Urman nods. It looks like they have managed to plug to “Labyrinth“‘s computers seriously and to control the events. This makes me to ask:
– Have you tried to trace Un… Swimmer’s signal anyway?
– There’s no signal at all.
Either Urman suffers the sincerity attack or is really interested to persuade me completely…
– “Labyrinth“‘s servers do not broadcast Swimmer’s data, to neither direction. He… hangs on the level by itself.
So it’s true… the human who entered the virtuality directly?
– “Labyrinth“‘s administration still tries to trace his comm channel, – throws Urman in, – but according to our experts they’ll make the same conclusions in five, or at most eight hours. Then the real panic will start.
I can imagine. The level will be isolated or maybe even the whole “Labyrinth of Death” will be freed of players. The direct tunnels to the 33rd level will be hacked hastily, if they don’t exist yet doesn’t mean that it’s impossible to create them. All monsters will be turned off, all buildings will be frozen so that Unfortunate wouldn’t be accidentally hit by the fallen brick. Then the crowd of psychologists, hackers, officials, Anatol and Dick – all they will flow into the empty level, will surround Unfortunate with care and endearment, will bring him to the exit on their hands…
I can assume for sure that they won’t need my help then.
– Do you agree to collaborate with us?
I look at Urman, he doesn’t seem to joke.
– I’m already working for somebody whose name I don’t know.
– He might promise you very much, that mysterious Mr X, but have he rendered you any assistance?
I shake my head.
– If you are really Gunslinger, you could realize that the ordinary methods are not applicable to Swimmer. A couple more attempts won’t change anything. And then “Labyrinth” will be isolated and the… ride’s… owners will start solving the problem.
He pronounces the word ‘ride’ with some obvious defiance.
– Whoever hired you, he did it not because of your diver’s talents.
– Then why?
Now he have confused me.
– It would be much easier to buy “Labyrinth“‘s divers or to hire a group. Yes, it’s hard to figure your real names but it’s quite possible to meet you and offer you a job. This is how you earn your living after all. Your mysterious employer was attracted by something more serious than just an ability to exit virtuality.
It seems I have all reasons to bloat in pride but I start feeling even more worried instead.
– And I think, – says Urman thoughtfully, – that he was right. Swimmer is the job for you. The main one in your life and I can help you to achieve a success.
Hardly can he offer me the Medal of Complete License. Whatever else, but such things can’t be bought, but the bid is big and the reward might be very-very huge.
Why would I need the Medal if I can stop my unlawful activities in virtuality for the rest of my life?
– Have you signed the contract? – asks Urman.
– No.
– Just a verbal agreement?
– No.
– What worries you then?
I stay silent. I have no idea why do I cling to Man Without Face’s offer. He forced me to meet him, he had sent me to “Labyrinth” without explaining anything. And his promise might be just a bluff too.
– I need to think.
– All right, – agrees Urman. – It’s almost guaranteed that you have five more hours… obviously you’ll visit “Labyrinth” once more?
I nod indefinitely.
– I’ll undertake my own measures, – says Urman, – You will definitely notice them diver and will be able to make your choice.
– Vague, Friedrich. { In Russian ‘vague’ and ‘foggy’ is the same word } Urman frowns in confusion while the interpreter program figures out that I’m not talking about the weather.
– Why on the Earth I’m so valuable to you?
– You’ll find that out dear Ivan the Prince. Oh by the way, what is Swimmer’s nationality, what do you think?
– Russian, – I reply mechanically.
Urman nods mockingly
– Maybe-maybe… See you later, diver. Think and make your decision.
As these words are spoken, the doors open and the guards enter but this time their swords are sheathed.
– You’ll be escorted to the bridge, – informs Urman.
10
Either I’m not watched or this is being done skillfully enough for Vika to raise the alarm. I ascend the wall under the guards’ looks and step onto the horsehair bridge.
How many meters will I be able to walk without exiting virtuality I wonder?
One step, another – the thread shakes under my feet, I feel dizzy. The blue bands of rivers and hot orange glow of lava lakes are hundreds of meters below, between conglomeration of cliffs.
– Hey diver, you’re staggering! – the mocking call from behind.
I’m not just staggering, I’m falling down already.
Maybe this is how Moslem sinners fall down trying to pass into their Heaven, to tender houries and the mountains of rahat lakoum…
My feet slip, I fly, grab the thread and it indifferently cuts my fingers off. The air blows into my face coldly and strongly, inviting to my short journey, the cliffs rotate below, growing and showing needle sharp crests. When I touch the rocks, Al-Kabar’s server will report that I’m under terminal accelerating forces and the exit deep-program will be launched.
But I’m not interested at all in what colors will be my death painted by my imagination.
Abyss-abyss, I’m not yours…
Blood on the screens, a familiar image.
I took off the helmet, leaned onto the table and pulled the phone cable from the socket.
– Communication breakdown! – said Vika, – No dialtone! Check the plug!
– It’s alright, – I mumbled plugging the cable into place, – Restart.
– Seriously?
– Yes.
Blueish color and the falling human figure on the screen. And nasty feeling in my soul.
I’m stuck in the very serious matter. If Al-Kabar, “Labyrinth” and those who stand behind Man Without Face start fighting… Oy!.. It’s better not to fall between such millstones. The best thing now would be to forget about virtuality for a couple of weeks, to play ordinary games, to drink beer with Maniac, to upgrade the computer, to travel somewhere to Antalia { the Turkish resort, very popular in Russia } where it’s still warm, to swim in the sea.
Of course, I’ll have to forget about Vika, the real one, and for a long time.
To bid a farewell to the dream about the Medal of Complete License.
And certainly, to cross Unfortunate out of my memory.
Who is he anyway to worry about him so much? Homo Computeris? Computer human, able to enter virtuality without any phones-modems? So what? It’s not worthy to hope that his ability – if it really exists – is so easy to acquire.
All kinds of specialists will study him, make encephalograms and measure all possible and impossible parameters. Unfortunate will be placed before various types of computers, they will turn modems on and off, bring him to the phone lines and hide him in underground bunkers. And they will demand – enter the Deep! Tell us what you feel! What feeling do you have in the thumb of your left foot when you enter virtuality and how does your stool change after three days in the virtual world… Thus will he spend the rest of his life somewhere in the heavily guarded estate in Switzerland or in the Texas desert, in some CIA research center. One very valuable and respected guinea-pig.
Maybe he’s Russian though, a Russian citizen. If I throw the info about him in the open Net or to the proper authorities…
I even laughed of my own naivety. So what? Will the ole’ good Russia really send its carriers and tank squads to guard Unfortunate? Wasn’t it eno
ugh talented programmers taken out of the country – say, 14-year old Sasha Morozov, a guy from Voronezh was flown out by the charter flight. Just maybe our intelligence service would gather the remains of its past bravery and would intercept Unfortunate just in order to lock him forever in its own research center somewhere in Siberia or the Ural Mountains.
When the Deep was created, the Freedom was its banner.
We are independent of all corrupt governments, shabby religions and Puritan moral. We are free in everything – and forever. No information can be secret – and we have a right to discuss whatever we want. Freedom of travel can’t be limited – and Deeptown will never know any borders. We’ll fight for our right to have all rights. We’ll purge only those from our ranks who will rise against the freedom.
Lord, how naive and enthusiastic were we!
The people of the new cybernetic world, of the free and unlimited space!
The people reveled in the freedom, playing with it as a kid risen from the bed after the long illness, cheerful and proud by ourselves. The Deep’s interests – everything for it, for the name of it, forever… amen.
But why do I still believe in all these funny slogans with the same enthusiasm as I had being a kid, believing in communism?
Why do I want to believe so much, despite everything?
Breaking the laws, trashing someone else’s computers, stealing someone else’s ‘intellectual property’, not paying taxes to my poverty-stricken country, not trusting anybody except a handful of friends – and still to believe in something warm and fuzzy, clean and eternal? In freedom, kindness and love?
Maybe I’m just from the breed that can’t live otherwise.
And well, nobody really prevents me from believing in freedom further, after I change my entrance channels and the Net address.
It’s so simple – to believe.
I was looking at the 3D mesh of Norton’s table, at the neat lines of directories and subdirectories. Three gigabytes, all completely full. Service programs, viruses-antiviruses, pieces of Vika’s “consciousness”, audio files and games, stolen data and new books, unpublished yet. Here is “Hearts and motors – in the travels again” by Vasiliev, here is a fresh mystery by Lev Kursky, prolific like piranha (?), here is Oldi’s novel that have made so much noise. I can go out now, buy lots of beer, print a couple of books on my old LaserJet and land on the sofa. To sleep – as much as I can! And those Mr Urman whose real face I’ll never see, and Mr Without Face whom I’ll never see all the more can feel free to fight over Unfortunate with Willy-Guillermo…
I never liked stupid people and kamikaze.
I picked the phone from the case of my ‘five’ and dialed Maniac’s number. I was lucky again, he was neither hanging in virtuality nor sleeping.
– Allo!
– Shura, it’s me.
– Ah… – Maniac lowered his tone a bit.
– Are you busy?
– Well… a little.
– Writing a program?
– No, peeling potatoes… Galya is cooking.
– Congratulations.
– With what? – Maniac pricked up his ears.
– With your reconciliation!
– Ah… yeah… okay.
I’d better not abuse his time, especially after the recent rejoining with his spouse.
– Shura, tell me please, is it possible to enter “Labyrinth” with weapons?
– You mean the virus? Isn’t BFG enough for you? – Maniac is obviously amused, – Your kidding. This is a space within a space, created with exactly defined purpose. It’s easier to smuggle the virus into the Pentagon, then to pass through “Labyrinth“‘s filter with it.
– Wasn’t it you who made the filter for them?
– No, – confessed Maniac with regret, – Not me. But I know who and how had made it.
– So how?
– Your image is copied when you pass the portal. If you have any programs with you, any programs, those are cut off. Just your exact copy passes into the “Labyrinth“‘s server.
– And there’s no way to bypass? – I inquired helplessly.
– Think.
– Don’t I have to think too much lately? – I growl, – Shura! Just tell me, can I break through the filter?
– Only walls can be broken… by foreheads, – said Maniac instructively, – What happened?
– Very lousy situation. Extremely lousy.
– Lousy for whom?
– For all the Deep. And for one good guy.
– And what about you? – asked Maniac directly and I remembered “Three Musketeers” involuntarily.
– Complete shit, believe me.
Maniac didn’t reply at once, he even began to whistle something.
– Shurka!
– Will “Warlock-9000” be okay for you?
– What is that?
– A local virus. As usual.
– Will it pass the filter?
– Maybe.
– Shura, don’t I distract you too much? I mean… from potatoes. – I said, possessed by the sudden guilt.
– No, I’m finishing already…
I don’t like cordless phones, it’s enough radiation for me already from my dear computer. As for Maniac – on the contrary, he can’t imagine his life without them. And now also, he stands pressing the phone to his ear with a shoulder, tearing the peel off potatoes.
– Pour it in for me.
– Just to pour it in?
– Yeah, – I asked gathering all my impudence.
– Hold on, it’s not that easy. What apps do you use to create your images?
– Various ones… “Bioconstructor”… “Morphologist”… “Guise”.
– I see. What personality will you use when using the virus?
– Personality #7, Gunslinger…
– What is the file’s extension?
– Huh? Extension? Hold on…
– Fire the terminal up, – said Maniac tiredly, – Set the complete access for the password… say, “12345”.
– One-two-three-four-five, – I repeat dumbly.
– In numerals! – specifies Maniac, – I’ll tune everything by myself.
– Thanks!
– Not that fast… You’ll owe me beer…
Maniac sighed one more time and threatened before putting down the phone:
– I’ll call in 5 minutes. Your old girl in on already, waits for me and is as docile as a schoolgirl. Is that clear?
I rushed to the computer. In three minutes Vika agreed to submit to the one who calls with the password “12345” and moved over to the kitchen to cook myself a supper. I haven’t even filled the teapot yet when the phone rang in the room and then connecting modem started whistling softly.
I’m stupid after all… and kamikaze.
Though, it’s ridiculous to love myself too much, I can afford to be stupid for some time.
I just had time to drink some tea with jam found in the sideboard, then refilled the mug and returned to the room. Maniac was just disconnecting from my computer having left the burning red line on the screen: “Took some your old junk to read and play virus plugged in instructions by voice in a minute”.
Maniac have carelessly omitted all punctuation.
Exited into Norton, I found the file of Gunslinger’s image (it’s extension was most trivial: .clt), and started to compare it to the other, unchanged images. Nothing have changed that I could have noticed.
As expected.
Maniac called in five minutes and quickly explained what and how I should do. I could only shake my head when I got just what did he do to my image “#7”.
Obviously, “Warlock-9000” was something he was preparing for a long time, kept for the very special cases. If this thingy is used even once, hundreds of plagiarists will follow.
– Beer, beer and more beer… – I said turning the phone off. Nobody can tell though whether I’ll be able to provide him this beer or not.
I was g
oing to raise such a storm in the Deep which it haven’t seen for quite a while.
The storm it deserved.
11
– The terminal is on, – reported Vika. I clicked the connection icon, and was on “Russia On Line“‘s server in several seconds.
The address left by Man Without Face I remembered by heart: some Polish server which doesn’t really mean anything. It’s just a router, the signal will pass a couple or more countries on its way to Man Without Face.
There was no video support on that server, no drawn muzzles or animated photos on the screen. A severe styled menu in Polish and English, some ten more languages supported, including Romanian and Korean… no Russian. Our brotherly nation doesn’t favor us too much, alas. I replied to operator’s greeting and asked to establish connection with “Man Without Face” { in English in the original }. The operator switched to the Russian keyboard driver in half a minute and asked me to name the addressee in my native language.
“≈╔╚ъ╒╔╙ │╔╖ ▀╗ф═”, – I typed in.
They started to throw me from server to server. The first two were open ones, I couldn’t tell anything about the next three. Then I saw “Please hold” on the screen. In Russian by the way.
I was holding for fifteen minutes.
First five minutes quietly and modestly, then – getting a beer from the fridge and putting the old “Nautilus” album in the CD-player. Good singer Butusov is… until he starts trying to write the lyrics himself.
I remembered my dream, where was a singer on the stage and poor Alex, a prophet dream in some sense. But why did I imagine Unfortunate as a singer? Never had I any familiar musicians in my life, and risked to sing myself only in complete solitude.
“Who?”
I pulled myself to the screen and typed without much thinking:
“Me”
“How goes, diver?”
“I suppose you know that.”
I would give very much to find out who is he – Man Without Face.
“Yes.”
“I can’t handle it.”
“It’s your problem.”
“Not only mine.”
A short delay – either Man Without Face was thinking or there was a lag along the lines somewhere.
Labyrinth of reflections lor-1 Page 20