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.