I held my breath in anticipation. "How far can they level me up? Have they done it before?"

The goblin sat up, the pride ringing in his voice. "I'd recommend Zena's team from the Sullen squad. She's got a bit of an attitude, that one, but her team know what they're doing. They'll pull 'em good, for sure. They won't idle around. Your DpS is your only problem: that's the amount of damage per second you can generate. The rest they'll all take care of: mana, mob pulling, healing, and finishing them off after reaching 50%. You could do one level per hour, I suppose. More if you have some top gear and a decent pet. I'd suggest you check out our gear rental. I'm sure you'll find something there you can use. They want a deposit of 100% though, or level 150-plus guarantors. The rental costs 1% per twenty-four hours of the item's average price in the cluster."

Jesus. That was an eye-opener. I was still a total noob with no hope of ever redeeming myself. I'd only been talking with that guy for half an hour and already I'd learned some useful things like the existence of the Ferrymen and equipment rental. The only thing that could possibly excuse me was my desperately tight deadline. I'd only had eight days between my initial decision to go perma and my pressing of the login button, including the time spent on looking it all up and laying my hands on a jailbreak chip. I hadn't done so badly, after all. Shame I'd had to waste my early days on sorting out some local problems, but even that pointed to one undeniable fact: here I was still alive—as opposed to the real world where my sorry ass was actively involved in the process of buying the farm. I found it symbolic that Mom had employed the most energetic language refusing to unplug the capsule. I understood her feelings, of course, even if personally I entertained no nostalgia for my wasted thirty-year-old body. The village-boy euphoria of absolute health was still new for me. It forced me from my bed every morning filling me with a desire to laugh and move, flaring my nostrils in the wake of every provocatively-undressed Elven girl.

I shook my head clear of my reminiscing. "Okay. Zena it is. I don't think I'll be needing your rentals. My gear is good enough. I couldn't take another database-browsing today."

"Excellent. The portal reservation is in your name. The wizard on duty will wait for your signal to arrive at the portal hall. The group is currently on standby status three and will be at your disposal in an hour unless you're willing to pay the optional express rate previewed in the contract."

"I don't," I dismissed his offer. "I can wait no problem—what's half an hour between friends. I think I'll have a little tour around your place in the meantime. I love it here."

The goblin nodded proudly. "Custom made by Shining, the AI interior design studio," he paused, waiting for my reaction. Apparently, this Shining place had to be It. I pursed my lips and tut-tutted, faking an aficionado.

The goblin beamed and tapped the Send button. "Here's your bill. Seven thousand three hundred. Excluding tip," he added in a low voice, looking down.

I nodded, opening my Inbox, and paid the bill in one click adding one percent for his expert advice.

He beamed again. "Thank you," he rose and offered me his tiny paw, making it apparent the session was over. "I'll be happy to help you on any future occasions. You've got my email so feel free to contact me any time even if I'm offline. I've got a real-world forwarding service active twenty-four-seven."

I gingerly shook his tiny sensitive fingers and blurted, "If you don't mind my asking... why a goblin?"

I could see he knew what I meant. His face browned. Was it how he blushed—red color mixed with the original green? How sure was I that goblins' blood was indeed red?

Finally, he spoke, "This is our company policy. To diminish distraction factors and office dating."

As if on cue, a head-turning Elfa from the Information desk hip-swayed past us, escorting a client to a consultant's cubicle. The aroma of violets, a tiny scrap of lace and silk, a handful of diamonds and a whole lot of exposed velvety golden skin. We followed the dreamlike creature with hungry eyes. The goblin gulped and heaved a sigh.

"I think I know what you mean," I put all my sympathy into my words and gave his tiny paw another shake—this time wholeheartedly.

I spent the next hour in a cozy little café perched up next to a training arena. This was the best way to spend what little available time I had: basking in the warm sun sipping coffee and munching on eclairs, filling my immortal memory with combat strategies by class, including the mercs' names and a few of their personal boxes of combat tricks. Very useful. I got so engrossed in it I hadn't even noticed the Inbox flashing at me. Oops. Three unread messages—for the last twelve minutes, I'd been enjoying myself at the rate of four hundred sixty gold an hour. Shit. I jumped up and trotted off to the Departure Hall to meet the impatiently awaiting Zena and Co.

The large oval room was lined with comfortable little couches seating a couple dozen diverse people, from trolls and orcs to halflings and goblins. So that's where all the races came to mingle, apparently. It wasn't all elves as I imagined in my newb location.

I scanned the crowd trying to make out my team. I didn't need to look long. Ramming through the room like an aircraft carrier group through the sea, a female pod of four goblins and a troll was already heading straight for me. Oh well. If a girl wanted to play a troll, there had to be somebody responsible for it. What kind of social protest was that, for chrissakes? A female merc team at its most absurd and ungainly. Was it AlterWorld's emo trying to be funny?

The female Troll came closer. My eyes were at one level with her powerful chest protected by half-inch thick armor.

I stepped back and looked up. "Zena?"

"You blind or what, blondie?" I heard a squeak from below. A female goblin's steel boot gave my knee cap a rather sensitive kick.

She—Zena, apparently—stepped forward, shaking her head. "All you men are alike, really. Stupid as old boots. All you can think of is a pair of boobs. No one's interested in a girl's psyche. What are you staring at? Come on, General, the team's awaiting your orders," she glared at me with sarcastic interest, as if expecting this old boot to speak.

All that time, I was mentally swearing, wishing every ill on the goblin consultant's green head. Sullen squad, he said? Very well, then.

"Right!" wincing from their sarcastic grins, I cleared my throat and said in my most imposing voice, "Enough of your feminist trash! What are your names, girls?"

The rosy smiles waned on the warrior goblins' mugs. They exchanged puzzled glances. So they didn't like me breaking the mold, then?

The leader was the first to regain her composure. "Zena's team, all-female Sullen squad, number 18 in the independent mercs' ratings. Levels 140 plus, gear unique plus. On twenty-four hour hire until o-fourteen hundred hours tomorrow. Today's agenda: rushing the customer from level 52. I recommend the Oasis location, it's teeming with amphibians levels 60 to 100. Freckle Face will port us there, she's our wizard, Freckles for short as it's quite a mouthful in the heat of battle. First we need the Ferryman to jump us to the Frontier, then Freckles will set up a navigational beacon so that tomorrow she can jump us from there herself. Now what next? I can see you've already met our warrior? Yes, Bomba is very likeable, her boobs certainly are," she grinned.

She pointed to a small goblin maiden all kitted out in complex leather armor, her two swords hanging recklessly from two steel rings on her hips. The naked blades emitted a burgundy sheen, sparkling occasionally. At the time, the maiden was ignoring us, engrossed in a heated discussion with some merc over the pros and cons of the latest trend in power leveling, Savage-style. Whoever Savage was and whatever advantages his modus operandi could offer, I didn't have the slightest idea.