.

    A dog-sized fish monster emerged from the waves and snarled at him.

    Stan ran toward the stick and grabbed it, but the critter was on him with its jagged teeth. Minor wound! said the interface. He had the stick equipped, so he swung with it and bashed the beast repeatedly. He took another minor wound and a major, but at last the monster yelped and staggered back into the ocean. A fanfare played.

    Stan looked worriedly at the wound icons. His treasure was... a stick. He didn''t have anything resembling a crafting station, but he did have an improvised club. Next, he should probably go fishing.

    The Community''s PA system, back in the real world, beeped for attention. "Dinner is served."

    Stan groaned. It was Eat Your Vegetables Night, and attendance was in the same not-quite-mandatory category as most of the social activities. He logged out of Thousand Tales and went to eat a bland meatless supper while listening to a presentation about nutrition.

 Junk Dealer

    Over the next few days he played the game whenever he had free time. He crafted a driftwood club, caught some fish to earn money, commuted to the next island to the east, and finally convinced a shell-clad shaman to give him a magic flag. At Island East-1 Stan tried to use it, driving it into the beach to establish a permanent right to save his game here, but the command didn''t work. Instead, a window popped up asking him what design he wanted to use for his flag. A library of heraldic stuff was available.

    Stan blinked at it. He had no idea. "Can I change it later?" he said. Yes, said the game. "Just use the default." The first listed design was the Thousand Tales logo.

    His character went through the motion of planting the flag, and it unfurled to show white with the letters "TBD". No other flags were visible; apparently it was everyone''s island and each player''s flags were hidden to make every claim a personal victory.

    He touched a hovering blue save crystal on that island to make it the place he''d appear on the next login, not just after dying within one session. He''d achieved something. What now, though?

    He slept on the question. At work the next day he was setting up drip-irrigation systems with buried pipes, a skill he''d been developing because it was a job nobody else seemed to like. It was too much like regular ditch-digging, and everybody else wanted to be a professor, a bureaucrat or a scientist. Stan didn''t much care for the job either. His goal was to get through his mandatory volunteer years, go right to a trade school instead of a four-year college, then have an easy career off-and-on while living on Basic Income. He''d have plenty of time for gaming.

    In Thousand Tales, though, he could do whatever he wanted. It didn''t matter that he was a fatherless kid under the care of a Community boss who cared what he ate and what he did for fun. In there, he could be somebody. He just had to keep his eyes open for opportunities.

    Rather than get involved in the tradition of pretending to be the Chosen One and vanquishing evil, he hired himself out as a club-wielding backup goon. Low-level adventurers paid him a little to help them slay fishmen and cave spiders and the like. Stan was happy to let those guys take all the glory for "saving" NPC villages from monster tribes that constantly respawned, while Stan himself gained skills and silver pieces.

    One night, he was on Island East-2 South-3 by himself, practicing the Cartography skill by wielding a hand-made surveying instrument, when a ship appeared from the south. Not like the pathetic raft Stan had so far, but a classic two-masted sailing ship with a couple of generic NPC crewmen tending the ropes. Stan whistled toward them. The ship seemed to be heading his way anyhow.

    On deck were a standard swordsman/wizard/rogue team, though in their case it was more musketeer/shaman/pirate. The scurvy sea-dog called out, "Ahoy! What''s up?"

    "Do you need another hand? Or can you give me and my raft a trip back to Central Island?"

    The ship edged closer to shore and dropped anchor. The musketeer said, "Sorry, no. We''re just here to dump some --"

    "Don''t tell him, doofus," the shaman said. "Now we have to bury the loot someplace else."

    The musketeer said, "Dude, it''s vendor trash. Who cares if he steals it?"

    Stan called out to the ship, "I can hear you, you know."

    The three argued until the pirate silenced them. "You there. We''ve got a load of junk that''s barely worth shipping back to Central Island. Want to buy it?"

    "Great sales pitch," the shaman told him.

    Stan said, "Like what?"

    The pirate said, "Monster claws, shark teeth, lizard hide, rusty cutlasses, you name it. If a weak monster or a low-level treasure chest had it, we''ve got it. We were going to sail back and sell it, but it''d be better if we could dump the stuff and get on with something more fun."Stolen novel; please report.

    Stan looked the adventurers over, fiddling with the camera settings to scroll the screen over to them. From what he could tell without having much practice at appraisal/scanning powers, they were middling powerful, past the phase of a fantasy hero''s career where he still cares about selling every soggy napkin and rat tail he collects. "You said it''s worthless junk, but I could take it off your hands."

    After quick negotiation between ship and shore, Stan rowed his raft out to them and took on two wooden chests of garbage. Really, the chests themselves were worth as much as their contents. Stan saluted and paid with most of his silver coins. Once the adventurers'' ship had sailed back south for more exciting deeds than dumping the loot, Stan started his raft moving back to the starting island and looked through his new inventory. There wasn''t an explicit value for any of it, but he''d learned a little about how alchemy and other crafting skills worked around here. If there was an item with no uses, the game''s built-in GM would let someone find one.

    Back at Central Island he headed for Mystria''s Market, a medieval-style set of wooden shopping stalls run by a cloaked figure with glowing gold eyes. It was sunset in the Isles and hardly anyone was about except for a thief trying to skulk his way into a shop. Stan shouted for the guards, who ran the guy off with surprisingly little fanfare. Stan had kind of expected a quest to come from that.

    Instead of an adventure, he found a NPC shopkeeper in the one block of stores that was open. It was easy to tell from the fact that the keeper was wearing generic poofy merchant clothes with only color differences from his neighbors. Working with NPCs meant very basic interaction, little more than a dumb computer interface... unless you did something to wake the system up and draw attention from higher minds.

    The question was whether he wanted to keep his head down and rack up more imaginary coins, or risk "interesting times".

    Stan glanced at his clock. Though it was evening in-game, the real world was dark and quiet. He really ought to be sleeping. There was dull farm work ahead, and more dull, predictable but easy time beyond that. Why would he want to make a chore out of the game, too?

    He told the shopkeeper, "I want to sell you some basic crafting ingredients -- tomorrow. I''m thinking of starting a regular business in low-level bulk items." He yawned. "For now, I''m headed out." He retreated around a corner to where no one would see him, and logged off. He''d give the hidden game-master time to decide how to handle him.

    #

    When he next got to play, his inventory was still cluttered and he had the treasure chests in secure storage at a warehouse called Davy Jones''. He returned to the shopkeeper and saw an unusual smile on the NPC''s face.

    The merchant said, "I don''t much want twelve dozen assorted monster chunks, but I do want potions and weapon parts. Have you thought about taking up crafting?"

    Stan had looked into it. The trouble was that learning to make, say, potions required practice, which meant burning through a lot of junk like his current collection. The alchemy interface was a mix of on-screen dials and meters to click at the right moment for maximum points, a traditional puzzle game, and some actual skill that involved matching ingredients to a fantasy element profile. Similarly, cooking involved adding ingredient X that would raise the food''s Spicy and Salty level, then toning down Spicy with ingredient Y that also dropped Sour too low, and so on. His one attempt at scroll-crafting had generated a Crumpled Paper item.

    He said, "Yes, but for now I want to make some money and expand, not expend." He wondered what the game''s speech processor would make of that.

    After a moment the clerk said, "I think you mean, you want to sell the items directly? Here''s my price for the inventory you listed." A window came up with a disappointing number, not much more than he''d paid the adventurers.

    Stan minimized the game and brought up a Web browser instead. As with every other popular game there was a fan wiki with articles about the rules. He browsed the pages about crafting again. If he tried smithing he could craft some weapon handles from lizard bones, armor plate sections from turtle shells or scales, and the ever-popular Armored Coconut Bra from the dangerous migrating coconuts. This load of stuff would be a money-loser but he''d have more skill next time. Or...

    He flipped back to the game. "I have a better idea. Thanks."

    He walked to the Maker Workshop. Like some real-world places, it was a co-op facility with item crafting equipment. Instead of saws and circuitry, of course, it was more focused on crystals and cauldrons.

    He walked in and found a bunch of people (of assorted species) at work. He said, "Anybody here need some alchemy practice ingredients?"

    By selling right to the crafters, he easily made more than the merchant would''ve offered him, and still had some inventory left over. "Just back from a trip?" asked a wizard who''d bought four frog eyeballs.

    "I just bought what some actual adventurers didn''t want."

    "Huh. A gleaner."

    "What?"

    "Like guys who used to pick up leftover crops that the harvesters missed. I was about to explore Phantom Isle to the north. If you stick around while my party does that, I''ll likely have more garbage like this to sell you so I can carry the good stuff."

    Stan said, "When you put it that way, how can I refuse?"

 White Gold

    He went north to Phantom Isle as a hired goon again. He brought his raft and the treasure chests to the shore of the misty, chilly land. The place was a ruin in the style people were coming to associate with the vanished lizardfolk civilization that had a thinly-described history in the Isles.

    A notice popped up as the group reached a crumbling temple entrance. "Island North-3 East-1 will reset in one hour."

    "Good timing," said Harold, the swordsman leading the party. "We can raid it, then hit it again after the reset."

    "It''s not actually called Phantom Isle?" said Stan.

    "The game doesn''t recognize names except where someone''s installed a ''Stability Gem'' to stop the place from resetting. And why would we do that, when it''s a recurring dungeon full of loot?"

    The catch, Stan saw, was that it was uninhabited. There couldn''t be any permanent settlements here so long as the island wasn''t stabilized. He hefted his empty pack, glanced back at his raft on the beach, and said, "All set."

    As the hireling, Stan''s job was to shut up and follow the "heroes" into the winding tunnels. The torch in his right hand threw eerie shadows ahead of the group.

    A pair of statues broke free from the wall and lashed out with axes. The party''s swordsman held them back long enough for the rogue to dart under his arm and commence stabbing, to little effect. The third guy was an archer who couldn''t get a clear shot.

    "Blunt weapon guy, go!" the archer shouted.

    Stan joined the fighter in front to whack the statues with his wooden club. His blows drove them back without doing much damage. Still, the fight progressed into a bigger room where the other guys could score some hits. A minute of violence later and Stan had a couple of mostly-minor wounds, and the party had some statue chunks for treasure.

    "Well, it''s junk," said the archer. "All yours."

    Stan tossed aside his cracked, ruined club and scooped up the golem pieces. The heroes looted the area for coins and other trinkets worth more. A swarm of rats came at them while they were doing that. For Stan that just meant some clumps of rat fur. Further along they ran into a lizardman tribe that made up the temple''s real opposition. This time the team had Stan hang back and fight defensively to draw the enemies'' attacks. Stan picked up a second major wound, which put him in danger of death and (more importantly) losing his stuff. He wasn''t important enough for the others to spend a healing potion on, considering their own wounds.

    He followed along, helping out in the fights by throwing whatever junk came to hand, and scouring each room for traps. At last they reached a deep triangular chamber where a huge toad lay dead. Next to the body sat a gunslinger all in white, looking up from a book.

    "Hey, that was our kill!" the swordsman said, with a Spanish accent. "How''d you beat us in here?"

    The man in white tipped his sombrero. "Been here a day or two, I suppose. Wanted a different place to relax."

    "What kind of gamer would park in a dungeon boss room and camp out all day?" The other heroes grumbled about not getting to raid the dungeon twice because this inconsiderate person had already killed the boss just like they were going to do. Except that he hadn''t killed the other monsters, or had hung out in the final room while they reset. That was weird.

    Their host only smiled.

    Stan dropped his gaming pad onto his bed as though something would reach out of it and bite him. "You''re one of them, aren''t you?"

    "Si, senor. You can call me Oroblanco. My house became one of the first uploading clinics."

    The adventurers stood there with weapons in hand because they hadn''t pressed any buttons to put the things away. The man in white looked much more natural as he stood, stretched, and stuffed the book into his pocket. He said, "Shall I get out of your way?"The story has been taken without consent; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

    Stan said, "You''re just relaxing all day?"

    "I perform business services as well."

    The party''s swordsman sent a private message to the group, including Stan. "I say we kill this bastard and take his stuff."

    The archer sent, "He lives here. He can probably kill us all. Just let him do his thing."

    The party''s thief chimed in with "Yeah, he''s powerful. I scanned him a bit. What do you think, Stan?"

    Oroblanco just watched them with amusement as they seemingly stood there quietly.

    Stan tried scanning the man too and got only basic info calling him a gunner with no faction. He tried tapping the picture of the man''s hat, but couldn''t get details. He sent, "I''m not a voting member here, so you''re at two to one on sparing him. For what it''s worth, I agree."

    The swordsman said aloud, "Fine. How do we kill the boss anyway?"

    The slain toad vanished, then reappeared whole and towering over them. It would''ve been intimidating if Stan hadn''t been using a third-person camera. He said, "It''s the reset!"

    The uploader whipped out one revolver, put a bullet through the frog''s body, and re-holstered before anybody could react.

    "That''s our kill!" said the archer. The adventurers went to work on the beast with their weapons. It leaped at the unarmed Stan so that he barely escaped being killed, then used its sticky tongue to yank the bow out of the archer''s hands. Stan whipped out a lead candlestick from his junk collection to give the monster a few good whacks, but mostly served as a distraction.

    After a few rounds of brawling up and down the temple''s final room, the frog slumped over and died, oozing green stuff. A victory fanfare played.

    The archer glared at Oroblanco, who''d stood aside and dodged the whole time after scoring the first hit. "Why''d you have to hit it at all?"

    Stan sent to the party, "I figure he was bored and wanted to get credit for contributing."

    "Yeah, well, we''re claiming the loot on the way out. We''re doing the dungeon from the inside out this time."

    Everyone turned away from the uploader, but Stan spoke to him and his character turned back. "You use guns. Got any use for a couple of lead candlesticks?"

    "Actually yes. I can melt them down."

    Stan handed over the loot, such as it was, and got paid probably twice the silver that NPC shopkeepers would''ve given him. On the way out of the dungeon he even got another set.

    #

    Since they''d done all but the boss twice by the time they got back outside, the heroes were loaded down with moderate-value treasure. That left Stan with plenty of garbage to haul away on his raft.

    Instead of selling it right away, he logged out of the game and checked the wiki. For items like the animated statue chunks, there were specific obscure magical uses including the crafting of more golems like the ones he''d fought. What interested Stan more than the item details was the wiki''s section about what uploaders really were. There was an ongoing debate about whether having your brain scooped out and digitized really counted as survival or just fancy suicide, but that hardly mattered for too-poor people like, well, nearly everybody.

    There were definitely minds of some kind living full-time in the game world -- and slowly. For the sake of energy efficiency, they ran at a variable time rate just like software. Their average was around 1/4 to 1/3, constantly fudged in various ways. They were trying to "perform business" in the real world from inside the game while also enjoying fantasy paradise. For someone like that, any time spent on fiddly game details was magnified. The same people who had the most ability to play Thousand Tales obsessively, also probably felt a time crunch as the real world raced past their slow-time minds.

    Where there was a problem, there was money to be made.

    Stan searched for info on known uploaders and instead found the broader category that included the game''s "native" AIs. Digital aliens, with their own needs and desires. In particular, they were dangerously ignorant of the outside world. What could he sell to someone who had no material needs, besides the junk items that uploaders wanted? He''d have to think about it.

    In the meantime he went back to his farm work. For a few days he focused on the tedious real-world tasks of life in the Community, from maintaining the irrigation system to cooking for half the dorm. He didn''t mind either, much. They were creative work that helped people. What rankled him about it was he wasn''t being rewarded other than with the rare "thank you" and a blip in his social credit score. Yay; more obedience points and he might get permission to take a few days off. He didn''t need vacation time during this limbo between high school and his vague plan for trade school.

    The next time he logged into Thousand Tales, the title screen had changed from the generic grey logo that had shocked early reviewers, to an island theme showing his raft and a logo made of scraps. He smiled at the acknowledgment.

    That night he tracked down a shopping list of people. First up was Oroblanco, who had a house on one of the few stabilized islands in the Endless Isles. Stan docked at the foot of the imaginary little castle and went to the front door to tell the man, "I''ve got tortoise shells."

    "And?" said the gunner, standing in the doorway.

    "And they''re usable for making Oracle Bone rounds for your guns. I''ve got bones too." Stan summoned a shell from his inventory to his hands.

    "That''s how they''re made?" That type of ammo had a good-luck effect inspired by some Chinese player.

    Stan nodded. "You could craft your own, or take these to the crafter for a better price."

    "Hmm. I might as well try making my own bullets. There''s not much point in sitting on a pile of silver if I can''t do something fun with it."

    One sale already!

 The Rebels Forest

    Stan headed from there to a stabilized southern island called Tourney. The beach there was under bombardment. Explosions from artillery on an island hill tore up random patches of the beach. Stan switched to first person mode to better appreciate the effect. He anchored just offshore and waded into the lee of a broken stone wall, then hustled past the great iron jacks on the sand and the burned side of a crippled Sherman tank. The shells (and symbolism) whistled over his head. Then red Xs appeared near his feet with just enough time to dodge. He leaped clear of an explosion, got thrown off his feet by another, and finally ran to safety beyond the beach.

    As the Thousand Tales wiki said, Tourney Isle was welcoming once you''d gained a beachhead. He hiked inland.

    There was a grassy hill with seven flags. Stan recognized the US one along with the seceded American Free States'' "definitely not a Confederate flag" emblem. A small castle with several garden terraces stood beside it. There was a big open field with bleachers, a stable, and a rack of lances and saddles.

    When approaching Davis'' castle, the online guide had said, it''s customary to offer a gift. Three carrots will do.

    Stan knocked on the castle''s wooden door, holding three carrots.

    After several thumps and a "Darn it!", a jackrabbit wearing a half-fastened breastplate and steel boots answered the door. He glanced at the gift and said, "Another human readin'' the guidebook. Howdy. I was just headin'' out, so can we make it quick, mister?"

    "Stan. Hi." As with Oroblanco, Stan was a little thrown off by seeing the smooth animation of someone who lived in this cartoonish body. How did you talk to an alien, an AI who didn''t even look human and who''d never seen reality? "I come in peace. I have some trade items you might be interested in."

    "A drummer!" said Davis the rabbit. "I thought those went out of fashion with Roosevelt. If you''re looking to trade, the place for you is Norwood. Which is where I''m headin'' and why I can''t offer you a drink at present. I''m late. Want to come along?"

    "That''s one of the smaller worlds, right? I''m not sure how that works for us real-world players."

    "You can make an excursion if a native pulls you along. Got your tradin'' stuff?"

    "It''s mostly on my raft."

    The bunny gave him a buck-toothed grin. "Then in the Lady''s spirit I should make a game of it. I''ll start up a portal near the beach and not wait for you. Whatever you can haul through before it closes, you can bring. Go!" He bounded past Stan, out the door and down the hill.

    Stan blinked. "Was that a quest?"

    The game told him, "Quest offered: Excursion To Norwood. (Well? Get going!)"

    There was an opportunity for business and to go outside the usual game rules. Stan ran back to the beach as quickly as his character''s stamina and the need to dodge artillery fire would let him. He hauled one of the treasure chests off of the raft; it slowed him badly.

    Davis was casting a spell just past the blast zone, creating a swirling hole in space. He glanced at Stan and said, "Left!"

    Stan veered left with his treasure, and got knocked down by an explosion striking where he''d just been. A second blast gave him a major wound but he got clear with the chest of items. Davis hopped through the portal and it began to contract again. Stan ran after him and dived in.

    #

    You have discovered Norwood: the Rebels'' Forest.

    The camera had switched back to third person, showing that his character had been turned into a humanoid raccoon in the same style as Davis. The treasure chest had become a hiking backpack.

    Davis said, "Coon, huh? Suits you for being a shiny-things collector, if I''ve got my species stereotypes right."

    "So what are we up to here? Rebellion?"

    "I''m just a recurring guest character. If anybody asks, you''re from the Democratic People''s State of Baccata."

    They hiked through a pine forest with a dusting of snow, until a couple of wolf-man guards ambushed them from the trees. A squirrel kid dangling from a branch spun a sling and yelled, "Halt!"

    "Jus'' me," said Davis.

    "Davy! Hey. Watch out; the Doctor''s got his robot goons stalking the outposts."

    Stan kept his mouth shut as they went to a camoflaged forest village with lots of treehouses and hollow tree dwellings. They gathered around a table in a sort of bunker. On the wall hung a defiant-looking tattered crown banner.

    Davis said, "Things are heating up in Baccata. There''s a rumor that the Doctor''s henchmen have found one of the Lost Beacons."

    A window popped up on Stan''s screen asking, "Want the backstory?"

    Stan clicked No. He was pretty sure any robots or beacons or foreign countries in this little world were just plot devices and dungeons for kind of a soap opera, rather than the more open-ended exploration of the Isles'' world. He listened to the squirrel and Davis and a couple of vaguely heroic critters (the tough badger, the speedy sparrow and so on) banter about the machinations of an evil mad scientist.

    Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

    Davis, who''d sounded sincere about the whole thing, pointed to Stan. "My friend Tin here has brought some vital supplies for the cause. What do you have, again? Weapons? Power crystals?"

    "Uh... Crafting ingredients." He recited monster bits and semi-useful plants, hoping he''d snagged the right chest on the way here. "If you''re fighting robots, how about some thunder root? It''s used for anti-lightning stuff."

    "Could be useful if we''re hit with more shock troopers," said the sparrow. "You''re donating these to the cause?"

    "I was hoping to trade."

    The squirrel said, "You know we''re a refugee camp, right?"

    Probably no coins, then. How was he supposed to do business: barter for widgets here, trade them for doohickeys in a third world and so on? The real-world Community didn''t teach marketing skills.

    Stan stalled for a moment to think. "What''s been going on lately? Are you making any progress against... the Doctor?"

    The locals fell all over themselves telling him about their adventures. There was a giant tank and a cursed skull that turned the wombat over there evil for a week and then there was an alternate universe portal and a floating island...

    Stan leaned back from the screen, wanting both to laugh at the fantasy drama and to shake the screen until the people inside rattled around. Some rich uploaders had paid to get a tiny world that revolved around them, where ordinary players showed up just to amuse them! Although... Stan didn''t know whether the residents were uploaders, AIs, or just people like him. The interface didn''t say, and he hadn''t toured the place enough to see if people ever slept.

    Whatever they were, what they wanted from travelers was to participate in their little game, much more than they wanted the junk he''d brought.

    "What, are you bored?" said the squirrel. Stan''s character had slumped across the table.

    "Uh... No! It just seems so overwhelming. Is there anything I can do? I have a little combat training but I''m mostly a trader."

    The sparrow tilted his head. "Maybe you can help Speiss in the lab."

    "Okay, but I''m limited by whenever Davis here is heading back. I need him to... show me the way out of the forest."

    The rabbit slapped Stan on the back. "Just let me know when you''re ready. I''ve got things to do here."

    #

    The forest rebels led him to an alchemy lab in a dirt cave braced by roots and vines. A battle-scarred bear-man in a leather apron tended a bubbling cauldron. "A new recruit?"

    "I''m just a visitor," Stan said. "But I want to help the cause."

    "Well, pay attention. We get hurt a lot out there, so we go through a lot of healing potions." The alchemist snagged a few leaves from a massive clump of ivy-like stuff growing along most of the wall. "Fortunately, we have a lot of arex root growing here. Why don''t you try making a basic... actually no, try the windygo grass first. That''s easier and we have a ton of that."

    There was a crude barrel stuffed with wispy grass. It was a common crafting ingredient, cheap enough on the market that Stan hadn''t bothered looking for it, although the arex leaves were worth something. He was being offered the chance to learn some brewing without burning up his own inventory. He pushed an Interact button on his view of the cauldron, and his little raccoon-guy started an animation of stirring the pot and examining the shelves of ingredients.

    Complex windows crowded his view for managing what to throw in, how to change the temperature, stirring and so on. There was even a rhythm element. He tapped the barrel of grass to throw in some of that, then tried working the controls while the bear gave advice. After a minute the screen said:

    You''ve crafted a potion!

    "I''m not getting details."

    "Look carefully and compare it to these others."

    Stan peered at his work, a bottle of bubbling fluid, but the game wouldn''t tell him what he''d made. He studied a set of similar bottles and played a little puzzle to try analyzing them. At last, he started getting some estimates. "So this one''s healing, and this one I made is... +5% speed for one minute?"

    "That''s more precise than we''d usually describe it, but yes."

    "Gotcha." Though he was focusing on the numbers, there was more to the alchemy system than that. The game was trying to hint at the items'' properties with colors and symbols he was having trouble figuring out.

    He got to try brewing several more times, producing more near-useless potions including one that somehow restored a bit of magic while making you flammable. He asked the alchemist, "Is it worth keeping these?"

    "You never know when you''ll need something. You might keep low-quality items on your belt for quick access."

    Stan took his advice by equipping a few trashy potions to where he could activate them with one button. But what was this guy? Just a regular human unwinding after work, or a greedy businessman who''d escaped from reality so hard this was his retirement resort, or a machine-mind that''d never known Earth?

    There was a knock on a door seemingly far away.

 Confiscated

    Stan jolted out of the game and said, "Yes?"

    The door unlocked on its own. Only one person in the Community had a key to everybody''s room. Stan stuffed the Talisman pad under his pillow before the door opened, and stood up from his desk.

    "Baron" Hal, the manager of this idyllic work camp, stood there with a cheerful look. He wore the latest fashionable clothes, in a Chinese style that made him look like a royal official. "Hi there, Sam."

    "Stan."

    "Stan. You''re missing the sing-along."

    "I have less than zero interest in that."

    The Baron said, "You''ve missed a couple of events in a row. Something wrong?"

    Back in the game, the bear had probably gotten mad at him for going AFK and spoiling the story. Why did Stan care more about that than about pleasing this real person who would dictate what schools he could go to next year, and whether Stan could get a weekend pass, and whether he''d be considered a good citizen in general?

    "I just want to do some things on my own."

    "That''s fine, but you also need to show some cooperation. You shouldn''t just do your work and then retreat to your room."

    Stan had generally kept his head down and worked. The sing-alongs and drum circles and movie nights didn''t interest him; they were just slightly more grown-up versions of the events at his three public schools, which had been mandatory. "I''ll do those if I feel like it. What do you mean I need to?"

    The supervisor looked confused. "If you''re not participating, you won''t have a good score. I don''t make the rules."

    Stan laughed at him. Of course there were numbers measuring exactly what an imaginary magic potion did; that was how computer games worked. What idiot had decided to quantify real people that way? "I don''t care about your numbers. I''m going to accomplish things by standards I care about."

    "Your evaluation here might not seem important to you, but that''s how the world works. You''re always going to be reporting to a boss, and you''ll always have obligations to society to fit in and chip in." The Baron put a hand on Stan''s shoulder and said, "Son --"

    Stan shook the hand off him and said, "You are not my father! Never say that!"

    The man stepped back, looking stricken. "I see you''ve got some issues to work on. That''s... What is that?" He pointed to the corner of the Talisman pad.

    Fire flowed through Stan''s veins. "None of your business."

    Hal reached past him and grabbed the game pad. "Why are you hiding a computer? Oh, heh! I was a teenager myself, once." The screen had gone dark, letting him imagine Stan was looking at porn instead of doing something incriminating like owning an unapproved computer.

    Stan was embarrassed without having done anything to deserve it. Even so, he could take advantage of that. "Mind leaving me alone?"

    Hal gave the machine a second look. "Wait a minute." He pulled out his phone and took a picture so that it''d identify what he was looking at, then frowned at the screen. "One of those? You''re not supposed to have that."

    "I bought it and I''m not hurting anybody. Leave me alone."

    "You''re hurting yourself. Stan, no boy is an island. The things you have are only ''yours'' with the understanding that sometimes, people who know better might need to take them, for everyone''s good." As he lectured Stan, the supervisor took the Talisman and held it under one arm.

    Stan clenched his fists. "You''re no better than a thief. I worked hard for that."

    Hal looked regretful, but said, "I don''t make the rules. No unlicensed computers in the Community. Let this be a lesson to you, and an incentive to get more involved in doing social things with real people." Hal looked down at the Talisman and added with his first note of anger, "Not interacting with some false paradise for greedy Nazis who want us all to starve and die."

    #

    Stan sat alone in his room, stunned. He''d been robbed! Who the hell was Supervisor Hal to tell him he couldn''t own things? If the bastard could walk up and steal a toy just because it hadn''t been designed to spy on its user, what couldn''t he do?

    Stan paced and fumed. He''d been in the middle of a conversation in the game too, and learning something. He''d been cut off from a possible friend.

    Now, how was he going to play again?Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

    Stan left his room and went to the dormitory''s computer center, since he didn''t own a machine of his own anymore. Six old desktops sat there under the gaze of security cameras. It was late and the door''s sensors had already registered his presence, so he was probably being dinged another point for being anti-social. He sat on a creaky chair and began research.

    The top three search results for Thousand Tales were about the callousness and other sins of its corporation and residents. Result #4 was something about them doing charity work and #5 was back to negative. Stan''s generation had grown up with people hired to "guide public opinion" by arranging headlines just so, and there were even volunteer "opinion shapers" on the Community''s forum, so he knew better than to trust any news at face value.

    The moment of hysterical hate from Hal made Stan curious. He''d never heard such an outburst from the man before. Stan looked up the director''s profile, but didn''t see anything about him having family who''d uploaded or something. He did have links, though, to sites about the evils of the game and several new uploading organizations that were competing with it. It took Stan five minutes to set up a search bot and discover that Hal''s sister was working in an uploading clinic in the Free States.

    Stan sat back in his chair, glancing at a bunch of article summaries about how "escaping from your obligations, into a game" was the most evil thing anyone could do. The entire concept of entering Thousand Tales meant rejecting the idea that we all belong to society, and anyone who worked to help the greedy rich (or anyone else, as the price fell) upload was stealing people away from where they belonged. The critics'' tone ranged from reasonable scholarly arguments with some actual decent points, to all-caps raving. And Hal''s sister was involved? Stan thought, I may not have much power with you, Hal, but I see where you''re coming from, and I could stick a knife in your heart by reminding you.

    Emotional leverage wasn''t going to get Stan''s game back though. According to the articles, Thousand Tales had once been not only allowed but encouraged in some of the Youth Communities, as a way of monitoring kids and figuring out which ones were troublemakers. The partnership had mostly soured when it turned out that the game, if anything, created more of them. Not the "goes on a murder rampage" kind -- it had spotted some loonies and soothed them -- but the "asks questions and starts protests" type.

    Stan visited the main Thousand Tales Web site, but unsurprisingly it was blocked along with the wiki and another fan site. No installing the game on here, then. He could play Liege''s Banner or a couple of other popular games that didn''t stir controversy. He sighed; maybe it was time to switch games, or take up a different hobby?

    No, damn it. I earned that computer, I earned that in-game money, and for whatever they''re worth, they''re mine.

    He just wasn''t sure how to enforce that. For the moment, he applied for a permit to leave the Community tomorrow, before his score could drop too low to qualify him. But the machine buzzed at him; he''d fallen too far already. Stan cursed.

    An e-mail had arrived from an unknown name at Thousand Tales'' domain. It just said, "You all right?", with a carrot icon.

    Davis! Stan leaned forward in his seat and typed furiously, telling his imaginary friend about why the Talisman had suddenly been snatched away. "Why do you care?"

    A reply came a minute later. "You''re a player of the game. We look out for each other. It''s that or trust in somebody like your ''Baron'' to fix all your troubles, which has its own cost. Want me to try to arrange a free VR session in San Diego? That''s our nearest in-person gaming center."

    "That''s a couple hours away from me, and I haven''t got permission to leave."

    Davis wrote: "*Whistle* So it''s true they''ve got you folks locked up and doing farm work? I was a touch upset when I found out I was designed from a stereotype, and what it meant in the historical context, but I thought the world had outgrown that. If history''s any guide, you''d be best off trying for a cushy, brainy sort of job. Make yourself the friendliest and most useful of the Baron''s boys, and maybe you''ll have opportunities."

    Friendly, to the man who''d stolen his property? Stan glared at the screen. It was surreal getting advice from somebunny who didn''t even exist, who''d probably been created in the last two years. Stan counted to ten to calm down. "Like what? Suddenly getting rich and uploading?"

    "Probably not. But count your blessings. Sounds like you''re a healthy young human and you''ve got plenty of time on your hands and a good head on your shoulders, in a country less screwed up than most. Go use what you''ve got. As hard as we''re marketing this uploading thing, most of us know you don''t need it to be happy."

    Stan sighed and sent one last message before logging out for the night. "Tell the Norwood people I''m sorry to drop out on them. I was having fun."

    #

    After a fitful night''s sleep, Stan had a perverse idea. At every opportunity he studied the rules and history of the Social Credit System.

    It had evolved from credit scores that tracked things like payment of bills, and a Chinese system. The Chinese version involved monitoring "disharmonious" actions like buying unhealthy food, associating with other people who had low scores, playing video games too much, and saying mean things about the government. There''d also been a global fad of adding game-like rules to fitness programs and hobbies. Today, many countries had some kind of SCS. With a score in the "A" range or the bizarrely named, exalted "S" rank, he could not only get a low-interest student loan but expedite government paperwork and qualify for other public benefits. As a student doing his national service years, the SCS applied to his privileges within the Community too.

    His score included stats for Health (exercise, diet), Contribution (work, education) and Participation (social events, media use). For Community residents ten percent of each category was under the supervisor''s arbitrary judgment, which was in theory balanced against the danger of his supervisor getting complaints. There was a rumor that a few Community leaders had been busted for using the ten percent to get favors from their residents. The system was a sort of cross between what well-meaning parents might design to encourage young children to do their chores, and one of those "edutainment" games he could get points for playing.

    Hal had claimed Stan was hurting himself by not following the rules, and that much was true. But were they good rules? Stan had been raised without any real standard to compare them to. No father, no church, few friends. He just knew he''d had his stuff taken away by a guy calling the Tales people evil murderers, which was nuts. There was a crack in the system. Nothing so dramatic as Hal twirling his mustache and whipping people, but obnoxious enough for Stan to see that obedience wasn''t necessarily going to make him a Good Citizen.

    Where there was a crack in the system, there was opportunity.

 High Score

    The next month was busy, busy, busy! Stan seemed to be everywhere. He helped his fellow residents with math lessons they''d need for college. He tossed in a few college applications himself because that was what Good Citizens did, along with a few sincere applications to trade schools that might actually teach him something. His application essay (which Hal would see) was all about something called social justice. He played the hottest educational game for the prescribed two hours a week to learn about sharing, ignored the game while it was running so he could use a second window to rack up education credit in history, and posted enthusiastic comments of the prescribed 20-word minimum to literally every topic in the Community forum. He woke up early and helped the dorm cook even when it wasn''t his turn, and if his contribution on those days consisted of clocking in and out five minutes later, that didn''t matter. For his diet score he requested exactly the prescribed food items, ate what he wanted, and gave the rest away. He really had been lax about exercise, and put real effort into that to meet the exact "suggestions" and then some. He showed up at the next sing-along and movie night and always found an excuse to do some other score-boosting thing at the same time or leave early.

    Hal called Stan into his office, a place where all the photos and furniture made perfect right angles. The Baron looked amused. "What''s this about, Stan? Your score shot up but it''s hollow."

    "I''m doing the right things," said Stan.

    "Come on. C-minus rank to suddenly A?"

    "Actually I should be up to S territory at least temporarily, what with the improvement bonus."

    "But you''re not really putting in the hours. I saw you duck out of half the events, and that''s cheating."

    Stan stood straighter, imitating pictures he''d seen of soldiers with their hands clasped behind them, and suppressed a fierce grin. "No, sir. The rules say I need to show up and participate to get credit, and I did."

    "But you''re not participating in everything at once. Nobody can do that. You cheated your dorm-mates by not really doing all the cooking for one thing."

    "I really did cook on my assigned days, and again, I contributed something on every day."

    Hal rubbed his temples and sighed. "What are you trying to do? You''re working yourself into the ground even with this half-job you''re doing to get all the points. So what does that accomplish?"

    "To be a model citizen, sir. Besides that there''s extra scrip, days off when I want them, and a good chance at the school of my choice."

    "Fair enough, but I can''t give you full marks for my ten percent."

    Stan tilted his head. "Why not?"

    "You know darn well why. The point of the rules is..." He flipped through an inspirational desktop calendar and turned it one-eighty degrees to show a quote, and recited it without reading. ''SCS should point the way to having the rules inside you, so that you live by them. Not an external carrot and stick, but a way of life.''"This book is hosted on another platform. Read the official version and support the author''s work.

    "And I''m doing that," said Stan, adding in deadpan, "Your carrot and stick are inside us all."

    "I''m going to let whatever this is, slide for now, since you really are doing a good job in some areas. But you''re not getting full marks from me."

    Stan said, "I''ve read the rules for how those points should be assigned, sir. Positive relationships with fellow residents? A drive toward self-improvement? Listening to advice? I''m doing everything that''s demanded of me and you just said I''m doing some good work."

    The supervisor pulled his calendar back. "Is this just spite about the computer?"

    "No, sir."

    "Will you cut out the smart-alec behavior, then?"

    "I intend to be a perfect citizen by the standards we''re using, sir."

    Hal stood up and turned away, shaking his head. "Get out." Stan was about to leave when Hal added, "Kid... What are you going to do with yourself when you get out to the real world and you''re still trying to game the system?"

    "I''ll find other opportunities, sir."

    #

    Hal dinged him by one measly point for clocking in late one morning. Fair play, though it irked Stan. For at least the next month Stan had a mighty S-rank level of privileges, theoretically up there with Congressmen. Keeping his stats up had been exhausting so far. He''d made his point about the stupid rules; what could he do with them now?

    He was still pondering when Baron Hal summoned him again, looking haggard. "Okay. So. How would you like to go on a trip to Washington to shake hands with politicians and pretend to write laws?"

    "Doesn''t sound like much fun."

    The supervisor relaxed. "Well, Suzie does. She''s excited. There''s a contest this month, see, and we''re sending whoever''s got the highest score among you kids."

    "I see," said Stan, forcing himself not to smile. Suzie was a bossy girl but basically decent, and she''d been excited about something this morning.

    "Can I get you to slack off this month, then? Do it for her."

    "I guess I could get distracted playing video games, if I had my stuff back."

    Hal said, "What is it with you and this Tales game, anyway? It''s a cult. A death cult."

    Stan wanted to snap at the man about stealing his hard-earned computer, but curiosity overtook him. "Sir... I really don''t mean to get you angry, but what happened between you and your sister?"

    Hal looked ready to leap forward and pound Stan. Instead he gripped the edges of his desk, stared down for a moment with a faint shudder, and met Stan''s eyes again. "Nosy kids today. Clementine and I had a disagreement. She got suckered in by the game''s AI when uploading got announced, and went to work for her as a nurse. Which meant abandoning her homeland and her family."

    "But why...?"

    "None of your damn business, kid."

    "Sorry." Stan shook his head. "I''m not involved with the larger problems of that game. I just played it and I think, earned some respect from one or two of the locals."

    "Ugh. Just... Take it." Hal brought Stan''s computer out of a filing cabinet and pushed it across the desk. "And don''t let them talk you into anything."

    #

    Suzie found him in the cafeteria at dinner. She was still dressed in her soccer outfit after the evening''s game, and her dark skin shined with sweat, which probably made her think she looked terrible. "The Baron told me," she said. With a forced smile she added, "I feel kind of patronized, but I appreciate it anyway."

    Stan smiled back. "No problem. You''re our real score champ anyway; I was overachieving to spite Hal. I gave it up half out of exhaustion."

    She sat down across from him at a bench, with a healthy dinner on her tray. A patriotic poster loomed nearby. "And the other half?"

    "Because I''d rather you win the DC trip. You''d have more fun with it."

    "Fun, huh. You sound a little like the Thousand Tales evangelists. I heard Hal swiped your computer."

    "I made him give it back."

    Suzie giggled. "Ah, there''s your real reason. Not that you like me or anything."

    "Nope, totally not because you''re smart and cute and ambitious. Better get at least an A this month or I''ll win anyway."

 Gaming the Systems

    Rather than do an official civics lesson on his recovered computer, Stan relaxed in bed and played his game again. The title screen had cobwebs on it. When he signed in, a menu said, "It''s been a while! Due to your contact with one of the locals, your character left off in the world of Norwood. Would you like to return to your usual setting?"

    He had no idea if Davis was around to take him back to the Endless Isles, and he wasn''t crazy about the raccoon thing. "Yes."

    The game restarted with the cheerful subdued music of the Isles. He was back in human form just offshore of Tourney Isle, on his raft. The treasure chest that he''d taken to the other world was gone. His inventory contained the junky potions he''d crafted, and his skill list said "Club, Thrown Weapon, Alchemy". So he''d traded items for experience.

    He stepped ashore to look for Davis. The bombardment started right away. Stan zigzagged inland and took a major wound from flying chunks of rock. Only unrealistic physics kept the beach from becoming a moonscape of craters. He barely made it to safety on the grass.

    Davis'' little castle stood quiet, even when Stan knocked. No cheerful rabbit-man to greet him. Stan sighed; the AI had his own life and didn''t exist just to entertain passing humans. He couldn''t even leave a note... No, wait. He had a blank scroll, quill and ink in his spare chest. Was it worth burning through his scanty item supply just to talk with Davis? Not today; Stan needed to get back to business. He hurried back to his raft, then sailed to Central Island again to look for things to do.

    In the Maker Workshop, he found some smiths to buy his supply of charcoal and rust from a past adventure. They even had a lead on a low-level cavern he could visit on a nearby island.

    Stan headed out there on his own and did some monster-slaying, but his heart wasn''t in it. The actual adventuring was less interesting to him than the trading. He wondered why.

    He was about to sign off for the evening when he got an e-mail. It came from "thousandtales-quests-level1". "Quest: Show the Flow. Explain irrigation technology to a class via the Thousand Tales interface. Reward: 10 silver." There were several possible times listed. What, a request for him to lecture people? He wasn''t sure that was even legal. He didn''t have a teaching certificate or permission from Hal or anything. Nor could he take time off from his work without asking, or travel without permission, or get paid in actual money that he was free to swap for anything at all. Dollars still changed hands in the Community, just furtively because it wasn''t the residents'' place to make their own buying decisions in the wider world. Besides, there were positive-reinforcement rewards for relying on scrip.

    Stan replied that he''d do it Friday over lunch.

    #

    Back in the game the next day, he found an alchemy station and used his limited alchemy experience to craft some potions. They came out wrong, much as he''d done in Norwood: slight magic restoration but they made you flammable. More near-useless junk. Unless... Stan grinned, and applied to join another adventuring group that he''d carefully picked for being slightly in over its head.

    Based on his evaluation of the adventurers -- he''d picked up the Appraise skill and begun getting hints at their skills and powers -- and their choice of target, he was not at all surprised when they found themselves in the third level of the Hall of Splendor, under assault by slow-moving brass statues, and starting to panic.

    "Stan, do something!" shouted the party''s bard. Marble tiles cracked under the blow of a man-sized mace.

    "I''m just the hireling," Stan said. He kept hopping back and away from the murderous statues, carrying a heavy pack loaded with trinkets. "If you want me to fight, I get a full share of the loot."

    The wizard said, "Fine. Attack them already!"

    Stan smiled. "No, you attack them. Use your fire spells in a moment."

    "They''re not vulnerable to fire."

    Stan whipped out a pair of bottles and chucked them at the enemies. Their brassy hides shined red. "Now they are!"

    The wizard let loose with a flamethrower blast. Firelight gleamed and metal melted.

    "I can do that three more times," Stan said. "Get ready."

    In a few rounds they''d trashed most of the statues, leaving the party''s knight and bard to finish off the rest. "Worth it," the knight said. "Where''d you learn to make those?"

    "It was an alchemy failure when I visited a place called Norwood."

    "With the same character? I thought you couldn''t jump between settings like that. Or are you an uploader?"

    "Me? No. I met an AI who pulled me along."

    The party scavenged the wrecked hall of statues, with Stan picking out seemingly useless scraps to put in his pack. The bard said, "If you''ve got friends among the locals, you could exploit that."

    Stan blinked. There really were some possibilities here.

    #

    After the dungeon crawl, Stan logged out to the title screen, where the logo was made from scraps. "Can I make another character?" he said.

    A menu said, "Sure! Do you want to replace your existing character and start over, or make an ''alternate''?"

    "Alternate."

    "Which setting?" A long list appeared, showing the few main worlds within Thousand Tales and a list of the smaller worlds that were open to the public. There seemed to be an ongoing popularity contest.

    "Norwood. I don''t see it though...?"

    "''The Rebels of Norwood'' is only open by invitation."You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    Then Stan had kind of blown his chance at playing there by suddenly dropping out of the local story. He''d been hoping to drop by with a new character and find a way to transport goods across worlds that way. Then again, he''d be relying on Davis or somebody to make that work. In fact, any combination of characters he could make would still need a world-hopper to transport items. He wasn''t going to be able to run a cross-world trading business alone.

    "Cancel," he said, and went back to playing as his islander character for a little longer.

    #

    On the day of the lecture "quest" he used his lunch break for teaching. He set up his computer in his room and began to talk about his work on the farm. The screen showed him a classroom with around fifty people! Some of them were elves or animals, but the seats were all filled. Who knew there this many people who cared what he did?

    A dark-feathered griffin raised its talons. "This is similar to what they''re doing in Central America, isn''t it?" Davis was in the audience too.

    "They?" said Stan.

    "Our people. There''s a big farming project going on there and we''re going to have robots and stuff helping people."

    He''d heard a little about the game''s players doing charity work, but the thought that the things he was explaining might have any relevance outside his little home, was a little overwhelming. "Well. Guess I''d better get the details right."

    Partway through his talk, there was a knock on the door. Stan froze, but remembered he had permission to play this game, to own this computer. He opened it and found Suzie there.

    "Hi. I heard you were giving a class? I''d like to hear it too."

    "Uh... Sure. Pull up a chair."

    A little flustered, Stan went on explaining how irrigation systems kept the fields going with minimal water, and about some of the politics he''d run into about how parts and water itself got allocated to different places, and his experiences with repairing stuff. "Sorry; I don''t know much of the theory behind this."

    "We can get that from a textbook," said some kind of robot deer. "Just to make sure: there''s nothing that generates water from nothing, right?"

    A chill passed through Stan. Here was another AI who barely knew what reality was. "No, although there are some machines that absorb it from the air." He rattled off some details.

    At last the lunch hour ended, but the students kept asking questions. He looked anxiously over one shoulder as though Hal would come and drag him back to the fields. "Are you all AIs?"

    Various people chimed in. Most were real people, in four countries. "So I really have crossed between worlds," he muttered.

    "Huh?" said the griffin.

    "I''m a trader in your game, but I can''t move between the different realms with one character or swap items between alternates. It looked profitable when I visited another area with Davis there."

    One of the human players said, "A regular business, huh? What items do you stock?"

    "Low-level crafting things, moving into potions."

    The griffin said, "Ooh, a mysterious wandering potion-dealer! I met a Mexican gunslinger who said his old job was something like that."

    "Sounds fun," Davis the bunny said. "If you want to try that, I and the other natives can arrange to pull you or your items between worlds every so often."

    Stan grinned. "A trading guild! I like it. I need to get going for now, but thank you all for coming. You can mail me with more questions."

    The griffin started a round of applause. "Hey, everybody, give him your junk items too!" A treasure chest appeared with his payment of silver in it, and the students stuffed it full with shells and fruit and used goblin loincloths and blank scrolls.

    "Thanks, I think! See you." Stan picked up the chest to have the game register that he was carrying it, then signed out.

    The game faded out. Suzie was still sitting on his chair. She said, "That was weird. Have you done that before?"

    "No, but I liked it."

    "What are you trying to do, anyhow? I mean, are you one of those nerds who just wants to rack up as many imaginary coins as possible instead of having a life?"

    Stan looked into the dark screen and saw his reflection. "It''s... a different experience than living here, and having the Baron set our goals. In there I can do whatever I want and I''m actually being useful. Maybe somebody in that class will grow more food after hearing that, or the AIs will start to have a clue what the real world is like."

    The girl drummed her fingers on the chair. "You ought to get good-citizen credit for doing that. The teaching, not the rest of the game. Maybe you should learn more about the rest of our tech and then teach about that too."

    "Good idea. As for buying and selling the fantasy junk, it''s fun even if it doesn''t really help anybody. I outwit the rule system, I find opportunities, I help people based on what they think is important. It''s like being the one who designs and builds the game consoles; that''s not a waste of effort unless all art and toys are a waste."

    "They''re not," she said, "but you''ve got other skills. Why spend the effort on a game?"

    Stan had to think about it. "What exactly are you going to do on this DC trip?"

    "Oh, it''ll be great. I''ll get to meet Congressmen, and hold a mock Congress where we debate legislation..." Suzie trailed off with a smile. "Gaming, I guess. But that''s at least practice for managing the real world."

    Stan tapped the screen. "I''m starting to wonder if this is, too. If there''re real minds in there, and they''re starting to do stuff out here, then building up influence and friendships in the game is going to pay off long-term. I''m just not sure how yet."

    #

    That evening, Stan was negotiating with some gamers from Cuba for the use of their ship. A bulky consignment of assorted seeds and minerals needed transport across a long stretch of the Isles, and he wanted to be on it. Half the point was to get him far to the west to pick some return cargo, in such a way that he could log out and have his character transported while he did stuff in the real world.

    Another player showed up on the docks, calling out to him. This one was like him in sticking with a basic human template and not being decked out in fancy armor yet. "I saw your ad! I want to work with you."

    "Great. Give me a minute." Stan turned to the ship captain, saying, "I''ve learned some fighting skill, too, with thrown potions. So you can have me around as a guard for at least part of the trip."

    "Deal."

    Stan hit OK on a contract message box, thanked the captain, and addressed the newcomer. "What are you? Can you jump between worlds?"

    "No, just a regular player. But I want to sail the Isles too and focus on the junk items the hardcore players don''t care about. There''ll always be a supply of newbies to sell to."

    "Sounds good, but what can you offer me?"

    "I don''t want to work for you," the guy said, patting the rapier on his belt. "I can take care of myself. But our trade would go better if we started sharing info. We could have a sort of guild."

    They talked for a bit. Stan said, "All right. Are you in this just for fun, or what?"

    "Yeah; what about you?"

    His new guild associate was right that there would be a role for item traders as the game expanded, but there were more opportunities than that. He thought about the unsolicited quest he''d been offered by e-mail rather than in-game messaging. "I think Thousand Tales could end up more important than the game itself. I''m getting in early on meeting people and figuring out how it all works."

    #

    When he logged out for the night, he found an e-mail waiting for him from the game''s quest system. "Quest: A Word In the Right Ear. Introduce Suzie to Thousand Tales and have her play."

    He frowned. She''d seen the game when he gave that lecture. She just hadn''t played. An annoying bit of viral marketing, linked to the camera having recognized Suzie''s face? Stan looked at the footer. Its wording was different from the generic "click here to unsubscribe" stuff from last time. This one added, "Thousand Tales is designed to bring fun to players of the game."

    Not necessarily in-game fun, is what the message was telling him. And Suzie just happened to be headed for the capital in a month, making her someone who might get to say something to someone... Really, this little quest only looked like an advertisement. It was an invitation to dance.

    "Message received," Stan muttered. If this sort of contact came from the "quests-level1" address, he wondered, what was level two? Someone in the game obviously had an agenda and problems to solve, and that meant chances for him to make himself useful, necessary, important. Somehow, his hidden reputation within the game meant more to him than the social score he had in the real world. He could game both systems.

 Preview: Crafters Passion

    Stan sat in the backseat of the car and fired up the Talisman. This was the new model, so the controls were laid out a bit differently and there were two cameras on the front for a 3D view of him. The game''s title screen was in his own style, boards and bronze in front of an ocean. There were cobwebs on the logo. "Ha ha." He gave Parker up front a glance; she had an ordinary tablet and was reading. He shrugged and jumped into the game, happy for the chance to sneak in a session. "Endless Isles, please."

    He reappeared on Central Island, where he''d saved most recently. The big plan of sailing out in search of an AI to shake hands with was a silly one, but it was nice to have a goal at all. A friends list showed that Dominic the mage was online, so Stan sent him a hello. While waiting for a reply, Stan tried out magic again on the beach. The Create and Metal elements together gave him a coin''s worth of copper for each successful casting. There was a reasonably short cooldown time, so the spell was a dull but reliable income source. Knowing Ludo, though, if he stood there casting one spell over and over there''d soon be a land shark or a volcano to distract him.

    With just a little new metal, Stan hefted his hammer and backpack, and hurried into action. First he dumped his backpack-load of lumber outside the workshop, and then he went looking for trouble. In the jungle he surprised a pair of those big lizards. They hopped back and let out a double snarl. Three of these things had been too many for him, but he''d been wounded at the time. These things were resources. Stan gave a quiet battle-cry (mindful of Ms. Parker) and leaped ahead to attack the one on his left.

    They snapped at him, but he got in the first strike and darted behind a tree. From there it was hit and run until he landed a solid blow to one critter''s head and knocked it out. He started trying to cast a spell on the vines near the other beast''s feet, hoping to entangle the thing, but the process was too slow and he got slammed against a tree. [Major wound!]

    He recovered, dodged, then found he''d lost his hammer. "I am not starting that whole process over again!" he said, and whipped out his knife for backup. He feinted twice to force the lizard back, grabbed the hammer in his other hand, then charged ferociously with both weapons until in a flurry of traded blows the second lizard was dead.

    A contact icon flashed in the corner of the screen. It was Dominic, saying, [You''re back! Want to meet up?]

    Stan responded, "Sure. I''m on Central, heading for the tavern."

    [It''ll take me a while to get there. Man, you''re still doing the most basic milk-run stuff?]

    "I''ve spent too many hours daydreaming lately about how to break out of that. Watch this." Okay, Dominic wasn''t around to see, but someone was.

    Stan had two dead lizards and a backpack that held more than it should. He stuffed one critter awkwardly into the pack and dragged the other one along, heading for the Crown & Tail. Along the way, a third lizard jumped him. Stan dropped everything, whipped out his hammer again, and killed the beast in two quick rounds. He had two major wounds now, and his pair of minor wounds wouldn''t fade until he was clearly out of trouble, but he was starting to get to the real plan.

    He greeted the startled chef at the tavern by saying, "Here: lizards! Keep the meat but give me the hides, okay?"

    The cook today was a woman who looked badly out of place, in a patchwork of wood and leather armor and toting a war axe on her back. "Uh... okay?"

    A case of content theft: this narrative is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

    Stan ran off to fetch the third dead lizard and towed that back too. He was in luck. While he waited on the skinning he cast his metal creation spell a few more times. So now he had a little extra copper plus raw hides. Next, the market! Up on the hill he found a cloth merchant and said, "I want that." He was pointing to the burlap tablecloth that held his actual wares.

    The merchant laughed at him. "That''s not going to give you any stat bonuses."

    "I don''t care; I just want a sack. Want some fresh hides?"

    "Heh, sure. I''ll even do it up as a proper bag with a drawstring."

    A bit of crafting later (while Stan made more copper) and Stan had a bag to go with the backpack, both holding 50% more than normal thanks to his Merchant ability. He''d brought most of the lumber uphill with him, so he sold that too for next to nothing. He could always get more. He spent his profit on a single ingot of tin. Back downhill, next!

    In the workshop he paid his admission fee, headed for the furnace, and skidded to a stop. A robed mage with a mask was staring at him and waving. Stan scanned him:

    [Dominic

    PUBLIC INFO

    Class: Mage

    Faction Flag: None

    Note: "Initiate of the Vengeful Thorn Style!"]

    From behind his blank mask Dominic said, "Hi. I''ve been powering up while you were gone!"

    "Cool. What did you have to do to get a mage label?"

    "Learned to do this kind of thing." Dominic raised one hand and an arrow flew up from his belt, shining in an eerie red glow. "If I keep practicing I''ll be able to do a whole cloud of these at once." He flicked his hand and the arrow returned.

    "And the mask?"

    "More for style than stats. What about you? It doesn''t look like you''ve changed much."

    "Heh, well, I''ve been busy." He put his metal into the furnace and stoked it with coal; he hadn''t found out yet who was supplying that and probably owed them. "Mind doing the bellows for a bit? I want a good quality rating for this; I''m making a bronze hatchet."

    "Sure." The masked wizard hopped onto the furnace''s set of floor-mounted bellows and started doing the dancing-on-arrows puzzle to bring the heat. Stan crafted a mold just like he''d drawn repeatedly with a 3D modeling program on his Slab. It was a pair of tight-packed boxes of sand mated together, with a hole shaped like an axe head, with a peg through that where there should be a hole through the finished product. It took some convoluted thinking to prepare, even though real smiths had done the same thing millennia ago. Dominic added, "That doesn''t look like enough metal."

    "You''re thinking mighty barbarian axe. I''m thinking wood-cutting hatchet."

    Slowly his creation took shape. Smoke bubbled up from the mold as from a magic ritual, making the air around him ripple with heat. He avoided doing the abstract puzzle that some smiths did, in favor of seeing what he could really make with his own design. When he cracked the mold open like last year''s Winter Holiday presents at the Community, the new hatchet head gleamed and there was even a lens flare graphics effect on it for a moment. Stan had a handle ready by then, and he attached it and used magic to grow a bit of the wood into place and hold it.

    [Crafting result: Bronze Hatchet. "Conceived in the back of a car."]

    Stan brandished the new tool. Dominic applauded and a happy tune played.

    Ms. Parker looked up from her reading. "Beat a boss?"

    "Forged something, ma''am. I mean casted."

    His plans were beginning to take shape...

 Crafters Heart, 1: The Immigrant

    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.

    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."

    #

    "Where the heck was I?" Stan asked to the void that replaced the airship world. He''d been playing Thousand Tales a little just this morning, on the way to the seastead. "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 and make minor upgrades to items, both useful for trading and 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?"

    You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

    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!"

    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!"

    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 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. 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.

    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 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, 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.

    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 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 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 in. See you tomorrow."