Afk

By Huckleberry Hax

A Second Life® detective reflects on cases and confessions, on love, on anger, on understanding Second Life as perhaps the greatest liberator there has ever been, and on falling for the oldest trick in the book, just the same...

• Language: English
• Publisher: Huckleberry Hax
• Release date: Feb 10, 2010
• ISBN: 9781466012707

Huckleberry Hax

Huckleberry Hax writes novels set in and around virtual worlds. His best-known titles are the books of the AFK series set in Second Life®.A resident of Second Life since 2007, Huck also writes regularly on his blog about the metaverse and was a columnist for the acclaimed AVENUE magazine for over two years. His book, Second Life is a place we visit, collects together 42 of these articles.Huck is also an experienced voice performer in SL and has read aloud from his and other titles at a wide range of venues, including Milkwood, The Blue Angel, Bookstacks, Cookie, Nordan Art and Basilique.Huck's other interests include poetry (he has published a volume of his own poems called Old friend, learn to look behind you in the coffee queue and co-edited issue one of the poetry journal, 'Blue Angel Landing'), photography and machinima.

Book preview

Chapter 1

This is how you make a listening device in Second Life®.  It starts with a prim; you know how to create one of those, right?  Right-click, select 'create' then left click anywhere on the ground.  If building is allowed there, of course.  So you have a cuboid prim.  On the big grey window find the 'content' tab and click on 'new script.'

The air is thick with communication in SL, just as it is in Real Life.  But it's not just the people doing the talking in SL.  Plenty of the objects you walk past are all gassing away to each other in their own particular way.  Otherwise the objects that do things, well, wouldn't.  In Real Life objects communicate in digital codes.  In SL, one object can send a message to another on any one of literally millions of channels.  It could be a digital code.  It could just as easily be a message like, 'you smell'.

And – of course – objects can listen as well as talk.  Take a look at that tree you're standing next to; are you *sure* it's not leaning that way so it can tune into you that little bit better?

A tiny amount of script and your bog standard prim becomes a fully functioning listening device:

integer channel = 0;

integer listen_handle = 0;

default {

state_entry()

{listen_handle = llListen(channel,,NULL_KEY, );}

listen(integer channel, string name, key id, string message)

{llInstantMessage(llGetOwner(),name+: +message);}}

Seriously.  That's all it takes.  Drop your innocent little box (no-one ever suspects the virgin prim) in your listening location, then take yourself to anywhere you like in SL.  Anywhere.  From this point on, anything spoken in public chat within a 20 metre range will be delivered straight to you via the magic of Instant Message.  If you're outworld and you've configured SL to email you your IMs it'll even mail  it to you.  Not that that's an issue for me these days, now that I'm SLFT.

Oh yeah... Terms Of Service stuff, etc.  Don't blame getting banned on me.

So that's the technical stuff.  Next there's the issue of concealment.  The brand new prim will only actually go unnoticed in a certain type of location.  By that I don't mean it'll come under suspicion, just that someone will end up cleaning it up.  You can go for a variety of disguises if you want – I used to do that quite a bit in the early days of the agency, thinking it was some sort of field craft.  But really the simplest thing to do is just to sink it under the surface of the ground.  No-one ever looks down there – they can't if they don't have their camera constraints disabled in any case.  And if they did and saw a prim there who would really give a shit?

Ok.  So what if the place you want to bug won't let you build stuff?  Let's be honest – this is, after all, kind of likely.  When was the last time you went to a shop and bought something you could actually rez there and then?  Actually, you might be surprised when it comes to private parcels at just how few people *do* protect their land from other people building stuff there; bugging a private property can sometimes work out a lot easier than you were expecting.  But that doesn't get around another key problem, which is that targets have this annoying habit of going to places.  Philandering husbands in particular are prone to *not* bringing girlfriends back to places they are known to frequent, such as their houses (awkward bastards, I know); even if you've discovered the land is open to you for building, therefore, more often than not your carefully placed bug ends up listening to nothing more than an evening's worth of silence.  Oh and don't forget, it's easy to look up the ownership of foreign objects on your land, giving targets a direct link back to you if it ever occurs to them to do this (again; you'd be surprised how rare this is).  It's not an entirely insurmountable problem, that, but it can be a bloody nuisance for half an hour or so when it happens.

My name is Definitely Thursday, by the way.  'Def' to anyone who can't be bothered to type, though those who can seem to prefer 'Thursday'.  On paper I'm 50 per cent of the Step Stransky Second Life Detective Agency.  Well, technically I'm an employee, (although that's a fairly fluid situation at this particular moment in time).  I have about 49 per cent of the say and at least 70 per cent of the case load.  But I do *love* my job.  The demand is simply astonishing.  It's all about infidelity, of course.  It's all about paranoid 'partners' keeping tabs on their newly acquired spouses.  It's all about that week or so following the ceremony and the noticing that the partner isn't on quite as much as s/he used to be... and so on, and so on.

That is until the case of Arton Urriah.

Arton, I should point out, was the target.  It was his wife who'd come into the office during an afternoon in October.  Regarding infidelity.  I think it was three weeks the couple had been married at that point (nothing odd in that), though they'd known each other longer.  It was the usual kind of worry.

Starfish Picturebook: You are a detective?

Step Stransky: Yes indeed.  Would you care to sit down?

Starfish Picturebook: Excuse me, do you follow husbands? I need to know what mine is doing.

Starfish Picturebook fiddles awkwardly and feels like she's going to cry.

Step Stransky: It's ok Starfish. People cry in here a lot.

Step Stransky offers Starfish some tissues.

Step Stransky: Yes we can look into your husband's activities if you'd like.

Step Stransky: I see from your profile you're recently married...

Starfish Picturebook: yes...

Step Stransky: My dear, can I ask how it is your suspicions have come to be aroused?

Step Stransky: Please take your time.

Step was so much better at the initial interviews than me.  More tact, I guess.

Starfish Picturebook: Well... I noticed that he always waits now for me to log off first.

Starfish Picturebook: Since after the wedding.

A common sign.  I reckon at least half our clients come in reporting that one at some point during their interview.  It starts off a small annoyance to them, but within a couple of days they've started checking out the bit on the website that shows which of their friends are online, desperate to try and work out what the hell their other half is up to.  The next thing they notice is that it's their partner each evening that brings up the subject of logging off first.

Starfish Picturebook: Why talk about going to bed and then not do it?

Starfish Picturebook: One evening, sure – things come up unexpectedly.

Starfish Picturebook: Two I can tolerate...

Starfish Picturebook: But *every* evening?

Step Stransky: I understand.

Which, incidentally, was one of Step's favourite phrases.  It's unbelievable what he achieved with that line, in fact.  And it always came just before the 'rephrase':

Step Stransky: So you think your husband wants you to log off so he can do things without you?

The 'rephrase' appearing to me to be nothing more than pretty much repeating back exactly what had been said with a few extra words in a few different places.  Yet people seemed to love it when Step used it on them.  I must admit I have tried it out myself a few times, occasionally with very satisfying results...

Starfish Picturebook: Yes, Mr Stransky.  I do.

Starfish Picturebook: He was on once for three hours after I'd logged off.

Starfish Picturebook: In the end I logged back in again and asked him what the hell he was doing.

Step Stransky: You logged back into SL?

Starfish Picturebook: Yes.

Starfish Picturebook: He told me a friend needed some help.

Step Stransky: Did he mention who?  Did he say with what?

Starfish Picturebook: I didn't ask and he didn't say.

Step Stransky: And the next evening...?

Starfish Picturebook: And the next evening.

I never actually got to meet Starfish.  I very nearly IMed her, but more about that later.  The 'rules', for want of a better way of putting it, were that when Step took down the details I took on the job.  And vice versa.

Step Stransky: Is your husband a land owner?

Starfish Picturebook: Oh yes.  A landlord, in fact.

Starfish Picturebook: A big one.

Step Stransky: But he has a house?  Of his own?

Starfish Picturebook: *Our* house, you mean?

Step Stransky: Yes.

Starfish Picturebook: Well... neither of us are spending much time there at the moment.

Step Stransky: Where does he like to spend time then?

Starfish Picturebook: I met him in a jazz club; we still go there sometimes.

Starfish Picturebook: But I'm pretty sure he doesn't go there after I log.

Starfish Picturebook: Well I checked that evening, at least.

Step Stransky: We'll need your help if we're going to find out where he goes and what he does.

Starfish Picturebook: What do you need me to do?

Step Stransky: If you gave him something to wear do you think he'd put it on?

Which brings us back to listening devices, and the solution to the problems of building permissions and target movement: don't bug the land if it's at all possible to bug the person.

Starfish Picturebook: What kind of thing?

Step Stransky: Does he like watches?

Why a watch?  It has to be an attachable item first of all, because shirts and trousers can't have scripts put in them.  The other thing about shirts and trousers is that they tend to be removed when avatars get down to the business of virtual adultery – and that, at the end of the day, is the event we're trying to record.  Unlike RL, there's no trail of underwear across a lover's bedroom floor that a listening device can snuggle in; clothes not worn get stuck in inventory, where they can't listen to a damned thing.  So shoes are no good for the same reason.

But watches often get left on.  At least, *nice* watches get left on.  And I make very nice watches.

Starfish Picturebook: I suppose if I gave him a watch he probably would wear it, yes.

Starfish Picturebook: I mean, If I insisted.

I actually rent a little stand for my watches at a jeweller in Varano.  Watches *without* a listening script installed, of course.  Just for the sake of authenticity.  It does very well.  It pays for itself, in fact. 

Chapter 2

It's cold in RL as I write this.  My breath is wispy white in the glare of the monitor.  Just like the steam that's rising from my coffee.  I'm observing both and thinking 'particle effects.'

Inch is IMing me, all stressed again about Step's whereabouts.  It must be five times I've told her already he's probably just AFK for a bit.  Apparently they were due to meet up about now.  Which is handy to know.

InWorld, I'm sitting on The Wall at Bear and there's absolutely nobody about.  Five minutes from now it might be absolutely crawling with avatars old and new.  Bear can be like that.  It's where I was 'born'.  It stopped being my Home location a long time ago, but I always find a little time each week to spend here.  It's good to keep in touch with your roots.  I suppose I could invite Inch over here if she's in need of company... It's just that that's not really part of the plan.  Moments like this are important when it comes to plans.  Deviating just that little bit when you think all the hard stuff is done and out of the way is exactly the way that cock-ups happen.  See it through, all the way.  See it through to the end.

I'm gazing at her name on my friends list and tracing absently with my finger where her name is scratched into my desk.  It's a fine old desk that I own, but by old I don't mean 'antique.'  This used to be a teacher's desk in a school; I reckon it was in use maybe twenty to thirty years ago.  The surface is well worn, but most of the stuff that's scratched into that has been done by me since I got it.  It has two drawers and they're each still lined with big squares of coloured card like you used to get out with scissors and glue during wet play.  Lift the card up and the bottom of the drawers underneath is absolutely covered with scribblings and doodles.  Sometimes I tip everything out of both drawers and try to work out what's been written there, but it isn't easy because at some point someone went over everything with first a red and then a green crayon.  What fascinates me is that they didn't just scribble at random over the whole drawer bottom – they actually took the time to cross out every individual word.  Twice.

There's so much stuff I can't work out in the world.  Where hidden graffiti in the bottom of a teacher's desk comes from is one of those things.

Above the word 'Inch' I have our 'special code' scribed across the desk in blue, black, red and finally green ballpoint.  We agreed it several months ago during a late night drinking session.  It's amazing how an Internet connection and a couple of distant chums can transform the way you feel about sitting alone in front of the monitor with a bottle of economy red.

Step Stransky: We should have a code.

Inch Sideways: A code?

Step Stransky: A code.

Definitely Thursday: What sort of a code?

Step Stransky: An identifier code.  Something we can use to identify ourselves by.

Inch Sideways: To each other?

Step Stransky: Exactly.

Definitely Thursday: Are we talking SL or RL here?

Step Stransky: Both.

Inch Sideways: Both?

Step Stransky: Why not?

Inch Sideways: Are there plans to meet up in real life that I don't know about here?

Definitely Thursday was about to ask the same thing.

Step Stransky: Why, you want to?

Inch Sideways: Do you?

Step Stransky: I asked first.

Definitely Thursday: Haven't we had this conversation before?

Definitely Thursday: Several times?

Step Stransky glares at Thursday and puts his finger across his lips.

Inch Sideways: Funny like being smashed in the face.

Step Stransky: What I was thinking is...

Step Stransky: We all use alts, right?

Definitely Thursday: No.

Inch Sideways: No.

Step Stransky: Exactly.  Wouldn't it be cool if we had a code phrase we could use to each other when we thought we'd 'spotted' one.

Inch Sideways: Eh?

Definitely Thursday: Oh I see what you're on about.

Inch Sideways: You do?

Step Stransky: Well it works like this: say I'm out and about and I see this fabulous young blonde admonishing someone for the use of the acronym 'lol'...

Inch Sideways: Oh for crying out loud...

Inch Sideways: I can't believe I'm the only one with this issue

Definitely Thursday: It is so wrong...

Definitely Thursday: ...people laughing out loud like that.

Inch Sideways: That's just it, though – are they?  Are they actually laughing out loud in front of their monitor?  Are they actually filling their rooms with laughter?

Inch Sideways thinks not.

Step Stransky: May I continue?

Inch Sideways: Is this actually going to be interesting?

Step Stransky: Think of it as a game,