“That’s better,” Viktor said and then sat on the edge of the nearby coffee table. “My brother’s body is more highly guarded than any gold in Russia. Stuffed away in a vault that could withstand a nuclear blast, in fact. He has a state-of-the-art bed…I call it a coffin myself, but then I have a rather macabre sense of humor. This,” he pointed at the zip-cable, “is the only way to see him.”
“How will the general join us? Surely he won’t allow himself to sit unprotected in one of these chairs while he enters virtual?”
Viktor clacked his jagged teeth together. “Do you feel uncomfortable going under with us here watching? The general has his guards, but you are right, he’s not happy with the idea of lying exposed in front of us. We have some special beds in the wall over there for VIP’s. They slide out of the wall just like in the morgues you see in vids.”
Tyoma’s eyelids began to droop and he knew he was about to slip into Lev’s virtual world. He saw Viktor slide the combat card into an interface on the coffee table just before everything went white.
He waited.
He’d spent years of his life in virtual worlds, primarily within his favorite Medieval fantasy sim Swords and Scrolls, and it never took so long for something to happen. Then it struck him that the whiteness wasn’t pure. There were layers. He glanced down and realized that he could glance down. Tentatively he took a step forward. The floor, if it could be called a floor, was solid. I’m standing, he thought, though he’d been seated in the real world.
A disembodied voice said, “How would you like me to appear?”
“Huh?”
“How about this?” came the voice, and in a blink Vera stood before him, smiling and wearing his favorite lingerie. “Will this work?”
Tyoma blinked. It was disconcerting to hear the deep, smooth voice coming from her perfect lips. He attempted to speak, but his throat seized up and he coughed several times instead before he finally found his voice. “No, not her. Are…are you reading my mind or something? How do you know about her?”
Vera vanished and was immediately replaced by a familiar-looking man, pleasant faced with sandy hair and arresting blue eyes. “We do our homework, Mr. Grachev,” the man said in English with a soft British accent.
Now Tyoma recalled where he’d seen the man. It was Peter O’Toole from one of his favorite old vids. “Why are you doing this? I thought you wished to examine our combat card?”
“I just want you to be comfortable,” the man said. “I don’t know what I would look like if I were healthy, so I tend to take on whatever form I think will be pleasant for my visitors. When my men combed through your flat, one of the tidbits they reported back was that you admire this actor. If this disturbs you, tell me what form you would like me to take.”
“What did your men do to my apartment?”
“Nothing that you’ll notice. It’s standard operating procedure.”
“Mr. Romanishin—”
“Please call me Lev. Let’s make this friendly, okay? Or do you prefer formalities?”
“Lev…” Using the first name felt wrong to Tyoma’s tongue. “You, ah…you and your brother seem a bit…urbane to be mobsters. Not like I imagined you’d be.”
Peter O’Toole — Lev — pressed his palms together and smiled broadly. “Thank you, Artyom. May I call you Artyom?” He barely waited for Tyoma’s nod before continuing. “Our mother, Viktor’s and mine, was an actress, you see. I suppose you might say we were raised in a rather theatrical atmosphere. Then things began to go wrong for our family. When the first mandatory nanobot injections were issued, I barely survived, and I never really recovered. Do you have any idea what it’s like to have a perfectly functioning mind trapped in a husk of a body?”
Tyoma understood that Lev didn’t require a response, so he simply stood still and waited for him to go on.
“And before Viktor could do anything to help me, he was drafted and sent off to the Moldovan front. You saw what happened there. His face melted. He was blinded. It should have been the end for our family. Like so many millions during the Dark Times we should have faded into oblivion. Fortunately for us, our mother was quite a good actress. She managed to hook herself a new husband…a very powerful husband given that he became one of the first Duma members under the reconstructed Russian government. His wealth, his power, gave us new possibilities.
“Ah, but you don’t need our life histories. Let’s just say that Viktor, despite his pain and humiliation, had ambition and resourcefulness. And he had my mind. It was all I had, after all, and given a proper interface…” Lev waved a hand around at the whiteness. “…my mind could be put to use.”
“You couldn’t have chosen to do something decent with your talents?” Tyoma said.
Lev gave a melodramatic sigh. “Viktor was far too bitter. He raged at life. He needed an outlet for his anger. I tried my best to direct his venom into something useful. You can see, he’s calmed down considerably.”
“I’ve heard stories,” Tyoma said.
Lev flashed Peter O’Toole’s brilliant teeth. “He still needs to vent every so often. Who can blame him?”
Tyoma peered around at the whiteness. “Must it be this way? Can’t we—”
A large, cluttered, very British room appeared. Tyoma gaped down at his immaculately tailored trousers, his shoes half-buried in a plush carpet. He looked up at Lev and saw that O’Toole’s clothing had changed to a comfortable ruby bath robe, and he held a tea cup in one hand.
“Have a seat,” Lev said, and seated himself on a high-backed wooden chair. “Tea?”
A similar chair was just behind Tyoma, so he sat. Though he knew it wasn’t real, he decided tea was just the thing to help calm his nerves. A china cup steamed on the end table next to his chair. He realized he was ravenous; there had been no time to eat lunch earlier and it was close to dinner time now. He considered asking for something to eat, but since it wouldn’t be real, it seemed pointless.
Lev sipped his tea, then leapt up from his chair. “Ah, General Andreykin! Good of you to join us.”
Tyoma turned to see the bald general stride into the center of the room in full uniform, colorful ribbons and medals flashing across his chest. The general met his gaze and scowled.
“You couldn’t have made him better looking?” Tyoma said to Lev.
“He told me you were a funny man,” Lev said with a grin. “Well, he wasn’t quite so polite.”
General Andreykin held out his hand. “Let’s get this over with. Why did you bring me back in here? Viktor could have given me the card and sent me on my way.”
“What fun would that be, general?” Lev said. “I miss having good company.”
The general flicked a glance at Tyoma. “Looks like you’re still missing it.”
Lev chuckled. “General, I do believe you made a joke.”
“His face didn’t even shatter,” Tyoma added.
“Enough,” the general said, his voice barely above a whisper. “Tell me you have a good reason to bring me here.”
Seeing the general gave Tyoma an idea, though he wasn’t sure what he could accomplish with it. His group had been unsure how they might need to influence the general — manipulate him? Kill him? Drive him insane? — so back on the compound when Tyoma had backdoored his way through the general’s wireless firewall, Tyoma had inserted a bundle of code worms that he could trigger wirelessly, each worm with its own purpose. Now that the general’s mind was interfaced with Lev’s sanctuary, Tyoma was intrigued at the possibilities. His worms were passive packages and custom-built, so Lev’s firewall hadn’t detected them. The hard part was figuring out if one could be useful and then triggering it; it isn’t easy to have your mind immersed in a virtual world and at the same time manipulate your body. Tyoma had had only a little practice with dividing his mind in such a way. Which worm might have an effect on Lev?