Obviously, "Warlock-9000" was something he was preparing for a long time, kept for the very special cases. If this thingy is used even once, hundreds of plagiarists will follow.
– Beer, beer and more beer… – I said turning the phone off. Nobody can tell though whether I'll be able to provide him this beer or not.
I was going to raise such a storm in the Deep which it haven't seen for quite a while.
The storm it deserved.
11
– The terminal is on, – reported Vika. I clicked the connection icon, and was on "Russia On Line"'s server in several seconds.
The address left by Man Without Face I remembered by heart: some Polish server which doesn't really mean anything. It's just a router, the signal will pass a couple or more countries on its way to Man Without Face.
There was no video support on that server, no drawn muzzles or animated photos on the screen. A severe styled menu in Polish and English, some ten more languages supported, including Romanian and Korean… no Russian. Our brotherly nation doesn't favor us too much, alas. I replied to operator's greeting and asked to establish connection with "Man Without Face" { in English in the original }. The operator switched to the Russian keyboard driver in half a minute and asked me to name the addressee in my native language.
"≈╔╚ъ╒╔╙ │╔╖ ▀╗ф═", – I typed in.
They started to throw me from server to server. The first two were open ones, I couldn't tell anything about the next three. Then I saw "Please hold" on the screen. In Russian by the way.
I was holding for fifteen minutes.
First five minutes quietly and modestly, then – getting a beer from the fridge and putting the old "Nautilus" album in the CD-player. Good singer Butusov is... until he starts trying to write the lyrics himself.
I remembered my dream, where was a singer on the stage and poor Alex, a prophet dream in some sense. But why did I imagine Unfortunate as a singer? Never had I any familiar musicians in my life, and risked to sing myself only in complete solitude.
"Who?"
I pulled myself to the screen and typed without much thinking:
"Me"
"How goes, diver?"
"I suppose you know that."
I would give very much to find out who is he – Man Without Face.
"Yes."
"I can't handle it."
"It's your problem."
"Not only mine."
A short delay – either Man Without Face was thinking or there was a lag along the lines somewhere.
"What do you want?"
"Help."
"I can't help. Everything you need is inside you."
If he was here, a real person, I would say something to him that is possible to say only or even better not to say at all. So I said that aloud but the Net has its own norms of communication and my fingers typed:
"Who is he?"
"You were told already."
The spiders. The spiders, stretched their thin threads into each other's dens. Urman watches after "Labyrinth" while Man Without Face controls Al-Kabar.
"Was that true?"
"Maybe"
"I CAN'T HANDLE IT!" – I typed in CAPs.
"Pity."
And almost instantly the line have appeared in the bottom of the screen: "Addressee have disconnected."
– Connection broke! – confirmed Vika, – Do you want to reconnect?
– No, – I replied. For some reason I didn't have any doubt: the Polish server won't connect me with Man Without Face again.
Maybe he feels offended that I've told about him to Urman. Maybe he have just lost faith in my abilities.
The result is the same in either case.
– Vika, am I smart? – I asked.
There's almost 1000 keywords stuffed into Windows-Home. Sometimes it's possible to make really funny talks with the computer... almost intelligent ones.
– What answer would you like to hear? – deviated Vika as usual when the words were not formulated as an order but were unclear to her.
– The honest one.
– I don't know Lenia. I really wish I could answer but I really don't know.
– Stupid you are, Vika.
– And you're a boor.
I laughed. If anybody not familiar with modern operating systems could hear me he would decide for sure that my Pentium is intelligent.
– Sorry, Vika.
– That's okay, I'm not angry.
Intellect and its fake... Where is the border between them? We already talk to our computers, they greet us and wish us good night. Many people including me spend most of their time in virtuality. But it's not a victory of the human intelligence, just a fake of the victory, bright colored banners and fireworks above the void. Higher processor speed, more memory – and the computer gets human look and feel. But nothing more...
And Unfortunate – he can be a program too. Just as cunning as Maniac's virus, penetrated through the filter, rooted itself in the 33rd level's server, the one able to support the talk and to shoot the monsters.
– Shit!! – I shouted.
It's so simple! Just a hundred of phrases said sometimes in the right time, sometimes irrelevantly. The program that learns on its own words, returning you your own thoughts, obediently following its naive rescuers... Sure it doesn't need any comm channels.
What did I tell Unfortunate, what did he reply? I strained my memory.
I don't know... It might be a program. Then both Al-Kabar and Man Without Face were too wide of the mark.
Good if I'm right, the riddle is solved quite simply.
The Silence, Gunslinger...
I shivered, remembering the void that rolled over me after his words.
A program?
Unfortunate, carrying the drawn kid with such care...
A program?
– I can't understand a thing, Vika, – I said, – Absolutely nothing, and you can't help me.
– Can I help? – replies Vika inopportunely.
– No!
– Who can then?
I was silent for a while before replying.
– The real Vika. The Deep!
– Deep program start?
I put my hands on the keyboard instead of an answer.
Deep
Enter.
The darkness on the screens is lined by falling stars, the rainbow spiral whirling before my eyes, erasing reality, pulling me towards Deeptown's skyscrapers.
The first second is the most difficult one. The room is the same, but I know, all this is an illusion, a mirage.
– Is everything okay, Lenia?
I rotate my head. The room is okay. It's me who is different.
– Personality #7, Gunslinger.
– Acknowledged...
This time my appearance changes painfully long, nothing can be done, it's an inevitable cost of the weapon.
– Is everything okay Lenia?
I stand up and look at my reflection in the mirror.
– Yes. Thanks Vika.
I open the fridge looking for soda. Sprite is over, only Coke has left. It'll do.
– Good luck, Lenia.
– Thanks.
I drink the most popular beverage in the world greedily which – how funny – was created as a diarrhea relief... Urman estimated that I have five hours more, now only four have left. I can almost feel how somewhere in the great distance, on other continents, the various officials' brains screech in strain, starting to comprehend the Unfortunate's phenomenon. Very soon the 33rd level will be shut down, very soon the hunt for Unfortunate will start. It's not important whether he's a human or a program, I'll get him out.
– Call the taxi, – I say leaving the apartment. I descend in a small clean elevator and open the doorway.
An old Ford is waiting for me, the driver is a sleek young guy in a white shirt, an exact copy of the one that I killed two days ago before penetrating into Al-Kabar. I even feel shame looking at his friendly smile.