A couple is twitching in the next room, tied with a sticky cobweb: a man and a woman. They are guarded by a petty monster who even doesn’t try to attack me but rushes to kill the prisoners instead. I shoot it with the carbine and free the kid’s parents with Unfortunate’s help. Further everything happens along the standard scenario: the tale of dreadful alien invasion, advises on passing the mirror labyrinth and the solemn gift: the plasma gun. Programs are primitive, they even don’t notice that I already have this weapon. I yawn taking the gift. The rejoined family walks away. Everything is disgustingly vivid – the kid walks between his Mom and Dad, clinging to their hands… One should assume that they’ll successfully get out of the Twilight City. I glance at Unfortunate – he’s quite serious, as if he have really saved three lives.
We proceed towards the mirror labyrinth, I still don’t give any weapon to Unfortunate. The least I need now is the trick with falling and shooting winchesters.
– Okay, – I command, – You will stop by the hall entrance. You will wait for me to call for you. Then we quietly come to the computers, and you get your ass home, outta here. Okay?
– Yes.
– Do you understand me? You won’t do anything stupid, will you?
Unfortunate looks me in the eyes.
– Stupid – is to cover you?
– Yes! I’ll sort everything out by myself and you will get out of here, understood?
– Understood.
Oh, I don’t believe in his sincerity… but I have no other choice. We pass mirror corridors, I tap Unfortunate on the shoulder by the hall entrance. He stops obediently.
– Wait here. Wait for me and I’ll be back, – I say. I make a step towards the entrance but can’t help it and turn back to him.
– Look… whoever you are… I’m so tired.
Unfortunate nods.
– I’m sick of this insanity, – I go on, – Promise me that you won’t jump out into the shooting. Promise me that you won’t go anywhere. I want to get you out and to return home.
– I’ll do everything as you say, – pronounces Unfortunate and I suddenly believe him.
– Thanks, – I whisper before storming into the hall.
And the fiery carousel starts.
The Alien Prince’s Guards fire at me from thirteen balconies, I shoot back – point– blank. BFG-9000 burns three mirrors at once, the hall is filled with silvery smoke. Bullets drum against my armor knocking me down to the floor. I shoot while falling down, rotate quickly on my back as if in the forgotten dance of my youth – “break”, then shoot three more times. Three mirrors, three mirrors, three mirrors…
The last reflecting edge, and now I see the real balcony with two monsters on it, washed over with green blood. My BFG have seriously damaged their scaly bodies while my armor is still fine, even if crumpled and red-hot, but still reliable.
The last shot – the fiery blast, the scratching sound of secondary discharges… Monsters scream dying, turning into whirls of black ash.
And the silence falls.
The mirror hall is burned to the ground and ruined, just the computer screen triumphantly glows in the midst of the mess.
– And the silence came… – I whisper rising on my knees. Thanks for the armor Anatol, many thanks… – Hey Unfortunate!
The quiet sound from the corridor – a hesitating step… and two short popping sounds – carbine shots.
I don’t need any explanations.
And I don’t need any comfort.
I drag myself towards the entrance, step over Unfortunate’s bloody corpse and look into the reflective infinity of the corridor.
Alex is standing surrounded by his ghostly twins lowering his carbine. He has remains of the armor on him, the face covered in blood, the carbine’s barrel points down at its reflection on the floor.
– I’m out of ammo, – he says.
I throw away BFG, pull the gun from behind my belt and push the barrel into Alex’ forehead with such force that he shrinks back.
I even don’t have anger anymore.
Alex waits for the shot silently.
– Sit down, – I say lowering my weapon, – Sit down, you bastard.
He sits down, I sit by him on the floor and the body of Unfortunate who was so unlucky again blindly stares at the ceiling.
– Why did you kill him?
– I… wanted to kill you, – says Alex, – I was after you. I feared to be late, I haven’t noticed that he was unarmed.
– Okay, then why me?
Alex smirks.
– You shoot me down on the first level, have you forgot?
– No. And this is the only reason?
– But we had a deal to go together, hadn’t we?
Oh Lord, why do you punish me?
– Do you want to say that you weren’t going to shoot me yourself for the spare cartridge?
– I was considering that, – confesses Alex calmly, – But I had not decided yet. And you killed me.
At this point the laughter gets me, I fall on the floor, nudge my helmet into Unfortunate’s leg, hit the floor with my hand.
– You freak! – I shout, – Dumbass!
Alex feels hurt for some reason.
– I had not shoot you! – he shouts, – But you had!
– Man, are you screwed! – I say, – Fucking avenger… unfinished Zorro… I’m diver! Do you understand? The guy whom you shoot down is for two days in the Deep already! His timer is off! He will croak if I don’t get him out! And you, with your complexes… idiot, idiot…
– Diver? – Alex repeats dumbly.
– Diver! – I don’t care about our eternal conspiration now, – I’d spit on this “Labyrinth” from the 40th floor! I’m trying to save the human – and you’re playing war games, sucker! How old are you, kid?
Alex doesn’t reply at once, but does anyway.
– Forty-two.
I get the next laughter attack.
Here it is, Piter Pan’s kingdom, the island of eternal kids.
The war games’ lover, entering his fifth decade.
There’s no age in virtuality. Both a solid aged businessman and an immature youth who managed to get to the computer with modem at work – are equal.
Everyone has a right to run along drawn labyrinths remembering kids’ rules of honor and shouting, “Not fair!”.
Everyone can play noble heroes and brave knights forgetting that the life is much more complicated than ten Old Testament commandments.
– I’m really sorry, – says Alex, – I didn’t know that you’re doing such an important job…
Oh Lord, how funny… No, nothing serious, I’ve just dropped in here to pee.
– If I can help somehow… – says Alex in muffled voice, – …to pay for the time you’ve spent…
– You can’t buy the time. – I reply. It would be really better if Alex was keeping to act like a young programmer… – The guy in whom you’ve stuck your fucking bullets is now dying somewhere of hunger and thirst!
– I’m really sorry, – Alex rises and pads to me. I look up at him, not even trying to stand up. – It’s just that you were acting in non-ethical way. You had shot me without any obvious reason.
It’s useless to talk to him…
– Maybe I was wrong, – his voice gains some strength, – But you should understand that your initial conduct was the reason for all that followed. Obviously, you’re younger than me…
I look at the ceiling, at the dead bony Unfortunate’s face.
– Though, you should understand like I do that we are in the unreal world, the one that doesn’t exist, – pontificates Alex, – This is a dangerous illusion… people can easily lose their life’s guiding points, their moral norms, they can submit to the feeling of complete license. Maybe my actions were not completely right but I always try to keep usual human categories. “Labyrinth” is a game but it embodies eternal ideals. Ideals of chivalry if you want, the fight of the good against the evil.
Yet another illusion fighter. Geez, how many of those do I remember – the people who tried to make the Deep the exact copy of the real world. The funniest thing that the most noisy one among them was sci-fi writer…
– You were acting not honestly from the very beginning, – says Alex, – and here… is the sad conclusion. You know diver, it was always like this. From the very world’s creation. All the history is the living example!
– … And in the boiling cauldrons of past slaughters and troubles… – I whisper, – … there’s so much food for those petty brains of ours…
Alex shuts up.
– Have you squared your accounts with me? – I ask, – Go ahead, tell me, have you? Or you also want to shoot me by yourself? Come on, do it!
I throw a pistol to him and outstretch my hands apart.
– I… didn’t mean that… – mumbles Alex, – If you would just admit your being wrong, it would be quite enough…
– I admit it, – I say, pressing the rocket launcher’s tube opening against my chest, – I admit it. I should had waited for you to shoot me. Now you’re satisfied?
Alex retreats one step, waves his hands in protest. Obviously he’s not satisfied with such an outcome, he haven’t yet justified himself.
Abyss-abyss, I’m not yours…
The trigger is so hard, I barely managed to pull it.
Blood on the helmet’s screens.
And complete silence inside me.
No, I haven’t pulled the unfortunate player from the Deep, and haven’t tried to outwit my unprincipled colleague. It’s just how it IS.
The virtuality itself have risen against me.
Part 3. Man Without Face
0
I was present at the birth of virtuality, I was one of the first to try Dibenko’s program and I don’t have any common person’s mystic fear of the computer at all.
Calculating machines can’t be intelligent.
Vika might dream about self-born electronic mind – I can’t believe in that. Everything that’s going on in the deep is nothing more than just mutual interference of various programs. If anything goes beyond the frame of the possible, it means that some person is standing behind that.
But who, who can be behind eternal deaths of Unfortunate?
A good diver or just any experienced Deep inhabitant are sure capable of faking their death again and again. All those dropped carbines is a bull but why the Net itself plays up to Unfortunate? Why have Alex managed to catch up with us exactly at the moment when Unfortunate was left unattended? Is it just a coincidence?
Even more, two professionals driving Unfortunate to the exit couldn’t guard him against coincidences either?
I can’t believe in that.
I’m sitting in the “Labyrinth“‘s cloak room after reentering the Deep, humiliated and defeated, a loser diver who thought he’s more intelligent than the others. Abyss-abyss… how easily did you squash me. The fight is lost if the enemy haven’t shown up.
Not without reason had Man Without Face promised me such a reward for the Unfortunate’s rescue. He knew much more than he said. Keen shooting and good reaction won’t help here.
That means, I have to stop banging on the drawn door either. It’s time to look for the real way out.
I throw the armor and the rest of the gear into the closet, enter the shower and squirm under ice cold jets for a minute. Then the anger comes to replace helplessness and confusion. Great. Hello, anger. You are what I really need. Enough of games according to the rules.
I dress and enter the column hall.
– “Labyrinth“‘s administration requests Gunslinger to visit Security Service manager, – rings out in the air immediately, – “Labyrinth“‘s….
I’m being watched upon when I come to the door which Giullermo passed last time we met. I push it – unlocked.
This time the administration building is busy. I was let into the common space of “Labyrinth“‘s sysops – I can see them and vice versa. Hardly I’ll interest anybody here though. I pass the corridors looking at the glass doors – the terminals are behind them, guys and girls sitting by. Big halls are behind some doors, with scale models on top of huge tables, “Labyrinth“‘s levels’ scale models – hills and ravines, buildings and ruins, rivers and blazing fires. People walk around them lazily. There, one guy leans above the model and pours some nasty greenish slush into a small stream. The stream starts bubbling. The guy nudges his coworker nearby who glances at defiled landscape and shrugs.
So this is how levels are constructed. Or rather their skeleton which then will live its own electronic life, inhabited by monsters and players. It will excite imagination of “Labyrinth“‘s habitues for several months then it’ll be changed.
– Are you Gunslinger?
The girl approaches me quietly and unnoticed, she’s blonde and cute.
– Yes.
– Let’s go, Mr. Aguirre is waiting for you.
I follow her. In general I know what they’ll tell me now but why not to spend several minutes on formalities?
Guillermo stands by the window into “Labyrinth”, the dark silhouette against the blood-red blaze. Everything is well thought through in the triangular shaped room – the office’s owner seems small and lost against the window but draws attention at the same time. The visitor is on the crest of the pyramid and feels himself important involuntarily… and uncomfortable.
– Oh, Gunslinger! – Guillermo moves to meet me in energetic pace, – Sit down, sit down…
– You cancel the contract? – I ask directly.
Guillermo stops and rubs his nose bridge.
– Mmmm… yeah… Have you talked to Anatol, Gunslinger?
– I have.
As if he didn’t controlled our talk…
– Gunslinger, you agree with our divers’ opinion, no?
– No.
– Why?
– Will it change anything anyway? – I ask in return. – You have already decided to give up with the rescue.
– I didn’t decide. – says Guillermo, slightly accenting on “I”.
– But you cancel the contract anyway?
Guillermo sighs.
– We appreciate your attempts to help… very appreciate.
His speech becomes noticeably incorrect and I understand: Guillermo doesn’t use interpreter program, he knows Russian, and knows it damn well. It’s pleasant to know but I’m not surprised: Russians make a considerable part of the players, maybe because our famous native lack of system is still alive… and many companies pay for their employees’ fun instead of for their work in the Deep.
– … But there is an opinion that now we encounter the action of hostile diver. Proceeding with rescue means supporting his plans. Right?
I nod. There’s no confidence in Guillermo’s voice but I have nothing to oppose to “Labyrinth“‘s divers’ words either.
Yet.
It’s useless to argue.
– The company will pay you a bonus, – says Guillermo, – We even can argue about the amount… a little.
He smiles friendly and a bit slyly.
– 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!
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