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A teleport popped open letting out a Vet mage.

He looked over the crowd. "I'm not going to bother with a temporary portal. Too much hassle for what it costs. I think I'll use group teleports. It'll take us three trips to 'port all of you. Come on now, join in the first group."

He sent out the first five invitations, including Taali and myself. Then he cast the teleport spell.

Warning! Portal spell activated. Destination point: Sunrise Zone, East Castle. Press Confirm to teleport. 10... 9... 8...

I confirmed. The next moment we found ourselves in a small hall, its walls lined with numerous gun ports. The rough stonework, dented and molten in many places, bore the signs of constant repairs.

We were greeted by a sergeant on duty in full armor, his weapons glinting, his glare professionally stern. He checked his guest list and waved to someone, causing a heavily wrought portcullis to inch up. Below it lay the castle rooms.

Smiling, the sergeant apologized for the delay. "Welcome to East Castle. You are now in the Portal Hall. It's the only place where you can set up a bind point. But I shouldn't do it if I were you, not without clearing it with internal security first."

Very well. We walked through a short passageway and under an arch which opened into an inner court. There, a girl about twelve years old curtsied, handing us each five little ribboned medals.

"These are 'likes'," she answered our silent question. "If you see something or someone you really like, you can give them one. The persons who have the most at the end will win one of our prizes."

Her smile and her childish spontaneity pared to the quick. Without thinking, I hung a medal around her neck. Laughing, Taali did the same.

Before we could step aside, we heard Eric's deep voice nearby. "Hello, O Dark One! And his lady! Where have I been all this time that I missed this gorgeous girl? At least I deserve a kiss, I suppose."

Grinning at his own joke, he pretended he wanted to hug her. Taali laughed, fighting off his advances.

I took on the role of a jealous admirer, "Get lost or I'll turn you into a toad!" The girl fled his arms and hid behind my back, laughing.

A child's laughter echoed under the arch. We turned around simultaneously.

"Amazing, isn't it?" Eric whispered. "A child in this virtual world. A real child, I mean. A perma."

That was it. That's what I couldn't quite place here.
 
AlterWorld was virtually devoid of children. Sure enough, this wasn't a good place for little 'uns. Besides, you just couldn't separate preteen girls from their bodylicious avatars or cute anime-style pics. Boys did the same, too. Why would they choose a spotty wuss as their new embodiment? Actually, this was how you could tell a teen player: by his overstuffed beefcake body.

"No? How old is she?"

"Twelve. But she was one of the first to go perma two years ago. Her dad was a colleague of ours, a special-ops guy, a good one, too, always out on missions, mainly in some hot equatorial places. Left the girl with her mother which apparently wasn't a good thing. She was a real piece of work, her mother, spent all her time in beauty salons, never had time for her little girl. When her dad learned that she'd been perma-stuck, he spent three days making withdrawals, cashing in and selling up. Then he went after her. He's one of those who founded our clan, by the way. He has the rank of Captain now.

"But the girl? Don't you understand she'll always stay a child?"

Eric stole a look around to make sure no one was listening. Then he leaned close as if to share a secret... and yelled triumphantly, "In your dreams!"

We backed up. Eric guffawed, pleased with the effect, then lowered his voice and added seriously, "She
 
is
 
growing, believe it or not. She's half a head taller now than she was a year ago. We just don't know what to think."

I fell speechless. That was too much. I had to sit down and try to digest the news.

"Our analysts claim it depends on one's mindset. If you think young and move about a lot, your body may begin to rejuvenate. If you feel tired and depressed, your skin will sag and you may start growing gray hair and wrinkles."

I shook my head. "It's crazy."

"But it's true," Eric said. "Take our Mr. Simonov. He's lost forty pounds—also in a year."

We walked in silence for a while, trying to absorb the news, finally arriving at some stalls and rows of restaurant tables. A large banner flapped in the wind. It read:

Cooking Contest! Likes are welcome!

Eric rubbed his hands in anticipation. "This is my favorite stall. I didn't eat anything last night to save some extra space. Come on, quickly!"

We dived deep into the cloud of mouth-watering smells. Eric dropped his cape onto a table, picked up a large tray and bored into the crowd. I looked at Taali. Together we walked toward the first stall.

Holy cow. Talking about localization. The Russian salad. My favorite, generously spooned into large bowls brimming with mayo and diced chicken, just the way I liked it. Noticing my eager eyes, Taali held me an empty tray.

I smiled to the woman behind the stall. "Can I have some Russian salad, please?" I pointed at the bowl. "Actually, make it as much as you can."

She laughed good-heartedly, then pulled out the biggest bowl she had and filled it to the brim with the long-forgotten treat.

"I'm temporarily AFK," I dropped over my shoulder to Taali. Grasping the bowl, I hurried back to our table and tucked in.

That was too good. When Taali finally came, she had a trayful of yet more salad and two glasses of a bright yellow sparkling drink.

The girl looked upset. "She won't tell me the recipe," she moped as she held out one of the glasses of what tasted like Fanta.

"Why should she?" Eric reappeared. "They say it's a contest, but here everyone is trying to come up with something they can make money with. Didn't you hear about that guy who sent AI a request to generate a potato-based crispy savory snack? He even added a file containing its smell and taste—pulled it out of our database. You can get everything online these days—from the smell of donkey dung to the taste of monkey puzzle tree shavings."

"And?" I managed through the salad.

"That was it. AI gave him a complete formula. The guy took some sneezewort shoots and a few leaves of kangaroo paws, plus a few other odds and sods. Chopped them up, sprinkled something on top and deep fried the whole lot. Got potato chips as we know them. The guy invested everything he had in it. He paid the generation fees and secured the rights to the unique recipe—which probably cost him ten times more. But he wanted to have the monopoly. To play it safe, he also patented his recipe as +10% to maximum taste. A food and drinks monopoly isn't cheap. But the product had a truly universal appeal, an ideal mass market. Virtually every inn and restaurant had to buy his recipe. Now you can crunch on your favorite flavor as you play, and the guy has retired on the income to his Alpine chalet. See how it works?"

I nodded. "Wow. Wonder if I could do something like that?"

Eric lovingly eyed his fat slice of rye bread topped with yellow butter and generously sprinkled with rough salt. He bit into it with relish. "You're not the only one. If the truth were known, there's just too much money around. Have you heard about the profession of digital interior designer? It's currently one of the hottest jobs in the real world. Have you any idea how long it takes to create interiors for a fifty-bedroom castle? It's more than a year's work. I suggest you check out the digital furniture auction. You might lose all interest in farming and wish you could become a virtual cabinet maker, turning designer chairs for the get-rich-quick crowd."

I couldn't believe my ears. I'd never looked at gaming that way. Actually, I should stop calling it gaming. This wasn't a game
 
anymore. This was the world I shared with dozens, if not hundreds of thousands of other perma players. And that was today—but how many of us would be there tomorrow? Also, this world was young, too young, its biggest goldmines still untouched—undiscovered, even. Speaking about which, I seemed to have the makings of an idea...

In the meantime, Eric was devouring whatever was piled up on his tray: a plateful of Siberian dumplings followed by a dish of blinis and caviar, then a shot of vodka chased down with some pickles.

I couldn't help it. I handed the woman cook a like and was rewarded with another bowlful of the salad which I necked under Taali's amused stare.

Taali had preserved her own
 
likes and even acquired some more. Some sleazy type—an Elf, by the looks of him—hung a medal around her neck and bowed, muttering something about her ethereal beauty. I sensed the hair rise on the nape of my neck as I eyed her wussy admirer. The realization took me unawares. Was I really jealous? Sensing the change in atmosphere, Taali grasped my shoulder, coldly thanked the Elf and pulled me away from the scene.

Eric was waiting, ready to tow us to the next venue: a pet beauty contest. Everyone could enroll their mounts and familiars or whatever else they had managed to summon.

"Watch my LAV," Eric pointed a proud finger at his bear, all kitted out in camo and armor. Then he noticed three likes hanging off the beast's ear. "I can't believe it. We're popular!"

Taali and I looked at
 
each other and gave the bear a like each. Eric was ecstatic.

"Come on now, won't you summon yours? Your bear and mine are made for each other. You never know, they might even make us some baby LAVs," he chuckled.

"Does that mean yours is female?" I teased him. "Because Hummungus is a hundred percent male. No, I don't think they're in the same league. LAV is just too gorgeous. So you two are welcome to your fifteen minutes of fame."

Pleased with the praise, Eric didn't insist. I stepped aside and quickly sorted through my Soul Stones. You wanted a pet?
 
You'd get to see one, now.

A maggot would be out of place here. What about a demon? Might do. A Hell Hound? Could work, especially if I put it next to all those lapdogs. Ah. The Succubus. A demoness in scanty clothing, curvaceous and horny—literally. The stone was level 53, a bit of a shame to waste it. But if the truth were known, I had too many of them. I clenched the stone and cast the summoning spell.

The earth parted. Infernal flames glowed in the void. The smell of sulfur hung in the air. The crowd shrank. Well, death flatters no one. She must have been quite a looker when still alive. Even now her darkened skin and black lips afforded her a certain charm. To top it all, she was level 56, no less.
 
Wish I could have this kind of luck in raids.             

Eric clapped his hands with enthusiasm. "Awesome! We have virtually no Necs here in the Branch of Light. A couple of newb masochists, that's it. Let the guys get an eyeful of a real demoness. I don't think many have seen them before. Over fifty percent of the Castle's population are civilians. Fighters' relatives, crafters, bankers, analysts and other embroiderers of the truth."

Indeed, we seemed to be gathering quite a crowd. Next to all the cute and cuddly gryphons and unicorns my infernal creature looked a sight. Attracted by the turmoil, a squad of guards elbowed their way toward us. Assuring that order was maintained, they saluted and disappeared for duty elsewhere.

"Eric? What's next on the agenda?"

He paused, thinking. "The guided tour around the castle, but I'd better take you on one myself now. That way you'll see more without all the hustle."

Of course I knew they were out to impress us. So I was quite prepared for some quality showing off on their part, especially as it comes naturally to military types. That's their forte and always has been. And still they managed to surprise me. Amaze me, even.

The Arsenal was jam packed with weapons. No idea who they were meant for, as every player had their own unique kit anyway. To my blatant question, Eric mumbled something about cluster wars, total mobilizations and squirreling some away for a rainy day. Ordnance was stacked up along the walls: hundreds of bunches of arrows, darts and crossbow bolts. In the alchemy stores, thousands of vials lined hundreds of long shelves, arranged by their type and level, making me feel utterly inadequate.

Trumpets blared outside. Eric perked up. "They're signaling the guest tournament. Are you in?"

That sounded interesting. An extra fighting practice never hurt. And this was a tournament with all that crowd watching you, your date among them... I found it both flattering and motivating. I wasn't worried about making a complete fool of myself: my character was strong and original enough and my gear was good.

"What are the rules? Prizes?"

"What do you think?" Eric looked offended. "This is all official. We've got AI's confirmation and paid all the dues. The victory brings you real fame points. Only the guests can participate. The clan warriors will have their star turn at the end, out of the competition. There're four groups: one for levels 10 to 33, another up to 66, the third group is for those up to 100 and the last group for those above. You're 52 now, aren't you? Not high enough, I'm afraid. We've way too many guests this time, probably four hundred in total, and I'm sure quite a few are at the top of your group. Still, there's no harm in trying. The fights take place in the arena. They don't affect your PK counter so it's all good healthy fun, really. There'll be betting there so you can back yourself if you wish to."

I looked at Taali. Eric noticed our exchange and hurried to add fuel to the fire. "On top of the main prize of five hundred gold, the winner will have the right to choose the Tournament Queen. Her portrait will be hung in the hall of fame until next year. Actually, there will be four winners and four respective Queens, one in each group, but I still think it's cool."