His hand stretches to me but I'm silent, unable to take and shake it.
Whoever he was, Unfortunate, he tried to help me.
He was – and is – better than many real humans.
– I can't accept your offer Willy, – I say, – I'm sorry. You might be right, but I don't have a right to decide.
– But who has, Gunslinger? – asks Guillermo quietly.
– Only him, Unfortunate. He doesn't want to tell anything. He named himself an alien, a guest who grew tired of loneliness – and now he wants to leave. It's his right. It's his decision. He didn't do anything bad to anybody, he just got lost in our ridiculous world. I helped him to exit, I showed him… I hope I did… that the deep is not bloody fights only. If it wasn't enough – well… let him go, either in his parallel world or to the distant stars. He's free, as much as we are.
Guillermo looks as if he have grown lean. He looks at me, sadly and tiredly. Probably he said the truth, and hardly does he wish bad to Unfortunate. It's just a difference in approaches.
– So you'll let him leave Gunslinger? – he asks, – The mystery will disappear for long, or forever… and nobody will know who was Unfortunate?
– Freedom, Willy.
– You Russians always were considering a state, a society above the person, – says Guillermo, – This isn't the right approach, but you're Russian after all, aren't you?
– I'm the citizen of Deeptown. There's no borders in the Deep, Willy.
Guillermo nods and rises slowly, awkwardly, looks at the cab that waits for him. There's several Al-Kabar commandos inside most likely. Or probably my friends Anatol and Dick…
– Have Unfortunate given anything to you personally, Gunslinger? – asks Willy.
– Probably.
– Can I know what, or see? – inquires he with a sudden shyness.
I look at him, then bend over the crater in asphalt. The werewolf diver perished here two hours ago, my poor workmate Romka. I didn't see how it happened, but I can imagine.
The flame envelops the wolf's body, it means that the Man Without Face's virus had penetrated Romka's computer. His machine's winchester jerks deleting data and damaging utility programs, communication breaks. Romka falls from the deep, from his desperate and hopeless fight.
I feel the smell of burned fur, see the pale fire, the body is squeezed with a spasm… and I vanish, falling through the drawn asphalt, into the long gone comm channel.
100
The flight.
A flow of sparks pierces my body.
Spiral lightnings sweep at my face.
I feel pain and for the first time in virtuality I understand – it's not an imaginary one. It's just a weak echo of the pain that tortures me in the real world. I'm doing something that a human can't, shouldn't do, I communicate with computers directly, walk through the Net pulling data from programs terminated long time ago.
It's painful, hard but I must overcome that.
It seems that I moan and scream, pressing nonexistent hands against my forehead, a red-hot nails are hammered into my eyes, the skin is torn off with a sandpaper. It's a retribution for the impossible.
When I come back to my senses, there's a door before me.. I'm lying in the corridor, a long and dull one, with hundreds of such doors. Is it one of the virtual hotels?
The pain haven't faded yet but became weaker, softer. It's possible to rise from the floor – very carefully, to lean against the cold wood of the door with forehead.
So you enter virtuality from temporary addresses too, Romka?
I push the door without even thinking that it can be locked and almost fall into the room. Posters with half naked beauties are on the walls, a table with drinks stands by the wall. It looks somehow strange… An unfamiliar man sits with his back towards me, drums at computer keyboard murmuring something out of tune. A half empty bottle of gin and an ashtray full of cigar butts is by his hand. The man is just finishing a glass of cheap 'Hogart'.
– Hi Romka, – I mumble, trying to get a grip against the wall. The man turns around, looks at me in confusion, then jumps up, catches me on his hands and drags towards the armchair.
Now I can let it slip…
Romka brings a full glass of gin under my nose and the smell of juniper finally returns my consciousness.
– Take it away, I'll puke… – I push away his hand.
– Len'ka, is it you? – asks the diver unbelievingly.
– Me…
– Come on, drink, you'll feel better!
– Damned alcoholic, – I whisper something that I never got a nerve to tell him before, – It's you who can gulp pure Gin down.
– Want me to add some tonic? – guesses Romka, – It's fine for me just like this…
He splashes most of the glass' contents out on the floor, fills with tonic and gives it to me. This time I don't refuse, I drink feeling the blessing numbness streaming all over my body.
– How did you enter? – asks Romka, – The door was closed!
It's too hard to explain why closed doors don't hinder me anymore. I wave my hand and suck in the rest of the liquid.
– And how could you find me?
– I just could… – I answer indefinitely, but it seems that Romka is glad to see me too much to keep trying me.
– Did you manage to get away from that bastard? – he asks.
– Yes…
– What an asshole! – swears Romka, – He busied me alright!
– How did you crawl out?
– The virus was a clean one. It froze my machine but croaked after restart. Everything according to the Convention, but cool, damn it! – Romka laughs forcefully, – What an enemies have you got, Lenia!
– Feel envious?
– Yup! – confesses Romka sincerely, – I feared you'll have no time to escape…
– We had…
– She's pretty fancy, that chick of yours, – winks Romka.
I nod, looking around more attentively. Romka's living place is really strange. All these beauties on the walls… plenty of cigars and alcohol on the table, a couple of fresh issues of Playboy on the bed together with a teens' pop-music related newspaper…
Romka averts his gaze.
– Do I distract you too much? – I ask.
The werewolf glances at the working computer, lines of a primitive program on its screen…
– Not really… I was preparing for a test… Never mind.
– What test?
– Informatics.
– How old are you, Romka? – I ask, suddenly 'regaining my sight'.
– Fifteen.
I start laughing and see how the man opposite me clings his jaws gloomily. I laugh, Romka stands up, lights a cigar, pours Gin into his glass and asks finally:
– Well, and what's so funny?
– Romka… – I understand that I behave badly but I have no strength to hold it back… – Romka, have you ever drink vodka in glass shots or pure Gin?
– No.
– And don't even try. It was really dumb of me not to notice this before. You… you behave with too much fortitude to be an adult man!
– Is it so noticeable? – asks Romka gloomily.
– No, not that much… It's kinda unusual though…
– Why unusual? There's many teens among werewolves.
– How do you know?