Dagmar was really very proud of him.

They found a New Mexican place that had walls covered with embroidered sombreros and black velvet paintings of bullfighters, and Dagmar ordered chiles rellenos, with a sauce made from Hatch green chile.

In Los Angeles, she had observed, menus often told you where the food came from.

“Did I ever tell you about the live event we did in Charleston for Shadow Pattern?” she said. “I asked the hotel concierge where I could find a restaurant with good southern cooking, and he recommended a place. So I went in, and I looked at the menu and saw, ‘Roast breast of upland Carolina quail on a bed of beef tongue tar-tare, garnished with generous slices of foie gras.’ ”

“Did you order it?”

“How could I not?” She laughed. “So that was my experience of down-home southern cooking.”

“Someday I’ll buy you a pork chop and a box of instant grits.”

Austin reached into his canvas shoulder bag and retrieved a package done up in fancy wrapping paper, with a large golden ribbon.

“I bought you a present,” he said.

Dagmar took it with pleasure. She tore away the wrapping and found a book bound beautifully in rich brown calfskin. The paper was edged in gold, and a pair of red satin ribbons, to mark her place, had been bound into the book. She looked at the spine.

The Unconventional Adventures of Dagmar, she read.

“It’s the fan fiction they wrote about you on Our Reality Network,” Austin said.

“Oh my God!” said Dagmar.

“Have you read any of it?”

“No!” she said.

He plucked the volume from her fingers and opened to where one of the red ribbons marked a place.

“I’ve marked my favorite passages,” he said. He propped the book up before him and began to read. “Ahmed ran his fingers through Dagmar’s strangely attractive pale hair.

“ ‘Ahmed,’ she whimpered, ‘I only feel safe when I’m in your arms.’ ”

“Oh God,” Dagmar moaned.

“His powerful arms encircled her from behind. Dagmar shivered as his lips brushed the sensitive skin of her shoulders. His hands rose to palpate her tingling breasts.”

“Saved!” Dagmar said as their meal arrived.

“The plates are very hot,” the waitress said.

“So’s the prose,” said Austin. “Are there really Indonesians named Ahmed? ”

“Probably. I never met any. Or had anyone named Ahmed palpate my breasts, for that matter.”

She tasted one of her rellenos and smiled. Whatever it was that Hatch did to its chiles, she approved. The taste was a far cry from what Cleveland thought of as southwestern cuisine, chili con carne drenched in cinnamon and served on a plate of spaghetti.

Austin was still looking at the book.

“There’s an explicit sex scene that follows,” he said. “Written, I suspect, by someone who has never actually had sex-the anatomy seems wrong here and there-but she’s read about it with great interest.”

Dagmar kept her attention on her plate. “Why do I think,” she said, “that a thousand years from now, the only thing about me that will survive, in some database somewhere, is this fanfic? ”

“Once the other players found out the sort of thing Simone was writing,” Austin continued, “they began to write parodies. They’re pretty merciless, actually.”

“I’m not surprised.”

“I noticed Simone stopped posting after a while.” Austin turned to his other bookmark. “My favorite is a lesbian scene. Let me just give you the flavor of it.”

She snatched the book from his hand and put it on the bench seat beside her. He sighed.

“I hope the people in Bayangan Prajurit never see any of this,” Dagmar said.

“How are they, by the way? ”

“Doing very well. They sent photos of the sidewalks they’d paved.”

Paved with Charlie’s money. Six days after Dagmar’s escape from Jakarta, the IMF and World Bank had made it clear that Indonesia’s fiscal rescue would depend on a civilian government’s remaining in place, so the soldiers had gone back to their barracks, and certain generals had flown to other countries, along with suitcases of money.

In the five months since Jakarta had reopened, Charlie and Dagmar had adopted the Bayangan Prajurit school and its kampung. The local grammar school now had new computers and high-speed wireless Internet, and a local clinic had received additional funding. Areas were being paved, and old homes rebuilt. Microloans were being granted to start local businesses. Charlie provided most of the money, with Dagmar as the liaison.

Bayangan Prajurit had helped Dagmar for their own religious reasons, but Charlie and Dagmar wanted them to enjoy their heightened spirituality from a position of material comfort.

“I freely confess that all Charlie’s charity work makes him my moral superior,” Austin said.

“You contribute to charity,” Dagmar said.

“Usually when Charlie tells me where to send the check.”

She smiled. “Nothing wrong with following the advice of a moral superior.”

Austin talked about Wyoming. He’d bought a condominium in Jackson Hole-half a million dollars for twelve hundred square feet-and now he talked about quitting and buying a ranch. Dagmar was faintly surprised he hadn’t yet bought a Stetson, a pair of alligator-skin Tony Lamas, and a big cowboy belt buckle.

“You don’t know how to run a ranch,” Dagmar said.

“Some of the ranchers I’ve met,” Austin said, “you get the idea it can’t be that hard.”

“I can’t picture you up there, I just can’t.”

“Well,” he said, looking at her, “it might be hard getting a good RPG together.”

She sighed. “I miss live gaming,” she said.

“So do I. We should do it sometime.”

She nodded.

“I’ll check with Charlie. Maybe we can commit some nights.”

“After the current ARG is over, okay? It’s absorbing all my energy.”

“If we wait for us all to have time off from work, it’ll be forever.”

Dagmar considered this. “That’s so true.”

“How long has it been since Charlie actually played anything? ”

Dagmar looked blank. “Not since I’ve been back in California.”

“I wonder if he’s played since he crashed Lost Empire.”

Dagmar stared. “Charlie was the one who crashed Lost Empire? ”

Austin was startled.

“You didn’t know it was him and BJ? ”

“No. They didn’t tell me.”

Lost Empire had been a classic fantasy MMORPG that had been brought down by its own rather primitive economic system. The game designers had kept the economy simple, figuring that players would be more interested in killing monsters and performing quests than in becoming entrepreneurs. Some smart trading had resulted in players’ gaining monopolies in basic commodities such as “grain,” “wood,” and “gems,” bringing down the whole system. The result had been a game reset and a lot of players having their money refunded.

Austin looked down at his blue-corn enchiladas. “It wasn’t exactly their greatest hour. Maybe they’re embarrassed.”

“I’m impressed, though. Lost Empire was a pretty good hack.”

Austin seemed dubious. “Don’t tell Charlie that I told you, okay? ”

“Sure.”

After buying lunch, Austin took her back to the Burger Angeleno parking lot to pick up her car. She followed him to Great Big Idea, where he had a meeting with Charlie.

Great Big Idea occupied part of an office tower of ocean-colored glass in the San Fernando Valley, sandwiched between a Chili’s and a Gap on a green bluff overlooking the Ventura Highway. The building was owned by Charlie, or by his company, or his foreign backers-Dagmar was a bit unclear about it. The rest of the building was occupied by AvN Soft, Charlie’s company, the name of which was usually pronounced “Avvensoft.”

Austin was in the atrium, talking on his phone, when Dagmar entered. The atrium rose all eight stories and neatly bisected the building, with offices off balconies to either side. The atrium was filled with greenery and comfortable furniture and had a small coffee shop. A lot of the employees preferred the less impersonal environment of the atrium to their offices, wireless connecting them to their jobs.