This Is Not a Game Page 8
Her original email is here and describes her situation.
It’s possible that our combined efforts may be of assistance.
I have set up several topics.
News and Rumors has to do with the situation in Jakarta, Indonesia, etc. Please post any information, along with a link to the source. Finance has to do with money issues. As detailed in her email, Dagmar has only a small amount of viable currency. If we can find a channel, possibly we could get money to her or otherwise finance an escape.
I have set up a special PayPal account to which people can contribute. Details are in the Finance topic.
The Escape Topic has to do with actual plans to move Dagmar to someplace safe.
We’ll keep this topic as an arena for general discussion.
TINAG… I think.
FROM: Hanseatic
TINAG, hell! I think it’s a damn game! But I’m willing to play.
FROM: Corporal Carrot
TINAG?
FROM: LadyDayFan
This Is Not A Game.
FROM: Corporal Carrot
Thanks.
FROM: Chatsworth Osborne Jr.
Corporal Carrot, TINAG is an ARG design aesthetic. The characters are required to believe they live in the real world, the puppetmasters are required to make a world that is internally consistent, and players should be able to function in the world as well as the characters.
FROM: Hippolyte
This really isn’t a game! I got email from Dagmar yesterday. She’s really stranded in Jakarta, where the hotel burned and all those people were killed.
How much should we contribute to PayPal?
FROM: LadyDayFan
Twenty bucks each?
FROM: HexenHase
Chatsworth, I disagree with you about TINAG. The effects you describe are entirely the result of the puppetmasters’ abilities to skillfully craft a game while remaining behind the curtain. The fictional characters are actors scripted by the puppetmasters-if the scripts don’t work, the players will never believe the game world is real, and the illusion fails.
‹posts deleted›
FROM: LadyDayFan
I have removed twelve flamewar posts to the Hell Topic.
Civil discussions of game aesthetics may take place in the Meta Topic.
If this continues, someone is going to lose access privileges.
FROM: HexenHase
Sorry.
FROM: Chatsworth Osborne Jr.
Me too. I’ll make nice from now on.
FROM: Joe Clever
I would like to state for the record that I think it’s a game. But I’m always willing to play along, even if it’s going to cost me twenty bucks.
FROM: Hippolyte
It’s not a game, Joe. But feel free to hack the Indonesian military if it makes you happy.
FROM: HexenHase
I can’t believe we’re engaging with Joe Clever on this or any topic! That cheating shit-for-brains!
FROM: Corporal Carrot
Careful, Hexen. Don’t start another flamewar.
FROM: LadyDayFan
Don’t worry, Corporal Carrot. Abusing Joe Clever is an Our Reality tradition.
FROM: Corporal Carrot
Can I ask why?
FROM: Chatsworth Osborne Jr.
Because the crap-head’s style of play totally violates the spirit of TINAG. He cheats.
FROM: Joe Clever
It’s not cheating when there aren’t any rules.
FROM: HexenHase
There are rules to any community, whether they’re written down or not. We agree not to poke behind the scenes because it spoils the fun for all of us.
Corporal Carrot: What Joe Clever does is dumpster-dive Great Big Idea to find clues that might have accidentally been thrown away.
He followed the actors around to see if they might accidentally drop a script. And he twice hacked Great Big Idea to locate pages that hadn’t yet been uploaded to the Web.
FROM: Joe Clever
You say that as if I should be embarrassed. What I do is win games.
FROM: Chatsworth Osborne Jr.
Joe Clever is a complete egomaniac. Totally ruthless. Borderline sociopath. Probably crazy.
My guess is that he lives in his mother’s basement and has no friends.
We despise him.
FROM: Joe Clever
What I have done is to recognize that ARGs are in fact games. That’s what the G in ARG stands for!
Games have winners and losers. I am a winner. You people are losers.
FROM: LadyDayFan
Are we not overwhelmed by Mr. Clever’s personal charm?
FROM: HexenHase
And he’s even more charming in person.
FROM: Corporal Carrot
Can’t you ban him from the bulletin board?
FROM: LadyDayFan
I could, but he would immediately rejoin with a new handle.
FROM: Chatsworth Osborne Jr.
Ahem. Aren’t we supposed to be talking about Dagmar?
FROM: LadyDayFan
Good point. We need to get back to Indonesia.
FROM: Joe Clever
It’s a game.
FROM: LadyDayFan
You go on thinking that, J. C.
FROM: Desi
I’ve just found this topic. My god! I can’t believe we’re actually doing this.
I don’t know if this will be of any use, but one of my cubicle mates ranks high in penchak silat, or however it’s spelled. I’ll see if his school has any connections to martial arts groups in Jakarta.
FROM: LadyDayFan
Desi, that would be great.
FROM: Chatsworth Osborne Jr.
I took a scuba vacation in Bali a few years ago. Maybe I can contact those people and see if they know anyone with a boat in Jakarta.
FROM: Corporal Carrot
You guyz are acting like this is real.
FROM: LadyDayFan
TINAG, my friends. TINAG.
Dagmar plunged into the water, bubbles erupting around her. She arched her back, feeling the bubbles stream along her legs and the sensitive flesh of her neck, and rose through the dark water until her head broke the surface.
The night loomed around her, silent, the stars muted by wisps of cloud.
She began her laps. Arms, legs, lungs in synchrony, the warm water a midnight dream.
Her future, even her continued existence, was a question mark.
Swimming nightly laps was a defiance of that uncertainty, a statement that she was still an actor on her own stage. That there was still something in which her own will could alter events.
Even if it was just swimming, at night, hidden from the world.
FROM: Chatsworth Osborne Jr.
Sorry, but I’ve worked the Bali dive boat connection, and it didn’t
pan out.
FROM: Joe Clever
We might try sportfishermen. Do you think any of them would have
a Web site?
FROM: Chatsworth Osborne Jr.
I’ll check.
I’ve been doing some thinking. We’ve got three possibilities for getting
Dagmar out of Jakarta. Air, water, land.
If we use an aircraft, the aircraft has to find a place to land, and
then we’ll have to move Dagmar to that place by car or bus or some
other form of ground transport. In addition, the Indonesian military
isn’t allowing anyone into their airspace, so any aircraft runs a risk
of being shot down.
If we use a boat, then we still have to bring Dagmar to the boat by ground transport. It’s not clear whether the Indonesian navy is blockading Jakarta by sea or how effective the blockade is.
If it’s possible to move Dagmar out of Jakarta by ground transport (say, by bribing or otherwise coming to an understanding with the military), then even if she doesn’t leave the country, she would be safer than she is now. Even though she’d st
ill be in Indonesia, she’d be outside the area of complete chaos.
FROM: Hanseatic
Have you considered a seaplane or flying boat?
FROM: Chatsworth Osborne Jr.
No, I hadn’t. Good idea.
FROM: Vikram
I have an uncle who’s being evacuated with the Indian nationals today or tomorrow. Once he’s out of Jakarta, I will try to contact him and find out if there’s anyone we can contact.
FROM: Desi
I got lucky with the silat connection! My friend’s teacher is affiliated with a school in Jakarta. He’s checking with them.
FROM: LadyDayFan
Great news!
FROM: Desi
We might be able to hook Dagmar up with her own bodyguard of martial artists! How cool is that?
“How are you, darling?” asked Tomer Zan.
“I’m trying to keep my chin up,” Dagmar said.
“That’s good. I just wanted you to know that we got another helicopter. It’s a Spirit, it’s got a much longer range than the Huey, so we’ll be able to stage from farther out at sea.”
“Good to know.”
“It’s on its way from the Philippines now. So we should be set in just a few days.”
“What happened,” Dagmar asked, “to the old helicopter?”
“Yes. Well.” Dagmar sensed considerable reluctance. “It was trying to land on our ship, and the winds were gusty, so it crashed into the superstructure. So we need a new ship and a new helicopter.”
“Was anyone hurt?” Dagmar felt the depression that propelled her words.
There was a brief silence, and then, “The crew of the helicopter was killed. There were some injuries on the ship, too, because there was a fire. The radio room got burned-that’s why we didn’t hear from them.”
It seemed to Dagmar as if her heart slowed, extending the long silence between beats. The breath that she drew into her lungs took an eon. Then time seemed to speed up as she hurled the words into the world.
“Oh Christ, I’m sorry,” she said.
“It’s not your fault, darling,” Zan said.
Dagmar didn’t answer.
“We’re professionals,” Zan said. “All our people have been soldiers. We understand the risks we take.”
“I’m not a soldier,” Dagmar said. “Nothing’s prepared me for this.”
“We’re coming to get you,” said Zan. “That’s what you need to think about.”
“I’ll try,” she said.
“We’re coming soon.”
After the phone call came to an end, Dagmar closed her eyes and fell into a dark, liquid sorrow, a grief the temperature of blood.
FROM: Joe Clever
I’ve found a boat and a captain. He’s a fisherman named Widjihartani, and he operates from a port in West Java called Pelabuhan Ratu. It’s something like five or six hours from Jakarta by sea.
He’s willing to take a passenger anywhere, provided his fuel and time are paid for. All the way to Singapore, if we want.
He says that Jakarta is technically under a blockade by the navy, but they let fishermen through because they are too necessary to the economy to let them go under.
FROM: Corporal Carrot
FROM: LadyDayFan
Is Widjihartani his first name or his last name? Are you sure he’s reliable?
FROM: Corporal Carrot
What do they call him for short?
FROM: Joe Clever
Widjihartani is the only name he’s got. Lots of Indonesians have only one name.
I spoke to him on the phone. His English is pretty good, he takes tourists out for fishing and sightseeing.
He seemed pretty clearheaded, really. But he didn’t know how he could afford the fuel, and with the banks in the state they are, it’s unclear how we can get money to him.
FROM: Hippolyte
I found Pelabuhan Ratu on Google Earth!
FROM: LadyDayFan
Can we set him up with a PayPal account? Then we could put money into it, and he could withdraw it whenever the bank lets him.
FROM: Joe Clever
I’ll check.
From the restaurant, Dagmar could see the Indian nationals evacuating, the line of helicopters parading neatly across the horizon.
The Chinese were going out in the morning, by sea, and the Singaporeans the next day. Even little Singapore could stage a proper evacuation, complete with a landing by their elite Gurkha troops.
The only nationality that wasn’t evacuating, besides the Americans, was the Australians. The Indonesians were still angry at the Australians over Timor and weren’t letting Australian ships into their waters.
For a moment, watching the Indians go, Dagmar felt a spasm of pure hatred for her own nation. Her country had lost the ability to do anything but make fast food and bad Hollywood blockbusters. Every city would have its very own Katrina, and the United States of America in its greatness and piety would do nothing before or after. At the embassy they handed out lies as if they were the White House budget office.
Even the saving of human life had been privatized. If you could afford your own security outfit to rescue you with its helicopters, then you were granted life; if you couldn’t, you were beneath your nation’s notice.
For a brief, fierce instant she wanted to see her own country burn, just as the Palms had burned.
Then the anger faded, and she looked down at the fried rice that was her supper.
Dutifully, she ate it to the last grain.
FROM: Simone
LadyDayFan, can you set up a fanfic topic?
FROM: LadyDayFan
Fanfic? You want to write fan fiction about Dagmar?
FROM: Simone
Yeah. She’s cool.
FROM: Hanseatic
‹glyph of astonishment›
FROM: LadyDayFan
Well. This is against my better judgment, but here you go.
“Where are you from?” asked the young man with the halberd.
“Los Angeles.”
“That is near Hollywood?”
“Yes.”
“That must be very interesting.”
Dagmar understood that in the Q-and-A conversations favored by the Indonesians, both sides were supposed to ask questions.
“Are you from Jakarta?” she asked.
Paying her ritual morning visit to the concierge-which, following Zan’s advice, she did at a different hour each morning-Dagmar had discovered that the hotel was now guarded by men with medieval weapons. They wore kilts over baggy pants, with short jackets, round pitji hats, and sashes in bright primary colors. The outfits of the young men were black, and of the older men, white. They carried long knives, spears, sticks, and blades on the ends of sticks. They clustered by the hotel entrances and smiled and bowed at anyone walking by. They were making a clear effort not to seem threatening.
Mr. Tong had never reappeared, and his place seemed taken permanently by the young woman in the Muslim headdress. She told Dagmar that the hotel had hired a group of martial artists to secure the hotel.
“What is your group called?” Dagmar asked. Maybe Tomer Zan would know something about them.
“We are the Tanah Abang Bersih Jantung Association.” The young man touched his chest. “Bersih Jantung means ‘pure heart.’ ”
“And the other part?”
“Tanah Abang? That is our kampung-our neighborhood, near this hotel.” He looked at her with curiosity. “Do you like Miley Cyrus?” he asked.
“Miley?” Dagmar said. “I think she’s swell.”
“Bersih Jantung?” asked Tomer Zan that evening. “How do you spell it?”
“It means ‘pure heart,’ ” Dagmar said.
“What is the attitude of these people?” Zan asked. “Are they disciplined? Do you feel safe around them?”
“They seem friendly. They like Miley Cyrus, for heaven’s sake! There are some older men in white who give the orders. They’re trying not to be scary.”
“That’s good. Just remember that this can change at any second. You should be alert to any sign that their attitude is changing. Remember, these are the people that invented the word amok. Well, actually they call it mataglap, but amok is what they mean.”
Great, Dagmar thought. Let’s by all means look inside that silver lining to find that all-consuming black hole.
“How’s the helicopter?” she asked.
“It should be in Singapore tomorrow,” said Zan.
Dagmar wondered whether to tell Zan about the amateur efforts to rescue her that were centered on the Our Reality bulletin board, efforts she had been following online with great attention.
She decided against it.
Let them compete, she thought. Let the free market system prevail. Besides, she thought that Zan probably wasn’t into fan fiction.
FROM: Desi
My friend has checked with his school’s silat guru in Jakarta, and
he’s willing to help Dagmar. As an act of charity, they’ll take her in