– The crime always existed, it exists now and will exist. I’m not Jesus and I don’t pretend to complete innocence myself. I have my own goals.
– And I have my little legal business! What do you want?
– That’s better. Mr Diver, have you heard about the Lost Point? Or about the Invisible Boss?
What I was expecting the least were the ancient fables.
– ‘Point’ is the old term for the terminal network user?
– Yes, the user of Fidonet… this one existed some time ago.
– Maybe I’ve heard about that… Is it about the guy who was killed by electric shock being in virtuality? And his consciousness somehow stayed alive in the Net?
– Yes. The youth with a pale face and burned clothes who asks everybody whom he meets to report to the 13th Moscow hub that the point 666 was lost… And about the Invisible Boss?
– Give me the chair, – I rise from the cold concrete floor.
– Follow me.
We go to the right, behind the shelf with Mac software. Illiquid stuff, only a few people now use these computers. There were humans and Neanderthals, then IBM and Apple. Stub evolution branches aren’t viable. The small table piled with papers is behind the shelves, two chairs by it. We sit down.
– Invisible Boss is the tale of the same times. – says Man Without Face. – Boss was the higher step in Fidonet hierarchy. It was boss to whom those who wanted to become points and join to virtuality addressed their requests to… There was no virtuality back then though… The legend told that sometimes the newbies managed to find a very good boss for themselves, who provided the network access at any time, high transfer rate, connection to any club… those were called echo-conferences at that time.
I nod automatically.
– And everything was fine usually, – looks like Man Without Face haven’t noticed my negligence, – until one of the points found out that the phone number that he used to communicate with his boss doesn’t exist, and the boss himself was not seen or heard about by anybody. After that Invisible Boss used to send the letter to all his point saying, “Why do you pursue me?” and disappear.
– Undoubtedly rich the folklore was, – I agree. – I also remember about the crazy moderator, and the echo-conference called ‘Die here!’
– I started with Fidonet as well, – says Man Without Face.
I stay silent.
– Mr Diver, unlike Urman I’m not trying to ascertain your personality. But you know what the funniest thing is? We both need you for the same purpose.
– To capture the Lost Point?
Man Without Face laughs softly.
– This is just a fable… that was born in the junction of times when Internet and Fidonet turned into the united virtuality. Very few people remember them now. Just five years have passed, and look how much was forgotten.
– Nothing was forgotten, it’s buried under newer information, but is still alive.
– All the same diver, the essence doesn’t change.
– Well, but today the new legend was born.
– Which one?
– About Man Without Face.
My interlocutor shakes his head.
– Hardly will it be so intriguing as the youth dressed in smoking clothes…
We both laugh quietly.
– So Mr Diver… have you ever played in the ‘Labyrinth of Death’?
– Possibly.
– Do you know that two divers cooperate with them?
– I can assume that.
Even two? I was sure that ‘Labyrinth’ manages with only one rescuer..
– I can give you their addresses… either network or the real ones.
Wow!!!
– One of them is Ukranian, the other one is Canadian. The first one lives…
– No, – I say with some effort.
– How interesting! I was sure that it’s the common dream to determine the diver’s personality! Including the divers themselves!
– This dream is one of the worst and base crimes… according to our code.
For the first time I admit that I’m diver. Hardly my interlocutor had any doubt about that though.
– One problem have arose in “Labyrinth”… and those two can’t manage it… – Man Without Face bends across the table, takes a piece of paper and writes the short address. He does right that doesn’t try to give me the business card, I’d never take a file from him. – These are my coordinates. After you visit “Labyrinth”, offer your service to the management and try to solve the problem, contact me. Ask for… Man Without Face.
He doesn’t want to make it clearer and as it seems he doesn’t have even a little doubt that I’ll rush to “Labyrinth” at once.
– Why would I want to do that?
Man Without Face takes a small badge from the cloak pocket. It looks pretty like the police badge but its background is white and there’s not a spiral in the center but a tiny sphere woven of the thinnest threads.
– That’s why.
The badge is on the table between us. I look at it but don’t dare to touch.
What if it disappears?
When Lady Winter received the order from Cardinal Richelieu (SP???) saying “Whatever is done by this person was done for the benefit of France”, it was a bit less cool.
The legendary Complete Licence Medal is before me: the right for just anything that’s possible to do in the deep.
Friedrich Urman would open the door and escort me to the bridge personally if he saw this badge.
He probably would hire killers later though in order to settle the scores with me but in the deep he would be extremely polite.
I’ve never seen the Medal with my own eyes before. I know that Dmitry Dibenko received the same one in his time: for the creation of the deep itself.
One must accomplish something vitally important for all virtual space for any of his actions to be considered right from now on.
– It will wait for you on this table, – says Man Without Face, – You’ll get it… in case of your success.
I nod silently.
– Note that there’ll be other aspirants, – informs Man Without Face, – We’re looking for divers everywhere in the deep, and will find many, and will tell them the same I’ve told you.
– What’s there, in “Labyrinth”? – I ask turning my gaze away from the Medal.
– I have no idea. This is what worries me.
I allow myself to smirk, tell me that you don’t know…
– Until now everything that was happening in virtuality had their analogies in the real world. Entertainment, business, science, communications…
Interesting that he ranked entertainment first…
– Now something have changed…. Good luck to you diver. You can go now.
Man Without Face nods in the direction of the door.
– I’ll leave by my own way.
– You decided to reveal yourself?
– Sure not.
At parting, I look in the foggy oval of his face.
Abyss-abyss, I’m not yours…
I took off the helmet and stretched my hand to the modem hesitatingly, then pulled the phone wire from the jack.
– The line is broke! – informs Vika
– I know, girl.
That’s it, mysterious anonymous. It’s that simple. Not a standard exit which is possible to trace but an instantly broken thread.
It’s barbaric of course, but absolutely no data exchange between my computer and the one where the warehouse is modeled.
– No dialtone, – says Vika, – Check the wiring.
– Shut down.
– Really?
– Yes.
The blue background with the white falling figure fills the screen.
– Now it’s safe to turn off your computer, – whispers Vika sleepily.
Good night to you, the most loyal of my friends… I turned the power switch and turned off the modem. I need a quiet night,
let all mail wait until the morning. It’s already 3:30 am though… the sky becomes lighter.
And I want to sleep so much! The head is aching of excess information.
I pulled off the virtual suit. Man, does it stink of sweat, it requires cleaning for a long time by now… Then I plopped down on the sofa. Good that I didn’t do the bed yesterday. How farsighted have I become…
For three years already, I suppose.
110
It was a quarter before one when I woke up. The TV set that turned on at 10 was muttering quietly. Unpowered computer was reproachfully silent on the table.
– Oh it feels good… – I whispered into the ceiling.
I need to change the apartment, to buy the normal one-bedroom in the downtown, in a good brick house, with the view to the Neva river… not in this proletarian district, rotten and blown through by all winds.
Then we’ll move Vika into new ‘apartments’: I’ll buy the new ‘Septium’ brand name, with preloaded licensed software, with a couple of hundreds Megs of RAM… with the 1000 Terabyte holographic HD, cordless modem and super-sensitive Siemens microphone… with a color printer, Dunn what for, but let it be, a decent scanner instead of the manual piece of shit, a dedicated phone line… Geez, even 50 grands isn’t enough!
On the other hand… why would I need two rooms in the apartment? Even here the kitchen is empty anyway: I moved the fridge and microwave into the room long time ago, and it’s closer to get the water in the bathroom.
Okay, this is decided: let’s celebrate the move for Vika. It’ll not be a shame to invite friends then.
I rose, padded to the fridge and took out a can of beer. I don’t drink before noon usually, but it’s almost 1PM already. What a good time I woke up at!
The light ‘Schultheiss’ seemed almost strong in the morning. It’s over, good bye ‘Amsterdam-Navigator’ and ‘Bavaria-86’, the good friends of poor hackers. From now on – only ‘Guinness’, ‘Heineken’, ‘Kilkenny’… and instead of Belgian boiled sausage the decent Moscow ‘servelat’ { raw-smoked hard sausage } and a real ham. And also… well, I’ll buy the coffee maker. Down with instant coffee!
When for the first time in two days I started to shave and cut myself quite tangibly, New Russian’s fantasy suggested me to get ‘Shick-Protector’ also. Nothing else could come into my mind after that, just some messy ideas about the second phone line and second modem – in order for Vika to be able to download mail and do some other simple tasks while I’m traveling in the deep.
It’s a bit far too much though. Even Maniac doesn’t have second phone line.
By the way, I owe him beer, it looks very much like he saved my life yesterday.
And it’s better not to procrastinate with it: I’ve got the suspicion that I’ll be able to treat him with nothing more than just ‘Navigator’ in a week… well, quite a beer too, a strong one, with original taste…
I turned the computer on, connected to the Internet and transferred $5000 to my St. Petersburg account without any virtuality, just in 10 minutes. Then I checked my wardrobe, chose the decently fresh shirt and old but clean jeans, put my passport and Visa card in the pocket. What else? Ah yes… the beer.
The shabby 5 liter canister was standing sadly on the balcony. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed inside: it smelled of soured ‘Zhigulevskoe’ { classic Russian beer ;-) }. I had to wash the canister in cold water, then in hot one, then in cold again. Then I’ve put it into the bag that stayed here from previous apartment owners (I never have time to get rid of garbage) and walked out.
My, how much cleaner and neater my staircase in virtuality is! And unlike here, no eternal smell of flooded basement and stray cats!
Having left the side streets I stopped by the road and raised my hand; I had to stand like that for quite a time. Finally one junky ‘Lada’ condescended to stop.
– To the ‘Kredo-Bank’, – I said.
As strange as it seems, the driver knew the way.
In around 20 minutes, parted with the remains of my cash I was entering the palace of hidden and evident capitals under glassy stares of security guards.. In 20 minutes more, filled with various checkups, numerous phone calls to the bank’s main office and requests to specify the account number, the bank clerks became kinder and finally gave me out $1000. In rouble equivalent of course.
And in quarter of an hour more I entered the Irish pub ‘Molly’ on 36 Rubinstein Street. It’s not too crowded in the daytime and this helped me. The Big Mugs { security guards ;-) } by the entrance were relaxed and just froze dumb when they saw my canister. I passed the cloak room solemnly and entered the neat twilight of semi-basement, approached the bar and smiled to the bartender.
Luckily, bartender in ‘Molly’ is British. Whatever one can say, but they are far superior than we are in some aspects. He smiled and gazed at me questionably.
– Good afternoon, Christian, – I said. – May I ask for 5 liters of beer?
He definitely wasn’t used to sell the beer by liters. But it took him only five seconds to regain his smile.
– Which beer?
– ‘Zhigulevskoye’.
The guards behind my back who for some reason decided to visit the hall together with me, started to breathe heavily.
– Just kidding, – I explained, – ‘Guinness’ of course, – And I gave the canister to Christian.
Self control seems to be one of the most important qualities of the best European bartenders, and Christian is one of them. He picked the canister up casually, weighted it in his hand as if to estimate it’s volume and started to fill it from the sparkling faucet.
Big Mugs behind me were silently going crazy, and it amused me lots.
– Please wait for the foam to settle, – said Christian with a strong accent putting the canister on the bar. Wow, what a cool guy! I visit ‘Molly’ pretty seldom and never noticed him to be so proficient.
– Okay, then one more mug to drink here please, – I said and turned around.
Big Mugs pretended to study the bottle rows behind Christian’s back. Okay. Until they are sure in my paying capacity, I won’t be able to drink my beer in peace.
I dragged out a pile of small notes from the right pocket of my jeans and started to examine it. The guards’ breathing became faster again.
Shit, do I really look that lousy?!
A thick pack of hundred thousand rouble notes emerged from the left pocket. I put three notes on the bar, took the mug and turned around.
Have anybody really stood here? No, looks like I was imagining things…
Having seated by the nearest table I silently enjoyed the best beer invented in this sinful world. Then I took my canister from the merry bartender (Europe! One can’t affect him so easily), and after short hesitation took the change too. He’ll do without it: the beer isn’t cheap itself.
It’s no difference in the Deep though: either ‘Bavaria’ in cans or ‘Guinness’ from the
barrel, the cost is the same. Now I managed to stop the car much quicker, or it was just the time running faster? I jumped into the rattling ‘Volga’ and shouted cheerfully:
– Whip it up to Maniac!
A pair of very big and round eyes gazed at me.
– Get out, – said the driver in the same brief manner.
When stopping the next volunteer to earn easy money I kept reminding myself that I’m not in virtuality where patient Vika will turn the simple voice command into understandable address.
111
Maniac lives on Vasilievsky [Island] {a district of St.Petersburg }. Panting, I climbed to the fifth floor: at the time this house was built, elevators were yet a novelty, and rang at the door. One, two, three… pause.. one, two. Even if Maniac is in the Deep, the computer connected to all apartment wiring will submit to the code ring at the door and eject Maniac from virtuality.
The steps sounded in the depth of the apartment, I closed the peephole with a finger quickly.
– Who? – asked Maniac g
loomily.
– Racket requested?
Pause. Obviously Maniac is just from the deep and has a little mood for humor.
– Who?!
– Shit, it’s me, me! – I removed the finger.
Maniac rattled with locks opening the door.. I entered. He was dressed in virtual suit right on the naked body, with a shotgun in his hand. The gun was huge, with it the slim and narrow shouldered hacker looked like a kid playing war game.
– Wow, – I just said.
– Yeah… I was fumbling in one guy’s comp… hardly managed to get my ass outta there. – Maniac was brief, he locked the door, glanced at the canister and asked sympathetically, – Dire straits again?
– No, not really.
– I have a couple of bottles of ‘Baltic’…
– I’s ‘Guinness’ here, – I declared proudly. Maniac looked at the canister thoughtfully and hurled:
– You pervert…
I followed him to the small neat kitchen and asked cautiously:
– Where’s… yours…?
– With her folks.
– Quarreled again?
– Why quarreled? – said Maniac indignantly, – Does the wife’s not being at home immediately mean that we quarreled? She have just… decided to visit Mommy… well okay, we have quarreled a little..
– Why so?
– Ah… I’ve passed the red light…
I nodded: it’s very difficult to live in the deep and be married. What the hell betrayal is in visiting the virtual brothel? It’s all unreal there!
But Maniac’s spouse got hurt anyway…
We sat by the table, Maniac searched the fridge, got the pack of franks, a piece of cheese, then brought two huge clay glasses from his room. I filled them with beer solemnly.
– Gee, it’s really ‘Guinness’… – admitted Maniac drawing the letter ‘M’ on the thick foam.
– For the Love, Shurka.
– Um-gm… – Maniac said gloomily and drained his glass, – Yeah. Love. Shit, the devil tempted me! I had to flee… a couple of lamers was on my tail… So I decided to visit ‘Strawberry Fields’…
– What the hell for?
– Don’t you really know what security systems those brothels have? – Maniac was surprised, – This is where senators, Duma deputies, businessmen … other money sacks always are. Security will cut you off from your pursuers at once!
Labyrinth of reflections lor-1 Page 7
