Margaret sat at the bar and polished her gold star. Thomas slouched beside her, still dirty from his excursion, with his rifle and a glass of whiskey on the bar before him. She ought not let the boy drink, but, what was the point? It's not like there was any real reason to stop him, not in here. Margaret held up the star to admire the way the light shone on its gold surface. She had been sheriff of this town since before it happened. The badge made the npcs nod and greet her, and most of them gave her respect, but her children followed her for a different reason. For them, the badge wasn't just some bauble she'd earned on a quest. It had real meaning and responsibility behind it.

"You caught your breath now, Thomas?" She'd already confirmed it wasn't an emergency that caused him to come running back here. He was fifteen now, and finally starting to fill out into a man's shape. He was still the youngest member of her crew though, and prone to excitement.

Thomas nodded. "Yes Ma'am."

"Well then, report."

"It's Fran and his posse, coming back from Window Rock."

That alone wasn't enough to get so excited over. But if they had someone with them, perhaps a large Navajo, that would be exciting. Margaret picked up her whiskey glass and sipped it.

"They brought back two injuns -"

"Thomas," she chided. But secretly she smiled. If John Bearcat had survived that monster on the stagecoach, their plan might still be on.

"Sorry Ma'am, two Native Americans. I thought they was extinct."

"Two left," Margaret said. "The big one is John Bearcat. The other is Seen Mighwood."

Thomas cracked a smile.

"Don't laugh at it. It's a stupid name."

"Yes Ma'am."

He couldn't help it, of course, and she shouldn't judge him so hard for being what he was supposed to be - a child.

"Posse coming," Alexandra said as she barged through the batwing doors. She paused a moment, eyes narrowing on Thomas. "You know already, then? You should have stayed at your post, Thomas."

Thomas wilted against the bar. "It's just Fran," he protested.

Still, Alexandra was right. He shouldn't have rushed back just to tell Margaret that Fran was on his way in with the Indians. Margaret clapped him on the back. "Round up the posse, Thomas. I want everyone ready when Fran gets here."

She stepped out through the bat doors onto the porch. No sign of Fran and his posse yet, but it wouldn't be long. The Tafferty twins stood on the porch with their rifles, watching and waiting for instructions, tense as a fencepost. "Relax, it's just Fran."

The Taffertys exchanged one of their looks. They weren't much older than Thomas, and weren't actually twins, but everyone called them that. Jane and Joe Tafferty, sharpest tongues in the west. "What's got Thomas so worked up then?" Joe, the elder, asked.

"You'll see. Go inside with the others."

They exchanged looks again but did as she asked. The pair was inseparable, and had been together longer than they had been part of Margaret's posse. Fran had found them, before he'd found Carson. Margaret couldn't imagine what it must be like for them, or for Thomas, to grow up in a place like this - a place they shouldn't have had access to in the first place. This town had been made for new players, and for players underage, and when the developer had set the rune of recall on them, there had been eleven first level players here, not one of them over twenty years old. Among them had been Alexandra and Thomas, who never should have been allowed in an R rated game.

Later she had picked up Fran, who'd brought the Tafferty twins with him. She wanted to meet with Fran before the posse got wind of what she had planned - what she had agreed to. It was as much his decision as hers. So she walked down the street to the edge of town and waited for him.

"Good morning, sheriff," an npc woman said as she passed.

Margaret ought to know the npc's name. Elizabeth? Something generic like that. Today, Elizabeth wore a fine red hat with white trim and little yellow flowers tucked under the band. Whatever job her npc husband had in this town must be lucrative, because Elizabeth was always well adorned.

"Give me your hat."

"Excuse me, sheriff?"

Margaret eased her revolver part way out of her holster. "I said, give me your hat."

Elizabeth, or whatever her name was, blanched. She took of her hat with shaking hands and passed it over. "You only have to ask sheriff, that's all, just ask, and if you need a hat I'm happy to give you one, I am."

"Shut up," Margaret advised as she fit the hat over her hair.

It didn't take long for Fran to arrive, leading a band of five. With him were James Nickle, Melvin Turin, and the Indians, Seen Mighwood and John Bearcat. John looked like he'd been mauled by his namesake. An angry red gash crossed his face, making his skull tattoo all the more fearsome. The crude sled dragging in the dirt behind Seen's horse was more interesting. On it sat two battered trunks.

Margaret strode out to meet them. "Fran!" she called.

"Look what I found in the desert," he said as she drew near. He indicated John Bearcat with one hand.

"I left him there," Margaret said. "And the other one?"

"They were there when I woke up in Window Rock." Seen shrugged.

"Anything interesting?"

"Aye," Fran said, talking as Margaret walked alongside his horse. "Lots of Americans up there. All the normal places were cleaned out already. The Americans are leveling hard for something. Whatever they are up to, it can't be good."

Like real life, skills in here degraded if they weren't used. The Americans had probably let themselves go a bit. What could they be training up for? "Did you find anything?"

"Besides these two? Nah. The big one has quite a story to tell about Richard Large."

"I bet. We'll get to it. First, we need to get these inside." She nodded at the trunks.

They'd come into the town. In front of the saloon, all dismounted. James and Melvin carried the trunks inside and stacked them on the floor. When Margaret pushed through the batwing doors, all her children were there, at the bar or at the tables. Thomas, the Taffertys, Alexandra and Moses and the rest of them. James and Melvin shook the road grime out of their hats and took places at the bar.

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All their gazes studied Seen and John Bearcat. A low murmur of noise ran among them as everyone fought the urge to throw questions at her. Margaret climbed up onto the stacked trunks.

"Two weeks ago," she said. The room was suddenly silent. "The monster Richard Large tried to send us a message. We all know what he did to Jaurez. He tried to tell us we were next. Are we going to let him do that to us again?"

A mass of blank faces stared back at her.

"No," she said.

"What can we do?" Joseph Tafferty asked.

"He's a moderator," his sister Jane added.

"Moderators can die," John Bearcat said. "I sent Richard Large to the bottom of a ravine. I saw him die."

At the bar, Melvin and James grinned. They'd probably heard the story on their ride in, but it didn't look like they believed it.

Joseph rose from his chair. "So you got a bunch of ravines to push him into then? I said when that gunslinger came, we ought to go down to Austin and take out his posse. We can't hurt him but we can hurt his friends."

"That we will do," Margaret said. Fran helped her down off the trunks, and she opened the top one. "But we aren't strong enough. Richard Large sent one gunslinger here - one! - who slaughtered us. So how are we going to hit them harder than anyone has before? How are we going to make them hurt? Let me show you," she pulled a uniform out of the trunk and threw it at Joseph. "We are going to break the alliance between the Texans and the Americans."

Joseph held the blue shirt up, and then turned so the others could see it. Her children rushed forward and tore through the trunk, picking out uniforms, and then guns from the other trunk.

It took several hours for Margaret to go over the entire plan with her posse, everything except their real goal. After they finished asking her questions, she sat at the bar with Fran, Seen, and John Bearcat. Her children had retired to their beds, except Jane Tafferty who sat at the piano learning how to play Material Girl.

"You really believe James Sniper?" Fran asked.

"Stupid name," John muttered.

Margaret snorted. It was a stupid name. Not stupid like Seen Mighwood, but stupid nonetheless. "I knew him long before I knew you, Fran. He's never lied to me - not directly."

"That's not very reassuring. He's got to want more than just whatever loot the moderators have."

"Yeah," John said. He slouched over an open bottle, not bothering with a glass. "Lot more."

Margaret looked to him and Seen. "Should I tell him?"

"James said the less who know, the better," Seen said.

"I trust Fran with my life," Margaret said. She'd trusted him with enough already.

Seen shrugged. "Just saying. I can't stop you."

"How about you, John?"

"The bloody Developer," John said. "That's the real prize."

Through all this Fran had remained quiet. Now he wore a look of shock. Everyone was quiet for a moment, just the sound of Jane's piano playing in the empty saloon.

"The Developer," Fran whispered.

"Aye," Margaret said.

"He can lift the rune."

Margaret saw where this was going immediately. Fran had asked her once, as a sort of idle question, a what if. What if dying - escaping the rune of recall - was also how they escaped this place? What if the players that died before the rune was in place woke up in real life? Over the years, Fran had brought it up now and again, but Margaret always dismissed it. She knew he believed it, but she tried to play it down, to keep her children from getting any ideas.

"Aye, Fran."

Fran downed his glass and held it out for Margaret to refill. She did so, pouring him two fingers, which he drank in one gulp.

"You one of them deathers?" John asked. Insensitive lout. "I got enough of that spiritual crap from Seen. That's why I stopped hanging out with him."

"Shut up," Seen said, glaring at John. "You're playing a fucking Indian. The fact that you won't go on any of the spirit quests doesn't make you enlightened, it makes you stupid. All of that stuff is fake anyway - it's some game designers version of Native American spirituality. This is something different."

"You a deather too?"

Seen snorted. "No, of course not. But I'm not an ass about it."

Margaret sighed. If only Fran wasn't so level-headed, she might get to see these two injuns get shot. Instead of drawing on them, Fran leaned closer. Tears streamed down his cheeks.

"If there's a way out, if that way is death, I'll take it," he said. "I've been in here too long already. You don't strike me as the type to understand."

Seen leaned back on his stool. "The way I see it, life is better in here. I'm not afraid to admit that I was a loser on the outside."

"You're still a loser," John said.

"I was a mother," Fran said.

The many ways Seen's expression changed made Margaret smile. Fran didn't dive into details this time, but there had been plenty of late nights, deep in the drink, when Fran had cried on her shoulder. For Margaret it was different. Her wife was pregnant when it happened, so Margaret only missed the idea of a child - the idea of fatherhood. She had never seen her daughter, never seen her grow up, never become attached. It helped her cope.

"I was logged into my husband's character."

"Shit," Seen said. His eyes turned to Marge, questing.

"Aye," Margaret said. "Nothing as sweet as Fran, though. Just liked the attention."

Without turning away from the bar, John began to laugh.

"What?" Seen demanded. "Are you a woman too?"

"Nah." John turned to face them. He held out his bottle. "To being who you choose to be."

That seemed a bit deep for John Bearcat. Margaret shrugged and shoved her glass in. "To new friends."

"And old ones," Fran said.

"To holes," Seen said.

Margaret squinted at him.

"Digging them," Seen continued. "Not having them."