The monster is motionless. I'm dead, long time dead.. I step on the hair bridge carefully…
– Who are you?!
Oh my, again… Looks like it reacts to the touch of the bridge. Even worse.
– The one who is not at your mercy! – I reply.
– But whose mercy you're at?
Something new.
– Allah's, – I answer randomly.
This time the monster just slams me with the free hand, so that I partially flow over the palm's edge and utters instructively:
– It's not for you to mention the name of the Almighty, you thief.
The wolf rolls on the sand laughing maniacally. I can see it with the eye that stayed intact.
Well, the program's humor seems to be more American than Arabic… I lie in thought, then stand up again. The monster is yet still.
– Any detour, Vika?
– This is the only external channel, – informs me my computer immediately.
The voice is drifting and lifeless… I really need to upgrade the RAM… – All other Al-Kabar's lines open by the order from inside only.
– Force solution? – I touch the sword's handle. The local virus is tiny, I even don't need to download it from home. To unsheathe the sword, to make one blow and…
– The channel will be destroyed.
Oh sure. Not for nothing does the monster hold the bridge in his hand. If the security program is destroyed – the hair above the chasm would break.
– Fuck.
– I can't understand…
– Shut up….
I examine the monster. The stone eyelids half closed, little drool stalactite hangs from its mouth. Just a fake, entourage for nervous virtuality people. Just an ordinary security program on the server gateway. Somewhere inside the hair is the communication channel with Al-Kabar block. The signals circulate along, ordering to let pass or to crash the uncalled guest…
– Hey, Ivan The Prince, I'm in hurry! – shouts the wolf.
Right, it's high time to act. So far the program hurled me back independently, but the next time the real Al-Kabar's programmers might take over, both 'virtualists' and conservative ones…
– Animate the Shadow, – I order.
The dark silhouette on the palm stirs, gains the volume, stands up, fills with color. I make an ugly face to my copy, it grimaces in return.
– Move the Shadow. Look for the password, – I order again.
One second – the computer 'moves' its HD, loading everything known about Al-Kabar into the shadow's memory. Then the copy steps on the bridge. Of course, it'll yield nothing, except some time.
– Who are you?! – roars the monster, grabbing the shadow. I hardly manage to avoid its moving fingers, crawl along the clenched fist, jump on the thread…
– And who are YOU? – I hear from behind. Then the right hand's blow knocks me down to the monster's feet. I break into tiny pieces, lie supine looking up at my twin that wallows on the palm.
Yeah right… Great job.
– Who are you? – asks the monster again.
– The one not on your mercy, – the twin keeps distracting the guard.
– Whose mercy you're on then?
– Only mine.
Interesting, how many more different deaths did the monster save for the thieves? Just look at his teeth… horns.. well, even the phallus might do too..
– Why did you come here?
– To find the power over myself.
– Go ahead and find it.
The palm opens, the monster turns into stone. The twin stands on the edge of the palm motionless.
– Vika, where were the shadow's answers taken from?
– From the open Al-Kabar's file: "Virtual job request procedure".
The wolf pads closer, whispers, – What happened?
I explain.
– Hey, Ivan The Prince, aren't you Ivan The Stupid by chance too? { yet another folklore hero ;-) } I can't beat that. Of course I HAD to look through ALL files, not just through the stolen data about the inside organization of the block.
– Vika, merge.
I'm kinda being pulled into the shadow, now this body is the main one.
The one already allowed to step on the bridge.
The victory is Pyrrhic though. The guard reported about the visitor that tries to cross the bridge. This means I'll be warmly welcomed there.
The single that tries to fight the crowd is doomed, in any space, even virtual one.
Well, nothing else to do. It's time to go… along the hair bridge.
Honestly, this procedure is almost impossible, even for the professional rope-walker. This bridge is just that: the thread above the chasm. The towers of Al-Kabar are alluring and unreachable in the distance.
Abyss-abyss… I'm not yours…
I closed and opened back my eyes. The picture is before me: the chasm, the thread, the buildings in the distance. Just funny… Looking where I step, I started to shift my feet along the thread carefully.
It's just a picture. It's no gravity there, the drawn body can't have a center of gravity. Just step on the thread and everything will be okay… Funny thing, as it turned out, the bottom of the chasm is not drawn at all, meaning that it was me, my mind which added the mountain river down there. Somebody else could see trees or lava flowing.
Now, when my subconsciousness doesn't take part in the game, the distance is covered fast. Half a minute – and I'm over there.
The thread ends at the crest of the city wall. The crest is wide and there's already a couple of people, obviously waiting for me. They're drawn pretty well – kind of pot-bellied robust guys with swords on their belts, one in the turban, and the other just bald. Stepping on the wall "bricks" I whisper:
– Vika, turn the deep on.
Fiery sparks before my eyes. Yes, do I abuse turning the subconsciousness on-off today. Severe headache, heartbeat and general feel-down are guaranteed tomorrow. Nevermind. Good if I manage to live until tomorrow at all.
And here are the welcomers – now in the normal human form.
– You reached us quick, guest, – says the bald one. He has a friendly face of an Arabic guard from the production of "Sindbad The Sailor" done for kids. The second one looks grotesquely Arabic too, but is much more sinister, he flashes his eyes and holds the sword handle tightly. Oh great, the only thing I ever missed is the battle virus in my computer.
– The others were slower?
– Nobody ever crossed this bridge before, – kindly informs me the bald guard, – It's impossible for the human to keep balance on the horsehair.
– It means that the heaven stays empty, – I sigh. Looks like it's not me who leads the events anymore but they lead me. I don't like this turn…
– Well, but the Hell does always have plenty of space for everybody.
Nice promise.
– Move it.
Nothing else to do but to obey. Let's be submissive and polite. When in Rome, do what the Romans do.
The wide steep stairway leads down from the city wall. We descend. The good-natured guard before me, the wheezing ill-wisher behind me. I ignore him carefully, looking at the bald patch of the friendly one. He has a big wart exactly on his cinciput. Interesting, is it really drawn or my subconsciousness tricks me? It's not reasonable to leave the deep just to check such a trifle though.
The Al-Kabar block is not big, not more than a square kilometer in virtuality. It means nothing though. Some companies, like Microsoft for instance offer whole palaces for their employees to work: it's cheap and effective. Some others do with such puny little rooms that one can wonder – what is virtuality here for at all.
Obviously Al-Kabar is one of those. I peek into the window of the low stone building that we pass by.
Equipment… too unfamiliar one to identify, several people by the tables. One of them holds a test-tube in his hands. Ha, chemical experiments in virtuality! Something new. It's worthy only if they work on some very poisonous substances… or bacterial environments. Okay, let's note this.