– Sure not.
At parting, I look in the foggy oval of his face.
Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours…
I took off the helmet and stretched my hand to the modem hesitatingly, then pulled the phone wire from the jack.
– The line is broke! – informs Vika
– I know, girl.
That's it, mysterious anonymous. It's that simple. Not a standard exit which is possible to trace but an instantly broken thread.
It's barbaric of course, but absolutely no data exchange between my computer and the one where the warehouse is modeled.
– No dialtone, – says Vika, – Check the wiring.
– Shut down.
– Really?
– Yes.
The blue background with the white falling figure fills the screen.
– Now it's safe to turn off your computer, – whispers Vika sleepily.
Good night to you, the most loyal of my friends… I turned the power switch and turned off the modem. I need a quiet night, let all mail wait until the morning. It's already 3:30 am though… the sky becomes lighter.
And I want to sleep so much! The head is aching of excess information.
I pulled off the virtual suit. Man, does it stink of sweat, it requires cleaning for a long time by now… Then I plopped down on the sofa. Good that I didn't do the bed yesterday. How farsighted have I become…
For three years already, I suppose.
110
It was a quarter before one when I woke up. The TV set that turned on at 10 was muttering quietly. Unpowered computer was reproachfully silent on the table.
– Oh it feels good… – I whispered into the ceiling.
I need to change the apartment, to buy the normal one-bedroom in the downtown, in a good brick house, with the view to the Neva river… not in this proletarian district, rotten and blown through by all winds.
Then we'll move Vika into new 'apartments': I'll buy the new 'Septium' brand name, with preloaded licensed software, with a couple of hundreds Megs of RAM… with the 1000 Terabyte holographic HD, cordless modem and super-sensitive Siemens microphone… with a color printer, Dunn what for, but let it be, a decent scanner instead of the manual piece of shit, a dedicated phone line… Geez, even 50 grands isn't enough!
On the other hand… why would I need two rooms in the apartment? Even here the kitchen is empty anyway: I moved the fridge and microwave into the room long time ago, and it's closer to get the water in the bathroom.
Okay, this is decided: let's celebrate the move for Vika. It'll not be a shame to invite friends then.
I rose, padded to the fridge and took out a can of beer. I don't drink before noon usually, but it's almost 1PM already. What a good time I woke up at!
The light 'Schultheiss' seemed almost strong in the morning. It's over, good bye 'Amsterdam-Navigator' and 'Bavaria-86', the good friends of poor hackers. From now on – only 'Guinness', 'Heineken', 'Kilkenny'… and instead of Belgian boiled sausage the decent Moscow 'servelat' { raw-smoked hard sausage } and a real ham. And also… well, I'll buy the coffee maker. Down with instant coffee!
When for the first time in two days I started to shave and cut myself quite tangibly, New Russian's fantasy suggested me to get 'Shick-Protector' also. Nothing else could come into my mind after that, just some messy ideas about the second phone line and second modem – in order for Vika to be able to download mail and do some other simple tasks while I'm traveling in the deep.
It's a bit far too much though. Even Maniac doesn't have second phone line.
By the way, I owe him beer, it looks very much like he saved my life yesterday.
And it's better not to procrastinate with it: I've got the suspicion that I'll be able to treat him with nothing more than just 'Navigator' in a week… well, quite a beer too, a strong one, with original taste…
I turned the computer on, connected to the Internet and transferred $5000 to my St. Petersburg account without any virtuality, just in 10 minutes. Then I checked my wardrobe, chose the decently fresh shirt and old but clean jeans, put my passport and Visa card in the pocket. What else? Ah yes… the beer.
The shabby 5 liter canister was standing sadly on the balcony. I unscrewed the cap and sniffed inside: it smelled of soured 'Zhigulevskoe' { classic Russian beer ;-) }. I had to wash the canister in cold water, then in hot one, then in cold again. Then I've put it into the bag that stayed here from previous apartment owners (I never have time to get rid of garbage) and walked out.
My, how much cleaner and neater my staircase in virtuality is! And unlike here, no eternal smell of flooded basement and stray cats!
Having left the side streets I stopped by the road and raised my hand; I had to stand like that for quite a time. Finally one junky 'Lada' condescended to stop.
– To the 'Kredo-Bank', – I said.
As strange as it seems, the driver knew the way.
In around 20 minutes, parted with the remains of my cash I was entering the palace of hidden and evident capitals under glassy stares of security guards.. In 20 minutes more, filled with various checkups, numerous phone calls to the bank's main office and requests to specify the account number, the bank clerks became kinder and finally gave me out $1000. In rouble equivalent of course.
And in quarter of an hour more I entered the Irish pub 'Molly' on 36 Rubinstein Street. It's not too crowded in the daytime and this helped me. The Big Mugs { security guards ;-) } by the entrance were relaxed and just froze dumb when they saw my canister. I passed the cloak room solemnly and entered the neat twilight of semi-basement, approached the bar and smiled to the bartender.
Luckily, bartender in 'Molly' is British. Whatever one can say, but they are far superior than we are in some aspects. He smiled and gazed at me questionably.
– Good afternoon, Christian, – I said. – May I ask for 5 liters of beer?
He definitely wasn't used to sell the beer by liters. But it took him only five seconds to regain his smile.
– Which beer?
– 'Zhigulevskoye'.
The guards behind my back who for some reason decided to visit the hall together with me, started to breathe heavily.
– Just kidding, – I explained, – 'Guinness' of course, – And I gave the canister to Christian.
Self control seems to be one of the most important qualities of the best European bartenders, and Christian is one of them. He picked the canister up casually, weighted it in his hand as if to estimate it's volume and started to fill it from the sparkling faucet.
Big Mugs behind me were silently going crazy, and it amused me lots.
– Please wait for the foam to settle, – said Christian with a strong accent putting the canister on the bar. Wow, what a cool guy! I visit 'Molly' pretty seldom and never noticed him to be so proficient.
– Okay, then one more mug to drink here please, – I said and turned around.
Big Mugs pretended to study the bottle rows behind Christian's back. Okay. Until they are sure in my paying capacity, I won't be able to drink my beer in peace.
I dragged out a pile of small notes from the right pocket of my jeans and started to examine it. The guards' breathing became faster again.
Shit, do I really look that lousy?!
A thick pack of hundred thousand rouble notes emerged from the left pocket. I put three notes on the bar, took the mug and turned around.
Have anybody really stood here? No, looks like I was imagining things…
Having seated by the nearest table I silently enjoyed the best beer invented in this sinful world. Then I took my canister from the merry bartender (Europe! One can't affect him so easily), and after short hesitation took the change too. He'll do without it: the beer isn't cheap itself.