Charlie’s main business was his software, of course. The game business would stick out by contrast-the two game businesses, actually, since Great Big Idea and Planet Nine were effectively separate companies.

Of the two, Planet Nine had already generated eight or nine million players. Most of those had joined for free under the eight-week special offer, courtesy of Briana Hall, but a lot of them had sampled Planet Nine’s pleasures while waiting for updates from Dagmar and would probably stay. Planet Nine would most likely have at least a million revenue-generating subscribers.

By contrast, Great Big Idea had just lost a huge amount of money. Millions. Dagmar could always explain that those millions were lost on Charlie Ruff’s direct orders, and that he had provided the millions in question out of his own funds, but this distinction might well be lost on any Harvard MBA intent on proving his worth by slashing costs and jobs.

She supposed that Great Big Idea might be sold to some other, larger game company, where it would remain a square peg in a round hole or be spun off into a company of its own.

In any case, Dagmar had reason to be worried about her professional future.

She could survive, of course, by theft. Nobody knew about Atreides LLC but her, and there were nearly fourteen million dollars left in that account, even after all her lavish spending. But she had every intention of returning the money to AvN Soft.

When all was said and done, she wasn’t a thief. She was a puppetmaster, and she had blown up a former boyfriend, but it had to be said in her favor that stealing was quite beneath her.

Besides, a forensic accountant could turn up that money without a lot of trouble, and Dagmar had no intention of going to jail, not after all this.

“May I join you?”

She recognized the gamer she knew as Hippolyte-a scrawny young woman with straw blond hair. “Of course.”

Hippolyte arranged her thin body on a chair. Her hair was frizzed by the day’s humidity, and she had a smudge of pale green eye shadow between her eyes, which suggested that she’d put on her makeup in great haste that morning, before she’d quite come awake.

“That was a phenomenal game!” Hippolyte said.

“Thank you.”

“Everyone’s talking about how it staked out new ground, solving a crime in the real world and running down an actual criminal.” Hippolyte smiled. “But then you know that, since you read all the posts on Our Reality Network.”

Dagmar, Woman of Mystery, gave an ambiguous shrug.

“But it didn’t solve all the mysteries, did it?” Hippolyte said. “Those other deaths.”

“You couldn’t help,” Dagmar said. “We didn’t have the clues to give you. Nobody had a picture of the perpetrator.”

“They were all your friends, right?” Hippolyte asked. “Even the bomber.”

Dagmar allowed herself a moment of sadness.

“Even the bomber,” she said. “We all knew each other.”

Hippolyte shook her head. “That’s kind of amazing.”

“We all met in college,” Dagmar said. “We were in the same gaming group.”

And then, in front of that audience, she found herself telling that story, about BJ and Austin and Charlie, and the treacherous, devious worlds they had created, when they were all young and games were all they knew of life.

With thanks to Daniel Abraham, Sage Walker, Melinda Snodgrass, Emily Mah, Ty Franck, Ian Tregillis, Terry England, Victor Milán, Corie Conwell, David Levine, Allen Moore, Deborah Roggie, Ben Francisco, Brian Lowe, and Steve Stirling, who read drafts of this work with their usual active intelligence.

Special thanks to poker buddies Sean Stewart, Maureen McHugh, Elan Lee, and Jordan Weisman, for introducing me to the subject matter of this book.

Walter Jon Williams has been nominated repeatedly for every major SF award, including Hugo and Nebula Award nominations for this novel City on Fire. His most recent books are The Sundering, The Praxis, Destiny’s Way and The Rift. He lives near Albuquerque, New Mexico, with his wife.