Labyrinth of reflections

The urge to drop the pants and join the company is big: what a guys these bank programmers are, what a cool ones! They had set themselves quite well… I just wonder, don't they get wet in sweat in reality while polishing themselves in the sweating-room with birch besoms?

And gosh, I've really entered!

The columns around the pool still cover myself from the others' looks, but it won't be for too long. The dressed guy in the bathhouse is a weird sight. I turn around – the door is gone.

Ah well, I don't care.

I enter the wall. The bathhouse is good but I'm interested in something else. Something that doesn't have any analogies in virtuality at all…

But it looks I've got into the wrong place again: a gloomy desolate quarters, a row of tanks is in the center of it, the water noisily splashes in them. Along the row a conveyor band is crawling, something looking like detergent powder spills into the tanks from the holes in the ceiling. All this looks like some terrible automated laundry from an old sci-fi novel. I'm about to move further when one tank turns over and spills its contents on the conveyor band.

Lots of dirty water and a couple of kilograms of money.

I'm so shocked that jump out of virtuality even without reciting my usual rhyme.

The numbers were on the helmet's screens, accurate columns of numbers, tables, vague phrases. I took the helmet off. Sure, why would anyone graphically picture the process of money transfer or, even more, their laundering? But my smart subconsciousness being used to the pictures, did it's best!

The head was aching badly. Was at a result of a multiple-time deep program? Or just a consequence of that overstrain that I experience now? What's the difference?

I took an open pack of Analgin from the table, looked into the fridge. One can of Cola was still there. Choking, I chewed the tablets, washed it down with soda. Bear with it just a little more my poor organism, the main part is still ahead. Before returning to the laundry I glanced to the watch: a quarter before two. I should munch on something…

Blades hollowly bang in tanks, laundering money. Dollars, Deutsche marks and roubles crawl along the belt conveyor, I watch this endless flow that has either someone's sweat or blood behind it. What happens if I take a couple of millions from there? For some reason I'm sure they will appear on my account. Maybe I'll plug to the isolated bank network and will type in the order for money transfer, even not knowing about that. Maybe the bank's computers will do all operations themselves, submitting to my will only.

I'm not just a thief resistant to the deep's hypnosis anymore, I'm the deep itself, a part of it…

I lean over and pick up a 100 dollar note. It is even possible to remember it's serial number. It's possible to do so that it never appeared here at all according to the bank's documents.

Everything is possible now – or almost everything.

I throw the piece of paper back on the conveyor belt and pad to the wall. One step – and the world fades, falls down, turns into the flat scheme under my feet. A huge sheet rolled out into the void, I soar above, looking at the threads of the streets.

Here's my house.

I dive down to it, pierce the plane of the scheme, feel asphalt beneath my feet. No more efforts, no more rhymes and begs to the deep. I don't ask my body to breathe after all, do I?

Vika and Unfortunate stand by the entrance, talking. Then Vika notices me and silences in confusion. I wave my hand, walk towards them and Vika runs to meet me.

10

I shut the door of the entrance and mingle with the lock for some time. Vika still holds my hand, and it's quite difficult to start security systems using one hand only. Finally I just order the door to shut. The lock clicks and the light of the alarm system starts blinking. Unfortunate raises his head – looks like he felt something.

– What did he do to you? – asks Vika. Only now, when we're isolated from the outer world she relaxes a little. Probably I wasn't right not hurrying to her at once.

– The deep program, – I find the simple reason, explaining to her what happened. – The cycling deep program, the endless dive.

Vika frowns, she understands.

– It was impossible to surface.

– But you…

– … Found a detour, – I say glancing at Unfortunate askance. – Vika, how did it look like from aside?

– Dibenko threw something at you… – she knits her brow, remembering,

– Like a handkerchief of some kind… and you fell into it. It looked like a very powerful virus.

– What about Romka?

Vika looks at me in surprise.

– The wolf. It's Romka, the werewolf diver, my friend.

– He burned him, down to ashes. He just grabbed his throat and he blazed up.

I stay silent, what can I say? Visual effects of the virus might be different, the most important thing is how did it influence Romka's machine. I was always thinking he has a weak computer, like mine, maybe even without magnetooptics. If Man Without Face had used a brute-force weapon, Romka will have to reinstall all soft from scratch.

– Lenia…

I nod. It's not the time to express sympathy about others' troubles.

It's never enough time for that though…

– Let's go, – I nod to her and Unfortunate. – I live on 11th floor.

– Who else lives here?

– Nobody. Now – nobody. – I say squeezing into the elevator cabin. I push the button, a jerk and we crawl up. Vika frowns, she really fears heights… even of this type.

– Did anyone live here before?

– Well… in some sense, – I evade her question. The doors open and we exit to the stairs. Unfortunate looks around curiously.

– Here's my palace… welcome… – I say unlocking the apartment, then add for Unfortunate only, – Returning the visit?

He nods.

Vika enters first, she delays by the threshold as if thinking whether she should take off her shoes or not. Sure not and she understands that. { When entering an apartment, Russians usually leave shoes worn outside by the entrance. Special slippers are used inside apartments. }

– The bathroom-toilet and the kitchen are to the right. The room and the balcony are to the left. – I inform politely.

Vika looks into the room carefully, her look slides across the faded wallpaper, stops for a second on the computer table, sofa, fridge and dresser. She's possibly disappointed. Sure!

– It's strange… – says Vika and I feel that she exits the deep for a second and looks at my living place from reality.

Go ahead… I just don't want to be in your sight at this moment.

– Let's go, – I pull Unfortunate's hand. – Want me to teach you how to brew coffee?

Unfortunate walks into the kitchen instead of an answer, quickly chooses the most expensive and at the same time the best coffee from the number of packages, takes the biggest coffee pot and the salt dispenser.

– A-ha, – I just say.

– Hundreds of servers have cooking recipes, – notes Unfortunate, – A girl from Rostov have added one more 5 minutes ago, quite interesting one. Should we risk to try it?

It would be strange to hope that I can teach him anything. Except maybe the ability to shoot at people.

But I doubt this is an ability he'd appreciate.

– Be at home, – I just answer returning to the room. Vika sits on the sofa examining the bookshelf.

– I'm back, – I inform her and Vika closes her eyes, just for a moment, to return into the deep.

– It's strange, – she repeats. – Lenia, for some reason I've been expecting…

– … To see the palace?

– No, not necessarily the palace, but at least something…

– Something like your hut?

She nods silently. I can quite understand her confusion: she was definitely sure I'm a spatial designer. But she saw a pathetic apartment instead, even if well drawn but definitely not deserving an honor to be immortalized in virtuality.