– No.

– Just a verbal agreement?

– No.

– What worries you then?

I stay silent. I have no idea why do I cling to Man Without Face's offer. He forced me to meet him, he had sent me to "Labyrinth" without explaining anything. And his promise might be just a bluff too.

– I need to think.

– All right, – agrees Urman. – It's almost guaranteed that you have five more hours… obviously you'll visit "Labyrinth" once more?

I nod indefinitely.

– I'll undertake my own measures, – says Urman, – You will definitely notice them diver and will be able to make your choice.

– Vague, Friedrich. { In Russian 'vague' and 'foggy' is the same word } Urman frowns in confusion while the interpreter program figures out that I'm not talking about the weather.

– Why on the Earth I'm so valuable to you?

– You'll find that out dear Ivan the Prince. Oh by the way, what is Swimmer's nationality, what do you think?

– Russian, – I reply mechanically.

Urman nods mockingly

– Maybe-maybe… See you later, diver. Think and make your decision.

As these words are spoken, the doors open and the guards enter but this time their swords are sheathed.

– You'll be escorted to the bridge, – informs Urman.

Either I'm not watched or this is being done skillfully enough for Vika to raise the alarm. I ascend the wall under the guards' looks and step onto the horsehair bridge.

How many meters will I be able to walk without exiting virtuality I wonder?

One step, another – the thread shakes under my feet, I feel dizzy. The blue bands of rivers and hot orange glow of lava lakes are hundreds of meters below, between conglomeration of cliffs.

– Hey diver, you're staggering! – the mocking call from behind.

I'm not just staggering, I'm falling down already.

Maybe this is how Moslem sinners fall down trying to pass into their Heaven, to tender houries and the mountains of rahat lakoum…

My feet slip, I fly, grab the thread and it indifferently cuts my fingers off. The air blows into my face coldly and strongly, inviting to my short journey, the cliffs rotate below, growing and showing needle sharp crests. When I touch the rocks, Al-Kabar's server will report that I'm under terminal accelerating forces and the exit deep-program will be launched.

But I'm not interested at all in what colors will be my death painted by my imagination.

Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours…

Blood on the screens, a familiar image.

I took off the helmet, leaned onto the table and pulled the phone cable from the socket.

– Communication breakdown! – said Vika, – No dialtone! Check the plug!

– It's alright, – I mumbled plugging the cable into place, – Restart.

– Seriously?

– Yes.

Blueish color and the falling human figure on the screen. And nasty feeling in my soul.

I'm stuck in the very serious matter. If Al-Kabar, "Labyrinth" and those who stand behind Man Without Face start fighting… Oy!.. It's better not to fall between such millstones. The best thing now would be to forget about virtuality for a couple of weeks, to play ordinary games, to drink beer with Maniac, to upgrade the computer, to travel somewhere to Antalia { the Turkish resort, very popular in Russia } where it's still warm, to swim in the sea.

Of course, I'll have to forget about Vika, the real one, and for a long time.

To bid a farewell to the dream about the Medal of Complete License.

And certainly, to cross Unfortunate out of my memory.

Who is he anyway to worry about him so much? Homo Computeris? Computer human, able to enter virtuality without any phones-modems? So what? It's not worthy to hope that his ability – if it really exists – is so easy to acquire.

All kinds of specialists will study him, make encephalograms and measure all possible and impossible parameters. Unfortunate will be placed before various types of computers, they will turn modems on and off, bring him to the phone lines and hide him in underground bunkers. And they will demand – enter the Deep! Tell us what you feel! What feeling do you have in the thumb of your left foot when you enter virtuality and how does your stool change after three days in the virtual world… Thus will he spend the rest of his life somewhere in the heavily guarded estate in Switzerland or in the Texas desert, in some CIA research center. One very valuable and respected guinea-pig.

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!