– Why not?

– It's too hard to live that way.

– Nobody had promised me it'll be easy.

I walk by Madam's side thinking about how could we look from the side. A pale and tall Gunslinger fits to be Madam's son in his age but there's no resemblance between them. Maybe it must look like a disguised aristocrat 's visit to the cheap brothel.

– Steep stairs here, – warns Madam.

– I remember.

We enter the recreation area and the girls under umbrellas greet Madam with cheerful squeals. The gay splashing in the water just by the shore quickly stands up and waves his hand. The tousled head of Computer Wiz pokes up from behind the bar and ducks back down quickly.

– You see, Vika is not here, – says Madam to me loudly, then protectively puts her hand on my shoulder, – Girls, Gunslinger will wait for his girlfriend here! Don't hurt him!

The general meaning of the answers summarizes to the idea that they'll hurt me for sure but I'll like that. Madam waves her finger at the girls, then goes to the bar. The Wiz appears at once, as if feeling her approaching.

– Talk to Gunslinger, – Madam asks him gently, – He has some questions… answer all of them.

– Absolutely all? – inquires Wiz.

– Absolutely.

– Well Madam, don't say later that I forced this out of you.

– I wish it was necessary… – sighs Madam.

I'm waiting for Wiz by the table which stands a little aside from the others, the girls don't need to hear our talk.

– Champaign! – declares Wiz, approaching me, – Hi Gunslinger! You're drinking champaign, right? I don't, it's too many bubbles in it, my stomach rumbles after that!

He moves in an odd manner, very smoothly as if being on asphalt. I glance at his feet, they don't touch the sand: the shabby slippers are on Wiz's feet, with tiny wings growing from their sides that hammer the air quickly.

– I'm drinking champaign with the girls only, – I refuse, – Do you have vodka over there?

– Everything is there! – Wiz plops the bottle of caustically violet colored liquor on the table and runs away with unclaimed Abrau-Durso. Just in a minute he returns in the same gliding manner with a bottle of Ursus vodka, a crystal pitcher filled with water and a package of Zuko.

– Here, mix that…

I never tried Ursus but it's a good vodka as they say. Hoping that subconsciousness will work out the taste for me, I pour in a cup. Wiz grabs the pitcher and mixes the beverage by himself using his own hand as a mixer.

We're in virtuality after all… mo germs here. I swallow the vodka in one shot and take a mouthful directly from the pitcher, then ask:

– Where did you get this cute footwear from?

– These slippers? Ah, made them myself today… was sick and tired of bogging in the sand. You like them? You see, in Deeptown it's possible to walk on the floor only. So I had to glue a piece of floor to the soles. It's no problems now: walk on air as long as you want, until tired!

Wiz laughs and makes several small steps, ascending almost to the table level, then crosses his legs, falls into the armchair, opens the liquor and drops to the bottle with a smacking sound.

– Superb thing! – he declares, – Sweet-sweet! Real Cura ao!

– Do you spend the whole day here?, – I inquire.

– Whole day? Ha! I exit this place to eat something, and pardon me, to visit bathroom!

– Madam says, all security here depends on you.

– Wrong word! Everything depends on me here.

– May a stranger enter here?

– And how could we earn the living if we wouldn't let them in?

– I'm not about that. Is it possible to penetrate into the brothel's service areas?

– Institution's! This is not a brothel, but Institution! No, it is not.

– Absolutely?

Wiz sighs and becomes more serious.

– Are you hacker or lamer?

– A 'newbie'.

– Okie, I see… The absolute security doesn't exist. The closer you're to the absolute reliability, the less comfortable you feel in virtuality. It's a quadratic dependence here – your ability to receive and to transmit data falls as the security level becomes higher. The most important thing is to find the optimal ratio between comfort and security. Our security system was created with the elements of artificial intelligence. When breaking attempts are detected, the warning is broadcasted, additional passwords are implemented, dummies are activated…

– Dummies?

– Autonomous mobile security programs, phagocytes. I call them dummies, they are all dumb. Why don't you drink?

I pour myself more.

– If an intensive attack happens, – Wiz goes on, – then the degree of security grows unlimited, up to the complete encapsulation of the Institution. Of course it never happened before, but it's meant to work this way.

– So you want to say that the security IS ideal after all?

Wiz hesitates, the vanity which he obviously has struggles with objectivity.

– No… If the big group of professionals would plan the break-in, they'll be able to enter before the defense starts to work in full volume. But who on the Earth would want to do that, huh?

I understand that it'd be stupid to expect any different answer. There's a sword for any shield.

– Thank you, Wiz.

– Ah, don't mention it! – he waves his hand, – Do you want to make your own security system? Drag it in here, I'll help. Or better yet, let's go to your place! – Wiz fires up, – I'll do everything myself, I'm so bored of sitting here!

I shake my head, he guessed wrong.

– I'm just interested in how it's handled here.

– Ah, you're the auditor? – starts Wiz, – Hushhh… I've got it, I'm quiet… Why haven't Madam told me immediately?

Who might audit the brothel I wonder? What for? Very interesting… but I don't dare to question Wiz any more.

– Okay, time to go… and Vika must have freed already. – I say. Wiz becomes solemn and serious instantly:

– You watch it, don't hurt her!, – he warns, – she is… a great girl, I'd kick anyone's ass for her.

Wiz sighs and looks at the sea dreamily.

– I have just wanted to score her but you were the first… – he confesses, – You know, she had a great crush on me… or maybe even still has… but don't worry, I never take girls from my friends.

Some time ago I thought that the soap opera computer guys are completely fictional characters. Hah! If it just was really so. They do really exist.

– But don't you even think to approach that blondie! – he adds, – She's so desperately in love with me, she suffers that for almost half a year…

The poor girl laughs aloud hugging her friend, not suspecting about her ill fortune.

– Or maybe I'd go after Natashka… – thinks Wiz, – they're all such lovable types here!

He picks up his liquor and moves towards the laughing blonde in a dancing walk, while I use the moment to get out.

I must have done a couple more turns on the spiral stairs than necessary and descend into the lobby. The recent visitors are not here anymore, they must be enjoying the life's pleasures already.

Just one guy stands by the table browsing through the black album, short and stooping, with a face like of a famished marmot, with long strands of hair breaking loose from under the cap that's hung low above his eyes. I almost pass him going to the door into the service area when I get it. In the meanwhile the guy had put the album back and started to move towards the door.

– Hey, Cap! – I call him.

He stops and turns around slowly, his eyes are empty and as cheerful as the ones of the boiled fish.

– You're Cap, – I repeat.

No reaction whatsoever, the guy goggles at me absolutely blankly.

– I don't like you! – I say with a sudden joy, – Do you hear me? I don't like you at all!

– 'Haha' three times, – replies Cap averting his pale gaze and turns to the door again. He doesn't have any curiosity at all. He's a compatriot at least.