CHAPTER 8 [ Fat billie and His Jokes]

For whatever reason, my life up to that point had taught me to follow through immediately on the decisions I made. That had something to do with KVN, then the army, and certainly my experience in journalism. After all, putting something off meant giving yourself the opportunity to change your mind, let laziness creep in, or have someone else beat you to the punch. That's how we humans are: put something off once, and we'll think of a thousand reasons why we shouldn't do it at all.

And so I immediately decided to get started on both of my ideas. I put some hot dogs on to boil and headed to the attic to look for the box I kept all my old papers, phone numbers, notebooks, and diaries in.

"Where did it go?" I asked myself as I looked for Fat Billie's phone number. "I know I wrote it down in a notebook. Nadya Mamedova was there, we were drinking, and she laughed so hard at me for using a notebook when we have phones, tablets, and virtual diaries. I remember telling her, 'If the electricity ever goes out, and you lose all your gadgets, I'll still have Fat Billie's phone number.' She said, 'Why would you need his number when there isn't any electricity? and I said, 'I'll use the paper to light a fire.' Then, while we were chattering at each other, Billie up and walked out without saying a word. He couldn't care less, and I was drunk off my rocker. Ah-ha!"

I found Billie's number and prayed that:

1. Billie hadn't changed his number

2. Billie hadn't gotten rid of his phone altogether

3. Billie was in the real world

4. Billie hadn't found his way (we hadn't seen each other for two years... maybe three) into the loony bin (for excessive gaming) or an obesity clinic (fast food is fast food, after all)

5. Billie was still in the land of the living

So imagine how happy I was when his phone rang three times and was picked up. That same old voice drawled into the line, "Hello?"

"Billie!" I happily shouted into the phone. "You're in the real world! What happened?"

"Oh, Milford," Billie responded in his usual humdrum voice. (At school and even afterward, people called me Milford or just Kif.) "I'm at work, who's going to let me play here?"

"You got a job? But you're a nonconformist, fight the system, all of that. Passive, sure. But what happened? Did you switch sides?"

"I still fight the system, and it still fights me. I fight it online; it fights me in real life. I use programming, and it keeps me hungry, cold, and without tobacco. If you're hungry, you'd better go find a job. And hey, go easy on the 'passive' thing. It's a good word, but 'passive warrior'... sounds kind of insulting. Anyway, what's up? You must need something, it's been three years since we last saw each other."

"Have you played Elysium?" I cut to the chase.

"I play now. I mean, not right now, of course, but every night." He didn't say anything for ten seconds or so, then continued. "Why do you ask?"

"I'm writing an article about it, so I'm in your gamer universe now, too. I played for a day or so, got to Level 5, and someone killed me. Billie, I don't think there's anyone in the world that could show me the ropes better than you can."

It might have just been me, but I thought I heard Billie exhale in relief.

"Sure thing. Where are you now? I mean, in the game."

"In Brad. At the respawn point."

"Okay, so by the western gate. Go into the city, and you'll see a tavern called the Lonely Troll about three hundred metres on your left. It's cheap, not a bad place. And they have rooms you can go into to chat quietly. Let's meet at 7 tonight, Moscow time I'll come home from work, grab some food, and head there."

I agreed immediately.

"How many times have you respawned?" Billie asked.

"Once."

"That's it? Phew boy! In the beginning, I practically never left—I must have respawned a hundred times. Okay, see you tonight!"

Fat Billie hung up the phone. I did the same and jumped over to the cooktop, where my hot dogs were past ready. The game's the game, but I was hungry.

Sure, it's humiliating, I thought to myself, though half the people out there are running around in their underwear. Plus, at least it isn't the real world. I tried to make myself walk to the Lonely Troll. After all, it was just three hundred meters. But it wasn't just any old city where you might have twenty players milling around. This was Brad, the capital, and each meter there is like three in most of the places in Elysium. And then I had to deal with the tavern, where I was sure to be the butt of any number of jokes.

Still, I managed to walk through the gate to the city. Though when I did, the reaction I got was anything but the one I expected.

Hey bro, they got you, too?" asked a bearded archer walking by.

"I'd give you some pants, but I don't wear any," a mage standing by a bookshelf remarked sympathetically.

"Those damn idiots," muttered a gloomy dwarf.

"Open your exchange window."

I opened it and received 10 gold.

"Buy some pants. And a shirt. Can't be looking like that," said the dwarf, who hopped away quickly on his short legs without even waiting to hear me thank him.

"Wow," I said with surprise. "It looks like most people are sympathetic around here."

I had almost gotten to the pub when I heard a laugh that was barely human.

"Get your naked butt over here," yelled a hefty barbarian dressed in iron with an enormous battle hammer strapped to his back. "I'll sing you a lullaby!"

I mentioned that Fat Billie had a very odd sense of humor. Well, there it was.

"You got bigger," I told him when I got closer. "I imagine you have to be careful where you sit down."

"You have to be realistic," roared Billie. It would be weird if my 140 kilograms decided to play some skinny elf, no? Open your exchange window."

He sent me five pairs of pants, the same number of shirts and coats, a sword, a club, a mace, and a shield. All very cheap, without any upgrades.

"Here's a little handout for you. You'll be killed again, and this way you'll at least have something to wear when you respawn. Put one set on now, and leave the rest in a room."

"Where?" I asked.

"Did you even read the manual?" Billie blinked in puzzlement.

"Well, I read the guides about leveling-up and the history of the world."

"Wasn't that clever of you?" My friend even let out a slow whistle. "Okay, look. You can go into any hotel, and they'll give you a room. Not for free, of course, but you won't go broke. That's your personal space, so the only people who can go in are the ones you invite—and only when you're there, too. The things you leave there never go missing, and you're the only one who can go get them. Leave everything important and valuable there that you don't need to keep on you."

"Live and learn," I said in an ingratiating tone. K'1'2

With pants and everything else on, I felt much surer of myself.

"Billie, can I ask you some more questions?"

"Let's go find a room, and we'll get you your answers. Or not, depending on the questions."

We walked into one of the separate rooms in the pub.

"So what's your question?" Billie started off, at the same time ordering from a pretty waitress. "Meat and beer. A lot of meat, and five times more beer than meat"

"Not 'question,' questions. The first is what I need to do to get those PKers off my back.'

"Level past them, get some serious equipment and a weapon," Billie answered amiably.

"That'll take forever."

"Then buy a character that's already there."

"You can do that?"

"You can do anything you want in Elysium." There Billie stopped, quickly glancing at me. "A lot of people level-up characters to sell. It isn't exactly legal, but the admins generally look the other away. Still. they're not big fans of it."

"Do they really go after you for buying players?"

"No, they can't prove it, so they don't do anything. Well, as long as you don't make the sale in the game itself. I haven't heard of anyone being dumb enough to do that, though."

"How much does a character like that cost?" I was really intrigued to hear how much you could make providing that kind of service.

"It depends, Billie laughed. "Let's say you decide to sell yours—you wouldn't get a single kopeck. Who needs it? But if I decided to sell mine and threw in all the armor and everything in my room, I could buy an apartment. Maybe not in the center, maybe a one-room apartment on the first floor somewhere in Degunino,[5] but still—an apartment. And if one of the top players decided to sell their character…"

"An apartment for a chunk of code?" My surprise was genuine.

"What did you think?" Billie grinned ironically. "It's a business. A big one. The money pouring through here...damn. I mean, that's true for all the top games. In Korea, some guy sold an account for a game that's been around for a while. Sure, it was an ace account with all the sets collected, all the dungeons beaten, a personal dragon, all the quests, and everything, but still—walked away with 10 million."

"Dollars?"

"I don't remember what they have in Korea, but in dollars, it was 10 million." It was obvious that Billie envied the Korean.

"So what did he do?"

"You're asking me? Maybe he opened a car dealership. Maybe he makes coffee machines or paid off his debts. Maybe he hacks away at a mannequin with a wooden sword day and night. How should I know?"

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