CHAPTER ONE
I renn into my place to find a little green man staring at my wallpaper. It looks like he took a default avatar and ran half the sliders as far as they could go. He’s about as short as an avie can be and his ears are so pointed they reach as far as the back of his bald head. He’s green like the skin of a lime, wearing what looks to be clothes from the wardrobe you start with—a yellow shirt, red pants, and basic brown boots.
Oh, boy, looks like it’s Griefer Week. Just the other day, one of them renned into The Limelight, right in the middle of the dancefloor, in the shape of a unicorn balloon animal, and then proceeded to fart green smoke and blare an air horn noise. They lasted about two seconds before Annamaree booted and banned them.
As if my day hasn’t been enough of a pain in the ass. I had a long and wearying shift of sandwich-fixing, including two solid getting-yelled-at sessions, and I was hoping for a little time before I went to bed to play in StarCity. Now I’ve got to deal with this. He hasn’t done anything wrong yet, so I do a quick check of his stats and find that (a) his name is Xenix, (b) today is his first day in StarCity, and (c) other than that standard issue information, his profile is completely blank. Not a good sign. Griefers are perpetually reincarnating into new accounts as they get banned from the places they wreak havoc on.
But he might just be a garden-variety nooby with a weird taste in avatars. I decide to give him the benefit of the doubt for now.
“See anything you like?” I ask.
There’s that moment of delay before his hands jump and his head twitches. So he’s on Earth; I know that much. He turns aroundwards to look at me and I get a look at his face. His nose is pointed to the same extreme as the ears, and his irises are bright green, so bright they almost seem to glow, but he hasn’t used that setting. His expression is a genuinely startled look. I’m guessing a full-face visor.
“I’m sorry,” he says. “I was hypnotized by the wallpaper.” His voice is low and gravelly with a British accent. I may give him a pass on the accent alone. After spending my adolescence listening to The Infinite Suns and watching every interview I could find, I’ve become a hopeless sucker for a guy with it.
“Don’t blame you,” I reply. It is pretty impressive wallpaper—black with bits of light like stars cascading down from the ceiling in a seamless flow.
“Is this a shop?” he asks.
It might be hard for a nooby to tell. All the items on the walls (the wings, the clothes, the artworks) and all the things on pedestals and in cases (the shoes, the bags, the jewelry) only show a price when you click on them. He’s just gotten here, so he wouldn’t have the hang of that yet.
“It’s my shop,” I tell him. “Happy rennday.”
“Um, thank you. What’s a rennday?”
“The day you first render in StarCity. When a graphical element appears here—like the wall you’ve been gaping at—it renders, or renns. So the day your avie first appeared here is your rennday.”
“Avie means avatar, right?” he asks.
“You catch on quick.”
“I’m going to have to. I knew this would be a different…place. I just didn’t know I’d have to learn a whole new language to maneuver it.”
If he’s not a nooby, he’s a griefer playing a long game. If he asks enough stupid questions to be conspicuously annoying, I’ll lean more towards griefer.
“It’s just slang,” I tell him. “You’ll get the hang of it. What do you think so far?”
He turns around smoothly—he’s probably sitting in a rolling chair—and looks over the shop. “It’s the oddest damn virtuality I’ve ever been in.”
“How many virtualities have you been in?”
“I’m not sure,” he admits. “But I’ve mostly been in them long enough to say ‘Well, this is boring’ and depart. They’re all shopping malls and meeting rooms. This is the first virtuality I’ve come across that would let me look like this.” He holds his hands up and gestures at himself, then points at me. “Or even you!”
I’m wearing my winter fairy avie—snow white skin, pale blue hair, cracked ice wings, a bright white slip under a crystalline dress, and a cloud of snowflakes hovering around me.
“You’re in one now.” I pull up a thousand-point gift certificate and drop it on him. “Here, have a rennday present. From me to you.” It’s all play money, so I can afford to be generous.
“What is this?” He squints as if he’s trying to read the message that has come up on his visor.
“It’s a gift certificate. For this store.” I swing my hand controller out in a sweeping gesture and my avatar’s right hand follows.
“For anything?”
“For anything that’s on sale. You can’t buy the wallpaper. Or the display stands. Or me.”
“I wouldn’t expect you to be on sale,” he says. “You’d be out of my price range if you were.”
I ignore the implication and take the compliment. “Have a look around,” I tell him. “Let me know if you have any questions.”
Xenix follows the curve of the wall by pointing two fingers and putting his thumb down. He jerks forward a few times, as if he’s still getting the hang of how to walk, but he seems to be more graceful by the end of his perusal. A griefer wouldn’t go to the trouble to fake that kind of clumsiness that convincingly, so I put him in the clear.
“How much are the boots?” he asks.
“Touch them and find out.”
They’re the Big Stompy Boots—I designed them from the ground up without templates, just a few pictures of different types of boots with incredibly thick soles and high tops, with intricate laces that are complicated to tie, but easy to render. Took me hours, but I had so much fun making them that I didn’t mind.
“One thousand points! Perfect! Now, how do I buy these things?” A look of concentration goes over his face. He points his finger and makes swiping and tapping motions and then says “Do I want to wear them now? Why, yes, yes I do!” He pokes the air with a flourish. The boots appear on his feet and he tilts his head down to look at them. “Aces!”
“They’re antigrav, too.”
“Antigrav? Is that how you’re hovering about half a meter above the ground there?”
“Exactly so.” I reply. “My wings—and your boots—have a flight plug in them. It gives you the power of flight, and animates your avatar so you can look at least a bit dignified. Bring the boots up on your visor and you should find the button to activate it.”
He waves his hands around a bit and then floats up off the floor. He looks down and laughs. It’s a strange laugh on him—a stuttering sort of thing that’s a little higher than his speaking voice.
“How do I get around?” he asks.
“Same way you walk. Point two fingers and put down your thumb. If you want to go up, point up.”
He does so and crashes right into the ceiling. He laughs again. “I’m completely useless at this.”
“You’ll get the hang of it. Let’s go somewhere where we can fly freely.” I pull up a teleport token for the Cloud Gardens and drop it on him. “Touch that and it’ll take you there. Make sure you stay flying—there’s no place to stand and it’s a long way to fall.”
He points in midair and vanishes. I pull up the token again and select it. I arrive to find Xenix diving in and out of the clouds. When he sees me, he swoops down to stop, surprisingly gracefully, right in front of me.
“Chris!” he says. “Or is it Phoenix? What should I call you?”
“Chris is fine. Christophina if you want to be formal. ChrisDaPhoenix if you want to stick to screen names.”
“Christophina like the sign on your shop? Christophina’s Wings?”
“Exactly. Should I call you zenn-icks or zee-nicks? Or something else?”
“Let’s stick to zee-nicks,” he says. “I’m undercover, don’t you know.”
“That’s fine.”
Xenix’s gaze moves around our surroundings—huge white clouds slowly shifting in the sun. “When I was a kid, I would fly on airplanes a lot. When I had a window seat, I would look out at the clouds and wish I could play in them. This is amazing. But how is it a garden? Be hard to plant flowers up here.”
“It’s a sculpture garden,” I explain. “You know how people see shapes in the clouds? There are shapes that form here that are more definite. They form for a while, then fade out and disappear. Looks like there’s one right there.” I point to a cloud that’s turning into a column at the top.
“Let’s have a look.” He flies over and settles himself in front of it.
I flutter to him and look up at the changing cloud. “I think it’s the angel. It’s one of my favorites.”
As I predict, the wings unfurl in streaks and the head and body fall into focus. Once fully rendered, the result is more like a pale and slightly translucent marble statue than a shape you see in the sky, albeit a statue with slowly beating wings. When the angel starts to sing, I’m close enough to hear Xenix’s breath catch. She sings an acapella rendition of “Ave Maria” done by someone with an incredibly high, sweet voice. Like I always do, I let the music go through me as it soars and falls. When the song ends, she slowly dissolves back into vapor and dissipates.
Xenix says nothing. He just hovers with an astonished look on his face.
“Was that bad?” I ask.
“No, no, it’s good,” he assures me. “Incredible, in fact. I’m half inclined to leave now and never come back on the basis that nothing is going to surpass that.”
“Few things can. But there’s still a lot to see around here.” A quick glance at the clock in the corner of my visor shows me I don’t have time to play nooby nursemaid any longer. “Tell you what.” I go through my inventory and dig up the bundle of teleport tokens from all the places that guided me when I was starting out, then drop them on Xenix in a bunch.
“What are these?” he asks.
“Teleport tokens. Like the one I just gave you. Pull them up in your inventory and touch them and they’ll take you somewhere.”
“More marvels and wonders?”
“Not quite. These are places that welcome newcomers like you and help get you trained up in how to get the most out of StarCity.”
“I could use all the help I can get.”
“Well, figure it out, my friend,” I tell him, “because I have to go to bed.”
“You do? Which time zone are you in?”
“Central. I’m on Celestia.”
His bright green eyes widen. “You’re out in space? Isn’t that the station where StarCity is transmitting from?”
“Indeed it is.”
“You must have the best reception in the world. Or off the world. What’s that like? Being on a space station, I mean.”
“Light, then heavy, then light again. I really do need to get ready for bed. Here.” I send out a Friend invitation to him and he promptly accepts it. The words Xenix is now your Friend appear in front of me and then fade.
“What time is it where you are again?” he asks.
“1:33 in the afternoon. I shoot to get in bed by 2:00 PM.”
“Why so early?”
“Because I need adequate sleep before starting my midnight-to-nine-AM shift.”
“What do you do that keeps you up at those hours?”
I think about telling him and decide against it. “It’s not important. I really gotta go.”
“Fair enough. It’s evening where I am, so I’ll just say goodnight.”
“Goodnight.”
I log out before I can get tempted any further to keep talking. Funny how a potbellied avie with green skin can become fascinating with the right voice.
The view in my visor goes white except for the words You are logged out in soft blue. I take the visor off and set it aside. The only illumination in the room is Lenny lying flat on the desk, screen pointed at the ceiling. I pick up Lenny and switch the lights on with it—the lamp on the desk and the one by the air mattress. It makes the place feel a little more spacious.
The walls are almost fully covered with art I’ve made, colorful printouts of art I like, and pictures of places I’d rather be. There are still a few gaps of dull gray metal peeking though here and there; I’ll have to come up with some things to fill those in, as well as refresh or at least rearrange the art a little.
I take my Somniol and start a new bedtime sketch to work on. This time, I do an angel in the clouds. My head’s still spinning with my little StarCity adventure. I wonder if I’ll dream about it.
I’m already in my sleep shirt—the threadbare Picasso shirt that my father used to wear—so I go through my ablutions and head straight for bed.
I used to try meditating, like Lily taught me, but I could never ground myself so far away from the Earth. Instead I pray the only prayer I’ve had for months,
Dear God, please get me out of here.
~
When I log into StarCity the next day, I find two StarMail messages waiting for me. The first is from StarCity itself, announcing new items in the official shop in honor of the upcoming one year anniversary of this particular virtuality. There’s a first anniversary T-shirt for 50 StarPoints, a speedboat for 1,000 StarPoints, a wardrobe full of virtual replicas of Ana Martin clothing for 10,000 StarPoints (even in a virtual world, their stuff ain’t cheap), and something for 100,000 StarPoints that I have to read three times to make sure I have it right.
Get VIP access to the First Anniversary party at Galaxy in Celestia! Meet the people of StarCity in the flesh, as well as celebrities and influencers from TV, movies, music, and gaming!
It goes on from there and there’s a link to terms and conditions. I give them a skim. Points must be earned inworld, so they can’t be just bought at the exchange. Transportation and lodging not provided, but that’s no problem for me. If you act like a noodge, they’ll throw you out without a refund. They can take pictures and video of you without compensation and use them for publicity. That sort of thing.
I wonder if I could go. At the very least, it’d get me out into the world. Better yet, I might be able to hand out some business cards (I may have to make new ones) to the StarCity people and see if I can get a designer job with them. Stay for a year or so, rack up some fat stacks, and return to Earth triumphant.
I do the math in my head. One StarPoint translates to approximately one one-hundredth of a US dollar. A penny, as they used to call it. I add in the decimal places and blanch. One thousand dollars to get into this gig? That’s 500 credits. No way I’m going to make that much pointage with my tiny shop in that timeframe. Even if they’d let me buy my way in, I’d have to hit my savings to pull it off and there’s no way I’m doing that. I stare at the email like I’m staring at an amazing dress on a shopping site, with the price I can’t possibly afford glaring at me to the side. I sigh and close the message.
The second message is from Xenix.
Dear Christophina,
May I call you Christophina? I know loads of Chrises, but only one Christophina. It’s a marvelous name, though I’m sure you get enough people pointing out how unusual it is, on the off-chance that you hadn’t noticed, so I’ll shut up about it now.
I wanted you to know that my feet have not touched the ground since the day I met you. Which is to say that I haven’t switched off the flight function on the boots you gave me and have been hovering my way around StarCity ever since. The teleport tokens you passed on to me led me to some very helpful guidance and I thank you for it. I can now fly without bumping into things (most of the time) and my inventory is full to bursting with things I got for free, some of which are actually useful.
If you know where the other six wonders of StarCity are (the Cloud Gardens are surely one of them) please let me know. I’d love to see them with you.
Xenix
Not only is his accent cute, but he’s smart and funny, too. I have to make sure I don’t end up in another doomed long-distance relationship. Then again, we’ve only just met, so there’s no certainty it’ll get to that point.
I teleport up to the top floor of my space. It’s my private area, for when I want to be by myself or with a few select avies, like Mookie. It’s circular, like the rest of my place, with the walls done like a perfect blue sky with painted clouds drifting in it, cloud-like chairs with elegant seating animations, and an enormous mirror so I can see myself without going to shoulder view. I look over myself in all my wintry glory.
It’s time to change things up a little. I go from winter fairy to autumn fairy (fiery red hair, tawny skin, autumn leaf dress and wings, and leaves swirling about me) and do a quick check of who’s inworld. Annamaree, Syntasia, JustCallMeBob (does he ever leave?), Mookiekins, and Xenix.
Xenix. I’m surprised he didn’t ping me the moment I renned in. Maybe he’s waiting to see how I react to his letter.
I pull up his profile and Whisper him. “Have you put your feet down on the ground yet?”
There’s a moment’s hesitation beyond the usual delay—no doubt while he’s reading the notice that I’ve Whispered him.
“I have not,” he Whispers back. “I may never put my feet back on the ground again.”
“Be careful, then. Some places don’t allow flight.”
“Warn me which ones they are, so I can avoid them. Where are you?”
“I’m at my place. Above the store. Here, I’ll ‘port you.”
I send Xenix a temporary teleport, and he appears in front of me, still hovering, as he said. He’s wearing the boots with some black pants and a dark green shirt that contrasts with his lighter green skin, plus a rumpled gray fedora, probably from his freebie collection.
His expression seems hesitant. “Christophina, I presume?”
I laugh. “You should see the look on your face. Yes, it’s me.”
His virtual brow furrows. “How can you see the look on my face?”
“You’re using a full-face visor, aren’t you?”
“I’m not sure how you know that,” he says, “but yes.”
“Full-face visors scan the face and translate it to the avatar. I’ve only got a half-face visor and it’s not equipped to scan my features, so all you get is my mouth moving roughly in time to what I say.”
“This is entirely unfair,” he says with an exaggerated frown.
“I promise to only use my powers of detection for good.” I select a chair to sit down on.
Xenix stays afloat. “Fair enough. Did you hear about the golden ticket they’re selling? StarCity, I mean.”
“The party in Celestia?” I ask.
“Just that. Are you going to try for it?”
“I should probably see how much I already have.” I pull up my stats and look. “My current balance is 23,342.”
“A quarter of the way there, almost,” Xenix says. “I bet you could do it.”
“I wouldn’t make that bet if I were you. I’d just throw it over my shoulder so I could win.”
“I’d bet somebody else, then. Do you think I don’t know how to make a wager?”
“I wouldn’t be so sure of me,” I tell him. “I’d have to have to do something astonishing to earn that many points in a month.”
“So do something astonishing! You’re probably the only one in all of StarCity who can actually go.”
The possibility still stretches out of reach, but a flicker of hope rises up. And what would be the worst thing that would happen if I failed? I’d have a fat stack of points to spend on whatever. If I get enough I could even sell them off on a gaming site and have credits for my Get The Fuck Out Of Celestia Fund.
“Dare me,” I say.
“What?”
“I want you to dare me.”
Xenix smiles. “Oh, I like that. All right, I dare you to collect 100,000 StarPoints and buy a ticket to the VIP party.”
As motivations go, it works surprisingly well on me. “I’ll do it.”
He punches the air. “That’s the spirit. How are you going to do it?”
I’m caught a bit short by the question. “Make more stuff to sell?”
“Good start. You might have to do a bit more about letting people know your shop exists. This isn’t exactly a high traffic neighborhood. There’s a spot right next to you that’s completely abandoned, and I only found the place by sheer random chance.”
“As opposed to a predictable chance?”
“I’ve had a lot of chances in my life that were practically preordained,” he says. He doesn’t sound happy about this fact.
“Such as?”
“It’s not important.”
I can’t exactly press for details, since I brushed him off with the exact same line. “I do have a mailing list. A StarMail list, but still. Maybe I could do a sale. I’ve done them before.”
“Why do you want to drop prices when you’re trying to rack up more money? From what I’ve seen, your prices are pretty cheap as they are.”
“Because people buy more when they think they’re saving money. Plus, I haven’t sent anything out in a while. Might be good to remind them I’m still alive.”
“That’s always a good thing to do.” He nods. “Should I go, then? So you’ll have time to compose something?”
“Stay here. I’ll go. It’s easier to work with a keyboard instead of dictation.”
“Fair enough. Good luck.”
“Thanks.” I log out, take off the visor, and plug Lenny into the keyboard cradle. I wish I could afford one of those nice, sleek handhelds, but instead I got Lenny—a lumpy collection of refurbished parts that’s functional enough to allow me to interact with society. I set it to project the screen onto the wall so I can see my words clearly as I start typing.
Hello, StarCity shoppers! I’m back. It’s time for another sale, don’t you think?
~
“What the hell happened to the ceiling?” Xenix asks when he renns in.
I renn another pair of wings and fly up to hang it on the wall. “I got rid of it. Why are you wearing a bucket on your head?”
“It’s a fez!” he says with exaggerated offense. “So you’re putting up a second level for the flying crowd?”
“I’ve got flight rings by the door. One StarPoint apiece. Anybody can be part of the flying crowd.”
Xenix makes an expression much like a shrug. “I guess that works. How’s the sale going?”
“Finished it up yesterday. Did pretty well. Little over 30,000.”
“You should make it easy at that rate.”
“It helped that I got mentioned in a fashion newsletter,” I reply. “Have a whole new slew of subscribers who signed up to get the discount, though that probably means they’ll drop me now that it’s over.”
“So, what’s next? To get the word out, I mean. Have you pestered your friends yet? Surely I’m not the only friend you have.”
“You’re not. I have an idea.” I drop a teleport token for The Limelight on him. “Let’s go dancing.”
He appears about a second after me by the bar. The place is lively, if not packed. The multicolored glow of the floor shines up on the avies as they’re dancing. The ceiling is clear and the starry sky is showing through it.
“CHRIS!” Mookie shrieks. She’s in her lavender cat person avie. “Where have you been?”
“I’ve been making stuff,” I reply. “I’ve got a bunch of new wings and things at the shop.”
“She’s trying to rack up enough points to go to that party,” Xenix interjects.
Bob, in his perpetual avie of a middle-aged dude in a smoking jacket with glasses and a pipe, moves his head in a circle—the common StarCity gesture that indicates he’s rolling his eyes. “That’s such a joke. How is anybody supposed to get to that party on such short notice? Not unless you’re rich enough to have your own spaceship, and in that case you’re probably already on the list.”
“I can do it on the cheap,” I tell him. “Platform twenty to Venus Station, counterclockwise to Emerson Station. I looked it up. I’m a resident, so I don’t even have to pay for it.”
“Wait, you’re on Celestia?” Annamaree (her usual femme fatale getup, brunette this time with a red dress) asks. “I just thought you had a shitty connection. Why did you never mention this?”
“You didn’t ask,” I reply. “By the way, this is Xenix.” I point at him. “He’s new, so be gentle with him.”
“Oh, do we have to?” Syntasia is wearing her skintight chrome-silver suit, with skin that’s a few shades darker silver.
“You can abuse me a little if you like,” Xenix says. “I’d probably deserve it.”
“Yes, but it’s no fun if you want it.” Syn has a full-face visor; I can tell by the way she pouts.
“He’s not gonna cause any trouble, is he?” Annamaree asks.
“He’s not a balloonicorn,” I assure her. “There will be no air horn or fart noises out of him.” I turn to Xenix. “Now will there?”
“Definitely not on my agenda,” he replies.
“Chris!” Mookie calls out.
“Mookie!” I call back.
“I need another ‘port to your store. I did an inventory purge a few months ago and I never got a new one from you.”
I pull up the token and drop it on her. “Anybody else?” I ask.
People I don’t even know ask for one. Some of them disappear right away.
“Can’t I just give you money directly?” Bob asks. “I don’t think there’s much in that shop that’s going to be my style.”
“I guess you could do that,” I say.
The message JustCallMeBob has given you 100 StarPoints! shows up on my visor.
“Thank you, Bob!” I exclaim. “I appreciate it.”
Several more messages flash before my eyes and I quickly thank every donor. By the end of it, I’ve tallied up some 3,200 StarPoints, including 500 from Xenix.
“Thank you everyone!” I say to the crowd. I switch and send a Whisper to Xenix. “Wanna dance?”
“Absolutely not,” he replies. “Have you seen this avie? I’d look ridiculous dancing in it. But don’t let me stop you. I’ll be here at the bar having imaginary drinks.”
I fly down to land on the dance floor and select my favorite dance animation—a sort of smooth, sinuous sway that works well with wings. “System Crash” by J-Ron plays and I keep the flow going in spite of the stuttery beat. I know how to move my head so that the movement of the visor matches the movement of the animation and doesn’t disrupt it. I almost match the dance steps with my own two feet.
I glance at the clock and see that it’s 1:42 PM.
Shit.
I switch the dance off and go to where Xenix is. “I’m sorry. I have to go.”
“Thought it was getting a bit late for you,” he says. “Were you actually dancing?”
“I was,” I reply.
“There was something about the way your head was moving, but I wasn’t sure,” he says. “Anyway, sleep well, sweet dreams, and I’ll see you soon, hm?”
“Okay. Goodnight.”
I log out without saying goodnight to everybody else. I don’t know why merely being wished “sweet dreams” by a man with a sexy voice would discombobulate me so, but there it is.
I take my Somniol, brush my teeth, and crash into bed without any time to sketch. I toss and turn a bit before I finally get to sleep.
+
Want to read more? Stay tuned for the release of Christophina’s Wings, December 2025.