Labyrinth of reflections

0

I was present at the birth of virtuality, I was one of the first to try Dibenko's program and I don't have any common person's mystic fear of the computer at all.

Calculating machines can't be intelligent.

Vika might dream about self-born electronic mind – I can't believe in that. Everything that's going on in the deep is nothing more than just mutual interference of various programs. If anything goes beyond the frame of the possible, it means that some person is standing behind that.

But who, who can be behind eternal deaths of Unfortunate?

A good diver or just any experienced Deep inhabitant are sure capable of faking their death again and again. All those dropped carbines is a bull but why the Net itself plays up to Unfortunate? Why have Alex managed to catch up with us exactly at the moment when Unfortunate was left unattended? Is it just a coincidence?

Even more, two professionals driving Unfortunate to the exit couldn't guard him against coincidences either?

I can't believe in that.

I'm sitting in the "Labyrinth"'s cloak room after reentering the Deep, humiliated and defeated, a loser diver who thought he's more intelligent than the others. Abyss-abyss… how easily did you squash me. The fight is lost if the enemy haven't shown up.

Not without reason had Man Without Face promised me such a reward for the Unfortunate's rescue. He knew much more than he said. Keen shooting and good reaction won't help here.

That means, I have to stop banging on the drawn door either. It's time to look for the real way out.

I throw the armor and the rest of the gear into the closet, enter the shower and squirm under ice cold jets for a minute. Then the anger comes to replace helplessness and confusion. Great. Hello, anger. You are what I really need. Enough of games according to the rules.

I dress and enter the column hall.

– "Labyrinth"'s administration requests Gunslinger to visit Security Service manager, – rings out in the air immediately, – "Labyrinth"'s….

I'm being watched upon when I come to the door which Giullermo passed last time we met. I push it – unlocked.

This time the administration building is busy. I was let into the common space of "Labyrinth"'s sysops – I can see them and vice versa. Hardly I'll interest anybody here though. I pass the corridors looking at the glass doors – the terminals are behind them, guys and girls sitting by. Big halls are behind some doors, with scale models on top of huge tables, "Labyrinth"'s levels' scale models – hills and ravines, buildings and ruins, rivers and blazing fires. People walk around them lazily. There, one guy leans above the model and pours some nasty greenish slush into a small stream. The stream starts bubbling. The guy nudges his coworker nearby who glances at defiled landscape and shrugs.

So this is how levels are constructed. Or rather their skeleton which then will live its own electronic life, inhabited by monsters and players. It will excite imagination of "Labyrinth"'s habitues for several months then it'll be changed.

– Are you Gunslinger?

The girl approaches me quietly and unnoticed, she's blonde and cute.

– Yes.

– Let's go, Mr. Aguirre is waiting for you.

I follow her. In general I know what they'll tell me now but why not to spend several minutes on formalities?

Guillermo stands by the window into "Labyrinth", the dark silhouette against the blood-red blaze. Everything is well thought through in the triangular shaped room – the office's owner seems small and lost against the window but draws attention at the same time. The visitor is on the crest of the pyramid and feels himself important involuntarily… and uncomfortable.

– Oh, Gunslinger! – Guillermo moves to meet me in energetic pace, – Sit down, sit down…

– You cancel the contract? – I ask directly.

Guillermo stops and rubs his nose bridge.

– Mmmm… yeah… Have you talked to Anatol, Gunslinger?

– I have.

As if he didn't controlled our talk…

– Gunslinger, you agree with our divers' opinion, no?

– No.

– Why?

– Will it change anything anyway? – I ask in return. – You have already decided to give up with the rescue.

– I didn't decide. – says Guillermo, slightly accenting on "I".

– But you cancel the contract anyway?

Guillermo sighs.

– We appreciate your attempts to help… very appreciate.

His speech becomes noticeably incorrect and I understand: Guillermo doesn't use interpreter program, he knows Russian, and knows it damn well. It's pleasant to know but I'm not surprised: Russians make a considerable part of the players, maybe because our famous native lack of system is still alive… and many companies pay for their employees' fun instead of for their work in the Deep.

– … But there is an opinion that now we encounter the action of hostile diver. Proceeding with rescue means supporting his plans. Right?

I nod. There's no confidence in Guillermo's voice but I have nothing to oppose to "Labyrinth"'s divers' words either.

Yet.

It's useless to argue.

– The company will pay you a bonus, – says Guillermo, – We even can argue about the amount… a little.

He smiles friendly and a bit slyly.

– The amount is up to you., – I say.

Guillermo looks at me intently then sits by his table and draws the check. The gold plated Parker in his hand, the checkbook was issued by Chase Manhattan. The amount doesn't strike me as much as it could happen before Al-Kabar operation but it commands respect nevertheless.

– Thank you, – says Guillermo solemnly, handing the check over to me. It's nothing more than just a formality, the money have already been transferred to my secret account given in the contract but anyway it's pleasant to hold the nonexistent check in my hand.

I nod and shake Guillermo's hand. That's it, I can get out. The little boy was given a candy and kicked out of the adults' company which plays serious games.

– For the good parting? – Mr Aguirre gets the bottle from under the table, the real French Armagnac. It doesn't cost much more than Coke in virtuality but the gesture itself is pleasant, as if Aguirre has no doubt that the taste of this drink is familiar to me.

We touch glasses and I make a small sip. I'm not a big lover of cognacs and brandy but it's flattering to be considered a connoisseur of noble drinks for a minute anyway.

– I can guess how you will spend this money, – says Guillermo suddenly.

– Well, how?

– They'll return to the "Labyrinth"'s account, – Guillermo smirks.

– Nope.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

– You will give up? Yes?

– I'll rescue Unfortunate but I have enough money for this. As for this check… I'll return it. In order for you to change the amount.

Guillermo nods, he was expecting my insistence and is quite satisfied with the promise.

– Good luck, diver.

– If something unexpected happens in "Labyrinth"… could you please notify me? – I inquire, – Unofficially?

– Your address, – says Guillermo in business-like manner.

I give him my business card with the Net address, it's not my real 'coordinates', just a mailbox where I can get the letter for Gunslinger after supplying the password.

– Do you want me to call the taxi? – asks Mr Aguirre at parting.

– Thanks Willy, it's not necessary.

I stop the Deep-Transit's cab a couple of blocks away. Not that I was afraid of shadowing but it's better not to change good habits.

– Al-Kabar block, – I order. This time the driver is a nice red haired woman with tiny wrinkles around her eyes, excellently made face.

– This address doesn't exist, – she disappoints me.

– Al-Kabar. 8-7-7-3-8.

– Acknowledged.

The car starts, streets flash by. I ask Vika to change the masculine look of Gunslinger to the ingenuous mug of Ivan The Prince. One second – and the white-clad hero is reflecting in the rear-view mirror.

Pictures, just pictures and nothing more. Now Deep-Transit's programs toss my comm channel from server to server, preparing to connect me to Al-Kabar – to bring me to the horsehair bridge with the genie guard. Nothing more than pictures. The Deep can't have its own intellect!

But despite anything, I don't feel myself so confident in my own thoughts.

1

The desert meets me with its hot breath and the genie – with deafening roar:

– You dared to come back, the thief of thieves?

Good program… with memory.

The genie tears his legs from the sand, makes one step, then another. The hair bridge stretches and rings slightly but does not tear yet. Something new – Al-Kabar's programmers have added mobility to the guard program!

– Stop! – I shout raising my hand, – I came to Friedrich Urman! I'm not in your mercy!

The giant fist quivers above my head, sparks scratching between the fingers.

– Unfamiliar virus detected! – whispers Windows-Home in alarm, – Attention! I turn the "Web" on!

The space covers with slight mist, the antivirus program "Web" starts to cut off a part of incoming information trying to guard the computer from the virus. Not an ideal defense, a good virus will slip into my computer anyway but I don't stop Vika – she's in panic… if this word is appropriate here. The genie's shape flows and becomes blurry.

– Who are you? – roars the monster, its voice is distorted too.

– Diver! – I shout having nothing to hide this time.

– Wait! – orders the genie. Sparks on his palms go off and Vika stops the "Web".

Nothing else to do and I wait. The monster is motionless, just its eyes sparkle examining me with a strong, almost physically felt gaze. It was just a joke last time – I was let into the mousetrap because they were sure I won't be able to escape. Now, having their butts kicked, corporate programmers are able to cast all creations of their fantasy on my head and I'm sure that among them is a lot of those that might terrify not only me, not only Maniac but even the old guy Lozinsky himself. It's a perfect time to remember tales about viruses that destroy the hardware…

– Go ahead! – the monster becomes alive again.

I step onto the hair bridge.

Abyss-abyss…

Now not two cartoony guards meet me but the whole crowd with weapons.

If I were escorted like this last time I'd never be able to steal a megabyte file.

The guards drive me along the streets in the icy silence, I expect that I'll be taken to the same veranda as it was before but our procession moves past it, right to the gloomy gray building.

They are what, going to imprison me? It's ridiculous, divers are invincible. It's possible to prevent us from stealing files but not to lock us in the virtual world.

Some guards stay outside, four others take me into the confinement. Two in front of me, two others behind my back, swords unsheathed. Oh, they definitely will set a virus in my machine, in full volume. Those who happened to survive winchester's crash would understand me. Once, in a tiny and almost unprofitable operation I managed to catch a very cute virus upon my stupid head. It mixed the FAT and partition table of my hard drive in a uniform cocktail. Maniac spent the whole day trying to recover the remains of data from the dead winchester and saved almost everything while I was bubbling some nonsense about pirated game CD which I had caught the virus from.

If even those dumb guys managed to infect my computer with such nasty thing, I'd better not even try to imagine what those guys from Al-Kabar are capable of.

The door slams heavily behind my back, closing. The confinement is in pitch darkness, I walk by touch, being pushed in the back. Obviously my comm channel is narrowed to its limit to prevent me from stealing anything else. All visual images are cut off.

– Stop! – I hear the command behind and freeze obediently.

Those who surround me can obviously see me absolutely well which doesn't make me feel better.

– You had the cheek to come here again Ivan?

I recognize Urman's voice or even the tone of his interpreter, and turn trying not to goggle my blind eyes.

– That was the deal.

– Oh really?

– You gave me the file voluntarily in exchange of the promise of the later meeting.

The pause, a pretty long one. I'm not lying and Urman finds himself in a stupid position. It's so good – not to lie. What for anyway? There's so much truth in this world that lies become unnecessary.

– What do you want?

– What do *I* want? Nothing. It was you who asked me for next meeting, so I guess you have something to offer?

Silence again. Obviously Urman wasn't expecting me to return after his attempt to trace me. I add just in case:

– Don't try to trace my channel by the way. Otherwise I'll leave.

The silence becomes too long and I can mentally see Urman ordering to his guards, "Hey, kick his ass…"

– Restore his channel completely, – orders Urman. – And stop the surveillance.

The bright light. I narrow my eyes studying the insides of the confinement through half-closed eyelids. Gloomy heavy walls, tiny reflecting glass windows behind the bars on top of them. The table and chairs around it located in the center of the room.

– This is a meeting hall, – explains Urman. He's dressed in a business suit with a tie. Maybe his dress is automatically adjusted according to the interior, I've heard about such tricks. – Here we conduct the Board of Directors' and some other meetings.

I see, the most secured place in the corporate virtual space. One won't escape from here as easily as from the veranda…

I have nothing to run away with though: I came absolutely unarmed.

– Leave us, – Urman continues ordering.

The guards submit immediately.

– Thanks Friedrich, – I say.

Urman nods silently and sits in one of the armchairs, I set myself nearby.

– So… Have you sold the… apple? – inquires Urman.

– Yes, thank you.

– I'm really glad for you.

It looks like he is not really angry and this makes me suspicious.

– I hope it haven't too much complicate the financial situation of the corporation?

– No, not really.

I look at Urman questionably.

– I forgot to tell you last time that the cool medicine has a tiny drawback, – notes Urman, – A side effect. We found it almost by chance… I suppose that Mr Shellerbach and Trans-Pharm-Group won't run into it.

I start feeling uncomfortable.

– Don't worry diver, it was not your responsibility to test the safety of the drug, – laughs Urman. – Nothing fatal, by the way… neither cancer nor terratogenious effect… but the patients won't be happy.

Al-Kabar have made a little insurance… I wonder what side effect might the cold reliever have? Changing the skin color into green, impotence, baldness? Urman won't tell.

Well, from now on I'll cure my cold with aspirin only for the rest of my life.

– Okay, let's forget mutual offences! – offers Urman generously.

I nod.

– As I told you before, I have an interesting offer for you… – says Al-Kabar's director. – A permanent employment.

– No.

We look into each other's eyes. They say the eyes is the mirror of the soul. The question is whether our virtual bodies do have souls or not?

– Some divers do have permanent contracts, – notes Urman, – So… it means it isn't forbidden?

– No, it is not but there's a certain difference between working for an entertainment center or a virtual investigation bureau and the work for you. In a month or two or three you'll 'calculate' me.

– And you fear publicity so much, Ivan?

– Sure I do. We are the alchemists of the virtual world, the wizards. No normal princeling would ever let the alchemist out of the comfortable dungeon… so that he couldn't invent gunpowder for the enemies.

– So sad… – Urman doesn't argue. – In many points you're right, Russian diver. Excuse me but I know that. Your voice was processed by the analyzer and it was definitely not the interpreter program.

I don't argue with him either, such a peaceful and nice talk, we are so loyal to each other – what a beautiful look.

– Well then – I offer you a single time collaboration! – says Urman cheerfully, – The work is easy and we pay well.

– Do you really think it's so easy to get Unfortunate out from "Labyrinth"?

The bull eye! Right in the center! Urman's face twitches, then he takes his emotions back under control, just a tic under his left eye remains. One to zero! No, five to zero!

– Please explain me what do you mean? – asks Mr director unconvincingly.

– After you.

Either they'll kill me now or will open their cards.

Urman certainly can stand the blow.

– One of our corporation's fields of business is demographic control of Deeptown.

I shake my head – I didn't get it…

– I mean the number of virtuality's inhabitants at any moment of time, with exact precision, by district, building, space in space like ours.

– Why? Who gave you the right for this?

– It was a common decision, approved a year ago. – shrugs Urman, – In order to compare the load on separate servers, to tie these figures to exact time of day, all this allows to coordinate the work and to reduce the cost of virtual space usage. AOL was one of the main customers, smaller companies had joined too.

And again my neglect to open information puts me in a spot.

– We were controlling according to the number of input-output signals on servers, – Urman goes on, – It's very simple and reliable, very efficient. Servers report the figures every two minutes. Nobody's rights are violated while we can know the total number of people in virtuality. It's not a surveillance, just statistics.

I nod.

– The number of computer supported objects in each space fraction is being controlled in parallel. Thus we know how many people present in this or that part of virtuality. We get reports every two minutes as well. It's easy to understand that if we total the number of all active objects in all parts of virtuality we'll get the already known figure – the number of people that entered the Deep.

I understand.

– The figures didn't match?

– Yes. There's one person more in virtuality than it should be. Computers can see him, he functions in cyberspace but he never connected to the Net.

Urman rises, waves his hand and the huge screen unwraps on the wall, on top of concrete and steel mesh. I rise too. This is the map of Deeptown and its suburbs looking like sewn of tiny patches. Each patch is a server that supports this part of space. The fine red 'rash' is on top of patches, these are gates, phone lines which are used to enter the Deep.

Looks beautiful. All bourgeoises are window-dressers.

– We can check the data by districts, – informs Urman, – For instance…

He steps to the screen, reaches it and points at Al-Kabar's block with a finger. The numbers 1036/1035 flash up on the display above the screen.

– Is it clear?

– Your servers support 1036 people in your space, including me. And everybody except me are connected through Al-Kabar's own channels.

– Sure. It's too risky to let the secret information to pass through somebody else's lines, even if those are owned by most reliable providers. We have our own channels in 12 cities where our employees live.

– But you can't detect Unfortunate like that!

I pad to the map, find "Three Piglets" on it, bethink just in time and poke my finger to the nearby 'institution'. I was there just a couple of times and didn't like it, too noisy and pompous.

63/2

– This is the more common picture, right? There are 63 people hanging in the restaurant's space but only two used its own phone channel to connect.

Urman nods.

– We detected "Labyrinth" by other means.

I don't consider that it's a cunning and not very friendly interlocutor before me anymore. I'm really curious how to figure out the means they used to detect the person that never entered the Deep.

– Okay… It's not feasible to trace every and each connection signal: too expensive, too time consuming and also forbidden.

Urman looks at me with such smugness as if it was him who solved the problem instead of ordering to do it to his specialists.

Let's think, it's useful sometimes.

Here we have a flow of electronic impulses. It's not important now where it came from. This is just data – the simple 3D image of a person, Unfortunate. It enters the computer that serves the "Labyrinth"'s 33rd level, either through the modem or directly into CPU. The computer places the image to the beginning of the level and gets prepared to control its movements, to broadcast its voice to other players, to calculate the effect of its shots, to move the gravels pushed by its feet. Well, and of course to send the images that the player sees with his left and right eye, the sounds that he hears, the pushes he feels through the virtual suit…

Stop – where to send if he never entered the Deep?

The glitch happens here. The computer processes Unfortunate's actions but doesn't know where they came from, and where to send the results. Can this be reflected on the server's performance figures? It should but on very specific ones, something like the ratio between the volume of CPU processed data and the data sent/received through the modem. One should look for this information beforehand in order to find the server with an uninvited guest in several hours…

– You were expecting him, – I say, – You knew that he will come!

– We assumed such possibility, – specifies Urman, – The person able to enter virtuality by himself should have appeared sooner or later.

– Without a computer? – I say these ravings which – how funny – will not seem the ravings for anyone far from computers and networks! This is as ridiculous as to imagine somebody who can connect directly to the phone line, it's just plain stupid.

But Urman might be all but stupid. He's a common millionaire who extracts incomes for Al-Kabar from everything: from the Earth's bowels, retransmitter satellites and runny noses.

– We are not alone to work on alternative means of interactions with computers, – says Urman, – Keyboard, mouse, helmet and suit – all these are the remains of pre-virtual era. The next step is direct connection to the visual and hearing nerves. Plugs… – he rotates his finger by his temple, either doubting his sanity or trying to illustrate the socket implanted behind his ear. – But this way requires too much work on the society's mentality. It's much harder to break people's psychology than to drill the skull and to plug a chip into the brains. If we could avoid that… if we could to just enter virtuality… the world would turn over.

– And you want to turn it over so much?

Friedrich is serious.

– When the world turns over my friend, being the first who stands upside down is the most important thing.

I stay silent, I have nothing to say. Would I want to enter the Deep without computer? Without Vika behind my back? Without the fear before the virus weapons? Without interference on the phone line and without eternal pursuit for modems' speed?

Funny question, of course I would! But I just don't believe in this.

But I really want to believe.

– As far as we know, the divers on contract with "Labyrinth" have tried to drive Unfortunate out, – says Urman carelessly.

I nod, their intelligence works well. Just what wouldn't the dollars do if applied in the right time and in the right amount!

– …And also someone, known as Gunslinger, – adds Urman, – Also the diver, I assume?

– Yes, it was me.

Urman nods.

– Then I expect the promised explanations.

Maybe the best thing at this point would be to whisper "abyss-abyss" and to vanish but I just can't do that after Urman's sincerity. The hole in the skull is really much simpler than the hole in one's life principles.

– Soon after our first meeting I was forced to meet…

Urman raises the eyebrow.

– Yes, that's right, *forced* to meet a person whose name I don't know. He offered me to sort out the situation that emerged in "Labyrinth". He didn't explain any details. Only later did I understand that he was talking about Unfortunate.

– We call him Swimmer, – notes Urman, – in analogy with you gentlemen.

– Basically, that's it, – I say. I really hate to be interrupted.

– Was the reward promised to you?

– Yes.

– A big one?

– A huge one… – I can't help myself and add: – I'd say that you won't be able to offer me more.

Urman is very serious, the talk became a business one but he doesn't yet argue or try to prove Al-Kabar's coolness.

– How had that person found you and why exactly you?

– He organized the dragnet for the divers and I… had exposed myself a little.

– Do you have any ideas of his personality?

– Absolutely none, – I say honestly but maybe not honestly enough: Urman is silent, looking into my eyes questionably. Maybe my words are analyzed by the lies detector and somebody reports the results to him…

– Just one more detail. He knew about my visit… to you. And he was well informed about the talk that took place. The fact that you wanted to offer me the same job was also known by him.

Urman holds the blow. Hadn't he hold enough of them in his life? But the shaking eyelid can be seen on the mask of tranquility. It's always unpleasant to learn about the spy by your side.

– Thank you, diver.

I smile leniently. What a trinket… Let the two spiders twitch in their cobwebs…

– Can you tell anything about Swimmer?

I shrug.

– Nothing special. Just a person. Sometimes there was an impression that he has Deep– psychosis, he takes what's going on too seriously. Otherwise he's quite adequate.

Urman nods. It looks like they have managed to plug to "Labyrinth"'s computers seriously and to control the events. This makes me to ask:

– Have you tried to trace Un… Swimmer's signal anyway?

– There's no signal at all.

Either Urman suffers the sincerity attack or is really interested to persuade me completely…

– "Labyrinth"'s servers do not broadcast Swimmer's data, to neither direction. He… hangs on the level by itself.

So it's true… the human who entered the virtuality directly?

– "Labyrinth"'s administration still tries to trace his comm channel, – throws Urman in, – but according to our experts they'll make the same conclusions in five, or at most eight hours. Then the real panic will start.

I can imagine. The level will be isolated or maybe even the whole "Labyrinth of Death" will be freed of players. The direct tunnels to the 33rd level will be hacked hastily, if they don't exist yet doesn't mean that it's impossible to create them. All monsters will be turned off, all buildings will be frozen so that Unfortunate wouldn't be accidentally hit by the fallen brick. Then the crowd of psychologists, hackers, officials, Anatol and Dick – all they will flow into the empty level, will surround Unfortunate with care and endearment, will bring him to the exit on their hands…

I can assume for sure that they won't need my help then.

– Do you agree to collaborate with us?

I look at Urman, he doesn't seem to joke.

– I'm already working for somebody whose name I don't know.

– He might promise you very much, that mysterious Mr X, but have he rendered you any assistance?

I shake my head.

– If you are really Gunslinger, you could realize that the ordinary methods are not applicable to Swimmer. A couple more attempts won't change anything. And then "Labyrinth" will be isolated and the… ride's… owners will start solving the problem.

He pronounces the word 'ride' with some obvious defiance.

– Whoever hired you, he did it not because of your diver's talents.

– Then why?

Now he have confused me.

– It would be much easier to buy "Labyrinth"'s divers or to hire a group. Yes, it's hard to figure your real names but it's quite possible to meet you and offer you a job. This is how you earn your living after all. Your mysterious employer was attracted by something more serious than just an ability to exit virtuality.

It seems I have all reasons to bloat in pride but I start feeling even more worried instead.

– And I think, – says Urman thoughtfully, – that he was right. Swimmer is the job for you. The main one in your life and I can help you to achieve a success.

Hardly can he offer me the Medal of Complete License. Whatever else, but *such* things can't be bought, but the bid is big and the reward might be very-very huge.

Why would I need the Medal if I can stop my unlawful activities in virtuality for the rest of my life?

– Have you signed the contract? – asks Urman.

– No.

– Just a verbal agreement?

– No.

– What worries you then?

I stay silent. I have no idea why do I cling to Man Without Face's offer. He forced me to meet him, he had sent me to "Labyrinth" without explaining anything. And his promise might be just a bluff too.

– I need to think.

– All right, – agrees Urman. – It's almost guaranteed that you have five more hours… obviously you'll visit "Labyrinth" once more?

I nod indefinitely.

– I'll undertake my own measures, – says Urman, – You will definitely notice them diver and will be able to make your choice.

– Vague, Friedrich. { In Russian 'vague' and 'foggy' is the same word } Urman frowns in confusion while the interpreter program figures out that I'm not talking about the weather.

– Why on the Earth I'm so valuable to you?

– You'll find that out dear Ivan the Prince. Oh by the way, what is Swimmer's nationality, what do you think?

– Russian, – I reply mechanically.

Urman nods mockingly

– Maybe-maybe… See you later, diver. Think and make your decision.

As these words are spoken, the doors open and the guards enter but this time their swords are sheathed.

– You'll be escorted to the bridge, – informs Urman.

10

Either I'm not watched or this is being done skillfully enough for Vika to raise the alarm. I ascend the wall under the guards' looks and step onto the horsehair bridge.

How many meters will I be able to walk without exiting virtuality I wonder?

One step, another – the thread shakes under my feet, I feel dizzy. The blue bands of rivers and hot orange glow of lava lakes are hundreds of meters below, between conglomeration of cliffs.

– Hey diver, you're staggering! – the mocking call from behind.

I'm not just staggering, I'm falling down already.

Maybe this is how Moslem sinners fall down trying to pass into their Heaven, to tender houries and the mountains of rahat lakoum…

My feet slip, I fly, grab the thread and it indifferently cuts my fingers off. The air blows into my face coldly and strongly, inviting to my short journey, the cliffs rotate below, growing and showing needle sharp crests. When I touch the rocks, Al-Kabar's server will report that I'm under terminal accelerating forces and the exit deep-program will be launched.

But I'm not interested at all in what colors will be my death painted by my imagination.

Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours…

Blood on the screens, a familiar image.

I took off the helmet, leaned onto the table and pulled the phone cable from the socket.

– Communication breakdown! – said Vika, – No dialtone! Check the plug!

– It's alright, – I mumbled plugging the cable into place, – Restart.

– Seriously?

– Yes.

Blueish color and the falling human figure on the screen. And nasty feeling in my soul.

I'm stuck in the very serious matter. If Al-Kabar, "Labyrinth" and those who stand behind Man Without Face start fighting… Oy!.. It's better not to fall between such millstones. The best thing now would be to forget about virtuality for a couple of weeks, to play ordinary games, to drink beer with Maniac, to upgrade the computer, to travel somewhere to Antalia { the Turkish resort, very popular in Russia } where it's still warm, to swim in the sea.

Of course, I'll have to forget about Vika, the real one, and for a long time.

To bid a farewell to the dream about the Medal of Complete License.

And certainly, to cross Unfortunate out of my memory.

Who is he anyway to worry about him so much? Homo Computeris? Computer human, able to enter virtuality without any phones-modems? So what? It's not worthy to hope that his ability – if it really exists – is so easy to acquire.

All kinds of specialists will study him, make encephalograms and measure all possible and impossible parameters. Unfortunate will be placed before various types of computers, they will turn modems on and off, bring him to the phone lines and hide him in underground bunkers. And they will demand – enter the Deep! Tell us what you feel! What feeling do you have in the thumb of your left foot when you enter virtuality and how does your stool change after three days in the virtual world… Thus will he spend the rest of his life somewhere in the heavily guarded estate in Switzerland or in the Texas desert, in some CIA research center. One very valuable and respected guinea-pig.

Maybe he's Russian though, a Russian citizen. If I throw the info about him in the open Net or to the proper authorities…

I even laughed of my own naivety. So what? Will the ole' good Russia really send its carriers and tank squads to guard Unfortunate? Wasn't it enough talented programmers taken out of the country – say, 14-year old Sasha Morozov, a guy from Voronezh was flown out by the charter flight. Just maybe our intelligence service would gather the remains of its past bravery and would intercept Unfortunate just in order to lock him forever in its own research center somewhere in Siberia or the Ural Mountains.

When the Deep was created, the Freedom was its banner.

We are independent of all corrupt governments, shabby religions and Puritan moral. We are free in everything – and forever. No information can be secret – and we have a right to discuss whatever we want. Freedom of travel can't be limited – and Deeptown will never know any borders. We'll fight for our right to have all rights. We'll purge only those from our ranks who will rise against the freedom.

Lord, how naive and enthusiastic were we!

The people of the new cybernetic world, of the free and unlimited space!

The people reveled in the freedom, playing with it as a kid risen from the bed after the long illness, cheerful and proud by ourselves. The Deep's interests – everything for it, for the name of it, forever… amen.

But why do I still believe in all these funny slogans with the same enthusiasm as I had being a kid, believing in communism?

Why do I want to believe so much, despite everything?

Breaking the laws, trashing someone else's computers, stealing someone else's 'intellectual property', not paying taxes to my poverty-stricken country, not trusting anybody except a handful of friends – and still to believe in something warm and fuzzy, clean and eternal? In freedom, kindness and love?

Maybe I'm just from the breed that can't live otherwise.

And well, nobody really prevents me from believing in freedom further, after I change my entrance channels and the Net address.

It's so simple – to believe.

I was looking at the 3D mesh of Norton's table, at the neat lines of directories and subdirectories. Three gigabytes, all completely full. Service programs, viruses-antiviruses, pieces of Vika's "consciousness", audio files and games, stolen data and new books, unpublished yet. Here is "Hearts and motors – in the travels again" by Vasiliev, here is a fresh mystery by Lev Kursky, prolific like piranha (?), here is Oldi's novel that have made so much noise. I can go out now, buy lots of beer, print a couple of books on my old LaserJet and land on the sofa. To sleep – as much as I can! And those Mr Urman whose real face I'll never see, and Mr Without Face whom I'll never see all the more can feel free to fight over Unfortunate with Willy-Guillermo…

I never liked stupid people and kamikaze.

I picked the phone from the case of my 'five' and dialed Maniac's number. I was lucky again, he was neither hanging in virtuality nor sleeping.

– Allo!

– Shura, it's me.

– Ah… – Maniac lowered his tone a bit.

– Are you busy?

– Well… a little.

– Writing a program?

– No, peeling potatoes… Galya is cooking.

– Congratulations.

– With what? – Maniac pricked up his ears.

– With your reconciliation!

– Ah… yeah… okay.

I'd better not abuse his time, especially after the recent rejoining with his spouse.

– Shura, tell me please, is it possible to enter "Labyrinth" with weapons?

– You mean the virus? Isn't BFG enough for you? – Maniac is obviously amused, – Your kidding. This is a space within a space, created with exactly defined purpose. It's easier to smuggle the virus into the Pentagon, then to pass through "Labyrinth"'s filter with it.

– Wasn't it you who made the filter for them?

– No, – confessed Maniac with regret, – Not me. But I know who and how had made it.

– So how?

– Your image is copied when you pass the portal. If you have any programs with you, any programs, those are cut off. Just your exact copy passes into the "Labyrinth"'s server.

– And there's no way to bypass? – I inquired helplessly.

– Think.

– Don't I have to think too much lately? – I growl, – Shura! Just tell me, can I break through the filter?

– Only walls can be broken… by foreheads, – said Maniac instructively, – What happened?

– Very lousy situation. Extremely lousy.

– Lousy for whom?

– For all the Deep. And for one good guy.

– And what about you? – asked Maniac directly and I remembered "Three Musketeers" involuntarily.

– Complete shit, believe me.

Maniac didn't reply at once, he even began to whistle something.

– Shurka!

– Will "Warlock-9000" be okay for you?

– What is that?

– A local virus. As usual.

– Will it pass the filter?

– Maybe.

– Shura, don't I distract you too much? I mean… from potatoes. – I said, possessed by the sudden guilt.

– No, I'm finishing already…

I don't like cordless phones, it's enough radiation for me already from my dear computer. As for Maniac – on the contrary, he can't imagine his life without them. And now also, he stands pressing the phone to his ear with a shoulder, tearing the peel off potatoes.

– Pour it in for me.

– Just to pour it in?

– Yeah, – I asked gathering all my impudence.

– Hold on, it's not that easy. What apps do you use to create your images?

– Various ones… "Bioconstructor"… "Morphologist"… "Guise".

– I see. What personality will you use when using the virus?

– Personality #7, Gunslinger…

– What is the file's extension?

– Huh? Extension? Hold on…

– Fire the terminal up, – said Maniac tiredly, – Set the complete access for the password… say, "12345".

– One-two-three-four-five, – I repeat dumbly.

– In numerals! – specifies Maniac, – I'll tune everything by myself.

– Thanks!

– Not that fast… You'll owe me beer…

Maniac sighed one more time and threatened before putting down the phone:

– I'll call in 5 minutes. Your old girl in on already, waits for me and is as docile as a schoolgirl. Is that clear?

I rushed to the computer. In three minutes Vika agreed to submit to the one who calls with the password "12345" and moved over to the kitchen to cook myself a supper. I haven't even filled the teapot yet when the phone rang in the room and then connecting modem started whistling softly.

I'm stupid after all… and kamikaze.

Though, it's ridiculous to love myself too much, I can afford to be stupid for some time.

I just had time to drink some tea with jam found in the sideboard, then refilled the mug and returned to the room. Maniac was just disconnecting from my computer having left the burning red line on the screen: "Took some your old junk to read and play virus plugged in instructions by voice in a minute".

Maniac have carelessly omitted all punctuation.

Exited into Norton, I found the file of Gunslinger's image (it's extension was most trivial: .clt), and started to compare it to the other, unchanged images. Nothing have changed that I could have noticed.

As expected.

Maniac called in five minutes and quickly explained what and how I should do. I could only shake my head when I got just what did he do to my image "#7".

Obviously, "Warlock-9000" was something he was preparing for a long time, kept for the very special cases. If this thingy is used even once, hundreds of plagiarists will follow.

– Beer, beer and more beer… – I said turning the phone off. Nobody can tell though whether I'll be able to provide him this beer or not.

I was going to raise such a storm in the Deep which it haven't seen for quite a while.

The storm it deserved.

11

– The terminal is on, – reported Vika. I clicked the connection icon, and was on "Russia On Line"'s server in several seconds.

The address left by Man Without Face I remembered by heart: some Polish server which doesn't really mean anything. It's just a router, the signal will pass a couple or more countries on its way to Man Without Face.

There was no video support on that server, no drawn muzzles or animated photos on the screen. A severe styled menu in Polish and English, some ten more languages supported, including Romanian and Korean… no Russian. Our brotherly nation doesn't favor us too much, alas. I replied to operator's greeting and asked to establish connection with "Man Without Face" { in English in the original }. The operator switched to the Russian keyboard driver in half a minute and asked me to name the addressee in my native language.

"≈╔╚ъ╒╔╙ │╔╖ ▀╗ф═", – I typed in.

They started to throw me from server to server. The first two were open ones, I couldn't tell anything about the next three. Then I saw "Please hold" on the screen. In Russian by the way.

I was holding for fifteen minutes.

First five minutes quietly and modestly, then – getting a beer from the fridge and putting the old "Nautilus" album in the CD-player. Good singer Butusov is... until he starts trying to write the lyrics himself.

I remembered my dream, where was a singer on the stage and poor Alex, a prophet dream in some sense. But why did I imagine Unfortunate as a singer? Never had I any familiar musicians in my life, and risked to sing myself only in complete solitude.

"Who?"

I pulled myself to the screen and typed without much thinking:

"Me"

"How goes, diver?"

"I suppose you know that."

I would give very much to find out who is he – Man Without Face.

"Yes."

"I can't handle it."

"It's your problem."

"Not only mine."

A short delay – either Man Without Face was thinking or there was a lag along the lines somewhere.

"What do you want?"

"Help."

"I can't help. Everything you need is inside you."

If he was here, a real person, I would say something to him that is possible to say only or even better not to say at all. So I said that aloud but the Net has its own norms of communication and my fingers typed:

"Who is he?"

"You were told already."

The spiders. The spiders, stretched their thin threads into each other's dens. Urman watches after "Labyrinth" while Man Without Face controls Al-Kabar.

"Was that true?"

"Maybe"

"I CAN'T HANDLE IT!" – I typed in CAPs.

"Pity."

And almost instantly the line have appeared in the bottom of the screen: "Addressee have disconnected."

– Connection broke! – confirmed Vika, – Do you want to reconnect?

– No, – I replied. For some reason I didn't have any doubt: the Polish server won't connect me with Man Without Face again.

Maybe he feels offended that I've told about him to Urman. Maybe he have just lost faith in my abilities.

The result is the same in either case.

– Vika, am I smart? – I asked.

There's almost 1000 keywords stuffed into Windows-Home. Sometimes it's possible to make really funny talks with the computer... almost intelligent ones.

– What answer would you like to hear? – deviated Vika as usual when the words were not formulated as an order but were unclear to her.

– The honest one.

– I don't know Lenia. I really wish I could answer but I really don't know.

– Stupid you are, Vika.

– And you're a boor.

I laughed. If anybody not familiar with modern operating systems could hear me he would decide for sure that my Pentium is intelligent.

– Sorry, Vika.

– That's okay, I'm not angry.

Intellect and its fake... Where is the border between them? We already talk to our computers, they greet us and wish us good night. Many people including me spend most of their time in virtuality. But it's not a victory of the human intelligence, just a fake of the victory, bright colored banners and fireworks above the void. Higher processor speed, more memory – and the computer gets human look and feel. But nothing more...

And Unfortunate – he can be a program too. Just as cunning as Maniac's virus, penetrated through the filter, rooted itself in the 33rd level's server, the one able to support the talk and to shoot the monsters.

– Shit!! – I shouted.

It's so simple! Just a hundred of phrases said sometimes in the right time, sometimes irrelevantly. The program that learns on its own words, returning you your own thoughts, obediently following its naive rescuers... Sure it doesn't need any comm channels.

What did I tell Unfortunate, what did he reply? I strained my memory.

I don't know... It might be a program. Then both Al-Kabar and Man Without Face were too wide of the mark.

Good if I'm right, the riddle is solved quite simply.

The Silence, Gunslinger...

I shivered, remembering the void that rolled over me after his words.

A program?

Unfortunate, carrying the drawn kid with such care...

A program?

– I can't understand a thing, Vika, – I said, – Absolutely nothing, and you can't help me.

– Can I help? – replies Vika inopportunely.

– No!

– Who can then?

I was silent for a while before replying.

– The real Vika. The Deep!

– Deep program start?

I put my hands on the keyboard instead of an answer.

Deep

Enter.

The darkness on the screens is lined by falling stars, the rainbow spiral whirling before my eyes, erasing reality, pulling me towards Deeptown's skyscrapers.

The first second is the most difficult one. The room is the same, but I know, all this is an illusion, a mirage.

– Is everything okay, Lenia?

I rotate my head. The room is okay. It's me who is different.

– Personality #7, Gunslinger.

– Acknowledged...

This time my appearance changes painfully long, nothing can be done, it's an inevitable cost of the weapon.

– Is everything okay Lenia?

I stand up and look at my reflection in the mirror.

– Yes. Thanks Vika.

I open the fridge looking for soda. Sprite is over, only Coke has left. It'll do.

– Good luck, Lenia.

– Thanks.

I drink the most popular beverage in the world greedily which – how funny – was created as a diarrhea relief... Urman estimated that I have five hours more, now only four have left. I can almost feel how somewhere in the great distance, on other continents, the various officials' brains screech in strain, starting to comprehend the Unfortunate's phenomenon. Very soon the 33rd level will be shut down, very soon the hunt for Unfortunate will start. It's not important whether he's a human or a program, I'll get him out.

– Call the taxi, – I say leaving the apartment. I descend in a small clean elevator and open the doorway.

An old Ford is waiting for me, the driver is a sleek young guy in a white shirt, an exact copy of the one that I killed two days ago before penetrating into Al-Kabar. I even feel shame looking at his friendly smile.

– Brothel "Any Amusements"! – I growl.

100

It looks like Vika made Madam to establish a special status for me. When I enter the lobby, I see the three men in there. All three pull their heads up, in all three's eyes is confusion and fright. They don't see each other, two of them are even overlapping in space looking like some kind of ugly siamese twins.

These two are stately blue eyed brunettes, standard bodies from Windows-Home's kit, obviously put on for disguise. The third one is a swarthy robust guy with a cleanly shaved head. The common feature of all three is their look, the one of somebody caught being busy with pressing out pimples.

So, I'm now what, have the same rights as the brothel's employee? I can see all three customers, enter the service areas…

– Hi… – I say raising my hand limply. All three nod quickly. One of them puts aside the green album with artificial negligence, the other one casts the purple one aside. Only the shaved guy continues to look through the black album stubbornly, curiously studying the pictures.

I approach the guard, he opens the door before me obediently and I leave the lobby sparing the visitors from their soul tortures.

Nobody is going to escort me but I remember the way. The corridor is empty, some doors are opened. Bursts of laughter can be heard from behind one of them. There is a small pavilion surrounded by blossoming sakura, the gentle spring sun shines in the sky, the cone of Fuji is seen in the distance. Two girls are drinking tea inside, noticing me they wave their hands cheerfully:

– Hi Gunslinger, want some tea?

– N…no, – I mumble and walk away quickly. An absolutely naked girl steps out from the other door, without even a hint of shyness.

– Vika is busy! – she says, – Maybe you'll stay with me for a while? I'm boooored!

There's no hint in her words whatsoever and the thought about having sex doesn't excite her more than the process of inhalation-exhalation. There's something dreadful in the situation itself… in all those cheerful and friendly young girls.

I suddenly realize what do they remind me of, some old sci-fi book about merry young people who are busy with their favorite work, who spend days and nights at it, they are friendly, they are always ready to help their friend, they are unable to say a single bad word about each other…

It's like a distorted mirror, the false reflection. The evil had put on the dress of good and as strange as it may seem, it fit!

– Thanks, but I'd better wait in her room, thanks again… – I say smiling desperately.

The girl pouts sorrowfully and disappears in her room. I go further until my look meets with the black kitten's on the picture.

– Meow! – I whisper softly pushing the door. The kitten opens his tiny maw, mews in return and freezes again.

The mountain hut is empty, just the wind from the opened window flutters the short curtains. Leaned against the window-sill, I watch the mountains for quite a time. No, this is impossible, to create the whole world absolutely alone and not for fame and money, not at an order, just for herself and even never enter it!

To create it just in order to know that it exists, right here, behind the window: the sparkling snow on the mountain crest, the endless blue sky, rocks on the slopes, the black moss under pine trees, birds soaring in the skies and squirrels scurrying about in the trees. The world of silence, cleanliness and serenity, the world where the word 'filth' is not invented.

I think that Unfortunate would like it. I really hope he will like it.

– Lenia?

Vika enters quietly and it takes me by surprise.

– I'm sorry… didn't they tell you?

She shakes her head.

– I just wanted to be with you… for a little time, – I start make excuses involuntarily, – Are you… all right?

Vika nods.

– You shouldn't dive in the Deep so often, – I say approaching her, – have you at least had some snack?

– A little… It's a flood of customers today.

She doesn't look aside, she got used to consider this a work but it's something wrong with me. I can feel a cold lump in my chest, quick and pungent like a snow in the frost. I swallow some air and say:

– Do you really have to work so much… Madam?

Vika goes to the window and asks without turning back:

– How did you find out?

– I felt it.

– Leave Leonid. Leave forever, okay?

– No.

– Why the hell do you pester me? – shouts Vika turning back, – Why the hell would you need a prostitute as a friend? Get out! I like that, okay? I like to fuck a hundred of times a day, to change bodies, to order the girls around and to pretend that I'm one of them! Is it clear? Is it?

I just stand there waiting for her to vent it out, then pad closer and stand by her side by the window.

I can't talk now and can't touch her, but it's dangerous to stay silent either, though I have no choice and I wait for I don't know what.

The mountains start and the floor begins to shake under the feet. Vika shouts clinging to the window-sill, I grab her by the shoulder and set the second hand against the wall. The earth is quivering, the white mountain caps start flowing with a white smoke, stretching down tentacles of avalanches. The huge rock whirls down by the window.

– Mommy… – whispers Vika sinking on the floor, looks like she is more excited than scared, – Duck, Lenia!

I fall down beside her and just in time – a good load of stony shrapnel blows into the window.

– Fifth degree at least! – shouts Vika, – Seventh!

– Eighth! – I suggest. Hardly had she ever seen the real earthquakes, otherwise she wouldn't be so cheerful now.

The hut's floor is still shaking but much less now, with a small convulsive shiver.

– Cool, – whispers Vika sprawling on the floor. I catch her look and touch her cheek gently, – Don't be mad at me Lenia.

– I'm not.

– The customers… piss me off sometimes.

– The Cap? – I remember.

– Exactly.

– Who is he?

Vika shrugs.

– I don't know. He wears different bodies and doesn't tell anything about himself. He only… – she smirks, – always wears a cap. That's why his nick.

– Is he a sadist?

– Yes, maybe… but a special one.

Her lips whisper a short obscenity.

– You what, accept any customers here? Even those who make you climb the walls?

Vika stays silent.

– I thought you sort out the worst idiots. If it's possible to identify Cap beforehand…

– We accept everyone.

– What is it, a kind of the company honor? "Any Amusements"?

– You might assume that.

Looks like the earthquake is over, I rise and look into the window. Avalanches still move, the river below is blocked by landslide and fills in slowly, searching for the new bed.

– It calmed down, – I whisper involuntarily, as if my words can wake the nature up again, – Vika, why did you make the earthquake?

– I don't have anything to do with it. This world lives by itself, I don't have any control over it anymore.

– Not at all?

Vika glances at me, rises and studies the changed landscape.

– Absolutely. The world becomes real only when it gains freedom.

– Just as a human.

– Sure.

– Do you believe in freedom so much?

– You don't have to believe in freedom. When you have it, you can feel it yourself.

I think I expected her to say these words.

– Vika, what if some man… a good man is in trouble… If he can lose his freedom forever… would you agree to help him?

– I would, – she replies calmly, – Even if he's not that good a man. This is a principle of a sort if you want.

– I need to hide somebody.

Vika shakes her head in some funny manner, so that her hair scatter on her shoulders.

– Lenia, what are you talking about? Hide where?

– In virtuality.

– What for?

– He can't exit.

– You're talking about the one in "Labyrinth"?

– Yes.

– Lenia… – Vika holds my hand, – How long ago were you in the real world?

– Half an hour ago.

– Really? Don't you need some help yourself? I have… – she bites her lip, – one familiar diver. It's true, they really exist!

How funny…

– Do you want me to ask him to meet you?

– Vika…

She calms down.

I'm not used to such care, to be honest. This is my profession – to take care of people who got lost in virtuality.

– I'll help, – says Vika, – But you're wrong… I think.

I don't have time for arguments now.

– Thank you. Are your security systems reliable enough?

– Quite. Do you understand something in that?

I nod. Of course, I can't create the security program myself but I had to break those so many times that it's high time to consider myself an expert.

– You can talk to the Wiz about that.

– Will he tell me?

– Not to you, and neither to me, but to Madam…

Vika hesitates and looks at me as if asking to leave. I go to the door, but she calls:

– Lenia.. Don't. I want you to look.

She pads to the wall, waves her hand and the boards part, opening a small door.

It's a light behind it, a cold bluish lifeless light. Vika's silhouette stays in the doorway for a second, then disappears inside and I follow her even if I don't want that at all, like hypnotized.

It's a shed. Or a morgue. Or Blue Beard's museum.

Shiny nickel coated hooks stick out from the walls, human bodies hang on them, almost reaching the floor with their feet, girls for the most part, light and dark haired, several reddish ones, one is completely bald. Also several middle-aged women and a couple of old ones, several girls and boys.

All eyes are opened and empty.

– This is my costumier room, – says Vika. I stay silent, I can understand that anyway.

Vika walks along slightly rocking bodies, looking into the dead faces, whispering something as if in greeting. Madam is hanging somewhere in the end of the first dozen. Vika looks back at me making sure I'm watching and snugs close to the splendid body of the brothel owner, hugs it as if in the outburst of perverted passion.

Nothing happens for a second, then – I can't catch the moment of change

– Vika and Madam change places. Not Vika but Madam backs from the helplessly hanging body.

– That's it, – says Madam in her low voice.

– Why… in such a disgusting way? – I ask, – These hooks… this morgue… why? Vika?

Madam looks at Vika, nods sadly:

– Vika my dear, why? Should we explain to Lenia?

Vika, threaded on the hook by her nape stays silent.

– In order to never forget, Leonid. Not to forget for even a second – they are not alive.

I look at Madam, far more calm and wise than Vika, and if to approach it unbiased – much more beautiful.

– You had to see it, – says Madam.

– I have.

We exit the 'human meat warehouse' through the other door, the one that leads into Madam's room. This is a completely different world. There's a noisy and crowded beach behind the window, the hot sun in the sky, the room itself is full of luxurious old furniture, books are scattered everywhere along with opened candy boxes, clothes, cheap jewelry and golden bracelets, half-empty perfume bottles, playing cards. The huge bed under the plush canopy is uncovered, the slipper is lying under it. A variety of started bottles is in the sideboard, the dusty guitar hangs on the wall, Persian carpet on the floor is bitten by moth and is stained with wine in patches.

– Now you can try to guess which me is a real one, – says Madam.

I ain't going to. There's no other truth in the world except the one we want to believe in anyway.

We don't stay in Madam's room for long and I'm glad about that very much, it's too stiffly in there.

– Lenia, sometimes I tend to think that you're just a young boy, – says Madam, – one can't be so naive after all.

– Why not?

– It's too hard to live that way.

– Nobody had promised me it'll be easy.

I walk by Madam's side thinking about how could we look from the side. A pale and tall Gunslinger fits to be Madam's son in his age but there's no resemblance between them. Maybe it must look like a disguised aristocrat 's visit to the cheap brothel.

– Steep stairs here, – warns Madam.

– I remember.

We enter the recreation area and the girls under umbrellas greet Madam with cheerful squeals. The gay splashing in the water just by the shore quickly stands up and waves his hand. The tousled head of Computer Wiz pokes up from behind the bar and ducks back down quickly.

– You see, Vika is not here, – says Madam to me loudly, then protectively puts her hand on my shoulder, – Girls, Gunslinger will wait for his girlfriend here! Don't hurt him!

The general meaning of the answers summarizes to the idea that they'll hurt me for sure but I'll like that. Madam waves her finger at the girls, then goes to the bar. The Wiz appears at once, as if feeling her approaching.

– Talk to Gunslinger, – Madam asks him gently, – He has some questions… answer all of them.

– Absolutely all? – inquires Wiz.

– Absolutely.

– Well Madam, don't say later that I forced this out of you.

– I wish it was necessary… – sighs Madam.

I'm waiting for Wiz by the table which stands a little aside from the others, the girls don't need to hear our talk.

– Champaign! – declares Wiz, approaching me, – Hi Gunslinger! You're drinking champaign, right? I don't, it's too many bubbles in it, my stomach rumbles after that!

He moves in an odd manner, very smoothly as if being on asphalt. I glance at his feet, they don't touch the sand: the shabby slippers are on Wiz's feet, with tiny wings growing from their sides that hammer the air quickly.

– I'm drinking champaign with the girls only, – I refuse, – Do you have vodka over there?

– Everything is there! – Wiz plops the bottle of caustically violet colored liquor on the table and runs away with unclaimed Abrau-Durso. Just in a minute he returns in the same gliding manner with a bottle of Ursus vodka, a crystal pitcher filled with water and a package of Zuko.

– Here, mix that…

I never tried Ursus but it's a good vodka as they say. Hoping that subconsciousness will work out the taste for me, I pour in a cup. Wiz grabs the pitcher and mixes the beverage by himself using his own hand as a mixer.

We're in virtuality after all… mo germs here. I swallow the vodka in one shot and take a mouthful directly from the pitcher, then ask:

– Where did you get this cute footwear from?

– These slippers? Ah, made them myself today… was sick and tired of bogging in the sand. You like them? You see, in Deeptown it's possible to walk on the floor only. So I had to glue a piece of floor to the soles. It's no problems now: walk on air as long as you want, until tired!

Wiz laughs and makes several small steps, ascending almost to the table level, then crosses his legs, falls into the armchair, opens the liquor and drops to the bottle with a smacking sound.

– Superb thing! – he declares, – Sweet-sweet! Real Cura ao!

– Do you spend the whole day here?, – I inquire.

– Whole day? Ha! I exit this place to eat something, and pardon me, to visit bathroom!

– Madam says, all security here depends on you.

– Wrong word! Everything depends on me here.

– May a stranger enter here?

– And how could we earn the living if we wouldn't let them in?

– I'm not about that. Is it possible to penetrate into the brothel's service areas?

– Institution's! This is not a brothel, but Institution! No, it is not.

– Absolutely?

Wiz sighs and becomes more serious.

– Are you hacker or lamer?

– A 'newbie'.

– Okie, I see… The absolute security doesn't exist. The closer you're to the absolute reliability, the less comfortable you feel in virtuality. It's a quadratic dependence here – your ability to receive and to transmit data falls as the security level becomes higher. The most important thing is to find the optimal ratio between comfort and security. Our security system was created with the elements of artificial intelligence. When breaking attempts are detected, the warning is broadcasted, additional passwords are implemented, dummies are activated…

– Dummies?

– Autonomous mobile security programs, phagocytes. I call them dummies, they are all dumb. Why don't you drink?

I pour myself more.

– If an intensive attack happens, – Wiz goes on, – then the degree of security grows unlimited, up to the complete encapsulation of the Institution. Of course it never happened before, but it's meant to work this way.

– So you want to say that the security IS ideal after all?

Wiz hesitates, the vanity which he obviously has struggles with objectivity.

– No… If the big group of professionals would plan the break-in, they'll be able to enter before the defense starts to work in full volume. But who on the Earth would want to do that, huh?

I understand that it'd be stupid to expect any different answer. There's a sword for any shield.

– Thank you, Wiz.

– Ah, don't mention it! – he waves his hand, – Do you want to make your own security system? Drag it in here, I'll help. Or better yet, let's go to your place! – Wiz fires up, – I'll do everything myself, I'm so bored of sitting here!

I shake my head, he guessed wrong.

– I'm just interested in how it's handled here.

– Ah, you're the auditor? – starts Wiz, – Hushhh… I've got it, I'm quiet… Why haven't Madam told me immediately?

Who might audit the brothel I wonder? What for? Very interesting… but I don't dare to question Wiz any more.

– Okay, time to go… and Vika must have freed already. – I say. Wiz becomes solemn and serious instantly:

– You watch it, don't hurt her!, – he warns, – she is… a great girl, I'd kick anyone's ass for her.

Wiz sighs and looks at the sea dreamily.

– I have just wanted to score her but you were the first… – he confesses, – You know, she had a great crush on me… or maybe even still has… but don't worry, I never take girls from my friends.

Some time ago I thought that the soap opera computer guys are completely fictional characters. Hah! If it just was really so. They do really exist.

– But don't you even think to approach that blondie! – he adds, – She's so desperately in love with me, she suffers that for almost half a year…

The poor girl laughs aloud hugging her friend, not suspecting about her ill fortune.

– Or maybe I'd go after Natashka… – thinks Wiz, – they're all such lovable types here!

He picks up his liquor and moves towards the laughing blonde in a dancing walk, while I use the moment to get out.

101

I must have done a couple more turns on the spiral stairs than necessary and descend into the lobby. The recent visitors are not here anymore, they must be enjoying the life's pleasures already.

Just one guy stands by the table browsing through the black album, short and stooping, with a face like of a famished marmot, with long strands of hair breaking loose from under the cap that's hung low above his eyes. I almost pass him going to the door into the service area when I get it. In the meanwhile the guy had put the album back and started to move towards the door.

– Hey, Cap! – I call him.

He stops and turns around slowly, his eyes are empty and as cheerful as the ones of the boiled fish.

– You're Cap, – I repeat.

No reaction whatsoever, the guy goggles at me absolutely blankly.

– I don't like you! – I say with a sudden joy, – Do you hear me? I don't like you at all!

– 'Haha' three times, – replies Cap averting his pale gaze and turns to the door again. He doesn't have any curiosity at all. He's a compatriot at least.

– Stop! – I shout into his back and he stops, waiting indifferently, – You shouldn't return here anymore, – I say.

Cap smirks – the first emotion on his face, but it looks so mechanic as if I'm talking to a program instead of an alive person.

– What do you want here?

Looks like it's the question that he's ready to answer.

– Some collective psychology research.

– Conduct it elsewhere.

His pale eyes examine me from feet to the head.

– Do you work here?

– No.

– You're mutant then.

I feel myself lost after such a weird characteristic and Cap explains:

– The loss of social and ethical orientation. Personality decomposition. What an inevitable and disgusting metamorphosis.

Already opening the door, he adds:

– Boring…

…Vika's voice reaches me by the exit:

– Leonid, wait! Don't!

It's quite difficult to get back to my senses. I realize that my right hand clings to the belt and the left one squeezed in a fist. I look at Vika feeling how my fury slowly fades.

– Was it Cap? – I define just in case.

– Yes.

– I think I'm starting to understand your reaction.

– Have you cooled down already? – inquires Vika, – Good boy. Let's go.

I'm already feeling uncomfortable of my recent outbreak. Strange, I never thought it's so easy to start me, by in general quite meaningless words.

– Who is he, Vika?

She feels that she'll have to answer this question.

– Nothing special. Just a person who thinks he has a right to judge everyone around.

– Virtual prostitutes for instance?

– Not only. I know a couple more places where Cap conducts his experiments.

– He said something about psychology…

These words amuse Vika for some reason:

– The person that is unable to be creative always tries to justify his destructive behavior. Very often this is done in a form of aloof watching of the world's imperfections, especially ones such as our brothel…

We enter the door from which the black kitten is smiling, and Vika goes on:

– Psychology is a very simple science according to the general opinion. People aren't able to hammer the nail in by themselves or to rhyme at least a couple of lines never doubt in their ability to understand – and to judge others. In extreme cases it becomes the essence of their lives and the source of self-confidence.

– Who are you, Vika?

– A psychologist. PhD, if you want to know.

She sits down, sweeps the gravel from the table. The room obviously needs cleaning after the earthquake. Since there's no second chair here, I just squat nearby.

– And your Thesis' subject is?…

– "Abnormal behavioral reactions' sublimation in the virtual space environment".

As if in apology, she adds:

– It's common to formulate this way.

I see…

– You're studying those like Cap? – I ask, – The real hunter for the fake ones?

– No, and for a long time by now, Lenia. It was interesting to study for half a year or more. But now – all they are similar, that Cap and others alike. All pathologies are the same and if you know one psychopath, you can guess the behavior of thousand of them.

– Then why?..

– Because they exist. The destruction that comes out of them can hurt just a couple of people here. In the real world they'll leave a trace of broken lives, poisoned love, ridiculed friendship after them. Maybe even blood. But here they are harmless, all their arrogance, animal reactions and self-conceit is just a dust, dust on the wind.

– But it's hard for you here!

– So what? It's not real me who is hurt but a drawn one.

– Vika…

– I beg you – don't meddle in the Institution's business. Otherwise Madam will cancel your access.

She smiles and I feel confused.

– Okay, I'll not meddle in the Institution's business inside it.

– What about outside?

– This is a matter of my personal freedom.

Vika parts her hands.

– Leonid, how old are you?

– What about exchange? – I ask quickly, – Information for information?

Nobody does advertise their biographical data in virtuality but Vika doesn't have any idea how much am I not used to it.

– Okay Leonid. I'm 29.

Before I answer, I have time to rejoice.

– 34.

– I'd never think that, I'd give you just a little more than twenty.

It's not necessary to mention that my fears were quite opposite.

– Virtuality is deceitful.

– No, virtuality is like an ice, we freeze into it once and forever. It's impossible to take off our first mask. We can invent hundreds of bodies afterwards, but that, very first one will be evident always.

– Madam was your first mask?

Vika picks the purse from the table, takes the cigarette from it and lights it.

– Yes Lenia. We had got a grant for the research of human sexual behavior in virtuality, the Westerners were a little crazy about that… at least one third of all information in the Net was tied to sex somehow. So I've invented this personality – a brothel owner, self confident, experienced, the one who saw everything in this life.

– You were successful, – I admit.

Vika exhales the smoke and asks with a slight irony:

– Maybe I'm really like that deep inside, how do you know?

– I don't care.

I'm lying of course but Vika doesn't argue.

– Did Zuko reassure you?

– Almost.

– He's a good specialist. You can confidently bring your friend here.

I look at the watch, there's still some time left.

– It's not that easy, Vika. It's very important to guess right and come to fetch him in time.

– You hackers are funny folks, – says Vika. How interesting. Geez! I was considered a cool programmer.

– Will you allow me to sleep here for a while?

– What?

– To sleep. I'm in the Deep for almost 24 hours while it'd be better to work with a 'fresh' head.

Vika – how wonderful – approaches this business-like.

– Do you want me to wake you up?

– Yes, in two hours.

– Sleep, feel yourself at home, I'll wake you up myself.

She pats me on the head, the gesture that would fit Madam better but I'm pleased anyway. She nods at the bed and exits through the door that leads into costumier room. In a minute Madam will come out and will go to order the girls around.

In the meantime I do something not very polite, I get a spool with a thin thread from my jacket's pocket, the little weight is tied to the end of it.

The wind doesn't calm down outside the window, the thread is waving but I let it go to the end nevertheless. When the weight touches the slope I glance at the thread: each meter is marked with red paint.

Seven and a half meters (~24 feet). Bed sheets won't help here. Ah well, there must be some ropes in the brothel, at least in the rooms intended for sadomasochists.

I throw the spool outside feeling a little uncomfortable but convincing myself that most likely Vika would allow this little experiment. Haven't she said to feel myself at home anyway?

I plop down at the narrow bed, right on the comforter and close my eyes. But just before I allow myself to fall asleep, I exit virtuality anyway and order Windows-Home to wake me up in two hours.

The sleep comes almost instantly. For some reason I hope to see something prophetical and with a plot again, like as it was the last time when Alex shoot Unfortunate but what I see is a complete mess.

The rainbow shining above Deeptown, its blinding bright flashes look like deep program, but this rainbow is built of ledges, it's the biblical stairway to Heaven. I walk along it just as Computer Wiz in his slippers. I realize that the colors have different density – I fall in being on violet and blue layers, lean against the green ones slightly and step against the yellow ones confidently. The city below me is colorful and bright, I can see it through the multicolored mist.

I even know in my dream why do I ascend into the sky. Somewhere up there is a crystal dome of the Deep which had divided the world in two. I must break it, either using the Maniac's weapon or with my bare hands, no matter. The crystal would crack and stream down on the city, in a blinding bright star rain, because the stars are undoubtedly made of crystal, of a pungent crystal that reflects the light of our eyes.

And then something would happen; maybe the stars will burn us or maybe they'll have time to cool down and will fall right into the hands set below. I don't know for sure what do I want.

It's just most important not to make a mistake and to strike right in time. This time had already been defined, the time when I'll be able to turn the barrier into millions of crystal stars, it have almost come, the time…

– It's time… Time, Leonid.

I open my eyes accompanied by Windows-Home's whisper, a couple more seconds passes until I finally realize where am I. A moment later Vika enters.

– You're awaken already?

I nod, sit down on a messy bed and rub my forehead. The head is heavy, I had to either sleep more or not to sleep at all.

– I'll make coffee, – says Vika.

Leaned against the wooden wall I watch her. She takes a small sack with coffee out of the dark sideboard, dark not because of dirt but because of its age, then grinds the beans with a small manual polished brass coffee grinder, lights the fire with experience. I can smell the dry pine wood, boiling coffee and some abstract, not medical cleanliness… either the one of a water in a mountain stream or the one of the hot sand under the sun.

So good.

I can whisper my rhyme and exit into reality, to make a real coffee and even to spice it with remaining cognac, to wash my face with a cold water.

I'll be damned if I do that.

Everything is real here: the clean air, the live water, coffee grounds on the bottom of a cup, Vika's caring look. Outside there's only an abandoned dusty room, dampness and rotten water from the faucet.

… Too often do I feel that suicidal wish to become just as everybody lately …

– Some cognac? – asks Vika and pours me a little cup of Achtamar.

– I have five more minutes, – I say, – Then… it'll be time.

– You'll return not alone?

– I hope so.

– Take your friend by the hand when you enter, in this case he'll be given privileged status too. I'll ask Wiz.

– Thanks.

– You'll thank Madam for that. Everything depends on her.

– We're good friends with Madam, she'll allow that. – I smile.

I have time to drink two cups of coffee and two cups of cognac before my time really runs out.

I have to go.

Vika starts to clean the room when I exit, and involuntarily I remember fake families that started to appear more and more often as of late, all these couples that live in different cities renting common apartments in Deeptown. They say that they love to do house work, to vacuum clean and to do laundry – as if imitation of common life would make their union a real one.

"Do you have a family?"

"Yes. My wife is a prostitute, we have a small mountain hut in the brothel. You're welcome to visit us, she'll make a great coffee. It's always clean in our place, even after the earthquake."

I start feeling dread, just because such picture doesn't irritate me at all.

The situation requires an urgent solution, any solution.

I lag along the street to the entrance portal, pass by a small pavilion of some airline company with a bored operator inside. The beggar is perched by the pavilion, this is also some new phenomenon – paupers in virtual space, they weren't here just a month ago.

The beggar is clean but ragged and scraggy, his figure is a bit transparent and moves jerkily – it's how they try to demonstrate the low modem speed and the weakness of the software.

– Help me… – moans the beggar. { In English in the original }

– The God will give, – I inform him.

– Mr Hacker, at least one dollar… – cries the beggar behind my back.

They say that the majority of those beggars are Russians. They say that none of them needs money, this is just a new fun for the "New Russians", a rare amusement, to beg, to be in the pauper's skin for some time. It's like a fashionable and effective psychic therapy. Maniac once swore that he managed to glue a marker on one of such beggars who turned out to be a director of a big bank.

– I worked for Microsoft, – mumbles the beggar lagging behind, – Once I called Windoze a buggy proggy and praised OS/2. Bill Gates had personally fired me the next day and included me in the black list. I was a cool hacker… Look how low did I sink…

– What interruption is your modem hung to? – I shout turning back to him, – What does the display of the message "Press this button to begin" in Windows-Home depends on? Three best ways to freeze Windoze? Who invented texture graphics? The best protocol for the modems manufactured by….

The beggar flees.

Looks like Maniac was telling the truth.

But at least these amusements are less dangerous than the car races that were stylish among Neuve riches a year ago. That was the reason for the private cars to be forbidden in Deeptown, after which Deep-Transit had triumphantly occupied the transportation service niche.

The encounter with the beggar amuses me and by the time I approach the "Labyrinth"'s portal I have a completely different mood: a battle-like one.

The crowd is dense as usual, "Labyrinth" is still functioning which means that everything was calculated correctly, but the fear to run into the shut door at the last second doesn't let go of me. I elbow through the players in hurry and only when I type in my code and enter the 33rd level I finally calm down.

Let's begin!

I'm Gunslinger!

110

It's windy on the level. The metal cabin of "American Hills" squeaks, rocking, half slid from its rails and hanging above the very head of Unfortunate.

Great, one more mean of death is found.

– Hey! – I shout, approaching him, – It's me!

Unfortunate raises his head, maybe it's a good sign.

– Bored?

I sit down by his side and Unfortunate takes off his respirator himself, looks at me tiredly and hopelessly.

– Are you a human or a program? – I ask directly. Unfortunate shakes his head: go ahead and understand the negation the way you want…

– Do you know that you've got the nick 'Unfortunate'? – I say, – But you know man, even biblical Iov was more lucky than you! Your bad luck is something really unique!

Finally he replies:

– This is not only my… bad luck.

– Do you want to say you were rescued bad?

I'm talkative and bucked up like after a good drink, I need to stir up Unfortunate a little and, as stupid as it might sound, I need to become sure that he's not a program.

– I was rescued well. It's that just nobody could cross the border.

– What border?

– Of consciousness.

Unfortunate is patient in his explanations, but so what? They don't clarify anything.

– Let's go away from under this shit, – I nod at the rocking cab, – We have very little time.

– You won't be able to anyway… – whispers Unfortunate but stands up submissively and moves aside.

– We'll see, we'll see…

I'm waiting for I don't know what… for the action promised by Urman, for the level's shutdown?

– Unfortunate… may I call you that? Do you like poetry?

Silence.

The program might imitate the talk, making answers from my own words, but no program can create anything by itself.

– "My uncle's a man of honest rules", – I recite, – Go on! Huh? Unfortunate?

He looks back at me with such an irony that I feel uncomfortable:

– "… When seriously fallen ill…" Say Gunslinger, do all Russian divers know only Pushkin by heart?

– Anatol'?

– Yes. He "remembered the wonderful moment".

I could just laugh at my own stupidity, at all those clich s hammered into mind. Instead I ask, feeling as something breaks inside, either the notorious 'border' or just a common sense:

– Well, what did Dick read you? Shakespeare?

– Carroll, – the answer comes from behind.

Dick stands close, Anatol in some 5 meters away, with BFG at the ready.

– Just as you, I sat by his side, – says Dick, – I sat down…

He sits facing indifferent Unfortunate and says: { in English here } Twas brilling, and the skithy toves Did gyre and gimble in the wabe.

I wait in fascination, and Unfortunate goes on:

All mimsy were the borogoves, And the mome raths outgrabe.

From the huge distance I hear Windows-Home squeaking in warning and whispering:

– Impossible to translate! It doesn't present in the main dictionary! Impossible to translate!

Dick looks up at me and asks:

– So Unfortunate is Russian according to your opinion?

Didn't Urman ask the same question?

– Who are you? – I ask Unfortunate. He smiles and rises, – Who the hell are you?! – I shout.

On vstal pod derevo i zhdet I vdrug graahnul grom…

– says Unfortunate.

Anatol laughs and goes on:

Letit uzhasnyj Barmaglot I pylkaet ognem!

{ a part of one of Russian translations } A real psycho clinic, and I'm the dumbest patient in here.

– Get out diver, – orders Dick, – The rescue games are over, everything is much more serious than you might think.

As if in confirmation of his words, a thick mechanic siren roar sounds, so strong that my ears start aching. Then the silence falls, only alarmed monsters boo, scream and chirp. A female voice falls from the sky, covering all sounds:

– Attention! Vnimanie! To everybody located on the 33rd level of "Labyrinth of Death"! You must leave the game area immediately! This is an official warning! You have 30 seconds to exit the game area! You may use your weapons to commit suicide and to return to the "Labyrinth"'s column hall. All necessary explanations will be provided, reimbursements will be paid. Attention! To everybody…

– Do you need help? – asks Anatol aiming his BFG at me, – Or maybe you'll do it yourself?

– You'll hurt Unfortunate too, – I say and Anatol nods, throws BFG aside and takes the rocket launcher instead.

But right at this moment I tear out the leather Gunslinger's belt from under my overalls. It's just an ordinary belt – as long as it stays on my body.

Once in my hand, the leather strip shrinks with a boom, stretches in length, enveloping itself into blueish sparks. Maniac have made Warlock-9000 in a form of lash. One stroke – and the lash outstretches, greedily trying to break free from my hand, the end of it strikes against Anatol's armor.

The blue fiery stream flows along the lash, sucking into Anatol's body. This is a real battle weapon, for it there's no difference between the armor or bare flesh. The diver disappears in the swirl of purple flames, falls through the ground. The whirlpool doesn't calm down though. The fiery crater buzzes, slowly becoming wider.

– You! – shouts Dick, – You've smuggled the virus!

Our faces are colored by the blue glow, Unfortunate looks at the growing twister in enchantment. I just nod, the words are unnecessary.

– Fifteen seconds… – says the voice from the sky.

– You've hit Anatol! You've broke the Diver's Code! – Dick doesn't attempt to take the weapon and I'm glad he doesn't: I don't want to kill him.

– Everything is much more serious, – I repeat his own words.

The new sound comes – the sound of breaking glass, crashing walls, squeaking of the metal being crumpled.

The silvery ring falls down from the purple clouds, the darkness following it, as if the giant glass is covering the 33rd level. I would think that this is how the level's encapsulation looks like if there wasn't terror and confusion on Dick's face.

Al-Kabar have entered the game.

But Dick blames me in everything, he tears the carbine from his shoulder – and I react without thinking. The lash hits his neck, beheading him with enthusiasm of unemployed butcher.

One-two! One-two! The grass ablaze!

Vzee-vzee… the grazing sword…

– says Unfortunate.

I grab him by the shoulders and push towards the fiery crater. The new twister grows where Crazy Tosser was behind our backs.

– Why? – asks Unfortunate.

We must hurry up. Now, when "Labyrinth"'s and Al-Kabar's hackers fight over the 33rd level it's a high time to flee. Warlock is not only the killer, it's also a tunnel drilled through the Deep.

– In order to return! – I shout pushing Unfortunate into the blue flame and jumping after him.

The fire.

We are falling.

The spiral of blue fire is a tunnel wall, the violet mist is its flesh.

The foggy mirrors appear under our feet, we break them as we fall, the faces in the mirrors are like shadows, the spaces like pale watercolors.

Ruined railway station of the first level… the hospital of the 21st… the Cathedral of the 50th! I even can see the grinned muzzle of the Alien Prince, a fiery blink from his on-shoulder rocket launcher – but we have flown by already.

Deeptown street – faces of passers-by, the hood of a taxi, the ad "Only after you work for…"

The bookstore – the rainbow of covers, the girl in glasses looking through the magazine, rustling of pages like thunder in my ears, the guy at the cash register…

Blue lightings crawl along my arms.

Unfortunate in the cloud of greenish fire.

A supermarket – an orange jam jar blinks past my eyes – empty.

A pet shop – a white bunny in the cage.

Are there hallucinations in the Deep I wonder?

"Warlock" must calm down, the counter of passed spaces is built into it but Maniac didn't promise that it'll work properly. He didn't have a chance to test the virus.

A valley, unbelievably flat, burnt, four vehicles crawling across it…

Either clouds or just a sea of white down, crystal trees until the horizon, white-haired old man in the ground long chlamys looking after us un confusion, sounds of harps…

The purple and black whirl, low rumbling roar, sulphurous stench and steel sparkling in the dark…

Blue discharges pierce through us, every hair on the skin scratches and stings as if rooting into the body…

A green clearing with a small puppy running across it, crazed by enthusiasm and energy, yelping behind our backs.

Stop Warlock, stop already!

A stormy sea, the stars in gaps between the clouds, salty taste on the lips, a tiny yacht sliding down the wave, a boy naked down to his waist clinging to the cordage, harpoon in his hands….

A twilight, round hall, the walls built of screens, the seat looking like a throne…

This mirror doesn't break, pulls us inside itself – and throws out on the cold marble floor. No time to check the bones, I jump up raising the lash to strike.

But it looks like there's no obvious danger. The solid middle aged man is perched on the throne, dressed in something unbelievably luxurious and military type at the same time. His chest is covered with decorations. He doesn't seem to see us – all his attention is drawn towards the creature on the biggest screen. The creature looks like a huge red ant.

– We must join our efforts! – pontificates the man, – Together our races could…

I help Unfortunate to stand up. We fell into some game server, that's not bad.

– Humans have made their lying nature evident! – snaps the ant from the screen, – We will disperse the very memory of you like a dust in the wind!

The screen dims, the man presses his hands against his face and rocks from side to side.

– What is this? – asks Unfortunate.

– A game, – I explain looking around in a search for an exit. There is a door but it doesn't seem like it's possible to just open it. The room looks as a command bunker of some sort of a missile base, as it is shown in the movies. The austerity of the interior is only spoiled by a torn hole in the ceiling – some purple mist still flows down from it along with mirror splinters that fall from it and shatter into dust on the floor. "Warlock" still works, clung to several nearest servers.

– What is the game about?

– Star wars.

I pad to the man, the steps to the throne are made of crystal: it's very slippery and damned uncomfortable.

– Hey, human race savior! – I tap the player on the shoulder.

The man straightens on the throne, the miser man's tears well in his eyes.

– Deneb! – he orders. The screen flashes, the officer appears on it, the number of his decorations close to our player's. – Colonel! Move the squadron to the Sol's orbit!

– But Emperor, our planet is defenseless…

– The main thing is to retain the cradle of the human race! – speaks the Emperor abruptly.

The colonel nods, suffer on his face:

– Your order will be fulfilled, Emperor!

I block 'Emperor's' view with my hand. Maybe he doesn't see us? But the man pushes my hand aside and mumbles:

– Interference… communication unreliable…

Oh Gosh! Just see how did I find some work for myself suddenly… Deep-psychosis at its height. The man just doesn't WANT to see us – this wouldn't fit into stereotypes of the simple strategic game he's so deep into.

– How to exit? – I shout, – Exit!

He outstretches his hand, pushes some button. He doesn't take us by consciousness, but unconsciously he's ready to do everything to get rid of 'interference'. His movements are limp and unsure: at least 24 hours in the Deep. The door rumbles behind my back, opening.

– What's the matter with him? – asks Unfortunate.

– Deep psychosis.

I turn back to the door, we must hurry: 'Warlock' must have left some traces, they will be detected sooner or later while the poor Emperor's timer is on most likely.

– Are we leaving? – asks Unfortunate.

Yes, I did break the Diver's Code when using weapon against Anatol and Dick but I'm diver anyway, the Deep's guardian. Who will do it if not me?

– Vika! – I command.

– Lenia? – the voice of Windows-Home is dull and muffled, the machine is overloaded and doesn't have any more strength for goodies.

– The standard set of gear.

Pause, a very long one – then the pockets start feeling heavy with load.

I rip off the remains of the overalls from me – was it tattered in the fall through mirrors? – and stay in the Gunslinger's costume, I wrap the lash carefully and it turns into a belt again.

– What are you gonna do? – Unfortunate is curiosity itself.

– Drag him out!

Now I need to intercept the comm channel that connects the player with his computer at home, then to break the security system, hardly it's too complicated – obviously the guy is a typical 'newbie'. Then I'll have to either run the exit deep-program or to just nullify the timer.

I take sunglasses from the left pocket and put them on, the darkness is almost complete, just one sparkling orange winding thread at the base of the throne can be seen. Here it is, his channel. I look around the room and see my own navel-string, scattered on the floor in rings and disappearing in the tunnel gnawed through by 'Warlock'. That's bad, it means we haven't connected to the player's server but entered from nobody knows where. My channel now may circle through the different continents, jump up through satellites, slide along fiber optics along the ocean floor… Too many spaces have we passed on our way from "Labyrinth"… and they are still near: I can see flashes of light in the tunnel, dimming pieces of threads fall from it from time to time.

And there's really no signal coming from Unfortunate, or there is but too well hidden for my simple scanner: just a dark silhouette watching me working.

There's a little metal box in my right pocket, I open it – a sparkling emerald beetle lies on the soft padding, moving his paws. I pick him up, he tries to break free aiming at my own channel. Oh no pal, not there…

I put the beetle at the throne base and step back. The beetle freezes for a moment quivering his head, then dives into the orange thread.

Now we'll wait and hope that there's only a standard antivirus set installed on the Emperor's computer.

– Who?

For a moment it seems to me that I hear Unfortunate's voice: just as smooth and unemotional, but when I turn around, it's four of us in the hall already… if to consider the 'Emperor' as a real events' participant. The glowing white thread is hanging from the tunnel, a long writhed figure on its end. Its contours are distorted, movements are jerky and erratic. The guy looks around but hardly can he see what's going on. Lord, from what distance have he fallen from, how could he survive the tunnel journey? Well done 'Warlock', nothing I can say…

– None of your business! – I growl as aggressively as I can. If the anonymous is just a common Net user he won't be able to hinder me. But the guest obviously doesn't like my reaction, he outstretches his hands and flexible glowing cord starts crawling towards me. Not to me to be exact but towards my channel.

Very funny. Nobody could make such situation on purpose – to drag I-don't-know– whom out, starting to rescue an idiot with deep-psychosis half-way, and on top of that all to bump into a hacker with a set of service programs.

At least good that his channel is extremely narrow, barely alive. I take and pull on 'gloves', grab the cord and tie it in a knot, then advise:

– Fuck off. I'm diver.

Usually this works instantly, but the guest either considers himself the coolest in the Deep or doesn't believe me.

– Whoever you are, even Papa Carlo! – he replies.

{ Papa Carlo – the character that substituted Gepetto in Russian retelling of 'Pinocchio' done by Alexei Tolstoy. Mentioning Papa Carlo as a Very Important Person in a talk bears a stressed sarcasm. } The second cord is faster and tries to squirm from my hands, small clips grow on its end. I catch the cord almost by my very channel and squeeze it with pleasure. The 'gloves' knock the program down without a hitch. I wish I could do the same with the 'guest', but the gloves won't work here and I'm too reluctant to use 'Warlock': it works way too powerfully, I even didn't expect such an effect. Also Unfortunate circles around the hacker, having lost all interest in me. The former doesn't notice him, obviously looking through the scanner too, seeing the comm channels only.

– Look, what do you want? – I ask, adjusting to the guest's vocabulary,

– I'm working!

– Me too.

The wooden voice of the guest irritates but it's a miracle that I can hear anything at all: his channel's thread is thinned to its limit, the figure starts quivering, the head rolls at its side, the nose slides on his cheek but the hands become longer for that. The view is amusing and my anger disappears.

– Listen you freak… I'll have to drag you out too some day! Get off, the 'newbie' might croak!

Finally he understands that it's serious, he stops pursuing my channel but gets something like a flashlight instead and casts a beam on the 'Emperor'. Some semi-active scanning program. Let him watch, there's nothing secret in my methods.

– The customer's system under control. – whispers Windows-Home.

It's impossible to tell beforehand how will the insides of the other computer look like if one looks from the Deep, so I prefer the simplest way. I nudge the 'newbie' – he rolls down from the 'throne', sits on the floor clumsily. I take his place, take 'gloves' off and grab the orange thread with bare hands, pulling it.

– Vika, terminal!

The screen unwraps before me. A-ha… "Virt-navigator", a nice operating system but the one intended for somebody with an instinct of self-preservation, not for the 'newbie'– experimentator. It's a penny deal to turn off the timer on it.

And so this loser ruler of the galaxy did… he have already spent 28 hours in virtuality!

I'm too lazy to mingle with the timer, so I just find the urgent Deep exit file and run it. Deep program doesn't submit at once, asks for confirmation. And they call it 'urgent exit'…

The "Emperor" moans quietly and grabs his head, tries to walk towards the door. I jump from the throne, wrapping up the terminal with a wave of my hand, grab the man by the collar and push him towards the throne, ordering:

– Take the helmet off! Shut down the machine!

– I… I didn't mean to… – mumbles the 'emperor'.

– I'll mail you the bill for your rescue, – I cut him off, – exit, now!

The man's hands jerk to his head, then hammer the air erratically, his figure dims, the orange thread disappears. I take the glasses off.

The hacker under the tunnel opening is almost ghostly already, he rotates his head slowly looking around. That's how the legends of miracle making divers are born.

– Let's go, – I say to Unfortunate who still circles around the hacker, looking up into the tunnel opening, from where various garbage still pours in. – Come on!

I have to drag him away by hand, like a kid. The hacker stays in the empty hall, he's still full of curiosity. The hole in the ceiling narrows slowly and his channel will be broken in around ten minutes. Ah well, let him sort his own problems out by himself – if he's so damned cool…

The door leads us out into a small hall with seven more similar doors and an elevator shaft. Somewhere nearby the leader of red ants dreams on his throne, the wily plans are plotted by the ruler of intelligent medusas and by other game addicts…

– Why did you glue yourself to that hacker? – I ask Unfortunate in elevator but he doesn't answer.

Let him, the most important thing is that I've finally got him out of "Labyrinth", just from under the nose of two mighty corporations!

Elevator brings us to Deeptown's street, I look around. There's the AOL tower, long rows of hotels, the green of the park – this is "Giltoniel's Gardens". A-ha, not too bad: we are on the border Russian, European and American sectors of the city. Unfortunate raises his head and pronounces:

-‡">С§¤Л Ё Џ« ­ҐВЛ: •Я§ПЁ­ ‘ЁАЁГБ !

I follow his look: the colorful neon sign is glowing above the building that we've just left: "Stars & Planets: Master of Sirius". { Engl. In the original } A famous company, it's worthy to offer them diver services – the work is easy but earnings are stable.

– Unfortunate, what language is native for you?

– You don't know it, – he waves his hand.

I make a guess:

– Basic maybe?

We both laugh.

– Okay, – I agree, – You're alive, you're not a product of computer intelligence.

– Thanks.

– But who are you?

Unfortunate shrugs and studies passers by with curiosity of somebody who entered virtuality for the first time.

– Take the mask off, – I advise and pull respirator from him myself, – No need to scare the people.

– Will we go anywhere else? – asks Unfortunate.

To be honest, I have no idea myself. I was fearing a quick and energetic pursuit which we'll need to flee with much noise and blood. Then we would rush to "Amusements" immediately.

– Let's walk a little, – I decide. – Have you ever been to the Elvish Gardens?

– No.

– Let's go then. Not that it's a super attraction, but…. – I start talking, but it looks like it isn't my fate to be a guide today.

The bright rainbow flashes up in the evening sky dimming the stars, the crystal ringing is heard: a symbol of the Net-wide broadcast. It was used for only 5 or 6 times on my memory.

And I can guess what they will convey now.

– Taxi! – I scream, stretching my hand. A car stops by in an instant, I push Unfortunate inside and get in myself. The driver – a young curly-haired black girl – turns to us with a smile.

I don't have a revolver with me now, so I just pull the gloves on and knock the girl out with a fist. Unfortunate doesn't protest, he can correctly tell real people from programs.

– To the brothel "Any Amusements"! – I order and the girl submits.

The car jumps forward.

– Citizens of Deeptown!

The voice is coming from everywhere, nobody can hide from it in a cozy car interior or behind the walls of the house.

– This is Jordan Reid addressing you, the city's Security Service commissar…

I know Reid, he's a nice guy even if an American, one of those who is ready to communicate with divers and to tolerate minor offences for the sake of the whole Net's well being.

– An important message is being broadcasted… please pay attention…

– mumbles the girl.

But I'm attention itself already.

– A crime was committed on the territory of "Labyrinth of Death" around half an hour ago, a crime that is threatening the very existence of Deeptown itself. – says Reid.

Mother of God! What is that?

– Two persons, one of them is a diver, are charged of using a virus weapon of a type forbidden by the Moscow Convention. It is a polymorphic virus with labeled 'Warlock-9000', with unlimited ability for spreading.

What's this bull? Never would Maniac make such a virus!

– One of the virus' characteristics is interception of control over communication hardware. Al-Kabar Corporation and "Labyrinth of Death" are among the victims.

Now it becomes clear to me. When the fighting rivals understood that their prey had escaped, they united and charged me of everything, including destruction of the 33rd level.

Great. Now just try to prove that 'Warlock' have only drilled a hole for us and then died peacefully as any decent legalized virus should. Even if to surrender the source code to the police, nobody would take a risk to acquit me. Who knows how could 'Warlock' interfere with "Labyrinth"'s virtual space?

– Shit, – I whisper.

– Is it bad? – asks Unfortunate.

– Much worse.

I pull my hand over the girl's shoulder, grab a phone from the dashboard and dial Guillermo's number.

– Now you can see the appearance that was used by suspects in "Labyrinth", – informs Jordan, – We offer these individuals to arrive to Deeptown Security Department voluntarily. I would also request anybody who knows these individuals to contact me.

Our portraits flash up in the sky, then me and Unfortunate are demonstrated full height and in motion.

Looks impressive, especially when I cut off Dick's head with the lash.

– Assholes, – I mumble ungluing myself from the window.

Connection establishes in around 10 seconds.

– Hello! { in Engl }

– Hi Willy, – I say quickly, – How should I understand that?

A pause.

– Ah! Gunslinger? Where are you?

– In a car.

I don't risk, the knocked off transportation program doesn't report its location.

– A misunderstanding have happened, – says Guillermo quickly, – Come here, we'll fix everything.

– Drop your charges first.

Willy sighs:

– Gunslinger, this is not in my… aaa… powers.

– Too bad. I'll call you later. – I promise and put the phone back.

We approach the brothel and a new problem arises – what to do with a car? It's not the easiest task to destroy the program completely. If I let it go – Deep Transit would restore control over it sooner or later and will figure out our route.

I'll have to get help from Deep-Transit itself…

I take a box with an emerald beetle from my pocket, put the glasses on, then command:

– Unfortunate, get out.

I exit the car after him, throw the dumb insect inside and shut the door. The result follows immediately.

Deep-Transit doesn't guard its cars too well preferring to tolerate small pranks like my free and undocumented rides, but they mercilessly crush any attempts to penetrate into their servers. It's impossible to defeat their security with primitive programs such as the beetle.

The cab dims and dissolves in the air – the comm channel was chopped off at the very first attempt of the beetle to crawl into the foreign computer.

– Let's go, – I poke Unfortunate slightly and grab his hand. If there are any customers in the lobby now – we're in deep trouble. But we are lucky

– it's nobody there, even the guard is missing.

– This is brothel, – I inform Unfortunate just in case, – You can browse the albums.

He shakes his head.

– Why I'm not surprised? Follow me…

We almost run along the corridor. I expect employees to look from behind the doors again but it's absolutely silent. Nobody around at all! As if the brothel died.

I push the door into Vika's room prepared for that she'll not be there either. Unfortunate hesitates behind my back.

– May I congratulate you Leonid? – asks Vika in an icy voice.

It's so clean in the hut as if no earthquake had ever happened. I don't know about others but I usually make such a cleaning being in the lousiest mood only. A little boombox have appeared on the table, Vika have changed, now she's dressed in gray jeans and a jersey of the same color.

And also, she expects my explanations if to judge from her tone.

– You have heard the commissar?

– Who haven't? – Vika rises and I pad back hurriedly. When the woman is mad, the man better not to resist. – So you've saved your… friend. Have he saved you guy?

Unfortunate shrugs smiling, and Vika slows down a little.

– What is your name?

– Unfortunate.

– Um-hm. So listen here pal, don't take your chances, just stay by the window and be silent!

Unfortunate submits and Vika moves towards me. Oh, the wrong personality have she chosen for that – it's Madam's manner.

– So, you've saved… So you've fucked Al-Kabar and "Labyrinth"…

– Vika, they're lying! – I say hurriedly, – 'Warlock-9000' is a local virus, it conforms to Convention's standards!

– And do they lie about the diver too? – shouts Vika, and I finally understand what exactly did piss her off, – Do they? Or somebody else is lying?… somebody else!

I don't have a big experience in getting slaps in the face, I hold the aching cheek and stand still as a pole. Unfortunate obediently looks into the window but obviously he could hear the sound well.

– Diver? – Vika is still boiling, – Diver? And I was so damned stupid to offer you help! Couldn't you tell me that you're diver yourself?

– No, – I whisper.

– Why? You don't trust me?

I'd never believe that God created a woman from Adam's rib. Never, as well as in that the man was created from clay, but of the different sort.

The reasons we find for becoming mad are too different.

– I thought I could lose you.

– And so you… – starts Vika and silences.

– It's impossible to love somebody who sees the Deep without illusions. I know Vika, I tried to uncover before. It… always happens. You would start to hate me. Imperceptibly. You wouldn't even notice what had happened…

I keep talking, already knowing that it's over. We might stay friends but nothing more. No woman in the world would love somebody who sees her face as a mesh of color pixels.

– Yes, I had to tell you, – I whisper, – Immediately. I'm sorry, I couldn't. Would you ever have a nerve to confess that you're diver?

Vika stays silent, there are tears in her eyes that don't really exist. There's a wall between us, from now on and forever.

– No, – she says quietly, – I couldn't either. I… didn't want to lose you.

I think I went crazy.

So what if I hug her tightly and there's no wall between us?

– My work… it's because of it. It's too disgusting when everything is for real. I don't know how it happened… it was too dirty… I was scared and had fallen from the Deep…

– We say – surfaced…

– Surfaced…

Unfortunate looks at the mountains, he's a great guy, he can strand like this all day.

– I always surface. That's why I always take the worst freaks, because I don't care…

I have a question that I'll never ask but Vika answers herself:

– There, by the river I didn't exit… for the first time in my life. Honest.

I believe her as all men from the beginning of times do.

Only our faith becomes the truth in this world.

111

Vika makes coffee and even Unfortunate cheers up a little. We sit down around the table, fresh cream is in the small pitcher, a pile of white sugar is in the sugar bowl, the full bottle of Ahtamar waits for its turn. Though, Vika pours the cognac into cups immediately.

– For your success, Lenia, – she says.

– Such successes are cheap, – I reply.

– Why?

– Net-wide search.

– So what?

– I'll have to leave. This personality is exposed and Gunslinger was seen here.

– By whom? – Vika says as if she doesn't understand all complexity of the situation. – By my girls?

– By them too.

– They won't tell anybody. Or do you think that virtual prostitutes are loyal to the powers of this world? You know, we had seen them all without pants… corporations' directors and companies' presidents. The people who usually lash the woman before going to bed don't evoke any pity.

– According to you they are all perverts.

– Sure not, – Vika smiles, – But these are the guests that are remembered. None of our girls would squeal on Gunslinger. All the more that you never made orgies and weren't disgusted to sit with us.

– Are you sure?

– Lenia, all our personnel is from Russia, Ukraine, Byelorussia, Kazakhstan. What do you think, does the love towards the government or big business exist there?

– I've never noticed such perversions.

– That's my point. For your success!

We drink cognac, Unfortunate joins us. His face is emotionless as if he have sipped some tea.

– What about Cap? – I remember – This is the one who remembers me for sure!

– Not that breed. Well defined asocial type… he won't squeal on you.

– He seemed capable of much to me.

Vika drums her fingers against the table.

– Lenia… Cap always takes the red album. This is a special group, where everything is allowed. Not just chains, lashes and petty sadist's delights, but any atrocities. Murders, body dismemberment… should I go on?

– Thanks, that's enough.

– So, Cap never does anything of this. He comes to us to socialize… to talk.

– And that's how he pissed everybody off?

– Lenia, when the solid unkie orders the red album, brings the girl to the dungeon and rips out her throat screaming "I'm a vampire!", this is lousy, disgusting but understandable. It's just an illness. When a plain looking youth sits across the girl and starts a 'sincere talk' with her… when he spends money to prove her in a couple of hours that she is a slut and a dirty beast, that she doesn't deserve to live on Earth… this is much more terrible, believe me.

– Why? – Unfortunate enters the talk suddenly.

– Because it's a curse. The right to judge and the right to rule. The right for the Truth. It's easy to sort it out with a stupid person or a beast. It's much more difficult with somebody who considers himself superhuman, a clean, clever and pure one. Generals fighting for peace, rulers destroying corruption, perverts condemning pornography – oh Lord, haven't we seen enough of them? Maybe this is a kind of curse that overhangs above the mankind? When they promise order one should expect chaos, when they defend life – death comes, when they defend moral – people turn into animals. You just have to say – I'm above that, I'm cleaner, I'm better – and requital comes immediately. Only those who don't climb the pedestal and never promise any miracles do bring good into the world.

I can feel that they have become engaged seriously and meddle quickly:

– Stop! Vika, let's do without disputes about good and evil! In such a way it's possible to declare killers and thieves justs!

– You're a thief yourself, – notes Vika.

– I help to distribute information.

– And the pickpocket teaches the people vigilance. But does the single mother with many children whose purse with a whole salary was stolen need such a lesson?

I have millions of objections. I can try to explain that stealing somebody else's files is not the most important in diver's work. Hacker can be much more successful in that without even entering virtuality, and there's a big difference between stealing the data and copying it: I never leave empty computers behind. What the hell is the difference for the mankind who will be the first in producing new shampoo or cold reliever?

But I don't want to argue with Vika.

– I'm sorry, – she touches my hand, – I'm wrong.

– Why not? You kicked my butt well…

– I'm sorry… You see Unfortunate, we have fallen in the world of pure information, the world of complete licence. One can fight, lead a dissolute life, engage in hooliganism. There's no laws ready, and most important – the human mentality isn't ready. There's almost no punishments in the Deep – even if they excommunicate you from the Net, it's possible to reenter under the different name. One can get into troubles stealing data, but even here restraining norms are minimal. Go ahead and try to prove to the jury that it was Mr John Smith who stole a new game from Microprose's server, smuggled it to Vanya Petrov who released it to the market in a pirate manner with the help of Van Xo. It's a world of unprovable crimes and fake deaths. Only the pain in the soul remains real – but who would ever measure this pain that slid across the wires and squeezed your heart? We have nothing left except the moral, the funny shabby moral. And we realized that it's so much more comfortable to be a scum or a saint than a human… just a human, a real human.

– But what is that – a human? – says Unfortunate, – Just a human, a real human?

– I'd explain you, – I reply, – If I was God. Cut this out you two, okay?

– But I'm really curious, – Unfortunate still talks in a quiet, even somehow indifferent tone but there's a spark of excitement in his eyes.

– You're the human.

– Why?

Really, why? Wasn't I ready to consider him nothing more than just a cunning program? I feel confused but Vika also looks at me waiting for an answer and I say:

– I don't know. You didn't shoot people in "Labyrinth", you rescued nonexistent kid… But this is an extreme stupidity… You cite Carroll in original but the human is not just a crammed load of knowledge… You're in the Deep for the third day in a row and you're still fine…

Vika looks at Unfortunate in surprise.

– And nobody knows how did you enter virtuality… but this is not a human indication but the opposite…

He waits patiently.

– You know, this is something inside us, – I say suddenly even for myself. – You're a human for me… because I'd like to be your friend.

It seems that Unfortunate is confused.

– We're all wearing masks here in the Deep, maybe it's for the better, maybe it's closer to the truth. I don't know. When you exit into the real world, you might turn out to be a very unpleasant type. But here and now I consider you human. It's impossible to explain.

– Then maybe it's for good that I can't exit into reality? – asks Unfortunate. He looks at Vika and smiles shyly, – The thing is, I'm not a human.

Here we go again.

Insanity, part two.

Vika smiles examining Unfortunate, and my heart sinks.

– Vika… he doesn't lie. He never lies. – I say slowly standing up – When he doesn't want to reply, he just says nothing… – I take her hand and pull her from the table. Unfortunate watches us, sadly and calmly.

– Was it a joke? – Vika nods to Unfortunate questionably.

– No.

– He can't joke, – I confirm. – You really can't exit the Deep?

– No.

– Are you a human?

– No.

– Who are you?

Silence.

– You see? – I almost shout, – He doesn't reply!

– A minute ago you called me a human, – says Unfortunate, – You even said that you'd like to be my friend. Was it true?

Now it's my turn to be silent.

– You said that the truth is here and now, – he goes on, – Anyone may be himself in the Deep, without any makeup. Only the soul… if to believe in it.

– Yes! – I say, – Yes, it was true!

– Then what scares you? My confession?

I nod. Vika snuggles close and I can feel how she shakes. I didn't expect her to be so scared.

– Why didn't you tell before? – I shout.

– I told you enough, Leonid.

At this point Vika starts to laugh excitedly.

– You're crazy, both of you! You're not human? – she breaks free, approaches Unfortunate, takes his hand, – Tell me!

– What do you define by the term 'human'?

– A bipedal creature without feathers!

– I'm NOT a human.

The nightmare goes on. Unfortunate plays his games, Vika is confused and I don't know anymore how to break the chain of riddles and omissions. Computer mind is impossible! It's not time yet for it to be born. But I can't consider Unfortunate's words a lie either!

The phone ring that tears the silence is like a salvation.

Vika steps back from Unfortunate, opens the door of the sideboard. A cordless phone lies there among scattered jars, packages and boxes.

– Yes? – says Vika without averting her gaze from Unfortunate.

The voice in the handset is loud and confident, I can hear it well and recognize it immediately.

– I'd like to talk to Gunslinger.

– Whom? – Vika is genuinely surprised.

– Gunslinger. Tell him that Man Without Face wants to talk to him.

I step forward and take the phone.

– Talk.

– Firstly, I'd like to congratulate you Gunslinger. Secondly, I suggest you to come out.

– No fucking way. – I reply.

– Gunslinger, we have no time for games. I'm standing by the main entrance. But this time I outstrip our competitors for a couple of minutes only, no more. Al-Kabar could trace your route. Come out.

– And what's next?

– You will get the promised reward and I will get Unfortunate.

A loud phone, a very loud one. I look at the blonde guy who doesn't consider himself a human, at frowning Vika.

– I think he doesn't want to go with you, – I reply, – I'm sorry.

– Gunslinger, we had a deal…

– I didn't promise to give you the guy. I've got him out of "Labyrinth" and all the rest is our own business.

– You take too much responsibility on yourself, diver.

– At least somebody must make decisions, right?

– Well, you've made yours.

The voice vanishes. In a second the floor quivers, pushing us to the ceiling, the log walls crunch, bending. A picture with a waterfall on it falls on me and the sound of water returns me to my senses.

I rise and crawl along the kicking floor. This is not an earthquake, this is the brothel's walls falling apart, they break the security system so naively praised by Computer Wiz.

Though, if nobody broke into the hut yet, it means that the security wasn't too bad after all.

– Vika!

I help her to stand up, her face is in blood, the jersey sleeve torn off.

– Bastards, – she whispers.

Only Unfortunate haven't fallen down, he stands propped against the wall, outstretching his hands to the sides to keep balance.

– I'll come out of the bui… – he starts, but the next explosion booms and muffles his words, – It's inevitable…

– Do you want to surrender?

– No, but…

– Then stop fluttering! – I shake Vika slightly, – Are there any ropes in the room?

She shakes her head in confusion.

– We need ropes!

Vika turns to look at the window, she understood.

– We could jump…

– We'll kill ourselves, there's seven and a half meters to go!

Fortunately Vika doesn't notice the exactness of the figure, otherwise I wouldn't avoid a untimely scandal. Women are made of a different clay.

– On the third floor… – she starts, and then the door flies open. I tear the belt from my body and it turns into lash with a soft hiss. But there's neither Man Without face nor his mercenaries in the door, Computer Wiz hangs there balancing on his winged slippers. The corridor behind his back is enveloped in colorful glow, flashes and as I look at this carnival blur, something starts happening to me – my movements slow down, lose their precision…

– Wow, 'Warlock Nine-thousandth'! – screams the Wiz cheerfully seeing the lash in my hand, flows into the room, shuts the door and my sudden fatigue disappears. – Vika, where's Madam?

– I'm for her!

– Brothello is under attack! – Wiz is still having fun – The first floor was freakin' swept out to hell! The braker is on but they move anyway!

He flies to me, grabs my sleeve and asks excitedly:

– Saw this illumination? So much junk info is flowing to their modems, any computer would choke! Well, except the good one… Vika, so where's Madam?

– Can we hold out against this?

– No, sure not! Cool profies are working! But never mind, everything is being logged, we'll file such a protest – don't worry… Where's Madam, I won't start active systems without her order!

Vika's body flickers, she broadens in her chest and hips, the face melts like wax. So that's how looks the diver from the side when exiting virtuality and changing body.

– Fire up everything you have, – orders Madam.

– Oh! Ah! – Wiz thrusts his eyes open in theatrical surprise. Can he ever stop playing I wonder? – I knew, I knew that!

His hands are busy not with a show though, he gets a small console from his pocket and starts typing in some commands.

– We won't hold out anyway, Madam Vika!

– We must get out, Wiz.

– Madam! – Wiz presses his hands against his heart, – I can't help with that so quickly, the diver is necessary here!

– It doesn't anything to do with divers, – I wave my hand towards the window, – The rope is necessary!

– To hang yourselves up? – laughs Wiz. He crosses his legs, falls on the floor and starts pulling off his slippers not stopping to chatter – Geez how funny, that weirdo on the third floor, you know, the one who likes sex for three, he never tells anything about himself, was so scared that jumped out of the window! He fell into the pool and now splashes there screaming that he can't swim and he's the State Duma deputy and we must save him…

He throws me the slippers.

– Take these, the power is unlimited, you'll descend all three! Madam, why didn't you ever tell that Vika is your mask, I'm not tattler, I wouldn't tell anybody!

I pull the slippers on, the wings quiver excitedly and thresh against my fingers. Funny: Madam is Vika's mask for Wiz, for me it's vice versa.

– Oh, what a load of scandals will we have now… And who are you man, huh?

Unfortunate doesn't reply, maybe he feels dizzy too, just as me? Computer Wiz looks like a multitasking operating system which is simultaneously busy both with buffoonery and a serious work. I can't do that.

– Thanks, – I say trying to stand up. Wiz nudges me under my elbow and holds while I'm balancing in the air getting used to it. The feeling is absolutely weird, this is not a jet knapsack which is used on some "Labyrinth"'s levels, but a real walking on air.

– Just like on stairs, – whispers Wiz, – Like ascending-descending stairways.

– Wiz, how much more time do we have? – Madam looks around the hut business-like, hangs Vika's purse on her shoulder, then starts pulling jars and packages from the sideboard and throwing them out of the window with a basketball player's moves. I doubt we'll have time to pick all this stuff up but I don't argue.

– Just for a little parting kiss!

– Then let's postpone it until our next meeting. Please Wiz, try to hold them as long as you can… Chatter with them or something…

– I'll try… – confuses Wiz suddenly, – Well… I don't know how…

– Vika, return into your body, – I ask examining Madam's mighty dimensions, then approach Unfortunate who still clings to the wall.

– Man, I don't care who you are, a human or a program. I tend to agree with both!

He looks into my eyes silently.

– I don't want to give you to those freaks. I'll try to rescue you. Do you believe me?

Unfortunate stays silent.

– I still want to be your friend, – I say, – Whoever you might be.

He makes a step towards me, I add:

– Please… Let's not give those bastards a pleasure to get us!

I think I've said something wrong.

– Good – regardless of the evil? – inquires Unfortunate.

– How else? – Wiz enters the talk suddenly. He have plopped into the armchair, crossed his legs and became suddenly serious, – If there's no any starting point – everything becomes senseless.

Unfortunate silences and obediently pads to the window with us. Vika – not Madam, but Vika – have already climbed the window-sill and looks down with a strange expression.

– You what, fear heights? – I ask a bit too late.

– Come on, don't lose the time, huh! – shouts Wiz behind us. I turn back to look at him – his fingers are threshing against the console while the roaring starts behind the door as if of the Boeing on the runway. Somebody's scream is almost muffled by the roaring. Flames scurry along the wooden door.

– Wiz, what about you?

Computer Wiz smiles and takes something from his pocket that looks most like a chicken egg.

– I have this.

– What's that?

– You'll see. – promises the Wiz.

Vika and Unfortunate hang on my shoulders so simultaneously that no other command is required. I step over the window-sill and place my foot on the air. The air holds.

The wind hits me on the side, the river noises some 100 meters below, I start feeling dizzy. I must exit, exit the Deep.

But I just… don't want to see Vika's face as a colorful pixel mesh.

Initially I was going to descend onto the slope but now I see it won't make sense: the path is blocked with boulders… damned earthquake! I go forward and down, above the slope, the canyon, the roaring mountain river – to the opposite slope, covered with green thickets.

– I even fear to fly planes… – whispers Vika. I avert my look from the chasm below and look at her.

– Hold on, baby…

– Have you… surfaced?

– No!

She shuts her eyes for a second, then raises her head:

– Lenia, exit! Don't torture yourself!

Yeah, right… keep waiting.

I'm of a different clay.

– Take care guys! – shouts Wiz behind. He must have leaned out of the window.

– 'Guys'! – whispers Vika with indignation, – All you males are same!

– Vickie, and a thousand and a half kisses for you! – goes on Wiz.

I'm glad now that he's so talkative. I still have a hundred meters ahead to cover.

I look to the left – Unfortunate's face is absolutely calm, he looks down in the chasm below with a joyful childlike curiosity. That's whom I had to let to put the slippers on.

I have no idea why did Vika be so modest praising Siegsgord, her space is not any worse, maybe even more real.

The pine tree branches sweep me across the face, the violet colored cone flows past my eyes. As strange as it might seem, I now believe that those exist.

I'm spiraling around the pine tree descending lower and lower. The cliff with a small hut perched on it was left on the opposite side of the canyon, Wiz is not in the window anymore.

– Lenia.. – whispers Vika when it's still a meter and a half left to the ground and unclenches her hands. Shouldn't have done that: she lands fine while me and Unfortunate are in a worse position, I tumble down to my left side, the slippers beat the air convulsively, unable to hold us.

A small pile.

Isn't it too many falls for one day, especially in the Chinese suit with its weak limitations for hit strength?

I shake off the slippers that hang in the air before me and stand up gulping for air greedily and rubbing the bruised side. Unfortunate moans and squats.

Vika looks at us with confusion.

– Was it painful, guys?

– No, everything is just great! – I growl helping Unfortunate to stand up. The dense green canopy is above and the slope in some five meters away. The water rumble muffles the rustling of needles under the feet. It's so good to be on the solid ground again!

– Lenia…

– Passed that, – I cut off. I can understand what is a height fright after all, couldn't pass Al-Kabar's bridge in the Deep myself. We're out of the brothel, and this is the most important thing. We're not in the space attacked by Man Without Face's people. The mountains created by Vika for her 'own consumption' surround us, the mountains where never was a single human. The space within a space, a secret world that lives according to its own laws, and the hut on the slope is the only door into it…

The thick orange-black fire strikes from the hut's window, the log walls instantly start burning in a hot quick fire. Wiz said we'll see, and he was right, it's difficult not to notice how the file bomb works. The only exit into the normal Deep is burning before us.

– I hope you're there… Man Without Face, – I say.

– What did he promise you for Unfortunate? – asks Vika.

I squint my eyes at the failed trade subject and confess, – The Medal of Complete Licence.

– What?

– You what, have never heard about it? It's the one Dibenko got for the creation of the Deep, the right for any actions in the virtual world.

Vika smiles.

– It's more than money, – I say, – an absolution of any sins…

– They swindled you, Lenia.

– Why?

– Lenia, the Medal of Complete License is unique only because it exists in one single copy. Any other created copy is considered a fake automatically and is destroyed. I know that, I… knew a guy who tried to make a copy.

The funniest thing is that I'm not surprised for even a little bit. I wink to Unfortunate and say:

– You really must be a very important guy… if even Dimka Dibenko is ready to sacrifice his main treasure for your hide…

Unfortunate shakes his head:

– No, I'm even more important.