Labyrinth of reflections

0

From the food thrown by Vika through the window, only the glass jar of jam and the paper pack of crackers have survived, as if in mockery of the physics laws. The rest of the stuff slipped in the gap or was broken against the boulders. In my opinion, it made no sense to store any food but we picked up the jar anyway.

Maybe it's an inertia of consciousness, the panicked greed of mind that sees wild nature around.

– Do you have any plan? – I ask Vika.

– Why me? It was your idea to flee through the window, – she objects reasonably.

– We didn't have choice.

– We did. You're diver after all.

I nod at Unfortunate.

– And who is he?

Vika have grown tired of this question during a single last hour. We sit down on a soft grass, in the tree shade. A white smoke still whirls above the remains of the hut.

We silently watch Unfortunate who wanders over the slope, touches pine trees, picks up some needles and pebbles from the ground. The city dweller who have found himself in the wild for the first time, an If castle dungeons' prisoner who was able to escape.

– Leonid, I must have been speaking too emotionally about computer mind… – starts Vika, – So – he is a human. An ordinary human who takes you in.

– He is in the Deep for three days.

– Stimulants, or he's a diver too.

– His comm channel can't be traced.

– A well hidden one.

– Two big companies and Dibenko are after him.

– It's enough stupid people in the world.

Okkam's blade is a wonderful thing, it cuts all mystic off clean, together with meat.

– Vika, you're psychologist… are there any tests for telling people?

She laughs quietly.

– Sure not. These were never needed yet.

– I've seen a method to check in some sci-fi book…

– Do you really think that some scheme invented by a writer while drinking a cup of coffee would work?

– We should try at least, – I'm holding my ground, – There are institutes that study artificial intelligence problems after all. They must have something worked out. There are fans who invent abstract tests… for the future. I'll exit the Deep and will browse the Internet a little.

– And how are you going to return? There's no entrance into this space anymore. – Vika laughs bitterly, – I think it's lost at all, forever. A closed system, it will live in the computer by itself.

– A good hacker will be able to break a passage.

– It would be a different world then. The mountains will resist until the end, if somebody breaks in here, they'll lose their freedom.

I understand her very well but I hate such a prudent pessimism.

– You'll draw the new ones.

Vika doesn't feel hurt.

– Next time I'll draw the sea. The sea, the sky and islands.

– … And don't forget an emergency exit.

– Spaces live according to their own laws… – Vika stands up. – There might be an exit, Lenia. When these mountains were built, the program was searching for other landscapes, on all open servers. It was stealing pieces from there… – she smiles in confusion, – And it had left some loopholes, a tiny ones. If we manage to find one of those, we'll be able to exit.

– This sounds better already.

As a very last resort I have 'Warlock', but it's too risky to use it: the enemies would notice the trace of the virus.

– We must get out of here, – decides Vika, – We have 5 more hours until the dusk. If the attackers manage to restore the hut, it'd be better to be as far from it as possible.

1

We stop only when the sun disappears in the paling of the mountains and the orange sheen in the clouds fades. We managed to walk some 10 kilometers, and this is much, very much. As for the night – only suicidal people wander in the mountains at night.

The last quarter hour we spend gathering brushwood. Fortunately, it's plenty of it around, we're on the border between the forest and the Alpine meadows. Together with Unfortunate we drag in the small pine tree fallen of the wind and I tear the small branches from it, scratching my hands, then arrange them in a cone pile.

– That's enough, boys, – decides Vika. She lights a cigarette and makes a fire quickly and with experience.

The supper is very symbolical – raspberry jam and dry crackers. Unfortunate doesn't care at all: he chews with an appetite of electrical mincer. I can't down a single piece, I wish I could have a big chunk of fried meat with hot sauce and green peas, with a couple of bottles of cold beer. And all this is so close! One just have to exit the Deep, reenter, come to "Old Hacker" or "Three Piglets"…

Me and Vika glance at each other without an agreement.

I'm not sure whether she dreams of pork with beer or of trout with white wine, but not of a cookies with jam for sure.

– Tastes good, Unfortunate? – inquires Vika.

– Um-hm.

– What do you eat usually?

– Nasty things…

Her patience ends instantly.

– Now hon, listen to me…

Unfortunate pulls his hand back from crackers and looks at Vika questionably. We are on one side from the fire, he's on the other. Opposition.

– We've got a problem, – starts Vika, – And this problem is you. Maybe you don't understand the situation we have now completely… well, I'll try to define it then. Correct me please if I make any mistake, okay?

Unfortunate nods. When you press somebody, it's very important to give him an opportunity to object… or at least to pretend to.

– You were in "Labyrinth" and couldn't exit by yourself, right? Leonid have spent tons of time and money to save you and he did that, right?

Not quite – "Labyrinth" paid for my work initially… but I stay silent and Unfortunate nods obediently.

– Lenia rescued you and brought you to my place. A reward was awaiting him, a very big one if he would hand you over but he didn't do that. As a result, he's wanted as a criminal, he's searched for across all the Net. Right? Then my Institution was ruined completely in an attempt to seize you. It's not that difficult to restore the programs but "Amusements"' reputation is lost forever. Now I'll have to start everything from scratch.

– I'm really sorry… – says Unfortunate quietly, – I…. I didn't mean to bring so many troubles for you.

– Wait. We're still on the run. If you haven't got that already, I'll explain to you: there's no ordinary way to exit this space. Exits might exist but nobody knows whether we'll be able to find them in foreseeable future or not. Me and Lenia are divers, we can leave this place at any moment but we won't be able to return here, ever, and you'll stay alone here. Maybe forever. That's the situation we have… from moral and ethical point of view.

– I'm so sorry, – repeats Unfortunate.

– Let's talk about you now? It is you who is the reason for everything that have happened after all.

Unfortunate shrinks but stays silent.

– You're either human or a creature of the machine mind. The latter is doubtful though. If you're human, then you obviously can enter and exit the Deep by yourself. Like divers, or even cooler. Right? Otherwise you wouldn't look so fresh during your fourth day in virtuality. Would you like to argue with that?

Silence.

– Come on man, I certainly assume such possibility, – says Vika, – After all, a kilo and a half of brains is much bigger mystery than a gram of silicon in a chip. I can imagine someone who managed to enter virtuality without helmets, modems, deep program… And I even imagine his joy… and some shock from this event. Why not to play the fool a little, why not to envelope himself in a mystery? Everything is quite explainable. But try to understand, it's not a joke anymore – you make us suffer, you make the conflict harder and harder to resolve with each minute. Try to understand, we can't tinker with you forever!

– I… I'm tired… just tired… – Unfortunate looks at me as if seeking support.

No way.

– And the last thing – how we can resolve this situation, – enunciates Vika, – It's ridiculous to proceed this way, lead-time of the conflict wouldn't do us any good. If you don't want to uncover yourself or don't trust us or don't want to spoil such a beautiful legend – just tell us and we'll leave. Then the newbies will tell tales of The One Lost In The Deep… If you consider us trustworthy, explain who you are and why you started all this. You have two ways out, it's not that little.

She falls silent and I take and shake her hand gently. I never have enough cool to lead the situation to such clarity, to the 'either-or' state.

– I… – Unfortunate stops and looks at the fire. Brushwood scratches softly, sparks jump into the dark sky, – It's my fault. I'm tired, tired of silence… I shouldn't have done that…

– What are you talking about? – asks Vika, maybe in a bit too sharp tone. But Unfortunate is confused and demoralized now.

– Too quiet, – he mumbles, – It's impossible to comprehend beforehand, never. All sounds became dead, all colors faded. Seconds – like centuries. Billions of centuries. I was warned but I didn't want to believe.

He swallows some air and stretches his hand towards the fire. The flame touches his fingers.

– Neither pain nor joy, nothing. A Great Silence. Everywhere. Eternal Void. And the Void doesn't have any borders… I couldn't resist.

His hand pats the flame tenderly.

– I can't explain you anything. Leave.

I glance at Vika – now she'll get him… but there's only a reflection of fire in her eyes, black night and red flames. The Silence Unfortunate was talking about have touched her too, just as me last time.

I rise and pull Unfortunate from the fire. Auto-suggestion is a powerful thing: having burned in virtuality one can expect real blisters. I make him to squat by the stream and put his hand into cold water.

– Alrite, – I decide. – We'll sleep now. Just sleep instead of taking each other in. Me and Vika will surface keeping connection, we need to eat normally. As for you… do whatever. In the morning you'll decide what you want after all.

Unfortunate silently splashes his hand in cold water.

I return to Vika, she is okay again but all her passion have dissipated.

– Are you pliable to hypnosis? – I inquire. Vika snorts scornfully: it's just a rhetorical question, there's no hypnosis pliable among divers. If we manage to overcome the drug of the deep program, it's impossible to get us with words.

– My point exactly, – I say, – We all can play the fool, but what about dunking an interlocutor into Silence?

– I'm tired too, – whispers Vika, – You know, one more hour and I'll talk such riddles that even Unfortunate will be envious…

– We'll go to sleep now. Then we'll surface without breaking connection, to have a snack. Do you have any food at home?

– Sure.

– Excellent. Eat and get a nap. We'll come back in the morning and will decide everything.

We do exactly that. I make Unfortunate to help me, together we get three big piles of fur-grove and set them near the fire. The bed turns out to be so comfortable that I hardly overcome the idea to neglect the supper.

Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours…

The eyelids were so heavy, I hardly managed to part them. The fire was dancing on the screens, fur-grove was rustling in headphones – Vika was tossing and turning making herself comfortable.

– Lenia, are you interrupting the immersion? – asked Windows-Home.

– No.

I took the helmet off and looked at the watch.

Late evening. Not that late though to make it uncomfortable to visit the neighbors. Beer can wait a little.

Having unplugged the suit, I calmed down the panicking computer and looked at myself in the mirror.

A clown, with a plug on a belt. Should we scare old ladies a little?

Tights were lying in the laundry wash-basin. I picked 'em up and pulled on over the virtual suit, rolled the wire and stuck it under the belt, covering it with jacket. Not too bad, a normal guy, just a bit swollen one.

A guitar was ringing in the stairwell quietly. I peeked into the peephole and opened the door.

A company of youth was perched on the patch between the floors, one of them sang quietly torturing the strings:

– Oh the lonesome bird, you're flying high…

Seeing me, the teens seemed confused for some reason, just the neighbor from the apartment above asked quickly:

– Lenia, do you have something to smoke?

I shook my head and noticed that the guy squints at the tights distended on my side, just in the size of a cigarette pack. Hardly could he guess that some people live with plugs by their belts…

I rang to the neighboring apartment, waited for shuffling steps and suspicious "Who is there?". The old woman doesn't trust the peephole or her own eyes.

– Lyudmila Borisovna, excuse me for God's sake… – I said into the door, – May I please make a call from you? My phone is broken.

After a minute of hesitation the ancient locks started to rattle. I squeezed into the narrow opening and the door shut close immediately.

– The youth sits again? – inquired Lyudmila Borisovna. The old lady is 70+ old and doesn't risk to argue with young punks.

– Yeah.

– Why wouldn't at least you tell them, Lenia! No rest whatsoever!

No sounds from the staircase can be heard here, the granny has the powerful door but I don't argue:

– Sure I'll tell them.

– And what's wrong with your phone, huh? Didn't pay in time, got disconnected?

I nod obediently, admiring her acumen.

– You like to chat too much, don't you? – growls the old lady. We had a parallel number some time ago { two phones connected to one number }, but obviously it was impossible to live like this anymore. I paid for the number split and also subsidized the granny – a parallel phone was a bit cheaper for her. I think she decided I'm an idiot. But our relations greatly improved since.

– Sure, go ahead, call… – Lyudmila Borisovna nodded at the phone. Obviously she wasn't going to leave me alone.

Ah well, curiosity isn't a vice…

I dialed Maniac's number trying to ignore dirty dial disk and sticky handset.

– Allo?

– Shura, evening…

– A-ha…. – said Maniac in a satisfied voice, – Here he is… a criminal.

– Shura, they…

– Relax, I'm sorting this out. I have a license for local virus creation, they won't pick on this.

– Have you registered 'Warlock'?

– Of course, at Lozinsky's himself. All sources conform to the Moscow Convention, so they'll get nothing.

I feel relieved a little. If the virus wasn't registered with some antivirus creator, Maniac could get in a serious trouble. Certainly, I can be accused of reckless weapon use or of damage… but they'll have to find me first.

– Were you asked who bought the virus?

– Sure thing. I gave them your address… the most puny one.

A couple of years ago, when I just started to balance on the border of the law, one diver advised me to buy a couple of addresses and to never use them. So afterwards it were these nonexistent 'comrades' on whom all viruses taken from Maniac were wrote off.

– I said that you paid a grand for the virus. – Shurka goes on.

– You know, it'd be right if I…

– Relax, I have 5 requests for 'Warlock' at this price already. – Maniac laughs joyfully, – Coolness! I'm ready to buy beer for Jordan for such an advertisement. The whole Deeptown is stirred.

– Isn't the sale forbidden?

– Not yet. They are studying the source. You better tell me where were you an hour or a bit more ago?

– Well… As usual.

Lyudmila Borisovna coughed slightly, curiosity was fighting in her with an old woman's greed. The hourly charge is the worst enemy of computer people and windbags.

– Okie, in the Deep. I've dropped by, wanted to drink beer with you.

Maniac hesitates suddenly.

– You… look out of your door.

– What for?

– I rang, then sat on the bench outside, drank some beer, then ascended and rang again… Then I left a couple of Holstens under your door. Light. Look, are they still there?

I emitted the sound like the one of an old disk drive.

– Shura, what do you think, communism was declared this morning? What's wrong with you?

– Well, you just look, maybe they're there… – mumbled Maniac.

– No, they are NOT there! I'm calling from the neighbors'.

– Ah well… what the hell…

Sometimes my mind falters when I deal with real computer guys. Maybe Shurka had confused the real world and the Deep where beer costs peanuts?

– Tell somebody, they won't ever believe…

– Those who drank will, – noted Maniac gloomily.

– Come tomorrow around ten, – I asked, – We need to discuss something.

– Just don't forget to surface. I'll come.

– Bye Shurka.

I put the handset on the hook and looked at Lyudmila Borisovna confused.

– Was it too long?

– No, that's okay, – the old lady shook her head, – It's the business, don't I understand? What do you sell at least?

– Beer, – I said point-blankly.

– I liked beer myself… but is it really possible to indulge myself having such a pension?

– Lyudmila Borisovna, what if I treat you, huh? – I offered joyfully, – I just have some samples at home!

This would be the best way out, otherwise the old one will definitely drag herself to my place to call from my phone… as a compensation of her damages. But the people with weak nerves should better not enter my apartment.

– Well, if just a bottle… – the old one livens up.

The youth on the patch traced me with greedy gazes when I was carrying a bottle of 'Oranienbaum' to the next apartment. Needless to say, two bottles of light beer for four sound loafers isn't serious.

10

I managed to find a callous frank in the freezer's depths. From canned stuff only the tin of sprats have left, I bought it either in times of dire straits or for nostalgic reasons.

I was sleepy to numbness but warmed up the poor frank anyway, took a tin opener and installed two bottles of Pilsen Urquell on the table before me. The supper in the candlelight – candles were quivering on the monitor: a screensaver. The fire scratching coming from the helmet was very much in place.

Let this Deep go to hell, together with this Unfortunate! Now, in the real world, everything that happened seemed nothing more than some absurd play. If Unfortunate doesn't confess tomorrow in the morning, me and Vika will exit the mountain space. Forever. Let him tell his tales to the cliffs and pine trees – they'll appreciate that.

I took a mouthful of beer and moaned in pleasure, then started opening the tin, cut off the cover accurately, hooked it with a fork…

And almost fell from the chair.

A hundred of fish heads was gazing at me with reproachfully.

Somewhere in virtuality I wouldn't be surprised with such joke, but in the real world…

I rummaged through heads soaked in tomato sauce trying to find at least one whole fish. Nothing. Very diligently done. I imagined a fish-factory… a kind of a floating giant… or the sprats are tinned on the shore? A conveyor with this low-grade stuff. Girls, crazed of fish stench and monotonous work… Now one of then takes an empty tin from the transporter and starts stuffing the fish heads into it. A joke.

I really laughed, shuddering and closing the tin back. I had nothing to eat but wasn't mad at the anonymous worker, on the contrary, everything suddenly have seemed perfectly in place.

Stuck to the bottle, I finished the first Urquell.

You wanted miracles, diver? The computer mind and people entering virtuality directly?

Come back to senses, diver! Here they are, miracles available to our world! Stolen beer, sprats' heads stuffed with eyes, stuffiness and foul of old lady's apartment, teenage punks in the stairways, annoying drip of water from the faucet in the kitchen.

This is – life. Whatever stupid and boring it might be, and there inside a helmet is just a tale created by machines and our own subconsciousness. Our electronic escapism.

I opened the second beer, picked up the tin, came out to the balcony and dumped out tin's contents into the wilted front garden. A feast is awaiting stray cats this night.

– Not ethical! – I reproached myself. As strongly as in Vika's program it is stuck into my mind that one shouldn't throw garbage out of the window.

But, unlike the machines we are able to ignore the bans. From balconies.

As I was, with the beer, I entered the bathroom, unbuttoned the suit glancing at the bottle. I didn't want to drink anymore.

– What is this long and cumbersome process for? – I asked rhetorically and poured the rest of the beer down into the toilet.

I lagged to the sofa and turned off the light. For how much longer is it possible to sleep huddled up by the table, with an electronic saucepan on the head? It was quiet, very quiet, and even the teens on the staircase stopped torturing their guitar.

Only the computer hummed smoothly and the candles were blinking on the screen.

I turned over forcing my face into the pillow but the sleep was retreating. There, in the Deep, the motionless dead Gunslinger's body is lying. Does he miss me? Something, just a little from betrayal is in it.

– For the last time! – I moaned, rising. I put on the helmet, plugged the suit into the port, laid my hands on the keyboard.

Deep Enter.

I snuggle close to Vika in my sleep and she mumbles something, turning to the other side. As quiet as her voice is, but I wake up. Looks like she sleeps in the Deep too.

The fire is off. Maybe the morning is close but the darkness haven't yet retreated, only red sheen from the dying fire can be seen. Unfortunate lies a bit away like a motionless mat– bag. What if I reach you and nudge you a good deal, huh? Just to see, are you here with us of exited the deep and sleep in the warm soft bed?

I look up at the sky, into the black sparkling crystal. How did I say that to Vika? "They've stolen the sky from us"?

Yes, they have, and the more people leave here, the further the stars will become.

It's not only the stars though. There always will be somebody for whom this world will stay out of reach: the restless teens who can't find work, the girls from fish packing plants… Fish heads, accurately arranged in rows in tins will come first. Is it just a joke or a silent cry, a protest? Fish heads will come first. And only then human heads will start to roll.

Does the second advent of machine destroyers await us? The rebel against machines, more and more incomprehensible and scary ones for average citizens, or the way out will be found finally?

I turn over and look at Unfortunate. If you are the mind of the Net, if you are the human who have conquered virtuality, then you might be that very way out, the break through the barrier, the exit from this deadlock. Surely Dibenko understands that if Man Without Face is really him.

Should I play noble hiding Unfortunate? If he is salvation, a merge of two worlds?

I don't know. I'm just an ordinary man, accidentally having this stupid resistance against the deep-program. This helps me to earn my piece of bread, and sometimes – it even comes with a thick layer of butter and caviar. But it's not me who should save the world or decide what is good and what is evil for it.

I don't have anything except that funny shabby moral for which Vika was grieving, but moral is a strange thing, it never gives answers but on the contrary, it hinders from finding them.

It's much easier to be a just person or a scum than just a human.

I start feeling myself extremely bitter and lousy. A provincial sportsman might feel so, included in the Olympic team and ordered to compete with the champions. Not my destiny it is…

And at this moment a sound is born above.

I turn onto my back looking up into the blackish crystal again, and see a crack in it – a blue stripe across the whole sky, a dazzling straight arrow rushing down.

– What is it, Lenia?

Vika is already sitting, casting strands of hair from her face. When have she woke?

Or when have I fallen asleep?

What is it around us, a dream or reality?

– A meteor, – I reply to Vika.

The blue arrow is lower and lower, a thin ringing trill is its train, a clot of fire at the end – its spike.

– This is a star falling, – says Vika very seriously and I understand that I'm sleeping after all.

Unfortunate doesn't move.

The crack draws across the sky to the end and plunges into the ground. The blue strip dims – the sky knows how to cure its wounds. Only where the star have touched the ground, a pale light is glowing.

– You promised me that we'll find a fallen star, – says Vika.

Everything is simple in the dream. I rise and give her my hand, we step over Unfortunate and start descending the slope. It's wrong, one is supposed to go up to reach the star, but one shouldn't argue with dreams.

The blue flame sparkles in the grass, neither burning nor casting shadows. The star have fallen into the gully between two hills. A bit further is a conglomeration of cliffs, absolutely out of place here, as if torn from another world. This is important for some reason but now we only look at the star.

A clean flame, a fuzzy fiery ball, very small one, one can hide it in the hands.

I stretch my hand, touch the star and feel warmth, as tender as if I've set my hands under the spring sun.

– Now I know what the stars are, – says Vika, – These are the splinters of the daylight sky.

I'm about to pick the star up but Vika stops me.

– Don't. It is tired already.

– From what?

– From the solitude, from the silence…

– But now we are near.

– Not yet. We've passed our path but it's only half of the way. Let the star believe in us.

I just shrug, I can't argue with Vika. I want to smile to her but she's not by my side anymore, only the voice have left.

– Lenia, wake up!

What the hell, why…

– Lenia, Unfortunate is gone!

I open my eyes.

Morning, the pink light from the East, scared Vika's face.

Unfortunate is not by the fire. The sleep is great deceiver.

– Damned! – I swear jumping up, – When have he disappeared?

Vika fixes her hair, in the same gesture as in my dream.

– I don't know, Lenia. I've just woke, and he was gone.

– So here's the answer, – I whisper, looking around, – Here's the answer…

Unfortunate's gone. Fled from the Deep. So everything was in vain?

No, not everything, I've met Vika because of him.

– He had made us to know each other, – she repeats my thoughts, – Thanks for that at least.

I hug her, nudging my face into her hair. We stand like this for long, the dawn brightens around, the snow crest of the huge mountain sparkles, ripping the sky. It's no birds here, maybe Vika forgot to make them but the mountains become alive even without them, filling with rustles of wind, of leaves and grasses.

– I'll make birds for these mountains, – I whisper, – If we ever restore your hut…

– I don't want to change the mountains, they are free! – objects Vika immediately.

– The birds are free too. I'll just set them out through the window and will say: "breed and multiply"!

Vika laughs quietly.

– Okay, try.

– What's so hard? – I summon up my courage – A simple program… I'll study Bram, will make a behavior algorithm. I'll draw various chaffinches and sparrows in the beginning, then hawks. Biogeocenosis… right? I've forgotten, I think we studied this in the fifth form, at the lessons of the nature study…

– Biologist you. Maybe you'll set free Zuko's slippers as well? Lenia, let's surface now and go to some restaurant. Have you ever been to "Pink atoll"?

– No.

– A beautiful place, Shultz and Brandt drew it. I invite you.

– Okay. Let's search before we go though…

Vika steps back from me and asks sharply:

– Search for whom?

– For Unfortunate.

– He exited the deep, why don't you understand?

– I do. But let's look for him anyway, okay? Maybe he wanted to go to do pee-pee and fell into the canyon?

– So he deserves it… – mumbles Vika, agreed already.

Firstly we pass the edge of the nearest slope, looking down. Then Vika searches the valley to the left from the stream, and I – to the right. Involuntarily my gaze is attracted down into the gully where I found the star in my dream: some cliffs can really be seen there.

But the business first. I must make sure that Unfortunate is not with us anymore.

I even climb up a little, following our path, it's just for the sake of it, to clear up my conscience.

And there, in the small crevice which we easily jumped over in the light of the dimming day I find Unfortunate.

I stand above the crevice silently, looking at Unfortunate from a ledge 3 meters above him. A couple of minutes passes until he makes sure that I've noticed him and raises his head.

– Good morning, Gunslinger.

I stay silent, I don't have strength even for the anger anymore.

– It's too hard to see in the dark, – utters Unfortunate an amazingly fresh and genius idea.

It wasn't that much to fall but he was unlucky. Even from above I can see that his right leg is swollen and Unfortunate is sitting trying not to touch it. I get the slippers from behind my belt, put them on and descend.

– I'm sorry, – says Unfortunate when I pick him up and scramble out of the crevice.

– Why? – I just ask.

– So that you wouldn't hesitate. I can't explain anything anyway.

– You're fool. Only suicidal ones are wandering in the mountains at night… or the Black Alpinist.

– I never was in the mountains before. And who is the Black Alpinist?

It's quite a long way down to the camp and I have time to tell him the tale of the Black Alpinist and that company that was dragging ball dresses and tuxedos to the mountains, then several real stories. We approach Vika when my store of the mountain legends runs out. I put Unfortunate on fir branches scattered by the fire under Vika's icy glare and say:

– What can be better than the mountain walk without any gear? Only the mountain walk with an injured one on the back.

I wonder, what will she do now.

– Give me the belt, – commands Vika.

I couldn't expect that much of aggressiveness.

– Vika, using 'Warlock'…

– Shit. You unfinished diver! I need a tourniquet!

I never was curious whether virtual clothes can tear or not, and don't want to try – the mountain sun is cruel. So I abandon the idea of tearing the shirt for tourniquets and give Vika my bandana.

She mingles with Unfortunate's leg for a long time, shaking her head gloomily when he moans in reply to her careful touches.

– The shin is broken, – she sets the diagnosis, – Without a shift I think, as strange as it might be.

– You're a doctor too?

– No, just a nurse, but an experienced one. I need more tourniquets.

I have to sacrifice my shirt after all and the jacket put on the naked body looks as a complete mauve tone. We put Unfortunate's leg in a self-constructed cast.

– Not even a single idiot, – now Vika allows herself to vent out her anger, – not a single cretin in this world have ever managed to break a leg in virtuality! What do you have in reality, huh? Do you have a broken leg?

– No… – mumbles Unfortunate.

– Thanks God for this at least.

We look at each other, our previous evening's battle mood have vanished. One thing is to abandon a deceiver in the virtual world, and a different one is to abandon a wounded person in the mountains, and the fact that the mountains is a fake changes nothing.

– Let's go to those cliffs, – I suggest.

– Okay. I saw them in my dream.

One glance is enough and we don't say anything else. There's no laws for unreality. Whatever it is, a dream or reality – we descended to the fallen star together.

11

The cliffs are really out of place in this valley. The glacier might bring boulders, but not such a huge lumps.

– Looks like it's really an exit to the different space, – agrees Vika turning back to me, – Are you tired?

I shake my head. To be honest, my hands are tired to hold Unfortunate but there's no time for such trinkets now.

– If the program had really broken through to some foreign server, – reasons Vika, – then the channel will be one directional. We sure will be able to exit but if we need to flee…

– As a last resort, we have 'Warlock', – I say but without much confidence. I'm not too eager to fall into blue tunnels anymore: too weird pictures did I see on my way.

– Okay, let's go. Maybe there's nothing at all over there. – Vika sighs and steps forward. I lag after her. Unfortunate is silent, either feeling himself guilty (which is right) or doesn't want to hinder. And this is a right behavior too.

We move along the narrowing canyon. At some point I look up estimating the height of cliffs. They are obviously higher than it seemed back in the valley. Very encouraging sight indeed…

The pass becomes narrower and narrower, we can't walk side by side anymore. I start to move my side forward, this way the risk to hit Unfortunate's injured leg against the cliff is less. Maybe it would be a good idea to put the winged slippers on, but this idea came to me a bit too late, now I won't be able to turn and bend over. Vika swears quietly in front of me having problems too, I gloatingly think that Madam with her dimensions would be stuck long time ago.

It gradually becomes colder, an icy wind breaks into the slit from somewhere. This is good, very good!

– Lenchik! – says Vika in a muffled voice, – Yes!

I see the light in front of me, blocked by her silhouette. Vika shifts somewhere to the side and I step into her place. I hit the Unfortunate's leg against the wall on my last steps anyway and he moans quietly.

The canyon brings us to a weird place.

There are mountains – but different ones. They are not just uninhabited

– they're wild, as if the life was here some time ago but then something killed it. A twilight. Maybe it's day anyway but the sky is blocked by dense lead colored clouds. Everything is enveloped in desolation and dull melancholy. A path winds down the slope among black fangs of the cliffs.

– What is this? – asks Vika quietly, – Lenia?

I gaze around. No, this is a different space for sure, and I think a familiar one.

– The Elves, – I say, – This is some role-playing server. They play here.

– Like in "Labyrinth"? – speaks Unfortunate out.

– No, in a different way.

– We won't go far here, – says Vika gloomily, – Either we'll freeze or the Elves will shoot us incidentally.

– We'll freeze first, – I say. My shirt was used for tourniquets and I carelessly disposed of my jacket.

– That's okay, at least your exposed torso looks way too impressive, – says Vika ironically. Good for her to talk, she has a jersey and Unfortunate has masking overalls from "Labyrinth", it's quite warm.

– If we just had somebody to impress, – I stretch my hand, – Vika, there's a path in front of us, we should get there and search for people.

– For the Elves.

– People, Elves, Dwarves, whoever.

The snow is almost knee-deep, we slowly lag along. Unfortunate whispers guiltily:

– I don't understand anyway…

– Do you know who Tolkien is?

– He's an author…

– Just please don't recite "The Lord of the Rings" by heart, okay? So, this is a virtual space created by his fans, role-players. They congregate here, put on the bodies of his characters and play various plots, either Tolkien's or other authors'.

– A theater, – decides Unfortunate.

– Well… sort of.

Unfortunate silences, completely satisfied by explanation while I'm still quite far from complete clarity.

What server is it? What are the laws of this particular world? Where are allowed exits located through which we could get Unfortunate out?

I even fear to think about what to do next.

The path is well treaded down as if a whole army marched here not long ago. The snow melts as soon as it touches the path, maybe due to the magic. Role-playing world lives according to its own laws, the magic exists here.

– Where should we go now? – with this phrase Vika sets the command upon me. It's so fluttering to be trusted… I wish I could justify this trust. I try to remember role-playing spaces' maps but abandon this idea immediately, these are drawn by whoever wants to.

And at this moment I hear a quiet drumming from behind the nearest cliff, either a mad horse with castanets on its legs or a giant with jaws clattering of cold.

There's no time to think.

– Here, quick! – I whisper and dive into wilted fir grove, put Unfortunate on the snow and press a finger to my lips, – Tsssss…

Vika and Unfortunate can't be seen from the path. I stand on it, outstretching my legs widely and pull off the belt. 'Warlock' unwraps into the fiery lash with a rumble.

I must look pretty scary, a gloomy male naked down to his belt, with the shoulders powdered with snow. I ve modeled Gunslinger's body sinewy and strong, it's immediately seen that he's a mighty fighter… and this glowing lash in his hand too… any troll would be scared.

The clatter comes closer.

I make a bloodthirsty grimace and wait.

A little figure, hardly as high as my chest comes out from behind the cliff.

A giant with clattering jaws indeed…

The face and build of the traveler is like the child's but something is definitely wrong with his hormones: his legs, bare up to his knees, are covered with thick fur. Oh yeah, with such paws it's cozy even in the snow. A little drum hangs on traveler's chest and he beats on it with sticks as he walks.

A hobbit.

That's good.

Noticing me, the hobbit stops dead on his tracks, even one drumstick falls in the snow.

– Hee-hee… – I say evilly.

The hobbit doesn't drum anymore but his jaws really start to chatter.

– Who? – I demand, stretching 'Warlock' towards the hobbit. The lash starts to lengthen excitedly and I have to pull it back quickly.

– Harding, s…sir! – whispers hobbit.

– Who? – I ask again in a normal voice this time. But poor hobbit is in utter panic now, he even doesn't try to grab a small dagger carelessly stuck behind his belt.

– H-harding, kind sir. S-sam sired Frodo, Frodo sired Holfast, Holfast sired Harding…

– You, huh?

– Me, kind sir!

– Quite in vain!

– Yes, kind sir, – agrees Harding obediently.

– Don't 'sir' me! – I bellow, – And even more – I'm not kind at all! I'm… – the sudden inspiration strikes me, – Conan! Brave Conan the Kimmerian!

Hobbit definitely have heard of Conan, he starts to nod frequently, not asking how the hell had Howard's character got into Tolkien's world. Though, role-players are the folks that are easily carried away and such trinkets don't limit them. I could even call myself Koschej The Immortal { a Russian folklore evil character } if my build would allow me to.

– Where are you going? – I go on with questioning circling around the hobbit. He turns around trying not to lose me from his sight.

– Catching up with the a-army…

– What the hell army?

– The Elvish one… We go to beat the Orcs and the Dwarves!

– Why?

– Because they are bad!

I start to be more and more sure that it's a little kid in the hobbit's body. An adult would find more serious arguments and of course would try to fight.

– Army… – I say thoughtfully, – Ah, yes! I remember, there was one…

The dread is in hobbit's eyes. He squints at the fiery lash, not doubting the sad fate of the Elvish army anymore.

– I've heard that you hobbits are marsupial, – I inform, – Huh?

The hobbit shakes his head in shock and presses his hands against his stomach.

– Any grub?

Brave Harding gives me his rucksack, where I find a couple of cookies, a chunk of smoked meat, a flask; I soften.

– Provident you are, hobbit… And what is this?!

I hook out 'Snickers' from the sack's bottom.

The hobbit bursts into tears immediately. Yeah, the kid alright.

I tear the wrapping from the candy with teeth, bite off a half, the rest of it I return to the hobbit. He stops crying at once.

– How do you think, will you beat the Dwarves? – I inquire. One can't just rob the guy and let him go. What about to chat?

– We will! – nods the hobbit, – They make arrows from yew-tree, and these are bad! And also they fight in 'hird', and this formation is bad… { Hird – a native Dwarvish battle formation, a kind of phalanx, described by Nick Perumov in his book "The Ring of Darkness" } I don't have even a bit of eager to get into details of the quarrel between the Elves and the Dwarves.

– Is a city far from here?

– Lorien is 5 miles away…

Something is wrong with geography here… oh well, never mind. If I also could find out the server name…

– Who is ruling this land?

– Fair Legolas the Elf!

Alrighty, this information is enough.

– Go, – I say hanging the hobbit's sack on my shoulder.

Harding doesn't protest against the robbery. Even more, he shyly asks:

– Can I go with you Conan? They'll beat the Dwarves without me, I guess.

Yeah right… I do really need that… I make an evil grimace again and whisper:

– Don't you know that the hobbit is not only costly fur? Also it is 30-40 kilos of tasty, easily digested meat!

Books don't lie, hobbits really can run fast: just furry heels blink away in the snow dust.

I return to Vika and Unfortunate in the best mood. They heard the talk, so I don't have to repeat it for them.

– Here's the food, – I hand the sack to Unfortunate, – Now we'll make a bed for you and will exit the Deep. We'll return openly, through Lorien, with normal gear and will get you out of here. Okay?

Unfortunate nods.

– You'll have to wait for three-four hours… – I say thoughtfully, – Is it okay?

Though we don't have any other choice anyway. I won't be able to drag him under the snow, half naked, for five miles. Together with Vika we make a bed from twigs under the old fir tree, put Unfortunate on it and hand the sack with trophies to him. A light alcoholic beverage is in the flask, one better not use it to warm up in the real frost but why not in virtuality?

– Let's surface? – I ask Vika, – We'll meet in three hours… say, at the entrance into Legolas' server.

She nods, a moment – and her form dissolves in the air.

– Take care Unfortunate, – I say.

Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours…

100

I exited right in time, it's 9:45 AM.

– Immersion completed, – I ordered to Windows-Home and attacked the fridge. Without any result, of course.

– Downloading the mail, – informed the computer.

Hurriedly dressed, I ran out to the street. Fortunately it was almost nobody in the shop around the corner, and I was back by 10, just in time to tap Maniac on the shoulder who was dolefully ringing my doorbell.

– Gonna down some nourishments?

– Yup. Will you?

– Me too. But later. – Maniac squeezed into apartment before me. While I was shaking off my shoes, he was by the computer. When I padded to him, he had already shut down Windows and was squirting along the Norton cube marking file by file.

– What are you doing? – I asked in shock.

– Trying to save you from debtor's prison, – replied Maniac deleting programs, – 'Warlock' was rehabilitated: a clean, not spreading virus, never damaging data. Allowed to use in virtuality. Allowed to be used at one's own risk…

My computer have lost a couple more files. The winged slippers seemed to perish too…

– … But "Labyrinth" and Al-Kabar have hung two and a half million dollars in damages on you.

I even feel joy of such an amount.

– Why not a billion? There's no difference, I won't ever earn this much anyway… and even never steal.

– Sure… it might have been billion… – agreed Maniac jerking the mouse across the mousepad, – When did you clean the mouse last time? Now, listen here. Gunslinger is no more, and never existed – on your machine. Insert a different personality in the seventh position. If possible, provide alibi… How did you manage to get them so, Len'ka?

– I've dragged one guy right from under their grasps… Saved.

– That's good of course…

Maniac have stuffed a diskette into the drive, started some program from it.

– Now we'll clean your winchesters so well, there'll be no trace even on the physical level. – he threatened, – Or, even better, just sell these and buy new ones. Or throw them into the Neva river from the bridge.

I felt discomfort. Maniac would never panic without a reason.

– Got some vodka?

– Cognac…

– Not so good, but will do, – he frowned.

I gave him the bottle, ready for Shurka to pour an alcohol into computer guts, for the complete guarantee of success… But he took a mouthful himself, then extracted the ball from the mouse, breathed on it, rubbed it against his sleeve and put it back. Then he informed:

– We'll commemorate the sale of three viruses. You advertised 'Warlock' well.

– Shur, I need to go back…

– Gee, you can't be serious, diver! – laughed Maniac without turning around, – You must hide now!

– I can't. Impossible.

He just shrugged and advised:

– Sell your winchesters anyway.

– I was going to upgrade the whole thing…

– Really? Well, so go ahead and sell it with all its guts. Or donate it to some kids' club. You won't earn much for this piece of crap, while kiddies will kick it to death in a week, nobody will be able to restore it.

Remembering the robbed hobbit I nodded uncertainly.

Maybe I really should rejoice the young generation with an old comp?

And just how proud I was when I bought it… Pentium! Two megs of video memory! Sixteen megs of RAM!

– How can you live with this video card? – replied Shurka to my memoirs, – Shit, it even doesn't receive TV?!

For around five next minutes I was lectured about cutting edge technologies in hardware. Then Maniac sent me to cook breakfast and went on with cleaning my machine.

I was cooking scrambled eggs – maybe 10000th portion of it in my life. It's high time to invent single's anniversaries: 1000th tin of canned stuff, 100000th loaf of bread eaten dry…

– Shurka, I only have two and a half hours! – I shouted from the kitchen, – Then I have to work!

– You'll not be late…

– I also still need to draw the new personality!

– Which one?

– A fairy tale one. An Elf or a Dwarf… No, an Elf is better. The Dwarf will be beaten immediately.

– Since when are you befriended with role-players?

– It's a work., – I said setting the pan by the keyboard, – I need to take a walk in their server.

– Lord, what can you steal there?! They are all beggarly! – Maniac shook his head, – Brrr… Texts of Elvish anthems? The secrets of wooden swords' manufacturing?

– No, I… forgot one thingy there.

– Ah… – Maniac nodded. Maybe he thought that 'Warlock' had gnawed the exit into the role-playing server directly. – Just don't hurt them, okay? They are funny folks, I wandered into those places a couple of times…

– You set up security for them?

– Me? For them? Come on, there's plenty of their own specialists! – Shurka waved his hand, – There's lots of cool programmers.

I didn't like this news.

– Well, tell me at least what 'Warlock' looked like in action?

– Well… a blue crater, sparks and mirrors under my feet with reflections of other servers in them.

Maniac raised his head:

– Wasn't there an elevator? – he asked in confusion.

– Come on, what elevator?! Just a hole in the floor…

– It's always like this, you invent something and it turns out like…

– growled Shurka, – Shit. Do you have cognac only?

We poured in a little, touched cups and drank. Shurka's programs were still 'rustling' inside my machine.

– I've tried it yesterday… that rhyme… – said Maniac after the second cup, – That "abyss-abyss" one…

I didn't ask him about results. If Maniac could manage to exit the Deep, this would be what we are drinking for now.

– Lenia, if you ever find out why it happens… – began Shurka.

– I'll tell you immediately.

– Geez, and what a mess was it in one brothel yesterday… – Maniac changed the topic. – Haven't you heard in the Net news?

I even felt confused.

– No…

– Some punks attempted to break the security of "Any Amusements" brothel. There is one with this name… – Maniac half closed his eyes in a sweet and delighted expression.

– They attempted?

– Well, they almost broke it but then their security have just cut off all channels completely. That fight was worth seeing if Zuko doesn't tell the bull.

– Who?

Obviously the expression on my face became too stupid. Shurka gazed at me, then said quietly:

– A-ha… I see.

– You know Zuko? Computer Wiz?

– Don't you tell me you don't know him.

– Only in the Deep, – I don't attempt to lie.

Shurka shook his head.

– You think so? It's Sergey… the one who worked in the bank.

Uh-oh, what a news.

I know Sergey for ages. When I was working in that computer games company, he was working there too, but I felt it absolutely impossible to correlate the ever silent and phlegmatical programmer with the noisy Computer Wiz.

– It's him?!

– Yup.

– Gosh, what a disguise… – I was only able to say.

– Well, just imagine if he would confess that he works for a brothel! Isn't it a great topic for jokes? He still keeps everybody believing that he botches proggys for that bank…

– Don't tell him that me is me, – I asked quickly.

– I won't. He didn't tell me any details either. Just questioned me about 'Warlock'.

– Zuko recognized your virus! – I exclaimed remembering Wiz's joy.

– Well, yeah, I showed him around a month ago… – Shurka narrowed his eyes, – Secrecy, damn it…

– Can he tell anybody?

Maniac shook his head.

– Not this is the real problem Lenia. Information has a property to slip away. Some stupid little blunders and coincidences like this one… They'll find you.

– Let them try to prove!

– Lenia… if you really did stomp on their tails so hard, they won't bother to prove anything. All of us are tied too closely. Somebody knows that Gunslinger and Leonid is the same guy. Somebody suspects that Leonid is diver. Somebody guesses that Leonid is Russian. Virtuality is living by information, by truth, rumors, guesses. And the most important thing is that any information can be easily gathered and analyzed. If to try really hard, one can learn everything!

– So what do you suggest?

– Get your ass out of here. – suggested Shurka pouring in the remaining cognac. – It'll be bad that I won't be able to drink beer with you anymore but… if you're dead, it'll be much worse… Shit, what, what the hell are you doing?!

– I'm rescuing a person.

– One should do it until he's not in trouble himself!

I nodded. Maniac is right. There's the normal hacker's logic in his words, not the one of the self-assured diver who can surface from the Deep.

Where would I surface if overtaken in the real world?

Complexes of physical weakness are strong in all virtual folks. It hurts too much to feel that you're God in the virtual world, but just one of the billions of ordinary people in the real one. That's why we all love martial arts and war games, buy gas and pneumatic pistols, stubbornly attend sport clubs and pump ourselves up in the evenings. Of course we want to feel ourselves as invincible in the real life as we are in virtuality, sure so. But we fail to.

And sometimes one can hear in the Deep: "Remember that guy? Some punks had stuck a knife in him in the alley… got poisoned with fake vodka… jumped out of the window, didn't even leave a note… crossed mafia's path…"

We remember, we know.

Only in the world beyond the screen we're Gods.

– I need just a day more, I suppose, – I said quietly, – Then I'll get out somewhere… to Siberia or the Ural Mountains.

– And don't tell anybody where you go, – nodded Maniac, – Don't even tell me.

The cups were empty and he suggested:

– Should I run to the kiosk for more?

– I still have to draw the body.

– Shit. Run 'Bioconstructor'.

In a minute we were sitting side by side fighting over control for the mouse and drumming against the keyboard. The first drawn body we had to reject – it was way too provoking: two meter high hefty chap, with a huge sword on his belt. All adventurers would pester him as Shurka noted and I had to agree with him.

The next personality was harmless and even pitiful: a tattered old beggar… maybe nobody would touch him, but he won't be able to carry Unfortunate for five miles either. This time it was me who vetoed without explanations.

But the third attempt was successful. The guy on the screen was quite strong but with such a babylike innocent face that I felt sick. We dressed him in the ground-long light-green chlamys and hung a rag bag onto his shoulder.

– A healer! – said Maniac satisfied, – A human, healer. Nobody will hurt you there without a reason, neither Elf nor Orc. Medicine is the thing everybody needs.

He started to stuff some jars, retorts, dry leaves into the bag, taking them from accessories menu.

– Will I be able to heal in the role-players' world?

– Sure. The situation there is like this – you come in this or that image and initially have some strength. For instance, a martial art or wisdom or gift of healing. The longer you live in that world, the stronger your abilities are. If you call yourself a healer, you'll be immediately able to fix small wounds or fractures, dislocations…

– How interesting, – I said looking at my new personality, I even started to like it. – Thanks, I would dress as a warrior for sure.

– Yeah, and would get knocked on the head by some old-timer's sword.

– Well, and in what image did you go there?

Maniac was confused.

– You won't tell anyone?

– No.

– I was Ariel the Elvish warrior.

– Why?

– Tried to score Goromir.

For a second I froze. It's none of my business of course, but…

– Goromir is a girl, – explained Maniac quickly, – It's a bloody mess over there, girls play men often and guys play women. I tried to score her for half a year…

– Any success?

– No… Goromir befriended Dianel.

I don't dare to ask who was Dianel in reality: a guy or a girl, too gloomy Shurka's tone was.

– If you meet Goromir there, say hi from Ariel, – adds Shurka, – We parted quite… well. Friendly. Shit.

– I need the server with the city of Lorien, ruled by Legolas. Is this a place where he… this Goromir of yours pastures?

– It's a 'she'! – cuts Shurka off, – I Dunn, haven't been at role-players' for ages. We'll find out.

He loaded Vika and started to browse through servers using terminal. In around five minutes the search was successful.

– Look! "Fair Legolas invites the wise Elves, the brave Humans and the quick Hobbits to the great city of Lorien, for the days of the last battle of the forces of the Good against the Orcs and the Dwarves have come!" They'll meet you with an open hug.

– This isn't necessary.

– Uh… what about some more beer? You have an hour and a half more.

A beer after cognac? Well, but I really have a lot of time, with Shurka's help we were through the drawing really fast.

– Okay, – I decide.

101

I locked the door after Shurka, fixed the door chain very-very accurately, looked into the kitchen to make sure gas is off.

I didn't feel myself drunk. Four bottles of beer is nothing and cognac doesn't count at all. Some odd wires, old slippers, scattered books were tangling under my feet all the way to the computer – Shurka stumbled and overturned the bookshelf when clung to it trying to keep balance. What could that mean?

– Vika, any mail? – I growled.

– I didn't understand you, Leonid.

– Any mail? – I repeated slowly.

– Yes.

Maybe two liters of dark beer, drunk in haste is not that little after all if Vika doesn't recognize my voice?..

I suppressed the fit of guilt and started to look through mail: some crap only. I should also take a look at the Bulletin Board.

Of course, none of my employers or friends knows my real address. If somebody wants to contact not just Leonid, but the diver, there's only one way – to post an ad at the Bulletin Board which is just a computer with a modem and lots of disk space to which anyone can connect and read all ads. A coded label allows to filter out unnecessary posts, the code doesn't allow lamers to fake the messages and the vague phrases of the letters themselves will be clear to the addressee only. Complete anonymity and reliability. Go ahead and try to extract secret information from love affairs, commercials and idle chat.

It's not often that I find messages for me on the Bulletin Board, but it was two of them today.

"Ivan! In the eve of the forest journey I'll wait for you at the place where we did division. Gray."

This is Romka. We "did division" in "Three Piglets", and the eve of Al-Kabar operation was a quarter of hour ago.

I sobered suddenly. Why would Romka look for me so urgently? He wrote the letter this night. Did he do it himself or at somebody's bidding I wonder? Man Without Face's, for instance?

The second message was expected.

"Seventy-seven. Where usual, as usual. Brothers."

Seventy-seven is my number. Brothers-divers are outraged…

According to the Code, I told my diver's name (also being the real one, by the way) to Anatol and Dick.

According to the Code, they filed a complaint against me: I intruded into their working territory and used weapons.

This can't be forgiven.

– Unfortunate… – I mumbled, – Bastard… What the hell are you doing with me?

Damned the moment when I was lured by the Medal of Complete License and rushed to rescue you!

– Vika, submersion, – I ordered, – Personality number seven… Healer.

I know three Romka's personalities, even four if to count the wolf. But today he appeared in a new one: a little scraggy youngster in glasses and with tousled hair. He stands by the bar, gazing around and in no way reminds an accurate Roman. I recognize him only when he drinks a glass of pepper vodka in one shot.

– Romka?

– Lenia?

We shake hands.

– Wanna drink? – asks the guy.

– No… I've… already, in reality.

– Alcoholic, – mumbles Roman. Yeah, says who? Considering his immunity to alcohol… – Len'ka, do you know in what deep shit you are?

– Yes. How deep?

– A complaint was filed against you… by somebody called Anatol' and Tosser. Details of the charge were not yet made public.

I nod. – I know about that.

– What, there are more troubles expected?

– Tons.

We often work together, I sympathize the werewolf and looks like Romka returns that.

– Lenia, what's the matter?

– Think a little.

Roman frowns and suddenly takes off the glasses nervously.

– Is "Warlock" your work? – he whispers.

– Good guess.

– It means that "Labyrinth"…

– Shhhhh… – I remember Shurka's words about spreading of information,

– Let's not talk about that.

Romka calls the bartender – today it is a program obviously – and refills his glass.

– Gee Len'ka, this is cool… – he mumbles, – Man you're in trouble… Up to the neck!

I suddenly understand that the werewolf is not scared by the severity of my troubles, neither does he worry about me – he's admired! He's ecstatic of such turmoil of action, of being himself lighted by a sheen of the scandalous fame. If we, being completely selfish, still can see an idol in another diver then I became one for Romka.

– If you need my help during sorting the things out, you'll get it, and not from me only!

Maybe I'll need that… maybe I'll get it. Roman is a very social guy, and a recognized leader in a narrow circle of divers-werewolves.

– I'll have to leave anyway, and for a long time, – I confess honestly.

Roman blinks quickly:

– What? From the Net? Are you serious?

It can't be more serious… I nod.

– Oh… and how will you live? – asks Romka in confusion.

Only we, the virtual world dwellers, can understand each other.

How can one live without the time, compressed by the Deep, without instant travels from the cool of the restaurant to the hot sand of the beach, without drawn jungles and imaginary mountains, without endless boiling flow of information, without ancient anecdotes and just finished books, without masquerade of bodies and costumes, without hundreds, thousands of friends and acquaintances living in all parts of the world?

How?

One must visit Deeptown to understand what he loses.

– I don't know Romka… But "Labyrinth" and Al-Kabar…

He nods. Everything is clear: elephants fear mice in tales only, and against these corporations we're not even mice, but just plant-louse.

– Lenia, if you need money… – says Romka suddenly. – I can return my part. You did almost all the job after all, and it was you who suffered. You'll need it if you're going to hide.

I shake my head, Romka is a good guy but I don't need such sacrifice.

– If possible… I'd like to ask you for a different thing…

– Whatever you need!

– I'll have to flee, to tangle my traces. I don't want to use hotels… if it'd be possible to stay at your place for a couple of months, until the noise calms down…

I don't know myself why do I ask for that. Maybe I just don't want to leave the Deep completely? To be able to watch the virtual world at least through Romka's eyes? To feel the electronic pulse, to swallow information…

– I won't be a burden… – I add.

But looking at Romka's face I understand that the offer didn't pass.

– No.

– Sorry. – I shrug, – I understand.

We fear each other anyway, it's easier for us to sacrifice huge money and to calm our conscience with that than to disclose who we are.

– You don't understand a thing… – mumbles Romka, – Do you want me to give you my real address? A city, a street, a house?

– No.

– I really can't receive you, – he averts his look, – These are… family problems.

We build palaces for ourselves in the Deep, but what about the real world?

For instance, I can accept guests despite the size of my apartment, but what if for the one of the same size Romka has a wife, mother in law and three snotty kids?

– Understood, – I put my hand on his shoulder, – I really understand, no offence.

But Romka looks past me anyway.

– I should go, – I say.

– Will you be at the meeting?

– Sure.

– And where are you going now?

It's a great temptation to keep mysterious silence and this surely would be the most reasonable choice, but I reply anyway:

– To scare the Elves a little. I need to go, Romka. See you.

When I leave "Three Piglets", he takes one more glass of vodka. Lord, this is atrocious! Or is he such a strong diver that doesn't feel intoxicated of so much alcohol?

Role-players don't advertise themselves much. There are exceptions like "Elvish Meadows" but this is more of a tourist attraction where the fairy tales' characters earn their living… or rather money to pay electricity and phone bills to be exact.

The server where Lorien is built belongs to somebody in Russia, this is all that I could find out without breaking laws, and the company that hangs there is mostly Russian– speaking. Of course I could drop by there as a tourist too, but who knows how this would end? This is just like if a Christian would arrive to Mecca and immediately drag himself to see the Black Rock in boots, hat and with a golden plated cross on the chest.

No, I'd better be a newbie who read too much Tolkien, Howard, Perumov and all those others who paid their tribute to the romantics of swords and dragons!

I get out of the cab by the shabby two floor lopsided wreck. I must admit that the squalor of the building is done well, it's much harder to imitate poverty and desolation than wealth and splendor.

The whole street here doesn't shock with beauty though: some blind buildings, warehouses, offices closed until better times. Role-players don't like noise. Vika isn't here for some reason, just some Elf hangs about the entrance: a fragile golden-haired creature of vague gender and age, dressed in light-green tights and darker jacket, a bow and a quiver with arrows is behind Elf's back.

I stop by the door and wait. The Elf squints his eyes at me, then takes a cigarette and lighter from the bosom. He inhales then releases a cloud of smoke. Smoking Elf isn't a look for the weak nerved person: looks like he would die after the very first inhalation, illustrating the harm nicotine might cause… Geez!

– Vi… – I start and cut off, what if it isn't her?

– Vi-vi! – says the Elf cheerfully, – Both Vi and Mi… Lenia?

The voice is changed too, must be a sound correction program. It looks as if Robertino Loretti have got into virtuality somehow.

– You? – I ask just in case.

Vika understands my doubts.

– Hobbit isn't only costly fur! – she informs joyfully, – Recognized me?

– Why the Elf?

– We're on their territory after all, it'll be safer.

– And what's your name?

– MacKerel.

– What?!

– A nice Elvish name. I'm from the Scottish Elves.

I get a slight suspicion that Vika also got a use of something 'cheering up'.

– So… who are you, he or she?

– I didn't draw the details, didn't have time for that, – declares Vika-MacKerel carelessly, – We'll act according to situation.

It's stupid to hang by the building any longer and we enter. A narrow dark corridor, the walls covered by some sort of graffiti of a battle genre. A white shining glows at the end of the corridor, a human figure can be guessed vaguely behind it.

– Who are you? – we are called.

– We heard the summons of fair Legolas and came to help! – I shout.

– Stay where you are! What are your names?

– MacKerel of the fair Loch Ness Elves! – declares Vika.

– Elenium the Healer, from the country of Tranquilia! { Elenium – a tranquilizer drug } Vika elbows me under my ribs but nothing can be done – the name is already invented and told.

The man that hides behind the shining, thinks.

– Did you come together?

– Yes, – answers Vika. She takes the leadership and I'm glad, I'm not in the best mood now to play the fool thoughtfully and seriously.

– And what could befriend the fair Elf and the human healer?

– In a fight with the Orcs I was treacherously wounded with a yew arrow! – exclaims Vika. She still avoids defining her gender. – If it wasn't for the magic powers of Elenium, you wouldn't see me now stranger!

I stand there with a stony straight mug but it takes a great effort.

– What will you say Elenium?

– A gang of foul Dwarves, formed in a hird… – I remember the tale of the little hobbit, – treacherously attacked me! If it wasn't for MacKerel's bravery, I'd…. I'd…

I don't know how to finish and just cover my face with both hands. Silent laughter sounds very much like crying.

The glow gives way and the old man steps into the corridor. His moves are so abrupt and the voice is so young that he doesn't fit for more than 20.

– I'm glad to welcome the brave Elf and his… her… – he hesitates, – his wise healer friend! You're safe now!

– Thanks, – I whisper.

– You, wise Elenium, get 10 points of skill, five of stamina and five – of strength, – informs the old guy, – As for you… errr… MacKerel… you get 10 points of skill, 10 of stamina, 10 of strength and 10 – of bravery.

– Hey, why was I left without bravery? – I say with indignation.

– Tears don't fit men! – proclaims the old man grandly, but MacKerel backs me up using the obvious fact that the gatekeeper sympathizes him… or her.

– Elenium cries his bitter tears in the memory of his older brother Seduksen who perished by foul Dwarves' paws! { Seduksen – another tranquilizer } Oy, I think Vika overplays…

Luckily, the young old guy either doesn't know pharmacology or has a sense of humor.

– Okay, you'll get 5 points of bravery, – he decides generously. – Thus, enter the fair city of Lorien and gather your strength before the final battle!

Obeying to his gesture, we enter the shining and discover a massive iron door at the end of the corridor.

– Seduksen the older brother you say? – I whisper standing behind Vika's back.

– Oh come on, don't be mad…

Then we enter the streets of Lorien.

I stand there for a couple of minutes, looking around. Damned, it's really beautiful!

Giant trees with snow-white rind, dark green and crimson gold of the foliage. Paths paved with white stone. Some kinds of platforms and dwellings are built in the trees, connected with wooden stairs.

– Nice work, – comments Vika professionally, – Fine fellows, to build all this just of pure enthusiasm…

I could note that she herself had built the mountain world of pure enthusiasm but I don't want to remind her about the country that is maybe lost forever.

– We need to find an exit, – decides Vika.

We walk along the white path enjoying the surrounding beauty. The air is fresh and sweet, slight frost bites our cheeks. There is no snow, maybe the Elvish magic dissipates the clouds. Medieval music can be heard on the limit of hearing. Too bad there's not many people around, everybody must have left to beat the Dwarves and the Orcs.

Under one of the snow white trees a fire is set and a grinding wheel is installed. A robust hairy man tries to sharpen the sword using the wheel, under the Elf's supervision.

– Don't just pass by, travelers! – calls us the Elf and we stop. – Are you new around?

Vika nods.

– Aren't we related, the Highborn one? – asks the Elf Vika.

– No, my fair brother, – she waves her hand, – Tell us please how can we leave the city and catch up with the army.

The Elf frowns.

– Your skill isn't too high. Stay with me, learn to sharpen swords. Just three hours – and your skill will grow up five points!

Yeah right, what a joy – to rotate nonexistent grinding wheel to get nonexistent skill!

– We're in hurry, – says Vika.

– Then ascend this mallorn, – the Elf nods towards one of the trees. – Just 6 hours of physical exercise on the stairs – and you'll get 7 points of both strength and stamina!

It seems to me that the Elvish sword sharpener is simply bored. His ward obviously finishes getting his 5 skill points and the Elf will have to sit here alone.

– It's a pleasure to listen to your speech, oh Highborn Elf, – declares Vika, – But we're anxious to be in the battle.

– Then go there! – the Elf waves his hand gloomily and goes for the man with a sword, – How do you sharpen it? Look just what are you doing! Is it a sword or a silverware, huh? I won't count your skill!

We leave in the said direction hastily. Gee, it's austere here.

Lorien's charms fade somehow.

– And I thought they only do swordfights here… – whispers Vika in surprise.

– No, they also study Elvish and Dwarvish languages, sharpen swords and daggers, study medieval economics, write ballads and legends.

– Oh yeah, tons of useful experience indeed…

– Sure, you wish you could just shut all RP servers… – I suggest spitefully.

– No, this is their right, – Vika doesn't yield to my provocation, – it's just a bit dull. Yet another chewing gum for the brains.

– Well, do you know how many more subcultures of this sort exist? At least these don't do drugs or organize revolutions.

– Lenia, I don't dream of uniformity. Everyone finds fun according to his taste. But all this is escapism, the flight from the real life.

– Or course it is. Stamps collecting and playing poker, big politics and tiny wars with the neighbors – all this is the flight from the real life. There's no common valuables in the world, so one must find some tiny, very tiny goals. And to sacrifice his life to them.

– Ya know, this way one would want to even believe in Communism.

– Well, why not? The beautiful and big goal. And as for sacrificing the life for it – this is a tradition actually…

MacKerel the brave Elf looks at me sadly.

– Lenia… Elenium… What about you, do you have any goal in you life? Any goal? Not to just steal a couple of grands, not to have fun with friends in restaurant, but the Goal?

– Yes, – I say honestly.

– Is it a secret?

I pause for a second.

– You know… I'd like to never need to get the keys from my pocket when I return home.

Vika in her Elvish mask averts her gaze.

– It's very-very small and ridiculous, – I say, – It's not even sharpening of nonexistent swords… or studying psychos in the virtual space. And of course it's not communism or world-wide revolution. But I just want to ring by my door – and it would be opened.

– I want this too sometimes, – answers Vika at last, – But I already had to come back home when the door could be opened. And… it wasn't always fun.

Get it diver, right on the face…

– Lenia, let's go, we must get Unfortunate out. – says MacKerel the brave warrior.

So we walk to the wall that girds Lorien. It's more crowded here: a dozen of recruits earn their strength points under the supervision of Elvish sages, fencing with their swords and shooting at targets. Buyers walk along the row of shops where the merchants earn their skill points. They maybe earn something too. A tattered artist draws portraits of all who wants them, a magician (probably a petty wizard) juggles with fiery balls. The life boils up. A guy with the guitar, a human but dressed in the green Elvish costume sings:

A traveling minstrel knocked into the castle gates And a young maid opened the door for him…

A little group of listeners doesn't look too enthusiastic, so the bard cuts the ballad off, looks around and shifts to some terrible kind of local chastooshkas:

Once an Elf named Legolas Hit nazgul right in the eye!

That's why poor old nazgul Nearly drowned in the river!

The crowd likes this awkward little song much more, they applaud, throw small coins to the minstrel and laugh. We pad off silently.

– Do we need anything? – Vika points at the shops.

– What about money?

– Look in your pockets.

I put my hand into the pocket and really find 5 copper coins there.

– These are automatically given to everyone who enters, – explains Vika, – I heard about that.

In one shop, after an excited bargaining with the merchant, we buy two flasks of local wine and two short daggers. We're not going to fight anyway, so we don't need all those swords, spears and halberds that are being sold in the shops, but attraction to weapons is something genetically etched in the man's organism. Under reproachful Vika's gaze I wander along the displays studying the means of extinguishing of my kind. It's dark in the shop, but burning candles are installed under displays' glass near the weapons. The light reflecting in the blades is bloody red. I remember the flower sellers who put candles in their aquariums with flowers in winter.

Life and death are so close, their dresses look almost similar.

Two people sit by the table in the corner of the shop, not familiar ones, I almost pass them but then stop.

A short robust guy dressed in white is unfamiliar, but…

– … Puke inducing stuff! – says the robust one behind my back, – Cheap and cheesy. Not a dime worthy. Complete degeneration in everything.

I suddenly feel a disgust like I felt once being a kid, long time ago, when swimming in the river I surfaced and saw a huge toad on the bank right before my eyes. The guy behind straightens a cap pulled low over his eyes and goes on:

– Your RP was unusual before, it contained some healthy element. Now it's total bullshit and crap.

– Look, it's too much… – replies the one who sits with Cap, – The youth needs to have some fun…

– I always tell what I think. I tell the truth. – declares Cap flatly and I suddenly understand: this is not a figure of speech, not a mistake. He really thinks so, he doesn't divide himself and the truth.

Ohmygosh…

– That's why nobody loves you, – objects Cap's interlocutor.

– Ha. Love is a lie already. When you record everything in dynamic, this becomes obvious.

The merchant across the display notices that I froze above it and livens up. He pads to me and pushes his finger into the glass under which the sword lies.

– A very, very good weapon! But you can buy it only if you already have 100 skill points!

Cap harps on behind my back:

– The game lowered to the needs of the herd, it had lost its developing role. Strength points, minstrels, magicians… Crap! Think about it.

– Do you want to look at the sword? – asks the merchant politely.

I cast a glance at Cap. His interlocutor, one of the famous role players obviously, asks:

– So what do you suggest?

– The situation is absolutely clear already, – declares Cap, – I'd prefer to look whether you'll be able to find an adequate solution…

– No, thanks, – I say to the merchant, – I'm still way too far from 100 points.

I exit the shop, into the fresh air, to awaiting Vika. Looks like she haven't noticed her former customer.

– What were you looking for there? – asks Vika.

– For a life.

– Found it?

I shrug, – Doesn't seem so.

When we proceed to the city gates, past the minstrel, past the magician and fencing recruits, I suddenly understand a strange thing.

There's a lot of truth in Cap's words, in the ones he tells to the girls in brothel or to the Elves in Lorien. The truth is the disguise of cynicism.

Maybe this is a goal as well – to consider oneself the Truth. To step through the Deep as a proud prophet of it, sweeping a dirt of peoples' vices from white cuffs with disgust, to suffer for the Truth and to accuse the lies.

And all this is because of one single reason – of being unable to love people.

I see this world and it's funny for me to see the kids sharpening drawn swords, studying Dwarvish language and selling the void. But it's not yet IT… One more step is required, a very little one – a bit further. Not to love.

Neither mysterious Unfortunate, nor the silly little hobbit, nor the virtual prostitute Vika, nor the merchant in the shop, nor the minstrel with guitar, nor Romka the werewolf, nor Man Without Face…

Nobody.

It's so simple after all, they all are full of drawbacks. One can be mad at all of them, and to despise all of them… No, not that. Not to be mad but simply not to love.

I feel like opening some kind of heavy and narrow door and looking into another world, the sterile white one, frozen down to absolute zero, dead and clean as the computer CPU.

– Vika, – I whisper, – Vika…

Why do we go to rescue Unfortunate? Why is all this long and cumbersome process?

– Vika…

She looks me in the eyes and I can see her through the Elvish image, under golden curly hair and pale aristocratic face, a usual and real one. My Vika. The one who doesn't need any explanations.

– Say "love", – says she.

I shake my head. I can't, I'm still there, in the cold whiteness of the mocking truth. Truth and love are incompatible.

– Say "love", – repeats Vika, – You can do it.

I make my choice.

– I love, – I whisper weakly.

– Friends and foes…

– Friends and foes… – I repeat.

– And I love you, – says Vika.

A wonderful city Lorien is, nobody laughs at the Human and the Elf that hug each other by the city gates.

110

It's good to walk along the winter road if the whole army marched there before you. The snow is tread down well, it's impossible to get lost. Tokens of noisy, incoherent and fussy life can be seen everywhere.

A pine tree, with arrows poking out of it. Either a spy was suspected by the Elves or they just argued whose eyes are keener and whose hand is stronger. Most likely the latter.

The traces leading a bit to the side, two piles of tobacco ashes. One can just see two leaders stepped away to have a pipe while the army marches by. One of them was a wizard with a staff and the other – a warrior with a sword. Here are the traces: the round one of the staff and the narrow one of the sword sheath.

Here was a short stop, the snow is well tread to the left from the road and just lightly touched to the right. Oh sure, the Elves step so lightly that the snow holds them. So here two parts of the army were instructed by their leaders.

The five mile way would be long in the real world. Fortunately, role-players are not millionaires to spend months reaching their enemies. The road falls under our feet miraculously fast. Maybe role-players agreed to consider it an action of the spell…

We ascend to the cliffs and start circling along the path. Several times it seems to me that I recognize the place where I was scaring the hobbit but it always turns out that I'm wrong. The road was created in a hack-workers' way, assembled from repeating elements.

Finally Vika notices the tracks going into the fir grove from the road. Not well enough did we hide Unfortunate, any fighter lagging after the army would notice him. Without an agreement we walk faster, what if he's not here already?

But Unfortunate is there and even not alone. He sits leaning against the tree trunk and tells something to the hobbit, drinking from the flask. The hobbit, squatted against Unfortunate laughs effusively. Noticing us, he jumps up and grabs his little dagger.

Just look at him… this kid can be brave, at least when a helpless guy is behind his back.

– We're friends! – says Vika raising her hands. – We came with peace!

– I'm Elenium the Healer, – I support her. Will Unfortunate recognize us I wonder?

– Hi Lenia, – he says with a smile.

– I'm Harding! – informs us the hobbit hiding his dagger, – Haven't you seen Conan around? A tall guy with a fiery sword?

– That Conan have robbed the kid, – says Unfortunate very seriously, only his eyes are smiling.

– No, he's not that bad! – the hobbit defends his offender suddenly, – He then left all my supplies to Alien { exactly this word is in the original, but in Russian transcription }, he understood he needs them more!

– To whom? – me and Vika ask together.

– To Alien… – repeats the hobbit not suspecting anything, – To him. He broke his leg.

How interesting.

I approach Unfortunate and undo the cast on his leg, then shake out the contents of my bag to the snow. I don't have a slightest idea about how to heal in this imaginary world.

– So your name is Alien? – I ask. Unfortunate keeps silence.

I open one of the jars, the stinky green ointment is inside. I roll up the trouser-leg and spread it along Unfortunate's leg. After a little thinking I also stick several dry leaves on top of it and declare:

– The fracture will heal in five minutes.

The situation is absolutely simple. I'm able to heal the wounds in this world. Unfortunate appeared here with an injured limb. Now, when I opened my bag and spent some of its contents for Unfortunate, the computer that supports Lorien and its suburbs must restore the functioning of the drawn body.

– What if it doesn't work? – asks Harding curiously.

– Then we'll carry your… hm… friend to the city.

– Thanks, – says the hobbit sincerely, – I have only 3 strength points, I wouldn't be able to lift him.

He hesitates for a moment, then asks:

– Will you manage it alone?

– Sure.

– Then I'll run, okay? Back to the city… I was here for so long, will be punished for that.

Surely a kid.

– Okay… Run, – I say feeling conscience-stricken. Harding trots to the path, then shouts:

– But beware of Conan! Just in case…

Vika whispers in my ear:

– Conan the Victor over Hobbits!

– Cut this out, – I ask, – It's shameful enough already…

We wait for several minutes in silence, postponing the talk with Unfortunate. We need to wait for the healing results first.

– Okay, stand up, – commands Vika.

Unfortunate leans on the leg, unsure, rises a little, makes one step, another…

– Does it hurt? – I ask with curiosity of the real doctor.

He shakes his head.

– Then let's go to the city.

– And what's then? – Unfortunate squints his eyes at Vika, but she is silent, I have to reply:

– Then you'll have to make your choice after all. We don't have any more time for riddles.

One can't call the return to Lorien a triumphant one. The guards by the gates look at us disdainfully – we have left two hours ago and obviously didn't catch up with the army. There's no malicious phrases though, but I decide to explain anyway:

– He convinced us to train more, – I nod at Unfortunate, – Not too much use from us yet.

An explanation not worse than any other. Let them think of us as of newbies, too self assured in the beginning but repented in time.

– Is this Lorien? – asks Unfortunate while we drag ourselves along the snow-white trees tangled by stairs like Christmas trees with garlands.

– Exactly. Now we'll exit to the street and will finally fix our business. – I throw carelessly.

– I can't explain anything anyway, – says Unfortunate.

– Then we'll part. We'll part forever, man. – I don't lie and don't blackmail him. I need to hide, a long and boring task. To hide in small one-horse towns where calculators are called computers, and Vika needs to restore her business.

Vika looks at me askance but stays silent. She understands, she knew that I'll have to leave.

Unfortunate raises his head and looks into the sky pierced by mallorns.

– You can stay here if you want, you don't have to pay phone bills, do you? – I ask.

– No.

– … And neither have you to exit into reality to have a snack.

He remains silent.

– You'll earn a thousand points, will become cool and respected, – I reason aloud, – Some time I'll come here, will knock quietly and ask: "How can I find the wise Alien?". And maybe then you'll take a risk to tell me the truth.

– I don't have too much time either, Leonid.

– Oh come on! What does a couple of years mean to you… after hundreds of years … of silence?

Unfortunate stops, we gaze into each other's eyes.

– Hey guys, it looks like I became the less informed in our company suddenly. – says Vika.

– Everything is simple, Vika. Very simple. When you cast aside the impossible, then unbelievable becomes the truth.

Even Unfortunate is in disarray.

There's still something missing in that long chain of conditions that would allow him to talk.

– Let's go, – I ask, – Let's not confuse poor Elves… we'll never become a part of their tale.

The exit from Lorien is through the same gateway, only this time the gatekeeper doesn't bug us with his questions.

– Make your decision Unfortunate, – I say opening the door, – I'm not joking, I'm really tired of these riddles.

Only exiting into the street I understand that it'll be me to decide anyway.

Man Without Face stands five away meters or so, with hands crossed on his chest, gazing at us with the fog from beneath ash-colored hair, the black cloak spread above the dirty pavement. And he's not alone.

Three bodyguards stand behind his back, two more fly in the air a bit further. Their flight isn't made as ironically as Zuko's winged slippers – droning jet knapsacks are behind their backs. They are not high, just a couple of meters above the ground and the whole scene reminds me of some ancient, pre-virtual era game…

– Bravo, diver, – says Man Without Face.

Vika is the first one to come to herself.

– Were it your assholes who ruined my institution? – she starts aggressively.

The fog above the cloak's collar waves slightly.

– Check your account baby and then decide whether you have any right to feel hurt.

Another move – the nonexistent face turned towards me.

– The warehouse where we had our talk is located at 42 Nukem Street. Go and take what was promised to you.

How dashingly. A whip and a cookie. A very sweet cookie.

Man Without Face steps forward and stretches his hand towards Unfortunate.

– Let's go, we have a lot to discuss. I know who you are.

Unfortunate doesn't move.

– We can make a deal. We must make a deal. I don't know what conditions do you have, but everything can be decided… – whispers Man Without Face ingratiatingly. He doesn't look at us, we're bought and swept from the gameboard.

That's what he thinks of course.

– You haven't been to Russia for too long, Dima, – I say and Man Without Face freezes, – You can hang your medal above the toilet bowl.

– You want to say your not for sale, Leonid?

We're even, he knows my name too, and maybe even my address as well.

– Yes.

– Don't go suicidal. I prefer to pay well for the job well done, and learned that not in Russia by the way.

– I didn't work for you. And you're risking as well.

– How comes, I wonder?

– What if I tell Urman about you? To Friedrich Urman himself? He is very anxious to join the mystery too.

Man Without Face laughs.

– Diver, you're just plain stupid! To Urman himself? None of the guys of his rank ever does business in virtuality personally. The aides exist for that: the secretaries, twins, facsimiles if you want, the very well trained aides… The ones intended for doing business in virtuality.

I hold the blow. The slap is good, I never suspected such subtleties. I thought that the businessmen should aspire into the Deep as passionately as any ordinary man. But I hold the blow, I don't have another choice.

– What's the difference, Dibenko? I can report you to Al-Kabar, but you can't do anything to me, I'm diver.

– Even divers have their weak spots.

He's bluffing, he must be bluffing. I turn to Unfortunate and ask:

– Do you want to go with him?

– It's for you to decide, – says Unfortunate. He's the only one now who doesn't have a single bit of fear. He, and also those Dibenko's gorillas, but in their case the reason for that is different.

– We're leaving, – I say and take Unfortunate's hand. As strange as it might seem, but I'm sure that Dibenko won't stop us. He's not an idiot, after all! If he just understands what's going on…

– Kill those two, – orders Man Without Face.

We're standing too close to each other and the guards don't shoot. Looks like they are ordered to keep Unfortunate safe no matter what. The couple in the air just continues to fly, but those three on the ground storm towards us.

Do unarmed people need much? Just several machine gun butt hits – several viruses thrust into our machines – and we'll disappear from the battlefield. Maybe the brave Elves of Lorien are now watching us through the blind wall, but they won't meddle, they have enough of their own bravery and battles.

But it turns out that not only the Elves are watching us.

I duck the first blow, trip the guard up and he falls. They have to play according to the common rules in Deeptown… I'm trying to snatch out a machine gun from him in a weak hope that this virus set was created as an autonomous file object…

… A long grey shadow jumps down from the roof of the Elvish hut. The wolf knocks down one of the flying bodyguards and drops him on the pavement as easily as a cardboard puppet. One click of his jaws and the man stays motionless. The wolf jumps aside, and right in time: the second flyer starts shooting at him. Bullets pierce the indifferent body that starts to float up: the knapsack is still working. The wolf rushes to us.

Man Without Face steps out from his way in fluid motion but the wolf was not going after him, he bites into the throat of one of our opponents. The time seems to slow down, I see how the third bodyguard fights with Vika, and I throw my opponent on him.

The wolf bites through the bodyguard's neck in an instant and pounces on the remaining pair. The werewolf is too excited to imitate the pure wolf's behavior – he rips his enemies with teeth and batters them with paws in a cat-like manner. The greenish sparkling dust pours from his claws – the virus weapons have entered the battle.

The machine gun lies by my feet, I pick it up but the program has the user detector of course, the trigger is fixed under my finger. I just throw the weapon at the guard who flies towards us, and he starts to shoot reflectively – too fast and incoherent reaction, and also the dangerous one in this case. The volley hits the machine gun that rotates in the air and the battle program's security fails. An explosion – the whole virus package gathered in the machine gun image, works simultaneously. The poor flyer is the closest one to this bloody mess – and he gets it all. He flames up disintegrating into formless pieces right into the air.

– Run! – growls the wolf, jumping up from the motionless bodies, the bloody saliva drips from his fangs, the fur stands on its ends. I step towards Romka, pat him on the back and whisper – "thanks."

Man Without Face is the last one alive, he stands there quietly watching the demise of his guards.

– Run! – the Wolf growls again, not averting his glare from Dibenko.

– The Fellowship of divers? – says Man Without Face mockingly, – I never expected that.

He's too calm. I nod to Vika and Unfortunate and obediently they start retreating. Me and Roman stay – two against one. But this one is too unruffled.

– Again I suggest you to bethink yourself Leonid, – says Dibenko to me.

– Get out of here, will you?! – hisses the wolf glaring at me with greenish human eyes and leaps on Man Without Face.

A nice leap, this time even quicker and more accurate than the previous one from the roof. The jaws click squeezing Dibenko's neck, forepaws scratch his chest. Now, standing on his hindpaws, the wolf is much higher than a human.

– You sucker, – says Man Without Face.

He lifts the wolf by the scruff with one hand and throws him back towards the Elvish hut. The blow is so hard that the wall gives way and the wolf almost flies into the corridor, but jumps back up immediately and leaps on Dibenko again. The blow wasn't just a blow – the wolf's hide flames with a pale glow. The virus was stuck in Romka after all. He must have turned all the security off for the sake of speed and accuracy. But even now, when the virus is mincing his computer, he still fights.

I run. Everything else is not important. Romka was watching me – just how did he manage? He lunged into this fight to give me the chance and it's stupid to lose it.

Vika stops Deep-Transit's cab ten meters further down the street, pushes Unfortunate inside and waves her hand to me. Then her face distorts in terror.

A disappearing howl of pain scratches my ears from behind and in the next moment Man Without Face grabs me by the shoulder. It's too hard to compete in speed with somebody who has 'octium''s prototype as a home computer. One blow – and I fall on the pavement. Man Without Face who invented the Deep, leans over me.

– I was patient, – he says.

I spit into the grey foggy mask, just a symbolic gesture – the ability to spit is not implemented into the virtual body. I'll have to make a hint for Computer Wiz…

Dibenko moves his hand along the face as if wiping the spit off, but in fact he's not that squeamish: his fingers scoop a handful of fog and form a sort of a snowball, looking as if made of a dirty city snow.

– Get it diver. Happy dreams to you.

Then the snowball flies towards my face, unwrapping into an endless cloth. It's not gray anymore – it's colorful, sparkling, reflecting, cheerful and pattern-covered. Too late I understand what does this colorfulness remind me.

Abyss-abyss…

Too late.

Deep-program covers me and there's no strength to duck it.

Abyss-abyss…

The cloth still burns and doesn't seem to fade as the honest lawful deep-program should…

Abyss-abyss…

I dive deeper and deeper, I fall into this colorful chasm, into the endless chain of false reflections, into the colorful labyrinth, into the madness and unconsciousness.

There's no timer on my machine and nobody will come to my door with the key.

Abyss-abyss…

I can't surface as fast as the colorful whirl pulls me down!

Abyss-abyss…

111

Composure first of all.

As I heard, it's a favorite saying of some of our cosmonauts, but just who remembers the heroes of the past days now?

Composure.

The panic kills faster than the bullet.

The endless kaleidoscope surrounds me: the rainbow, the fireworks, the working deep-program. How simple – and unexpected. The diver can surface but what would he do if the water comes in faster than he swims up?

I don't know yet.

I make a step and succeed as strange as it might seem. The world have lost its reality, turned into the mad abstract artist's painting. The swirling orange band flies by, curls into the ring, tries to tie around my head. I tear it off: I can't see my hands, but the band flies aside as if in hurt feelings. The small fountains of white dust rise from under my invisible feet, an emerald rain starts falling, each drop is a tiny crystal, painfully stinging the body.

And the silence, a dead silence, almost the one Unfortunate was talking about…

Be calm.

Where am I now? Walk along Deeptown's streets with outstretched hands and looking forward blindly? Or fell down somewhere into the depth of Dibenko's computer? Or maybe I'm spread throughout the whole Net like some mythical character?

Be calm.

First of all, I'm at home. I'm at home, before my old computer, in the helmet and the suit. The keyboard is somewhere before me, the mouse to the right. If to grope the keys and to enter the exit command manually…

No, it's impossible, and not just because I won't feel the keys beneath my fingers. My consciousness got used to just imitate the movements long time ago: I don't stretch my hand, but just jerk it weakly, I don't jump but just raise from the chair a little, not walk but move my feet under the table. Illusions. The Deep.

– Vika! – I say, – Vika! Exit from virtuality! Vika, I cancel immersion! Exit!

No effect.

I took the possibility to communicate with Windows-Home from the Deep for granted, to download and to transfer files, to exit the Deep, to inquire about the machine resources. If it were so simple… there wouldn't be any need for divers. Now, in the common virtual dweller's hide I'm in the common rights.

I can't feel the real world.

I can't cry for help.

I'm drowning.

Be calm!

I try to take off the helmet that I can't feel. Useless. I run, pull away hoping to tear the wires. Hardly have I moved even a bit.

I close my eyes. I need to switch off from the deep-program, not to see it, not to dive deeper.

Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours, let me go…

I repeat this hundreds of times – the poor pupil in the diver's school, dolefully writing the same sentence in the notebook over and over again.

Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours, let me go…

Nothing changes.

There, in the infinitely far real world, my motionless body sits by the computer and the deadly rainbows reflect in my opened eyes.

Dibenko have got me.

Did he invent this trap accidentally, trying to learn how to surface, to invent the life-buoy but actually invented the cement bowl attached to the feet instead? Or was it exactly what he wanted to do: not to pull all virtuality dwellers to the divers' level but to descend us to the common one?

Maybe I'll never know that.

What happened to Romka? Did Vika have time to jump into the car or is she wandering in the colorful snowstorm too while Unfortunate walks away with Dibenko, silent and submissive?

I need to return to find out.

The world around calms down a bit. Either the color storm gained some system or I got accustomed to my surroundings. Let's assume that the emerald rain falls from above, so I now have one reference point. Let's try to walk… slowly, easily… to that stubborn orange band for instance that is still fidgeting there before me.

The band lets me to come close, then flies away. I have time to notice that the emerald rain tattered its edges. The orange band is curled into the Moebius ring, as if it's… it's independent from the space that surrounds it!

Looks a bit too intricate for the deep-program…

I move towards the band again – and again it doesn't let me touch it and flies away.

What's going on anyway? Have this mad world formed around me or is it just a trick of my own subconsciousness?

I follow the band, any direction can be correct – if directions exist here at all. The rain thickens, the crystals become thinner turning into needles. I lower my head to protect the eyes and keep walking. I like what's going on for some reason: somebody fights with somebody.

It means I have a chance.

Neither distance nor time here, all measures are merged. Maybe one hour have passed, maybe three kilometers.

Maybe the madness have come.

The band soars ahead but its movements are slower and less sure. It's just an orange rag now, tattered by the rain. The last leap – and it falls down raising the geyser of white dust.

Is it over?

I stand over remains of my strange guide. What now? No more guiding line. I close my eyes – and hear a weak distant sound. Deep program doesn't work with sounds! They say, or maybe these are just rumors, that Dima Dibenko's computer didn't have a sound card.

I keep walking.

The sound becomes louder but not clearer. The forest stream can babble like this, or the distant surf, or the candle flame. Whatever, even if it's an echo of the Big Bang! I need this sound, this lack of silence!

One step, another.

Even through the closed eyelids I can feel that something have changed.

I open my eyes. The world's colors seem to be faded. The emerald rain have lost its brightness, became pale: not gems but dirty bottle glass is pouring down from the sky. The white dust under my feet is barely seen.

And the blue star is shining ahead. A splinter of the blue sky.

Either it became bigger or I grew smaller, but the sparkling blue sphere is right above me now. I stretch my hands touching warm rays, and fall into the star.

The wind.

The cold wind blows into my face.

I rose from the snow-covered ground. Wherever I look – the plain, flat as a table, no horizon can be seen. The sky is covered with orange tangling threads, a blue light streams through them. And also – foggy jets flowing above the ground, changing brightness and density, flying against the wind and soaring up to the orange mesh of the sky.

I shook the snow from my knees and looked at my hand. A strange snow – crystals are too big, friable and not sticking together. They hiss on my hand and fly away in a light smoke.

– I'm glad you came Lenia, – says Unfortunate from behind.

I didn't have time to turn around, he almost shouted:

– No… don't!

The plain enveloped in fog, the cold wind, the crumbly snow… I swallowed the lump that stuck in my throat:

– Unfortunate… thank you.

– I had to help, – he replied very seriously, – At least to try. You rescued me after all.

– Not very successfully…

– But you've led me out. I felt bad there…

– I can guess that. But you could pass "Labyrinth" in an hour… in 10 minutes.

– Lenia…

– You could just exit, or could beat all the records.

– No, I couldn't.

– But why?

– Haven't you understood yet? – surprise showed in his voice.

– You didn't want to kill?

– Yes.

– But all that wasn't for real!

– For you.

– I won't ever be able to be like you.

– But this isn't necessary at all, Gunslinger.

– You know, – I said fighting the temptation to turn around, – Once, for just a second it seemed to me… only for a second… that you're Messiah. Do you understand?

Unfortunate is very serious.

– No Leonid. I wouldn't like to be your God. Neither of those that you created. They are too cruel.

– Just as we are.

– Just as you are, – echoed Unfortunate with sadness in his voice.

– Is it a dream? – I asked after a while, – Everything I see around?

He was silent for very long, the one behind my back who asked me not to turn around.

– No Lenia. Even if it is, it's not yours.

I understood.

– Thank you.

I wasn't cold, maybe because he wanted so. The gray grained snow didn't burn me, and neither did foggy jets. Maybe it was easy for him, maybe required an enormous effort? I don't know.

– Did you have time to escape? – I asked.

– Yes. We're driving through the city now. Vika gives one address after another to the driver… Looks like she doesn't know what to do.

Unfortunate paused for a moment, then added:

– And she's crying also.

Orange bands whirl in the sky, an eternal dance below the hot blue sun. Maybe it's beautiful after all…

– Tell her I'm alright.

– Is it true?

– I don't know. Will you help me to get out of here?

Unfortunate didn't answer.

– Will I be able to get out?

– Yes. Probably.

– Tell Vika that everything is alright.

– She won't believe me.

– She will. She have almost understood too. Tell her that there's a "Polyana" company in the Russian district of Deeptown. It owns just a single house, a kind of dull concrete 12– story building. Wait for me there, by the second doorway, in exactly one hour.

– Anything else, Leonid?

– No. That's all.

– It'll be very hard, Gunslinger. – Unfortunate stammers, – You're accustomed to fight the Deep. The force and the push. You're a good swimmer, you always managed to surface from the whirlpool. But now it won't work.

– Aren't you accustomed to rely on the force?

– Depending on what force, Gunslinger…

Something touched my shoulder lightly, either in parting or to reassure.

And then the orange threaded sky fell on the snow covered ground…

I rise – in droplets of colors, in kaleidoscope of sparks. The deep program works. I still can't see my body.

Only a faint memory of the touch lives in me.

I still remember that world, I'm still living there, in an alien distant dream…

– What the hell are you doing, Dibenko? – I whisper into the crazy silence. – We can't… we can't treat him our way.

He can't hear me, the accidental creator of the virtual world, he continues his pursuit after Unfortunate, a hunt for the miracle but I must find him to explain how wrong he is…

I close my eyes and stretch my hands to the sides. Colorful flashes behind closed eyelids – the deep program continues to envelope my brains.

First of all – be calm. There's nothing demonic in it, it's a sparkling trinket, the one that hypnotizers rotated before their patients' eyes – that's what the deep program is. A trinket of the electronic age. There's no border between the dream and the dream within the dream. It's me who builds these barriers, who convinces himself that he's drowning.

But now – it's time to surface.

– Abyss… – I whisper almost tenderly, – Abyss-abyss…

We were building it, placing bricks of computers on the cement of phone lines. We raised a huge city. The city that has neither good nor bad in it – not until we come.

It was hard for us in the present. There, where the passion of many days of somebody's program cracking and of many months of writing our own is not understood. There, where they talk not about falling prices for a Meg of RAM, but about rising prices for bread. In the world where the killings are real. In the world where it's so hard for the sinners and the saints and the common people alike.

We built our own city that doesn't know borders, we believed in it's being real.

Time to surface.

We wanted miracles and we inhabited Deeptown with them. The Elvish glades and Martian deserts, labyrinths and cathedrals, far-away stars and sea depths, a place was found for everything.

But now – it's time to surface.

We got tired to believe in kindness and love, we wrote the word 'freedom' on our banner believing in our naivety that the freedom is superior to love.

Time to grow up.

– Let me go, abyss, – I ask, – Abyss-abyss… I'm yours.