Hero

by Dan Sugralinov

  He had a good head for names, didn’t he?

  His office was so crammed you couldn’t swing a cat in it. Stacks of files were heaped up on the floor. His small desk was littered with paperwork and all sorts of office paraphernalia, including an old computer with an ancient 14” screen, a massive fake-bronze clock, an overflowing ashtray and a humorous coffee mug, dirty and streaked, printed with the word Boss.

  Boss, yeah right.

  Gorelik shook my hand, removed his suit jacket, hung it over the back of a chair, loosened the knot of his wide red tie and sat down. His eyeglasses glistened as he ran his hand over his balding temples, smoothing his hair, then reached for his mug and realized it was empty.

  “Excuse the mess in here,” he said. “I’ve got too much work on and there’s only me and Mrs. Frolova to do the administration here,” he turned his back to me and shouted at the wall, “Olga! Mrs Korsakova!”

  “Coming!” a voice replied from down the corridor.

  A few seconds later, a woman in a cleaning lady’s garb appeared in the doorway. “Did you call me?” she asked, panting.

  “How many times do I need to ask you to wash my mug and clean the ashtray? How hard can it be?”

  “But...” she said in confusion, trying not to look at me (Name: Olga Korsakova; Age: 34, Social status level: 4). “I thought you told me not to touch your desk?”

  Gorelik eyed his employee with suspicion. “When did I say that? Why would I?”

  Completely ignoring my presence, he gave her a major dressing-down for everything at once: the mug, the ashtray and the dust he’d found God knows where...

  Was he trying to show me who was the alpha dog here? I’d always felt embarrassed when someone got a ticking-off in front of me. Not to even mention the times when I was the victim.

  When Kira and I had gone to see our parents the day before yesterday, she’d also given me a dressing down, taking me to task for being so naïve and thick-skinned and calling me a “fully grown idiot”. All because of Vicky. I’d told my family everything that had happened that day at her parents’ place without holding anything back.

  Later, under pressure from my sister and parents who’d unexpectedly taken her side, I’d been obliged to call Vicky and speak to her as if nothing had happened. We had a rather messy and illogical conversation:

  “Hi, how are you?”

  “I’m fine, and you?”

  “I’m fine too. Kira says hello.”

  “Thanks, same to her.”

  “Okay. Just wanted to find out how things were going with you.”

  “Okay, bye.”

  Still, Kira had seemed to be pleased. “The most important thing is, you reminded her of yourself and made it clear that you cared about her.”

  Actually, I’d been happy to have spoken to her. Whatever I tried to tell myself, the feelings I felt for her wouldn’t disappear in one day.

  Having returned from my parents’ summer cottage on Sunday night, I’d sat down to write the first chapter of Koutzel’s biography. It hadn’t taken me long — four hours at the most — and the majority of that time had gone on studying the material. Having finished, I sent it off to the competition which had earned me another 100 XP points. Before I fell asleep, I invested one system characteristic point into Agility, bringing it up to 8.

  ‘Who was it?” Gorelik demanded, pounding the table with his fist. “Was it Ivanova? Bring her here now!”

  The cleaning lady disappeared to fetch her colleague.

  I had little desire to watch this circus show prompted by the boss’ unwashed coffee mug. Why was he doing it? Just to show me how he could order his staff around? Or had my timing been wrong?

  Having said that... maybe my timing was right, after all. I nudged my chair back, about to get up. He must have realized he’d overdone it trying to instill good working practice in his particular segment of society.

  “Phil, please forgive me!” he said. “I’ve told them a million times but-” he waved a forlorn hand.

  That was it, the moment which any good sales rep can pick up on and use.

  I stood up to my full height. “Stephen,” I said without standing on ceremony, “your workers don’t seem to know their asses from their elbows. What kind of services can you offer if even your own office is a shambles? Didn’t you say something about cleaning services and security included in the rent? But if all of your security are like that old lady by the front door and if all your cleaning staff is like that Mrs. Korsakova, we’ll be obliged to hire our own staff, change the locks and install our own strongbox and alarm system. And that all costs money, Stephen. In this scenario, the rent money starts to be unreasonable. And who knows what other kinds of hidden or camouflaged costs we might be forced to cough up? At this rate, you might start charging us for the electricity, the water or even the heating!” I scrambled out from behind the desk and pretended to leave.

  “Phil, wait!” the manager reached out a beckoning hand. “Maybe we could sit and talk about it?”

  “Go on,” I pulled an unhappy face which wasn’t that easy at all, considering that Deception wasn’t the most advanced of my skills.

  The disconsolate manager who’d just minutes ago been telling off his poor cleaning woman must have realized he’d made a big mistake.

  “Please take a seat, I beg you,” he said softly, then added in a conspiratorial whisper, “How about I make the first month free? It’s not as if it’s being used at the moment.”

  “The first month free,” I began recounting my own terms.

  “Agreed.”

  “No hidden or additional charges.”

  “Agreed.”

  “Fifteen grand a month.”

  “Hmm,” he grew pensive, then began working it out on a calculator. Finally, he nodded. “Very well. But the deposit has to be paid straight away. Now.”

  “Wait a sec. I thought you said the first month free? We haven’t even signed an agreement yet and you’re already demanding payment!”

  “That’s how it works!” he interrupted me, indignant. “Everybody pays a deposit!”

  “Without a contract, without a check? I’ll only leave a deposit for one month. I haven’t even seen any documentation for the money I’ve already given you.”

  “You never asked for any, did you?” he retorted, then hurried to change the subject, apparently embarrassed. “Is your company already registered?”

  “It’s in the process of being done,” I answered without delving into any details. “I need your letter of guarantee to complete the registration.”

  “That’s not a problem. Go and see Mrs. Frolova, you saw her the last time you were here. She’ll write you the letter.”

  “Where do I pay the deposit? For a month,” I stressed the last word.

  “Like that you’re forcing me to accept a month’s deposit instead of for a quarter. But I give you fair warning: I won’t tolerate any late payments! For every day of delay, you’ll end up paying a fine. That’s also in the agreement. You can pay the deposit to me now.”

  Now it was my turn to comply. “Agreed.”

  I reached into my backpack where I kept my laptop and produced all my cash except for the two grand I’d already paid him. I thumbed off thirteen thousand and handed it to him.

  Congratulations! You’ve received a new skill level!

  Skill name: Vending

  Current level: 7

  XP received: 500

  “The money’s good,” the manager said when he’d finished counting. “When are you planning on moving in? On the first?”

  “Next Monday.”

  “Yes, of course. The first is Sunday, isn’t it? In that case, we’ll mark it down for the first of July. When should we sign it?”

  “As soon as I’ve registered.”

  “Good,” Gorelik said, slamming his diary closed, then handed me the receipt. “I’ve made it out in your own name.”

  Task status: Find the rent money, sign the rental agreemen
t and pay the Chekhov Business Center for the first three month.

  Task completed!

  XP received: 200 pt.

  +10% to Satisfaction

  Current level: 14. XP points gained: 2740/15000

  The manager locked the money in the safe, then rummaged through a desk drawer and produced a bunch of keys. “Here, they’re yours. Don’t lose them!”

  I took the bunch which consisted of two pairs of keys.

  While the manager explained to me which key fit which lock, I heard a knock on the office door. Gorelik raised his head, listening, then bellowed,

  “Yes, come in!”

  The door opened a crack, revealing a reluctant head of curly gray hair. “May I?”

  “Ah yes, Mr. Katz, come on in,” Gorelik smiled with all the allure of a shark. “You must be bringing me the rent?”

  A short plump old man entered the office, shrugging guiltily. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Gorelik, but I haven’t got good news for you.”

  I bade a silent farewell to the manager. He nodded back. I’d done all my business with him and I had no intention of witnessing another shouting match.

  I found the bookkeeper’s office further up the corridor (why would Gorelik even need a bookkeeper if he collected all the money himself?). I knocked and entered, recognizing the ample peroxide blonde I’d seen with Gorelik on the night of my first visit here. This must have been Mrs. Frolova.

  ‘Yes, Phil, do come in,” she said in a sultry wheezy voice. “Mr. Gorelik has already called me and told me to make out a letter of guarantee for you. Can you wait while I’m doing it? I might need the following from you...”

  * * *

  ABOUT AN HOUR later, I left the business center with the feeling of satisfaction at a job well done. Now I had all the paperwork needed to register my company. The rent had been paid, rewarding me with 200 XP. I’d studied and measured the premises, marking down its surface area and details of any redecoration.

  I’d been really lucky I’d managed to talk him into monthly payments without losing my discount and even augmenting it.

  I’d also been lucky that I’d won the freelance copywriting competition! The surviving family of Mr. Koutzel had chosen me to write his biography. In writing it, I’d really put myself out to make sure I could be proud of putting my name to it, provided they allowed me to. I’d tried to shed my inner cynicism as well as my contempt for their vanity and my initial attitude to the project as a moneymaking venture. I’d attempted to put myself in both his children’s and grandchildren’s shoes, trying to soak up and experience for myself their love for their grandfather and his life which had admittedly been quite hard. His postwar childhood, his work that had brought him to the farthest ends of our vast country, his faith in the importance of what he’d been doing...

  Yesterday at six in the morning I’d received a phone call from Dina, Mr. Koutzel’s granddaughter (who incidentally was the same age as I was). She’d called the number I’d left on my competition application.

  “Sorry to bother you, Phil,” she said when she realized she'd woken me up. “I didn’t know which time zone you were in. Here in Siberia, it’s almost midday. I’m very sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” I said. “Did you read my work?”

  “Yes! We all read it. You brought me to tears, you know that? One needs a lot of talent to write so soulfully, and you definitely have that.”

  Having thus spoken her mind in a womanly emotional way, she brought herself back into check and announced solemnly that she was prepared to sign a contract with me. I’d sent her a scan of the contract already before midday. In it, I undertook to write the biography of Mr. Koutzel in accordance with the specification sheet provided by the сontractor.

  Soon after lunch, the 50% advance had been sitting nicely in my account, allowing me to pay Mr. Gorelik off for the office.

  As I exited the business center, I heard an old voice,

  “Young man, permit me to ask you...”

  I turned round and saw the same curly-haired old man — Mr. Katz, wasn’t it? — with a cigarette in his hand.

  “Mr. Katz, if I’m not mistaken?”

  “No, you’re not mistaken, young man,” the old boy said as he stubbed out his cigarette. “I won’t take up much of your time.”

  He momentarily fell silent, then cleared his throat and patted his pockets, trying to remember where he’d put his cigarettes. In the meantime, I studied his profile.

  Mark Katz

  Age: 64

  Current status: Lawyer

  Social status level: 12

  Class: Legislator. Level: 8

  Married.

  Wife: Mrs. Rose Reznikova

  Children: Alexander, son

  Age: 40

  Maria, daughter

  Age: 34

  Reputation: Indifference 0/30

  Interest: 73%

  Fear: 4%

  Mood: 19%

  Criminal record: yes

  He definitely needed something from me, but what? His bad Mood was pretty understandable after the conversation he’d had with Gorelik. And his Fear... could he be afraid that I would say no to whatever he was about to propose to me?

  Never mind. I’d hear him out.

  Finally he’d located his packet of cheap smokes, squeezed one out directly into his mouth and lit it with a match. He took a deep tug and then exhaled, trying to speak at the same time which stifled his voice.

  “I’m very sorry, young man. You might find it strange but we definitely do have something to talk about.”

  “I’m Phil,” I proffered him my hand.

  The man squeezed it, shaking it long and hard. “Yes, yes, Phil, I know,” he replied cheerfully. “Mr. Gorelik told me your name. It was him who suggested I speak to you.”

  “Speak to me about what?”

  “Let me be perfectly open with you,” Mr. Katz said, ignoring my question. “You see, our business... I mean mine and my wife’s... Her name is Rose and she makes the best forshmak[12] in town. You absolutely have to try it! So, our business. If you’ll excuse my French, it’s about to go tits up. You see, I’m a very good lawyer and Rose is a brilliant bookkeeper. But our age! At our age, no one agrees to hire us! Especially after that affair with-” his face darkened. “Sorry, it’s not really important. The important thing is, we have virtually no clients. We can’t even pay the rent.”

  “So in what way can I help you?” I asked, feeling pretty lost.

  “I heard that you were planning on opening a recruitment agency.”

  Did he want me to find him and his wife employment or something? Easy. Piece of cake.

  But the moment I’d thought about it, he'd dashed my hopes,

  “I could take your company’s legal issues in my hands.”

  “The company doesn’t exist yet,” I interrupted him disappointedly, wondering how I could fob him off in the nicest possible way.

  “That’s even better, young man! I could get the registration done for you. Are you planning to open a limited company? Or are you a small business? We could discuss all of this and I could suggest what’s best for you, then I’ll make everything shipshape for the authorities. In the meantime, my wife could get your bookkeeping in her capable hands. That might save you some hassle with the tax returns for next year.”

  That got me thinking. I paused, weighing up all the pros and cons of his offer. My intuition seemed to tell me to go for it.

  Still, I wasn’t in a hurry to tell him that.

  “You have a point,” I said. “I don’t intend to have any hassle with the tax returns nor with their inspectors. Would you like us to discuss it here or walk back upstairs to your office?”

  Looking utterly pleased, he took another drag on his cigarette, finishing it down to the filter, then meticulously stubbed it out on the edge of a trash can and swung the business center’s doors open before me. “Go on in!”

  * * *

  AS SOON AS we’d finished talking, I had to ru
sh off home because, while we were discussing all the finer details, my skill Optimization period had finally expired. The dialogue window demanded my response. Still, I decided not to rush it and take my time studying all the information in the comfort of my home.

  You can’t imagine how I’d been waiting for this moment. I’d been putting off the opening of my agency until Optimization was complete.

  The night before, I’d been dreaming about the Game, basking in its bright colorful settings even though the only thing I could tell for sure was that it was indeed WoW, judging by the name. But what I’d been doing in my dream, how I went about it or with whom I’d been there exactly — to these questions I had no answer.

  Not only had I lost the skill but I’d forgotten the very essence of the Game.

  The memories of the thousands of hours spent there had already faded, leaving behind only the emotional aftertaste of joy, interest, passion and disappointment with just a hint of nostalgia for something that hadn’t meant to happen. But even that wasn’t bitter anymore but rather bland, as if decades had already elapsed, leaving the same sort of memories as those I’d preserved from my kindergarten times: devoid of faces, voices, names and details.

  Skill optimization complete!

  The 8 pt. of your secondary skill (Playing World of Warcraft) have been converted into 4 pt. of the primary skill associated with it (Learning Skills).

  Your secondary skill (Playing World of Warcraft) has been deleted without recovery option.

  Current level of your primary skill (Learning Skills): 7

  Would you like Learning Skills to be your primary skill by default?

  Accept / Decline

  Oh wow. Did that mean that I could carry on with optimization?

  Having given it some thought, I decided to leave Learning Skills as my primary skill. Strategically it might have a considerably bigger effect because that would allow me to level up much faster in other areas.

  The program accepted my choice and offered me yet another notification:

  Thank you! Learning Skills is now your default primary skill.