We'd planned her to act in five to seven days. Fingers crossed. I knocked the bedpost. Good luck, old girl.
The clock showed past midday. Enough spending! Time to make some dosh. I contacted the auction controller, confirming our meeting in a café on the town square. I'd made the reservation well in advance to provide for any eventualities. It was a good thing I'd done so, too: the central square of the Original City was bustling with eleven hundred and forty would-be disciples awaiting dedication matched by about the same amount of bystanders. Ten auction representatives were already working hard for their 3%, keeping order and separating the onlookers from the customers.
Next to the auction controller sat a sturdy man in an unknown uniform, his clan tag in full view: Virtual Police. All right... The use of this word combination was prohibited when naming any clans or characters. So this had to be a true to life virtual pig, the real living and breathing thing, if you can say so about a cartoon avatar. Actually, the likes of him weren't regular characters—they used special accounts that gave them rights similar to the Admins', allowing them access to databases, internal control consoles and lots of other important things. A law passed seven years earlier obliged every virtual world developer to create this kind of puppet for Federal needs.
The auction controller rose, offering his hand. "My name is Chris. I'd like you to meet Officer McDougall, Chief Inspector of the Virtual Police Control Department."
The cop wasn't particularly courteous. Glancing in my direction, he gave me an excuse for a nod.
The controller explained guiltily, "The law demands the Virtual Police monitor all deals between players that exceed one million dollars. The balance of your yet unsecured account exceeded that limit an hour and a half ago."
Yeah, so the Feds thought it gave them the right. "You'd make much better use of your time if you tried to monitor all instances of forceful imprisonment," I scowled back at the cop. "Any idea how many people are stuck in cells and cages? How many are bound to torture posts?"
He didn't deign to answer, just squinted at me and spat on the paving stones. The agent gritted his teeth and commented,
"The digitized individuals still don't have any legal status. You are either a game character belonging to a legally incompetent comatose individual or a piece of uncontrollable binary code."
Now it was my turn to squint. I took a step toward the cop and waved my hand in front of his face. "Hey, fancy communicating with a sequence of zeros?"
Unperceivably, he grabbed my hand and squeezed it in his iron grip. My life bar blinked, reporting damage sustained.
"I suggest you don't move if you don't want to spend the next week in a FIVR Police Department cell for assaulting a police officer in the course of his duty. Understood?"
I yanked my hand, indignant, but he didn't budge. "Understood?"
What was that now? Even here these Federal bastards could get at you. Well, they could try! The long arm of the law wasn't long enough to haul me out of the First Temple.
"Not, it's not understood!" I yelled. "Your department won't stand for much longer if you keep people in cages on such petty charges!"
The officer grinned, reaching for a pair of handcuffs gleaming purple. "Threatening, well. Article 119 of the Anti-Terrorist Act doesn't require an arrest warrant and allows to keep a suspect in custody for up to three years, including third-degree questioning and the use of special interrogation techniques."
"Officer," the agent butted in, "I'm afraid I'll be forced to file a complaint about an unprovoked arrest on personal grounds."
The cop looked at him. His glare glinted with promise. "And you're his associate, I presume?"
The agent wasn't easily frightened. Meeting the cop's stare, he said, "I've videotaped our exchange. I'm authorized to do that. Based on the video, our legal office AI predicts 96% probability of the arrest being ruled as illegal."
The cop grinned. "Well, if it makes you feel better in the cell. You really think we can't stand up for our own? So you'll have plenty of time to repent while waiting for the case to go to court. You might even hang yourself with guilt. These things happen, you know."
"Is this an official statement?" the agent snapped, his gaze vacant.
The cop paused theatrically. He cringed and shoved me aside. "Very well, you may live... until the next time."
Rubbing my arm, I walked over to the agent in awe. This was the kind of man you could go to war with. What was his name again? Yes, Chris. I needed to get his office's address. One of the first things a man of means has to obtain is his lawyer's business card. It helps solve a lot of petty everyday problems, everything from falling victim to bumper crime to successfully discouraging police sharks.
"Thanks," I said.
He shrugged it off with a smile. "My pleasure. That's racism. Some hate Africans, others can't stand Jews. And this is a new trend, disliking perma players. They say the permas cause the economy to collapse by embezzling loans and siphoning off funds into the virtual world. They apparently become contract killers because they can get away with it. It's easy to blame those who have no right of voice. It's like with self-defense: you really shouldn't leave any enemy alive. Funnily enough, that gives you a better chance to avoid a prison sentence. So that's what turns virtual cops into digiphobes. Your unclear legal status drives them up the wall."
"I'm recording it, too," the cop said icily.
Chris smirked and nodded: like, he was welcome. Paper can't blush. "There is a 99.8% probability that my words can't be qualified as insulting a Virtual Police officer."
The cop growled. The agent grinned: he must have enjoyed annoying him.
I lowered my voice. "You don't seem to like them, do you?"
"Well, you know. We were two brothers. One was a lawyer—that's me, actually. The other was a typical underage bonehead. The lawyer once took on a case you may have heard of, David Cuffman Vs. New York Precinct #47. He was defending someone. First he received a couple of subtle warnings followed by an open-text threat. The lawyer was too young and too ambitious to see reason. Then his brother was arrested with nine grams of coke in his pocket. What a coincidence, don't you think?" he raised his voice turning to the cop who ignored him pretending he was monitoring the crowd.
"I had to give the case up," the agent went on. "I did manage to get parole for my little brother but I wouldn't have been able to save his backside from prison, that's a fact."
He fell silent, reminiscing.
"And then what?" I reminded him. His story seemed to be getting quite educational.
He smiled. "He couldn't attend the hearing. His body had apparently been hospitalized in a comatose state. One of those family dramas," he gave me a wink.
Curiouser and curiouser. I pointed a meaningful finger at the crowd and rounded my eyes in silent question. Chris grinned and nodded, pleased with himself. He was too much! I gave him the thumbs up, causing him to frown in puzzlement. Yeah, right, he wasn't Russian, was he? He probably didn't know this sign. I made a circle with my thumb and forefinger, gesturing an OK. Now he understood it!
The cop stirred unhappily. "It's time."
Yes, of course it was time to start. The chat was boiling over with impatient customers. It wasn't a good idea to cross them: these were short-tempered people quick to pigeonhole you. I highlighted the clan chat. "Let's start!"
Cryl and Lena had all this time been mixing with the onlookers. Now they chose the first random pair of customers, checked their list and activated the dedication spell. The first flashes of light caused the crowd to shrink back, but then the freshly-baked disciples screamed with joy, attracting everyone's attention. The crowd surged forward, trying to get a glimpse of them and shower them with questions. The screams of joy promptly turned to half-smothered squeaks. A new dose of holy light saved my nearly squashed converts as the crowd abated, drawn to newer attractions.