Ah well, curiosity isn't a vice…

I dialed Maniac's number trying to ignore dirty dial disk and sticky handset.

– Allo?

– Shura, evening…

– A-ha…. – said Maniac in a satisfied voice, – Here he is… a criminal.

– Shura, they…

– Relax, I'm sorting this out. I have a license for local virus creation, they won't pick on this.

– Have you registered 'Warlock'?

– Of course, at Lozinsky's himself. All sources conform to the Moscow Convention, so they'll get nothing.

I feel relieved a little. If the virus wasn't registered with some antivirus creator, Maniac could get in a serious trouble. Certainly, I can be accused of reckless weapon use or of damage… but they'll have to find me first.

– Were you asked who bought the virus?

– Sure thing. I gave them your address… the most puny one.

A couple of years ago, when I just started to balance on the border of the law, one diver advised me to buy a couple of addresses and to never use them. So afterwards it were these nonexistent 'comrades' on whom all viruses taken from Maniac were wrote off.

– I said that you paid a grand for the virus. – Shurka goes on.

– You know, it'd be right if I…

– Relax, I have 5 requests for 'Warlock' at this price already. – Maniac laughs joyfully, – Coolness! I'm ready to buy beer for Jordan for such an advertisement. The whole Deeptown is stirred.

– Isn't the sale forbidden?

– Not yet. They are studying the source. You better tell me where were you an hour or a bit more ago?

– Well… As usual.

Lyudmila Borisovna coughed slightly, curiosity was fighting in her with an old woman's greed. The hourly charge is the worst enemy of computer people and windbags.

– Okie, in the Deep. I've dropped by, wanted to drink beer with you.

Maniac hesitates suddenly.

– You… look out of your door.

– What for?

– I rang, then sat on the bench outside, drank some beer, then ascended and rang again… Then I left a couple of Holstens under your door. Light. Look, are they still there?

I emitted the sound like the one of an old disk drive.

– Shura, what do you think, communism was declared this morning? What's wrong with you?

– Well, you just look, maybe they're there… – mumbled Maniac.

– No, they are NOT there! I'm calling from the neighbors'.

– Ah well… what the hell…

Sometimes my mind falters when I deal with real computer guys. Maybe Shurka had confused the real world and the Deep where beer costs peanuts?

– Tell somebody, they won't ever believe…

– Those who drank will, – noted Maniac gloomily.

– Come tomorrow around ten, – I asked, – We need to discuss something.

– Just don't forget to surface. I'll come.

– Bye Shurka.

I put the handset on the hook and looked at Lyudmila Borisovna confused.

– Was it too long?

– No, that's okay, – the old lady shook her head, – It's the business, don't I understand? What do you sell at least?

– Beer, – I said point-blankly.

– I liked beer myself… but is it really possible to indulge myself having such a pension?

– Lyudmila Borisovna, what if I treat you, huh? – I offered joyfully, – I just have some samples at home!

This would be the best way out, otherwise the old one will definitely drag herself to my place to call from my phone… as a compensation of her damages. But the people with weak nerves should better not enter my apartment.

– Well, if just a bottle… – the old one livens up.

The youth on the patch traced me with greedy gazes when I was carrying a bottle of 'Oranienbaum' to the next apartment. Needless to say, two bottles of light beer for four sound loafers isn't serious.

I managed to find a callous frank in the freezer's depths. From canned stuff only the tin of sprats have left, I bought it either in times of dire straits or for nostalgic reasons.

I was sleepy to numbness but warmed up the poor frank anyway, took a tin opener and installed two bottles of Pilsen Urquell on the table before me. The supper in the candlelight – candles were quivering on the monitor: a screensaver. The fire scratching coming from the helmet was very much in place.

Let this Deep go to hell, together with this Unfortunate! Now, in the real world, everything that happened seemed nothing more than some absurd play. If Unfortunate doesn't confess tomorrow in the morning, me and Vika will exit the mountain space. Forever. Let him tell his tales to the cliffs and pine trees – they'll appreciate that.

I took a mouthful of beer and moaned in pleasure, then started opening the tin, cut off the cover accurately, hooked it with a fork…

And almost fell from the chair.

A hundred of fish heads was gazing at me with reproachfully.

Somewhere in virtuality I wouldn't be surprised with such joke, but in the real world…

I rummaged through heads soaked in tomato sauce trying to find at least one whole fish. Nothing. Very diligently done. I imagined a fish-factory… a kind of a floating giant… or the sprats are tinned on the shore? A conveyor with this low-grade stuff. Girls, crazed of fish stench and monotonous work… Now one of then takes an empty tin from the transporter and starts stuffing the fish heads into it. A joke.

I really laughed, shuddering and closing the tin back. I had nothing to eat but wasn't mad at the anonymous worker, on the contrary, everything suddenly have seemed perfectly in place.

Stuck to the bottle, I finished the first Urquell.

You wanted miracles, diver? The computer mind and people entering virtuality directly?

Come back to senses, diver! Here they are, miracles available to our world! Stolen beer, sprats' heads stuffed with eyes, stuffiness and foul of old lady's apartment, teenage punks in the stairways, annoying drip of water from the faucet in the kitchen.

This is – life. Whatever stupid and boring it might be, and there inside a helmet is just a tale created by machines and our own subconsciousness. Our electronic escapism.

I opened the second beer, picked up the tin, came out to the balcony and dumped out tin's contents into the wilted front garden. A feast is awaiting stray cats this night.

– Not ethical! – I reproached myself. As strongly as in Vika's program it is stuck into my mind that one shouldn't throw garbage out of the window.

But, unlike the machines we are able to ignore the bans. From balconies.

As I was, with the beer, I entered the bathroom, unbuttoned the suit glancing at the bottle. I didn't want to drink anymore.

– What is this long and cumbersome process for? – I asked rhetorically and poured the rest of the beer down into the toilet.

I lagged to the sofa and turned off the light. For how much longer is it possible to sleep huddled up by the table, with an electronic saucepan on the head? It was quiet, very quiet, and even the teens on the staircase stopped torturing their guitar.

Only the computer hummed smoothly and the candles were blinking on the screen.

I turned over forcing my face into the pillow but the sleep was retreating. There, in the Deep, the motionless dead Gunslinger's body is lying. Does he miss me? Something, just a little from betrayal is in it.

– For the last time! – I moaned, rising. I put on the helmet, plugged the suit into the port, laid my hands on the keyboard.

Deep Enter.

I snuggle close to Vika in my sleep and she mumbles something, turning to the other side. As quiet as her voice is, but I wake up. Looks like she sleeps in the Deep too.

The fire is off. Maybe the morning is close but the darkness haven't yet retreated, only red sheen from the dying fire can be seen. Unfortunate lies a bit away like a motionless mat– bag. What if I reach you and nudge you a good deal, huh? Just to see, are you here with us of exited the deep and sleep in the warm soft bed?