Labyrinth of reflections (24 page)

– The amount is up to you., – I say.

Guillermo looks at me intently then sits by his table and draws the check. The gold plated Parker in his hand, the checkbook was issued by Chase Manhattan. The amount doesn't strike me as much as it could happen before Al-Kabar operation but it commands respect nevertheless.

– Thank you, – says Guillermo solemnly, handing the check over to me. It's nothing more than just a formality, the money have already been transferred to my secret account given in the contract but anyway it's pleasant to hold the nonexistent check in my hand.

I nod and shake Guillermo's hand. That's it, I can get out. The little boy was given a candy and kicked out of the adults' company which plays serious games.

– For the good parting? – Mr Aguirre gets the bottle from under the table, the real French Armagnac. It doesn't cost much more than Coke in virtuality but the gesture itself is pleasant, as if Aguirre has no doubt that the taste of this drink is familiar to me.

We touch glasses and I make a small sip. I'm not a big lover of cognacs and brandy but it's flattering to be considered a connoisseur of noble drinks for a minute anyway.

– I can guess how you will spend this money, – says Guillermo suddenly.

– Well, how?

– They'll return to the "Labyrinth"'s account, – Guillermo smirks.

– Nope.

He raises his eyebrows in surprise.

– You will give up? Yes?

– I'll rescue Unfortunate but I have enough money for this. As for this check… I'll return it. In order for you to change the amount.

Guillermo nods, he was expecting my insistence and is quite satisfied with the promise.

– Good luck, diver.

– If something unexpected happens in "Labyrinth"… could you please notify me? – I inquire, – Unofficially?

– Your address, – says Guillermo in business-like manner.

I give him my business card with the Net address, it's not my real 'coordinates', just a mailbox where I can get the letter for Gunslinger after supplying the password.

– Do you want me to call the taxi? – asks Mr Aguirre at parting.

– Thanks Willy, it's not necessary.

I stop the Deep-Transit's cab a couple of blocks away. Not that I was afraid of shadowing but it's better not to change good habits.

– Al-Kabar block, – I order. This time the driver is a nice red haired woman with tiny wrinkles around her eyes, excellently made face.

– This address doesn't exist, – she disappoints me.

– Al-Kabar. 8-7-7-3-8.

– Acknowledged.

The car starts, streets flash by. I ask Vika to change the masculine look of Gunslinger to the ingenuous mug of Ivan The Prince. One second – and the white-clad hero is reflecting in the rear-view mirror.

Pictures, just pictures and nothing more. Now Deep-Transit's programs toss my comm channel from server to server, preparing to connect me to Al-Kabar – to bring me to the horsehair bridge with the genie guard. Nothing more than pictures. The Deep can't have its own intellect!

But despite anything, I don't feel myself so confident in my own thoughts.

The desert meets me with its hot breath and the genie – with deafening roar:

– You dared to come back, the thief of thieves?

Good program… with memory.

The genie tears his legs from the sand, makes one step, then another. The hair bridge stretches and rings slightly but does not tear yet. Something new – Al-Kabar's programmers have added mobility to the guard program!

– Stop! – I shout raising my hand, – I came to Friedrich Urman! I'm not in your mercy!

The giant fist quivers above my head, sparks scratching between the fingers.

– Unfamiliar virus detected! – whispers Windows-Home in alarm, – Attention! I turn the "Web" on!

The space covers with slight mist, the antivirus program "Web" starts to cut off a part of incoming information trying to guard the computer from the virus. Not an ideal defense, a good virus will slip into my computer anyway but I don't stop Vika – she's in panic… if this word is appropriate here. The genie's shape flows and becomes blurry.

– Who are you? – roars the monster, its voice is distorted too.

– Diver! – I shout having nothing to hide this time.

– Wait! – orders the genie. Sparks on his palms go off and Vika stops the "Web".

Nothing else to do and I wait. The monster is motionless, just its eyes sparkle examining me with a strong, almost physically felt gaze. It was just a joke last time – I was let into the mousetrap because they were sure I won't be able to escape. Now, having their butts kicked, corporate programmers are able to cast all creations of their fantasy on my head and I'm sure that among them is a lot of those that might terrify not only me, not only Maniac but even the old guy Lozinsky himself. It's a perfect time to remember tales about viruses that destroy the hardware…

– Go ahead! – the monster becomes alive again.

I step onto the hair bridge.

Abyss-abyss…

Now not two cartoony guards meet me but the whole crowd with weapons.

If I were escorted like this last time I'd never be able to steal a megabyte file.

The guards drive me along the streets in the icy silence, I expect that I'll be taken to the same veranda as it was before but our procession moves past it, right to the gloomy gray building.

They are what, going to imprison me? It's ridiculous, divers are invincible. It's possible to prevent us from stealing files but not to lock us in the virtual world.

Some guards stay outside, four others take me into the confinement. Two in front of me, two others behind my back, swords unsheathed. Oh, they definitely will set a virus in my machine, in full volume. Those who happened to survive winchester's crash would understand me. Once, in a tiny and almost unprofitable operation I managed to catch a very cute virus upon my stupid head. It mixed the FAT and partition table of my hard drive in a uniform cocktail. Maniac spent the whole day trying to recover the remains of data from the dead winchester and saved almost everything while I was bubbling some nonsense about pirated game CD which I had caught the virus from.

If even those dumb guys managed to infect my computer with such nasty thing, I'd better not even try to imagine what those guys from Al-Kabar are capable of.

The door slams heavily behind my back, closing. The confinement is in pitch darkness, I walk by touch, being pushed in the back. Obviously my comm channel is narrowed to its limit to prevent me from stealing anything else. All visual images are cut off.

– Stop! – I hear the command behind and freeze obediently.

Those who surround me can obviously see me absolutely well which doesn't make me feel better.

– You had the cheek to come here again Ivan?

I recognize Urman's voice or even the tone of his interpreter, and turn trying not to goggle my blind eyes.

– That was the deal.

– Oh really?

– You gave me the file voluntarily in exchange of the promise of the later meeting.

The pause, a pretty long one. I'm not lying and Urman finds himself in a stupid position. It's so good – not to lie. What for anyway? There's so much truth in this world that lies become unnecessary.

– What do you want?

– What do *I* want? Nothing. It was you who asked me for next meeting, so I guess you have something to offer?

Silence again. Obviously Urman wasn't expecting me to return after his attempt to trace me. I add just in case:

– Don't try to trace my channel by the way. Otherwise I'll leave.

The silence becomes too long and I can mentally see Urman ordering to his guards, "Hey, kick his ass…"

– Restore his channel completely, – orders Urman. – And stop the surveillance.

The bright light. I narrow my eyes studying the insides of the confinement through half-closed eyelids. Gloomy heavy walls, tiny reflecting glass windows behind the bars on top of them. The table and chairs around it located in the center of the room.

– This is a meeting hall, – explains Urman. He's dressed in a business suit with a tie. Maybe his dress is automatically adjusted according to the interior, I've heard about such tricks. – Here we conduct the Board of Directors' and some other meetings.

I see, the most secured place in the corporate virtual space. One won't escape from here as easily as from the veranda…

I have nothing to run away with though: I came absolutely unarmed.

– Leave us, – Urman continues ordering.

The guards submit immediately.

– Thanks Friedrich, – I say.

Urman nods silently and sits in one of the armchairs, I set myself nearby.

– So… Have you sold the… apple? – inquires Urman.

– Yes, thank you.

– I'm really glad for you.

It looks like he is not really angry and this makes me suspicious.

– I hope it haven't too much complicate the financial situation of the corporation?

– No, not really.

I look at Urman questionably.

– I forgot to tell you last time that the cool medicine has a tiny drawback, – notes Urman, – A side effect. We found it almost by chance… I suppose that Mr Shellerbach and Trans-Pharm-Group won't run into it.

I start feeling uncomfortable.

– Don't worry diver, it was not your responsibility to test the safety of the drug, – laughs Urman. – Nothing fatal, by the way… neither cancer nor terratogenious effect… but the patients won't be happy.

Al-Kabar have made a little insurance… I wonder what side effect might the cold reliever have? Changing the skin color into green, impotence, baldness? Urman won't tell.

Well, from now on I'll cure my cold with aspirin only for the rest of my life.

– Okay, let's forget mutual offences! – offers Urman generously.

I nod.

– As I told you before, I have an interesting offer for you… – says Al-Kabar's director. – A permanent employment.

– No.

We look into each other's eyes. They say the eyes is the mirror of the soul. The question is whether our virtual bodies do have souls or not?

– Some divers do have permanent contracts, – notes Urman, – So… it means it isn't forbidden?

– No, it is not but there's a certain difference between working for an entertainment center or a virtual investigation bureau and the work for you. In a month or two or three you'll 'calculate' me.

– And you fear publicity so much, Ivan?

– Sure I do. We are the alchemists of the virtual world, the wizards. No normal princeling would ever let the alchemist out of the comfortable dungeon… so that he couldn't invent gunpowder for the enemies.

– So sad… – Urman doesn't argue. – In many points you're right, Russian diver. Excuse me but I know that. Your voice was processed by the analyzer and it was definitely not the interpreter program.

I don't argue with him either, such a peaceful and nice talk, we are so loyal to each other – what a beautiful look.

– Well then – I offer you a single time collaboration! – says Urman cheerfully, – The work is easy and we pay well.

– Do you really think it's so easy to get Unfortunate out from "Labyrinth"?

The bull eye! Right in the center! Urman's face twitches, then he takes his emotions back under control, just a tic under his left eye remains. One to zero! No, five to zero!

– Please explain me what do you mean? – asks Mr director unconvincingly.

– After you.

Either they'll kill me now or will open their cards.

Urman certainly can stand the blow.

– One of our corporation's fields of business is demographic control of Deeptown.

I shake my head – I didn't get it…

– I mean the number of virtuality's inhabitants at any moment of time, with exact precision, by district, building, space in space like ours.

– Why? Who gave you the right for this?

– It was a common decision, approved a year ago. – shrugs Urman, – In order to compare the load on separate servers, to tie these figures to exact time of day, all this allows to coordinate the work and to reduce the cost of virtual space usage. AOL was one of the main customers, smaller companies had joined too.

And again my neglect to open information puts me in a spot.

– We were controlling according to the number of input-output signals on servers, – Urman goes on, – It's very simple and reliable, very efficient. Servers report the figures every two minutes. Nobody's rights are violated while we can know the total number of people in virtuality. It's not a surveillance, just statistics.

I nod.

– The number of computer supported objects in each space fraction is being controlled in parallel. Thus we know how many people present in this or that part of virtuality. We get reports every two minutes as well. It's easy to understand that if we total the number of all active objects in all parts of virtuality we'll get the already known figure – the number of people that entered the Deep.

I understand.

– The figures didn't match?

– Yes. There's one person more in virtuality than it should be. Computers can see him, he functions in cyberspace but he never connected to the Net.

Urman rises, waves his hand and the huge screen unwraps on the wall, on top of concrete and steel mesh. I rise too. This is the map of Deeptown and its suburbs looking like sewn of tiny patches. Each patch is a server that supports this part of space. The fine red 'rash' is on top of patches, these are gates, phone lines which are used to enter the Deep.

Looks beautiful. All bourgeoises are window-dressers.

– We can check the data by districts, – informs Urman, – For instance…

He steps to the screen, reaches it and points at Al-Kabar's block with a finger. The numbers 1036/1035 flash up on the display above the screen.