Labyrinth of reflections lor-1

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  – Steep stairs here, – warns Madam.

  – I remember.

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

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

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

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

  – Absolutely all? – inquires Wiz.

  – Absolutely.

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

  – I wish it was necessary… – sighs Madam.

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

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

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

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

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

  – Here, mix that…

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

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

  – Where did you get this cute footwear from?

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

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

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

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

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

  – Madam says, all security here depends on you.

  – Wrong word! Everything depends on me here.

  – May a stranger enter here?

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

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

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

  – Absolutely?

  Wiz sighs and becomes more serious.

  – Are you hacker or lamer?

  – A ‘newbie’.

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

  – Dummies?

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

  I pour myself more.

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

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

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

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

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

  – Thank you, Wiz.

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

  I shake my head, he guessed wrong.

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

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

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

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

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

  Wiz sighs and looks at the sea dreamily.

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

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

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

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

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

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

  101

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

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

  – Hey, Cap! – I call him.

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

  – You’re Cap, – I repeat.

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

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

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

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

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

  – What do you want here?

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

  – Some collective psychology research.

  – Conduct it elsewhere.

  His pale eyes examine me from feet to the head.

  – Do you work here?

  – No.

  – You’re mutant then.

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

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

  Already opening the door, he adds:

  – Boring…

  …Vika’s voice reaches me by the exit:

  – Leonid, wait! Don’t!

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

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

  – Yes.

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

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

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

  – Who is he, Vika?

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

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

  – Virtual prostitutes for instance?

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

  – He said something about psychology…

  These words amuse Vika for some reason:

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

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

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

  – Who are you, Vika?

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

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

  – And your Thesis’ subject is?…

  – “Abnormal behavioral reactions’ sublimation in the virtual space environment”.

  As if in apology, she adds:

  – It’s common to formulate this way.

  I see…

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

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

  – Then why?..

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

  – But it’s hard for you here!

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

  – Vika…

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

  She smiles and I feel confused.

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

  – What about outside?

  – This is a matter of my personal freedom.

  Vika parts her hands.

  – Leonid, how old are you?

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

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

  – Okay Leonid. I’m 29.

  Before I answer, I have time to rejoice.

  – 34.

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

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

  – Virtuality is deceitful.

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

  – Madam was your first mask?

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

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

  – You were successful, – I admit.

  Vika exhales the smoke and asks with a slight irony:

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

  – I don’t care.

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

  – Did Zuko reassure you?

  – Almost.

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

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

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

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

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

  – What?

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

  Vika – how wonderful – approaches this business-like.

  – Do you want me to wake you up?

  – Yes, in two hours.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

  – It’s time… Time, Leonid.

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

  – You’re awaken already?

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

  – I’ll make coffee, – says Vika.

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

  So good.

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