Index Page 5 of 10 Ultima Online caved in and began to sell"pre-levelled"characters to new players; demand was so hig on the first day that their phone banks crashed Even the most stoic guild members are tempted by the booming market. Stalzer's guild was once offered $50,000 for all of its characters and loot. The members declined. But, sometimes, when individual guild members run into financial difficulties in the real world, they quietly pawn off virtual goods on the side One guy had an Enchanter and he sold it for two thousand dollars, Stalzer tells me. " That happens a lot. You get a guy who says, Dude, I just graduated and I can't find a job, so I gotta sell this thing. But I don 't mind it when it's real financial need Guild members hesitate to sell their goods in part because they do not feel they are the sole owners When a guild vanquishes a monster, it divides the loot among the members. Each player's booty winds up feeling more like a piece of communal property. At the Las Vegas computer conference, Castronova and I ran into a blue-haired nineteen-year-old who plays Ever Quest as a Level 55"cleric"in a powerful guild. " I've got dozens of reagents, these magical potions, she said. "And some of them are probably worth, like, a hundred bucks apiece. I could totally sell them. But I al ways think, damn, I only have this stuff because of how other people helped me get it. So they sort of own it, too. It's not my right to sell it "In EverQuest, even socialism finds a home Within months of Ultima Online's launch, in 1997, the game spiralled into a currency crisis. The developers woke up one morning to discover that the value of their gold currency was plummeting Why? A handful of sneaky players had discovered a bug in the code that allowed them to artificially duplicate gold pieces(called"duping"). The economy had been hit by a counterfeiting ring. Inflation soared, and for weeks, players would log in each day to find their assets worth less and less Ultima programmers soon fixed the bug. But then they had a new problem: How do you drain all the excess gold out of the economy and bring prices back to normal? They hit upon the idea of creating a rare type of red hair dye and offering it for sale in small quantities. It had no real use, but, because it was rare,it became instantly popular and commanded an enormous price- which leached so much gold out of the system that inflation subsided. But the programmers had to meditate for hours on what possible side effects their " fix"might ha Game desiencom ruining the lives of their"citizens "In essence, they face the political question that devils real-life politicians everywhere: How much should a government meddle in the marketplace In Ultima Online, players pick jobs and produce goods: blacksmiths make iron tools; tailors make shirts In the early days, the players were forced to find other players to buy the stuff. They had to act like entrepreneurs and, as it turned out, few people really wanted to do that; they just wanted to do their jobs and get paid. So the game designers created"shopkeepers, "robot characters that would automatically buy whatever goods the players made. This forced the designers to behave like Soviet central planners micromanaging every aspect of the marketplace with arcane algorithms of supply and demand. How much would a chair be worth, compared to a rabbit skin? If horseshoes were suddenly in low supply, how would that affect the price of magical healing potions? How much inflation is too little, or too much? Citizens, too, began to complain that the economic system was bafflingly arbitrary. One irate player ointed out that a spool of thread could be bought for two gold pieces, then instantly transformed by a tailor into a shirt worth twenty gold pieces-a profit margin that massively overshot any other activity for no apparent reason. Eventually the game designers mostly gave up, and built a system in which http://www.walrusmagazine.com/printpl?sid=04/05/06/1929205Ultima Online caved in and began to sell "pre-levelled" characters to new players; demand was so high on the first day that their phone banks crashed. Even the most stoic guild members are tempted by the booming market. Stalzer's guild was once offered $50,000 for all of its characters and loot. The members declined. But, sometimes, when individual guild members run into financial difficulties in the real world, they quietly pawn off virtual goods on the side. "One guy had an 'Enchanter' and he sold it for two thousand dollars," Stalzer tells me. "That happens a lot. You get a guy who says, 'Dude, I just graduated and I can't find a job, so I gotta sell this thing.' But I don't mind it when it's real financial need." Guild members hesitate to sell their goods in part because they do not feel they are the sole owners. When a guild vanquishes a monster, it divides the loot among the members. Each player's booty winds up feeling more like a piece of communal property. At the Las Vegas computer conference, Castronova and I ran into a blue-haired nineteen-year-old who plays EverQuest as a Level 55 "cleric" in a powerful guild. "I've got dozens of reagents, these magical potions," she said. "And some of them are probably worth, like, a hundred bucks apiece. I could totally sell them. But I always think, damn, I only have this stuff because of how other people helped me get it. So they sort of own it, too. It's not my right to sell it." In EverQuest, even socialism finds a home. Within months of Ultima Online's launch, in 1997, the game spiralled into a currency crisis. The developers woke up one morning to discover that the value of their gold currency was plummeting. Why? A handful of sneaky players had discovered a bug in the code that allowed them to artificially duplicate gold pieces (called "duping"). The economy had been hit by a counterfeiting ring. Inflation soared, and for weeks, players would log in each day to find their assets worth less and less. Ultima programmers soon fixed the bug. But then they had a new problem: How do you drain all the excess gold out of the economy and bring prices back to normal? They hit upon the idea of creating a rare type of red hair dye and offering it for sale in small quantities. It had no real use, but, because it was rare, it became instantly popular and commanded an enormous price — which leached so much gold out of the system that inflation subsided. But the programmers had to meditate for hours on what possible side effects their "fix" might have. Game designers are, in a sense, the government of their worlds, continually tweaking the system to try and keep it from ruining the lives of their "citizens." In essence, they face the political question that bedevils real-life politicians everywhere: How much should a government meddle in the marketplace? In Ultima Online, players pick jobs and produce goods: blacksmiths make iron tools; tailors make shirts. In the early days, the players were forced to find other players to buy the stuff. They had to act like entrepreneurs and, as it turned out, few people really wanted to do that; they just wanted to do their jobs and get paid. So the game designers created "shopkeepers," robot characters that would automatically buy whatever goods the players made. This forced the designers to behave like Soviet central planners, micromanaging every aspect of the marketplace with arcane algorithms of supply and demand. How much would a chair be worth, compared to a rabbit skin? If horseshoes were suddenly in low supply, how would that affect the price of magical healing potions? How much inflation is too little, or too much? Citizens, too, began to complain that the economic system was bafflingly arbitrary. One irate player pointed out that a spool of thread could be bought for two gold pieces, then instantly transformed by a tailor into a shirt worth twenty gold pieces — a profit margin that massively overshot any other activity, for no apparent reason. Eventually the game designers mostly gave up, and built a system in which Index Page 5 of 10 http://www.walrusmagazine.com/print.pl?sid=04/05/06/1929205 10/28/2004