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“No. In our collective history, things that were not humanly possible were the most interesting things for one to imagine. Now the time has come that what is not humanly possible is the most interesting thing one can achieve. I like to think in this way: there is a saying that art imitates life. Now we have Kaah Mukul, which is as much art as music or cinema, but far more enveloping and engaging. And we find now that life begins to imitate art. Those things that happen virtually begin to open our minds to possibilities that we would not consider when our lives were restricted to physical dimensions.”

“Are you saying that what you create in your virtual city of Kaah Mukul will become possible in reality?”

“I’m saying that the distinction will eventually become irrelevant. What happens there will happen here, not because they are linked, but because they have become one.”

Perry replayed the exchange a few times. The reality blending thing was an interesting idea, like all of Noh’s ideas. He tucked it away in his mind for some future moment in which he would be more likely to ponder philosophy. He scanned the interview for updates on future developments in the city, found none, and continued his morning routine.

Killergremlin entered with his typically energetic flourish. “Did you see our D.R. went up a whole point over Scarmada last night? That raid hit them bad.”

The General smiled.
“I saw.”

The Dominance Ranking was the most important metric in the tribal wars. It calculated the probability of any one Tribe taking over all other Tribes, based on numbers, weapons, resources, and leadership. The really good tribes, like the Warriors of Tsepes, were always within a
few
D.R. points of rivals, like the top-ranked Scarmada, but no tribe had ever established true city-wide dominance. It was the primary sign of progress for all Tribes, but the General knew that a good leader cared more about results than probability.

“Do you know if Ohmen or Typhoon tried to reconstitute back into the Tribe yet?”

“I haven’t checked,” said the
General, busy with other things. “B
ut I doubt Ohmen will be back for a while. He wrote me a pretty nasty message last night.”

“Really? Can I read it?”

“I already deleted it.”

Lazaro entered and waved as he scratched the pointy clump of beard that grew only on the tip of his chin. The beard had a drip of old
egg in it. Perry said nothing;
Lazaro would find out eventually.

“Everyone’s coming tonight, right? Right!” Lazaro jovially answered for them. Perry kept his head down to avoid eye contact. Psychopedia came in with his backpack and bassoon case and stuffed them in a corner. Within a few moments, the high officers of the Warriors of Tsepes assembled, briefly discussed strategy, and descended again into the city.

The district of Little Cuzco was the only part of the city open to public internet connections. It was touristy, designed to hook new people to the city through mystical, creative visuals, harmless entertainment, and virtual shopping. The buildings
evoked
images of Machu Pichu
,
grey stone with step-like motifs that formed a serrated skyline, sof
tened a little by mist and moss.
The sidewalks were an open-air market with the latest KM fashions and toys for the throngs of avatars seeking to accessorize their virtual selves. But the General had seen it all before, so as he walked down the street, he only glanced momentarily at a small herd of llamas passing by dressed like Shakesperean actors (“drama llamas,” he heard someone explain). Ahtzon guards patrolled the streets in small packs to keep
the more violence-prone citizens from causing trouble that should be had elsewhere. But the Warriors of Tsepes caused no trouble…yet.

The Sinan Café was hidden away on the north end of the district in a side alley. The sign was so small that the General almost missed it. He dispersed his officers to look for any signs of an ambush, then went up the steps to the café door, pausing to look at the weathered image of a scorpion on the sign before entering.

The café was empty, which was unsurprising since virtual people don’t drink. Places like this were typically used in the city for private meetings. Narrow tables and chairs were scattered around the main r
oom
, and there was a bar in one corner. Behind the bar was a woman, tall in her little black dress, with a face that reminded the General of a parrot.

“Are you Tula?” he asked. She nodded.

“Variolas,” he spoke, and she nodded again. Stepping out from behind the bar, she opened a door that looked from the outside like a broom closet. As she motioned for him to go inside, the General wondered if she were attractive in real life. He doubted it.

The city was filled with ancient secret passages, but the General had never entered one through a restaurant, nor had he been invited to one as part of a sales pitch. He squeezed down a tight spiral staircase and into a dark corridor with rough-hewn stone walls. There was an orange light in the distance
toward
which he
walked
cautiously. As it became lighter, he heard air rushing through the corridor, like wind through an old castle, and the distinct sound of whispers.

The orange light emanated from a narrow opening between stone columns. The passage had opened into a large cavern formed like an amp
hitheater, and the first thing
the General noted was a pool of dark water surrounded by a ring of rocks in front of the staging area. It was a remarkable room, even by KM standards, and he wondered about its origins. He didn’t speculate long
, however
, because he noticed the red-headed bulk of the Scarmada General nearby. It was odd to have an enemy in such close range, and the General had to repress the urge to attack. Looking around, he recognized most of the other major Tribal Wars leaders. This would not be a good place to start a fight. The General sat down a safe distance from his Scarmada counterpart and cast another appraising
look over the room. It was an impressive spectacle. Who could have organized this?

A voice came from nowhere. “Welcome to this very special presentation,” it announced, filling the cavern. “You represent the select few that were able to break our code, which means that your tribe has the kind of ambition and expertise that will set you apart in the city. And that makes you our target audience.”

A holographic image of the city materialized above the water, with ragged-edged sectors blocked out in different colors. The General recognized his 16%, a patchwork of the Tsepesian red and black on the east side, a territory that was above average in size but still puny compared to the General’s ultimate goals. The voice continued: “We know the hardships you face as tribal leaders. You are constantly battling to maintain every inch of your territory and gain more. You must devote time to recruitin
g and forming tenuous alliances
and spend precious resources just to keep ahead of the competition. We have invited you here to offer you a proposition that will allow you all of the satisfaction of fighting for your Tribe without the tedium of dealing with supplies, personnel, or funds. We are forming the first-ever Tribal Alliance.”

There was some hushed talking in the audience. Alliances of more than four tribes were prohibited under the Tribal Wars bylaws and were enforced by the Ahtzon—ostensibly to protect newer, smaller tribes. But everyone always suspected that Kaah Mukul higher-ups just didn’t want the Ahtzon challenged by mega-tribes. Legality aside, the General didn’t like the sound of the proposition. The strategic nuances of tribal standing and dominance would be taken away by siding with their enemies. Others had the same opinion, and someone yelled out, “What’s the point of being in the Tribal Wars if we’re all on the same team?”

The voice replied, “But you are all on the same team already. The Ahtzon is your common enemy. While you are fighting each other, they hunt you down, constantly interfering and taking away your gains. You are lucky to kill off one or two at a time, and if you do, you are lucky to get away alive. But none of you has yet reached the point where you can take on a full Ahtzon patrol and win. We propose that you take your war to the next level.”

The hologram of the city disappeared. In its place, something
big began to rise from the pool. Water dripped off of a levitating table holding several kicking, struggling bodies, blindfolded and gagged. They were Ahtzon officers. The voice carried on calmly.

“We can provide you with weapons, funds, and recruits. The weapons we provide will only be functional for members of the alliance and will self-destruct in the hands of others. You can use our resources to deal with whomever you want. Only occasionally will we ask for something in return.”

Tula walked up to the table and tapped one of the captive Ahtzon officers. The General watched closely. Either it was a vacant avatar, or there really was an officer in there, listening and sending information back to headquarters. If the body was empty, he would be unimpressed, but if it were a real officer—well, it would be like having a television camera in the room patched directly into Ahtzon headquarters. For Tula and her group not to be concerned about this was…unnerving. But the nature of the prisoner would be revealed soon enough. It was impossible, as far as he knew, to impersonate an Ahtzon officer. The uniforms were proprietary and impos
sible to steal. They were also
weapons resistant, making it very hard to kill an officer, much less capture one.

Tula pointed to the General. “You, General Studblood. Would you please come down and inspect these bodies for us.” He hesitated, wishing that she hadn’t said his name out loud, but went down at her insistence. He stood behind their heads to stay out of their line of sight as best he could. Their armor certainly looked legitimate. Each of them had
the official Ahtzon
badge
, which was impossible to duplicate
. And they looked very much alive. “What do you think?” she asked.

“They look real,” he announced.

At that, Tula began to hand out guns. The General had never seen a weapon like it before, and he had seen everything that had come to Kaah Mukul in the past two years. He hefted the gun in his hand, testing the feel of it. It was
nice
.

“Consider these a mere taste of what we can offer,” the voice said when everyone had a gun in hand. “If any of you would like to give them a try, the Ahtzon are at your disposal.”

No one moved immediately, and the General knew why. Conspiracy was one thing, but shooting an
incapacitated
officer
would not be forgiven easily by the Ahtzon. If caught, the punishment for the shooter would be very heavy, including death and, much worse, a fine.

“Feel free to come up to the pool directly,” the voice said again, almost tauntingly. A decisive clank of full battle armor, and the Scarmada general was on his feet, striding to the pool, holding the gun aloft. He stepped up to a helpless Ahtzon officer, smiled meanly beneath his full red beard, and pulled the trigger. The gun recoiled with a hefty blast, and the captured officer dissolved into a vapor of red. The cavern echoed with sudden talking and whooping, even some applause as half of the other tribal leaders jumped to their feet to take aim at the remaining officers. But the General sat immobilized. When the Scarmada leader had fired, a blinding flash of light had emanated from the pool, momentarily washing out the entire scene. The General had seen that light before when the Scarmada safe-house went up in flames. It couldn’t just be another graphics glitch; that would be too coincidental. Was the Scarmada already in on this weapons deal? Was their well-guarded safe-house really the armory for this… The General realized that he didn’t even know the name of this organization. But everything lined up. That’s why the Ahtzon had moved in on the safe-house; that’s why the Scarmada General wasn’t afraid to let the Ahtzon officer see him. He now had the fire power to kill with impunity, and the Ahtzon knew it. The General gripped his weapon and began looking through the smoke for the Scarmada leader. He had to take the red-bearded leader down before he got any more powerful.

The voice spoke again ove
r the babble
. “We will give you a week to consider our offer. If you wish to officially join our alliance and take advantage of our full package of resources, we will ask you to participate in a modest demonstration of our potential. It will be our introduction to the world of Kaah Mukul. You will be contacted soon with more details. Thank you, from all of us at Maascab.”

The table receded under the water, replaced with a new holographic image: a rotating knife pointed down at an angle
with
the name
Maascab
written in block letters. Already the tribal leaders were descending the tiered seating, talking to each other or into their headsets, gesturing to the hologram and the blood-stained remains of Ahtzon uniforms. Studblood looked around the big room for the tall
Scarmada leader and glimpsed him at the very back where Tula had opened a door and was silently nodding to the departing men. He held back a moment to whisper commands over the comm link.

“Hey, hey, all Tsepesian Warriors converge at the rear of the café now. Major haul coming up. Scarmada’s General at the front, and we’ve got every other major player coming out behind him.”