“Not much,” Dakkon said. “Probably.”
Ramses shook his head in a cocktail of exasperation and bewilderment. “You’re kidding! Set up a damned stall! Tell you what,” he said. “If you want a business partner, I’m sure I can find some folks to build you a stand—and someone else to sit there and sell it for a cut of the profit. How much ice can you make by morning?”
“I think it would be better if we didn’t spread the word so soon,” interjected Finnegan. “People will find out about this eventually since we’ll continue hunting, but if the profitability of hunting krimmer quintuples overnight then we may find ourselves with a shortage of boars to hunt. Plus, more hunters turning in higher quality materials may end up leading to a decreased demand for the ingredients, and that would mean lower profits.”
Damak also chimed in on the matter, “The people who buy krimmer meat and glands are the hoity-toity sort. If krimmer becomes easy to come by, I bet they’d abandon it altogether in favor of something more exclusive.”
“Good point,” said Finnegan, nodding to show he was of the same opinion.
“How about we just keep our lips sealed for now,” agreed Dakkon. “While we can grind these boars for reasonable experience, I think we should keep at it.” Ramses huffed a bit at the general group-refusal of his proposition, but it appeared that he could appreciate the others’ concerns.
Zelle, who looked as though she had been waiting for the right moment to say something and failed, took this time to interject herself, saying she wouldn’t be sticking around.
“I simply want to level up my shaman skills,” Zelle said. “The way we currently hunt isn’t doing much for me on that front, I’m afraid.”
“I’m a little over-leveled for the area, truth be told,” said Hebbeson, “so I’m going to head out as well. Feel free to look me up in the future.”
Dakkon thanked the two for showing him the ropes, and after a quick round of farewells, the pair was off—leaving Dakkon, Ramses the rogue, Finnegan the bard, and Damak the warrior.
“I’m pretty sure the four of us can handle this,” said Dakkon.
“Yeah,” agreed Damak in his gruff voice. “I have no doubt we can, but these stalls will be closed soon after dark, and since soldiers like myself have to report for morning training, a little rest is a must.”
“Well then, we may need to put this on hold for a few days,” said Dakkon. “Monday is here already, and I really ought to eat and shower before I head to work.”
The others understood all too well. An eight-hour shift pulled players out of the game for a little over two and a half in-game days, but jobs were a necessity and seemed to grow increasingly more difficult to find each day.
“So, what?” said Ramses. “You can’t expect us to just sit on this information without putting it to use for three days.”
“I think he can,” said Damak. “The krimmer don’t seem to be going anywhere.”
“It’s a rather lively town,” said Finnegan. “I’m sure we can find something else to do in the meantime.”
“Hunt or wait, tell people about the ice, or don’t,” said Dakkon as he verified the time. “It’s just about 23:00 right now. I’ll return in a little over three days. If you want, I can make some ice for you when I’m back and even have a friend who might be interested in manning a stall, but I, personally, have no intention of stirring up any more trouble by doing something so asinine as trying to sell people ice. I’ll contact the three of you when I’m back on and we can head out to hunt then, but right now, I’ve got to get moving.”
Dakkon ignored their responses and quickly registered them as friends. He added Zelle, Hebbeson, and Benton for good measure since he had recently grouped with them, and composed a quick message to Letis who, he assumed, may very well log back in before he had a chance to. The message read:
|To: Letis
| I’m at work, but when I log back in I’ll be in the south end of Tian. There might be some money in setting up a stall near there. If you’re interested, try to bring some large troughs filled with water. I’ll explain what’s going on in better detail later, but need to run. -D
Dakkon waved to the others and thought to himself, “Now, what was that quick logout phrase? Logout now!”
|You may logout immediately by invoking the command ‘Logout Immediately’.
|Logging out immediately will leave your character vulnerable to attack for five minutes.
|Exiting in this manner will be a less pleasant experience.
“Logout immediately!” thought Dakkon.
Dakkon did not experience the sensation of bits of the world being yanked away from him bit by bit as he had before. Instead, this time it felt like he was being yanked. The sensation was intense and sudden, as though he had slammed the accelerator to the floor in a high-performance dragster. The world began to spin.
Corbin felt like he was choking on the scent of ammonia. He was spinning, dizzy, disoriented, and he was almost certain he was going to pee himself despite barely drinking any water before he logged in. He’d never spent so long in the capsule, and his decision to drink less before entering the pod left him dehydrated. The confusion of sensations might have overwhelmed him in other circumstances, but underneath it all he had a driving goal keeping him on track: he had to get to work as soon as he could manage.
Corbin pulled himself from the upright, stopped pod and smelled himself—an experience which he found to be undesirable. As he ran to his bathing chamber to relieve himself and freshen up, he called out, “Pixie! Have a cab pick me up in five minutes!”
“You’ve got it, boss,” said the artificially intelligent assistant. Though often playful or even a bit snarky, assistant programs such as Corbin’s pixie tended not to act anything short of efficient when they detect urgency or anger in their owner’s voice.
After one of the quickest showers of his life, Corbin threw on his clothing, grabbed an individually wrapped jerky stick, and ran out the front door of his apartment, still soaking. Corbin’s cab had been waiting on him for a minute, but there was no impatient driver to express a hint of displeasure. What awaited him was an unblemished, black and red, gleaming and beautiful duplicate of a year 2000-something model supercar. Corbin was in a rush and wouldn’t be heading very far, so it didn’t matter to him much today, but almost everyone preferred the more modern, dome-shaped vehicles since they provided more room and tended to have nicer seats, better interior stabilization, excellent noise cancellation, and robust internet connections. Some of the earlier self-driving cabs, such as the one before him, had attempted to catch the eyes and ears of their customers, but modern cabs focus on the market-tested perks that would best satisfy the average commuter.
Corbin climbed into what would have once been the driver’s seat, still dripping a bit from his shower. As soon as he was inside and closed the door, a voice rang out.
“Where ya headed, stud?” asked a suggestive, husky, and disembodied female voice.
Corbin sighed and gave the address to his place of work. There was no use in telling an autocab to speed up in the event of a perceived emergency. They went as fast as they could unless directed to cruise at a leisurely pace.
The already-running car played the sound of an engine starting up and revving, then the female voice said, “Hang on tight.”
Corbin’s thoughts raced as he recalled the events of his three-day weekend while he sped off towards work. Despite his newest hobby’s incredible ability to turn one hour into eight, he was confident this was going to be the longest shift he would ever work.