this room has only ever seen the light of the pickle

[cross-posted from my blog]


"Empty your pockets please. Cellphone, matches, PDA, camera, keys, everything."

I tried to convey my skepticism with a raised eyebrow. This was clearly some sort of a scam, or at the very least a prank, but the old man steadfastly refused to recognize my appeal. He simply held out a gray plastic basket for my things. After a few seconds of silence I started to get uncomfortable, so with an inward sigh I started going through my pockets. Camera, cellphone, wallet, keyring, coins.

"Do you need my belt buckle too?"

"No, I trust you. But we have to do this, you know."

I did not. He slid the basket into a cubbyhole in the wall next to the vault-like door. Then he patted himself down, and put his cell-phone in another basket, in another cubbyhole. He picked a strange device off of a hook on the other side of the door. It had a bulky handle like a flashlight, but instead of a bulb and lens it had this funny hook and clamp, with a screw at the top. An unpleasant looking device, but this time I fought down the eyebrow. It wasn't going to get me anywhere, anyway. One thing I had picked up for certain in my visit to the castle at the end of Mount Shadow Manor Lane*, and that was that the people here didn't much care what you thought of their ways. They were blissfully indifferent to both your cynicism and your common sense.

He levered open the lid of a large mason jar that stood to the left of the door. It opened with a slow, wet, "thwup." It was dark down here, and we had come down fifty steps on a spiral staircase to reach this level. (I had counted the steps. I had also noticed that the staircase wound clockwise as we were headed down, so that we were always turning right.) The mason jar was crusted over on the inside with salt, but I was unsurprised when he picked up a pair of tongs and pulled out a large pickle. That was, after all, why we were here.

The old man shook the pickle off, and then inserted one end of it into the device he held. He used the screw on the hook to press down and hold the pickle firmly in place, pierced at each end. It was a very fast motion, and the pickle-torch was ready to go in a matter of seconds. He flipped a switch on the handle and the pickle glowed with a faint greenish yellow light**. He nodded and handed it me carefully, so that it didn't drip on my sleeve.

He briskly pulled a second torch from the wall and inserted a second pickle, then he closed the mason jar. Now that we each held a pickle torch, he started to turn the large wheel on the steel door that I had been staring at since we had arrived at the bottom of the stairs.

"Point of interest. This next room is a working airlock that we salvaged from a decommissioned missile silo in Kansas, and installed here. One door cannot open while the other is open. The doors are airtight, and so of course they block all light as well. There are no windows or lights inside the airlock, other than these." The door creaked open with a nearly imperceptible hiss of equalizing air pressure, and swung open. It was indeed dark inside.

The airlock was a small metal room. We stepped inside, and my guide closed the door behind us. As the light from outside was sealed off we were bathed in the dim green glow of our pickle torches. If I had been a claustrophobic person, this would have been the time. He turned the inner wheel on the door until there was a click, and then he moved across the room to the other door to start opening it.

"We installed the airlock and the electrical circuit facing a bear rock wall. Since the installation of the airlock, only this form of illumination has been permitted inside. So the entire chamber you are about to see was excavated under this light, and has never been exposed to any other illumination."

"Never." I didn't even bother with the question mark at the end of that one.

"Never."

What do you keep in a room that has only ever seen the electric light of the pickle? You keep an immense golden chandelier, with three tiers of gloriously glowing pickled cucumbers, obviously. You keep a small crop of sickly-looking genetically modified low-light cucumbers, apparently. You keep a family of mice in a large cage. They haven't seen the sun for six generations, but they seem very happy otherwise. There's a tank of seamonkeys next to them. You keep a giant glass tank of brine, too, and you keep a book with drawings and plans. Construction isn't complete here. There's an unfinished mosaic on the floor, and work on another tunnel is in progress. The plantation, the mice, and the tank of brine all have an unsettled look to them, under the shimmery yellow-green glow, as if they're not quite in their final places, as if this particular arrangement is only temporary.

"The work continues, as you can see."

* It's important that you understand that this is not a made-up street. It is real and deadly serious.
**It's important that you understand that this is not a made-up source of illumination. It is real and deadly serious.

The Ladder of Destiny, Non- Magic Compass Version

In Jojo's world, ladders were everywhere. You used them to get from place to place, like roads. Head east two holes, ladder down, head south one hole, ladder down, west five holes, ladder up. That's how he got home from school. But that's not where he was headed this time.

Billy had found him at break. "Hey Jojo, gotta talk to you."
"Okay, what's up?"
"I found a something. Lets meet in the Library."
"Okay. Lunch?"
"Yeah."

The library was one of the best places to talk at school, because all the books tended to damp the sound, and you actually talk without the sound echoing around the walls. Jojo liked the library. He would come in here and scan the old books. Some of them were even Old, or at least copies of Old books. He would look for ones that were well worn--that meant they were popular-- but that he'd never heard of in school--that meant they were interesting. He would stand among the stacks and read. Sometimes he checked them out and took them home, but he preferred to read them right there in the library. It smelled different from the rest of the city. But there was another reason he liked being in the library, and that was that, if you were careful, you could practice your alarm voice.

It was considered rude to use your alarm voice in public, but all the children had to practice it in school, once a month. They close all the doors leading out of the school, and cover them with blankets. Open your mouth wide, take a deep breath, cover your ears, and yell with your alarm voice. Jojo once took his hands off his ears, because he wanted to see how loud it really was. It was almost painful, but it was still strangely beautiful, the noise coming out of their throats, out of his own throat. That week he had looked for the oldest books he could, and tried to research the alarm voice, but he was disappointed. The Old books didn't mention the alarm voice at all. They only mentioned something called a "whisper." Some of the lowercase-old books also mentioned "whispering" where they should say "talking." But it was all a little bit beyond Jojo.

When lunch came, Jojo wolfed his down and headed for the library. From the playhall, take the west tunnel, three holes, and then up the ladder. Billy wasn't there, so Jojo found a corner and started working with his throat, trying to tease out the very faintest of tones while keeping his mouth shut. This was his own secret, learning to use his alarm voice without going through the process, without opening his mouth wide, taking a deep breath, and covering his ears. The first time he had discovered it, he had told his mother, but she yelled at him, so he just practiced it by himself. He was getting better at it now. Some people were good at wiggling their ears. Some people could grab things with their toes. Jojo could use his alarm voice quietly. He was even learning to change the pitch, and make little musics with it.

Billy came in, and Jojo swallowed and quit practicing. Billy would laugh at him. But Billy had a very excited look on his face, and they silently made their way to a back corner. Without a word, Billy took out a folded scrap of paper and handed it to Jojo. Paper was expensive, but Billy's Dad could afford it. Billy hadn't wasted this piece. He had written in very small writing all over it. He pointed out where to start reading, and Jojo obeyed:

I was sneaking around my Dad's room last night and I found a small book that was filled with his writing. I found one entry that was just directions. I looked up the directions in the map and they don't make sense. They seem like they start at our house, but then they go off the map, and keep going, for blocks and blocks, where there's not supposed to be anything. Come with me after school so we can check it out. Don't tell anyone.

Billy was always acting like this, like everything was a secret that could get them killed. Jojo didn't mind most of the time, 'cause it was fun. Billy motioned for Jojo to flip the paper over. On the other side was a set of directions and a few more sentences:

1d 3S 2d 1e 1d 14s 12d 28e | 1u 4e 1d 3w 12sse 4d 6se 1d 126ese 1d 3n 4w 285u 2s 4w 2u 3e 1u 1e 2n 314u

This is it. The line is where the map ends. There must be some kind of secret door there!

"Awesome."
"What do you think?"
"Are you serious?"
"Of course!"
"What if it's just a bunch of nonsense directions?"
"You know my dad, what do you think?"
"Yeah, not his style." Billy's dad was old and cranky. His skin was dark, and he was a cripple; he was missing his left hand, and wore a hook instead of a hand, so he could climb ladders. He was always reading Old books, and would sometimes disappear for days at a time.
"Alright. Right after school."
"We should bring some food."
"I've got two packs full of food and water stashed outside my house. We'll need to go there anyway to follow the directions."
"Alright."

So there it was. Jojo spent the rest of the school hours pretending to pay attention, and when school ended, he found his sister and told her he was going over to Billy's house. He met Billy and they headed out. East two holes, ladder down, south 3 holes, east 2 holes, south four holes. Billy's house was just above, up this ladder, but Billy reached behind the ladder and pulled out two satchels, handing one to Jojo. He had the scrap of paper in his hand, and he started leading the way. Three south. Down a ladder two levels. East one hole. Down another ladder. They were on the factory level. Most of the people down here were older, and the lights were a little dimmer, and spaced farther apart. Fourteen south. Jojo felt a little out of place, and they got a few curious glances, but no-one stopped them. There was an old cast iron ladder here. It looked rusty, and didn't carry the smooth, well-worn hand-polish of the ladders in most of the places Jojo was used to. They took it down twelve levels. Jojo took another look at his compass as Billy headed east. Might as well. Seventy four of his paces to a hole, Jojo knew, and he counted them off and counted off the holes. Six, seven, eight; They hadn't seen anyone at all on this level, though they could hear far-off talking, and the low thrum of machinery, and the rhythmic tapping of the delvers. Some of the lights were missing, and Billy took out his flashlight. Jojo had one in his pack too, but he didn't want it just yet.

Twenty eight. Then Billy stopped in front of him, and Jojo stopped too. It was a dark spot, and Billy turned on the flashlight and pointed it at the roof of the passage. There was a metal trapdoor there, instead of an ordinary ladder. It was out of their reach, though Jojo might be able to jump and touch it. Looking around they noticed a locker. Billy opened it and pulled out a small step-ladder. Just enough. There was a large wheel on the trapdoor, and Billy couldn't turn it by himself. Jojo carefully climbed up and helped him. It made a scraping sound as it worked itself loose, and when it finally came open Jojo lost his balance and would have fallen off the step ladder, but he just hung onto the trapdoor wheel as it swung open.

Billy stood got a facefull of dust and dirt when the trapdoor opened, and he spat and shook it out, and then turned on his light again to peer into the passage above. Jojo dropped to the ground and stepped around to look up into the passage. There it was, the ladder, hidden just above the trapdoor.

"Wow, that was easy." Jojo said. Billy grinned.
"No point in stopping now." He hopped up to grab the bottom rung, and quickly pulled himself up. Jojo followed.

"Should we close it?"
"No, no-one will notice it, and besides, it might get stuck."

Up one level. East four holes. Down one level. The air here smelled different. More like rocks. Less like people. Three holes west.

"Crazy," Jojo said.
"Oh."
"What?"
"That's what 'sse' means. South plus South plus East."
"Why would anyone dig like this?"
"Let's find out."

There were no lights down this tunnel. They turned on their flashlights and walked down the diagonal tunnel. 74 paces. No hole. 100 paces. Nothing. 200 paces. Unsettling and exciting at the same time, this blank, featureless tunnel. 870 paces, and another intersection. A ladder down four levels. But instead of a landing every 25 rungs, nothing, there was just a featureless ladder, 100 rusty rungs. Then another 430 paces down another diagonal tunnel. Then another short ladder, 30 rungs down.

"This is freaky," Billy said, looking
"Yeah."

It was the largest number either of them had ever seen on a set of directions, 126, and the tunnel that stretched before them was featureless, and was heading in the wrong direction. All of the tunnels in their world ran either north-south or east-west. On top of that, there were no holes. No breaks. No gaps, as far as they could see. No sound, not even distant talking, no light, beyond their flashlights. Nothing familiar or friendly.

"Here goes."

They walked along the tunnel for minutes. They were quiet at first, but then they started talking, to ease the silence. They talked about their teachers and their friends at school, but not much about this place or what they thought was ahead. Jojo showed off his control of his alarm voice to Billy. Billy was amused, the way he might be if Jojo had farted. So they didn't notice Billy's dad until he spoke.

He used his alarm voice, softly, with control. It had a full, practiced, deep sound that brought them up sharp as it echoed around the walls and seemed to fill the air.

"Oy, Billy. Oy Jojo."
"...Dad..."
He kept speaking in his alarm voice, but low, so that it almost sounded like normal talking. "Heh, I should have known better. Did you follow me, or find my journal."
"..."
"Heh. I see you brought lights, and food and water. Is this your first time here?"
"Yes."
"Yes sir."
"Good."
"I'm sorry!" Billy started to cry silently.
"Eh," the cranky old man seemed strangely cheerful. "I've been trying to get your mamma to let me bring you here for years. She won't have none of it. She don't believe in destiny."
"What?"
"Up ahead, son, is the Ladder of Destiny. I'm tired, I been climbing for hours, so I can't take you up now. Anyway, best if you see it for yourself." He tapped his watch and it lit up for a brief second. "Jojo, you like to read Old books, don't you?"
"Yes sir."
"You'll love it. Explain a lot of things, it will."
"Go ahead now. It should take you about four hours to climb to the top. Pace yourselves. You're both in good shape, and you'll need it. When you get up to the top, it should be night."
"Night? Like in the Old books?"
"Exactly. So don't be afraid, and don't go very far, whatever you do Don't get out of sight of the ladder. Poke your heads out, stretch your legs, look at the stars, and come back down It's a nice day, springtime, should be a nice warm night. If you're back in 8 hours, I'll make up an excuse for you. Say I took you down to a bar in the factory levels. Ha! If you take more than 10 hours, I'll climb up there and tar your asses, and tell your mothers. Got it?"
"Yes sir."
"Wow. Thanks."
"I'll be here when you get back. We can talk then. I imagine you boys'll be good for the cause. But I won't get ahead of myself yet. Go on and take a look. Up the Ladder. Git!"

That's the real story of how Billy and Jojo, great leaders of their people, really found the Ladder of Destiny. No magic compass involved. Admittedly, the magic compass story is more fun.

The Battle of Syme

Charles leaned over the map spread out on the ship's table. The seas were getting rough, visibility was low, and his men were not looking forward to the storm, but there was no time to bring the fleet in to land. The Spartans would be on the move, and the port of Syme was a poor place to face them.

He went over the information in his mind: The Melian slave, Sandra, had come to his tent a week ago to warn him of an alliance Therimenes was forging with the Persians. The Melians were a canny group, and even as slaves they had contacts across the Aegean. The Spartan fleet would be sailing under Astyochus, to Knidos, to meet up with the Persian fleet there. Charles had already sent one ship back to Athens to summon the bulk of the Athenian fleet to Knidos, but in the meantime it was up to him to stop Astair's fleet from reaching the Persians.

He had sailed from Milos with eighteen fast ships, loaded with Athenian marines, ready to do their part for the war and the empire. Charles was getting old, though, and this storm irritated him. Instead he tried to focus on his plan of battle. They would first stick together and try to outmaneuver the enemy ships. Then they would fan out and force the enemy to clump up. Then one flank or the other would close in first, and the other would follow soon after. Charles had won many battles this way. They key was to avoid getting tangled in your own fleet, which is why he drilled his men on close , and precision rowing and sailing. The Spartans were substandard sailors at best, but fierce warriors. He would try to press his naval superiority as long as possible before closing for hard combat.

"Oy, ships!" The cry came from Perry, in Aaron's boat, off to the port. With a few shouts Charles swiftly turned the fleet to intercept, and told his men to row fairly. No use tiring them out before the fight.

The storm closed in.

Vince stood at the prow of his Spartan ship, staring out into the dark, rough waters. Somehow they gotten separated from Astair and the rest of the fleet, and now he was just trying to make time through the storm, hoping to rejoin the fleet in the evening.

The swells were larger now, and a few of his ships were busy bailing water, though none were in serious danger of capsizing. He saw the masts just as he heard the cry, "Athenians! It's Charminus!"

The storm closed in.

Charles started shouting orders, bringing his fleet south, upwind of the Spartans. There were fewer ships here than he had expected-- only ten. It would be easy enough for him to defeat them. The Spartans turned to flee east. That made Charles curious. Fleeing north would be faster, and surely they could see that. He brought his fleet downwind to close with the spartans, sending his fastest eight vessels ahead to cut off the Spartan's eastward tack, and swung the rest of the fleet north to flank the Spartans when they turned away.

Vince could tell he was outmaneuvered. Charminus was famous for his grasp of naval strategy. But Vince knew that if he could reach Astair and the rest of the fleet the battle would swing in their favor. He guessed they were east of here, and he told his men to put their backs into it.

The Athenian vanguard closed, and a rain of arrows and javelins from the starboard fell on the Spartan fleet. The Spartans let loose their own missiles on the ships that had cut them off, and then tacked north. Charles closed the trap, and bellowed for ramming speed. His own ship hurtled into the side of the trailing Spartan ship, as spears and javelins flew all around. A few of the Spartan marines tried to leap onto the Athenian ship as their own vessel began to sink, but they were quickly dispatched. Nearby, another Spartan ship went under, taking on too much water because of the barrage of spears.

The vanguard swung around, concentrating their fire on the starboard flank of the Spartan convoy. The fighting was fierce, but another Spartan ship sunk beneath the waves. Amid the shouting and clashing of arms, none of the Athenians noticed Astyochus and the rest of the Spartan fleet moving in behind the Athenians.

Astair noticed, but that's because it was relatively quiet on his boat. "Fan out! battle formation!"

The storm closed in.

Suddenly, Charles was surrounded, his eighteen boats against the 26 remaining Spartan vessels. This is exactly where he didn't want to be. He mad a snap decision to retreat.
"All ships, disengage, strike with me!"

Astair was a canny commander, and he knew that Charminus was cornered, and that a cornered Athenian was almost as dangerous as a cornered Spartan. So he pressed his advantage quickly, to avoid giving Charminus the time he needed to devise a plan.

The Athenian ships disengaged from the first skirmish as Vince turned his boats around to charge and rejoin the battle. He thanked Poseidon for this good fortune. Two Athenian ships failed to break free from the first clash and capsized, sending more soldiers into the water. The rest made directly for the gap between two Spartan vessels. As they broke free, the Spartans began to rain down their own missiles; arrows and javelins scoured the Athenian ships, killing more than a few before the Athenians raised their shields above their heads.

Charles's ship this time brought up the rear of the Athenian fleet as they drove toward the Spartan wall. The first two Athenian ships were stopped dead by withering javelin and spear assaults from the closing Spartans. With a shout Charles abandoned them and turned the rest of the fleet to the Port to avoid getting snared on the ongoing battle as the leading ships were overwhelmed. Rowing hard now, the Athenians made for the next Spartan ship holding the line, hoping to overrun it.

Astair was astounded at the this new tactic. Charminus was driving the Athenians right for the Spartan flagship, his ship. His ship was full of forty crack Spartan marines, and was a formidable. force in itself, and so he turned his ship in to the onslaught, so that it would not be rammed, and told his men to fight off any Athenians who came close enough to hit.

Charles knew he had made a mistake when the Spartan vessel turned to face his fleet. He could now see Astyochus through the storm, yelling to his men, the plume on his Spartan helmet blowing fiercely in the wind. No choice. "All speed, all speed, break the line!"

The Spartans waited quietly, with javelins and spears ready. The two Spartan ships on either flank turned in to help close the line.

The first Athenian boat to reach Astyochus was Perry's ship. Perry was standing tall, in front, when a Spartan spear slew him. The boat foundered. On the other side, two Athenian ships broke through to open water and turned to fire a volley at the closing blockade before making off.

Another boat got stuck behind Perry's and the Spartan trap closed on it. Charles drove the rest of his boats past Astyochus, losing some men, but holding discipline and reaching the open water.

The storm raged.

Vince and Astair met up once more, after sinking the remaining Athenian vessels and rescuing what Spartans were still afloat. They would sail on to Knidos.

Charles returned to Syme, defeated, but not crushed.

415 BC

The Fat Man and the Ghosts

Frankly, Im not very keen on it.
Really?
Really. I mean... it pretty much involves my taking on an entire squadron with nothing but my bodyfat protecting me.
It's all about the technology, though. Look at it this way: they'll have no idea what they're up against, while you'll know exactly what you're up against. You'll take them completely by surprise!
Yes...
Look, you'll take down half of them before they even see you.
Yes, but what about the other half?
There's a program for deflecting bullets.
Isn't it expensive?
Well, just be carefull not to get shot at too often.
Thanks... I guess... I guess I'm just not used to this sort of thing. I mean, I've done a lot of crazy shit in self defense, and I've killed more than a few times. But this is... very different. And besides, what makes you so sure they won't have a real defense?
We've done surveillance. None of them is shaped for it like you are. Look, I've gone through your scripts myself, like you asked, and I've added a few tricks of my own. No-one I've ever met could take you down while your fight is on.
You know, I've been meaning to lose weight.
Don't make me laugh. Just run some artery cleaning and cardiovascular strengthening progs and you're the healthiest man on earth.
Okay, but, about this plan...
Look, I would go if I could, but my count is low, and I've been starved for weeks. It'll take me months to get back in the kind of condition you're in.
Alright, alright... it's just, it seems like a lot of killing for one uplink.
What is knowledge?
Power.
And what would they do to us if we had the uplink?
Kill us. Alright already. Just... don't be surprised if I come back a lot thinner.
Heh. You'll always be a fat man to me.
How sweet. We get in, we suck the net, get what you're looking for, and get out. There's no organic matter within 10 miles of here, and you can almost taste the pixiedust.
Tell me about it. Fighting it off shows up as a line item on my calorie budget. Believe me, I don't want to hang around here any longer than necessary.
Kama... what if they make a sacrifice?
They can't. That's the beauty of it, Dima, any undefended carbon goes to the pixiedust, to feed the ghosts. They can't get more than five percent of it.
What a god-awful wasteland.
That's why you have such a huge advantage.
...I keep forgetting that I should be proud of my blubber. It makes it so hard to move around most of the time.
It's not blubbler, it's wealth. Portable power, potential energy.
So... are you ready?
What the hell. I'll shoot you a line when it's clear.

An ancient sattelite dish sits on top of a metal hut in the middle of a small desert, roughly a 20 mile hole in the forest where nothing can grow. As the fat man lumbers out of the shadow of the trees under the cover of a starless night, he whispers a few words into his headset. His movement is suddenly more graceful, he seems to glide across the desert, ignoring the odd holographic ghost that pops up to stare at him or entreat him or attack him, in madness. Ignoring also the thousands of probes, his scripts easily fending off their advances. He glides like a shadow toward the hut.

Shapes show up on his display, moving along foxholes surrounding his target. He pulls a focus ball out of his pocket and holds it close to his face, and he whispers a few more commands, before giving it a gentle toss in the direction of the hut.

Silence. Screams. Shots.

All at once, the desert basin comes alive with ghosts, as the pixiedust starts gnawing into the freshly dead bodies.

"Reward to be paid by Microsoft Corporation for--"
"Help Me!"
"Please..."
"I'll kill you now!"
"Thank you for taki--
"No!"
"You, you killed me!"
"Stop!"
"More! Give me more!"

Thousands of ghosts, across the desert, suddenly feasting on the fallen soldiers, all of that energy running into their deranged personalities. Kama has never seen anything like it.

Mayra wakes up. She's been sleeping for a hundred years, after writing her last script. She doesn't like living in a computer. That's why she sleeps, saving up her calories and letting the other ghosts waste them on passerbys. She alone made a plan, and now she's executing it. A fresh surge of energy puts her over the threshold, and her script starts running, scanning. 30 humans at the hut. 25. 20. 15. Too dangerous. One human far away, on the edges of the forest. Her focus ball starts rolling that way, and then picks itself off the ground as it builds up speed. Energy to spare.

Dima sits down in a foxhole, breathing hard. The other QMan is dead. There are 8 soldiers left, and they're busy shooting the ghosts. Whenever one of them gets near Dima, they drop, and Dima shudders. Already he's noticeably thinner. His face is white and he's shaking. Around him dead bodies are disintegrating under the pixiedust. Ghosts are springing up all around him, yelling at him, attacking him, trying to hack his defenses. His programs keep him secure, snuffing out several of the peskier ghosts. So many. So many. He shuts his eyes and covers his ears, shivering, as his calories are sucked away into his fight program.

Kama's display puts up a warning, and he feels a familiar burst of adrenaline as his defenses kick in, sucking at his living tissues to fend off the attacker, he can't even tell what's going on, but it hurts.

Mayra brought her dust with her, but she barely needs it. This human is weak. Her reserve of energy is much greater, and soon the script she had been able to suck, the crowning achievement of her body's last 5 minutes of life, will be set loose on his brain.

Dima finally opens his eyes. He coughs, and a little blood comes up. It happens, he's told. He orders his scripts to stand down to level 2 alert, and stands up carefully. He feels weak, but also lighter than he's been in years. They say the extra weight just goes into the atmpsphere, but he doesn't really understand the chemistry behind it. No-one else is alive. The ghosts have mainly gone quiet, only a few screamers and a few drones are left in the area. They can all be ignored. He steps inside the hut and surveys the scene. There it is, the uplink, in all it's obscene glory. Just another console. He dictates a brief message to Kama.

Kama is reeling, but he's not out of tricks yet. The attack is strong, but simple, just a push to force him to spend his defenses. With a word he launches a counter-attack to stop his opponent's heart. Nothing. Crap.

Dima gets no response. After a couple of hours he logs on and takes a look around.

Mayra's script fails. The host is dead. She's spent.

The fat man leaves.

Updated 8/23, changed whitespace in initial conversation to make it clearer who is talking.