Plutonium #16

Самиздат

Samizdat - The Labyrinth of Reflections.

(R) Smirnov Alexander


                          Continued.



     - Leon?

     Look.

     My friend standing next to a werewolf. White suit, patent 
leather shoes, a little old-fashioned tie. Face slightly tense.


     - Hi, Romka. Sit down.

     - What girl?

     - Nothing of interest.

     We, the divers always a little paranoid. What to do. Too 
many wanting to know our real names. Werewolf noisy draws air, 
frowning: 

     - She tried to tag you!

     - I know. Do not worry, it's just a journalist.

     Romka sits, nods to the bartender. That awful cramp face - 
but gives him a faceted glass filled with Absolut Pepper. " I

even look hard, like Roman drinking. And he, frowning slightly, 
wiping his mouth and returns the glass. 

   Perhaps he was in reality - an alcoholic?

   I do not know.

   We taimsya from each other in exactly the same as from 
enemies. We are too valuable a commodity. Deep-sea fish, 
shimmering magical light freaks who wants to try every shark. 

     - You told an apple? - Asks Roman.

     - It's OK - Collapsible floor jacket, pop in a shirt 
pocket, which is a floppy disk. - Goods on the spot. 

     A werewolf bit relaxed.

     - A buyer?

     I looked at his watch.

     - Ten minutes. Side by side in a river.

     - Come? - The novel takes a glass.

     I picked up his own, and we go in that door restaurant that
hacked into a stone wall. In a small vestibule, I quietly say:

     - Individual room for both of us. Admission for the person 
who called the code "white-gray-black." 

     - Accepted - heard from the ceiling. Now, no matter how 
many visitors did not want to walk in the virtual space of the 
"Three pigs, we will not see them. Only the buyer, to whom I 
advance said code.


     During the second door - the forest. Primeval, primitive, 
North. A cold wind pierces to the bone, I ezhus. My companion 
for the cold quite indifferent. Maybe he has a simpler Helmet - 
without air conditioning? 

     God knows ...

     Makes it no less than mine, but maybe he has a huge 
family. Or Roman, and indeed an alcoholic, squander thousands 
green for a few weeks? 

     Behind us - a small stone house, so look
"The Three Little Pigs" from this side. We go along the path, 
little by little sipping from goblets.


     - Do you like the pepper-brandy? - Casually ask the 
werewolf. 

     - Yes.

     Dry and without any comments. I wish I knew, Roman,
who you really are.

     But this is impossible. Virtuality is cruel to the unwary.

     Go to the river. Cliff, caught tenacious cover
Low bush. Very strong wind, I schuryus. The sky is
clouds. The river is not that mountain, but the rapids and 
fast. In the distance weaves a flock of some large birds - do 
not know what exactly they never flies close. Over the 
precipice - table, on its face bottle of gin, tonic and Absolut 
Pepper. " More nickel-plated thermos in it, I know, mulled 
wine. Delicious, cinnamon, vanilla, nutmeg, pepper and 
coriander. Next three wicker chairs. We sit down side by side, 
looking at a river. 

     Beautiful.

     White foam on the rocks, cold wind, full glass in hand,
blue-gray clouds swirling overhead. Tomorrow will surely
snow. But in the virtual does not happen tomorrow.

     - I wonder - sip - taken from this river.

     - Places of beautiful have I seen in my life ... - A 
strange voice says werewolf. 

     That's always the case. Everyone has their own association 
and analogy. For The novel, clearly, this landscape means 
something. For me - just beautiful place.


     - You used to come here?

     - To some extent.

     Interesting.

     - What kind of bird, Roman?

     - Harpy - not looking he says. Clap - and his glass is 
empty. 

     But he still did not got drunk.

     I hate the mystery that surrounds us. We are afraid of each
other. We are afraid of everything.

     - A nice weather - throw random.

     - Snow-day summer ... - Said the werewolf. And looking at 
the me with irony. He knows the area. It echoes something in

his soul.

     I do not give to know what it was.

     Mulled wine poured myself into a heavy ceramic bowl. Inhale
flavor. Snowy summer? Let them. There is nothing better than 
bad weather. 

     - Leon, you smoke weed? - Roman hands me a cigarette case.

     - No.

     Perhaps he is indeed an alcoholic and drug addict ...

     - It is said to harmless alcohol and tobacco.

     - They say that in Moscow, milking chickens.

     The novel ranges, but the lights.

     Damn. Nadina's arguments begin to seem to me not quite so 
crazy. 

     I drink mulled wine, Roman smokes marijuana. About two 
minutes later click sends a half-smoked cigarette down and says:


     - Children's fun. I splash of wine.

     - It's mulled wine.

     - What, FIG, the difference ...

     Now we both sip hot wine with spices. Roman
nods:

     - Rulez!

     I agree nod. "Rulez" - this is something good. Cold
beer, the computer of the seventh generation, young beauty, 
well- inactivated virus ... mulled wine.


     Sitting on a cliff and we are well.

     - What was in that apple?

     - The new cold medicine. Very effective.

     Roman scowls.

     - It costs six thousand?

     - It's worth a hundred.

     - A. .. - Romance is changing in the face.

     - Let's wait for the buyer.

     Werewolf nods:

     - Your operation, you decide.

     The buyer appears ten minutes later, when I'm starting to 
worry. I knew him only by the nickname "tert", and he gave me - 
under the nickname "Shooter." Buyer neat and neprimeten, simple 
costume, elusive entity. Young guy with a diplomat in his hand. 

     - Good evening, Shooter! - He tells me. Voice too
even-tempered - Grated communicates through a program 
interpreter. 

     - Good morning - looking at my watch I say. This mutual
game. Determine individual time diver to determine in which
time zone he resides - has already done.

     - How much I appreciate your humor ... - Grated sits on 
the third chair, questioningly looks at me: - Harvest is ripe?


     - Heavy out apples - I pull out the floppy, put on the 
table. - Frankly, I expected more appreciation for such

work ..

     - We're agreed? Six thousand dollars.

     Razvozhu hands.

     - According to you, more it is not worth it.

     - Do you think otherwise?

     - You know, Mr. Shellerbah ...

     "Grated" shudders.

     - You were wrong at least an order of magnitude. The 
common cold - it is a trifle, of course ... but who likes to 
stay in bed with fever and snotty nose? 

     - I - do not like - Shellerbah-Grated me in the face.
Now this is an elderly man with a strong-willed, but nervous 
face. - However, I believe that the word diver - holy.


     - Do not deny it. I will give you a file - send a floppy 
disk by clicking across the table. - But next time no one diver 
does not lift a finger for you. You are violating our ethics, 
Mr. Shellerbah. Are paid to the extent of its complexity.


     Shellerbah takes a floppy disk and freezes. I drink mulled 
wine, watching him. Werewolf silent. This is my operation. 

     Finally Shellerbah downloaded the file and view it becomes 
meaningful. 

     - So? - I ask.

     - Fifty - Grated said.

     - Everyone?

     He was silent - very, very long time. It's money. Vibrant, 
full-blooded, tax-exempt, who came from nowhere and gone 
nowhere. 

     - Your bank account.

     I offered him a piece of paper on it - the number of 
accounts in Switzerland. 

     - Negative interest ... you are very careful, Mr
Diver ...

     - No other way out, Peter ...

     He surrenders. I know his real name, he was my - no. The 
Bank does not I never will return. Even if an international 
tribunal declared I'm a cannibal and is guilty of genocide.


     For it and paid a negative interest from the account.

     For complete safety.

     - Fifty each. I make a goodwill gesture, Mr
Diver!

     - Fine.

     A few seconds - and at my expense spill over one hundred 
thousand dollars. That's a lot. It very much. 

     Years of quiet life in virtuality.

     - You agree to further cooperation?

     Pull out your checkbook, gladly gaze at
figure. Then write a check for fifty thousand and give a 
werewolf. 

     - Quite possibly.

     - And on a permanent contract?

     - No.

     - Why are you so afraid of, the diver? - The look 
Shellerbaha curiosity. 

     What am I afraid?

     - Name, Peter. True freedom - is always a mystery.

     - I understand - agrees Shellerbah. Looks askance at the 
Novel: - You, too, the diver? Or just a walking set of viruses?


     - Diver, - says Roman.

     - Well ... good luck to you, ladies and gentlemen ... - 
Shellerbah fades into step. Stops: - Tell me ... as it is - to 
be a diver? 

     - Very simple - meet Roman. - We must know that all
around - the game. Fantasy.

     Shellerbah nods, throws up his hands.

     - I can not, alas ...

     He walks along the path, we look after him. Then I fill 
our glasses. 

     - For good luck!

     The novel is clearly not yet assessed the extent of the 
incident. Silent twisting in the hands of a glass:


     - Leon, tell me, are you happy?

     - Sure.

     - Big money ... - He looks at the check, then strongly
raises his glass: - For good luck!

     - For her - I agree.

     - You do not disappear from the depths?

     - No.

     The novel nods, with obvious relief. Takes a sip of wine, 
says: 

     - You know, are you interested in working. You ... unusual.

     At the moment it seems to me that we come to the brink of 
an unprecedented, when divers are open to each other.


     - Similarly, the Roma.

     Werewolf rises. Sharply, jerkily.

     - I have to go ... came to me ...

     It dissolves in the air, the glass drops to the floor, 
rolls, ringing and bouncing.


     - Good luck, Roman - I say into the void.

     Loneliness - the wrong side of freedom.

     I can not be another.

     - Score! - The evil I say into the void. - Account is 
alive! 


                   To be continued ...