text: [Themes: Humor, gender choice, cave crawl, female protagonist, magic, cave, wizard, Comedy, dwarf, silly, spells, child protagonist, spaceship, mad scientist, castle, carnival]
  
  Would you like to start a NEW game, RESTORE a saved game, start a SCRIPT, or QUIT?
  
  [Author's Note: Now you too can GUESS THE VERB for fun and prizes! Read evocative and amusing room descriptions while manipulating interesting objects! Interact with the simulated motives and desires of quirky NPCs! No thesaurus required!]
  
  > Girl
  "And what's your name, little girl?"
  
  > look at Lalrry
  The parser looks much the way Peter Norton would look if Peter Norton were made of stainless steel and had, instead of a head, an Ethernet hub with two small surveillance cameras attached on top and a speaker attached underneath. I guess what I'm trying to say is that the parser is wearing a shirt and a tie.
  
  He's also wearing a straw hat and a nametag that says "Hello! My name is LALRRY." A series of lights in his forehead monitor the traffic that flows through an Ethernet cable plugged into where Peter Norton's left cheek would be, which cable disappears down into the booth.
  
  As a natural language parser, Lalrry can deal with a reasonable subset of some human language (English, in his case), through some combination of recursive grammars and ad-hoc tricks. Most such parsers were created in the 1980s to answer queries and to help people find treasures and kill trolls. Nowadays, most parsers are working at Web start-ups. The fact that Lalrry is working as a carnival barker does not say much for his language handling capabilities.
  
  "Step right up, step right up!", says Lalrry with perfectly synthesized heartiness.
  
  > About yourself
  You are a perfectly normal eleven-year-old girl, not yet aware of anything more interesting than video games or dinosaurs.
  
  "One shiny quarter gets you a spin of the wheel!"
  
  > check your inventory
  You are carrying:
  a tarnished quarter
  a corn dog
  your identity bracelet (being worn)
  
  > give quarter to Lalrry
  Lalrry takes the quarter and scrutinizes it carefully. "Sorry, Isqui," he says, handing the coin back to you. "This is not a shiny quarter."
  
  > look at the box
  The metal box is about the size of a deck of cards and is decorated with black plastic trim. An LED and two switches (one orange, the other blue) are mounted on the front of the box, and a cord runs from either end up into the booth.
  
  The LED is currently glowing green. Both switches are in the on position.
  
  > examine the moon
  The light from the harvest moon seems magical tonight. If Neil Young were here, he would undoubtedly write a song about it.
  
  > get the moon
  You are insane.
  
  > press the orange switch
  It is fixed in place.
  
  > examine the cord
  The cords run from either end of a metal box up into the booth.
  
  > turn off the orange switch
  You switch the orange switch off.
  
  > examine the machine
  The quarter shining machine sits in the middle of a line of similar machines which accept coins of smaller denomination, like pennies, and do more interesting things to them, like smush them up and imprint them with touristy slogans. In the face of such intense competition, the quarter shining machine has taken to mimicry, hoping to trap unsuspecting coins intended for a less boring (if also less shiny) fate in another machine.
  
  Its innards are exposed, an unnecessarily complicated mesh of shiny gears and pistons. A prominent notice on the side of the machine assures you with alarming urgency that the practice of quarter-shining is legal under federal statute BH-2510958. The coin tray has two quarter-shaped slots; the left one to contain payment and the right to contain the quarter you want shined and dropped into the receptacle near the bottom of the machine.
  
  The left coin slot is empty. The right coin slot is also empty. The receptacle is also also empty.
  
  > examine the left slot
  A small, round slot in the coin tray. It would just hold a quarter.
  
  > examine the corn dog
  The corn dog is a curious creature. Its life cycle begins when the larval corn dog is cooked and put on a stick. The corn dog is dipped in batter to form a cocoon and fried. Inside the batter cocoon, the baby corn dog metamorphoses into an adult phase which is then purchased, slathered with mustard, and eaten. The rumbling of your stomach tells you that the end is near for this particular corn dog. We will miss you, corn dog.
  
  > eat corn dog
  My, that was a yummy corn dog!
  
  > examine the stand
  The concession stand offers a variety of deep-fried and/or sugary items, for a price.
  
  > Go north
  N = next subject                                        P = previous RETURN = read subject                              Q = previous menu
  
  What am I trying to do?
  > Why won't Lalrry accept my quarter?
  How can I shine my tarnished quarter?
  So how do I get to play the game?
  So I win every time, is that your little game?
  
  > Go north
  N = next subject                                        P = previous RETURN = read subject                              Q = previous menu
  
  What am I trying to do?
  Why won't Lalrry accept my quarter?
  > How can I shine my tarnished quarter?
  So how do I get to play the game?
  So I win every time, is that your little game?
  (Press H for another hint, or SPACE to return.)
  
  You need to use the quarter shining machine on the midway.
  
  > look at the box
  The metal box is about the size of a deck of cards and is decorated with black plastic trim. An LED and two switches (one orange, the other blue) are mounted on the front of the box, and a cord runs from either end up into the booth.
  
  The LED is currently glowing green. The blue switch is in the on position, and the orange switch is in the off position.
  
  > give quarter to Lalrry
  "Yuck!", says Lalrry, rejecting your offer. "A tarnished!"
  
  > turn off the blue switch
  As you flip the switch, the LED suddenly goes dark.
  
  > turn on the orange switch
  As you flip the switch, the LED suddenly lights up green.
  
  > guess reconfigure
  "Hey, guess! And so I spin the wheel..."
  
  Lalrry gives the wheel a good push and it begins rapidly rotating, spinning faster now, now slowly winding down until it...stops...on...
  
  Lalrry shrugs and says "Luck next time!"
  
  You shrug too, and try to look nonchalant, but you feel a hollowness in the pit in your stomach which is something more than simple disappointment. The lights of the midway seem uncomfortably close, the music incessant and loud. You wonder if you aren't coming down with something, and blink to clear the glare from your eyes.
  
  Suddenly you are falling.
  
  You claw at the air, then at the unidentifiable blurs that race past you, then at your own body, which is unaccountably absent from this mad scene. You open your hypothetical mouth and emit a potential scream which never quite materializes, and then with the feeling of suddenly waking up from a nightmare, you are somewhere else.
  
  And a little dwarf is in the room with you.
    
  
  He's relatively young, as dwarves go; only about a hundred or so. At first he starts, surprised to meet a human one-on-one, but he quickly remembers his manners, and, doffing his miner's helmet, bows low. "Duran son of Czadhan, at your service."
  
  You return the bow to the extent your heavy sack will allow. "Isqui, at yours."
  
  "By the load you bear," says he, indicating his own bulging backpack, "I see the factors that brought me to scenic Wyrmsworth Caverns have been at work upon you as well."
  
  "Love of the underground realms," you reply.
  
  Duran nods, and, with a twinkle in his eye, acknowledges the one strongest commonality, so often unstated, between human and dwarf.
  
  "And greed."
  
  The floor of this room is covered with shattered pieces of slate, peeled off from the ceiling above. The glow of your lantern is swallowed up by the dark material of which the ceiling, floor, and walls are made. There is a wide, rounded portal to the northwest, a narrower entrance to the south, and a passage to the north which opens up after a little way.
  
  Duran the dwarf stands beside you.
  
  > ask Duran about the lantern
  "Nice brass."
  
  > ask Duran about the slate
  "Fairly low-grade slate."
  
  > ask Duran about the orthoclase
  There is no reply.
  
  Duran rests his hand momentarily on the haft of his axe.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a wristwatch with compass (being worn)
  a canister of vintage celluloid
  a copy of the Clamshell Book
  a Sack of Infinite Capacity (which is open)
  a jade idol
  the McGuffin
  a brass lantern (providing light)
  
  > examine the wristwatch
  A combination wristwatch and compass, indispensable for any adventurer. The current time is 184.50 AST.
  
  > examine the canister
  A canister of celluloid, labeled "Nov. 1921 - B. Keaton." Not the sort of treasure one normally expects to find in a cave, but valuable nonetheless.
  
  > look at the copy
  A white book with a blue spine, entitled "Dungeon Exploration". There's a picture of a giant clamshell on the cover, thus the nickname. Flipping through the book brings nothing to your eye that seems relevant to your current situation.
  
  You hear echoing voices from the north.
  
  > look at Sack
  The Sack of Infinite Capacity is truly a wondrous device. No matter how many things you put into it, it never fills or becomes too heavy to carry. The depressing thing is that this makes the sack much more valuable than just about anything you might find to put in it.
  
  You hear echoing voices from the north.
  
  > examine the idol
  A jade idol of a great and terrible god, probably once an integral part of some ritual ceremony. Oh well, defilement is all in a day's work!
  
  You hear echoing voices from the north.
  
  > look at McGuffin
  It seems to shift under your gaze--now an ankh-shaped amulet, now the deed to an orphanage, now a piece of futuristic machinery. In another world, perhaps, this item would complete your quest. Now, however, it is merely one of many treasures you wish to find.
  
  A group of tourists, led by a trollish guide, enters from the north.
  
  Duran strokes his beard a moment in thought.
  
  > look at the tourists
  A group of fat, belching tourists congregates around a frazzled trollish tour guide who reluctantly explains the wonders of treasure-laden Wyrmsworth Caverns. Most of the tourists are dwarves or orcs, and each appears to have won his or her local Loudest Hawaiian Shirt competition before moving on to the regionals here in the cave.
  
  "The slate room, here, was once a mine which provided much of the state's slate, from 1941 until the cave complex was made a national park in 1973."
  
  > look at the troll
  A young bleary-eyed troll points out interesting formations to the spellbound tourists, occasionally dropping hints relating to the wondrous treasures to be found in the Wyrmsworth complex. His flip-flop sandals slap against the cave floor as he walks slowly backwards, gesturing and pointing.
  
  A dwarvish child trips over a thick slab of slate, skinning her knees. The guide and the child's parents help her up and dust her off.
  
  "Um, to the northwest, here," says the guide, "we have one of the most spectacular sights to grace Wyrmsworth Caverns."
  
  > wait awhile
  Time passes.
  
  The tour leaves to the northwest.
  
  "Tourists!" Duran snorts derisively, lowering his voice. "They come to the caverns and what do they do? They take pictures! I don't know why the cave trolls put up with it. These orcs and Southern dwarves know nothing of a good adventure."
  
  > go to the northwest
  The large quartz crystals that cover the rounded walls of this small room give you the feeling of being inside an oversized geode. The lamplight reflects, and reflects, and reflects again from the glittering display that surrounds you. The crystals are clear near the ceiling at the far end of the room, but gradually take on a purplish sheen towards the exit to the southeast.
  
  A group of tourists sloughs its way through the caverns.
  
  "This is what we call the 'geode room', because it resembles the inside of a geode. It's not really a geode, though. The quartzite crystals are part of a quartz vein that runs through this area, and were caused by dwaeomer-oxidization as this whole section of rock was undergoing magical erosion about twenty thousand years ago."
  
  Duran whistles appreciatively at the crystals, even though they are valueless quartz. Apparently dwarves can appreciate beauty even unalloyed by riches.
  
  > examine the crystals
  Myriad glittering crystals cover the walls and ceiling of this room. An awesome sight.
  
  "I'd like to point out that the stunning beauty of the geode room is reminiscent of the great riches that are hidden within Wyrmsworth, waiting to be discovered by intrepid adventurers. In fact, as recently as 1996, a diamond the size of a cockatoo's egg was found near here." The guide pauses, searching his audience for signs of interest.
  
  > ask the guide about the diamond
  "The Cockatoo's Egg Diamond is a flawless blue diamond, considered priceless by many," says the guide. "It's indicative of the many treasures still to be found in the caves." He gives you a theatrical wink.
  
  "Well," says the guide. "This is just about the halfway point on our tour... follow me, please."
  
  > wait for a while
  Time passes.
  
  The tour leaves to the southeast.
  
  > Go southeast
  The floor of this room is covered with shattered pieces of slate, peeled off from the ceiling above. The glow of your lantern is swallowed up by the dark material of which the ceiling, floor, and walls are made. There is a wide, rounded portal to the northwest, a narrower entrance to the south, and a passage to the north which opens up after a little way.
  
  A group of tourists sloughs its way through the caverns.
  
  "Will we be seeing any stalagmites on this tour?", asks an elderly orc.
  
  Duran follows you.
  
  > ask the guide about the stalagmites
  "Those form on the cave floor."
  
  "Yes, of course," says the guide. "After all, what would a cave tour be without stalagmites? Actually, we're on our way to the stalagmites right now, if you'll just follow me up this slope." The guide glances behind him, not anxious to trip over a chunk of slate as he walks.
  
  > take the slate
  The slate stains your fingers, and is insufficiently valuable to carry around anyway.
  
  The tour leaves to the south.
  
  > go to the south
  You are in a chasm, studded with stalagmites, running from the north to the southeast. A swaying rope bridge runs from west to east, far above your head.
  
  A group of tourists sloughs its way through the caverns.
  
  "Here are, uh, the stalagmites," says the guide, waving in their direction. "These were formed by gradual accretion of--"
  
  "Excuse me," says an elf, pointing a delicate finger toward a stalagmite nearly as tall and thin as she is, "I thought these were stalactites, these on the bottom."
  
  Duran follows you.
  
  > 13
  A particularly large stalagmite. Apart from its size and the crude "13" carved into it, it is unremarkable.
  
  "No, that's a common misconception," says the troll. "Stalactites are formations that accrete from the ceiling. Stalagmites are those that accrete on the cave floor, such as this one, Stalagmite 13."
  
  > ask the troll about 13
  "No one knows the real meaning of the carving. Or if they do, they're not telling."
  
  "This chasm we're in extends a little to the south," says the guide, pointing down the narrowing gulf. "Er, southeast, I suppose. But we'd never all fit down there, so this is as far as we'll go there. We'll start making our way back to the stairs, now."
  
  > examine the bridge
  Made of ropes and wood, the bridge sways high above your head.
  
  The tour leaves to the north.
  
  > Go southeast
  The chasm ends here, its walls narrowing to nothing. You can only proceed back to the northwest.
  
  There are rare stamps here!
  
  Duran follows you.
  
  > take the stamps
  Taken.
  
  > examine the stamps
  Misprints, first-day covers, you name it.
  
  Duran takes a lump of coal out of his pocket and offers you a piece. When you decline, he shrugs and bites into it, chewing with gusto.
  
  > Go northwest
  You are in a chasm, studded with stalagmites, running from the north to the southeast. A swaying rope bridge runs from west to east, far above your head.
  
  Duran follows you.
  
  > go north
  The floor of this room is covered with shattered pieces of slate, peeled off from the ceiling above. The glow of your lantern is swallowed up by the dark material of which the ceiling, floor, and walls are made. There is a wide, rounded portal to the northwest, a narrower entrance to the south, and a passage to the north which opens up after a little way.
  
  Duran follows you.
  
  > go northwest
  The large quartz crystals that cover the rounded walls of this small room give you the feeling of being inside an oversized geode. The lamplight reflects, and reflects, and reflects again from the glittering display that surrounds you. The crystals are clear near the ceiling at the far end of the room, but gradually take on a purplish sheen towards the exit to the southeast.
  
  Duran follows you.
  
  > go to the north
  This room is so large, it makes you claustrophobic. You cannot help but think how far underground you must be, that a cave ceiling might be so impossibly high without opening to blue sky. The tremendous mass of empty air above you seems to press harder than mere rock ever could. But you cannot look away, for running down the walls are breathtaking waterfalls of stone, enormous calcite formations that seem to have been formed from the discarded candles of a million million visitors. Sloping arches form stone awnings over paths to the south and northeast, and a tight crawl leads west.
  
  You hear echoing voices from the northeast.
  
  As Duran enters the room, he lets out a chuckling roar. "By the gods!", he murmurs. "This splendid room would make a dining hall worthy of the dwarves of old!"
  
  > go to the north-east
  A winding stairway reaches up into the blackness here. Another natural chimney; about a hundred feet up, it opens up to a large room to the southwest (accessible to you through an arch). Far above you, you can hear the sounds of someone, as yet invisible, slowly rappeling down.
  
  A group of tourists sloughs its way through the caverns.
  
  As the old tour group begins to disappear into the darkness above, the new guide clears his throat, preparing to begin his tour.
  
  Duran follows you.
  
  > Go upwards
  You and Duran climb the stairway for several minutes, but seem no closer to the cave exit than before. Winded, the two of you rest a while and come back down.
  
  "Okay," says the new guide, "here we are near the winding stair, where our tour of the lower levels will begin and end -- should take about thirty turns."
  
  Duran rests his hand momentarily on the haft of his axe.
  
  > Go southwest
  This room is so large, it makes you claustrophobic. You cannot help but think how far underground you must be, that a cave ceiling might be so impossibly high without opening to blue sky. The tremendous mass of empty air above you seems to press harder than mere rock ever could. But you cannot look away, for running down the walls are breathtaking waterfalls of stone, enormous calcite formations that seem to have been formed from the discarded candles of a million million visitors. Sloping arches form stone awnings over paths to the south and northeast, and a tight crawl leads west.
  
  You hear echoing voices from the northeast.
  
  Duran follows you.
  
  > go to the west
  A stooped, gravely crawl that tightens to the west. The sloping tunnel at the west end would be impassable for an adult, but a determined eleven-year-old should be able to squeeze through it. (What luck! You happen to be a determined eleven-year-old!) Even if you weren't, you'd still be able to back out to the east, where the crawl abruptly opens up into a much larger room.
  
  There is a bowling trophy here!
  
  Duran follows you.
  
  > take the bowling trophy
  (putting the rare stamps into the Sack of Infinite Capacity to make room)
  (putting the canister of vintage celluloid into the Sack of Infinite Capacity to make room)
  (putting the copy of the Clamshell Book into the Sack of Infinite Capacity to make room)
  (taking the rare stamps back out of the Sack of Infinite Capacity because we didn't really need that much room after all)
  (taking the canister of vintage celluloid back out of the Sack of Infinite Capacity because we didn't really need that much room after all)
  Taken.
  
  > Go west
  You and Duran scramble through a short crawl, and find yourselves...
  
  Few people ever visit this subterranean clifftop, since few can get here in the first place--the wandering children of tourists, perhaps, or of the trolls who inhabit these caves. Hopefully, none are too young to know that those who play too close to the edges of cliffs inevitably end up as object lessons to others.
  
  About thirty feet below, your light glints off metal. There's no way down there, though; only east into a tight crawl.
  
  A rusted iron hook protrudes from the wall above the cliff.
  
  Duran leans over the ledge, shining his headlamp into the murky darkness below. "Gold!" he exclaims, rubbing his hands together. "Thousands of points worth!"
  
  The dwarf pulls a coil of rope from his backpack. "I knew this would come in handy," he says, hefting the coil in his hands.
  
  > examine the hook
  Oddly enough, this hook is a completely natural iron precipitation. Although rusty, its fusion to the rock wall stands any test of strength you can think to apply to it.
  
  "Perfect!", says Duran, spotting the iron hook and gauging the distance between it and the cliff bottom. "I'll just tie rope to hook, here..." Hastily tying a loop into one end of the rope, Duran slips it over the hook and begins to tighten the knot.
  
  > wait
  Time passes.
  
  Duran peers at the rope in his hands, which has inexplicably slipped off the hook and become untied. "That's odd..." Retying the knot, Duran mutters the incantation "Tie rope to hook!"
  
  > Wait
  Time passes.
  
  Again Duran finds himself holding an untied knot. "Okay, let's try another one," he mutters. "Put rope on hook!"
  
  > Wait
  Time passes.
  
  Duran looks dismayed, and pokes at his ill-behaved rope. "That's always worked before," he mutters, "so there can't be anything wrong with the rope. Don't worry, I'll figure it out."
  
  > fasten the rope to the hook
  Duran shrugs and hands you the rope. You quickly tie a rudimentary knot and loop it over the hook. Amazingly, the knot holds!
  
  "Astounding!" exclaims Duran. "'Fasten'--who would have thought?"
  
  Duran gestures at the rope.
  
  > check what you're carrying
  You are carrying:
  a candy bar
  a shiny trophy
  your identity bracelet (being worn)
  
  > Examine candy bar
  A sugar-packed Buttertonsils bar, in its characteristic golden wrapper. You're not sure how you got ahold of it, but they're not bad.
  
  > examine trophy
  A dented but shiny bowling trophy of bronze. Inscribed on the base are the words, "LEAGUE CHAMPIONS 1992".
  
  > give the trophy to Lalrry
  "You earned that trophy, you should keep it," says Lalrry.
  
  > eat the bar
  The candy bar slides down your throat, and your stomach quickly is full.
  
  > give the candy to Lalrry
  Lalrry politely declines your offer.
  
  Lalrry mumbles to himself.
  
  > Inventory
  You are carrying:
  a shiny trophy
  your identity bracelet (being worn)
  
  > Dance
  You perform a little jig. The producers of Riverdance won't be calling you anytime soon.
  
  > Sing
  Your singing is abominable.
  
  > examine the machine
  The quarter shining machine sits in the middle of a line of similar machines which accept coins of smaller denomination, like pennies, and do more interesting things to them, like smush them up and imprint them with touristy slogans. In the face of such intense competition, the quarter shining machine has taken to mimicry, hoping to trap unsuspecting coins intended for a less boring (if also less shiny) fate in another machine.
  
  Its innards are exposed, an unnecessarily complicated mesh of shiny gears and pistons. A prominent notice on the side of the machine assures you with alarming urgency that the practice of quarter-shining is legal under federal statute BH-2510958. The coin tray has two quarter-shaped slots; the left one to contain payment and the right to contain the quarter you want shined and dropped into the receptacle near the bottom of the machine.
  
  The left coin slot is empty. The right coin slot is also empty. The receptacle is also also empty.
  
  > Search machine
  In the quarter shining machine are a small receptacle, a coin tray, a left coin slot and a right coin slot.
  
  > examine the coin tray
  The coin tray has two slots for quarters. The left one contains payment for the shining service, the right contains the quarter to be shined.
  
  > examine the iD
  A white plastic embarassment which your parents make you wear on those rare occasions on which you are allowed off on your own. In little red letters just above your wrist, it says "My name is _ISQUI_. In case of emergency, call my mother's cell phone at (210) 603-3999."
  
  > examine the orange
  It's orange.
  The orange switch is currently switched on.
  
  > turn the orange off
  As you flip the switch, the LED suddenly goes dark.
  
  > examine the booths
  The canvas walls of the booths are constructed according to an ancient carnival ritual involving a variety of swear words and a certain amount of duct tape. They look a bit rickety, but they'll hold until the carnival moves on.
  
  > read the boots
  (in the metal box)
  You discover nothing of interest in the metal box.
  
  > look at box
  The metal box is about the size of a deck of cards and is decorated with black plastic trim. An LED and two switches (one orange, the other blue) are mounted on the front of the box, and a cord runs from either end up into the booth.
  
  The LED is currently dark. The blue switch is in the on position, and the orange switch is in the off position.
  
  > examine the cord
  The cords run from either end of a metal box up into the booth.
  
  > look at the blue switch
  It's blue.
  The blue switch is currently switched on.
  
  > give the trophy to Lalrry
  Lalrry gladly takes the trophy from your outstretched hands. With the flair of a showman, he tosses it into the air and fails to notice as it crashes to the ground inside the booth. Stepping back, Lalrry indicates the wheel.
  
  "Guess a, any!", says Lalrry, indicating the wheel of fortune.
  
  > guess undo
  "Hey, good! And so spin the..."
  
  Lalrry gives the wheel a good push and it begins rapidly rotating, spinning faster now, now slowly winding down until it...stops...on...
  
  "Sorry!", says Lalrry with a shrug. "Better luck next!"
  
  You close your eyes and brace yourself for the fall you feel is inevitable. It isn't until your body fades away, leaving your consciousness without any eyelids to shield it, that you realize that you have been falling for quite a while. Before you have time to get properly panicked again, though, you are somewhere else.
    
  
  The UCLA Computer Science student lounge is a hacker's paradise: a line of Linux machines and X terminals runs parallel to the south and west wall, ending in a Windows machine and an old Macintosh (for contrarians) in the northwest corner. A couch makes the environment conducive to overnighters and software design bull sessions. The exit is to the east.
  
  Four computer geeks are here; Fred, Mark, Dan, and Leonard, by name.
  
  You can also see a rollable whiteboard here.
  
  "I have this bizarre feeling that I keep saying the same things over and over again," muses Dan. "And I know I've written this function before. Maybe there's something to Nietzsche's idea of eternal recurrence."
  
  Mark loads the Cruel Site of the Day into his web browser, and laughs hysterically.
  
  > examine Fred
  If a character as unlikely as Frederick Lee did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him. Computer science students are common enough, but Fred possesses that most uncommon trait among computer science students, a lust for free software. Indeed, he has gone so far as to swear eternal vengeance against any and all forms of proprietary code--a move previously unheard of. His thick glasses, buzz cut, and casual mode of dress give him a look unlike any nerd you have ever seen.
  
  Fred is currently logged into fire, sweating over the nameserver configuration.
  
  "Actually," Leonard confides to you, "this scenario setup is perfect. It lets me write a college game in the manner of Save Princeton without opening me up to charges of actually having written a college game."
  
  "Did I tell you about my internship with VA Linux?", asks Mark of the room in general. No one seems interested, and Mark soon goes back to his terminal.
  
  Dan toys with the idea of starting his paper on Berkeley, but decides against it. "It'd only disappear when I wasn't working on it," he says resignedly.
  
  > look at the whiteboard
  A rollable whiteboard, intended for scratch work, mounted on casters so as to be pushed about. It's covered with geometric diagrams on one side and the de facto API for a group project on the other. There is also a scoreboard of some sort: "DAN 7 LUG 2".
  
  "Okay, it should work now," says Fred.
  
  Mark types in a command and shakes his head. "Nope."
  
  > examine Leonard
  In addition to being a sensitive yet manly human being, Leonard Richardson is a musical genius and a coding god. This is primarily due to the fact that, as the author of this game, it fell upon him to write the previous sentence. His T-shirt advertises the Second Annual Lake Arrowhead Rubber Ducky Race (1988).
  
  "I can't figure out what's wrong with the configuration," says Fred, pounding on fire's keyboard.
  
  > ask Leonard about himself
  Leonard shrugs. "What's to say?"
  
  "What's the volume of the intersection of a cone and a circle?", asks Dan, in case someone has this fact memorized. No one has.
  
  "This part of the game is a little too self-referential for my taste," says Leonard, indicating an especially indulgent monologue on his screen. "In fact, I shouldn't be here at UCLA in the first place, since I graduated before I even started this game--so did Adam, incidentally. But authorial self-insertion is a time-honored IF trope, and it seemed a shame to miss such a golden opportunity to make use of it."
  
  > examine the fire
  fire.csua.ucla.edu is CSUA's main machine, and hosts hundreds of user accounts. From the way Fred keeps frantically switching between configuration files, you get the feeling that something is wrong with that machine.
  
  Dan sketches a diagram on some scratch paper.