Labyrinth of reflections lor-1

by Sergei Lukyanenko

  Guillermo makes a couple of chewing motions and asks again:

  – A journey amongst the stars?

  – Yes…

  – What stars?

  It seems we don’t understand each other…

  – Willy, Unfortunate is an alien form of life, I think some energy based one, his mind cardinally differs from…

  I shut up. Somehow ridiculous does all this sound! Now, when Unfortunate is not near, I feel a kind of scepticism Vika felt.

  – Energy based form of life… – repeats Guillermo very politely and gently, as if talking to a sick person, – Yes. Interesting.

  Which one of us is the bigger idiot?

  – Willy, let’s exchange information. To begin our cooperation.

  – I think I know your information already, – Willy winks slyly, – Huh?

  – But I also can meet Unfortunate at any time and talk to him. Huh?

  – Do you have him? – asks Guillermo quickly.

  I remain silent.

  – As a token of cooperation… – mumbles Willy. Oh, it wasn’t his initiative to come here! Or at least, not only his. Now “Labyrinth“‘s management decides in panic whether to allow him to talk to me openly or not…

  – I can leave, – I note.

  – Okay! – Willy raises his hands, – I surrender! You’ve won, Gunslinger! You’ve won as usual!

  I ignore the compliment but Willie doesn’t expect any reaction. He rubs his forehead and pronounces solemnly:

  – It was not at once when we evaluated the Unfortunate’s phenomenon. It’s our big mistake. “Labyrinth“‘s attention to its customers have played the positive role though… When yours and our divers’ efforts proved useless, we started to search for Unfortunate’s entering channel. We searched and searched… and failed.

  I’m waiting for the next part. Guillermo winks cunningly and goes on:

  – Are you familiar with the parallel worlds theory, Gunslinger?

  – From sci-fi literature.

  – It’s quite a serious theory, Gunslinger. Other worlds might exist in parallel with ours, invisible, unreachable… but quite real ones. We can’t

  – yet – communicate with them in a normal way. But virtuality is a different thing. Flows of information live according to their own laws. Computer network is the most powerful device for entropy reduction in the history of mankind. Independently from our will or wish it influences the physical laws of the Universe. Information flows stream along the Net, they condense creating the centers where the very nature of the Universe transforms.

  – Information can’t change the laws of nature, – I say quickly.

  – Oh yeah? When the structure complication happens in the limited fraction of space – it influences the whole Universe. Very weakly of course but the bases of the world vibrate a little anyway. Every object created by humans contained both positive and negative ‘charge’. The club carved from the tree branch wasn’t just a weapon, no! It was an anomaly phenomenon, an ordered structure in the chaotic world. But this was compensated – at least by the pile of shavings and sawdust. The book became a bit more complicated structure. The volume of information and chaos caused by its creation were not exactly equal already but this phenomenon was also compensated after all

  – at least by the fact that many books were not worth the trees cut to make paper for them. What added to that for the first hand, were the books that beared an anomalous complication of information in themselves. I’m not talking about reference books that mostly reflect well known and useless information but about those that led to the birth of new ethics and perception of the world. They started to influence the people’s life, to lead to entropy, to destroy. It was like a curse: the more informative the book is, the more did it shake the world. The humans were unable to simultaneously bring an order into the world and not to add chaos. Computers is an absolutely different case, it’s information in its purity. It arrives from different directions, it gathers, multiplies. It doesn’t vanish without a trace – to give away a file with data is absolutely not the same as to give away a jewel or a favorite book. It tears the Universe’s space, violates the balance between the order and the chaos.

  Guillermo silences to catch his breath. He’s excited, he definitely wanted to tell all this out.

  – And so, in such points where the human deeds create the new understanding of the world, where the very human look at the life changes – the unusual happens. The border between the worlds breaks there, and the miracle is being born, and the creature from the other world, maybe a human, maybe not, right?… is able to come to us. To encounter our moral, culture, our dreams… to absorb all net’s knowledge in itself… and to freeze, terrified.

  What can I answer him? To tell about the fallen star?

  – As far as I understand, Unfortunate declared you that he’s an alien from the other planet? – asks Guillermo.

  I nod. Maybe it’s not exactly so though, he never told me directly, he just never rejected my guess.

  – Was it his own version or he confirmed your guess?

  – Confirmed… – I mumble.

  – A normal thing to do, – decides Guillermo, – To admit his own alien nature but to give a wrong direction. He has a right to fear us. His civilization is a peaceful one most likely while we are not the kindest creatures…

  It was a long time since I was nudged face forward into the dirt this way.

  – We considered different theories, – says Guillermo, – We analyzed Al-Kabar’s versions – about the machine mind, mutation that gave birth to the ‘human computer’. But… our specialists tend to smile. We were thinking about an alien from the stars. This would be beautiful… too beautiful to be true. We have a good team of psychologists, they work on the data available to us, we have good programmers, they are working too. But still, the theory of parallel worlds remains the most likely one. Al-Kabar worked with people too little, their approach is mechanistic and Urman is too far from modern technologies. No-no. Not a computer mind, not a human merged with a machine. Maybe… – a condescending smile, – an alien. Maybe, – Guillermo’s face becomes serious, – a creature from a parallel world. Let’s find out together. Without a force, without… any fights, – Guillermo pokes his hand at melted asphalt with disgust, – Let’s sit together and talk. Let’s forget mistakes, offences, claims. Let’s explain that we’re not so bad after all, that we shouldn’t be feared. Let’s stretch our hand…

  His hand stretches to me but I’m silent, unable to take and shake it.

  Whoever he was, Unfortunate, he tried to help me.

  He was – and is – better than many real humans.

  – I can’t accept your offer Willy, – I say, – I’m sorry. You might be right, but I don’t have a right to decide.

  – But who has, Gunslinger? – asks Guillermo quietly.

  – Only him, Unfortunate. He doesn’t want to tell anything. He named himself an alien, a guest who grew tired of loneliness – and now he wants to leave. It’s his right. It’s his decision. He didn’t do anything bad to anybody, he just got lost in our ridiculous world. I helped him to exit, I showed him… I hope I did… that the deep is not bloody fights only. If it wasn’t enough – well… let him go, either in his parallel world or to the distant stars. He’s free, as much as we are.

  Guillermo looks as if he have grown lean. He looks at me, sadly and tiredly. Probably he said the truth, and hardly does he wish bad to Unfortunate. It’s just a difference in approaches.

  – So you’ll let him leave Gunslinger? – he asks, – The mystery will disappear for long, or forever… and nobody will know who was Unfortunate?

  – Freedom, Willy.

  – You Russians always were considering a state, a society above the person, – says Guillermo, – This isn’t the right approach, but you’re Russian after all, aren’t you?

  – I’m the citizen of Deeptown. There’s no borders in the Deep, Willy.

  Guillermo nods and ri
ses slowly, awkwardly, looks at the cab that waits for him. There’s several Al-Kabar commandos inside most likely. Or probably my friends Anatol and Dick…

  – Have Unfortunate given anything to you personally, Gunslinger? – asks Willy.

  – Probably.

  – Can I know what, or see? – inquires he with a sudden shyness.

  I look at him, then bend over the crater in asphalt. The werewolf diver perished here two hours ago, my poor workmate Romka. I didn’t see how it happened, but I can imagine.

  The flame envelops the wolf’s body, it means that the Man Without Face’s virus had penetrated Romka’s computer. His machine’s winchester jerks deleting data and damaging utility programs, communication breaks. Romka falls from the deep, from his desperate and hopeless fight.

  I feel the smell of burned fur, see the pale fire, the body is squeezed with a spasm… and I vanish, falling through the drawn asphalt, into the long gone comm channel.

  100

  The flight.

  A flow of sparks pierces my body.

  Spiral lightnings sweep at my face.

  I feel pain and for the first time in virtuality I understand – it’s not an imaginary one. It’s just a weak echo of the pain that tortures me in the real world. I’m doing something that a human can’t, shouldn’t do, I communicate with computers directly, walk through the Net pulling data from programs terminated long time ago.

  It’s painful, hard but I must overcome that.

  It seems that I moan and scream, pressing nonexistent hands against my forehead, a red-hot nails are hammered into my eyes, the skin is torn off with a sandpaper. It’s a retribution for the impossible.

  When I come back to my senses, there’s a door before me.. I’m lying in the corridor, a long and dull one, with hundreds of such doors. Is it one of the virtual hotels?

  The pain haven’t faded yet but became weaker, softer. It’s possible to rise from the floor – very carefully, to lean against the cold wood of the door with forehead.

  So you enter virtuality from temporary addresses too, Romka?

  I push the door without even thinking that it can be locked and almost fall into the room. Posters with half naked beauties are on the walls, a table with drinks stands by the wall. It looks somehow strange… An unfamiliar man sits with his back towards me, drums at computer keyboard murmuring something out of tune. A half empty bottle of gin and an ashtray full of cigar butts is by his hand. The man is just finishing a glass of cheap ‘Hogart’.

  – Hi Romka, – I mumble, trying to get a grip against the wall. The man turns around, looks at me in confusion, then jumps up, catches me on his hands and drags towards the armchair.

  Now I can let it slip…

  Romka brings a full glass of gin under my nose and the smell of juniper finally returns my consciousness.

  – Take it away, I’ll puke… – I push away his hand.

  – Len’ka, is it you? – asks the diver unbelievingly.

  – Me…

  – Come on, drink, you’ll feel better!

  – Damned alcoholic, – I whisper something that I never got a nerve to tell him before, – It’s you who can gulp pure Gin down.

  – Want me to add some tonic? – guesses Romka, – It’s fine for me just like this…

  He splashes most of the glass’ contents out on the floor, fills with tonic and gives it to me. This time I don’t refuse, I drink feeling the blessing numbness streaming all over my body.

  – How did you enter? – asks Romka, – The door was closed!

  It’s too hard to explain why closed doors don’t hinder me anymore. I wave my hand and suck in the rest of the liquid.

  – And how could you find me?

  – I just could… – I answer indefinitely, but it seems that Romka is glad to see me too much to keep trying me.

  – Did you manage to get away from that bastard? – he asks.

  – Yes…

  – What an asshole! – swears Romka, – He busied me alright!

  – How did you crawl out?

  – The virus was a clean one. It froze my machine but croaked after restart. Everything according to the Convention, but cool, damn it! – Romka laughs forcefully, – What an enemies have you got, Lenia!

  – Feel envious?

  – Yup! – confesses Romka sincerely, – I feared you’ll have no time to escape…

  – We had…

  – She’s pretty fancy, that chick of yours, – winks Romka.

  I nod, looking around more attentively. Romka’s living place is really strange. All these beauties on the walls… plenty of cigars and alcohol on the table, a couple of fresh issues of Playboy on the bed together with a teens’ pop-music related newspaper…

  Romka averts his gaze.

  – Do I distract you too much? – I ask.

  The werewolf glances at the working computer, lines of a primitive program on its screen…

  – Not really… I was preparing for a test… Never mind.

  – What test?

  – Informatics.

  – How old are you, Romka? – I ask, suddenly ‘regaining my sight’.

  – Fifteen.

  I start laughing and see how the man opposite me clings his jaws gloomily. I laugh, Romka stands up, lights a cigar, pours Gin into his glass and asks finally:

  – Well, and what’s so funny?

  – Romka… – I understand that I behave badly but I have no strength to hold it back… – Romka, have you ever drink vodka in glass shots or pure Gin?

  – No.

  – And don’t even try. It was really dumb of me not to notice this before. You… you behave with too much fortitude to be an adult man!

  – Is it so noticeable? – asks Romka gloomily.

  – No, not that much… It’s kinda unusual though…

  – Why unusual? There’s many teens among werewolves.

  – How do you know?

  – Well… Probably we’re more sincere to each other. Those who are older than 18 seldom can live in a nonhuman appearance. But it’s fine for us.

  Plasticity… plasticity of mind. I look at Romka and think that there must be a lot of teens among those diver friends of mine who tell dirty anecdotes too excitedly, or always demonstrate their coolness. It’s easier for them to pass the barrier of the deep program. Easier – as strange as it might seem. Their mind have grown on the movies and books about the virtual world, they know that Deeptown is drawn not only in their minds but in their hearts too. They won’t drown.

  Maybe there’ll be more of them and divers will stop hiding.

  – Romka, do you connect from your computer?

  – From Dad’s. I was always punished whenever caught in virtuality. Dad thinks it’s only debauchery and fist fighting here. So I had to enter somehow… to notice what’s going on in the apartment. When the door is opened, I can hear that.

  – I’m glad you’re fine, Romka.

  The werewolf nods:

  – And how I’m glad! I have a strimmer, but restoring all disk is a pain. You were looking for me to find out how I am?

  I really want to say “yes” but it’ll be a lie.

  – Not only… I also wanted to ask for your advice…

  – And now you don’t want to?

  He’s right, I don’t, but after these words I don’t have any way out.

  – Romka, a strange thing had happened to me… – I rise, pour Gin into my glass, two fingers thick, add tonic. – In the Net I’ve run into a guy… who is not really a human.

  Romka waits patiently.

  – I even don’t know, where’s truth and where’s lies, – I say, – Possibly he’s an alien from the stars, possibly he’s a guest from a parallel world. Or maybe he’s a creature of the computer mind or mutant that connects to the Net directly, without a computer. He’s being searched for by at least two big companies…

  The werewolf nods, I don’t need to name “Labyrinth” and Al-Kabar to him.

  – �
� And Dmitry Dibenko.

  – Dibenko?

  – Exactly. They want to get at least something useful from him. But he wants to leave. Forever.

  – And you’re thinking whether you have to give him away?

  – Nobody can stop him, I’m sure. But in any case… it’s a different world, right Romka? A different knowledge, different culture. Maybe they’ll manage to persuade him, to learn at least something from him. Just a bit of his knowledge might become a new stage of evolution for the mankind.

  – It might, – agrees Romka willingly.

  – … Because after all, he could… change me somehow. I would never find your trace without new abilities. I don’t know whether I have a right to stay silent and hide him.

  – You want my advice? – asks Romka with some sudden fright, – Seriously?

  – Yes Romka. Right because you’re a kid yet and I’m an old cynicist. Tell me, does one person have a right for a miracle?

  – No.

  I nod, I didn’t expect any other answer, but Romka isn’t finished yet.

  – Nobody has a right for a miracle. It’s always by itself. That’s why it’s a miracle.

  – Thank you, – I say and rise.

  – Are you hurt?

  – No, on the contrary… I’ll go home. It’s great that you’re fine…

  Already in the doorway, I stop for a moment and add:

  – …And don’t be so hard on alcohol. You’re grown-up Romka, don’t try to prove it. Good luck on the test.

  – Thanks! – shouts Romka behind me.

  Miracle – it’s on its own…

  I walk along the hotel corridor, smiling to Romka’s words.

  This impatience of mind, this great unsatisfiable thirst…

  To understand, to explain, to conquer!

  The miracle must be tamed and docile. We even made God a human – and only after this we learned how to believe. We reduce miracles down to our level.

  Maybe it’s good, otherwise we still would hide in caves, feeding the Red Flower set out by the lightning with wood.

  You’re a great kid Romka, you managed to get a right conclusion going the wrong way, as if walking along the mirror labyrinth, hitting the glass but passing it after all. I can’t yet understand why are you right Romka, but you’re right anyway…