When work ended, it was starting to get dark even here in the tropics. Stan was due some VR time but he'd been inside the building practically all day. He stepped outside and watched the lights of Libertalia starting to flicker on for the evening. "So this is home, huh?"

Back in California he'd have been "nudged" into attending a health lecture or something tonight, or risk losing points on the Social Credit System. Instead he could do whatever he wanted, which was a strange feeling.

He breathed the ocean carnival air and watched people for a bit. All around him tourists flowed. He'd trained a little at recognizing how money and goods flowed, so it was instructive to watch people flitting between the shops and attractions like bees. He then noticed a cargo ship headed for the long dock of Sargasso Platform, and began to sense he'd been missing something. He went back inside and addressed Ludo through an idle screen: "Most of the money isn't on this platform, is it?"

The screen lit up with the AI's familiar face. "Right. Usually it takes people longer to realize that the colony is an actual working town, and not just this wretched hive."

Stan beamed. "I'm off work. What should I do now?"

Ludo paused in thought. "This is your free time."

"Yeah, but I'm up for a quest or something. Do you have any mysterious errands for me?"

"Not today. Give me time to find one. Until then, you're free."

"Okay, well... I'll hit the VR rigs before dinner."

He climbed into one of the VR pods and strapped in to re-enter Thousand Tales. He hesitated at the title screen, not sure what he wanted to be tonight. "I want to try something different for a bit. Could I try... a dragon?"

A game world popped up, in which he got to fly around riding a dragon through an airship battle. He swooped and dived to blast the enemy and dodge flurries of ballista fire and spells. After a while the novelty began to wear off, though. "That was fun, but I'd like to get back to my main character."

The world shifted, and the Endless Isles returned. That little dragon world had existed for only a few minutes, just for him. The Isles were a persistent world that mattered more, one where he could make things.

#

Back in the Isles, he found he'd been moved with his boat back to Tourney, but with only a little of the wood he'd come for. He set about smithing. He had an easy time hiring himself out for that; in fact a few NPCs he'd befriended had started to make requests. So he had a sword to make, an axe to upgrade, and another treasure chest to craft. Easy income. What he didn't have was his own forge. It cut into his profit, because he had to rent space in the NPC smith's shop.

Dominic, a masked and robed mage Stan had been adventuring with, stopped by while Stan was shaping bronze into a simple lock. "Why don't you build one on your ship?"

"Hi. Not enough space."

"Build a bigger one, then? I think you can swap an Anchor Stone into a new hull to claim it as your own."

It'd be substantial work, but Stan had time -- and an idea. "I think I can do that and even make money off of trading up. Now, what can I do for you?"

"Armor. I'm thinking of ditching the masked look and going for more of a paladin theme. Can you do steel yet?"

Stan said, "Yeah, it takes the same tier of skill as iron. I can give you a good price." Stan grinned. "I'm not going to make fun of you for uprooting your whole imaginary life after what I did."

"Heh. How's the new job?"

"It's all right so far." Stan chatted with him about it. "And my new boss is an uploader. Sky pirate or something in the background."

"That's got to be weird. If I uploaded I wouldn't work a job."

"I would," Stan said. "At least a job of making things. Are you up for adventuring tomorrow?"

"Sure."

Stan sent out a note asking the newbie "sequence breaker" party if they wanted to buy his first ship when they got their own Anchor Stone. Then he returned to his smithing.

In VR the rules were a bit different than on a handheld tablet. As he switched from the brass lock to an iron sword project, he also switched techniques. He had to heat the blank metal rod he began with to red heat and then strike it, less with raw strength than with precision. Timing mattered too, since he had to strike while the iron was hot. Since the anvil sucked heat away rapidly, he kept several "irons" in the fire at once and alternated between them. As he pounded the upcoming sword blade he began to see some daylight, a gap under the deforming bottom edge, so to straighten the metal again he beat the daylights out of it. He grinned, feeling like he'd been initiated into some ancient jargon.

The sword slowly took shape not as a mathematical curve but as a slightly imperfect tool showing the effort of a human craftsman. He had to get the angle of his hammer blows right. It wasn't just about turning a strip of metal edge-on and hitting it to think it toward the tip; he'd learned to tilt the strikes as though working around the face of a clock so that the iron wouldn't get stretched out at the end. With each blow the anvil rang pleasantly, giving the mallet a little bounce. He turned the metal to lay flat and with repeated heating started to thin the edge down in that dimension. He used some Metal plus Create magic, but otherwise his technique was pretty close to the real thing.

"Still not done?" said a man with dragon claws.

Stan looked up from his work. "I've almost got it." With a few more blows he completed the rough shape, and then he took up a file and began smoothing the metal out with amazing speed, striking a shower of sparks. He timed the moves precisely and then doused the blade in water. "There! Just need to do the handle now, which for a basic wooden one is easy."

The adventurer couldn't take his eyes off the blade. "It's a little jagged."

"I used the advanced process, which comes out slightly imperfect."

"No no, I like it. People can tell you put in actual effort. Do you do this for a living?"

"What, in real life?" Stan said.

"Either."

Stan began attaching some simple wooden pieces using drilled holes and pegs. "No, but Smithing is one of my main skills. It seems like not many people want to bother with more than the most basic crafting.

"They'd rather be out slaying dragons."

"True. And... here you go!" A gratuitous lens-flare camera effect made the new weapon gleam.

"Good stats, too!" the customer said. "Thanks!"

Stan smiled as the man left. Then a notice popped up:

[You earned another magic element! Upgrade a word or select from: Water, Repair, Wind, Cloth, Strengthen.]

"What's my current set again?" All around Stan, adventurers were running around trying to collect good equipment and rare ingredients for the latest potion or something.

[Level 1: Growth, Metal, Create. 2: Tailwind.]

"I'm not sure Cloth is much of a cool magic power."

[You'd be surprised,] the AI said.

He'd been slowly advancing toward being a useful crafting mage, but... "Hey, Ocean," he said. "You've put up with me and you don't just say canned game status messages. Can you tell me what strategy to use?"

Ocean said, [I really can't, human. There are plenty of strategy guides and discussions, though. Including guides to how to wheedle the most power from me.]

Stan groused; he'd have to take up the strategy discussion with Ludo. "Thanks anyway. For now, how about I just add Water? Can't go wrong with that in an island world."

[Granted! Note that your first-level words are full again.] A swirly water droplet appeared on his skin in brown.

He'd need another verb element to do much more than create water, but that could come later and he'd find a use for anything he had. "Thanks."

He mentally stepped back from the game. He needed to get his boat repaired, still, but his stomach was rumbling. Since Ocean had been nice enough to let him keep part of the wood he'd gotten with Davis, he checked out the hull damage again. He had just enough lumber left to use his skills and the Growth magic element to patch the damage. The new wood blended seamlessly into the old, eliminating the "wound". He nodded in satisfaction, and logged out of Thousand Tales.

#

He was short enough on money that he walked back to Sargasso to return to his housing, the box apartments of Zeno Simple Living. He peered at the vending machines again and picked a bottle of Manna, allegedly chocolate flavor. He watched the sunset while drinking the thick protein-rich sludge, and let the tropical wind blow through his clothes. "Job, check. Housing, check. Something to do, still waiting." Feet tromped on catwalks above, and boats bumped and motored below the platforms. The roller-coaster rattled by in the distance. Stan looked for a trash can, found one in the Zeno kitchen. On the way out he bumped into Dahl, who was dressed in a robe and wearing a knife on his belt.

Dahl said, "You moved here, too?" The young man was standing at the entrance to the little hall of the kitchen and vending machines, in Stan's way.

It felt better to be cornered in an alley by a man with a knife, than it had been to stand in that bar where Stan was unwelcome. Dahl was a fellow employee, so he wasn't exactly a stranger. There was a different emotional vibe. Stan answered cautiously, "Ludo helped me get set up here."

"Me too. I'm in apartment 4B." Dahl smiled. "Where do you play? Within Talespace, I mean."

"The Endless Isles."

"I'm mainly in Threespace, the starship area. I hear there's a crossover event coming, so maybe we'll meet up, or we can do a shared temp game sometime."

"Sure." Stan yawned. "I've had a rough few days, so I should get to bed."

"Of course. Rest for the body makes us ready for the Game. I'm in your way, aren't I?" He stepped back. "Is it true that you've been exploring deeper?"

"Underwater? No, my boat doesn't submerge on purpose."

Dahl shook his head. "Befriending the natives and even one of the Talespinners, the masters of the game zones."

"A little, yes. You?"

"I've been blessed that way, too. We're lucky to have been chosen for big things."

Stan excused himself and retreated to his room, where he removed his shoes and slid inside. He still had no bedding. Mercifully, the box had air conditioning, so he didn't really need sheets. He lay down, thinking back to his dormitory room in California where he'd had a proper bed. It was comforting to have blankets even if there was no logical reason for them.

Curious now, he peeked outside and then returned to the vending alley. As he'd vaguely recalled, the machines sold "space blankets" in ridiculously tiny packages. He bought one and unfolded it into a sheet made of aluminum and plastic, that'd probably cook him if he used it outdoors on a balmy night like this. It seemed like the Zeno owners had thought of more than his technical needs.

Back in his room, he lay down under the blanket and felt vaguely satisfied.