Massively Multiplayer by P. Aaron Potter Read Free Book Online

application had brushed his hand and he had spent half an hour convincing a music broker that he had no intention of buying any of their wares. In a man-made universe, unpredictability could be an overrated commodity.
     
    To his immediate right was a bubble containing what looked like a tiny library, such as one might find in a very old house, a collage of crumbling books and hooded brass lamps. He reached out his hand, almost languorous in the silver half-light, just brushing his fingertips across its surface, and downloaded his mail. Notes from a friend at college, now working on a mining ship near Alaska. A letter from a high-school friend who had moved with his family to one of the desert colonies, manifesting as a tiny human image floating before his eyes. And, finally, a voice-only note from Gregor, confirming their appointment at 6:00, Pacific time. There were no advertisements today: his filtering software was doing its job better than he'd expected it would.
     
    He had to search around a bit before he found what he was looking for: another problem with this interface. Finally, behind a cluster of documents (appearing in this interface as a floating patch of foam) he found it: a black bubble containing an iron cauldron, boiling over with a glowing red vapor. Again, he reached out his hand and was drawn into a new program.
     
    Welcome to Crucible v3.8. Druin the Thief. Circle: 6. Wealth: 1,455.
    Andrew stared briefly at the glowing words floating in the air before him. Where had he gotten so much gold again? Ah yes, the silver armguards looted from the troll slavers' stronghold. He would have to see if he could pawn them before Gregor -- no, not Gregor, but Wisefellow -- showed up. He absentmindedly checked his watch, and shook his head in annoyance at its absence. Of course there was no watch to see. Instead, his wrists were encased in pliable leather half-gauntlets which left his fingers free -- not unlike the data gloves he knew he was actually wearing on the virtualounge back home, where he was really lying on his back, not upright in a cheap tavern room, as it appeared that he was, and of course he wasn't actually holding this bag of looted spoils, it was merely information being fed into the receptors on his data gloves and...
    He closed his eyes and took a few calming breaths, repeating a relaxation mantra his college computer instructor had taught him. More immersive environments always carried the extra hazards of disorientation. It was important to get it under control, to go with the illusions created by the program, or risk nausea, vertigo, disassociation, eventually even computer induced schizophrenia.
    Sometimes visual cueing helped. He fumbled his way to the mirror which overlooked the small table. It reflected the plain room, unadorned wooden furnishings, the door leading out to the rest of the Grinning Pumpkin Inn, and a young man. Short dark hair, blue eyes -- the face was his own.
    But the outfit was hardly the worn sweat-suit he knew he was actually wearing, back in RL. A midnight blue leather vest rode stiffly over a charcoal-gray shirt and pants. At his hips, two long sheaths displayed a pair of broad-bladed knives. His darts peaked out of specially sewn pockets in the vest. The tips of four throwing knives peeked out of his boot-tops, and a flat leather pouch depending from his belt held vials of at least three different poisons. All in all, it was the portrait of a dangerous individual.
    Druin turned from the mirror and made his way to the door which led down to the Grinning Pumpkin's main hall. He had places to go and people to see before Wisefellow arrived. Maybe he could find a buyer for the armguards.
    The main hall held two surprises. In the first place, it was crowded, unusually so for so early in the day. Perhaps the presence of a minstrel in the corner by the fire explained some of the crowd. People were always attracted to an entertainer's presence, although Druin personally thought