The window slammed shut. My two friends grabbed the vials, hurrying to pack away the glittering carpet of snow.

I just stood there scratching my head and thinking of an appropriate answer.

* * *

An economic evaluation of the Happy Dreams private virtual prison model.

The first private for-profit correctional facilities were officially introduced in the USA in February 1983.

The Act of Congress 6133 approved April 203X makes provision for the digitization of long-term inmates.

Social advantages:

Complete elimination of violence, drug trafficking and escape attempts in digital mode following the procedure recommended by the Department of Corrections .

Psychological testing shows that digitizing increases the first-time offenders' chances of successful reintegration into society 19%. This figure is 5% for repeat offenders.

Financial advantages:

A six-fold increase in prison population density;

Guard staff decrease 75%;

Payback period of 11 months;

Expected profit: $9000 per convict per year, depending on the virtual world, the more popular and populated ones being the most desirable in regard to their farming and crafting potential.

Chapter Sixteen

I congratulated the two on their priestly status. Then I lectured Cryl on the importance of the Voluntary Death skill and meted out their responsibilities for the next few hours. I gave them access to the auto buy, entrusting them with the pen-pushing task of sifting through the messages and answering them using a few templates I'd jotted down. All the really important stuff they had to forward to my PM box. I scheduled the dedication ritual for one p.m. the next day. With one final umpteenth yawn, I motioned them out of the room.

They couldn't have been more understanding. Chirruping like sparrows, they made themselves scarce. Funny how the dissociation of visual and behavioral patterns can affect brain functions. On the outside, Lena was the epitome of an Elfa, sophisticated and sensual: the AI-perfected idea of male doom. But that was visually. My brain was boiling over her childish hopscotch gait, her open-mouth curiosity and bright-eyed enthusiasm. So while my mind was screaming, she's only a child! it was unable to stop the drool from running down my virtual chin. I just hoped that Cryl understood it, too, and was able to postpone any heavy-duty courtship for another couple years.

It looked like the day, however crazy it had been, was finally over. I had to admit I'd already started to regret getting caught in the stream of events that had taken me to the top of AlterWorld's political life. How much nicer would it have been to sit by the Gnoll Hill smoking the gentle monsters. It had to be the proverbial fear of responsibility speaking for me, the unwillingness to step out of my comfort zone.

Thus sympathetic with myself, I headed for bed. Time to catch a few Zs. Time to dream of a beautifully fat female pig... oops, that was my inner buddy raising his own sleepy head. Would be funny if he developed into a separate being, then materialized- oh, no, giving him a name probably wouldn't be such a good idea. It was probably better to only mention him allegorically, the way cavemen did when they spoke of the world around them. We still have no idea how they called their totemic animals—the bear, for instance. All we know is that they tried to disguise his true nature somehow, for fear of the animal hearing his name and answering the call. Their superstitions fit our reality so well they must have known something important. My little piglet would have made a fine majordomo! Having said that, I needed his services too much to part with him. Nightie night, Piglet!

The next morning was late. After a big breakfast, I began sorting out our financial situation. I checked the auctions and discovered over eight hundred potential followers willing to part with a grand to get dedicated by the hand of Macaria. Holy moly, this priesting job seemed to be more lucrative than even the tobacco business. Then again, the tobacco thing had a future while this was definitely a one-off, a quick gig on the side akin to stealing the collection box.

The customers kept paying, their money clinking into the auto buy account where it sat, frozen, until the deal was consummated. Either the Admins were playing safe or they just jumped at the chance to make money out of thin air. If you thought about it, there had to be about a billion in frozen assets on various accounts at any given time. The accounts and their owners changed but the sum, on average, remained the same. So nothing really prevented the Admins from depositing it at 3% annual interest, that's thirty million a year. Nice and polite, the way these things are done in a democratic society: "Sir, would you be so kind as to face the wall, hands behind your back, please, feet wide apart. Please allow me to fit you with a pair of handcuffs, for your own protection, Sir, thank you very much for your cooperation." Bastards.

The Inferno portal auction was especially gratifying. Over a hundred grand there, plus lots of questions from raid and clan leaders. Interestingly, it wasn't necessarily the same person. Managing a clan and taking it on raids were two entirely different skills. I could understand their impatience: I still remembered the news feed mentioning a raid to another plane where the total value of auctioned loot amounted to millions. It definitely made sense for top clans to be involved. And as for all those Chinese and Korean entrepreneurs, it was a gold mine. Their labor camps had switched from making T-shirts and license plates to farming virtual items long ago, their sweatshops thriving all over AlterWorld.

I decided to create a scroll with the Portal Spell written on it, then hand it to the auction winner. This way it secured his and my anonymity plus gave me some time advantage. Time was what we needed right now, its absence grabbing my throat, dictating me its will, controlling my actions. Do you really think I'd have sold the Vets the coordinates of my Gigantic Fly-Traps field for next to nothing had I had one year of quiet life in front of me? Never.

My only two clan members had already woken up—if they'd even gone to bed at all. The auto buy's unread messages counter kept clicking, growing and decreasing as the kids worked their way through them. I rummaged through the PM box and discovered a report from the security agency complete with their standing order receipts. Their fees paled into total insignificance next to the auction purchases and impending earnings. The thought that I spent less on my mother's security than I did on the Temple's guards of honor made me physically sick. Under my inner greedy pig's unexpectedly approving stare, I sent a request to treble the security, adding to it a hired help I'd found through some recruiting agency. It was about time Mom quit busting her hump doing her own cleaning, cooking and shopping. She needed to get some rest. She also needed to get a medical checkup and maybe go to some health spa or other. Knowing her, I knew she wouldn't do it, but then again, I still hoped I could talk her into going perma mode sometime soon. It wasn't as if AlterWorld needed many primary school teachers, but then again, why not?

Thinking about the health checkup made me remember my own miserable frame, apparently still comatose in the capsule's snug interior. According to the bodyguard's report, Mom returned to her old flat twice a day to perform some life support procedures such as replacing the glucose IV drip, changing my diaper, wiping my body with a damp sponge, all the while talking to my motionless body which was apparently on its very last legs approaching the red line foretold by the doctors.