Labyrinth of reflections (19 page)

Now it's clear why Unfortunate thinks so about him.

– Leonid, it's a game, – repeats Dick. – On the 17th level you had to shoot the boy tied to the tunnel door in order to pass. Did you do it?

Sure I did, it was impossible to untie him…

– That was just a program Dick, a drawing and a sound file. It prevented me from getting to the real guy.

– And how many people did you shoot in the first day earning reputation? – shouts Anatol,– And don't tell me about fair fight! You're the doomer of the old training, you're diver! All "Labyrinth"'s heroes don't have even a half of your abilities in a fight! You can jump out of the Deep and not feeling any pain! You can shoot like being in the shooting-range! You can walk along the wire as a rope-walker!

He silences and frowns, – Was Al-Kabar your work?

I nod.

– Beautifully done… – Anatol calms down as fast as he fires up, – So listen up, Leonid. We won't interfere in your business. Make a try. But don't vent out on us! We're doing our own job.

– And now it's our turn, – adds Dick. – Return in six hours. If we don't get the guy out by that time, it'll be your turn again.

I don't argue. They are hosts, I'm the guest. I rise and walk to the computer by the wall.

– Hey Leonid! – shouts Anatol' behind, – Do you know why you couldn't kill those escort guards at once?

I shake my head.

– The programs can cheat too. Wherever you shoot, only the last target will be the real one.

Well, thanks for info… I touch the keyboard and save my result.

– In six hours! – says Dick behind my back, – Not earlier!

This time it's much less people in the column hall, but still around 10 people stand sipping beer and obviously waiting for me.

I go past them.

– Gunslinger!

I turn around. Two unfamiliar guys and long haired girl come towards me.

– I'm Gunslinger, – I agree.

– Who are you? – asks stooping guy with glasses. Many people pick such peaceful looking appearances to distract the vigilance of their rivals.

Looks like it'll be no fights with shooting today. Very good; yesterday everybody were pissed but their minds cooled down a bit as of late.

– This is not important.

– Gunslinger, what do you want? – the girl joins the talk, – Are you just playing?

– No.

– What do you want then? You were seen on the 33rd level all day. Are you stuck?

– No.

Delegation makes no headway, then the guy in glasses raises his hands.

– Peace Gunslinger?

– Okay, – I reply puzzled.

– People fear to go through the 33rd – he explains, – About half hundred of them gathered on the 32nd. Gunslinger, if you won't purposefully shoot the players, they won't touch you too. Otherwise the big hunt is gonna be declared, and not only in the Twilight City.

– Very good, – I agree, – But one condition… there is a guy with the pistol on the very beginning of the level. He must not be touched too.

The guy in glasses and the girl glance at each other.

– Deal, Gunslinger.

We shake hands.

– Let's go to "BFG"? – suggests the girl.

The deals are usually celebrated with beer, and I have six free hours anyway, so I nod. The rest of the group joins us and we leave the column hall in a dense group. I look around – either Alex is not among my companions or he hides in the different body.

– Guys, if anybody breaks the deal and attacks me…

– It'll be your and his problems, – confirms the guy in glasses.

– Great.

– Gunslinger, are you doomer? – asks the girl.

– Yes.

– Maybe yet played on the 'threes' {
386
}?

– On 'twos'.

– 'Doom'? On the 'two'? – asks the guy in glasses ironically.

– Sure not. 'Wolfstein'.

The crowd buzzes approvingly, most of them had only heard about the most primitive of 3D games.

– By the way, – says the girl, – I've recently met a guy, he entered Deeptown from the 'three'.

– What?! – the guy in glasses looks shocked.

– What you heard. As is, without the helmet or suit. He said he's a drafted sergeant, sits somewhere in tundra on the space communications station. Their equipment would just fit a museum, but they have a connection to the Internet through some military local server. He installed deep-program on 386-DX, entered Deeptown through some gate and ventured into the city. I noticed him because of his gait, shaky and jerky, obviously due to a crappy modem.

– Bull, – the guy in glasses shakes his head, – it's impossible to get into virtuality on the 'three'.

– Why not? Quite possible, if with 'sopr'. – objects somebody.

A long argument starts, about whether it's possible or not to enter virtuality on IBM-386 and whether the math coprocessor will help in this process. I just listen but don't meddle, even if I know the answer.

It's possible.

I started with the 'three' myself, also without helmet or suit, just like that hypothetical soldier in the most unusual leave in history. But this information is not for giving away.

In the meantime, the hall livens up. The guy with the guitar appears from somewhere, swarthy and long-haired. He smiles shyly, waves his hand and steps into the green substance which hisses under his feet. Then he walks into the center of the green zone, sits on the chair that stands on the small concrete patch and starts tuning his guitar without a hurry. I wave back to him, even if he can't recognize me in the Gunslinger's image. This is a legendary person in the Deep, one of the old hackers, and also – the bard. Our paths didn't cross for a very long time. He usually sings in "Three Piglets", where he even has a small share as they say. He's quite indifferent to "Labyrinth" and the fact of his being here is a rare luck. The singer brushes his hair off his forehead and starts singing.

The girl claps her hand against the table following the rhythm, the beer flows like a river. I get to know all the company, making Vika to remember all faces and names just in case. Using my distraction, one of them shakes my hand for the long time and sticks a primitive marker onto my shoulder. I pretend that I doesn't notice anything, hug the guy in a burst of friendliness and throw the marker back at him.

Go ahead and trace me now, lamer.

The fun reaches its peak, everybody's happy, including the smart lamer.

My head is already full with intoxicating fog, I stand up and smile to the players, – I have to go.

Nobody asks why or tries to make me stay longer. Being in the Deep isn't a free fun. I make my way among the tables, imaginary cubes hiss above my head, opening and spitting out monsters. I force myself not to duck.

I have around 5 more hours. Now "Labyrinth"'s divers are busy with Unfortunate, but for some reason I'm sure they'll fail.

Turning into the alley, I stop. Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours….

As a first thing after getting the helmet off, I opened the fridge, took out the soda, sausage and yogurt. It's time for lunch.

Everything is quiet on the screen. Gunslinger stands propped against the wall, rare passers-by don't pay attention to him. Some queer fellow whisks into "Amusements'" door.

– Hey, not to Vika! – I said following him.

– I haven't understood you Lenia, – replied Windows-Home.

– Never mind, – I said hiding my eyes, – Everything's okay.

I start feeling uncomfortable suddenly, what if somebody have come to that, virtual Vika? I imagined myself starting the fight in the nonexistent brothel and smiled but began to eat much faster anyway.

– Lenia, – said Windows-Home, – I must do my monthly reminders to you.

– Fire away, – I growl.

– To call your parents, – reproachfully says Vika, – I can dial the number, but this will require the phone line to be freed…

– No.

Not very nice of course, but I better call them in the evening.

– To pay your utilities.

Yeah, it's better not to postpone that. They can shut down the phone line in the least desirable moment…

– Thanks.

– To clean the apartment.

I looked around quickly. Yup, it'd be great to wash the floor and to wipe the dust and to paint the rusty central heating unit.

– Thanks Vika, acknowledged.

– Also, one more time I draw you attention to the fact that the level of the given tasks doesn't always correspond to the capacity of my RAM…

– Shut up.

I put my hands on the keyboard, pushed the empty yogurt carton down to the floor so that it wouldn't hinder me.

deep Enter I glue off of the wall, enter brothel's glass doors and Madam comes out to meet me.

– You're early today Gunslinger.

– Well, at least not for long this time.

Madam smiles and strokes my cheek.

– Just don't take the girls in.

– I'll try, – I reply with a voice of well behaving kid.

Madam nods, not really sure and turns to the guard:

– Escort him to the service area. To Vika.

– Thanks a lot! – I say from all my heart. Madam waves her hand tiredly and goes to the stairs. The guard nods at the little door that he stands by.

With a little confusion I follow him, into the very heart of the brothel.

There's a clean corridor, the summer forest behind the windows, the river and the bright sun. Heh, but Madam said it's always evening here… still want some sun, don't you?

The row of doors along the corridor, no names or numbers on them but the pictures instead. Kittens, puppies, mice, hares… It reminds a kindergarten a little, but a half naked blonde suddenly looks out of one of the doors, oys, vividly covers her breasts and jumps back inside.

I try to keep the straight face. There are rustles behind the doors when I pass them, the light noise can be heard. I know that if I turn around I'll see a dozen curious faces looking into the corridor. That's why I don't turn.

The guard stops by the door with a thoughtful black kitten on it and knocks.

– Yes? – I hear the voice that I instantly recognize and start slightly.

– A visitor, – replies the guard.

– Let him enter.

The guard taps me on my shoulder slightly and walks away. He's asked in whispers about something from half opened doors, but doesn't reply.

I enter, followed by the mocking gaze of the kitten.

The room looks like a hut in the mountains. The window is opened and the gusts of chilly wind enter the room, the noise of the river can be heard. Vika sits on the simple wooden chair by the window, studying her face in the little mirror, the quite up-to-date cosmetic set is on the table nearby.

– Hi, – she says, – Sit here quietly for a little bit, okay?

I nod and look around. There are watercolors on the walls, unfamiliar ones, almost all of them show the mountains, the fog and pine trees. They seem monotonous at the first glance, like creations of a hack-worker, prepared for the weekly sale but I look closer and nod in approval, these are not a 'stamping' made by experienced hand but rather a series.

– How would you call them? – asks Vika without turning around. It's nice to have a mirror.

– I Dunn, – I confess, – I always had problems with names. Well, for instance…

I pass along the walls, touching frames carefully. The mountains or maybe just one mountain but at different points of view, dense lashes of the fog, pine trees stuck to the slopes. The morning chill and dry liquid air. The ringing stream, rustles of wind, as if the picture can make sounds.

– Labyrinth, – I say, – Labyrinth of reflections.

Vika makes-up her lips ans agrees thoughtfully:

– Maybe… The main thing: it's vague. They buy better with such names.

– These are your pictures?

I'm amazingly slow minded lately.

– Yes. Doesn't look like that?

– It does. But I just thought you selected them with good taste.

– Geez, men… – Vika stands up at last. She is dressed in the white linen knee-long dress, sandals, the silver pendant hangs on a chain from her neck. – Is it supposed to be a first date compliment?

– The second date, – I try to joke.

– No, the first one. It was work in the morning.

– Okay, then I'll start telling you compliments, – I mumble, – You're clever, beautiful, talented…

– Add 'punctual' to it, – Vika ties her hair with a white band.

– No, I better say – generous. It's a heroism to sell such paintings.

– Nonsense, – Vika waves her hand lightly, – I sell the originals, these stay with me. They are better.

She didn't notice her mistake, and I'm really glad for it; I say quickly:

– Why?

– They sound.

Oh, that's what it is… The sound of wind and splashing of water coming from the paintings wasn't an illusion.

– The new art is being born, – I say.

– It was born long time ago and not only one new art. We just don't understand yet that this is an art. When the cave people were drawing deer on the walls it wasn't instantly recognized as an art either.

– Well, in this case all Deeptown is a work of art.

– Sure. Not all of it but some places sure are. Come here.

Vika grabs my hand without ceremonies and drags me to the window.

– Look.

Now I see, Vika was painting from nature… but do such mountains really exist? The central peak – hardly. It is at least ten kilometers high, it breaks out of the mountains chain as a proud rebel. The clouds circle its crest, unable to cover it. The mountain looks like cut into layers – the dark green of the forests, the light green of alpine meadows, the snowy ring and the gray lifeless granite of the peak itself.