– Vika, what if some man… a good man is in trouble… If he can lose his freedom forever… would you agree to help him?
– I would, – she replies calmly, – Even if he's not that good a man. This is a principle of a sort if you want.
– I need to hide somebody.
Vika shakes her head in some funny manner, so that her hair scatter on her shoulders.
– Lenia, what are you talking about? Hide where?
– In virtuality.
– What for?
– He can't exit.
– You're talking about the one in "Labyrinth"?
– Yes.
– Lenia… – Vika holds my hand, – How long ago were you in the real world?
– Half an hour ago.
– Really? Don't you need some help yourself? I have… – she bites her lip, – one familiar diver. It's true, they really exist!
How funny…
– Do you want me to ask him to meet you?
– Vika…
She calms down.
I'm not used to such care, to be honest. This is my profession – to take care of people who got lost in virtuality.
– I'll help, – says Vika, – But you're wrong… I think.
I don't have time for arguments now.
– Thank you. Are your security systems reliable enough?
– Quite. Do you understand something in that?
I nod. Of course, I can't create the security program myself but I had to break those so many times that it's high time to consider myself an expert.
– You can talk to the Wiz about that.
– Will he tell me?
– Not to you, and neither to me, but to Madam…
Vika hesitates and looks at me as if asking to leave. I go to the door, but she calls:
– Lenia.. Don't. I want you to look.
She pads to the wall, waves her hand and the boards part, opening a small door.
It's a light behind it, a cold bluish lifeless light. Vika's silhouette stays in the doorway for a second, then disappears inside and I follow her even if I don't want that at all, like hypnotized.
It's a shed. Or a morgue. Or Blue Beard's museum.
Shiny nickel coated hooks stick out from the walls, human bodies hang on them, almost reaching the floor with their feet, girls for the most part, light and dark haired, several reddish ones, one is completely bald. Also several middle-aged women and a couple of old ones, several girls and boys.
All eyes are opened and empty.
– This is my costumier room, – says Vika. I stay silent, I can understand that anyway.
Vika walks along slightly rocking bodies, looking into the dead faces, whispering something as if in greeting. Madam is hanging somewhere in the end of the first dozen. Vika looks back at me making sure I'm watching and snugs close to the splendid body of the brothel owner, hugs it as if in the outburst of perverted passion.
Nothing happens for a second, then – I can't catch the moment of change
– Vika and Madam change places. Not Vika but Madam backs from the helplessly hanging body.
– That's it, – says Madam in her low voice.
– Why… in such a disgusting way? – I ask, – These hooks… this morgue… why? Vika?
Madam looks at Vika, nods sadly:
– Vika my dear, why? Should we explain to Lenia?
Vika, threaded on the hook by her nape stays silent.
– In order to never forget, Leonid. Not to forget for even a second – they are not alive.
I look at Madam, far more calm and wise than Vika, and if to approach it unbiased – much more beautiful.
– You had to see it, – says Madam.
– I have.
We exit the 'human meat warehouse' through the other door, the one that leads into Madam's room. This is a completely different world. There's a noisy and crowded beach behind the window, the hot sun in the sky, the room itself is full of luxurious old furniture, books are scattered everywhere along with opened candy boxes, clothes, cheap jewelry and golden bracelets, half-empty perfume bottles, playing cards. The huge bed under the plush canopy is uncovered, the slipper is lying under it. A variety of started bottles is in the sideboard, the dusty guitar hangs on the wall, Persian carpet on the floor is bitten by moth and is stained with wine in patches.
– Now you can try to guess which me is a real one, – says Madam.
I ain't going to. There's no other truth in the world except the one we want to believe in anyway.
We don't stay in Madam's room for long and I'm glad about that very much, it's too stiffly in there.
– Lenia, sometimes I tend to think that you're just a young boy, – says Madam, – one can't be so naive after all.
– Why not?
– It's too hard to live that way.
– Nobody had promised me it'll be easy.
I walk by Madam's side thinking about how could we look from the side. A pale and tall Gunslinger fits to be Madam's son in his age but there's no resemblance between them. Maybe it must look like a disguised aristocrat 's visit to the cheap brothel.
– Steep stairs here, – warns Madam.
– I remember.
We enter the recreation area and the girls under umbrellas greet Madam with cheerful squeals. The gay splashing in the water just by the shore quickly stands up and waves his hand. The tousled head of Computer Wiz pokes up from behind the bar and ducks back down quickly.
– You see, Vika is not here, – says Madam to me loudly, then protectively puts her hand on my shoulder, – Girls, Gunslinger will wait for his girlfriend here! Don't hurt him!
The general meaning of the answers summarizes to the idea that they'll hurt me for sure but I'll like that. Madam waves her finger at the girls, then goes to the bar. The Wiz appears at once, as if feeling her approaching.
– Talk to Gunslinger, – Madam asks him gently, – He has some questions… answer all of them.
– Absolutely all? – inquires Wiz.
– Absolutely.
– Well Madam, don't say later that I forced this out of you.
– I wish it was necessary… – sighs Madam.
I'm waiting for Wiz by the table which stands a little aside from the others, the girls don't need to hear our talk.
– Champaign! – declares Wiz, approaching me, – Hi Gunslinger! You're drinking champaign, right? I don't, it's too many bubbles in it, my stomach rumbles after that!
He moves in an odd manner, very smoothly as if being on asphalt. I glance at his feet, they don't touch the sand: the shabby slippers are on Wiz's feet, with tiny wings growing from their sides that hammer the air quickly.
– I'm drinking champaign with the girls only, – I refuse, – Do you have vodka over there?
– Everything is there! – Wiz plops the bottle of caustically violet colored liquor on the table and runs away with unclaimed Abrau-Durso. Just in a minute he returns in the same gliding manner with a bottle of Ursus vodka, a crystal pitcher filled with water and a package of Zuko.
– Here, mix that…
I never tried Ursus but it's a good vodka as they say. Hoping that subconsciousness will work out the taste for me, I pour in a cup. Wiz grabs the pitcher and mixes the beverage by himself using his own hand as a mixer.
We're in virtuality after all… mo germs here. I swallow the vodka in one shot and take a mouthful directly from the pitcher, then ask:
– Where did you get this cute footwear from?
– These slippers? Ah, made them myself today… was sick and tired of bogging in the sand. You like them? You see, in Deeptown it's possible to walk on the floor only. So I had to glue a piece of floor to the soles. It's no problems now: walk on air as long as you want, until tired!
Wiz laughs and makes several small steps, ascending almost to the table level, then crosses his legs, falls into the armchair, opens the liquor and drops to the bottle with a smacking sound.