– So you see, our meeting is fruitful already.
Windows-Home whispers,
– The second router was traced…
Urman frowns – looks like he's informed about something too. Then inquires:
– Excuse me, how many servers did you pass through to come here?
– Unfortunately, I don't remember.
Urman shrugs.
– How may I refer to you?
– Ivan The Prince.
Brief pause, then he smiles, Somebody have explained him.
– Oh, the Russian tales' hero! Are you Russian yourself?
– Does it really matter?
– You're absolutely right… Well, Mr Diver, as far as I understand, you penetrated our block illegally…
– Oh really?! – I'm in shock. – To be honest, I just was looking for a job. I saw your ad, crossed the bridge… obeyed those strange guards…
One-one.
Friedrich Urman clasps his hands:
– Oh, sure! We have no complaints whatsoever, Mr Diver. Except maybe… those odd things that you have with you.
Slowly, demonstratively I empty my pockets: a comb, a handkerchief, a small mirror.
– Here. Do you want me to give you my sword?
Urman waves his hands:
– Geez, what for? We surely aren't gonna fight, are we? Let's just talk…
– Third router was traced.
– It's such a pity that less and less time remains for our talk, – I sigh.
– Yes, it's never enough time. Well, Mr Diver, I have the reasons to suspect that some persons would like to obtain some of our technologies, and even managed to hire a diver… in order to reap where they have not sown.
– The apples, – I add.
– Exactly. We have a good Russian programmer working for us, he created a nice design for data storage… – Urman claps his hands and the air dims between us, becoming dense. One moment – and the small tree appears, all sown with the fruit. – I suppose that the most interesting thing among these is that small green apple on the lower branch.
I look at the desired fruit. It's small, not ripe and wormy.
– How do you think diver, how much could our competitors pay for this file?
– Around ten grands, – I raise the price somehow.
Urman looks at me surprised, makes it more exact:
– Ten thousand dollars?
– Yes.
– To be honest, even 100 thousand would be not enough… Okay. Let's assume that I offer 150.000 to the person that tries to steal the file, on the condition that he agrees to work for us… for the regular, very good salary.
– What is that, cure for cancer? – I ask.
– No. In that case it would be priceless. It's just a cold reliever, but very, very effective. We're about to start its production but only after the less effective medicines are sold out. So, what do you think about my offer?
– I'd hate to let you down, – I say trying hard not to think about the offered amount, – But the divers' code explicitly forbids agreements like this one.
– Very well, – Urman rises, – I expected such an answer, and I respect your position.
He pads to the tree and plucks the apple with some effort. His lips are moving: he obviously says the password. – Take it.
The apple is in my hand. It's very heavy: two Megs at least. It's useless to try to copy it, the only way is to bring it out with me. I put it in the pocket – I mean, attach it to my virtual 'shell', then look at Urman.
– I stake all, – says Urman seriously. – I sacrifice an extemely perspective technology. You can give it to Mr Shellerbach and convey my personal kind regards to him. There's one single thing I'm asking for – please, return here after that and let's discuss the permanent cooperation. I wouldn't hide from you the fact that right now we are in a desperate need of diver's services.
– Fourth router is traced… fifth router is traced… alarm! Alarm!! Alarm!!!
– Okay, – I rise too. So sudden.. I never suspected that the serious businessmen are able to make such generous gestures. – I promise to come. But if you'll excuse me now…
– No Mr Diver, now YOU please excuse me. You'll easily leave our territory, but not before your real address is determined, in order to guarantee the validity of the promise just given.
The trellised pavilion's walls darken like being covered by thick cloth. I make a step – it's really difficult. Urman starts moving jerkily, everything flows in my eyes, the apple in the pocket draws me to the floor with great force, Windows-Home's voice dims and loses any tones:
– Al…a…rm… a…l…rm…
So that's how it goes. Billionaires are good players. Meaning, their servants – to which number they try to add me.
– Vika, drop the details! – I whisper trying to reach the table. I wish the program would understand and obey without more questions…
The pavilion changes. Ornaments are gone, the flowers lose buds and some small leafs, the texture of Urman's shirt becomes rough. But I manage to reach my toys on the table and grab the handkerchief. These personal hygiene thingies are very useful.
One wave of the handkerchief, slow as if underwater, and the shiny plane of light cuts through the falling asleep pavilion's little world. Some people call this program "the sticker", others – "the road". Both definitions are true. The program searches for someone else's communication channels and starts using them for its own benefit.
Very-very new, rare and almost faultless program.
A part of the wall ruins, opening the exit out to the street. Obviously, I utilized Urman's personal channel. I grab the comb and the mirror and run.
The sharp ragged spears start to emerge from the wall: Al-Kabar's security program. I jump forward in a desperate attempt to pass between the spears.
Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours…
The air conditioner blows icy air out. A slowly moving strip is on the screens – percentage of transmitted data, and the gap, contracting rapacitly under it – the comm channel being tightened. This is how the beauty of the most intense virtual fights looks like in reality. Stripes, characters, digits. The battle of the programs, modems, bytes of data.
Hell no! It's too disgusting and dull.
– Deep! – I ordered.
The head responds with pain – I don't care. I storm between the spears, fall on the floor. The shiny band flows along the street crashing everything on its way. The buildings crumble, the wall blows up with a thunder-like sound. The band flies across the chasm. Now full speed forward!
Those two guards run to intercept me, both with swords, but I've unsheathed my own already. Whose virus is faster and more agile?
Mine.
This is the gift from Maniac, my friend a computer virus specialist. The deadly gift – the air under my sword takes fire and hits the guards with a dragon belch. They burn in an instant turning into charcoal black carcasses.
Maniac really does love cool effects. Now the guards' computers are completely busy with an extremely important task of calculation of PI number with a million digits precision. They even have no resources left to eject the operators from virtuality. Very good, let them lie in the deep for a while instead of changing the computers.
– Not ethical… – mutters Windows-Home dolefully.
I rush along the band. The channel is excellent, I'm above the wall in a couple of seconds. The band under my feet pushes me forward. I laugh loudly and look back.
Wow!
Just look what's going on in Al-Kabar! The streets are flooded with people, the other guards already run along the band, and something huge, snaky and unpleasant crawls out from one of the buildings. It's better not to look longer.
Faster…
The band jumps over the monster genie and sets itself against the ground. The guard is alive again, it shakes, outstretches his paws up so that the hair bridge breaks but can't reach me. Neither can he move from his position: it's fixed firmly on its comm channel.
On the last meters the band starts shaking suddenly and tries to kick me back: Al-Kabar's programmers have restored the control.
But it's too late, I'm on the ground already and the Wolf rushes to me:
– Jump on me NOW Ivan, time to scarper!
I leap on the wolf in an instant, look back for the last time. The guards jump down from the band and the winged shadow soars above the chasm.
– Sux!!! – I mutter the favorite virtual folks' curse. 'Sux' means a 'frozen' computer, a glitching program, an acescent beer, a trolleybus that had left the stop just at the moment you arrived… In this case – such an intense pursuit. We don't have time to copy the data from the apple comfortably and to dissolve in the thin air afterwards. We must run and tangle our traces.
My partner in the wolf's hide can do it perfectly.
We rush across the desert, then turn into the forest. The blurry shadows run behind – the guards sacrifice their scary images for speed.
– Is the pursuit close, Ivan The Prince? – asks the wolf .
– Very close! – I confess.
– Gee, I'll never get you outta here Ivan! – roars the wolf .
I take the comb and throw it behind my back. A deafening crackle, the comb's teeth scatter around, fall on the ground and start growing turning into huge trees. Guards' movements between them become slow as if they're falling asleep – the space is overfilled with the unexpected objects and the enemies' computers are jammed by the mass of junk data.
Unfortunately, this is an old trick and there's plenty of methods to fight it. Most guards manage to narrow the field of vision or to drop image details, passing the dangerous place successfully. To be exact, not the guards themselves did that but their deep-programs. Those stopped were mostly enthusiastic amateurs pursuing us just for fun.
– Oh Ivan, my strength is exhausted! – screams the wolf. I can't understand whether he's really worried or plays the fairy tale so recklessly.
It's the mirror's turn now. When I throw it back, my usually restrained Windows-Home screams:
– NOT ETHICAL!
Sure it's not! This is not an innocent prank with quick growing baobabs anymore, and even not the local virus sword but a logical bomb of extreme power.
Where the mirror fell, the lake appears and starts widening. Some guards run into it and 'drown', disappear without a trace. Others stop on the bank helplessly. All comm channels are blocked completely in this area of virtuality. It'll be impossible to pass here for at least two more hours, then the lake will dry.
– Where have you got these thingies? – asks the wolf.
– From Maria The Skillful, – I answer after a second of hesitation. Honestly, it was that nickname that gave me an idea of today's masquerade. The wolf won't betray, he might need the similar programs too one day.
– I'll note that, – says the wolf gratefully, glances back quickly and asks, – What is your third entree, the mighty warrior?
The dragon flies after us – the battle interceptor program of the highest grade. The dragon has three heads – obviously three human operators plus the usual weaponry: claws, teeth and flame. A hundred of various viruses and tough protection. It slows down just a little above the lake.
– The third was used the first, – I confess.
– Couldn't you take more?! Play fairy tales too much, just three items and that's it? – growls the wolf. He isn't right of course, one can't carry too many viruses, but we both start losing the nerve.
The wolf decides something and turns aside sharply, running even faster. Then he stops by the big mossy stump, so suddenly that I fly on the ground over his head, examines me intently and jumps over the stump.
I prefer to use the water to change my image: a stream, a river or at least a pot full of water. The werewolves are conservative though.
The wolf capsizes and turns into human: a young man in modest gray suit and patent-leather shoes. My diver friend is as elegant as always. As soon as landed, he stands, jumps again and turns into my exact copy.
– Vika, the stream, – I order getting his idea. But the former wolf already grabs me by my shoulders and throws over the stump shouting, – No time for this bull!
It's a small pleasure to be affected by the foreign morphing program. I just have time to say: "Vika, freeze" to prevent the careful Windows-Home to resist the change.
For a long time wasn't I in the wolf's hide, since when virtuality just appeared and everybody had fun with morphing. Luckily, I don't have to stand on all fours, I change only visually. I take off the sword, give it to the new Ivan The Prince, he grabs the weapon and jumps onto my shoulders.
– Come on, you lazy sack of bones! – he shouts hitting my sides with his heels. I dash forward, and just in time: the dragon appears above the trees. It swoops on us and releases three flame streams. The fire flares up right on our way.
– Run! – screams my partner and adds in a whisper, – See you tonight, at the usual place…
I jerk sharply, throw him down from my back and flee, hurled by curses.
The dragon circles above for little longer, then lands by the fairy tale hero. The cowardly partner doesn't interest him. Just as expected.
I run away, whispering:
– Vika, copy new files!
The fight rages behind me. Not for long though, the werewolf just has time to hit the dragon with his sword once, but the virus is harmless to the armor of the interceptor program. The white snowy cloud arises around the werewolf and he ceases to move.
Freezing. It's over. My friend have left the game – he's at home already, takes off his virtual helmet, and his exact copy stands before the dragon – with all stolen programs… in case he had any, of course.
The dragon hits him with his paw gently and it scatters down in icy fragments. All three heads bow down to him, searching for the stolen apple.
I'm running away.
The apple in my pocket becomes lighter and lighter – the data flows into my computer. I dodge between the trees, then stop so that it'd be easier for Windows-Home to download the file. The dragon's roar reaches me, it haven't found the apple and understood what happened. Who is faster?