Sergei Lukyanenko - Labyrinth of reflections

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.

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 non-human 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.