The saurian settled back and slid the steaming corpse of Fred Radner's raptor to one side. It brought its head close to the ground, to look at Juan straight on. The eyes and head and color were exactly Juan's original design, and this player had the moves to make it truly impressive. He could see from its battle scars that it had fought in several Cretaceous hot spots. Juan forced a cheerful smile. "So, you like my design?"
It flashed yard-long fangs. "I've been worse." The creature shifted game parameters, bringing up critic-layer details. This was a heavy player, maybe even a game cracker! On the ground between them was a dead and dissected example of Juan's creation. Big Lizard nudged it with a foreclaw. "But the skin texture is from a Fantasists Guild example library. The color scheme is a cliche. The plaid kilt would be cute if it weren't in all the Epiphany Now ads."
Juan drew his knees in toward his chin. This was the same crap he had to put up with at school. "I borrow from the best."
The saurian's chuckle was a buzzing roar that made Juan's skull vibrate. "That might work with your teachers. They have to eat whatever garbage you feed them — at least till you graduate and can be dumped on the street. This design is so-so. There have been some adoptions, mainly because it has good mechanics. But if we're talking real quality, it just don't measure up." The creature flexed its custom battle scars.
"I do other things."
"Yes, and if you never deliver, you'll fail with them, too."
That was a point that occupied a lot of Juan Orozco's internal worry time. More and more it looked like he was going to end up like his pa — only Juan might never even get a job to be laid off from! "Try your best" was the motto of Fairmont High. But trying your best was only the beginning. Even if you tried your best, you could still be left behind.
These were not things he'd confess to another gamer. He glared back at the slitted yellow eyes, and suddenly it occurred to him that — unlike teachers — this guy was not being paid to be nice. And it was wasting too much time for this to be some humiliating con. It actually wants something from met Juan sharpened his glare. "And you have some suggestions, O Mighty Virtual Lizard?"
"That… could be. Besides Cret Ret , I have other things going. How would you like to take an affiliate status on a little project?"
Except for local games, no one had ever asked Juan to affiliate on anything. His mouth twisted in bogus contempt. "Affiliate? A percent of a percent of… what? How far down the value chain are you?"
The saurian shrugged and there was the sound of ginkgoes creaking against its shoulders. "My guess is I'm way, way down. That's how it is with most affiliances. But I can pay real money for each answer I pipe upwards." The creature named a number; it was enough to ride the freefall every day for a year. A payoff certificate floated in the air between them, showing the named amount and a bonus schedule.
Juan had played his share of finance games. "I get twice that or no deal." Then he noticed the subrights section. The numbers were not visible. That could be because anyone he recruited would get a lot more.
"Done!" said the Lizard, before Juan could correct his bid upward.
And Juan was sure it was smiling!
"… Okay, what do you want?" And what makes you think a dwit like me can supply it ?
"You're at Fairmont High, aren't you?"
"You already know that."
"It's a strange place, isn't it?" When Juan did not reply, the critter said. "Trust me, it is strange. Most schools, even charter schools, don't schedule Adult Education students in with the children."
"Yeah, the vocational track. The old farts don't like it. We don't like it."
"Well, the task from my upstream affiliate is to snoop around, mainly among these old guys. Make friends with them."
Yecco. But Juan glanced at the payoff certificate again. It tested valid. The payoff adjudication was more complicated than he wanted to read, but it was backed by Bank of America. "Who in particular?"
"Ah, that's the problem. Whoever is at the top of my affiliance is coy. We're just collecting information. Basically, some of these senior citizens used to be big shots."
"If they were so big, how come they're in our classes now?" It was just the question the kids asked at school.
"Lots of reasons, Juan. Some of them are just lonely. Some of them are up to their ears in debt, and have to figure how to make a living in the current economy. Some of them aren't good for much but a healthy body and lots of old memories. They can be very bitter."
"Unh, how do I make friends with people like that?"
"If you want the money, you figure out a way. Anyway, here are the search criteria." The Big Lizard shipped him a document. He browsed through the top layer.
"This covers a lot of ground." Retired San Diego politicians, bioscientists, parents of persons currently in such job categories…
"There are qualifying characteristics in the links. Your job is to interest appropriate people in my affiliance."
"I… I'm just not that good at talking people up." Especially people like this.
"Stay poor then. Chicken." Juan was silent for a moment. His pa would never take a job like this. Finally, he said, "Okay, I'll go affiliate with you."
"I wouldn't want you doing anything you feel un — "
"I said , I'll take the job!"
"Okay! Well then, what I've given you should get you started. There's contact info in the document." The creature lumbered to its feet, and now its voice came from high above. "Just as well we don't meet again on Pyramid Hill."
"Suits me." Juan stood up. He made a point of slapping the creature's mighty tail as he walked off downhill.
The twins were way ahead of him, standing by the soccer field on the other side of campus. As Juan came up the driveway, he grabbed a viewpoint in the bleachers and gave them a ping. Fred waved back, but his shirt was still too gooey for comm. Jerry was looking upward at the UP/Ex shipment falling toward his outstretched hands. Just in time, for sure. The twins were popping the mailer open even as they walked into the shop tent.
Unfortunately, Juan's first class was at the end of the far wing. He ran across the lawn, keeping his vision tied to unimproved reality: The buildings were mostly three stories today. Their gray walls were like playing cards stacked in a rickety array.
Inside, the choice of view was not entirely his own. Mornings, the school administration required that the Fairmont News show all over the interior walls. Three kids at Hoover High had won IBM career fellowships. Applause, applause, even if Hoover was Fairmont's unfairly advantaged rival, a charter school run by the Math Ed Department at SDSU. The three young geniuses would have their college education paid for, right through grad school, even if they never worked a day at IBM. Big deal , Juan thought, trying to comfort himself. Someday those kids might be very rich, but a percentage of their professional fortunes would always go back to IBM.
He followed the little green nav arrows with half his attention… and abruptly realized he had climbed two flights of stairs. School admin had re-arranged everything since yesterday. Of course, they had updated his nav arrows, too. It was a good thing he hadn't been paying attention. He slipped into his classroom and sat down.