Labyrinth of reflections lor-1

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  “What do you want?”

  “Help.”

  “I can’t help. Everything you need is inside you.”

  If he was here, a real person, I would say something to him that is possible to say only or even better not to say at all. So I said that aloud but the Net has its own norms of communication and my fingers typed:

  “Who is he?”

  “You were told already.”

  The spiders. The spiders, stretched their thin threads into each other’s dens. Urman watches after “Labyrinth” while Man Without Face controls Al-Kabar.

  “Was that true?”

  “Maybe”

  “I CAN’T HANDLE IT!” – I typed in CAPs.

  “Pity.”

  And almost instantly the line have appeared in the bottom of the screen: “Addressee have disconnected.”

  – Connection broke! – confirmed Vika, – Do you want to reconnect?

  – No, – I replied. For some reason I didn’t have any doubt: the Polish server won’t connect me with Man Without Face again.

  Maybe he feels offended that I’ve told about him to Urman. Maybe he have just lost faith in my abilities.

  The result is the same in either case.

  – Vika, am I smart? – I asked.

  There’s almost 1000 keywords stuffed into Windows-Home. Sometimes it’s possible to make really funny talks with the computer… almost intelligent ones.

  – What answer would you like to hear? – deviated Vika as usual when the words were not formulated as an order but were unclear to her.

  – The honest one.

  – I don’t know Lenia. I really wish I could answer but I really don’t know.

  – Stupid you are, Vika.

  – And you’re a boor.

  I laughed. If anybody not familiar with modern operating systems could hear me he would decide for sure that my Pentium is intelligent.

  – Sorry, Vika.

  – That’s okay, I’m not angry.

  Intellect and its fake… Where is the border between them? We already talk to our computers, they greet us and wish us good night. Many people including me spend most of their time in virtuality. But it’s not a victory of the human intelligence, just a fake of the victory, bright colored banners and fireworks above the void. Higher processor speed, more memory – and the computer gets human look and feel. But nothing more…

  And Unfortunate – he can be a program too. Just as cunning as Maniac’s virus, penetrated through the filter, rooted itself in the 33rd level’s server, the one able to support the talk and to shoot the monsters.

  – Shit!! – I shouted.

  It’s so simple! Just a hundred of phrases said sometimes in the right time, sometimes irrelevantly. The program that learns on its own words, returning you your own thoughts, obediently following its naive rescuers… Sure it doesn’t need any comm channels.

  What did I tell Unfortunate, what did he reply? I strained my memory.

  I don’t know… It might be a program. Then both Al-Kabar and Man Without Face were too wide of the mark.

  Good if I’m right, the riddle is solved quite simply.

  The Silence, Gunslinger…

  I shivered, remembering the void that rolled over me after his words.

  A program?

  Unfortunate, carrying the drawn kid with such care…

  A program?

  – I can’t understand a thing, Vika, – I said, – Absolutely nothing, and you can’t help me.

  – Can I help? – replies Vika inopportunely.

  – No!

  – Who can then?

  I was silent for a while before replying.

  – The real Vika. The Deep!

  – Deep program start?

  I put my hands on the keyboard instead of an answer.

  Deep

  Enter.

  The darkness on the screens is lined by falling stars, the rainbow spiral whirling before my eyes, erasing reality, pulling me towards Deeptown’s skyscrapers.

  The first second is the most difficult one. The room is the same, but I know, all this is an illusion, a mirage.

  – Is everything okay, Lenia?

  I rotate my head. The room is okay. It’s me who is different.

  – Personality #7, Gunslinger.

  – Acknowledged…

  This time my appearance changes painfully long, nothing can be done, it’s an inevitable cost of the weapon.

  – Is everything okay Lenia?

  I stand up and look at my reflection in the mirror.

  – Yes. Thanks Vika.

  I open the fridge looking for soda. Sprite is over, only Coke has left. It’ll do.

  – Good luck, Lenia.

  – Thanks.

  I drink the most popular beverage in the world greedily which – how funny – was created as a diarrhea relief… Urman estimated that I have five hours more, now only four have left. I can almost feel how somewhere in the great distance, on other continents, the various officials’ brains screech in strain, starting to comprehend the Unfortunate’s phenomenon. Very soon the 33rd level will be shut down, very soon the hunt for Unfortunate will start. It’s not important whether he’s a human or a program, I’ll get him out.

  – Call the taxi, – I say leaving the apartment. I descend in a small clean elevator and open the doorway.

  An old Ford is waiting for me, the driver is a sleek young guy in a white shirt, an exact copy of the one that I killed two days ago before penetrating into Al-Kabar. I even feel shame looking at his friendly smile.

  – Brothel “Any Amusements”! – I growl.

  100

  It looks like Vika made Madam to establish a special status for me. When I enter the lobby, I see the three men in there. All three pull their heads up, in all three’s eyes is confusion and fright. They don’t see each other, two of them are even overlapping in space looking like some kind of ugly siamese twins.

  These two are stately blue eyed brunettes, standard bodies from Windows-Home’s kit, obviously put on for disguise. The third one is a swarthy robust guy with a cleanly shaved head. The common feature of all three is their look, the one of somebody caught being busy with pressing out pimples.

  So, I’m now what, have the same rights as the brothel’s employee? I can see all three customers, enter the service areas…

  – Hi… – I say raising my hand limply. All three nod quickly. One of them puts aside the green album with artificial negligence, the other one casts the purple one aside. Only the shaved guy continues to look through the black album stubbornly, curiously studying the pictures.

  I approach the guard, he opens the door before me obediently and I leave the lobby sparing the visitors from their soul tortures.

  Nobody is going to escort me but I remember the way. The corridor is empty, some doors are opened. Bursts of laughter can be heard from behind one of them. There is a small pavilion surrounded by blossoming sakura, the gentle spring sun shines in the sky, the cone of Fuji is seen in the distance. Two girls are drinking tea inside, noticing me they wave their hands cheerfully:

  – Hi Gunslinger, want some tea?

  – N…no, – I mumble and walk away quickly. An absolutely naked girl steps out from the other door, without even a hint of shyness.

  – Vika is busy! – she says, – Maybe you’ll stay with me for a while? I’m boooored!

  There’s no hint in her words whatsoever and the thought about having sex doesn’t excite her more than the process of inhalation-exhalation. There’s something dreadful in the situation itself… in all those cheerful and friendly young girls.

  I suddenly realize what do they remind me of, some old sci-fi book about merry young people who are busy with their favorite work, who spend days and nights at it, they are friendly, they are always ready to help their friend, they are unable to say a single bad word about each other…

  It’s like a distorted mirror, the false reflection. The evil had put on the dress of good and as stra
nge as it may seem, it fit!

  – Thanks, but I’d better wait in her room, thanks again… – I say smiling desperately.

  The girl pouts sorrowfully and disappears in her room. I go further until my look meets with the black kitten’s on the picture.

  – Meow! – I whisper softly pushing the door. The kitten opens his tiny maw, mews in return and freezes again.

  The mountain hut is empty, just the wind from the opened window flutters the short curtains. Leaned against the window-sill, I watch the mountains for quite a time. No, this is impossible, to create the whole world absolutely alone and not for fame and money, not at an order, just for herself and even never enter it!

  To create it just in order to know that it exists, right here, behind the window: the sparkling snow on the mountain crest, the endless blue sky, rocks on the slopes, the black moss under pine trees, birds soaring in the skies and squirrels scurrying about in the trees. The world of silence, cleanliness and serenity, the world where the word ‘filth’ is not invented.

  I think that Unfortunate would like it. I really hope he will like it.

  – Lenia?

  Vika enters quietly and it takes me by surprise.

  – I’m sorry… didn’t they tell you?

  She shakes her head.

  – I just wanted to be with you… for a little time, – I start make excuses involuntarily, – Are you… all right?

  Vika nods.

  – You shouldn’t dive in the Deep so often, – I say approaching her, – have you at least had some snack?

  – A little… It’s a flood of customers today.

  She doesn’t look aside, she got used to consider this a work but it’s something wrong with me. I can feel a cold lump in my chest, quick and pungent like a snow in the frost. I swallow some air and say:

  – Do you really have to work so much… Madam?

  Vika goes to the window and asks without turning back:

  – How did you find out?

  – I felt it.

  – Leave Leonid. Leave forever, okay?

  – No.

  – Why the hell do you pester me? – shouts Vika turning back, – Why the hell would you need a prostitute as a friend? Get out! I like that, okay? I like to fuck a hundred of times a day, to change bodies, to order the girls around and to pretend that I’m one of them! Is it clear? Is it?

  I just stand there waiting for her to vent it out, then pad closer and stand by her side by the window.

  I can’t talk now and can’t touch her, but it’s dangerous to stay silent either, though I have no choice and I wait for I don’t know what.

  The mountains start and the floor begins to shake under the feet. Vika shouts clinging to the window-sill, I grab her by the shoulder and set the second hand against the wall. The earth is quivering, the white mountain caps start flowing with a white smoke, stretching down tentacles of avalanches. The huge rock whirls down by the window.

  – Mommy… – whispers Vika sinking on the floor, looks like she is more excited than scared, – Duck, Lenia!

  I fall down beside her and just in time – a good load of stony shrapnel blows into the window.

  – Fifth degree at least! – shouts Vika, – Seventh!

  – Eighth! – I suggest. Hardly had she ever seen the real earthquakes, otherwise she wouldn’t be so cheerful now.

  The hut’s floor is still shaking but much less now, with a small convulsive shiver.

  – Cool, – whispers Vika sprawling on the floor. I catch her look and touch her cheek gently, – Don’t be mad at me Lenia.

  – I’m not.

  – The customers… piss me off sometimes.

  – The Cap? – I remember.

  – Exactly.

  – Who is he?

  Vika shrugs.

  – I don’t know. He wears different bodies and doesn’t tell anything about himself. He only… – she smirks, – always wears a cap. That’s why his nick.

  – Is he a sadist?

  – Yes, maybe… but a special one.

  Her lips whisper a short obscenity.

  – You what, accept any customers here? Even those who make you climb the walls?

  Vika stays silent.

  – I thought you sort out the worst idiots. If it’s possible to identify Cap beforehand…

  – We accept everyone.

  – What is it, a kind of the company honor? “Any Amusements”?

  – You might assume that.

  Looks like the earthquake is over, I rise and look into the window. Avalanches still move, the river below is blocked by landslide and fills in slowly, searching for the new bed.

  – It calmed down, – I whisper involuntarily, as if my words can wake the nature up again, – Vika, why did you make the earthquake?

  – I don’t have anything to do with it. This world lives by itself, I don’t have any control over it anymore.

  – Not at all?

  Vika glances at me, rises and studies the changed landscape.

  – Absolutely. The world becomes real only when it gains freedom.

  – Just as a human.

  – Sure.

  – Do you believe in freedom so much?

  – You don’t have to believe in freedom. When you have it, you can feel it yourself.

  I think I expected her to say these words.

  – Vika, what if some man… a good man is in trouble… If he can lose his freedom forever… would you agree to help him?

  – I would, – she replies calmly, – Even if he’s not that good a man. This is a principle of a sort if you want.

  – I need to hide somebody.

  Vika shakes her head in some funny manner, so that her hair scatter on her shoulders.

  – Lenia, what are you talking about? Hide where?

  – In virtuality.

  – What for?

  – He can’t exit.

  – You’re talking about the one in “Labyrinth”?

  – Yes.

  – Lenia… – Vika holds my hand, – How long ago were you in the real world?

  – Half an hour ago.

  – Really? Don’t you need some help yourself? I have… – she bites her lip, – one familiar diver. It’s true, they really exist!

  How funny…

  – Do you want me to ask him to meet you?

  – Vika…

  She calms down.

  I’m not used to such care, to be honest. This is my profession – to take care of people who got lost in virtuality.

  – I’ll help, – says Vika, – But you’re wrong… I think.

  I don’t have time for arguments now.

  – Thank you. Are your security systems reliable enough?

  – Quite. Do you understand something in that?

  I nod. Of course, I can’t create the security program myself but I had to break those so many times that it’s high time to consider myself an expert.

  – You can talk to the Wiz about that.

  – Will he tell me?

  – Not to you, and neither to me, but to Madam…

  Vika hesitates and looks at me as if asking to leave. I go to the door, but she calls:

  – Lenia.. Don’t. I want you to look.

  She pads to the wall, waves her hand and the boards part, opening a small door.

  It’s a light behind it, a cold bluish lifeless light. Vika’s silhouette stays in the doorway for a second, then disappears inside and I follow her even if I don’t want that at all, like hypnotized.

  It’s a shed. Or a morgue. Or Blue Beard’s museum.

  Shiny nickel coated hooks stick out from the walls, human bodies hang on them, almost reaching the floor with their feet, girls for the most part, light and dark haired, several reddish ones, one is completely bald. Also several middle-aged women and a couple of old ones, several girls and boys.

  All eyes are opened and empty.

  – This is my costumier room, – says Vika. I stay silent, I can understand that anyway.
<
br />   Vika walks along slightly rocking bodies, looking into the dead faces, whispering something as if in greeting. Madam is hanging somewhere in the end of the first dozen. Vika looks back at me making sure I’m watching and snugs close to the splendid body of the brothel owner, hugs it as if in the outburst of perverted passion.

  Nothing happens for a second, then – I can’t catch the moment of change

  – Vika and Madam change places. Not Vika but Madam backs from the helplessly hanging body.

  – That’s it, – says Madam in her low voice.

  – Why… in such a disgusting way? – I ask, – These hooks… this morgue… why? Vika?

  Madam looks at Vika, nods sadly:

  – Vika my dear, why? Should we explain to Lenia?

  Vika, threaded on the hook by her nape stays silent.

  – In order to never forget, Leonid. Not to forget for even a second – they are not alive.

  I look at Madam, far more calm and wise than Vika, and if to approach it unbiased – much more beautiful.

  – You had to see it, – says Madam.

  – I have.

  We exit the ‘human meat warehouse’ through the other door, the one that leads into Madam’s room. This is a completely different world. There’s a noisy and crowded beach behind the window, the hot sun in the sky, the room itself is full of luxurious old furniture, books are scattered everywhere along with opened candy boxes, clothes, cheap jewelry and golden bracelets, half-empty perfume bottles, playing cards. The huge bed under the plush canopy is uncovered, the slipper is lying under it. A variety of started bottles is in the sideboard, the dusty guitar hangs on the wall, Persian carpet on the floor is bitten by moth and is stained with wine in patches.

  – Now you can try to guess which me is a real one, – says Madam.

  I ain’t going to. There’s no other truth in the world except the one we want to believe in anyway.

  We don’t stay in Madam’s room for long and I’m glad about that very much, it’s too stiffly in there.

  – Lenia, sometimes I tend to think that you’re just a young boy, – says Madam, – one can’t be so naive after all.

  – Why not?

  – It’s too hard to live that way.

  – Nobody had promised me it’ll be easy.

  I walk by Madam’s side thinking about how could we look from the side. A pale and tall Gunslinger fits to be Madam’s son in his age but there’s no resemblance between them. Maybe it must look like a disguised aristocrat ‘s visit to the cheap brothel.