– A bridgehead? – I ask, – A bridgehead means war.
– Yes! And one must kill at war… and to take prisoners.
– Do you know how many hypotheses exists about Unfortunate?
– Yes.
– What if he's not from the future but from another world?
– Let it be! Even more reasons then! He's in our world and here are our laws! We must understand who is he.
What does he want from me after all?
I look at Dibenko: trembling lips, tired eyes, shabby and low appearance. What does he want? Does he want me to change my mind? Does he want me to hand Unfortunate over to him? In any case it's not in my powers. We'll just waste the time…
The time…
He knows my name and address. He knows where I live in virtuality.
He even could trace me at Romka's place.
And now he's biding his time.
I step back and rush to the gates. Dibenko looks as I leave not trying to stop me, only a smile appears on his face – a proud smile of an actor who played his role well and now listens to an applause.
101
The cab rushes past me as if my raised hand doesn't mean anything anymore in Deeptown. I jerk after the car, wave my hand again…
Useless. This is war.
How did Dibenko manage to cut me from Deeptown's transportation system? Possibly he has a share there too?
Well, but I don't need Deep-Transit anymore, do I?
An already familiar feeling when the city around falls flat turning into a scheme. I soar above it, drag myself through the distance, through foreign computers – towards my house…
… And I hit the wall.
I can see the house, a highrise inhabited by things – but I can't get inside. Something have changed in the space itself.
I make myself real, not inside the building itself, on the sidewalk by it.
The house is burning.
It's not a fire but a fantastic illumination. The walls are changing the color and brightness, each grain shines like a diamond. The whole house is like a ridiculous squarish diamond under the floodlight ray.
And there are people, many people: uniforms of the city's security service, "Labyrinth"'s and Al-Kabar's guards… The ring of cordon around the house, snipers with carbines, machine-gunners behind transparent shields, the gunners with jet knapsacks floating in the air. I emerged inside the ring, and hundred of barrels aims at me instantly.
The spiders have made a deal and have spread their web together.
– Leonid! Raise your hands and come closer! – the voice booms above the street. A group of people can be seen behind the ring of guards, in the rainbow flashes of illumination: Urman, Willy, Man Without Face, commissar Jordan Reid.
Wow.
What an honor for me! Where can a poor diver go? All official and unofficial rulers of the deep have gathered by his house!
– Leonid, come closer, slowly! – repeats Reid. His voice echoes along the street.
At least they are trying to keep an impression of their actions being lawfuclass="underline" the operation is carried out by the police. I walk under the aiming barrels, under the scrutiny of hundreds of computers, every step of mine is measured and estimated, every byte of data is under invisible control…
The guards in front of me give way letting me in. Guillermo looks aside. Urman – who in fact is just Urman's secretary – smirks mockingly. Dibenko, in his mask again, is indifferent.
I address to Reid ignoring them alclass="underline"
– What's going on?
– You're charged with unlawful penetration into secured information space, in using weapons which caused a serious material damage, in hiding the information that is vitally important for Deeptown, – raps Jordan out, – You're detained for examining the circumstances.
– And what is my house charged with? – I ask, but it's impossible to confuse Reid:
– The search for the evidence is being carried out.
I turn around to the burning building. Search? Hell no! Conservation. Freezing. Overflowing of comm channels with data. Will Unfortunate be able to deflect the attack or even his powers won't be enough here?
– I surrender, – I say, – I admit all charges. I request… this to be stopped.
Jordan shakes his head, with a slight sympathy in his look but with determination.
– Don't try to hide in reality, – he warns, – We requested Interpol for your physical arrest.
The dread rolls over me – extinguishing the will, taking all strength away. Who knows, maybe there, back in reality, gloomy commandos in black fabric masks already stand behind my back?
A real prison, a real trial – this isn't an excitement of virtual fights. It's a rotten hay mattress, a skilly which recipe haven't changed since Stalin's times, bars on the window and escort guards not blemished with an intellect.
Or my dear native police haven't yet learn to work fast despite it's desperate wish to exchange the Russian citizen for a dozen of obsolete portable radio communicators?
Abyss-abyss – and to run…
I look at drawn faces, at the armed guards. There's no borders for the miracle hunters. They've dived into the deep from all corners of the world – in order to tear off, to rip out a piece of mystery, wherever could it be brought into our world from.
And frenzy takes me over.
– Jordan… I give you exactly ten seconds… – I whisper, – To all of you. Ten seconds to get your asses out of here.
– Collect yourself, Leonid! – this is Reid.
– Gunslinger, let's find a compromise… – this is Willy.
– Your strength has its limits too… – Man Without Face.
Oh my God, they fear me! Me! Alone against them all, primed, with an ancient computer behind and an empty hands!
Why?
– I don't know how you still hold out, – starts Dibenko, – but…
– Five seconds, – I say.
And the guards start shooting, either without an order or I just have missed it.
The fire and pain.
Everything that was invented for years of the deep's existence, everything well tested and most secret – everything for my honor…
I stand in the middle of the fire and see the dread on the faces around me, and even in the gray fog of Man Without Face – the dread…
Why am I still here, remaining in virtuality instead of taking the helmet off before the gray display of the killed machine?
I pull myself towards the guards, not with hands, just with a gaze – their bodies crumple like fabric puppets under the heel, fall apart in ashes, drain of steam, freeze, collapse into points, dissolve in the air, as if my gaze reflects all nastiness that pours my way.
Five seconds given for my enemies pass and the street is empty, just my house still burns and those who had set fire to it stand near.
– It's in the deep only where you're God, – says Man Without Face. He doesn't threaten me, just reminds.
– Oh really? – I pad closer to them, – Reid, now IRS computers will learn that you had misappropriated a couple of millions… Urman! All Al-Kabar's data is in free access! Willy! "Labyrinth" is dead! Levels are deleted, maps are lost, monsters have fled! Dima! Your fingerprints belong to a serial killer!
I give them a couple of seconds to conceive that and add:
– One minute… and it will be so!
I don't know if it's possible, I don't know the limit of my powers, I even don't know where they came from.
But they believe me.
– What do you want, diver? – shouts Urman. Reid shoulders him aside and roars:
– Your conditions!
Did I guess right about his taxes?
– You'll stop the hunt.
The miracle is before them. But they have what to lose.
Urman and Guillermo look at each other, Al-Kabar's director nods.
– We cancel our charges Jordan, – says Willy, – It's not necessary… to engage Interpol.
He nods to me very slightly. So it was just a threat?
Lies. Lies everywhere.
With a corner of my eyes I can see people approaching us along the street, the ordinary citizens of Deeptown. Now, as the cordon is gone, they can satiate their curiosity.