Sergei Lukyanenko: Labyrinth of reflections

The apple in my pocket becomes lighter and lighter – the data flows into my computer. I dodge between the trees, then stop so that it'd be easier for Windows-Home to download the file. The dragon's roar reaches me, it haven't found the apple and understood what happened. Who is faster?

The dragon flies up again. It will find me easily – movements in virtuality leave traces. I just stand still and wait.

– File transfer completed.

Yes! I won!

– Exit, – I order.

– Really? – asks Windows-Home.

– Yes.

– Exit from virtuality, – informs the computer. The colorful sparks flash before my eyes, the world loses its bright dyes, turns into the pale and flat picture.

– You successfully exited virtuality! – cheerfully informs Windows-Home. The voice from the headphones is sharp and too loud. The deep blue color with a small figure of flying or better to say, falling man is on the helmet's screens, the well known emblem of the Deep, the Abyss, the virtual world.

After taking off the helmet I looked at the monitor, blinked several times. The same picture there.

– Vika, thanks.

– No problems, Lenia, – answered Windows-Home. I taught it this small courtesy a week ago, it's always nice when the program looks more humanized than it really is.

– Terminal.

The blue changed into the terminal's panel. I manually connected to the sixth router, the last one to remain intact and canceled my access. Then I canceled my temporary address in Austria.

The main threads are broken. Try to find me now Al-Kabar guys, filter all files in search for Ivan The Prince. The diver have broke free from the trap.

Not using the voice control anymore, I shut Windows-Home down, entered 3D Norton's table, opened disk D: where all my virtual trophies are stored together with a small viruses collection. Here it is, my apple: 1.5 Meg file. Looks like the simple file for Advanced-Word. A couple of smaller files are attached to it though… security programs? I launched the scanner, especially developed for these types of surprises.

Yup, just as I thought: identification programs which are supposed to destroy the file if it gets to somebody else's computer.

We know this far too well… And are insured against it for a long time already: identification programs simply can't see my computer. It's these dangerous things that I always store on D: disk. The scanner located some surprise inside the text file itself too – a tiny program, supposedly starting in response to an attempt to read the file. Just as should have been expected. I copied the file to the magnetic diskette, then to the optical one and started to disembowel the fruit of Al-Kabar's orchards.

It turned out to be impossible to kill the security programs without destroying the file. I had to just knock them out, disable them. Then I got busy with the inner surprise. I cut the file into twenty pieces, extracted the guard program. It turned out to be an absolutely unfamiliar polymorph virus which (and it was most unpleasant) have managed to stick to my computer. After two hours of intensive work, interrupted only twice – to take an aspirin tablet and to visit bathroom, I became convinced that I'll not be able to disable the virus.

It was late evening, the time when hackers just start working. I packed the virus with a text fragment and called Maniac.

I had to wait a couple of minutes until he picked up the phone. I was lucky: he easily could hang about in virtuality, indifferent to any calls, fires, floods and other annoying trifles of life.

– Yes?

– Maniac, it's me.

Hacker's voice softened a little.

– Hi Lenia, what's up?

– The new virus for your collection.

– Toss it here! – said Maniac, hanging up instantly.

I started the modem and sent Al-Kabar's surprise to greedy hands of the virus creator, then opened the fridge, took out bread and sausage and moved to the kitchen to set the teapot on the stove. It'll take Maniac at least half an hour to examine the virus. For the first ten minutes he'll break it, then for 20 minutes more he'll admire its structure, will laugh looking at unsuccessful solutions and frown finding some ideas he missed himself. Right since the Moscow Convention that resigned with the inevitable and legalized the production of nonfatal viruses, he specializes in making them. His viruses are excellent, capable of freezing any computer, but never destroying the data.

But Maniac called in three minutes.

– Visited Al-Kabar, huh? – asked he in a honey sweet voice.

– Yes. – it made no sense to lie, – You managed it so fast?

– I didn't manage it. This is my virus, buddy.

I couldn't find anything better than to mumble, "Well… sorry about that…"

Maniac, in the real life just Sasha { Alexander }, was deadly serious:

– You what, have stolen a program from them?

– Not exactly… But in general yes, this was hidden in the file…

– Have you contacted anybody via modem? I mean, since you received the file.

– No.

– Lucky you, – informed Maniac, – You see, this is not just an ordinary virus, it's a postcard.

I didn't understand and Maniac explained:

– A postcard with return address. If the virus detects the communication hardware on the computer, it attaches the second letter to any of yours: a tiny, invisible one… a postcard. Without any text but with your return address. The letters leave together but later, already from the other computer, the postcard is forwarded directly to Al-Kabar's security department.

I froze inside.

– I've killed the virus on the computer…

– You've killed not the virus itself, but its false 'reflections' created by it especially for distraction. Commonly used programs don't detect the postcard yet, it's still too rare.

– What should I do?

– Treat me with beer, – smirked Maniac, – Now you'll receive a special 'cure' from me, the special antivirus. There's no hints in it, you just start the .BAT file and it checks your machine. Note that it'll work for long, this is not a commercial product, just … my personal insurance from my own virus.

– Thanks.

– Um-hm.. Lenia, you've nearly got into really big trouble.

– Too many hackers were bred, – I growled out, – Shit, why haven't you ever tell me about this thing?

– But how could I know you are so deep in computer burglary? – reasonably objected Maniac, – Next time let me know when you are about to break into cool places. Okay, start your modem.

In a couple of minutes I launched antivirus.. It was really slow, informing that a postcard is detected every minute. The polymorph have plagued the whole computer.

It was really close.

Glancing at the screen, I've built a huge sandwich, poured a hot tea into the cup and came out to the balcony. It was already dark outside and raining slightly, the air was damp and cold.

It's overconfidence that kills divers. We don't fear the virtual world's dangers and this lulls our vigilance.

But the most annoying thing is that we are all amateurs. For some reason, no divers shape out of hackers – they percept the virtual world as the real one.

Though it was me, the so-so computer artist from the small computer games company that went broke three years ago and who got an old computer as a dismissal pay, who DID become a diver. One of the hundred on this planet.

I was lucky.

Possibly, I was just lucky.

Not more than five years ago the virtual world was nothing more but the sci-fi writers' creation. Computer networks, virtual helmets and suits already existed, but all this was only profanation. Hundreds of games were created where one could move in the spacious and colorful cyberspace but virtuality even couldn't be mentioned.