"Will you call her for me? I'll pay you."

Rashmilla shook her head. "You don't want me to leave the ghosts alone. They are nice when I'm here."

"Nice?" Lisa looked at her to see if she was making a cruel joke.

"They behave for me."

"Why can you step out?"

"They don't know if I'm a ghost or a woman."

"If we lift the stones, will the circle be broken?" Lisa felt nausea and pain when trying to talk. The ghosts of two young boys with yellow eyes pulled her backward.

"They are set in concrete. Cannot be lifted. You could read the names but they don't want to be released."

"Her name's Selena. She's on the radio."

Rashmilla nodded. "I know that lady. The police chief calls her Sell. He says, Sell, what do you think, but he doesn't listen to her answer. I see through every window. Sell lies naked with the police chief."

"Selena?" Lisa had never felt so stupid, so naive, so ill-informed and betrayed. Her career was a joke; she could not research, write, or investigate to save her life.

"How do we stop the ghosts?" she asked, looking over her shoulder. The ghosts rose up, snarling, teeth bared in fury.

"There is no way," Rashmilla said. "They don't like noise, they don't like talk, they are caught by the endless circle of stones."

A taxi pulled up, and a young man stepped out. Lisa knew him, the editor of a local "radical" magazine. She'd met him a few times at drinks, and they'd spoken of change, of effecting change. She'd emailed him at the moment her house was taken. She didn't know if he'd responded or not.

"Don't step in," she tried to shout, but the ghosts of the young boys kicked her shins, knocked her to the ground and hovered their filthy faces in hers. There were bleeding cuts on their cheekbones.

Rashmilla stepped out to greet him, then helped him into the circle. Her childhood ghost ruffled his hair, looked into his ears.

"Dale," Lisa said. One of the ghost boys grabbed her tongue, spat in her mouth. "Dale, lift the stones," she said, but he didn't hear her, didn't recognise her in the dirt. He caught his toe on a jagged corner and he tripped. He broke his fall with the heel of one hand, and a sharp edge sliced into the soft mound and blood oozed out.

He walked his arrogant, hip-thrusting walk past her to the stairs. Rashmilla helped him, but Lisa could see the ghosts hovering behind her, waiting for her to release him.

A scream came, harsh and odd in the silence.

She still had the energy to step forward and look, see what had caused the noise. Other people did too, men and women dragging themselves out of their small, stinking rooms to see Keith, fallen or pushed, splattered on the ground.

There was a sigh, a collective sigh, not of sorrow but of pure envy. "Lucky lucky lucky lucky lucky," Lisa heard, the people whispered. "Lucky lucky lucky," but none of them leapt over, none of them had the strength or the power to die.

Lisa opened her mouth to let the noise out, but around her the ghosts waved their fists and she swallowed it down.

Lisa thought of all the silenced voices and how many more there would be. Soon this place would be empty again, starved husks removed or left to rot or to be buried by anyone who had the strength.

She felt a great sense of impetus, of gravity.

Lisa said, "Matches?"

Rashmilla said, "Money."

Lisa gave her all, gave her everything she had.

She thought clothing would burn well, so she went upstairs and put on everything from her suitcase. The T-shirt with "Bali--Party Town" on it that she wore to bed. The scarf her mother had knitted her. The jeans she'd bought in Hong Kong and wished she'd bought ten pairs, because they were perfect.

She put all that on. She collected a can of fuel from under the stairs and stood there, out of sight. She struck a match.

The ghosts were furious, ripping out her hair, tearing it out in chunks, tripping her. The ghosts came at her and she felt her energy leaving. She had to finish it.

Lisa struck another match. She heard whining behind her. Rashmilla said, "What are you doing? You have made them angry." Her childhood ghost clung to her, hiding her eyes in the torn material of her dress.

Lisa set fire to her scarf, to the long sleeves of her shirt, to the cuffs of her jeans. She fell to her knees as she burnt, screaming with pain, so full of it she no longer noticed the ghosts. From the great heat to cold. She had been under anaesthetic three times before and this felt like that had: the cold starting at the entry point, in the arm, and pumping with the blood till her heart was chilled to stillness.

She grabbed a gravestone and she felt something shifting, moving inside her. Her ghost lifting. The body slumped; her ghost flew up.

"You won't last. You are not meant for here," Rashmilla said. "You can't escape. We have tried." Her childhood ghost shook her head.

"Shhh," Lisa said, and thrust her fist into Rashmilla's mouth.

Keith joined her, fresh ghost, lacking bitterness, unconfined. They moved together, waiting for Police Chief Edwards, for Selena and others like them. Ready to fill their mouths with fists and hair, ready to stop their words and change the world.

"Wizard World"

Yang Ping.

One of the bright young stars of Chinese science fiction, Yang Ping was born in 1973 in Shanxi and studied at Nanjing University. He is currently an IT journalist. His first story was published in 1996, and since then he's published several more stories, a novel, and a short story collection. The following story won China's Galaxy Award for science fiction.

The colours of the World were 256.

I regretted going there, even whilst going deeper. I had got the address from a guy named Pig Tongue ten minutes before, which was as long as I'd known him. He talked about the place as if it were a Heaven and seemed to think no other third-level World could be more beautiful. "But I can't tell you more. It's a matter of permissions, you know..." he whispered in a low voice. He even showed me his Heart. I promised him that I would come here, by the trust that that exquisite Heart gave me. And he got ten points, of course. We must pay for everything, in this society.

It was a ruined place. The brown-green land, the blue sky without clouds, the horizon with third-level colour scheme...d.a.m.n! Even the lamest newbie in the World could do better than that. But, since I was already there, I walked around and looked for some fun.

The point appeared on the horizon and grew to become a house in a short time: it had two floors and many windows. I moved to the front door, tried the handle, but it wasn't responding. If anything interesting existed in that World, then it had to be hiding in the house. There were no other houses.

I looked up. There was a chimney on the roof. I thought maybe I could fly there and try to get in. I turned on the Aircraft. A window popped up, startling me: "Flying access denied." No sound support either. It was rubbish, but I wasn't as surprised as in the beginning. I walked around for a whilst. No place to climb. No window to open. I walked back to the door.

Suddenly I noticed a flower basket by the door. The petals were clear. This design, this meticulous design in this ruined place, had to mean something. I issued a command: Get everything from the flower basket. The system responded: "You get a key!"

It was easy...looking back, I should have known it was too easy. I didn't.

I opened the door with the key. There was a living room with a sofa, a carpet, et cetera. Stairs led to the second floor. No-one there. I walked to a computer at the corner of the room, pressed something that looked like a switch.

"h.e.l.lo, Xingxing. What's the problem?" the screen said.

Huh? It knew my name. Interesting. "I am confused," I said.

Another message: "User error 35: using illegal channel."

There was no sound support in that World. I pulled out a keyboard, typed: "I am confused," followed by an unhappy smiley.

The machine again: "You can find the medicine in the room at the end of the second floor."

What the h.e.l.l was going on? I followed the stairs up to the second floor. I found a closed door at the end of the corridor and made my decision: I would leave there and then if any d.a.m.ned key was needed. My patience was limited, and I didn't need ten points that badly.

But the door opened easily.

It was dark inside. After some misgivings, I stepped through.

"This is outer s.p.a.ce. You do not have protective equipment. You are in danger."

s.h.i.t! I immediately turned back, tried to get back into the house, but the door was closing. All I could do was watch the bright corridor being devoured by stars. "Your blood vessel composition is breaking down." The green Health line was shortening continually. I twisted around, alarmed. "Your brain is oxygen-deficient, your mind begins to blur." The Health line turned shorter and shorter, changed to yellow, red, then bright red....

"No!"

I screamed. It didn't do me any good.

"User error 35: using illegal channel."

Only a few moments later, I saw my lifeless body floating in s.p.a.ce. A window popped out with red characters: "You are dead."

The words kept blinking on the screen.

I may have temporarily lost my mind at that point.

I was kicked back to the main screen of the system with a soft, sad song. The screen said: "Due to the unfortunate event of your demise, your account has been deleted. Please register new account with MUD Wizard a.s.sociation (MWA). Address: newuser.useraccount.mwa.mud."

I took off my headpiece, threw it aside. s.h.i.t! d.a.m.n! In a violent rage, I walked around the room, kicking everything in my way. How could it be? I had never died before! All my stuff, my World was lost! The problem wasn't re-registering with a new account, the problem was that I needed half a month just to get permission to own a private house, not to mention World building--I couldn't accept that!

I lay down on the bed and lit a cigarette. I watched the ceiling. Outside, the noisy city had become very quiet. After a whilst I became calmer. I tried to a.n.a.lyse what had happened. First, the creator of that World disobeyed the Pact of MUD, didn't set warning signposts in a dangerous area. Second, I began to doubt the so-called Pig Tongue. Maybe he had already died in there, had wanted someone else to follow him into death. I could report the creator, get atonement, maybe even gain 1000 points. Maybe (if G.o.d had mercy) I would be judged to have experienced illegal death and have my status restored. And that Pig Tongue would pay for all this. I was the Primary Practice Wizard of MWA; it would be easy to punish a common user.

Thinking this, I sat up, grabbed the headpiece, and connected to the system. MUD was managed very strictly, and any deportment that disobeyed the Pact was forbidden. So although I knew many Wizards and Arch-Wizards, I still needed to follow the procedure to register. I connected to the account site. The system requested a new account name. I typed in "Xingxing."

System: "Account in use, please choose a different name."

What? My account still existed?

I connected to the Entrance. I typed in "Xingxing." The pa.s.sword was requested and I typed it in.

System: "Wrong pa.s.sword."

Impossible! I tried again. Another failure. The system disconnected after my third failed attempt and said: "Attempting to crack another user's account is strictly forbidden."

I was, once again, confused.

The only thing I could do was register a new account. That was the only way that I could find my friends and do something.

The first World was Flower Square, the new user's beginning World. You could buy anything there: Worldwide address list, language translator, Aircraft, et cetera. As a new user, I got 100 points. I bought a translator. I could remember many addresses. I didn't need a list. The Aircraft was too expensive; it cost 240 points--forget it. I walked forward in the noisy street, didn't pay any attention to the beggars. Bees had been added here, humming, flying around, and nearly hit my face several times.

At the northeast corner of the square there was a bar crowded with Wizards. I walked in and saw Porket was talking to some of the other Wizards. I called out to him. He saw me but said nothing.

"I'm in trouble, Porket!" I sat down beside him. He turned to me: "Do I know you?"

"Of course!" Suddenly, I realised that he couldn't know me because of the new account. "I'm Xingxing," I said.

It seemed he missed my words. He paused for a moment, then kept talking to the others. I stood up and said loudly: "I am Xingxing! I'm in trouble, Porket! You have to help me!"

He waved his hand toward me. A strong white light bounced up and engulfed me. Then everything went dark. The system said: "You pa.s.sed out."

I couldn't do anything during the blackout. After a whilst, I woke up and found myself lying in a strange room, surrounded by many pictures of naked girls. Porket was staring at me. "What the h.e.l.l did you do?" I said, and: "Is this your house? Don't you think it shows a little too much personality?"

He let it pa.s.s, looked at me: "Are you the real Xingxing?"

"Of course. I know you have stolen source code off of a second-level World."

"I had authorization."

"Right. But you got that authorization after the theft, not before. I was with you then."

He raised a hand, put it down slowly. "You are Xingxing."

"Relax, man, I won't report it." I tried to smile. "After all, I perjured myself alongside you."

"Don't you know having two accounts is against the law?" he said sharply. "If I hadn't knocked you out and carried you here, those Wizards might have reported you. You would have been ruined!"

"I've almost been ruined already," I said. "My account's been cracked." I told him the whole story. "You're a seasoned Wizard," I said when I was done. "What should I do now, Porket?"

Staring at a picture, he was silent for a moment. Then he smiled. "You should have set yourself to undead."

I sighed. "Yes, I was stupid," I said. And: "Could you suggest a solution?"

"First of all," Porket said, "this was planned in advance. Think about it. How could your account have been cracked?"

I thought for a while: "Someone got hold of my pa.s.sword, or...or he registered this account as soon as I was dead, before I was able to."

"Exactly," Porket said. "Getting hold of someone's pa.s.sword is very hard. Even the best of us in the MWA can't succeed every time. So, an easy way is killing someone in MUD and grabbing his account before he re-registers. Look, obviously, someone was interested in your account."

"Why? Why me?" I was puzzled. "I'm not exactly a celebrity."

"There must be something about you that is of interest to them. Maybe it's just an experiment, a test to see whether it works. And maybe...." He paused, then shouted out suddenly, scaring me, "I've got it!"