Austin was still looking at the book.
“There’s an explicit sex scene that follows,” he said. “Written, I suspect, by someone who has never actually had sex-the anatomy seems wrong here and there-but she’s read about it with great interest.”
Dagmar kept her attention on her plate. “Why do I think,” she said, “that a thousand years from now, the only thing about me that will survive, in some database somewhere, is this fanfic? ”
“Once the other players found out the sort of thing Simone was writing,” Austin continued, “they began to write parodies. They’re pretty merciless, actually.”
“I’m not surprised.”
“I noticed Simone stopped posting after a while.” Austin turned to his other bookmark. “My favorite is a lesbian scene. Let me just give you the flavor of it.”
She snatched the book from his hand and put it on the bench seat beside her. He sighed.
“I hope the people in Bayangan Prajurit never see any of this,” Dagmar said.
“How are they, by the way? ”
“Doing very well. They sent photos of the sidewalks they’d paved.”
Paved with Charlie’s money. Six days after Dagmar’s escape from Jakarta, the IMF and World Bank had made it clear that Indonesia’s fiscal rescue would depend on a civilian government’s remaining in place, so the soldiers had gone back to their barracks, and certain generals had flown to other countries, along with suitcases of money.
In the five months since Jakarta had reopened, Charlie and Dagmar had adopted the Bayangan Prajurit school and its kampung. The local grammar school now had new computers and high-speed wireless Internet, and a local clinic had received additional funding. Areas were being paved, and old homes rebuilt. Microloans were being granted to start local businesses. Charlie provided most of the money, with Dagmar as the liaison.
Bayangan Prajurit had helped Dagmar for their own religious reasons, but Charlie and Dagmar wanted them to enjoy their heightened spirituality from a position of material comfort.
“I freely confess that all Charlie’s charity work makes him my moral superior,” Austin said.
“You contribute to charity,” Dagmar said.
“Usually when Charlie tells me where to send the check.”
She smiled. “Nothing wrong with following the advice of a moral superior.”
Austin talked about Wyoming. He’d bought a condominium in Jackson Hole-half a million dollars for twelve hundred square feet-and now he talked about quitting and buying a ranch. Dagmar was faintly surprised he hadn’t yet bought a Stetson, a pair of alligator-skin Tony Lamas, and a big cowboy belt buckle.
“You don’t know how to run a ranch,” Dagmar said.
“Some of the ranchers I’ve met,” Austin said, “you get the idea it can’t be that hard.”
“I can’t picture you up there, I just can’t.”
“Well,” he said, looking at her, “it might be hard getting a good RPG together.”
She sighed. “I miss live gaming,” she said.
“So do I. We should do it sometime.”
She nodded.
“I’ll check with Charlie. Maybe we can commit some nights.”
“After the current ARG is over, okay? It’s absorbing all my energy.”
“If we wait for us all to have time off from work, it’ll be forever.”
Dagmar considered this. “That’s so true.”
“How long has it been since Charlie actually played anything? ”
Dagmar looked blank. “Not since I’ve been back in California.”
“I wonder if he’s played since he crashed Lost Empire.”
Dagmar stared. “Charlie was the one who crashed Lost Empire? ”
Austin was startled.
“You didn’t know it was him and BJ? ”
“No. They didn’t tell me.”
Lost Empire had been a classic fantasy MMORPG that had been brought down by its own rather primitive economic system. The game designers had kept the economy simple, figuring that players would be more interested in killing monsters and performing quests than in becoming entrepreneurs. Some smart trading had resulted in players’ gaining monopolies in basic commodities such as “grain,” “wood,” and “gems,” bringing down the whole system. The result had been a game reset and a lot of players having their money refunded.
Austin looked down at his blue-corn enchiladas. “It wasn’t exactly their greatest hour. Maybe they’re embarrassed.”
“I’m impressed, though. Lost Empire was a pretty good hack.”
Austin seemed dubious. “Don’t tell Charlie that I told you, okay? ”
“Sure.”
After buying lunch, Austin took her back to the Burger Angeleno parking lot to pick up her car. She followed him to Great Big Idea, where he had a meeting with Charlie.
Great Big Idea occupied part of an office tower of ocean-colored glass in the San Fernando Valley, sandwiched between a Chili’s and a Gap on a green bluff overlooking the Ventura Highway. The building was owned by Charlie, or by his company, or his foreign backers-Dagmar was a bit unclear about it. The rest of the building was occupied by AvN Soft, Charlie’s company, the name of which was usually pronounced “Avvensoft.”
Austin was in the atrium, talking on his phone, when Dagmar entered. The atrium rose all eight stories and neatly bisected the building, with offices off balconies to either side. The atrium was filled with greenery and comfortable furniture and had a small coffee shop. A lot of the employees preferred the less impersonal environment of the atrium to their offices, wireless connecting them to their jobs.
“I know we made the benchmarks,” Austin said. “And the next step is the release. So we’ve got to stick with the plan, all right?” There was a pause, and then Austin said, “I’m sure it’s a great idea. But save it for Release 2.0.” His heel tapped with impatience on the imported Finnish porphyry of the atrium floor. “Dude,” he said, “we’ve had this conversation.”
Dagmar waited for the dialogue to end so that she could thank Austin for lunch. Charlie arrived first, padding through the atrium in blue suede Adidas.
Like Austin, Charlie was a Type One Geek, tall and thin, with a balding head. He wore dark-rimmed spectacles, chinos, and a Versace sports shirt of the same pastel shade as Austin’s.
“No,” Austin said firmly. “You’re sticking with the strategic plan. Because if you don’t, I’m going to spank you hard. Got that? ”
Charlie listened with a grin on his face until the conversation was over.
“That wasn’t BJ, was it? ” he asked.
Then there was a moment of awkward silence as he and Austin recalled Dagmar’s relationship with BJ, and then Dagmar reached out to pat Austin’s arm.
“You can say what you like-I haven’t slept with BJ in ten years. Thanks for lunch. I’ve got a meeting of my own. Have a good time.”
She took the elevator to Great Big Idea, which was on the third floor. She had a meeting of her creative team-while she did most of the writing, other people handled Web design, graphic art, audio, video, and the more complex and technical sorts of puzzles for which the form was known. The meeting took place in a boardroom covered with charts and schedules drawn on whiteboard and glittering from plasma screens.
On the largest screen, Dagmar’s mantra glowed, one line following the next on infinite repeat:
Read the Schedule
Know the Schedule
Love the Schedule
The meeting was to make certain that everyone had taken the mantra to heart, and Dagmar was pleased to discover that for once, nothing had gone pear-shaped. Everyone was making the deadlines. The number of people who had joined the game was now more than eight hundred thousand and still climbing.