Waiting for me, aren't we, Mr Nice Guy? the question from behind the back. I turn around the huge wolf, up to my chest in height, emerges from the bush.
Maybe for you, I answer admiring the wolf. Hell, he's awesome! He's really gray, and not simply gray but of exact blackish/grayish wolfs' color. The fur is felted here and there, a burdock is stuck to the right forepaw.
Shouldn't I eat you, Mr Nice Guy? asks the wolf and bares his teeth, his fangs are yellow like smoker's, one is missing totally.
I improvise mockingly, Why would thou brag emptily, run thouself onto my mighty sword? Better serve me well!
The wolf smiles and sits down, And what the payment will be, the mighty warrior?
Three grands each, I inform him.
The wolf nods, satisfied, rubs his muzzle with a paw and asks, Al-Kabar?
Good guess.
Mission?
Theft.
Who's the customer?
I just shrug. The answer is as rhetoric as the question. The customers don't like to disclose themselves.
Let's give it a try, decides the wolf, Are you ready?
Quite.
Let's go.
I scramble onto the wolf's back and he runs through the forest in relaxed pace. I instinctively duck the tree branches, the wolf snickers. Let him have some fun.
In a couple of minutes we leave the forest. The yellow sand is under the feet now. It's very hot, and wind blows make me to narrow my eyes. The chasm nearly 100 meters wide is ahead, and the Eastern styled city can be seen on the opposite side. Minarets, domes, everything in orange-yellow-green colors. Pretty nice. Not far away from us there's a well, let's call it the "bridge" across the chasm: the thread, thin as a string. One its end is on the city wall, the other is being held in the hand of the ugly stone statue around 10 meters high. The statue's face is quite terrifying.
Looks like a tough piece of work notes the wolf, don't you think you've sold yourself too cheap, Ivan The Prince?
God knows I answer examining the statue, I was warned about the bridge
What are you gonna steal?
Ripe apples
Oh, so this is the reason for all this masquerade snickers the wolf again, And what is inside the apples? { here is a reference to the Russian fairy tales of course }
I dunno, I spring down from his back, keeping my hand on his fur, Okay, gimme a second, I'll grab some soda and will be right back
Go ahead, agrees the wolf gazing around.
I half close my eyes.
Abyss-abyss, I'm not yours let me go, abyss
I shivered slightly and stood up; tiny screens before my eyes, the desert, the chasm, the statue and the city in the distance is on them, very nice drawing. Al-Kabar has good designers.
The virtual helmet is heavy, one of the most sophisticated models by Sony: with excellent color screens, great speakers and built-in microphone, with air conditioner producing the air of the necessary temperature. Now it's a desert heat I took off the helmet and put it on the table, by the keyboard. The familiar woman's face appeared on the monitor.
Lenia, are you interrupting the immersion? came out of the speakers.
No. Hold on.
In the real world my room is the same as in the virtual space. The difference is though: it's not a warm Deeptown's summer evening behind the windows but the rainy St. Peterburgh autumn. It's drizzling outside, the car honks in the distance. I opened the fridge and took a can of Sprite. Let's really drink I couldn't resist the urge to look from the balcony. Of course, the empty can that I threw out into the street in virtuality, is not there. Well, let's eliminate the differences.
My hair were damp with perspiration, I wiped them with a shirt that was scattered on the chair, sat by the computer, checked the cable of the virtual suit that connects it with the computer's deep-board. The suit was working, slightly slowing down my movements as if I was walking on the sand. The left leg was slowed down a bit more than the right one: the program glitches again. Ah well, I'll
fix it later.
Putting the helmet on is the same as to enter the hot oven. Those Al-Kabar's fouls surrounded themselves with the most uncomfortable conditions
Again I was looking at the virtual world, but it is yet too much like a cheap cartoon: a grainy image, a nice but rough drawing. Computers can't handle anything better.
And that's okay. What is the deep without the human after all?
I blinked once, relaxed trying to enter virtuality by my own and failed of course. I'm not in the desert, I'm at home, by the keyboard. I had to type the command:
deep [Enter] The multicolor whirlwind flashes out above the desert image. For one more second I could see the screens, the soft cushion inside the helmet, then the consciousness began to drift. The brain tried to resist, but no use, the deep program affects everybody.
But there are some people one out of 300.000 those who don't lose the link with reality completely. Those who can surface from the deep on their own. The divers.
People like me, for instance.
The wolf smirks to me, Got your whistle wet a little?