Maybe he's Russian though, a Russian citizen. If I throw the info about him in the open Net or to the proper authorities…
I even laughed of my own naivety. So what? Will the ole' good Russia really send its carriers and tank squads to guard Unfortunate? Wasn't it enough talented programmers taken out of the country – say, 14-year old Sasha Morozov, a guy from Voronezh was flown out by the charter flight. Just maybe our intelligence service would gather the remains of its past bravery and would intercept Unfortunate just in order to lock him forever in its own research center somewhere in Siberia or the Ural Mountains.
When the Deep was created, the Freedom was its banner.
We are independent of all corrupt governments, shabby religions and Puritan moral. We are free in everything – and forever. No information can be secret – and we have a right to discuss whatever we want. Freedom of travel can't be limited – and Deeptown will never know any borders. We'll fight for our right to have all rights. We'll purge only those from our ranks who will rise against the freedom.
Lord, how naive and enthusiastic were we!
The people of the new cybernetic world, of the free and unlimited space!
The people reveled in the freedom, playing with it as a kid risen from the bed after the long illness, cheerful and proud by ourselves. The Deep's interests – everything for it, for the name of it, forever… amen.
But why do I still believe in all these funny slogans with the same enthusiasm as I had being a kid, believing in communism?
Why do I want to believe so much, despite everything?
Breaking the laws, trashing someone else's computers, stealing someone else's 'intellectual property', not paying taxes to my poverty-stricken country, not trusting anybody except a handful of friends – and still to believe in something warm and fuzzy, clean and eternal? In freedom, kindness and love?
Maybe I'm just from the breed that can't live otherwise.
And well, nobody really prevents me from believing in freedom further, after I change my entrance channels and the Net address.
It's so simple – to believe.
I was looking at the 3D mesh of Norton's table, at the neat lines of directories and subdirectories. Three gigabytes, all completely full. Service programs, viruses-antiviruses, pieces of Vika's "consciousness", audio files and games, stolen data and new books, unpublished yet. Here is "Hearts and motors – in the travels again" by Vasiliev, here is a fresh mystery by Lev Kursky, prolific like piranha (?), here is Oldi's novel that have made so much noise. I can go out now, buy lots of beer, print a couple of books on my old LaserJet and land on the sofa. To sleep – as much as I can! And those Mr Urman whose real face I'll never see, and Mr Without Face whom I'll never see all the more can feel free to fight over Unfortunate with Willy-Guillermo…
I never liked stupid people and kamikaze.
I picked the phone from the case of my 'five' and dialed Maniac's number. I was lucky again, he was neither hanging in virtuality nor sleeping.
– Allo!
– Shura, it's me.
– Ah… – Maniac lowered his tone a bit.
– Are you busy?
– Well… a little.
– Writing a program?
– No, peeling potatoes… Galya is cooking.
– Congratulations.
– With what? – Maniac pricked up his ears.
– With your reconciliation!
– Ah… yeah… okay.
I'd better not abuse his time, especially after the recent rejoining with his spouse.
– Shura, tell me please, is it possible to enter "Labyrinth" with weapons?
– You mean the virus? Isn't BFG enough for you? – Maniac is obviously amused, – Your kidding. This is a space within a space, created with exactly defined purpose. It's easier to smuggle the virus into the Pentagon, then to pass through "Labyrinth"'s filter with it.
– Wasn't it you who made the filter for them?
– No, – confessed Maniac with regret, – Not me. But I know who and how had made it.
– So how?
– Your image is copied when you pass the portal. If you have any programs with you, any programs, those are cut off. Just your exact copy passes into the "Labyrinth"'s server.
– And there's no way to bypass? – I inquired helplessly.
– Think.
– Don't I have to think too much lately? – I growl, – Shura! Just tell me, can I break through the filter?
– Only walls can be broken… by foreheads, – said Maniac instructively, – What happened?
– Very lousy situation. Extremely lousy.
– Lousy for whom?
– For all the Deep. And for one good guy.
– And what about you? – asked Maniac directly and I remembered "Three Musketeers" involuntarily.
– Complete shit, believe me.
Maniac didn't reply at once, he even began to whistle something.
– Shurka!
– Will "Warlock-9000" be okay for you?
– What is that?
– A local virus. As usual.
– Will it pass the filter?
– Maybe.
– Shura, don't I distract you too much? I mean… from potatoes. – I said, possessed by the sudden guilt.
– No, I'm finishing already…
I don't like cordless phones, it's enough radiation for me already from my dear computer. As for Maniac – on the contrary, he can't imagine his life without them. And now also, he stands pressing the phone to his ear with a shoulder, tearing the peel off potatoes.
– Pour it in for me.
– Just to pour it in?
– Yeah, – I asked gathering all my impudence.
– Hold on, it's not that easy. What apps do you use to create your images?
– Various ones… "Bioconstructor"… "Morphologist"… "Guise".
– I see. What personality will you use when using the virus?
– Personality #7, Gunslinger…
– What is the file's extension?
– Huh? Extension? Hold on…
– Fire the terminal up, – said Maniac tiredly, – Set the complete access for the password… say, "12345".
– One-two-three-four-five, – I repeat dumbly.
– In numerals! – specifies Maniac, – I'll tune everything by myself.
– Thanks!
– Not that fast… You'll owe me beer…
Maniac sighed one more time and threatened before putting down the phone:
– I'll call in 5 minutes. Your old girl in on already, waits for me and is as docile as a schoolgirl. Is that clear?
I rushed to the computer. In three minutes Vika agreed to submit to the one who calls with the password "12345" and moved over to the kitchen to cook myself a supper. I haven't even filled the teapot yet when the phone rang in the room and then connecting modem started whistling softly.
I'm stupid after all… and kamikaze.
Though, it's ridiculous to love myself too much, I can afford to be stupid for some time.
I just had time to drink some tea with jam found in the sideboard, then refilled the mug and returned to the room. Maniac was just disconnecting from my computer having left the burning red line on the screen: "Took some your old junk to read and play virus plugged in instructions by voice in a minute".
Maniac have carelessly omitted all punctuation.
Exited into Norton, I found the file of Gunslinger's image (it's extension was most triviaclass="underline" .clt), and started to compare it to the other, unchanged images. Nothing have changed that I could have noticed.
As expected.
Maniac called in five minutes and quickly explained what and how I should do. I could only shake my head when I got just what did he do to my image "#7".