I nod automatically.

– And everything was fine usually, – looks like Man Without Face haven't noticed my negligence, – until one of the points found out that the phone number that he used to communicate with his boss doesn't exist, and the boss himself was not seen or heard about by anybody. After that Invisible Boss used to send the letter to all his point saying, "Why do you pursue me?" and disappear.

– Undoubtedly rich the folklore was, – I agree. – I also remember about the crazy moderator, and the echo-conference called 'Die here!'

– I started with Fidonet as well, – says Man Without Face.

I stay silent.

– Mr Diver, unlike Urman I'm not trying to ascertain your personality. But you know what the funniest thing is? We both need you for the same purpose.

– To capture the Lost Point?

Man Without Face laughs softly.

– This is just a fable… that was born in the junction of times when Internet and Fidonet turned into the united virtuality. Very few people remember them now. Just five years have passed, and look how much was forgotten.

– Nothing was forgotten, it's buried under newer information, but is still alive.

– All the same diver, the essence doesn't change.

– Well, but today the new legend was born.

– Which one?

– About Man Without Face.

My interlocutor shakes his head.

– Hardly will it be so intriguing as the youth dressed in smoking clothes…

We both laugh quietly.

– So Mr Diver… have you ever played in the 'Labyrinth of Death'?

– Possibly.

– Do you know that two divers cooperate with them?

– I can assume that.

Even two? I was sure that 'Labyrinth' manages with only one rescuer..

– I can give you their addresses… either network or the real ones.

Wow!!!

– One of them is Ukranian, the other one is Canadian. The first one lives…

– No, – I say with some effort.

– How interesting! I was sure that it's the common dream to determine the diver's personality! Including the divers themselves!

– This dream is one of the worst and base crimes… according to our code.

For the first time I admit that I'm diver. Hardly my interlocutor had any doubt about that though.

– One problem have arose in "Labyrinth"… and those two can't manage it… – Man Without Face bends across the table, takes a piece of paper and writes the short address. He does right that doesn't try to give me the business card, I'd never take a file from him. – These are my coordinates. After you visit "Labyrinth", offer your service to the management and try to solve the problem, contact me. Ask for… Man Without Face.

He doesn't want to make it clearer and as it seems he doesn't have even a little doubt that I'll rush to "Labyrinth" at once.

– Why would I want to do that?

Man Without Face takes a small badge from the cloak pocket. It looks pretty like the police badge but its background is white and there's not a spiral in the center but a tiny sphere woven of the thinnest threads.

– That's why.

The badge is on the table between us. I look at it but don't dare to touch.

What if it disappears?

When Lady Winter received the order from Cardinal Richelieu (SP???) saying "Whatever is done by this person was done for the benefit of France", it was a bit less cool.

The legendary Complete Licence Medal is before me: the right for just anything that's possible to do in the deep.

Friedrich Urman would open the door and escort me to the bridge personally if he saw this badge.

He probably would hire killers later though in order to settle the scores with me but in the deep he would be extremely polite.

I've never seen the Medal with my own eyes before. I know that Dmitry Dibenko received the same one in his time: for the creation of the deep itself.

One must accomplish something vitally important for all virtual space for any of his actions to be considered right from now on.

– It will wait for you on this table, – says Man Without Face, – You'll get it… in case of your success.

I nod silently.

– Note that there'll be other aspirants, – informs Man Without Face, – We're looking for divers everywhere in the deep, and will find many, and will tell them the same I've told you.

– What's there, in "Labyrinth"? – I ask turning my gaze away from the Medal.

– I have no idea. This is what worries me.

I allow myself to smirk, tell me that you don't know…

– Until now everything that was happening in virtuality had their analogies in the real world. Entertainment, business, science, communications…

Interesting that he ranked entertainment first…

– Now something have changed…. Good luck to you diver. You can go now.

Man Without Face nods in the direction of the door.

– I'll leave by my own way.

– You decided to reveal yourself?

– Sure not.

At parting, I look in the foggy oval of his face.

Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours…

I took off the helmet and stretched my hand to the modem hesitatingly, then pulled the phone wire from the jack.

– The line is broke! – informs Vika

– I know, girl.

That's it, mysterious anonymous. It's that simple. Not a standard exit which is possible to trace but an instantly broken thread.

It's barbaric of course, but absolutely no data exchange between my computer and the one where the warehouse is modeled.

– No dialtone, – says Vika, – Check the wiring.

– Shut down.

– Really?

– Yes.

The blue background with the white falling figure fills the screen.

– Now it's safe to turn off your computer, – whispers Vika sleepily.

Good night to you, the most loyal of my friends… I turned the power switch and turned off the modem. I need a quiet night, let all mail wait until the morning. It's already 3:30 am though… the sky becomes lighter.

And I want to sleep so much! The head is aching of excess information.

I pulled off the virtual suit. Man, does it stink of sweat, it requires cleaning for a long time by now… Then I plopped down on the sofa. Good that I didn't do the bed yesterday. How farsighted have I become…

For three years already, I suppose.

It was a quarter before one when I woke up. The TV set that turned on at 10 was muttering quietly. Unpowered computer was reproachfully silent on the table.

– Oh it feels good… – I whispered into the ceiling.

I need to change the apartment, to buy the normal one-bedroom in the downtown, in a good brick house, with the view to the Neva river… not in this proletarian district, rotten and blown through by all winds.

Then we'll move Vika into new 'apartments': I'll buy the new 'Septium' brand name, with preloaded licensed software, with a couple of hundreds Megs of RAM… with the 1000 Terabyte holographic HD, cordless modem and super-sensitive Siemens microphone… with a color printer, Dunn what for, but let it be, a decent scanner instead of the manual piece of shit, a dedicated phone line… Geez, even 50 grands isn't enough!

On the other hand… why would I need two rooms in the apartment? Even here the kitchen is empty anyway: I moved the fridge and microwave into the room long time ago, and it's closer to get the water in the bathroom.

Okay, this is decided: let's celebrate the move for Vika. It'll not be a shame to invite friends then.

I rose, padded to the fridge and took out a can of beer. I don't drink before noon usually, but it's almost 1PM already. What a good time I woke up at!

The light 'Schultheiss' seemed almost strong in the morning. It's over, good bye 'Amsterdam-Navigator' and 'Bavaria-86', the good friends of poor hackers. From now on – only 'Guinness', 'Heineken', 'Kilkenny'… and instead of Belgian boiled sausage the decent Moscow 'servelat' { raw-smoked hard sausage } and a real ham. And also… well, I'll buy the coffee maker. Down with instant coffee!