– Not exactly… – I cut my one-side openness, – Madam, can I… meet this girl?
– Of course, – our gazes meet, our faces are close, irony and mockery are in her eyes. – Ten dollars an hour. Forty dollars a night. Our prices are moderate, affordable to any hacker.
– You’re cruel, – I say.
– Yes. When it seems to me that a nice young gentleman starts getting crazy, I’m cruel.
I take out the credit card.
– Forty dollars?
– Yes.
She accepts the money, hesitates, then says:
– Gunslinger, please listen to one story… Once there was a small silly girl, she studied in college, liked to hang in discos and to flirt with guys. And she loved a singer. He appeared on TV often, was interviewed, his pictures always were on magazine covers. He was a good singer and he sang about love. The girl believed in love very much.
– I know how these stories end, – I say. Not only Madam can be cruel.
– Once the singer arrived in her town during his tour, – Madam goes on.
– The girl was on all of his concerts. She jumped out on the stage with flowers and the singer kissed her cheek. Of course she had got what she wanted. On the second evening she entered his hotel room and left in the morning only. And never came to his concerts since. No, the singer really turned out to be a nice guy and a beautiful man. He was tender and sweet, sharp minded and cheerful. The girl didn’t regret anything. But she didn’t believe in love anymore. You know why?
– She mixed an illusion and reality, – I answer.
– You understand. Yes, sure. It would be better if he was dumb and dirty bastard. It would be much better. The girl would find the other ideal or would still love the singer’s image. But this way… it was too much like a mirror, the love to reflection, the true and perfectly clean one. She really had met her dream, had found her ideal while it must be loved from a distance.
I nod.
Sure, Madam… Of course, the wise brothel mistress. Definitely, all-knowing master of love and sex.
I know.
– I’m sorry Madam, please remind me, have I paid you already?
The woman sighs.
– Follow me Gunslinger…
We ascend the stairs, there’s a corridor, doors. Madam takes me to the door with number 6 and touches my shoulder.
– Take care Gunslinger… And by the way, the story that I’ve told you
– it happened not to me. But I know lots of such stories.
101
There’s not a room but a garden behind the door, the night garden, crickets chirp softly, the air is fresh and cool, the dense grass is under my feet.
What did I expect after all? The hotel room with a squeaky bed and sheets damp due to frequent washes? This is what’s good about virtuality: one can make the house’s inner space as big as desired.
I walk towards the lantern light in the grass, my movements are slow and sluggish, drowsiness have almost retreated but the lead-heavy exhaustion have come instead.
I see the small house, either a good ‘dacha’ or a modest cottage, nobody around. The lantern shines lonesomely and sadly. For a moment it seems to me that merciful Madam decided to leave me alone. No, hardly. Compassion is one thing but the business is always on the first place.
I sit by the lantern – this is an antique kerosene lamp in net case. Those are used to descend underground. Into the deep.
The tiny moth circle around the lamp, bounce against the glass powerlessly trying to break into the light. Humans are much more stupid than the moth, they always manage to find a fire to burn their wings, that’s why they are humans.
I don’t hear the steps, just the hands lie on my shoulders, unsurely, shyly as if accustoming.
– Is it always so silent here? – I ask.
– No.
I shiver. Even her voice sounds familiar.
– It depends on the guests.
– I like silence, – I say, still not turning around.
– Me too, – she agrees, maybe in order to make a good impression on me, maybe sincerely.
I dare to turn around.
She looks just as on that picture. A short skirt, not a ‘sexually’ short one, just comfortable summer clothes, smoke grayish blouse, gray sandals on her feet, dark hair tied up with a narrow band on her forehead. The girl looks at me seriously, examining me as if I’m not the customer whom she has to serve but really just a guest whom she might accept or kick out into the night.
– I was called Gunslinger all day long today but you better call me Leonid.
She nods in agreement.
– And… if you don’t mind, – I add. – If possible, I’ll call you Vika.
The girl stays silent for so long that I decide that I have hurt her accidentally. But finally she just asks:
– Why? Do I remind you somebody?
– Yes, – I confess. – I’ll forget anyway and will call you by that name. Let’s better avoid this.
– Okay, – she agrees sitting down by my side, outstretches her hands and warms them above the lantern as if above the fire, – I get used to names easily.
– Me too.
We sit in silence. I feel falling down slowly – deeper and deeper…
– Vika…
– Yes, Leonid?
– Will I look very stupid if I fall asleep now?
– I don’t know, – she says, – Was it a hard day?
– The hard ones are still ahead.
– There’s a bed in the house.. as you understand.
I nod. I don’t want to stand up and leave alive silence for the dead one.
– But if you want, I’ll bring you comforter.
– Thanks, this would be just great.
She rises and I gather remains of my strength.
Abyss, I’m not yours… let me go , Abyss…
Firstly, I went to the bathroom. Luckily the suit and the helmet have long enough wires. Then I lagged to the sofa and fell on it throwing the pillow aside: the head in the helmet is lifted high enough even without a pillow. My neck will grow numb by the morning, but I don’t want to leave now.
– Vika, turn the deep on… – I whispered to Windows-Home. The colorful whirl follows and I’m in the deep again.
– What did you say? – Vika stands by me. The one that is alive… almost…
– No, nothing.
I take the comforter, spread it out on the grass and lie down. The girl sits by my side. I look up at the stars, they are so close, so alluringly bright. I lack just transparent light wings to fly up and crash against invisible glass…
– Vika, aren’t you lonely here, in this nook?
– Why do you think it’s a nook?
– The stars are too bright.
– No. I like it here…
She lies by my side and I shift on the comforter a little to give her more space.
– Do you like the sky? – asks Vika.
– Yes. I like to look at the stars. But I have no idea what their names are.
– Why would they need the names we give them… – Vika touches my hand.
– Look, the star have fallen. Just above us.
– We could go and search for it, – I say seriously. Vika doesn’t answer right away and I understand with horror that I’ll have to rise now.
– No, – she decides. – Your feet are failing you Gunslinger. We’ll look for it in the morning. It’ll just cool down by that time and it’ll be possible to pick it up.
– It’s too much light in the morning, – I note. – Better tomorrow in the evening.
– You’re strange, – says the girl quietly. – Okay. Let’s look for it tomorrow.
– Had you ever found a fallen star?
Vika stays silent but I can feel how she shakes her head.
– Virtuality took the sky from us, – I whisper.
– You understood it too?
– Of course. The world leaves into the
deep, into reflection of reality. Why would one fly to the Moon or to Mars if any planet is reachable here and now? The passion have gone. The interest have gone too.
– But computer technologies are developing rapidly.
– Oh really? “Octium” is not more than just very cool “686”… – I purposefully call Pentium-Pro by unaccepted name. – Nothing new was invented in last five years, we are just marking time.
Vika laughs softly
– Oh geez… an argument about technological developments… Leonid, you’re in the brothel, remember?
– I know… You’re bored?
– No, but… I just have weaned of the talks like this…
She pauses then slightly touches my cheek with her lips.
– Sleep. You falter, Lenia.
I don’t argue, I don’t want to argue with her.
All the more, she is right.
I close my eyes and fall asleep – instantly.
110
I see a dream. I often see dreams – the consciousness gets so exhausted during the day that relief is absolutely necessary, it’s what the dreams are for, to save us from overload of impressions, to finish what was left unsaid.
I don’t remember my dreams usually, just messy remains whirl in my head, not completely understood. But now the dream is bright and imprints into consciousness, maybe because I sleep in virtuality.
I’m standing on the stage, the heavy curtains’ cloth is behind me. There’s a man with a guitar on the stage, he’s motionless as if chained by invisible chains. He sings but the words don’t reach me. It’s the deep between us, the Deep that became alive, that turned into transparent wall. I strain myself trying to walk to him, to break the wall and to hear the words but the deep is heavy and resilient like a rubber slab. It throws me back, I fall on my knees and freeze, unable to move. The singer turns his head and looks at me. It seems that he starts to sing louder, but I can’t hear him anyway. I’m chained by the deep, I’m swaddled, helpless.
The singer nods and turns away, I suddenly understand that this is Unfortunate from “Labyrinth”, the one I have to save… to save instead of standing on my knees under invisible rubber heaviness.
But I have no strength anyway.
From the opposite side of the stage, from behind the curtains another man appears. He’s dressed in camouflage overalls and has a shotgun in his hands, he looks at me, smirks and raises his weapon. This is Alex.
I shout, – NOOOO! – but the sound is bogged in the deep.
Alex shoots, the bullet breaks the guitar’s neck, the strings scream curling up in elastic rings, the silence barrier breaks. I jump up, the heaviness disappeared. The singer looks at the dead guitar with surprise. Alex pulls the lock of his gun, I jump, knocking the singer down and blocking him by my body.
– I told that I’ll make you, – says Alex.
He shoots, the bullet hits my chest, tears my heart into pieces, goes through and stabs the singer. His body shivers and becomes dead.
This means – it’s over. This means – I was too late.
I rise and go to Alex. My heart doesn’t beat anymore, but I don’t care. I’m the diver, the only enemy of the deep, the guard between the worlds, the one who had to be here in time. I got used to live without heart, it’s not that simple to kill me.
The audience roars behind my back, whistles and stamps their feet.
– I’ve made you, – says Alex and lowers the shotgun.
Vika comes out from behind his back, outstretches her hand – there’s greasy looking gray ash in it.
– I found that star, – she whispers and opens her hand.
The ash streams down to the floor circling in the air.
And then I die.
111
Awaken, I swallow the air greedily. The sun have risen already, the air is intoxicating fresh.
Vika sleeps, pressed against my shoulder, shrunk of the chill.
Very nice dream I’ve had indeed…
Like in that anecdote about Freud… “You know my dear daughter, sometimes there are JUST dreams…”
They say that it’s a bad sign to sleep in virtuality.
– Vika… – I touch her shoulder, she shivers but doesn’t wake up. I rise and cover her with the comforter. The lantern in the grass had went out. I go to the house.
It is small, just one luxury bedroom, a bathroom and a kitchen. I take cream, cheese and pate from the fridge, make coffee on the small stove, several sandwiches, put all that on the small tray and return back to Vika.
She’s still sleeping.
Abyss-abyss, I’m not yours…
Well, not bad of a rest: 3 pm. I visited the bathroom, got myself into order, even brushed my teeth holding the helmet under arm, returned into the room, took a can of soda, yogurt and a piece of sausage from the fridge. A stupid combination but who cares what I eat in reality? The main thing is just to stuff the stomach.
The Vika on the computer monitor is dozing too. I felt the slight shame before the program whom I’m being unfaithful to with the human.
deep Enter.
I caress ‘almost alive’ Vika’s hair and whisper, – Time to wake up…
She opens her eyes, looks at me in puzzlement, then smiles.
– Thanks.
– For what?
– Well… I had such a great rest. It doesn’t happen often.
– I brought the breakfast.
– This is MY duty, – sighs Vika with imposed resentment, – Thank you, Leonid.
We drink coffee and eat sandwiches. Somewhere far in the forest the bird’s voice rings.
– I had a bad dream, – informs Vika.
– About the stage? – I ask and my heart stops as if pierced by the bullet again.
– No, it was like I found the fallen star but it have already burnt. Utterly.
The heart shivers again, it echoes in the temples, hollowly and dully.
It’s a bad sign to sleep in virtuality.
What links were between us, fallen asleep in the deep? Unheard whispers and sleepy grimaces, strained muscles and shaking eyelashes – everything was melted into electronic impulses and was transmitted through the deep.
To touch the one who was by my side.
Sleeping, just as me.
To slip into her dream.
It’s a bad sign – to sleep in the deep.
– We’ll look for it tomorrow, – I say. Vika looks at me ironically and asks:
– You’re what, a millionaire’s nephew?
I shrug.
– I want to see you again. Just to see you.
She hesitates before asking:
– Tell me… Don’t I attract you?
– Sexually?
Vika nods.
– You do.
– Then… why?
– This shouldn’t be so easy, – I also can’t decide to finish at once, – And it should not be for sale.
– Lenia, you go crazy.
– Maybe.
– You even don’t know who I am. This, – she raises her hands to her face, – is a mask. A make-up. I can be whoever.
I’m silent, you’re surely right, I don’t argue.
– I can be old in reality, – says Vika without mercy. – Or terribly ugly. Or perverted male. Do you understand?
I understand. It’s doubtful about the male though…
– Don’t be stupid, Lenia, don’t fall in love with the mirage.
– I just want to see you again.
She decides finally.
– Come to “Amusements” and ask for Vika. Without ‘order’. Okay?
– Won’t Madam be angry?
– No.
– Okay, – I touch her hand. – Deal.
We finish coffee and sandwiches, Vika looks at me but says nothing.
Let her.
I rejoice inside. Inside I’m concentrated and business-like.
I’m a 20-year old again, flirting with the whimsical coeval. The only differ
ence is, the thought about the bed doesn’t thrill me as much as then.
Together we leave the garden, exchanging meaningless phrases. The door stands right on the grass, reminding of the scene from some old kid’s movie. Vika opens it and enters the brothel’s corridor, I follow.
It’s quiet and sad in there.
The customers never see each other. Come here everyone and find your cure..
– My time is over, – says Vika, – my timer will come up now.
I nod. It’s pretty understandable, the timer is a holy thing.
– Thank you.
– What for?
– For the fallen star.
Looks like she wants to say something, but obviously her time was really up.
Vika dissolves in the air.
I whisper, – Bye… – and descend the stairs. There is another guard in the hall now, I wink to him and pad to the door, not waiting for the answer.
– Gunslinger!
I turn around.
Madam stands on the upper landing, leaning on the railing heavily.
– I think you shouldn’t have come here, young man.
-Maybe, – I agree, – But it so happened.
Madam sighs and turns away. Let her.
I don’t need Deep-Transit today, I still remember the route of yesterday’s flight, and the exit from “Labyrinth” and the entrance are just five minutes apart.. I walk along ever-evening Deeptown’s streets, looking around, expecting the ambush.
But either the pursuers’ passion have exhausted since yesterday, or their finances had.
– I’m Gunslinger! – I shout entering the red fog in the portal. Others turn to me and I laugh raising my hands up to the lightning pierced arch, – I’m Gunslinger! Gunslinger!!!
1000
Today I’ve become the Death and the Death have become me.
This happens sometimes.
I cross “Labyrinth“‘s levels almost without hiding, shooting the monsters and passing the other players. The players try to avoid me too. Except those who feel offended since yesterday or consider themselves heroes.
Those I kill.
I was killed myself twice too. At the first time I’ve lost all my weapons and was thrown back to the beginning of the 19th, the water level. The whole team had worked here, at least 20 people, I can’t imagine what “Labyrinth“‘s servers manage to coordinate actions of such a crowd.
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