The Florentine Game

By Michael R. Stevens

A Novel of the Metaverse

    Jason Lind is bored with life in Stanford's computer science department. The Florentine Game promises escape –  into a world guided by Machiavelli's thought and driven by complex chance algorithms that no one can totally defeat.

   Set in Renaissance Florence, the game's thousands of totally anonymous players are said to include celebrities, billionaires and even high-ranking politicians. Climbing the ladder of success in this society is thrilling, but it's also  expensive, because every victory has its price. Soon, Jason is deeply in debt. His only hope is to leverage the legacy of his father, a high tech legend who died under mysterious circumstances when Jason was a child. But when he looks into the past, he uncovers a frightening secret. Sometimes a game isn't really a game.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Strategic Writing
• Release date: Jun 13, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223763161

Book preview

Portola Valley, California

March 21, 11:30 p.m.

Her avatar was a stone statue of the Virgin Mary. The image was not animated like virtually all the others in The Florentine Game. Not animated – and therefore hastily obtained? But why? The soft voice that now reached his ears carried a hint of echo, as though the speaker were hiding behind the statue. Someone was hiding behind that statue.

You are in danger, she said.

Remember, this is only a game.

Jason typed, Does your husband know about us? The computer at the other end of this exchange would synthesize the voice of Lucco Pitti, a friend, and later rival, of Cosimo di Medici – Cosimo the elder. Jason had chosen Pitti’s voice for reliability. It was not platform-sensitive.

Worse.

He stared at the computer screen, the only source of light in the room where he was ensconced. It was on the second floor of a small, relatively new villa where he served as caretaker in exchange for free rent. The owners, beneficiaries of a multi-million dollar acquisition of their start-up by Google, were in Provence, and would not return for several months. Perhaps never. The villa was eerily quiet.

Worse? Jason typed, wondering what she had in mind. She was really good at this. Playing the Florentine Game with her was like writing a screenplay – a whole lot better than his life as a computer science grad student at Stanford.

We must meet. Sunday, at noon, in front of the new cathedral in Pisa.

This made no sense. Pisa was out of the range of the simulation. Jason typed, "Do you mean Piazza San Marco?"

No. In front of the new cathedral. In Pisa.

Was there a new revision to the game he had failed to download, one that added new geography? Surely he would have gotten an e-mail. He quickly launched another browser window and typed Cathedral of Pisa into the search window. In three clicks, he was looking at an image of a church completed, according to the caption, in 1350. Within the simulation’s time frame, but not its geography.

Jason weighed the situation for a moment and then decided to risk jumping out of character.

Pisa isn’t in the game, he typed.

Very quickly, the voice responded. "This isn’t a game."

Stanford University

Three months earlier, 10:30 a.m.

Dude! This is nuts.

Jason was sitting with his friend from high school, Marco Boreas, at an outdoor table on the sunny patio of the Stanford Student Union, an extension of the University’s popular food court – popular, Jason thought, because it reminded the undergrads of the malls back home.

Marco had recently bought a pair of round wire-rimmed glasses, which made him look a little like a wrestler who was trying to pose as a grad student. He had been on the wrestling team back in high school, and although he still spent several hours a week in the gym, he wasn’t quite up to NCAA competition. Unlike his friend, Jason was tall, lanky and maybe a little underweight. He hadn’t been eating much lately.

That’s what I like about you, Marco. You’re so articulate.

And you’re so fucking stupid. When you’re not coding some nth number Fourier analysis, of course.

Jason glanced around the terrace, concerned that the subject of their conversation, or one of her friends, might walk by and see what he had just revealed to Marco. Jason’s eyes were pale green, and sensitive to light. He often squinted, which gave him a perpetually puzzled look.

Marco, this ring is me.

Jay, when you pull out that box, she’s going to know it’s a ring, which will freak her out, by the way, and then when she sees this... this toy.... He looked skyward and spread his hands.

The toy was an Ovaltine Decoder Ring, circa 1950. The color of dull copper, it resembled a miniature roulette wheel with an inner ring of numbers that could be twisted to match an outer ring of letters. If you knew the right setting, you could convert a string of numbers into a text message.

It’s like a joke, but, you know, not a joke, said Jason. It’s important to me. My Dad gave it to me, before he... got married again and all that.

Does she even know about your dad?

No.

Well, don’t you think it might make a difference if she did?

Of course it would make a difference.

So?

Let’s leave my dad out of this, okay?

He’s the one who gave you the ring.

It’s a token of friendship. I want her to understand that she’s special. That I’m not just –

Trying to get into her pants?

Jason tensed at this.

Marco, will you please not talk like that about Laura?

I’m sorry. I apologize. But Jay, I don’t know how else to say this. He leaned forward over the table. She’s using you, dude.

It’s not that simple.

How many papers have you written for her?

One. No, actually, two... and two informal essays. Jason thought for a moment. And one annotated biography.

Marco stared at him. Let’s add this up. You write her papers, she’s always busy on the weekends, every date is a study date, and after two months you haven’t so much as kissed her good-night. I’m sorry pal, but this is not exactly a normal boy-girl relationship in the twenty-first century – New Chastity or not.

She has some problems.

Some problems?

With sex.

I’ll say. Her problem is – okay, Jay, I’m trying to take you seriously, but it seems like you’re the one with the problem.

Jason closed the box holding the ring, put it back into his back pack and drained the last of the coffee from his cup. Marco, I don’t need this. Besides, it’s time for class.

Marco didn’t move.

Marco, I know you’re probably right. But I have to do something to....

To what?

To verify that the situation is hopeless, okay? Jason glanced at his twenty dollar digital watch, which was beeping a reminder. He pushed on the tiny alarm button to silence it. This is what I hate.

What?

We’re like Pavlov’s fucking dogs, Marco. Ten o’clock, time to teach your section! Twelve o’clock, time for lunch!. Two o’clock, time for class! It’s like, the bell rings and we do what we’re programmed to do. It sucks."

That’s exactly what I’m saying. The whole thing with Laura is just genetic programming."

It sucks, Jason repeated. What are we doing here? What’s the point?

To drink as much tequila as possible while saving the world. Haven’t you read the Stanford University charter?

They both stood up and headed towards the stairs that led to the bike racks.

As they approached, Marco pulled his cell phone out of his pocked and unlocked his bike. Jason used an old-fashioned combination lock he had inherited when he bought the bike at a garage sale.

*   *   *

Jason had spent the afternoon preparing for his date with Laura. After his two o’clock Econ seminar he had biked over to the Stanford shopping center, gotten a quick haircut at SuperCuts, bought a new, bigger decorative box for the ring at the mall’s fancy stationery store and then, at Nordstrom’s, a shirt he couldn’t afford, but was sold on when the clerk enthused that it was totally GQ. By the time he got back home, Marco’s dark gray Honda was already parked in front of the garage. Now, showered and dressed for his date, he was behind the wheel. The car smelled fresh. Marco, the friend who always came through, had taken it to the car wash before dropping it by.

Jason was in a good mood as he followed the familiar route past the golf course and the archery range to the western edge of the campus, where the big fraternity and sorority houses were located. They were imposing structures with columned porches and huge lawns. As he parked the car and got out, he noticed a couple of jocks throwing a football back and forth in long, perfect parabolas. That was when his vision of the date started to collapse. Marco was right. This wasn’t going to work. He wasn’t Laura’s kind of guy. Pushing these thoughts aside, Jason walked towards the Tri Delt house, flower-covered box in hand.

The girl behind the desk had curly dark hair, brown eyes and, as he learned when she smiled up at him, a dimple. In her clingy tank top, she reminded him somehow of a gymnast he had seen on television during the Tokyo Olympics.

Hey, she said.

Hey. I’m here to see Laura Pride.

A puzzled look crossed her face. She’s not here. She left about half an hour ago. Her eyes rested for a moment on the box in Jason’s hand.

She’s signed out until midnight, she said, looking up. There was an awkward silence. Jason nodded. He felt numb.

You’re Jason, right? said the girl.

Yes.

I’m Paola. She stood up. Still in a daze, he shook her extended hand. It was warm.

You don’t recognize me? she said.

Jason focused on her face. She did look familiar....

Econ 401? she prompted.

Jason still couldn’t make the connection.

Let’s go outside for a minute, she said, coming around from behind the desk. Jason followed her out onto the broad wooden porch. She leaned against the railing that separated the porch from the well-groomed shrubbery that surrounded it. She was quite a bit shorter than Jason, and had to look up to meet his eyes as she talked.

What, you may ask, is a dumb sorority girl like me doing in a graduate class on international economics? The answer is, I’m not dumb. I’m one of the chosen few who rescue the Tri Delt’s composite GPA every quarter. And I’ll admit, I grew up in a big family. So I like it here. She gestured vaguely towards the interior of the house.

I live alone, said Jason. It was starting to get dark.

So, said Paola after a pause, I read the paper you wrote for Laura. This jarred Jason back into focus

What?

It’s a sorority. Everybody knows everything about everybody. There are no secrets among sisters. She added this last in a mocking, theatrical voice. I can tell you’re smart, and I was wondering if you’d like to be my research partner. You kind of raced out of the room without signing up. Actually, after you left I just went ahead and signed us up. I hope that was okay.

Jason stared out at the street. The guys with the football had disappeared.

Are you with me, Jason?

Sure. Again, Jason had trouble focusing. Somehow, the idea of Laura showing her friends the papers he had written was worse than her standing him up. I should go, he said after a moment.

Do you, uh, want to share your e-mail address with me? So we can make a plan? So we don’t fail this important course?

Sorry. It’s just my name. Jason Lind. L-I-N-D.

Okay Jason Lind. I’ll e-mail you. She touched his arm and rubbed the fabric of the new shirt between her fingers. Nice shirt, she said.

Night had fallen by the time Jason got back to his room. On the sanded plywood door that served as his make-shift desk there was a stack of at least two dozen tests for Dr. Bhattacharia’s network architecture class where he was a teaching assistant. Another stack of equal size would be waiting to be printed out when he went online. He had to get organized. He hadn’t bought half his books for the new quarter. Bhattacharia was starting to nag him about a thesis topic. The villa’s garden needed some work – actually, a lot of work. And this Econ class! What had he gotten himself into? He was behind already. He didn’t have time to do original research. The class was supposed to be easy.

Jason sat down and flipped on his iMac, reaching for a handful of peanut butter pretzels while he waited for it to boot up.

He went straight to his e-mail and scrolled through the list of messages, looking for – what? An apology from Laura? It wouldn’t be there. He had to accept that. He had to move on. But move on to what? Then, a subject line stopped him.

DOES YOUR LIFE SUCK?

It was like getting a fortune cookie that was totally relevant, even though it came to you by chance. Jason opened the message, which consisted of two large boxes, one labeled YES, the other NO. Jason clicked on the one labeled YES.

An ADULT CONTENT screen appeared with its long list of legal disclaimers. It was a porno site. Jason felt a weary sense of disappointment, but clicked through anyway. The screen went black. What appeared next was not the display of flesh he had expected, but the image of a stern old man in profile, stamped onto the face of a gold coin. Underneath the coin were the words:

The Florentine Game

Of course he had heard of Florentine. Who hadn’t? There were probably hundreds of players in the Stanford community. But Jason had always thought of it as a game that was mainly for movie stars and politicians – and low-rent types who hoped to rub shoulders with the rich and famous, the kind of people who thought a trip to Las Vegas was the perfect vacation. But maybe he was wrong. Something about the coin attracted him. He clicked on it, and was presented with what looked like a page from an old book.

The Florentine Game is an alternate reality based on Renaissance Florence, where players seek power, wealth, fame and love in what one reviewer described as the most gorgeous, complex and challenging environment on the Internet today.

If you have an entrepreneurial spirit, the Florentine Game is for you. If you are creative, The Florentine Game is for you. If you are looking for secret love, The Florentine Game is for you.

Like Florentine society in the early Renaissance, The Florentine Game has many layers. At the bottom, there are prostitutes and thieves; at the top, cardinals and merchant princes. The level at which you play is determined in part by your contribution to our virtual city’s coffers, the Monte, and in part by chance. While larger contributions initially place you at a higher level within the city’s hierarchy, players rise and fall in accordance with their personal cunning ~ what Machiavelli called Virtù, and their fate ~ or as he wrote, their Fortuna.

Many of the activities that occur in The Florentine Game, like many of the activities that occurred in Renaissance Florence, lie beyond the bounds of conventional behavior. For this reason, the players must, and do, enjoy complete anonymity. Not only are their true identities unknown to one another, they are unknown to the Florentine Corporation. This is achieved through a unique double blind encryption system.

The exchange of phone numbers, e-mail addresses, IM screen names or physical locations in the real world is strictly forbidden, as is any reference to the fact that there is a real world, or that The Florentine Game is a simulation. These laws are enforced by intelligent agents or bots that monitor all transactions without exception. The penalty for attempting to contravene The Florentine Game’s identity laws is death.

Death? They didn’t mean that literally. He knew that. Yet the very use of the word gave him a chill. He ignored it and read on.

Players may own one, and only one, identity, but may assume many others, as disguises and deception play a central role in The Florentine Game.

No matter what your initial level within the social hierarchy, from time to time you may have the opportunity to negotiate an alliance or even a marriage to affiliate yourself with one of the prominent houses, the so-called Five Families. Of course, such an affiliation is not without its costs. All opportunities of this nature are negotiated in New Florins at the average rate of exchange for the previous three months.

Jason now noticed a small yellow box at the bottom left corner of the screen. It looked like some sort of counter where the numerals 2.42 were followed by three more digits that fluctuated too rapidly to be read. He double-clicked on the box and got the explanation, rendered in stylized script on a small scroll that had the appearance of parchment.

Official exchange rate, New Florins to U.S. dollars

Click to change display

He clicked and got the inverse – dollars to New Florins. Then he moved the cursor back up and clicked on the image of the coin again. This time he was presented with a much larger scrolling display in the same italic script.

Over six hundred years ago in a small city-state on the Italian peninsula, the foundations of our modern, globalized society were created. Renaissance Florence was a city of unbounded opportunity for wealth, power and, yes, transgression.

A stagy voice read the words as they appeared. Then, the text faded to reveal three figures hunched over a table set in the corner of an ornate room. Tapestries depicting Renaissance hunting scenes covered the walls, illuminated only by flickering candle light. Jason marveled at the complex graphics. His computer was linked directly to the university’s zettabyte IP cloud, so he had no problem handling the feed. But where were they getting the server power to generate it? Thousands of people were online playing this game at any given time. Maybe hundreds of thousands. Even his dad would have been impressed, if he was still around. He had had an attraction to Italy Jason could never understand as a boy. He remembered being dragged through endless churches and museums at the age of nine, and he had been bored to death. But this was different.

In Renaissance Florence, huge sums of money changed hands at the turn of a card or the roll of a pair of dice, and while noblemen gambled away fortunes, ordinary merchants, artisans, factory workers and students played for lesser stakes. The Commune of Florence invites you to join them in games of chance and skill ~ and lotteries as well.

A discreet brown coin purse appeared at the lower right corner of the screen. Underneath appeared the words:

WIN YOUR FORTUNE. JOIN NOW.

The screen faded to an arched stone window with drawn shutters. There was almost no light, and Jason could hear the faint gasps of love making.

Some citizens of the city played a more dangerous game, where the pleasure of victory was more intense, and the price of defeat could be death. In Renaissance Florence, the variations on the theme of love were both diverse and extreme. This spirit lives today. The Commune of Florence invites you to join its celebration of Earthly delights.

Once again, a coin purse appeared, this time burgundy in color.

EXPLORE YOUR LIMITS. JOIN NOW.

After a few seconds the display shifted to a montage of Renaissance paintings.

And for those who would enjoy the full experience of the city that gave birth to Niccolò Machievelli, the Commune of Florence offers the role of Player. Your family, your station and your initial rank will be determined in part by Fate. But your success – in politics, mercantile ventures, love, and even in the labyrinth of The Church – will be determined by the quality of your Virtù.

This time, the coin purse was golden.

TEST YOUR POWER. JOIN NOW

A player. This was a word he had heard before. It was the aspiration of his father’s business partner, Frank Stöcker – to be a player, someone who really mattered in the Byzantine tangle of global digital politics. And Dr. Peterson had used the same word the other day in Econ 401, describing the current Under Secretary of Commerce. He’s not really a player, Peterson had said dismissively.

Jason clicked on the golden purse. The screen darkened.

Welcome. I am the guardian Angel of Florence. You cannot deceive me, and I must warn you that the penalty for even one attempt is severe.

The female voice was spooky and seductive at the same time.

Follow the prompts – I’ll be watching over you.

Was there a hint of irony in these last words? Jason wasn’t sure. Now a male voice took over.

Enter your name:

Jason typed: J-a-s-o-n  L-i-n-d.

And your social security number.

Jason followed the instructions, grateful once again for the new ID Protection Act. It was amazing how those clowns in Washington had actually gotten something right for once. The worst he could lose was four hundred dollars, and he rarely had that much money at one time anyway.

Now choose your mode of interaction:

voice synthesis

text only

Jason chose voice synthesis. A small scroll appeared at the lower left corner of the screen.

There is a $1.00 surcharge for voice synthesis.

Please click here to accept.

Jason accepted the charge and the scroll was replaced by another.

Your monthly subscription for the support of the Commune of Florence and the increase of the Monte has been reckoned at 60 New Florins per year, or $ US 12.50 per month at the current rate of exchange. Please choose a method of payment, or click here for additional clarification.

Three familiar credit card logos appeared, but Jason first clicked for clarification. The screen displayed a large scroll box filled with the ubiquitous script. It was written, he gathered, in deliberately antiquated legalese to conform with the general ambiance of the game. This he had half expected – but the substance was a surprise: The cost of his subscription would vary, based partly on the rate of exchange, and partly on the algorithms available.

The algorithms available? That was weird. How did they get hundreds of thousands of people to sign up for a game without telling them how much it was going to cost? The answer was implied in the question. If there were that many players, it couldn’t be a rip-off. Word would get around. And the word that actually had gotten around, true or not, was that you could win big when you played Florentine. Jason closed the scroll box and entered his credit card information. A moment later, a rather fat, officious man in Renaissance garb appeared holding a tall staff that terminated in an axe blade. He was standing in front of a huge, ornately embellished gate.

Welcome to Florence. he said. "Your credit has been approved, and your identity token will be shipped to you within two days. Until then, you will wear a temporary cloak of invisibility. The other players won’t be able to see you, but you’ll enjoy full participation in respect to the digerati and the travestiri." The guard stepped aside and the gates swung inward. Jason found himself in a very large plaza filled with people. Their movement, he could see, was being executed with dozens of independent lap dissolves, giving the scene a slight shimmering effect. It was magnificent.

In front of him rose a huge cathedral that he recognized, although he couldn’t name it. Famous today, he thought, six hundred years after it was built. No one would say that about any of the buildings at Stanford.

He watched a women in a tattered shawl buy a fish from a stall in the corner of the plaza, then followed two red-hatted cardinali as they crossed it diagonally, deep in conversation. He heard the clatter of horse hooves on cobblestones and saw a carriage, its curtained windows trimmed in what seemed to be gold. Here, in this square, the highest and the lowest of Florentine society were brought into close proximity.

Jason stared, mesmerized by the graphics. A courtier approached, dressed in a blue and purple cloak and wearing a floppy black hat.

Francesca, daughter of Palla Nofri of the Strozzi family, is to be offered in marriage within the month, he said. The bidding for her hand has begun, and now stands at two thousand five hundred New Florins. If you post the winning bid, your rank would be hardly less than that of a duke. The gaudily dressed figure produced what appeared to be a contract. Jason was at a loss. If the rate of exchange was accurate, he was being asked to bid over six thousand dollars! Was this courtier talking about real money? He noticed that a new purse had appeared at the bottom of the screen. He clicked on it and learned it contained one hundred piccioli. These were, he gathered, small coins, presumably his to spend, although he had no idea what that amount of money would buy. Surely not a princess.

The courtier had backed away and seemed to be waiting, hands folded at his belt. Now a dignified man approached, dressed in a dark tunic. He was carrying a book in his left hand, and across his chest there was a silver sash embroidered with the word WISDOM.

I can see you’re new to our city. Do you have a question I can answer?

Context sensitive help, thought Jason. He knew this figure had appeared automatically, but his appearance still gave Jason the disturbing sensation he was being watched.

Jason typed, Can I bid?

Would you like something to read, or shall I tell you.

Jason typed, Tell me.

To bid, you must have enough money in the account of a recognized banking house to cover your bid. You can increase your account using U.S. dollars, Euros or Yen at any of these houses. I can provide a list.

Jason typed, How do I increase my account?

Deposit money.

Were there really people who would pay six thousand dollars for a family alliance in Florentine? This was supposed to be a game!

The scholar drifted off into the crowd to be replaced with an obvious prostitute. Her shimmering breasts almost fell out of her bodice as she leaned forward.

You don’t have to wait for that identity token to have fun. Just touch my hand. We’ll go somewhere where we can be alone, and I’ll do anything you want. When Jason didn’t react she lowered her eyes for a moment, then looked up at him. Maybe you’d rather touch my feet? she said, winking.

Jason waited. Like the courtier, she eventually backed off, and his attention was attracted to an alley leading away from the plaza where three men were casting dice. One of them motioned towards him, and Jason suddenly realized that all these figures – the courtier, the scholar, the whore –were pop-ups. There would be, he imagined, an endless series of propositions directed towards him unless he could figure a way to turn them off. But for now, he didn’t really want to do that. He wanted to see what this city had to offer.

––––––––

OF GOVERNANCE

To profit from the opportunities available in The Florentine Game, you must first accept this fact: The outcome of any given action is unknowable. Nonetheless, the game is governed by laws. The first is the law of supply and demand. The second is The Golden Rule: Whoever possesses the gold... rules.

– From THE LOOM OF FATE, a Novice’s Guidebook to The Florentine Game

Stanford University

January 12, 11:15 a.m.

Jason surveyed the crowded Student Union café, squinting against the bright sunlight, trying to locate Paola. He spied her at last in the far corner, waving enthusiastically. She was wearing expensive-looking sweats, deep Stanford red with two white stripes on the legs. He had given no thought to his own clothes – jeans, a faded gray T-shirt, off-brand running shoes – and now he wished he had. He remembered how his stepmother used to nag his dad about clothes. Maybe she had a point. The right clothes could make you feel different about yourself. He slid in beside Paola and found a place for his can of Coke among the clutter of papers and books she had spread out.

This is going to be really interesting, she said, squeezing his arm. Her physical warmth always caught him off guard. Jill, his former girlfriend, had been skittish, and then, after she went on Welbutrin, spacey and distant. Laura, a frequent companion if not a girlfriend, had been Ms. Ice. But Paola couldn’t seem to talk to him without touching him as well.

Jason didn’t reply, slightly intimidated