Quantum Future (continued)

First part (Chapter 1)

Second part (Chapter 2,3)

Chapter 4

    After the defeat in the battle with the vices and temptations of decaying digital capitalism, the first success came to Max. Small, of course, but still. He passed the qualifying exams with flying colours, and even jumped over the rung of the career ladder right up to the ninth category optimizer. On the wave of success, he decided to take part in the development of an application for decorating a New Year's corporate evening. Of course, there was no achievement in this: any employee of Telecom could offer his ideas for the application, and in total two hundred volunteers were involved in the development, not counting specially appointed curators. But Max hoped in this way to attract the attention of someone from the leadership, and, besides, this was his first truly creative work since his appearance in the city of Tula.

    From an organizational point of view, one of the curators was the charming Laura May, and a couple of hours of personal communication with her was a pleasant bonus to volunteering. Max found out that it turns out that Laura is a very real person, moreover, she looked no worse than in the picture, and, according to her assurances, she almost did not use cosmetic programs. In addition, Laura behaved very naturally, smiled almost all the time and smoked expensive synthetic cigarettes right at the workplace, without any fear of fines and other sanctions. Without visible signs of boredom, she listened to the technical details, in which the conversations of the nerds hanging around her constantly moved out and even tried to laugh at their no less nerdy jokes. Even the fact that Laura got away with smoking in the workplace and familiarity with the highest Martian authorities did not cause a drop of irritation in Max. He tried to remind himself more often that this was just part of her job: to motivate stupid males to take part in all kinds of free amateur performances, and in fact he has Masha, who is waiting in distant cold Moscow when he will finally deal with her invitation for a visa . And he also thought that in the world of illusions, no one attaches any special importance to female beauty and charm, because here everyone looks as they want, and the bots look and speak perfectly. But Laura easily broke this rule, so that for the sake of ten minutes of meaningless chatter with her, Max was ready to spend half the night on a holiday application and after that, he didn’t even feel especially used.

    So, the time was inexorably approaching the onset of the New Year celebration, which was taken seriously in Telecom. Max was sitting on a couch in one of the lounges, pensively stirring his coffee and tweaking the settings on his chip, trying to get his application to perform normally. So far, the tests seem to be going fine, without special pixels and screenshots. Boris plopped down on the couch next to him.

     - Well, let's go?

     “Wait, five more minutes.

     - People have dumped from our sector, they will already get drunk by the time we arrive. By the way, they came up with a dubious topic for a corporate party.

     Why not?

     - Yes, you can imagine what headlines will be in the news if the competitors sniff out. “Telecom has shown its true face”… and all that.

     That's why the party is closed. The application has a ban on cameras of personal drones, tablets and video from neurochips.

     “Anyway, this demonic theme is a bit overkill in my opinion.

     - What happened last year?

     - Last year, stupidly booze in the club. There were also some kind of competitions ... for which everyone scored.

     - Exactly, that's why now we have focused on thematic design, without stupid contests. And the theme of the lower plans of the Planescape setting won by the results of an honest vote.

     “Yeah, I always knew that you wise men couldn’t be trusted with such things. Did you choose this topic for fun?

     — I have no idea, I suggested it because I like one very ancient game in this setting. They also offered a ball of Satan in the style of the Master and Margarita, but decided that it was too vintage and not fashionable.

     — Hmmm, it turns out that you suggested it… If only they had made the usual nine circles of hell then, otherwise they dug up some ancient setting overgrown with moss.

     — Great setting, much better than your Warcraft. And unhealthy associations could arise with Dante's hell.

     “Like they’re very healthy with that…”

    Another guy entered the almost empty room: tall, frail and awkward-looking. He had unkempt, slightly curly, shoulder-length blond hair and days of unshaven hair on his cheeks. Judging by this, and by the expression of a slight detachment in his eyes, he successfully scored on his appearance, both real and digital. Max caught a glimpse of him a couple of times, and Boris happily waved his hand to the newcomer.

     Hey Grieg, great! Didn't you get off with everyone too?

     “Yes, I didn’t want to go at all,” Grieg mumbled, stopping in front of Boris, who was lounging on the sofa.

     - This is Grieg from the service department. Grieg, this is Max - a great dude, we work together.

    Grieg awkwardly extended his hand, so that Max managed to shake only his fingers. Some connectors and cables peeked out from under the sleeve of a worn checkered shirt. Grieg, seeing that Max paid attention to them, immediately pulled his sleeve.

     - It's for work. I don't like wireless interfaces, it's more reliable. Grieg blushed slightly: for some reason he was embarrassed by his cybernetics.

     "Why didn't you want to go?" Max decided to keep the conversation going.

     - I don't like the topic.

     “You see, Max, a lot of people don’t like it.

     Why did you vote then? What do you not like?

     “Yes, it’s somehow bad to dress up in all sorts of evil spirits, even for fun ...,” Grieg hesitated again.

     - I am begging you! You still tell the Martians what is good and what is not. Let's ban Halloween too.

     — Yes, Martians in general are real technofascists or technofetishists. Nothing is sacred! Boris stated categorically. - Max, it turns out, not only steered the development of the application, but also this topic, he also came up with.

     — No, the app is cool. I'm just not very good at holidays ... and all these reincarnations too. Well, I’m such a person ..., - Grieg hesitated, apparently deciding that he had inadvertently offended some tough bosses in the person of Max.

     - I didn’t drive, stop lying.

     - It's okay to be modest. You are now, really, a superstar. In my memory, no one jumped over the position after qualifying exams. Among the coders of our sector, of course. Didn't you have such ironworkers?

     “I don’t remember ... somehow I didn’t follow ...,” Grieg shrugged.

     - And Max also fooled us herself, you won’t believe it, fucking Laura May.

     - Borya, stop talking. I have already said a hundred times: I have Masha.

     “Yeah, and you will live happily ever after with her when she finally comes to Mars. Or, for some reason, she won’t get a visa and stay in Moscow… Don’t tell me you haven’t hit on Laura yet? Do not be weak, Max, who does not take risks does not drink champagne!

     - Yes, maybe I don’t want to roll up to her! It feels like in the face of the anxious half of our sector, I have already committed myself to reporting on the process of rolling. And you yourself, kind of like a family man, what kind of unhealthy interest?

     Well, I don't claim anything. None of us spent two hours in her office. And you are constantly hanging out there, so your duty, as a representative of a glorious masculine family, is to frown and be sure to report to your comrades. Arsen, by the way, has long suggested creating a closed group on MarinBook to help you with advice and quickly learn about progress.

     No, you are definitely worried. Can you also upload a photo-video with progress there?

     - We didn’t even hope about the video, even in our wildest dreams, but since you yourself promise ... I catch on the word in short. Grieg, will you confirm, if anything?

     - What? Grieg asked, clearly lost in himself.

     “Ah, nothing,” Boris waved his hand.

     “What, is Laura so worried about you?”

     - In front of her, half the Martians run on their hind legs. And they are generally known for their, shall we say, almost complete indifference to women of non-Martian origin. What can she do that other women can't? Everyone is interested.

     - And what versions?

     - What versions can there be? In such matters, we do not rely on unverified rumors and conjectures. Need reliable infa, first hand.

     - Yeah of course. Here, Boryan, really, create yourself a bot with her appearance and have fun as much as you like.

     — Have you forgotten what entertainment with bots leads to? To a guaranteed transformation into a shadow.

     — I meant only the process of bewilderment, nothing more.

     - Fuck the bot! You have a good opinion of us. Okay, let's go, we'll miss the last bus. Oh yes, sorry, on a boat on the river Styx.

    Following the bored white rabbit in a vest, they left the rest room and passed the dimly lit halls of the optimization and service sector. Only the duty shift remained there, buried in deep chairs and dull databases of the intranet.

    The premises of the main office were located in tiers and along the inner perimeter of the walls of the support and were divided into blocks inside the tiers. And in the center there was a shaft with freight and passenger elevators. It rose from the very depths of the planet all the way to the viewing platform at the top of the power dome support above the surface, from where one could survey the endless red dunes. It was said that the one who fell into the mine from the observation deck would have had time to draw up and certify a digital will while flying to the very bottom. In total, there were several hundred huge floors in the main office, and there would hardly have been an employee, even from among the most honored ones, who would have visited them all in his life. Moreover, people with orange or yellow permits were ordered to enter some floors. For example, those where the luxurious offices and apartments of the big Martian bosses were located. Such VIP-rooms occupied mainly the middle floors of the support. Autonomous energy and oxygen stations were hiding somewhere in the very depths of the failure. As for the rest, there was no special segregation in terms of the height of the placement, only they tried not to have anything important in the overground tower. The network operations team occupied several tiers near the ceiling of the cave, next to the docking stations for the drones. From the windows of the relaxation block, one could always observe swarming herds of large and small service cars.

    The elevator, called in advance by the rabbit, was waiting for them in the spacious hall. Boris was the first to go inside, turned around and said in a terrible voice:

     “Well, miserable mortals: who wants to sell his soul?

    And he turned into a short red demon with small wings and long fangs protruding from the lower and upper jaws. A huge hammer dangled from his belt with a beak on the back, which was a sickle-shaped blade with terrible notches. Crosswise, Boris was wrapped in a heavy chain with a spiked ball at the end.

     “I would look at that fool who decides to sell his soul to a dwarf.

     “I’m a dwarf… I mean, what the hell, I’m actually a demon.

     “Yeah, you’re a red gnome with wings. Or maybe a small red orc with wings.

     — Yes, and do not care, there are no rules about the costume in your application.

     - Don't care, of course, but Warcraft doesn't let you go, even at a corporate party.

     “Okay, I’m kind of tight on the imagination, I admit it? And who are you?

    The transparent elevator doors closed and countless tiers of the main office rushed up. Max scored on shamanism with performance and launched the application.

     - Are you ifrit?

     “It seems to me that he is just a burning man,” Grieg said suddenly.

     - Tochnyak. Actually, I'm Ignus - a character from that ancient game. I burned an entire city, and in retaliation, the inhabitants opened a personal portal to the plane of fire for me. And although I am doomed to burn alive forever, but I have achieved a real merger with my element. Such is the price of true knowledge.

     — Pf… it’s better to be an orc with wings, it’s somehow closer to the people.

     “In the fire, I see the real world.

     “Oh, here you go, you’ll start pushing your philosophy again. After returning from this fucking Dreamland, you became something different. Let's tie it up: about shadows and stuff - this is a bike, honestly.

     So you didn't see your own shadow?

     - Well, I definitely saw something, but I’m not ready to vouch for it. And my shadow certainly didn't trash my brains with stupid philosophy.

    The elevator came to a slow stop at the first floor. A helpful platform with handrails immediately drove up, ready to deliver straight to the buses.

     “Let's go on foot through the checkpoint,” suggested Boris. - I left my backpack in the storage room.

     “You never part with him.

     - Today there are too many prohibited liquids in it, it was dumb to shove through the guards.

    The virtual rabbit jumped onto the platform and drove away with it. And they stomped through scanners and security robots, deliberately painted in menacing camouflage tones, touched by rust. Impressive turrets on monowheels turned after each visitor, rotating their trunks on manipulators and never tired of repeating “Move along” in a metallic voice!

    Boris pulled a jingling heavy backpack out of the cell.

     — Will they let you into the club, do you think?

     “I'm not going to carry them around for that long. Now we will sentence in the bus, that is, on the ship.

     “Uh, Boris, rein in the horses!” There’s at least half a box there, ”Max was surprised, lifting the backpack to assess its weight. I hope it's beer, or did you grab a couple of oxygen tanks in reserve?

     “You offend me, I brought a couple of bottles of Marsa-Cola to drink. And the balloons are resting today. Considering how much I'm going to drink, even a spacesuit won't save me. Grieg, are you with us?

    Boris was radiant with enthusiasm. Max was afraid that he would start the tasting right at the reception, in front of the guards and secretaries.

     “Only if a little bit,” Grieg answered uncertainly.

     - Well, great, let's start a little, and then how it goes ... Now, Max, let's push it and even before the club, that is, sorry, before getting to the lower planes, we'll figure out your philosophy.

    Max just shook his head. Boris threw the backpack on his back and immediately began to express dissatisfaction with the fact that he stepped through the texture of his wings.

     - Something is wrong with your application with the processing of objects.

     - And what did you want it to recognize everything on the fly? If your miracle backpack has an IoT interface, then it will register without any problems. You can, of course, and so recognize, but you have to tinker.

     - Yeah, now.

    Boris' backpack became a battered leather sack with bone clasps and embossed skulls and pentagrams.

     - All right, I'm completely ready for unbridled fun. Forward, the lower planes are waiting for us!

    Boris led the procession and they proceeded without delay to the long-awaited latecomer vehicles. They appeared in the form of a pair of boats made of dilapidated, rotten boards, overgrown with balls of vile whitish threads, which began a sleepy stirring as soon as they sensed movement nearby. The rooks were laid up at the dilapidated stone pier. Behind was a quite ordinary parking lot with cars and a huge support wall, and ahead the darkness of the boundless Styx was already splashing, and a mystical fog was smoking over the water.

    The entrance to the gangway was guarded by a tall, bony figure in a tattered gray robe, floating half a meter above the ground. She blocked Grieg's path.

     “Only the souls of the dead and the creatures of evil can sail the waters of the Styx,” the ferryman rasped.

     “Yes, of course,” Grieg waved him off. - I'll turn it on now.

    He transformed into a standard dark elf with long silver hair, leather armor and the finest spider silk cloak.

     - Do not try to leave the ship during the journey, the waters of the Styx deprive the memory ... - the carrier bot continued to creak, but no one was listening to him.

    Inside, everything was also quite authentic: bone benches along the sides, lighting with flashes of demonic fire and the souls of sinners, embedded in rotten boards, occasionally frightening with sepulchral groans and stretching out of knotted limbs. At the stern of the boat, a couple of dragon-like demons hung out, one not authentic vampire and a spider queen - Lolth in the form of a dark elf, but with a bunch of chelicera sticking out of her back. True, the lady was slightly in the body, so even the application could not hide it. The textures of the dark goddess, which had become fertile on Telecom grubs, noticeably glitched when colliding with real objects, signaling a discrepancy between the physical and digital torso. Max did not know any of those already present on the boat. But Boris yelled happily, shaking the jingling bag.

     - Salute to all! Katyukha, Sanya, how are you? Che, can we roll?!

     — Here is this deal! The vampire immediately perked up.

     - Boryan is handsome, ready!

    Dragon-like Sanyok slapped Boris on the shoulder and pulled out paper cups from under the bench.

     Oh, finally one of ours! - the spider squealed happily and practically hung on Grieg's neck. “Aren’t you glad to see your queen?!

    Grieg, embarrassed by such pressure, languidly denied and apparently reproached himself for the unsuccessful choice of costume. The dragons were already pouring whiskey and cola into glasses and around them with might and main. “Yes, the evening promises to be languid,” thought Max, looking skeptically at the picture of the spontaneously formed bacchanalia.

    Slowly the boat was filled with belated creatures of evil. Another purple demon with a large toothy mouth and long spines all over the body, several insect-like demons and demonesses, and a snake woman with four arms also came to the basement. They poured into the drunken company at the stern so that Boris' backpack really quickly became empty. Half of these people put on the images without even bothering, which made them identifiable solely by the virtual badge. Of all the variety, Max only liked the idea of ​​a costume in the form of a plush felting dinosaur, feltings of a dragon, whose mouth was thrown over its head in the form of a hood, although this outfit did not match the setting. However, Max did not seek to recognize or remember anyone in particular. All happily thumping belonged to the categories of administrators, suppliers, operators and other security guards, useless for promotion. Gradually, Max sat down separately a little ahead, so it was easier to skip the numerous toasts for the coming year of the rat. But five minutes later, the resilient Boris plopped down next to me.

     Max, what are you missing? I, you know, planned to get drunk in your company today.

     - Come on later, we'll get drunk in the club.

     - Why so?

     “Yes, I was hoping to hang out with some of the Martians and maybe discuss my career prospects. As long as you need to stay in shape.

     - Oh, Max, fuck you! This is another scam: like at a corporate party, you can hang out with anyone, without regard to ranks and titles. Complete nonsense.

     Why? I've heard stories about incredible career ups and downs after corporate events.

     - Tales of pure water, I understand this. Ordinary Martian hypocrisy, one must show that the life of ordinary bydlocoders somehow excites them. It will be, at best, tryndezh about anything.

     - Well, at least the reputation of a person who calmly talks about nothing with the bosses from the board of directors is already worth a lot.

     “And how do you plan to start a casual conversation?”

     - Quite an obvious way, provided for by the program of the evening. Martians love original outfits.

     — Do you think your outfit is very cool?

     Well, it's from a vintage computer game.

     “Yeah, it’s a great way to suck up to them.” Your choice of costume is understandable. Although against the background of the surrounding squalor, even my red orc was not so bad.

     - Yeah, in vain they didn’t wash down the face control in the application, or at least a ban on standard images. Of all the thumping ones, only the dinosaur lays claim to some kind of originality.

     — This is Dimon from SB. He just has nothing to do there. They sit whole and spit on the ceiling, supposedly watching security. Hey Dimon! Boris called out to a cheerful plush dinosaur. - You have a cool suit!

    Dimon saluted with a paper glass and unsteadily gait, clutching at the bone railing, approached them.

     I have been sewing for a whole week.

     - Shil? Max was surprised.

     - Yeah, you can touch it.

     “Are you saying you have a real suit, not a digital one?”

     - A natural product, but what? No one else has this suit.

     - And the truth is original, although no one will probably figure it out without explanation. Do you mean you work for SB?

     - An operator, so don't worry, I'm not collecting any compromising evidence. You can even stand on your ears, even puke under the table.

     - I know one dude from your Security Council who advised to give up on the secret of private life altogether, his name is Ruslan.

     - And what department is he from, do we have a lot of people there? I hope not from the first, are you generally reluctant to intersect with these guys?

     “I don’t know, he’s from some strange department, I think. And he's not a very nice guy at all...

     — By the way, none of you know how to disable the bot? And then zadolbal already with a reminder that I did not change clothes.

     “Hmm, yes, we forgot to provide for the function of a real costume. I'm going to try now. Can you add some badge that the costume is real?

     — Add. Are you an admin?

     “Max is our main developer of the application,” Boris jumped in again. “He also messed up…

     - Boryan, stop talking about Laura already.

     - Who's that?

     - Well, what are you?! Boris was theatrically indignant. - The blonde with big boobs from the press office.

     - And this Laura ... fig to yourself!

     - Here's a fig for yourself. Max, by the way, promised to introduce her to all his friends. Will she be here today?

     - No, she said that she was sick of horny red-coders, so she hangs out with directors and other VIPs in a separate penthouse.

     — What details, however. Pay no attention, Max is joking.

     “Excellent, then I’ll drink with you,” the plush Dimon was delighted. - Well, I'll try to hook up that snake over there, we are reptiles, we have a lot in common ..., like. And if it doesn't work out, then with Laura.

     What about Laura? Max shook his head. Got it with your bot.

     “I’ll offer her to touch my suit,” Dimon neighed obscenely. “It’s not for nothing that so many forces have been put on him. Borya, where is your backpack? Ostogram me please.

    Max realized that there was nowhere to escape from the fun on this ship. Therefore, when they set sail, Styx no longer looked so gloomy, and a bunch of assorted evil spirits so banal. He thought that, after all, the team responsible for the trip had not improved much: the boat rushing at breakneck speed through dark waters, as well as the unnaturally maneuvering crowds of spirits and water demons, were too clearly reminiscent of their road prototypes. On the other hand, did it bother anyone, except for a few picky connoisseurs. “And why are they going to give some awards for the best developments at the corporate party? Max asked. - No, none of the big bosses promised that they would gather everyone together and tell that here he is Max - the designer of the best and most elaborate first plan of Baator. And after a stormy and prolonged applause, he will not offer to urgently transfer the development of a new supercomputer into my hands. Everyone will forget about these pictures the next day.”

     - Max, what are you doing again?! Boris asked in a slightly slurred tongue. - It is necessary to turn away for a minute and you immediately kuksitsya. Come on, it's time to relax!

     So, I'm thinking about one fundamental riddle of the digital world.

     — A riddle? Boris asked, not really hearing anything in the surrounding hubbub. Have you come up with a riddle yet? You are a real champion in participating in crazy Martian entertainment.

     And I also came up with a riddle. I think you should guess it.

     - Let's listen.

     “If I see what gave birth to me, I will disappear. Who am I?

     - Well, I don’t know ... Are you the son of Taras Bulba?

     — Ha! The train of thought is certainly interesting, but no. This refers to physical disappearance and formal compliance with the conditions, rather than a literal interpretation. Think again.

     - Leave me alone! My brain has already been switched to the “we score on everything and break away” mode, there is nothing to load it with.

     — Okay, the correct answer is a shadow. If I see the sun, I will disappear.

     - Oh, really ... Dimon back off, we are solving riddles here.

    Boris tried to push away his comrade, who climbed over him for the last bottle of Marsa-Cola.

     - What riddles? I can guess too.

     "There's another one," Max shrugged. - True, even the neural network did not let her through, I suspect due to the fact that I myself do not know the answer.

     - We'll figure it out! Dimon replied enthusiastically.

     - Is there any way to determine that the world around is not a Martian dream, accepting the following assumptions as true. The computer can show you anything based on publicly available information, as well as based on the results of scanning your memory, while it does not make recognition errors. And the contract with the provider of the Martian dream could be concluded on any terms?

     “Uuuuuuh…” Dimon drawled. - I went to fetch a snake from you.

     “Negro with multi-colored pills is the only way!” Boris growled angrily. “No, Max, now I’m going to make you get drunk so that you forget about the damn Dreamland for at least one evening. Hey drunk, where's my backpack?!

    Indignant exclamations were heard, and Grieg was pushed out of the crowd with an almost empty bag.

     “What is there left at all?” Boris got upset.

     - Here.

    Grieg, with such a guilty look, as if he had eaten everything alone, held out a bottle in which the remains of tequila splashed on the bottom.

     - Just for three. Let's make fucking Dreamland burn to the ground next year.

     “By the way, this is one of Telecom's largest customers,” Grieg said, taking the bottle and drinking the rest in one gulp. “Of course they’re doing a lousy business, I don’t like them either.

     — Where infa?

     - Yes, they constantly drive me there to change something. There are half of our racks. The most dumb thing, of course, is working in storage, especially one. In general, a nightmare, like in some kind of morgue.

     — Heard, Max, what Dreamland does to people.

     “Keep them in biobaths, nothing special.

     - Well, yes, it seems nothing like that, but the atmosphere is really dumb, it puts pressure on the psyche. Maybe because there are so many of them? If you visit there, you will immediately understand.

     - Vaughn Max should be taken on a tour so that he really gets into it.

     “Make a request to be sent on duty to help me.

     “I’ll cook tomorrow, or the day after.”

     "Stop," Max said. - Well, you stumbled once, who doesn’t happen to? I don't want to go on tour.

     - Glad to hear that. The main thing is not to stumble again.

    The boat slowed down rather abruptly. The bot mumbled something about the need to keep order and caution, when drunken creatures of evil rushed to the exit, not sorting out the road. Directly from the banks of the Styx, a wide staircase began down into the flaming underworld. Numerous dance floors of the prestigious Pit Club really went inside a huge natural crack. And so the hellish textures of the lower planes perfectly overlapped with its real architecture. On either side of the stairs, the beginning of the descent was guarded by statues of terrible anthropomorphic creatures, two meters tall, with a huge mouth that opened down one hundred and eighty degrees, with mandibles sticking out of it and a long forked tongue. The skin of the creatures seemed to be completely absent, and instead the body was braided with ropes of muscle tissue. A few long whiskers hung from the angular skull, and above the large compound eyes gaped several more gaps, like empty eye sockets. Rows of bone spikes protruded from his chest and back, and his arms were adorned with short, powerful claws. And the legs ended in three very long claws that could cling to any surface.

    Max interestedly stopped in front of the nightmarish sculptures and, turning off the “demonic” vision for a second, made sure that they lacked digital enhancements. They appear to have been 3D printed in very high quality dark bronze, so that every tendon and every artery looked crisp and sculpted. It seemed that the creatures were about to step from their pedestals straight into the crowd to arrange a real bloody massacre among the people pretending to be demons.

     - Strange gizmos, when I was making the application, I couldn’t find anything about them? Even the employees are silent, like partisans.

     “Just the fruit of someone's sick fantasy,” Boris shrugged. “I heard that a long time ago some unnamed club employee bought them at an auction, they were gathering dust in a closet for years, and then they accidentally stumbled upon them during a general cleaning and risked putting them up as decorations. And now, for several years now, they have been playing the role of a local scarecrow.

     Anyway, they are strange.

     — Certainly strange, as strange as those who chose hellish decoration for the New Year's Eve.

     - Yes, I'm not strange in this sense. They are kind of eclectic. These are clearly hoses or tubes, but there are obviously connectors nearby ...

     - Just think, ordinary cyborg demons, let's go already.

    The first lower plane greeted them with symphonic arrangements of rock music and the roar of a huge crowd roaming haphazardly across a barren rocky plain, illuminated by the light of red skies. Bengal lights and other pyrotechnics sometimes flashed in the skies, which the program turned into fiery comets. Scattered across the plain were large obsidian shards, one approach to which frightened the possibility of truncating a couple of protruding body parts from contact with their razor-sharp edges. However, in reality, such negligence did not threaten anything, because soft ottomans were hidden behind the textures of the fragments for resting tired demons. What the souls of sinners, imprisoned in fragments, politely reported. In some places, streams of blood ran because of which Max almost quarreled to the bone with the club's management. With great creaking, the club agreed to organize small grooves with real water, and flatly refused to spoil their property with full-fledged rivers of blood. Across the plain, ugly lemurs hurriedly scurried about, resembling shapeless pieces of protoplasm. They barely had time to deliver drinks and snacks.

     - Fu, disgusting what! - Boris disgustedly kicked the nearest lemur, and he, being deprived of all civil rights by robotics, obediently rolled in the other direction, not forgetting to utter the prescribed apologies in a synthesized voice. "I was hoping we'd be served by pretty, live succubus or something, not cheap pieces of iron."

     — Well, I'm sorry, all the questions to Telekom, why he didn't fork out for pretty succubus.

     - Okay, as the main developer, tell me: where is the best swill poured here?

     — Each plan has its own chips. Here they mostly pour "bloody" cocktails, red wine and all that. You can go to the central bar if the lemurs do not suit you.

     — Are those bushes in the center? They're completely off topic here. Your fault?

     — No, it's all about the setting. These are the gardens of oblivion - a strange piece of paradise in the middle of hellish hell. There, delicious juicy fruits grow on the trees, though if you lean on them too much, you can forget yourself in a magical dream and disappear from this world forever.

     "Then let's go get laid."

     - Borya, you wouldn't interfere with everything. At this rate, we will not get to the ninth plan.

     - Don't worry about me. I, if necessary, crawl at least to the twentieth. Grieg, are you with us or against us?

    After Grieg, Katyukha again followed, with whom he was already talking without visible signs of embarrassment and even tried to portray pleasure from the fun going on around him. He gallantly helped her to cross the bloody streams. They were also joined by a dragon-like Sanyok with some leftist witch.

    In the center of the room, a small grove of animated trees surrounded a bubbling fountain. Clusters of various fruits hung from the trees. Boris picked a grapefruit and handed it to Max.

     “Well, what to do with this garbage?”

     - Insert a straw and drink. Most likely, this is vodka with grapefruit juice. The type of fruit roughly corresponds to the content. I'm going to make myself a normal cocktail.

    Max made his way to the center of the grove, where bar machines disguised as carnivorous flowers stood around the fountain. With their stalks, they grabbed the right glass and mixed the ingredients with perfectly timed movements. Near one of the automata towered the grim figure of a black gargoyle with glowing yellow eyes and large leathery wings.

     — Ruslan? Max asked in surprise.

     — Ah, great. How is life, how are career successes?

     - In progress. Here, I hoped today to acquire useful acquaintances. I even came up with a riddle.

     - Well done. The party is already rotten nowhere, and you want to dampen it even more.

    “All the same, smart,” Max thought irritably. “They only criticize, if only they could do something themselves.”

     - Then I would suggest my topic.

     — I suggested: Chicago in the thirties.

     “Ah, mafia, dry law and all. What is the fundamental difference?

     “At least not this kindergarten with dressing up as orcs and dwarves.

     - Warcraft is a different setting, pop and hackneyed. And here is an interesting world and references to one vintage toy. Here is my character...

     — Leave me alone, Max, I still don’t understand this. I understand that tadpoles like this, so they chose this topic.

     — This topic won by the results of an honest vote among all employees.

     - Yeah, honestly, honestly.

     - No, Ruslan, you are incorrigible! Of course, the Martians twisted it in their favor, because they have nothing else to do.

     - Fuck it, what are you nervous about? Let's be honest, it's just that these nerdy moves don't pinch me at all.

     - Actually, I suggested this topic and I also designed the first plan ... Well, eighty percent.

     - Cool ... No, seriously, cool, - Ruslan assured, noticing the skeptical expression on Max's face. “Excellent performance, that’s the kind of thing eggheads can remember.”

     "Are you saying I'm the Martian sucking champion?"

     - No, you have a maximum of the third youth. You know what masters of licking Martian asses are here. Where are you up to them! In short, if you don't want to sag, forget about a big career.

     “No, it’s better if the world caves in under us.

     - To climb up, bending the rest under you, you have to be a different person. Not like you ... Okay, again you say I'm straining you. Let's go look for some movement.

     - Yes, I'm here with friends, maybe we'll come later.

     - And there are your friends, - Ruslan nodded at Boris and the plush Dimon, who stopped in confusion at the nearest tree. - You, since the main one on this topic, tell me: where is the normal engine here?

     - Well, in the background there should be something like a foam party, in the seventh techno disco, rave and so on. And I don’t know anymore, I’m special in the first place.

     - Let's figure it out! - Ruslan leaned towards Max and switched to lowered tones. - Keep in mind, you definitely won’t make a career with such friends. Okay, come on!

    He clapped Max on the shoulder and with a confident jumping gait went to conquer the dance floors of the lower planes.

     - Do you know him? Dimon asked with a mixture of surprise and a slight envy in his voice.

     - This is Ruslan, that strange dude from the Security Service, about whom I spoke.

     - Wow, you have friends! Remember I said that I don't want to cross paths with the first department. So with their "department" I want to intersect even less.

     - What are they doing?

     “I don’t know, I don’t know! Dimon shook his head, now he seemed really frightened. - Damn, I have a green permit! Damn, guys, I didn't say that, okay. Crap!

     “Yeah, you didn’t say anything. I'll ask him myself.

     - You're crazy, don't! Just don't mention me, okay?

     - Yes, what's the problem?

     “Max, get away from the man,” Boris interrupted the seditious conversations. Did you make a cocktail? Here, sit and drink! One Cuba Libra with Marsa Cola. he ordered the plant.

     - Did you hook up a snake? - Max decided to distract the cowardly Dimon from forbidden topics.

     - No, she even refused to touch my suit.

     “Maybe she shouldn’t have offered to touch something?” At least not right away.

     - Yes, probably. I also have cub libru. What did you promise about Laura?

     “I didn’t promise anything about Laura. Tie already with these fantasies.

     - Kidding. Where do we go next?

     “There is basically only one way,” Max shrugged. - I think we should go to the very bottom, and then we'll see.

     “Forward, into the abyss of Baator!” Boris enthusiastically supported him.

    Next to the stairs to the next tier, on a large pile of gold, there is a dragon with five heads of all colors of the rainbow. He periodically made a terrible roar and released into the sky pillars of fire, ice, lightning and other witchcraft dirty tricks. No one, of course, was afraid of him, since the creature was completely virtual. And on the other side of the descent, there was a large column, consisting of the severed heads of various robots. The heads constantly fought among themselves, some hid in the depths, others crawled out to the surface. The textures were stretched over a real pillar and connected to Telecom's internal search engine, so in theory they could answer any question if the questioner had the appropriate clearance.

     - Fuck me! - Boris theatrically crossed himself at the sight of the column. What is this instead of a Christmas tree?

     “Of course not, it’s a column of skulls from the setting,” Max replied. “You know Martians don't like religious symbols at all. In the original, there are decomposing dead heads, but we decided that it would be too harsh.

     - Come on, what is there! They would hang Christmas decorations and an angel on top of the decaying heads, then it would be tough.

     - In short, these are the remains of robots or androids that, like, violated the three laws of robotics. There are the heads of the Terminators, Roy Batty from Blade Runner, Megatron and other "bad" robots. True, in the end they shoved everyone into it ...

     "And what are you going to do with her?"

     - You can ask her any question, she is connected to the internal search engine of Telecom.

     “Just think, I might as well ask neurogoogle questions,” grumbled Boris.

     “It's an internal machine. Like, if you agree with the heads, they can give out, for example, personal information about some employee ...

     “Well, let’s try now,” Dimon climbed up to the column without ceremony. - Polina Tsvetkova's personal file.

     - Who is this? Max was surprised.

     “It looks like that snake,” Boris shrugged.

    The head of Bender from Futurama appeared from the hodgepodge of iron.

     “Kiss my shiny metal ass!”

     “Listen, head, you don’t even have an ass,” Dimon was offended.

     “And you don’t even have a heifer, you miserable piece of meat!”

     — Max! What the hell, your program is rude to me? Dimon was outraged.

     - This is not my program, I'm telling you, in the end, anyone could shove anything there. Someone apparently screwed up.

     - Well, great, but if your column of some Martian boss sends three letters?

     “I have no idea if they’ll be looking for whoever committed Bender’s head.

     — Glory to robots, death to all people! the head continued to speak.

     - Oh, well, fuck you! Dimon waved his hand. - If I'm in the background, I'll wait.

     - If you are going to visit the city of pain, then I will tell you a secret: there is absolutely nothing to do there.

    The last line was delivered in the haughty tone of an expert on all kinds of nerdy and hipster entertainment, which was undoubtedly lead programmer Gordon Murphy. Gordon was tall, lean, prim, and fond of making pseudo-intellectual talk about the latest advances in Martian science and technology. He replaced part of his reddish hair with bundles of LED filaments, and he usually rode around the Telecom office on a unicycle or robotic chair. And, as if setting out to confirm the theses of some rude employees of the Security Council, he tried to mimic a real Martian, up to the complete loss of a sense of proportion and decency. At the corporate party, he appeared in the form of an illithid - a brain eater, apparently hinting that he was not going to give up the opportunity to fuck the brains of employees of the optimization sector, even on holidays. In addition to slimy tentacles protruding erratically from under an anti-static robe, a pair of personal air-ionizing drones swirled around the illithid in the form of poisonous aerial jellyfish.

     Did you learn anything useful from the heads? Gordon inquired sarcastically.

     - We found out that everywhere there is a complete divorce. Catch up, in short.

    Disappointed, Dimon turned away and started walking towards the fiery gap to the next plane.

     “He thought he was really going to be given all the corporate secrets. Such a simple guy! Gordon laughed.

     “An attempt is not torture,” Max shrugged.

     - I have a small insider that the correct answers to several riddles in a row from the heads really open access to the internal database.

     “There are only those riddles that have not passed the test. Most of them don't have a correct answer.

     - You will not be fooled! Oh yeah, you coded something for the app.

     - So, on the little things, - Max grimaced.

     - Listen, you seem to be a smart guy, let me practice on you with my riddle.

     - Come on.

     - Didn't you think of anything?

     - Invented. If I see what gave birth to me...

     Yes, I just asked. In short, listen to me: what can change the nature of man?

    Max bored his interlocutor with a very skeptical look for several seconds, until he was convinced that he was not joking.

     — Neurotechnology. he shrugged.

    A baatezu devil materialized from a pillar of fire in front of them, holding a rolled parchment. “Seal of the Lord of the First Plane,” he boomed, handing the scroll to Max. - Collect the seals of all the planes to obtain the seal of the supreme overlord. No other terms of the contract were specified. Don't forget to place your bets before the game." And the devil disappeared using the same fiery special effects.

     "I forgot to turn off the damn app," Gordon swore. “Have I already blabbed to someone about my riddle?”

     “Given that this is a well-known joke on the forum of fans of an ancient game that has something to do with tonight, it is unlikely that the problem is that you blabbed,” Max explained in a caustic tone.

     Actually, I came up with it myself.

    This statement was greeted with a grin not only by Max, but also by the githzerai who stopped nearby: a thin, bald humanoid with greenish skin, long, pointed ears and a braided mustache hanging below the chin. His image was spoiled only by a disproportionately large head and the same large, slightly bulging eyes.

     “Of course, it was a coincidence, I understand.

    Gordon pursed his lips haughtily and retreated in English, along with his flying jellyfish and other paraphernalia. When he walked away Max turned to Boris.

     - He probably wanted to suck up to the Martians again, they are the main shamans of neurotechnology.

     - You're right, Max. In fact, you said he was a jerk and stole the riddle. It’s good that at least he didn’t say about the Martians.

     — It's true.

     “You are a shitty politician and a careerist. Gordon won't forget this, you know what a vindictive bastard he is. And according to the law of meanness, he will definitely be a member of some commission considering your promotion.

     “Well, shitty, yes,” Max agreed, realizing his mistake. “You know, maybe you just shouldn’t steal riddles from the Internet.

     “You obviously don’t need to pry. Okay, forget about this Gordon, God willing, you don’t really cross paths with him.

     - Hope.

    “Probably Ruslan is right,” Max thought sadly. - The system doesn't give a damn about all my creative efforts. And I can’t make a political career, because my skills of intrigue and intrigue are far below the plinth. Yes, and I have no desire to develop them and constantly worry about what and to whom you can say and what you can’t. In a good way, there is only a chance somewhere far away from monstrous corporations like Telecom, but without Telecom, I will most likely be kicked out of Mars right away. Eh, go stupidly get drunk with Boryan ... "

    Quietly standing next to a column of githzerai, he turned to Max with a smile. And Max recognized him as an HR manager, the Martian Arthur Smith.

     - Most words are just words, they are lighter than the wind, we forget them as soon as we pronounce them. But there are special words uttered by chance that can decide the fate of a person and bind more securely than any chains. - Arthur gave out in a mysterious tone and stared at Max with curiosity with his bulging eyes.

     Did I say the words that bound me?

     “Only if you believe in it yourself.

     What difference does it make what I believe?

     “In a world of chaos, nothing is more important than faith. And the world of virtual reality is a plane of pure chaos,” Arthur said with the same smile. “You yourself created an entire city out of it with the power of your mind.” He glanced around the area.

     “Just the power of thought is enough to create cities out of chaos?”

     “Great cities of the githzerai were created from chaos by the will of our people, but know that the mind divided with its blade is too weak to defend its strongholds. Mind and blade must be one.

    Arthur drew the Blade of Chaos from its sheath and showed it to Max, holding it outstretched. He was something amorphous and cloudy, like gray spring ice, blurring under the sun's rays. And a second later it suddenly stretched out into a matte, blue-black scimitar with a blade no thicker than a human hair.

     “The blade was made for destruction, wasn’t it?”

     “The blade is just a metaphor. Creation and destruction are two poles of one phenomenon, like cold and hot. Only those who are able to understand the phenomenon itself, and not its state, see the world as infinite.

    Max's face twisted in surprise.

     Why did you say that?

     — What exactly did he say?

     — About the infinite world?

     “That sounds more interesting,” Arthur shrugged. - I try to play my character as it should be, and not like everyone else.

     Are you impersonating any particular githzerai?

     — Dak'kona from the game you know. What is special about my words?

     - So said one very strange bot ... or rather, I myself said so in very strange circumstances. And I never expected to hear something like this from someone else.

     “Despite all the theory of probability, even the most incredible things often happen twice. Moreover, one no less strange English poet was the first to say something similar. He was stranger than all the strange bots put together and saw the world as infinite without any chemical crutches that expand consciousness.

     “The one who opened the doors sees the world as infinite. The one to whom the doors are opened sees endless worlds.

     - Well said! It would suit my character too, but I promise to respect your copyright.

     - You, I see, met successfully, damn it! - Boris, who was bored next to him, could not stand it. "Why don't the noble dons brainwash each other on their way to the next plane?"

     - Boryan, you go, I'll stand still, think about riddles that do not need to be stolen from the Internet, - Max answered.

    Arthur said to him:

     There are a lot of mysteries here that don't need to be solved.

     — Riddles from the column?

     “Of course, among them there are much more interesting quirks of unclouded consciousness than most of the officially approved claims to intellectuality.

     - In my opinion, this column is more like an intellectual garbage dump. What interesting puzzles can be there?

     - Well, for example, a question about the Martian dream. Is there any way to determine that the world around is not a Martian dream ...

     - I know. But there can be no answer to it, because it is impossible to refute pure solipsism that the world around is a figment of your own imagination or an artificial matrix.

     - Not really, the question suggests a very specific socio-economic phenomenon. While walking through the plans of Baator, two answers even came to my mind.

     "Even two?"

     - The first answer is rather a logical inconsistency in the very formulation of the question. There should be no Martian dream in the Martian dream, doubts like this are a hallmark of the real world. Why do we need a Martian dream in which you want to escape into a Martian dream? It can be reformulated as follows: the very fact of posing such a question proves that you are in the real world.

     - Well, let's say I'm in a Martian dream, and I'm happy with everything, I just want to check that the real world is around. And the developers created the same Dreamland for greater realism of their mirage.

     - For what? To make customers suffer and doubt. Based on what I know about such organizations, their software affects the psyche of customers so that they do not ask unnecessary questions.

     - Well, uh ... in my opinion, you're just talking like a person convinced of the reality of the world. And you give the appropriate arguments based on your faith.

     Why would I look for arguments to prove that the world is not real? Waste of time and effort.

     - So you are against the Martian dream?

     I am also against drugs, but what difference does that make?

     What about the second answer?

     - The second answer is more complex and more correct in my opinion. In the Martian dream, the world doesn't look… endless. Does not contain contradictory phenomena. In it, you can win without losing anything, or you can be happy all the time, or, for example, deceive everyone and always. This is a prison world, it is not balanced, and whoever wants to will be able to see it, no matter how well the program deceives him.

     - Should we look for the seeds of defeat in our own victories? I think the vast majority of people in the real world will not ask such questions. And the clients of the Martian dream even more so.

     - Agree. But the question sounded like: "Is there a way"? Here, I suggest a way. Of course, those who can use it are unlikely, in principle, to end up in such a prison.

     Isn't our world a prison?

     — In a gnostic sense? This is a world where pain and suffering are inevitable, so it cannot be a perfect prison. The real world is cruel, that's why it's the real world.

     - Why, this is a special prison in which prisoners are given the opportunity to be released.

     - Then this is not a prison by definition, but rather a place of re-education. But the world that makes a person constantly change is real. This must be its characteristic property. And if development hits a certain absolute ceiling, then the world must either move to the next state, or collapse and start the cycle anew. Calling this order of things a prison does not make sense.

     “Okay, this is a prison that we created for ourselves.

     - How?

     “People are slaves of their vices and passions.

     - Therefore, retribution for mistakes sooner or later comes to everyone.

     - And how does the retribution come to the clients of the Martian dream? They live long and die happy.

     I don't know, I didn't think about it. If I were in this business, I would do my best to hide the side effects. Perhaps at the end of the contract, virtual reality demons come for the souls of clients, tear them apart and drag them to the underworld.

    Max imagined the picture and shuddered.

     - The souls of those who were fond of this setting fall into the plans of Baator. Maybe you and I are already dead? Arthur smiled again.

     “Maybe to death, life looks like death.

     Maybe a boy is a girl, just the other way around. I'm afraid we won't learn the wisdom of Zerthimon's unbreakable circle with this approach.

     - Yes, today you can’t know for sure. I'd like to catch up with my friends, would you like to join?

     “If they're going to escape to other planes by drinking neurotoxic fluids, then no. The logic of that reality, I can hardly bear.

     - I'm afraid they are. I'm telling you, we're slaves to our vices.

     “Know that I have heard your words, burning man. When you want to learn the wisdom of Zerthimon again, come.

    Githzerai gave a slight samurai bow and turned to the pillar, apparently trying to find other riddles that didn't need to be solved.

    Leaving the unusual Martian, Max went deep into the next plane. He tried to quickly pass the iron plain under the green skies, but next to the cluster of virtual hot tables and sofas, he was caught by Arsen with an unfamiliar company of colleagues, whose names Max could only extract from the reference book, but not from his memory. He had to endure another portion of vulgar jokes about his supposedly amorous adventures with Laura and several persistent offers to throw something. In the end, Max relented and took a few puffs of a special Baator hookah with nanoparticles. The smoke had a pleasant taste of some kind of fruit and did not irritate the respiratory organs of a drunken organism at all. Apparently some useful nanoparticles were really present there.

    Boris sent a message that they had already passed the swamp plane with the foam disco and were going to taste the burning absinthe on the fourth plane in the realm of fire. So Max runs the risk of finding friends on a completely different wavelength if he continues to slow down.

    The third plan met with a deafening disco pounding, a screeching crowd and fountains of foam, periodically boiling in a muddy swamp slurry or collapsing from low leaden skies. Here and there above the swamp, on chains reaching into the leaden skies, hung several platforms with dancers warming up the crowd. And on the largest platform in the center is a demonic DJ behind an equally demonic console.

    Max decided to carefully make his way past the stormy fun on specially arranged platforms. “Baator is a plane of order, not chaos. But an unusual Martian who does not believe in virtual reality said that this is a world of pure chaos, and he was right, he thought, looking around the crowd of randomly jumping people. - Who are all these people who sincerely enjoy life, or vice versa, drowning their suffering in roar and alcohol? They are particles of primordial chaos, chaos from which anything can be born, depending on which thread to pull. I see pale, translucent pictures of the future, which can appear or disappear due to random collisions of these particles. Variants of the universe are born and die by the thousands every second in this chaos.”

    Suddenly, Max himself imagined that he was the ghost of chaos, which rides through the foamy clouds. Runs a little, jumps and flies… What a wonderful feeling of euphoria and flight… Jump and fly again, from cloud to cloud…. Max tasted foam and found himself right in the middle of the dancing crowd. “Here you are eating insidious nanoparticles,” he thought with annoyance, trying to cope with the insistent desire to fly and spin around in the middle of this foamy madness, like Dumbo, a stoned baby elephant. - How nice it covers something. We need to get out and drink some water.”

    Dodging and dodging, he climbed to a high place closer to the dryers, which from all sides blew the soaked demons with elastic knives of warm air. And periodically caused portions of squeals and squeaks of demonesses who forgot to keep their virtually not hidden and not very chaste festive outfits. Max stood under the dryers for a long time and could not come to his senses. The head was empty and light, incoherent thoughts inflated in it like huge soap bubbles and burst without leaving a trace.

    It seems that Ruslan is leaning against the wall nearby. He looked pleased as a well-fed cat and boasted that he had almost killed some drunk demonic bitch in all this foamy mess. True, now it is almost impossible to find her again to finish the job. Ruslan yelled that he had to go away for five minutes, and then he would return and they would already come off for real.

    Max lost all sense of time, but it seemed to be much more than five minutes. Ruslan did not appear, but he seemed to be starting to let go. “That's it, I'm giving up drugs, especially chemical ones. Well, maybe a glass of absinthe, well, two, but no more hookahs with nanoparticles.

    The hall allocated for the fiery plan was relatively small and its main attraction was a large round bar in the center, disguised as a volcano mouth with white flames escaping from inside. The picture was complemented by several spinning fireworks and a scene with real fakirs. Almost a peaceful idyll, compared to the previous crazy swamp. Boris and Dimon found Max at the bar, swallowing a completely prosaic mineral water.

     - Well, where are you disappearing to? Boris was outraged. “Three more absinthes!” he demanded of the living bartender, who was melancholy wiping stone cups and shot glasses in the form of a skinny hoofed demon with goat horns. Dimon, who was already clearly in a slight prostration, heavily perched on a high chair and knocked over absinthe without waiting for ignition.

     “Wait,” Max stopped Boris with a gesture, “I’ll step back a little now.”

     - What are you going to get away from? So you were almost gone for an hour, normal people manage to sober up and get drunk again during this time.

     “There are many dangers in store for the careless plane traveler, you know.

     Have you at least discussed your career prospects with this manager?

     - Oh yes! Career prospects are out of my head.

     - Maxim, what's up! What were you talking about for so long?

     “Mostly about my mystery about the Martian dream.

     - Wow! You are definitely not a careerist,” Boris shook his head.

     “Yes, I also think it’s time to make a career,” the bartender suddenly got into the conversation. Are you guys from Telekom?

     - Is there anyone else walking around here? Boris snorted.

     - Well, with these New Year holidays ... here, who just didn’t walk. You have a good, of course, party, I have seen the truth and more abruptly.

     - Where did you see it cooler? Max was sincerely surprised by such impudence.

     - Yes, Neurotek, for example, the guys walk like that. On a wide foot.

     - Do you hang out with them often?

     “They bought the whole Golden Mile this year,” the bartender continued, ignoring the grins. - That's where you need to make a career. Well, in principle, you can try in Telecom ...

     “Our main boss is sitting there,” Boris slapped Dimon, who was nodding, on the shoulder. - Discuss your career with him, just don’t pour more, otherwise you will wash the rack on probation.

    Surprisingly, the worker of the alcohol service, unable to shut up, really began to rub something into Dimon, who was weakly responsive to external stimuli.

     — Listen, Boryan, and you said that you know some indecent story about Arthur Smith.

     “It's just dirty gossip. You don't have to tell it to everyone.

     “Do I mean everything?” No, today I will not leave you behind, if you do.

     “Okay, let’s bang and tell.

    Boris put out the burning sugar himself and added some juice.

     - For the coming year and for the success in our difficult work!

    Max grimaced at the bitter taste of caramel.

     - Ugh, how can you drink it! Tell me your dirty gossip already.

     “We need a little backstory here. You probably don't know why most Martians are so wooden?

     - In what sense?

     - In such, damn it, that their dad Carlo cut from a log ... They usually have no more emotions than this very log. They smile only a couple of times a year on big holidays.

     “In all my time on Mars, I once “chatted” for five minutes with our boss, a couple of times with Arthur. And with others, it’s like “hello” and “bye”. The boss, of course, strained me, but Arthur is quite normal, though a little confused.

     “Arthur is even too normal for the average Martian. As far as I understand, he is not considered by real Martians as his own.

     “Is he a big deal in the personnel department?”

     - Yes, hell will sort out this hierarchy of theirs. But it seems not the last figure, on the technical side, for sure. He releases a bunch of updates there according to directories, all sorts of planners.

     - As I understand it, the Martians do not allow "strangers" to important matters.

     — Oh, Max, do not find fault. Do you agree that he is very strange for a Martian?

     - I still have a slightly non-representative base for comparison. But yes, I agree that it is strange. Almost like a normal person, just not thumping under the Christmas tree ...

     - So, by origin he is one hundred percent Martian. They, while they mature in their flasks, add a bunch of different implants. And then in the process of growing up, too. And one mandatory operation is the emotion control chip. I don’t know the details, but the fact is that all Martians have a built-in option to regulate all sorts of hormones and testosterone.

     - Testosterone, it seems to be more likely to turn ...

     - Don't be boring. In general, any Martian who is lying down can turn off any negative: prolonged depression or an unfortunate “first love”, by simply pressing a virtual button.

     “Good, nothing to say.

     - It's convenient, of course. But something went wrong with our Arthur in childhood. The Martian Aibolites probably messed up, and he didn’t get this useful upgrade. Therefore, all emotions and hormones hammer him, as well as ordinary bydlocoders. It’s not easy for him to live with this vice, “normal” Martians look at him as if he were disabled ...

     - Borya, you obviously looked into his medical record.

     — I didn't look, knowledgeable people say so.

     - Knowledgeable people ... uh-huh.

     - So, Max, if you don't want to, don't listen! And leave your critical thinking for some scientific disputes.

     - Got it, shut up. All the dirt is still ahead I hope?

     Yes, that was the introduction. And the gossip itself is next. Due to the fact that our Arthur received such a severe injury in childhood, he is not too attracted to wooden Martians. More to the "human" ladies. But, as luck would have it, he does not shine with appearance, even for a Martian, and you cannot divorce ordinary females with confused conversations. There seems to be some kind of situation, too, but nothing special… Max! I kind of warned you.

    Max couldn't help the skeptical smirk on his face.

     - Okay, Boryan, don't be offended. As if you yourself believe in all this.

     People who know won't lie. For whom I am crucifying here I do not understand! In short, Arthur spent a long time hovering over some pretty chick from the personnel service. And she didn’t notice him at all and didn’t welcome him. Well, at one fine moment, when everyone went home, and only Arthur and the object of his sighs remained in the whole block, he decided to take the bull by the horns and pinned her right at the workplace. But she did not appreciate the impulse and broke his nose and heart at the same time.

     - The fighting lady got caught. So, what is next?

     - The lady was fired, he is still a Martian, albeit with defects.

     - And what is the name of this heroine who suffered from dirty harassment in the workplace?

     “Unfortunately, history is silent on this.

     - Pf-f, I'm sorry, of course, but without a name it's like that, gossip of grandmothers on a bench.

     - The story is true for everything, well, ninety percent for sure. And with a name, I'm sorry too, but I would sell it to the front pages for a couple of thousand creeps and drink cocktails in Bali now, instead of being here with you ...

     - You just had enough: a couple of thousand ... If instead of a Martian with a defective chip, substitute some human cattle boss, then the story will turn out to be the most banal. There are no details of how he molested her.

     Well, I didn't hold a candle. Well, maybe yes, our Arthur fell victim to someone's insidious intrigues and provocations. By the way, as far as I know, he somehow got into a fight with our boss Albert.

     “It probably won't help us. Crap! Where is Dimon?

    Max began to look around anxiously for the deranged plush dinosaur.

     - Borya, do you have him among your friends? Can you find it on the tracker?

     “Don’t worry, you’re an adult, and it’s not Eastern Moscow around.

     “Better to make sure.

    Dimon was found in the toilet at the same level, with his head in the sink under running water. He snorted like a seal and threw paper towels around. The dinosaur's wet head dangled lifelessly on its back. Nevertheless, after two minutes, Dimon appeared already fairly refreshed and even began to make claims to his comrades.

     “The hell did you leave me with this goat? He doesn't shut up for a second. So I wanted to give him the horns.

     "Sorry, I thought you'd be the perfect listener," Boris shrugged.

     Did I miss anything interesting?

     - So one vulgar gossip about a Martian and dirty harassment.

     - And you, Max, guessed all the riddles?

     “Most guessed mine.

     - I also have a riddle. Let's go and tell... Don't hold me! I'm fine!

    Dimon was hardly convinced to switch to low-alcohol drinks. They settled down on comfortable sofas in the mouth of a small volcano.

     - Well, what kind of bright idea did the god of alcoholic oblivion bring to your head? Boris asked.

     Not an idea, but a question. Do Martians have sex? And if so, how?

     - Yes, the alcoholic god could not bring anything brighter, - Max shook his head. – What are the questions anyway? They also do exactly the same.

     "Just like who?"

     - The way people see it.

     “No, wait a minute,” Boris interrupted. “You speak so boldly. Did you see, you know? Have you met the Martians at least once in person?

    Max thought a little, trying to remember if he had met Martian women during his time at Telecom.

     “I saw it, of course,” he replied. - I didn’t communicate closely, so what?

     “Ah, that is, you don’t know yourself, but you make statements?”

     - Well, sorry, yes, I haven’t had a chance with the Martians yet. Why should the Martians do it any differently? You yourself just talked about the unsuccessful romantic relationship of a Martian. And he said that “wooden” Martians are not attracted to some not fully patched managers. You told all this, based on what assumptions about their amorous traditions?

     - Don't confuse me. What was my story about?

     - About what?

     - About harassment of ordinary women. There was no mention of the Martians there.

    Boris's speech became deliberately slow, he gesticulated exaggeratedly cheerfully, clearly trying to compensate for the decline in the ability to convey his thoughts by verbal means.

     - So, you, too, let's take a break, - Max took the glass of rum and Marsa-Cola from Boris, despite his protests. “It is no longer possible to have an adequate discussion with you. You don't remember what you were talking about ten minutes ago.

     - I remember evrything. You're the one making the smart guy, Max. You don’t know, you didn’t see it, but you make non-appeal statements.

     “Okay, sorry, given your dwarven background, apparently Martian women are short, bearded, and so scary that they are kept in the deepest caves and never shown. And in general they are, just in case, but the Martians reproduce by budding.

     “Ha ha, how funny. Dimon actually asked a serious question, because no one really knows how this happens.

     Because nobody asks stupid questions like that. Now all sorts of alternatively gifted users of social networks with new models of chips can do it any way they like, in any positions and with any set of participants.

     “I actually meant physical sex,” Dimon readily clarified. Everything is clear about social networks.

     “You two may not be aware, but the technical capabilities of the Martians have long allowed them to reproduce without physical contact.

     “So you’re saying that the Martians don’t do this live?” Boris asked more aggressively.

     “I affirm that they do it as they please and with whom they please, that's all.

     — No, Maxim, it won't work like that. The rules of gentlemen's discussion suggest that one must answer for the bazaar.

     - Don't fuck yourself. Why am I not responsible for the market?

     - If you answer, let's fight, - Boris, having learned, extended his hand to his opponent. - Dimon, break it!

    Max shrugged and extended his hand in response.

     - Yes, no problem, just what are we hammering on and what is the subject of the dispute?

     “Are you saying that Martians have sex any way they like?”

     - Yes, what do you say?

     - It is not so!

     - Not like that, how is it? My statement assumes that any variant is possible, that's all.

     - And I, uh-uh ..., - Boris was in obvious difficulty, but quickly found a way out. I'm saying there are some rules...

     — Ok, Boryan, let's bet on a thousand creeps.

     “No, Dimon, wait a minute,” Boris jerked his hand out with unexpected speed. - Let's have a bottle of tequila.

     - Yeah, maybe on desire then?

     - Not for a bottle.

     - Well, the bubble will also not be superfluous. Dimon, break it down.

    Boris thoughtfully scratched his turnip and asked:

     How are we going to resolve our dispute now?

     “Now let’s ask neurogoogle,” Dimon suggested.

     - What are you asking?

     - How Martians have sex ... Yes, there are interesting videos here ...

    Max just shook his head.

     - Boryan, you seem to know a million of all sorts of tales and gossip, but here you decided to bet on some complete garbage. I propose to admit that you lost and put down.

     “That’s right, you don’t know shit and you’re arguing. I'm sure that there are some troubles there ... I just can't remember what it was about right now ... They definitely have rules for who should breed with whom and in what sequence, such as to breed a race of ideal supernerds.

     — Damn, our argument was not about reproduction.

     - Yes, don't be shy!

     “We need an independent arbiter,” Dimon stated.

     - Theoretically, I can propose a candidate for the role of arbitrator.

     "Is he more knowledgeable about all aspects of Martian life than I am?" Boris was surprised.

     - Of course, she does not know so many dubious legends, but she is probably better informed on this issue.

     — Oh, you still know some Martian? Dimon was surprised.

     - Нет.

     “Ah, this must be Laura,” Boris guessed. “And how do we approach her with such a question?”

     “Ik, she definitely fucked the Martian bosses, she should know for sure.

     “We won’t come up, but I’ll come up, and somehow I’ll ask her jokingly,” Max answered, looking sideways at the hiccuping Dimon. “And you sit quietly nearby.”

     - This will not work! Dimon was outraged. - I broke, without me any decision is invalid!

     “Then Laura is not an option.

     “Ik, why isn’t this an option right away?”

     - Yes, how would you politely explain ... You, comrade gentlemen, have already got drunk, but she is still a lady and this is not a joke about Lieutenant Rzhevsky. So either rely on my honesty, or offer your candidacies.

     Why is everyone so busy with this Laura? Dimon continued to be indignant. - You think some kind of woman! I bet she will run after me. Eek, are we hitting?

     “We’ll kill ourselves, just fool her without my help.”

     “Damn, Max, arguing is sacred. We have to decide somehow,” Boris insisted.

     - Yes, I do not refuse. Your suggestions?

     — Okay, my suggestion is to go for a walk and think. And then we didn’t even reach the lower plan.

     - I support it completely. So, Dimon, let's get up! You need to walk a little. So, we leave the glasses here.

    The next fifth ice plan was combined with the eighth because the club did not have enough space for all nine of the original plans. A special feature of the plan were huge light blue blocks of ice, which had a very real embodiment. They were formed from an experimental ferrofluid solidifying at room temperature in the absence of a magnetic field. And under its influence, the liquid melted and could take any most bizarre shape. It could become transparent or mirrored, and made it possible to transform the room into a multi-level crystal labyrinth, from which even a sober person could hardly get out without the help of a New Year's application. Compared to real ice, the high-tech holiday ice was not as slippery, but at the entrance there were still a choice of special shoe covers, with skates or spikes.

    The club buildings on this tier smoothly turned into natural underground caves. Tongues of ice flowed into rifts and chasms leading into the unexplored depths of the planet. This labyrinth was almost real and therefore much more frightening than the previous hellish dimensions. Huge boulders and sparkling hummocks inspired respect among the guests. They wandered a little along all sorts of corridors, shelves, cornices and ice bridges, albeit bashfully fenced with thin, almost invisible nets, in order to avoid accidents with creatures of evil who had lost their caution. We argued a little about what would happen if we cut the grid and jump into some kind of rift. Will some automatic system work, which will soften the ice or somehow transform the landscape at the place of the fall, or all hope for demonic prudence. Dimon tried to start a new dispute, suggestively hinting that Max had recently arrived from a world with normal gravity and a small fall from five meters would not harm him at all, but he was naturally sent to explore the depths of the Martian dungeons. Having wandered a little, having tasted a couple of varieties of ice cream and trying not to lean on “frosty” cocktails, they used the application and eventually went to an ice grotto, which smoothly turned into an icefall leading to the next plane.

    A lot of demons and demonesses, sometimes trying to demonstrate figure skating skills, traveled quite slowly along the frozen lake of the grotto. But it was not the figure skaters who attracted the most attention, but a beautiful blonde demoness who was bored at one of the ice tables. She had golden-colored membranous wings billowing behind her. She danced lightly to the music of the icy plans, drank a cocktail through a straw and habitually caught many admiring, and sometimes envious glances. Her gorgeous wings trembled in time with the music and scattered around a cloud of burning pollen. Laura May came to the holiday in the form of Fallen Grace, a succubus who managed to free herself from demonic slavery and went over to the side of the forces of light.

    Boris and Dimon immediately began to shove Max in the sides from both sides. Max, of course, would have preferred to quietly slip past Laura so as not to blush later for the behavior of drunk plush dinosaurs and red orcs, but Laura herself noticed him, smiled dazzlingly and waved her hand.

     - Well, finally, the main star of tonight! Dimon rejoiced.

     “Just don’t be stupid, I’ll talk,” Max hissed, approaching the ice table.

     “Calm down brother, we are not idiots. All the cards are in your hands, hand on heart assured comrade Boris.

    It's strange why she's standing alone, Max thought. - Where are the crowds of fans and the Martian authorities running on their hind legs? Maybe it's all my fantasy. How is this ideal woman different from the crowd of other virtually ideal women? The fact that she convinced me of her reality, but also perhaps with her look, which every second challenges the world, fantasizing all sorts of nasty things about her.

    Max realized that he was staring at Laura for an indecently long time, but she only hid a slight mockery in her eyes and turned a little, presenting herself in an even more favorable angle.

     - Well, how do I look? I am all so modest and virtuous, but born for temptation and vice. Can anyone resist my charms?

     “No one,” Max readily agreed.

     “And I know the name of your character. Ignus right?

     "That's right," said Max. - And you rummage around in the topic more abruptly than many nerds.

     “I honestly read that detailed description,” Laura laughed. - The truth was that I could not start the game itself.

     - There you must first install the emulator. It's very old, you can't just run it. If you want I will help.

     - Well, maybe another time.

     — But what about an additional module for the application?

     “Sorry, but I decided to abandon the idea of ​​a brothel of intellectual passions. I'm afraid everyone will pay attention only to the word "brothel".

     - Well, yes, I agree, the idea is not very good.

     “But I have something else.

    From behind Laura's back flew a personal drone in the form of a goggle-eyed, grinning skull.

     — It's Morte, sweetie, right? Poor horrible necromancer, or whose skull was it in that game?

     “I don't remember myself.

     The drone seemed to be made to order, immediately the desired shape, the program only masked its propellers and other technical accessories.

     “The decoration is at the expense of the company, but I want to keep it for myself.

     Laura scratched her polished “bald head” and the skull twitched and clattered with pleasure.

     Cool effect, did you make it yourself?

     - Almost, one friend helped.

     One friend means...

     - Well, Max, you were very busy, I decided not to pull you over trifles.

     “Sometimes you can relax.

    Max suddenly felt completely sober, as if he had been making his way through a dense layer of water for a long time and suddenly suddenly emerged to the surface. The hum of many voices and smells, bright and lively, as in a spring forest, fell upon him at once. I usually don't pay attention to smells at all, Max thought. "Why do I smell flowers in the middle of these ice palaces?" It must be Laura's perfume. She smells so good all the time, even those synthetic cigarettes of hers smell like herbs and spices…”

    Boris, observing the dreamy state of his comrade, began to send him dissatisfied messages in the chat: “Listen, Romeo, have you forgotten why we are here”? Thanks to this, Max briefly lost his stupor, but his brain could not turn on right away, so, without much hesitation, he blurted out directly.

     - Laura, but has it always been interesting how the Martians form families and have children? Romance or something?

     - And why such questions? Laura was surprised. - Are you going to get married? Bear in mind, my friend, the hearts of the Martians are cold as the ice of Stygia.

     No, it's idle curiosity, nothing more.

     - Martians generally do what they want and how they want. They usually enter into some sort of smart contract to raise children together. A full-fledged marriage relationship, like people, they are considered discrimination.

     - Cool…

     — Terrible, how can you love someone by a file on a computer.

     Well, it's terrible, I guess. And how do Martians choose partners for co-parenting?

     - No, you definitely fell for some Martian. Come on tell me who is she?

     - I didn’t fuse, where did you get it? If I had a crush on someone, then definitely not on the Martians.

     - And to whom.

     “Well, there are a lot of other women around.

     — And which ones? Laura asked softly and met his eyes.

    And there was so much in this look that Max instantly forgot about the argument about the Martians, and in general where he was, and thought only about whose name it is now worth pronouncing.

     — Max, can you introduce your friends? Do you work on smart stuff together?

     - Oh, yes, we are working, together with Boris. And Dima is from the security service.

     - I hope our security service protects us?

     “Well, today, rather, we save the security service,” Max joked and immediately got a kick in the legs from a disgruntled Dimon.

     — Ah, this is your mirror communist joke. In Soviet Russia, you take care of your security service.

     - Something like that.

     “And I have a present for you.

     - Oh cool!

    Damn, thought Max. “That sucks, I don’t have any gifts.”

    Laura pulled out a small plastic box stylized as dark green Martian malachite. Inside was a thick deck of cards.

     These cards predict the future.

     Like tarot cards?

     “Yes, this is a special deck used by the devas, tower priests, from the Eastern Bloc.

    Max pulled out the top card. It showed a pale, skinny Martian in a rocky desert under a black sky with piercing stars. Max peered into the drawing of the constellations and for a second it seemed to him that he was looking into the endless emptiness of the real sky, and the stars trembled and changed their position.

     And what does this card mean?

     - Martian usually means prudence, restraint, coldness, and if the card fell out inverted, it can mean destructive passion or mental insanity. There are a lot of meanings, the correct interpretation is a complex art.

     “Why not make some kind of application that will interpret them,” Boris suggested, with obvious disbelief in his voice.

     - Do you think the application can predict the future?

     - Well, I would rather believe the program than some gypsy.

     - You don't believe in cards, but do you believe that chips can solve all problems? Devas sometimes predict the future of the lords of death. If they make a mistake with at least one word, no application will save them.

     “Uh, can you tell me?” Max asked, wanting to end the argument.

     “Perhaps, if the time and place is right.” Hide the deck and never take it out just like that. These are special cards, they have great power, even if some do not believe them.

     - Did you use them yourself?

     “Everything they predicted to me is coming true so far.

    Max put the Martian card back in place and closed the box.

     “I don't want to know my future. Let it remain a mystery to me.

     — Yes, Max, I was told by a slimy redhead with virtual tentacles, it seems from your department, that the correct answer to the riddle about human nature is neurotechnology. Is this some kind of stupidity?

     - Well, Gordon, of course, is a boring type, if we are talking about him, but neurotechnology is the right answer. It's more of a joke though. There is no correct answer.

     Why doesn't it exist? The game has the answer.

     - There is no correct answer in the game.

     - How not? The main character correctly answered the witch's riddle, otherwise he would not have survived.

     - The main character could give any answer because the witch loved him.

     Well, that means that the correct answer is love.

    Hearing such an interpretation, Boris could not help coughing skeptically.

     - Here, your boring colleague made the same sounds. Smart guys do this all the time when they know they're wrong.

    Boris frowned even more in response, but apparently he could not think of a suitable continuation. For some reason, he and Laura immediately did not like each other, and Max realized that it would be very difficult to transfer the conversation back into the mainstream of a relaxed discussion of Martian amorous traditions. He froze slightly, trying to figure out how to taxi further, and an awkward silence instantly reigned at the table.

    Ruslan saved the situation by stopping nearby. He spotted Max and, after an appraising glance over the stern of Laura, raised his thumb. He did not have time to move on to more indecent gestures, since Laura noticed the direction of Max's gaze and turned around, from which Ruslan slightly shied away.

     "Your friend too?"

     - Ruslan, from the security service.

     - Brutal suit.

     “We have a dress code like this in Security Council,” Ruslan answered, regaining his imperturbable look.

     — Really? Laura laughed, stroking Dimon's suit with a slight movement.

     - Well, not for everyone, of course ... How do you like New Year's holiday?

     “Great, I love themed parties,” Laura replied in a tone that made it impossible to tell if it was sarcasm or not. - Ruslan, how would you answer the question: what can change the nature of a person?

     “I thought security had banned riddles by now. I'll take care of myself tomorrow.

     “Ruslan doesn’t like nerd entertainment,” Max explained just in case.

     "How nice," Laura laughed again. — And yet?

     “Death definitely changes the nature of a person.

     - Wow, how rude...

     - This question has a generally bad history. It was asked by imperial ghosts before blowing off the head of another neurobotanist.

     - Seriously? Max was surprised. — It's a question from one of the ancient computer games.

     — Well, I don't know, maybe from the game. The ghosts were having so much fun.

     - And what was the correct answer?

     - There was no right answer. Just entertainment is such that they still suffer before they die, racking their brains.

     “It’s strange, the application didn’t approve of my riddles,” Laura complained.

     “Fucking nerds only let in the riddles they like,” Max answered a second ahead of Ruslan, who opened his mouth.

     - That's it, Max, do not forget about me when you sculpt your software and applications.

     - Yes, I would approve of all your riddles. And what was there?

     - Was there an option to guess what is written in my diary?

     - Do you have a diary?

     Of course, all girls have a diary.

     “It’s more like a mystery… Will you let me read it?”

     - Nobody can watch it.

     - Why not?

     Well, it's a diary. What do girls usually write in their diaries?

     — What they think about boys. Guessed?

     - About mine, no. Well, not exactly…

     “So you can guess, but you can’t read?” Then everyone, you know, will fantasize.

     - Yes, as much as you like. Are you already fantasizing?

     - I? No, I'm not like that ... - Max felt himself blush slightly.

     - Just kidding, sorry. Can you guess what I wrote about you? We bet on desire that you won’t guess ... Okay, I’m joking again.

     - We actually have to go, - grimly muttered Boris, pulling his comrade by the sleeve. We were going to reach the lower plane.

     “I was going downstairs too, to go dancing. Escort me?

     - With pleasure, - Ruslan immediately volunteered.

    On the icefall, Boris deliberately began to slow down, trying to break away from the rest of the company. The goggle-eyed skull was already flashing somewhere ahead, hiding in the stream of an endless human river, flowing into the depths of the underworld.

    “What if all this was true? Max thought. “It's so easy to forget that the world around you is an illusion. What would the Imperial ghosts, who hate everything Martian, think? That while playing, we unwittingly reveal the true nature of the neuroworld. We invoke digital demons that gradually consume our minds. On this river no one can swim against the current.

     - Can I put it in your backpack? Max asked, fiddling with the box in his hands.

     - Throw.

     - Let's go faster. And then some Ruslan will dance Laura, I know him.

     “Come on, this Martian whore was given to you.

     — Wow, what words. And who drooled over her to the floor?

     “I never drooled over her, unlike you. It was sickening to hear your joyful chirping.

     - He's sick of it ... He wouldn't have listened then. By the way, you owe me a bubble.

     - Why is that?

     - You lost the argument, Laura said that the Martians do what they want and how they want.

     Yes, but they make contracts.

     “Only for the upbringing of children.

     “So maybe they sign a contract for a random fuck in the clean and jerk… But okay,” Boris waved his hand. — Bubble more, bubble less. This bitch is using you. Gave me some cheap cards. Do you think it means something? No shit like that! She is trying so hard to shorten the leash ...

     Boris, don't drive! He himself buzzed all my ears about her together with Arsen.

     - I admit I was wrong. You shouldn't hang out with her.

     - Why? Agree that she probably has useful connections and no matter how she makes them.

     “Yes, of course, only you have a much better chance with that strange Martian Arthur than with her.

     Yes, I don't have any false hopes.

     - Something doesn't look right. Lorochka, let me help you, let me approve everything for you ...

     - Yes, you go!

     “I am going to the lowest plane, to look into the hellish abyss. Are you with me or will you follow your Laura?

     - I would tell you ... Okay, let's go look into the abyss ... I'll follow her later.

    The sixth plan finally turned into a single large rift that led down. There was no other way to the underworld in this section of the dungeons. But this plan was a smooth descent only in the real world. The New Year's application imitated the slope of different parts of the terrain at different angles, and partially swapped them. So, the bar closest to the tracker was seen somewhere off to the side at a crazy angle. The transitions between the sectors were quite sharp and the effect of deception of the vestibular apparatus was achieved quite well. Special spherical robots rolled down the piecewise broken terrain strictly in accordance with the virtually directed gravity, which enhanced the effect.

    However, they passed the sixth plan too quickly to appreciate its effects. And by the next plan, the fault turned into a bunker built a long time ago by the Russian Aerospace Forces. Huge freight elevators with sliding bars led there. The application simulated the fall of the cabin in flames from the black skies right into the center of the apocalyptic ruins. And specially tuned mechanisms emitted an eerie howl and rattle with imitation of jerks when moving. Which undoubtedly added interesting sensations to some unsteady and unsteadily holding drinks and snacks to the creatures of evil. After a crushing, but within the framework of safety measures, hitting the ground, the thunder and chaos of a techno-rave party fell upon the barely recovered guests.

    In reality, the bunker was naturally maintained in good condition, but the plan imitated a constantly decaying and decaying infernal city, so plush columns, fragments of walls lay everywhere, and broken beams hung from the ceiling. The canals were filled with thick green sludge, flowing into gaping cracks and gaps. It was scary to step on the bridges thrown over them.

    And yet it was necessary to break through the crowd of infernal spawns jumping to frenzied dramas and distortions. Max's eyes instantly rippled from wings and tails, mixed into one horned lump in the acid beams of light music. His head even began to ache, as if foreshadowing a coming hangover, and all desire to stay here disappeared. He yelled in Boris's ear that it was time for them to move on. Boris nodded and asked to wait a minute while he drove to the toilet. Max had only to settle down at the bar and stare at the bacchanalia. Bar Freddy Krueger immediately came to the cellar with a proposal to throw something acidic, but Max shook his head vigorously.

    The main dance floor is in a large hall lined with some creepy white tiles from a horror movie. In some places, hooks, chains and other torture attributes were even driven into the walls and floor. The chains were obviously a remake, but the rest of the design looked like an original work of military construction genius. Max could only guess about its original purpose. Concentration was greatly disturbed by the demonic roar of the DJ from the upper tier, calling to rock the party and all that. In the middle of the hall there were a couple more fenced slopes leading to the lower tiers of the bunker. Clouds of "poisonous" fumes periodically escaped from there. There apparently was a movement for those who lacked trash and intoxication at the top.

    Max spotted Laura in the middle of the galloping crowd. While she was dancing alone, a couple of drunken Beelzebubs were already clearly moving towards rapprochement. Despite all the discomfort, Max could hardly suppress the urge to go push everyone around her. Boris is probably right, he thought. Her charms are very hard to resist. I wonder which is stronger virtual reality or the charms of Laura May. Here Boryan would certainly choose Warcraft ... "

     — Max! Completely deaf!

    Ruslan loomed over him, continuing to yell directly into his ear.

     “What are you yelling about, you can’t hear anything.”

     - You turn down the volume on the chip and turn on the chat.

     - And now.

    Max completely forgot about these useful functions of the neurochip.

     Why didn't you keep Laura company? he asked, enjoying the silence that followed.

     “Just wanted to get along with you. Do you have any plans for this winged blonde?

     “Yes, it’s not like we crossed paths at work,” Max answered with feigned indifference.

     - For work? Seriously?

     - Well, a girl is waiting for me in Moscow. Therefore, with Laura, nothing like that ...

     — I'm sure a girl in Moscow will appreciate your honesty, bro.

     “Listen, what are you up to?”

     “I just didn’t want any graters between us, bro. Since you have a girlfriend in Moscow, I'm going to try my luck with Laura here and now.

     “But what about that demoness from the foam party?”

     Where to look for her now. Moreover, you must admit: this bitch is much better ...

     - Well, good luck. Don't forget to tell me how it went.

     “Yeah, sure,” Ruslan grinned wryly.

     Let's take a look at the work of a professional.

     “Just don’t push me by the arm, I feel you can’t take it impudently, you need to be careful ...

    It seemed to Max, or uncertainty flashed in Ruslan's eyes. Probably it only seemed because he did not exchange for further chatter or roll up a stoparik for courage, but immediately set off to meet his fate. His black wings and burning yellow eyes cut through the crowd inexorably.

    “Damn, why am I showing off,” thought Max. - It was necessary to say that we are going to the wedding. Damn, this is jealousy ... "

    His torment was interrupted by the return of Boris.

     - Bang on the move of the foot? he asked, calling the bartender.

     "Let's go bang over there."

     - Then let's go. Dimon would still find.

    Dimon found himself, at the next bar. Some multi-colored cocktail was mixed for him in a tall triangular glass.

     We are down to the bottom. Are you with us? Boris asked.

     - I'll catch up a little later.

     “Listen, what is this woman’s swill?”

     - Well, I'm not myself.

     - And to whom? Boris barked at him.

     “Laura,” Dimon answered, hesitating a little.

     - Laura? Don't you look, he's already running after her cocktails! It would be better if we left you on a fiery plane.

    Boris shook his head disapprovingly.

     “She said I was so plush that I would cuddle.

     - Ugh! All finished with him. Let's go, Max.

     - I'll catch up.

     “Of course, if the new mistress lets you go.” What a disgrace!

     "Alright, alright, I'll be quick..."

    And Dimon hurriedly retreated with a cocktail, until Boris had time to break out into a new condemning tirade.

     “You see what this bitch does with men.”

     “Yes, Dimon is to blame,” Max laughed. - You shouldn't have said that Laura would run after him. As that Martian said, there are words spoken by chance that can bind more securely than any chains.

     - That's for sure, our Dimon overestimated his strength. Let's go.

    From Baator's latest plan, everyone naturally expected something incredible. Therefore, most of the guests who have made a difficult journey through the hellish dimensions, full of dangers and surprises, having reached the citadel of hell, experienced a slight disappointment. Or even fatigue, considering how many bars and hookahs we had to pass along the way. No, the picture of a gigantic fortress at the bottom of a flaming rift several kilometers deep was just right. But after the previous miracles, she no longer fascinated and did not cause some kind of genuine awe before the insane elements. Or maybe Max is just fed up with everything. He turned off the app so the picture would stop stuttering on his old chip. In reality, the last hall of the club was a large cave in the form of a semicircular hollow, similar to a rock circus. The entrance to it was located almost under the ceiling. After descending on the elevator or on the endless fiery staircase, as you like, the guests got to a fairly flat area at the foot of the surrounding rocks. Around the stage in the center, there was some kind of official party with the presentation of valuable prizes to anyone and other awards to the uninvolved. And the bars and comfortable sofas were hidden in the shade of almost sheer cliffs on the sides. Boris was not taken aback and immediately stole a bottle of cognac from the nearest bar.

     “Let’s go further, there’s a great view,” he suggested.

    The prestigious club "Pit" ended with a wide balcony, behind which the rocky valley rather sharply went somewhere into the unknown depths of the planet. True, the slope was not so steep that one of the emboldened visitors would not dare to climb over a low parapet and even had a chance to keep part of the limbs intact after walking through the wild Martian landscape. Apparently, in this case, a high metal mesh was stretched over the parapet.

    They dragged a couple of chairs right up to the net and got ready for a thoughtful drink and contemplation of the spectacular rolls of the downhill slope. The black-and-red broken rocks looked intimidating in the light of several powerful searchlights installed next to the balcony. Even their rays did not finish the slope to the end, and one could only guess what was hidden in the bizarre shadows there in the depths. Max took a sip of cognac and five minutes later his head was again pleasantly noisy. There was no one else on the balcony, the rumble of the celebrating crowd, thanks to some strange acoustics of the stone bag, almost did not reach here, and only weak groans and crackling of boulders in the failure emphasized their loneliness. For a long time they just sat, sipping cognac and staring into the darkness. In the end, Boris could not stand it and broke the silence.

     Nobody knows its real depth. Perhaps this is the path straight to the Martian hell. Those crazy who dared to go down there never returned.

     - Seriously, why?

     - They say there is a whole labyrinth of tunnels and caves further on. It is very easy to get lost, plus sudden releases of radioactive dust that kill all life. But the worst thing is that sometimes, even those who come to stare at the failure do not come back. There were a couple of such cases, they were attributed to the fact that visitors drunk fell into the abyss.

     — Not such an abyss, — shrugged Max. - More like a steep slope.

     - Indeed, but people disappeared and even no bodies were found below. Something came from the Martian depths and dragged them with it. After that, the balcony was surrounded by a net.

     - Isn't there a lock?

     - There used to be a lock, and now there is an artificial collapse of the rock. But nothing prevents the Martian something from digging a small bypass tunnel.

     “A weather station is supposed to monitor air leaks.

     - Must…

     “I get the feeling you know the story about every Martian yard.

    Max looked into the bewitching darkness of the failure, where the spotlights did not reach, and suddenly his heart sank into his heels, as if he himself had fallen into a kilometer-long abyss. He was ready to swear that he saw some movement there.

     — Damn, Boryan, there is something there. Something is moving.

     - Come on, Max, you want to play a prank on me? Look, I'll even put my hand through the hole in the net. Ay Martian something, food is served!

    Boris fearlessly continued to tease the shadows of failure.

     Please stop, I'm not kidding you.

    With a terrible effort of will, Max forced himself to raise his eyes into the darkness. For several seconds nothing happened, only Boris's drunken screams echoed through the caves. And then Max again saw how a vague silhouette in the depths flowed from one place to another. Without saying a word, he grabbed Boris by the arm and dragged him away from the net with all his might.

     Max, stop it, it's not funny.

     Of course it's not funny! There's something I'm telling you.

     - Oh, damn it, okay Stanislavsky, I believe. Drone must be flying...

     - Let's go back.

     - So they didn’t finish drinking ... Good.

    The reeling Boris allowed himself to be taken away. More and more people gradually gathered in the center of the stone circus. Without a working application, the pale faces of real Martians, riding on their favorite Segways and robo-chairs, stood out in particular. Apparently, the culmination of the event was approaching with the awarding of some employees of the year. And the plan of the ruined city, on the contrary, was noticeably empty. The techno-rave was no longer deafened by swotting, and clouds of “poisonous” steam did not escape from the cellars. Boris insistently steered towards the nearest sofa. He collapsed like a puppet with cut strings and said in a stuttering tongue:

     “Let’s rest a bit and wander around a little more ... Now ...

    Boris yawned at the top of his lungs and settled himself comfortably.

     “Relax, of course,” Max agreed. - I'll go and look for Laura, otherwise we somehow dumped impolitely.

     - Go, go...

    First, Max found the gloomy Ruslan at the bar. He looked like a huge, ruffled bird of prey perched on a perch. Ruslan saluted Max with an empty glass. Without words, it was clear that the hunt ended unsuccessfully. Max experienced a slight feeling of gloating and pulled himself up only after a few seconds, remembering that it was unworthy to experience joy at the sight of a blundered comrade. Looking around for Laura, he came across Arthur Smith. To his surprise, he also held a glass in his hands.

     “Orange juice,” Arthur explained to Max as he approached.

     — Are you having fun? Do you like discos like this?

     “I always hated them. To be honest, I went down to spit in the Martian abyss and stopped to stare at Laura May.

    Arthur nodded at Laura, who was standing near the descent into the cellars and talking animatedly with some important Martian bosses. And without the New Year's application and golden wings, she looked just as attractive. Max thought that maybe he could find out more about Arthur's unsuccessful adventures in the love field.

     Did you try to approach her? he inquired in the most casual tone.

     - Yes, somehow I did not want to stand in line.

     - I agree, she has more than enough fans.

     “It's her superpower to swindle all kinds of nerds.

     “Useful superpower considering nerds run Telecom…”

     Every person has a superpower. Someone useful, someone useless, most do not know about it at all.

     “Probably,” Max agreed, remembering Boris with his endless legends. - I wish I could find mine.

     What superpower would you like?

    Max thought for a moment, remembering his failed visit to Dreamland.

     “Difficult question, I guess I would like to have a perfect mind.

     “Strange choice,” Arthur chuckled. What do you think of the ideal mind?

     - A mind that is not distracted by all sorts of emotions and desires, but does only what it needs. Like the Martians.

     - Do you want to become a Martian for the sake of not having emotions and desires? Usually everyone wants to become a Martian in order to gain money and power and satisfy their desires.

     - It's a false way.

     All paths are false. Do you think your boss Albert is a role model? Yes, at least he is honest, he tries to turn off all emotions. Most Martians do it easier, turning off only the negative ones.

     - Well, at least that's it. After all, any psychoanalyst will say that it is necessary to fight the negative.

     “This is the way to create the perfect drug. Those passions that can be turned off do not make any sense. Passion makes you fall and rise up only when it is not satisfied. The mere fact of satisfying her would certainly have no value in the eyes of higher intelligence.

     Do you think that human emotions have some value? They just interfere with the intellect to work.

     - Rather, intelligence without emotions will die as unnecessary. Why strain the intellect if no emotions move it?

     “Then my boss Albert is far from being a genius?”

     - I'll tell you a terrible thing, most Martians are far from being as brilliant as they seem. We sat on the top of the pyramid and the current intelligence is enough for us to keep our place. But apart from progress in bio- and neurotechnologies, it is now difficult to boast of something. We never flew to the stars. Moreover, it cannot be said that even Martians like Albert are completely free from emotions.

     But he can turn them off.

     - It can regulate the concentration of dopamine in the blood. But that is not all. The bosses of the largest corporations will never allow the appearance of some global competitors, such as a powerful state on Earth, for example. And they are driven by a completely rational fear for their position and for their physical existence. Even the most high-tech cyborg is afraid of dying or losing his freedom. Not like ordinary people, to sticky sweat and trembling in the knees, but the logical fear has not gone away. Only the intellect, which is based entirely on a computer basis, is truly devoid of emotions.

     Is such intelligence possible?

     - I think not. Although dozens of startups and thousands of their employees will prove the opposite to you: that it’s already there, they just have to take the last step. But even Neurotek failed with their quantum experiments.

     — Did Neurotek try to create AI based on a quantum supercomputer?

     - Maybe. They definitely tried to transfer the personality of a person to a quantum matrix, but apparently they failed in this as well.

     - Why?

     They didn't report to me. But, judging by how everyone panicked, the result was very deplorable. By the way, it was this story that allowed Telecom to recapture part of the market from Neurotek and become almost the third company on Mars. Neurotek suffered too big losses from its undertaking.

     “Maybe they ended up creating an AI that tried to destroy them. Is that why they so feverishly destroyed everything related to the project?

     - It is unlikely that the Neurotek bosses are so short-sighted as to create a skynet. But who knows. I already said that I don't believe in real "strong" AI. For starters, we don't even really understand what human intelligence is. You can, of course, follow the path of copying: create a super-complex neural network and shove into it all the functions in a row that are characteristic of a person.

     - And what, such a neural network, and even on a probabilistic quantum matrix, will not be able to gain self-awareness?

     - I won’t say anything about the quantum matrix, but on traditional computers it will start to fail and eat up a crazy amount of resources. In general, it has long been clear to all AI startups that the program will never gain self-awareness. Now they are trying to follow the path of screwing various sense organs. On an intuitive level, I am also sure that intelligence is a phenomenon of interaction with the real world. And I think that even any imitators of the sense organs will not help. Emotions are an equally important tool for interacting with the outside world, perhaps even a defining one. And emotions, despite all their conditional "stupidity", are very difficult to model.

     - If emotions are taken away from a person, what will he lose his rationality?

     “Well, it certainly won’t happen right away. For a while, the intellect will undoubtedly work by inertia. And so, in the limit, I think that yes, the intellect, completely devoid of any emotions, will simply stop. Why would he take any action? He has no curiosity, no fear of dying, no desire to get rich or control someone. It will become a program that can only be run by receiving commands from someone else.

     “So the Martians are doing everything wrong?”

     - Maybe. But the Martian society is so arranged and it is just as intolerant of everyone who tries to be different as any human herd of immature individuals in the amount of more than a dozen. Which only confirms my beliefs. For myself, I decided a long time ago that turning off emotions on a physical level is a false path. At the time, this decision was more like a teenage protest and later cost me dearly. But now I can't refuse it.

     “Probably Laura May would have agreed with you,” Max decided to play along. - It showed me that she also does not like those who reject real feelings and conclude all contracts.

     - In what sense?

     - Well, like the Martians do not get married, but enter into an agreement for the joint upbringing of children ...

     - And you're talking about it. From a legal point of view, marriage is the same contract, but special, someone would even say enslaving. And a Martian can conclude any contract, including this one. It's just considered stupid and discriminating against both partners. An echo of those barbaric times when a woman could be a full-fledged member of society, only belonging to some men.

     - Apparently Laura is not such a feminist.

     “Like most women on Earth, she is a feminist or not, as long as it suits her,” Arthur snorted. - However, like any other person who does what is beneficial to him.

     “Would you make a bonded pact with Laura May?”

     If our feelings were mutual, then perhaps. But this is unlikely to happen.

    After a short silence and blowing out almost half of the next orange juice, Arthur continued:

     I already tried, but apparently too clumsily. Can you guess the riddle of how Laura May got the job at Telecom?

    Max tried to quietly sniff the empty glass, but did not smell anything alcoholic. It remained only to guess why Arthur was so frank. Max thought that if he were a lonely half-Martian who could not truly become his own either among Martians or among people, then all sorts of "holidays of life" should have caused him attacks of the blackest melancholy.

     Did you hire her?

     - Guessed. She got a job at Telecom for one kiss with a certain manager from the personnel department. Just the case when emotions did not allow the intellect to develop the right long-term strategy.

    “Is this the source of a workplace harassment story? Max thought admiringly. “It would be interesting to trace the entire chain of versions up to Boryan.”

     - And what's next?

     The sky didn't fall, the planets didn't stop. Tales about kisses turned out to be fairy tales. In short, things didn't go any further, as you can see. But some people got a job and made a good career.

    Arthur paused, staring sadly into his glass. And Max came up with a “brilliant” idea how to help the strange Martian establish relations with the beautiful Laura, earn his eternal gratitude and rocket up the career ladder, having such a valuable ally in the holy of holies, in the very heart of the personnel service. Subsequently, Max cursed every glass he drank at the corporate party for a long time, because only an immoderate amount of alcohol could be the reason that he managed not only to give birth to such a “brilliant” plan, but also to bring it to a “successful” finale.

     - Well, since the frontal tactics did not work, we need to try a detour maneuver.

     And what's the maneuver? Arthur inquired with slight interest.

     “Well, there are several trouble-free ways to get female attention,” Max began with the air of a connoisseur. – Flowers and craft gifts will not be considered. But if you courageously shield the lady from some mortal danger, this works almost flawlessly.

     - Mortal danger at the Telecom corporate party? I'm afraid the probability of being subjected to it is much lower than the level of statistical error.

     - Well, lethal, I slightly bent it. But we are quite capable of creating a small danger.

     — Create yourself? Sneaky, but guess...

     “Suppose Laura had to go to some empty, scary room, like the basement of this wonderful bunker. And there some drunk Telecom employee will start pestering her. Strong enough to scare her, and then, by chance, you will pass by, intervene, threaten with dismissal and the trick is in the bag!

     “I hope you see the weaknesses of your plan, my human friend. I will not even criticize purely technical points: how are you going to lure Laura into the basement, how to ensure that there are no extra defenders there? But what makes you think Laura will be scared? In principle, she is not particularly shy, and given where we are and to whom she can complain ... And the local security will come running in a minute on any call. I definitely do not advise you to try, you will find yourself in an extremely awkward situation.

     - Yes, I did not intend to. I have, uh... a friend who works in some creepy section of our I.D. I hope he will be able to intimidate the local security if anything.

     “Doubtful… Has your friend already agreed to participate in the event?”

     - I'll talk to him. And I figured out a way to lure Laura. You see a drone in the form of a skull next to her. She really likes this piece of iron, and as a password on it there is a question: what can change the nature of a person? And I know the answer. I'll quietly take the skull to the basement, and when Laura misses and goes after him, our trap will slam shut.

     - Or he won’t go, but ask someone to bring ... But it’s me, I find fault. And you have not forgotten that traces of your hacking activities will remain in the device logs.

     Well, I'll clean it up as best I can. I don't think Laura will dig much, and she doesn't really understand either.

     - She probably has friends who understand.

     - I’ll excuse myself if anything, I’ll apologize, I’ll say that I wanted to look at the implementation of one interesting effect and accidentally messed up.

     - What is the correct answer?

     - Love.

     - Romantic. Okay, the plan, of course, is interesting, but I guess it's time. It's late, and I haven't spit into the Martian abyss before going to bed.

     “Wait, are you scared? Max asked with a challenge.

     “Are you trying to take me on a show, my human friend? the Martian was surprised. - Why did you contract to help, although you yourself risk much more? Why don't you want to pull the same trick for yourself?

     “Uh-uh…” Max hesitated, trying to come up with a plausible explanation.

     - Let me give you a little hint: do you want to get a favor in return?

     - Yes, - Max decided that there was no point in lying.

     I can even guess what. Well, if the business works out, I will render you any service that is in my power, ”Arthur agreed suddenly.

    While Max's legs carried him to the bar counter, behind which Ruslan was located, in his dreams he had already managed to take the position of director of the advanced development department and aimed at the vice president.

    Ruslan was sitting in the same place. Max climbed into a nearby chair and casually asked:

     - Didn't drive up to Laura?

     - This crane flies too high, it was necessary to settle for a titmouse. And now all the tits have been dismantled.

     “It's not every night that you catch someone.

     “Don’t tell me what else to expect from this rotten nerd party.

     — But here is an opportunity to help a friend get a crane.

    Ruslan squinted ironically at Max.

     "I think you'll do better with Laura." Just don't act like the obliging telecom nerd who flocks around her. Come, tell her she's a cool chick and you want to hook up with her. It'll work more.

     “Thanks for the advice, but I wanted you to help not me, but one Martian to hook up with Laura.

     — Did you get high, Max? I'm not going to help any Martians.

     - Well, technically help the Martian, but actually me. This Martian could really advance my career.

     "And how do you think I should arrange it?" Go up to Laura and say: hey, goat, do you want to stir up with one dumb, pale nerd instead of me?

     No, that's the plan. After a while, Laura will come out to powder her nose in the basement. I know how to get her there. There just all the ravers dispersed. You will follow and start pestering her so that she is really scared, then a Martian will accidentally come in and protect her. That one over there, - Max pointed to Arthur drinking fresh juices. - You hit him more seriously, you can even push, shake him a little, so that everything is natural. But in the end, he must save her.

     - Yeah, just some business: sexual harassment and an attack on a Telecom employee. Some gastor from Moscow will be easily closed for a couple of years.

     - No need to go too far, of course. A Martian will definitely not complain, and you are not some gastor from Moscow.

     “Listen, great strategist, leave your dreams of becoming the boss of Telecom already. Our place has long been determined and you can’t jump above your head.

     - Maybe you are right, everything real in this world is in the hands of the Martians, and guests from Moscow will have to be content with virtual successes. I'm still thinking how you can understand that around is not a Martian dream. After all, with the help of sight, hearing and other things, it is impossible to distinguish it from reality. Need to look for some kind of sixth sense? Here the Martian says, it is enough to remember that the real world is balanced. That in it you can not win anything and lose. But after all, all sorts of bastards who don’t care about anything constantly win. So you won't understand anything. You can still look for a lunar path on the smooth surface of a forest lake or the breath of spring, but this is not on Mars. Or verses there sort out. But all the real poems have already been written... Nobody needs poets now. No matter what you do, you will always have doubts. Except I look at Laura May and think maybe she's real. All the computers of the Martians put together are not able to come up with anything like this ...

     - Beautifully you wrapped about Laura. Do you really hope that this Martian of yours will help in some way?

     - Why not?

     “Why don’t you want to go to Laura yourself, she just got bored?”

     "I don't think I'll be able to scare her."

     - Yes, I'm not talking about that. Go ride up to her. Leave the Martian troubles to the Martians, and enjoy human joys yourself.

     — No, I want to help the Martian. Let him enjoy human joys, and I want to see what is on the other side.

     - Well as you know. Since you insist, I'll go to the market with Laura.

     - Cool! Max rejoiced. - Only you really run into a Martian, okay. To make it look real.

     “Come on, great strategist, act.

    Stealing the drone unnoticed was a breeze. Using his camera, Max made sure that there was almost no one downstairs, only staff and cleaning robots. Just in case, he took the skull even further into the nook leading to the toilets and lined with the same nightmarish white tiles.

    Ten minutes later, Laura noticed the loss and, apparently, having checked the tracker, confidently headed down. Max sent a signal to the rest of the conspirators. Ruslan hid in the basement almost after Laura, and the Martian carefully studied his glass for some time, but in the end, having plucked up courage, he stomped after everyone. Max successfully resisted the temptation to use the drone's camera to see for himself that the plan was working. He fought for a long time, at least thirty seconds, but reaching for the skull interface found that the chip had lost its network.

    This is news, Max thought. - I wonder how often this happens in their club? Or is the problem in my chip? The creatures of evil that remained on the dance floor began to look around in confusion, finding that all their virtual outfits had turned into a pumpkin. “That means a general failure, but no security intervention will now disrupt the operation to save Laura,” Max reasoned and asked the bartender for mineral water.

     - How often does your network drop in your club?

     “Yes, this is the first time,” the bartender was surprised. - So that the whole network at once ...

    Max sat quietly for a few minutes, and then slowly began to worry. "What are they stuck in there for? he thought nervously. “Oh, in vain I started this, no matter how something happened.” Max imagined a picture of a Martian lying with a broken head, surrounded by doctors, and Ruslan in handcuffs on a police platform, and shuddered. When the chip happily rang, saying that network access was restored, Max jumped up in his chair. For some more time he was spinning, as if on pins and needles, and then he decided to go down himself, to check how things were going, and halfway he saw Arthur rising from the basement. He rushed towards him.

     - How did everything go?!

     - It didn’t work for me, but your friend seems to be doing well. They talked, she laughed and they left together.

     — Where did they go? Max asked dumbly.

     - Maybe to his house, or to her house ... Through another exit. They look incredibly beautiful together, through this virtual mirage. I even lingered a little to get a purely aesthetic pleasure ... A huge black demon and an angel-like succubus.

    “Your division! I just buried my career in the very depths of hellish dimensions, Max thought with horror. - Ruslan, what a beast! And I, too, am a cretin, I thought of asking the fox to guard the chicken coop.

     “Ahhh ... sorry that it happened,” Max mumbled.

     - It's not your fault. It's just that your buddy decided to tweak our brilliant plan. But it can be understood. Seriously, don't worry, but for the future, keep in mind that it would be much more reliable to directly ask Laura to convince one manager who is not indifferent to her charms to help you. The second kiss would have been enough to get a professional chip at the expense of the company. And all sorts of complex plans in real life rarely work.

     Do you have such a bad opinion of her? Why would she agree to such a thing?

     “I don't have a bad opinion, I've been working too long with the personal files of employees trying to break through to the top in one of the richest and most powerful corporations in the world. This is not such a crime: to breed one nerd and fix two careers at once with his help. And she would agree in order to have a friend personally obliged to her, occupying some high position. Or maybe I wouldn't agree...

    “Yes, all women have a reduced social responsibility,” thought Max. “Well, all the beautiful women are like that.” Arthur smiled at his face.

     “Sorry, Max, but your disappointment amuses me. Did you really think Laura was such a princess? Here's the answer to a simple question: why would a person smile at everyone, patiently listen to tons of monotonous compliments and self-praise, spend their free time and money on medicine and gyms, but at the same time not at all try to extract some kind of indirect material benefit from this? Do you think such people really exist? More precisely, they, of course, exist, but they do not work in high positions in Telecom.

     “Well, if she’s not a princess at all, why not buy her for a promotion?”

     “Your stupid disappointment makes you vulgar. She is too proud and so directly buy it will not work. Or the price will be very high. What's more, I don't want that. But it’s dangerous for nerds like you or me to fall in love with her,” Arthur smiled. “Unfortunately, Laura has a very low opinion of males in general, and sees nothing wrong with using them a little.

     - Maybe she will also use Ruslana.

     - Maybe.

     I will have a serious talk with him.

     — Not worth it. What is done is done. You, of course, came up with stupidity, and I agreed, but the world did not collapse from this. Maybe she will be happy with this Ruslan, at least a little.

     — And how are you?

     - I already had a chance, but it was missed.

     What about the rule that the most incredible things happen twice?

     “This weird nonsense happens twice. And for what is truly important and valuable in the lousy real world, another rule applies: "Only once and never again." Okay, my human friend, it's time for me to go, to yearn alone in my huge empty apartment.

    Artur left, taking with him the hopes of a fast-paced career in Telecom and possibly any career at all. Max had no choice but to push Boris, who was snoring on the couch, and call a taxi.

    Sitting in his tiny kitchen, he realized that he was completely sober. The mood was lousy, the head was cracking, and there was no sleep in either eye. He spat on the high cost of fast communication and dialed Masha's number.

     Hello, are you awake?

     - It's already morning.

    Masha looked slightly disheveled. New Year's tinsel lay around it, a decorated natural Christmas tree stood in the corner, and it seemed to Max that he could taste Russian salad and smell tangerines.

     - Something happened?

     — Yes, Mash, I'm sorry, I have problems with your visa...

     - I already understood. Masha frowned even more. Is that all you wanted to say?

     - No. I know that you're upset, but I really have something shitty everything went on this fucking Mars ...

     Max, are you drunk?

     - Already sobered up. Almost. Masha, I wanted to tell you one thing, it’s hard to formulate it right away ...

     “Speak up, don’t delay.

     “I don’t get a damn thing in Telecom, the work is kind of stupid, and I myself do something completely different ... I remember we dreamed how great we would live together on Mars ...

     Max, what did you want to say?

     - If I return back to Moscow, will you not be very upset?

     - Are you going back? When?!

    Masha broke into such a sincere, wide smile that Max closed his eyes in surprise.

     I thought you'd be upset, we've wasted so much time and effort.

     “Oh, you think it doesn’t upset me to sit here and wait for who knows what? That fucking Mars was always more for you.

     - It is unlikely that I will be able to stay in Telekom if I return. And we will spend a lot of money on a return ticket, and we will have to start all over again in another place.

     “Max, what a mess. You won't find a job in Moscow? Such a specialist will be torn off here with his hands. Let's sell something we don't need.

     - Is it true? That is, you will not condemn me and stigmatize me?

     “If you showed up on the doorstep right now, I wouldn’t say a word to you.

     “Even if I fall drunk into the firewood?”

     “I will accept it in any form,” Masha laughed. - I understand that you went there to drink on your fucking Mars.

    Max breathed a sigh of relief and decided that everything was not so bad. “And why am I so clinging to work on Mars? Well, it's obvious that it's not. It is necessary to shorten this shop, return home and live happily. They chatted with Masha for some more time, Max finally calmed down, almost chose return tickets and rolled up the quick connection window. Falling asleep, he dreamed of distant Moscow, how he came home, how warm soft Masha met him, her cat rubbed under his feet, and strange Martians and the false beauty of underground cities turned into an unpleasant but harmless dream there. Of course, returning home in disgrace is not the best way, Max thought, burrowing deeper into the pillow.

    There is one goal and a thousand paths.
    The one who sees the goal chooses the path.
    The one who chose the path will never reach.
    For everyone, only one road leads to the truth.

    Max sat up abruptly in bed with a pounding heart. "Key! How do I know him? he thought in horror.

    

    Rows of identical concrete boxes floated through the window of the service minivan. The architecture of the industrial area was worthy of the highest praise from the adherents of socialist realism or cubism. All these streets and interchanges, intersecting at geometrically correct angles, differed only in numbers. Moreover, the pattern of cracks and mineral veins on the ceiling of the cave. Max once again thought how helpless they were without the crutches of virtual reality. You can't get out of such an area without computer prompts; local offices did not consider it necessary to spend money on real signs or signs. Just in case, he checked the bag with the oxygen mask, after all, the gamma zone: nothing dangerous even for an unprepared person, but you can’t run up the stairs for a long time even at half gravity.

    Grieg, as usual, meditated in the front seat, and Boris sprawled in the back opposite, among plastic boxes with equipment. His mood was excellent, he enjoyed the trip and the company of his comrades and greedily devoured chips with beer. Max felt a little embarrassed that Boris considers him almost his best friend, and he cannot muster up the courage to say that he decided to dump back to Moscow. Or didn't decide? Why am I going on this stupid excursion to the Dreamland vault? Max thought. - No, I'm seriously looking forward to it. There are no such coincidences." But the annoying voice, which for many years forced people to break into the red planet at any cost, just as insistently whispered: “Since such a case has turned up, what prevents you from just checking it out”?

     Did you watch a Starcraft stream yesterday? Boris asked, holding out a bottle of beer. Max absentmindedly accepted it and sipped mechanically.

     - Nah...

     - But in vain, this match will become a legend. Our Deadshot played against Miki, this creepy Japanese nerd, you know, who has been playing Starcraft since he was three years old.

     - Yeah, he's still a nerd. His mother must have been watching Starcraft streams all nine months.

     “He grew up in a replicator.

     “Then it’s not surprising.

     - In vain I missed it in short, I called you to the bar actually. No one has beaten this Mickey one-on-one for two years.

     I haven't been watching for a long time, I'll watch the recording later.

     - Yes, the record is not right, you already know the result.

     - And who won?

     Ours won. There was such a drama, he leaked a general battle, everything already seemed like a khan ...

     - Something in the official table recorded a technical defeat.

     “Just think about what goats, this morning the anti-modding commission found forbidden software on his chip. Freaks, as soon as we win, the vultures immediately flock. But that's okay, we saved the screen of the real table, we'll cast it in granite, so to speak. The network never forgets!

     “Pf, forbidden software,” Max snorted. - Yes, I will never believe that all this mikrik of hundreds of units is really possible without software and additional gadgets. Allegedly a battle of pure intellect! Does anyone else believe in this bullshit?

     - Yes, I understand, but you must admit that the Japs have the most advanced hidden scripts and gadgets, but ours still won.

     - And he was immediately thrown into a brazen. That's why I stopped following.

    The car drove into a large underground garage and stopped in front of a concrete ramp. The sloping section of the ramp was exactly flush with the floor of the car.

     “We’ve arrived,” Grieg threw, getting out.

     “Well, let’s work as logistics managers,” Boris readily responded and began pulling out boxes with equipment, with the Telecom logo painted on the sides, the letter “T” with a rounded top bar and a radio emission symbol on both sides.

     “It doesn’t look like the Dreamland vault,” Max shrugged, looking around the nondescript gray room. “Where are the rows of biobaths with bottled people?” Regular parking.

     “The vault is lower,” Grieg said.

     - Are we going down there?

     - Have to.

     “Shall we open a couple of cans of dreamers?”

     “No, of course not,” Grieg blinked in surprise. “Biovannas are not allowed to be touched at all. There are only routers and telecom calculators for replacement.

     — Is that all? Boring, said Max.

     “If it were something serious, they wouldn’t have sent us here,” Grieg answered in a breathless voice.

    He did not seem to be distinguished by iron health, lifting the box along the ramp clearly tired him.

     “You don’t look well,” remarked Boris, “rest for now, we’ll roll the boxes to the elevator.”

     “No, no, I’m fine,” Grieg waved his hands and pushed the load exaggeratedly cheerfully.

     - And there are clients whose brain is separated from the body and floats in a separate container? Those who bought an unlimited plan and want to live forever.

     Maybe I don't see what's inside.

     — Don't you have access to the database? Those can not see who, where is stored?

     “It’s for official use,” Grieg mumbled.

    He left the crate in front of the freight elevator and turned to go for the next one.

     Well, we're here on duty. Haven't you ever been interested in wandering around and seeing what kind of people swim in these flasks?

    Grieg looked at the questioner for a couple of seconds with his signature unclear look, as if he did not understand the question, or did not want to understand.

     — No, Max, not interested. I arrive, find a faulty module, take it out, plug in a new one and leave.

     — How long have you been working in Telecom?

     - For a long time.

     - And how do you like it?

     - I like it, only I have a green permit, Maxim.

    Grieg has sharply accelerated a step.

     - Green clearance...

     “Listen, Max, get away from the man,” Boris intervened, “roll the boxes out, not the laces.”

     Yes, what did I ask? Che is all so steamed because of this tolerance?

     “Green clearance means that your chip is already wired with a couple of tapping neural networks from the Security Service, formally monitoring the non-disclosure of trade secrets. And in fact, it is not known what they are tracking there. Our SB is distinguished by a rather paranoid approach to its duties.

     "Does it matter what I asked?"

     “It's nothing, Max, it's just that people with clearance usually don't want to discuss some slippery topics, especially those related to work. Even a personal opinion on harmless things like corporate culture, management system and other corporate nonsense.

     — How everything is running. Do you remember Ruslan, who works in the Telecom Security Service? Well, which else Dimon was afraid of. I don’t know what clearance he has, but for some reason he is not at all afraid to conduct all sorts of seditious conversations. In general, he doesn’t call Martians otherwise than tadpoles or dumb nerds.

     “That’s why he’s in the security service, why are they afraid of him?” And some, Max, are not so brave and there is nothing to pester and put people in an awkward position. This is not Moscow for you.

     - Oh, just don't remind me again that I'm a gastor from Moscow. Can I then be silent all the time?

     - Silence is gold.

     - And you, Bor, how do you prefer to be silent and not stick out once again?

     - For me, Max, such a strategy of behavior does not raise questions. But people are very brave in words, but at the first hint of trouble ticking into the bushes, pretty annoying.

     - Agree. And the people who take the risk of waging, I'm not afraid of this word, a political struggle against evil corporations, albeit with a ridiculous result, what kind of reaction do you get?

     - None, in the absence of such people as class.

     - Is it? But what about, for example, the mysterious organization Quadius, arranging riots on Titan? Remember Phil, from the train?

     - Yes, I beg you, there is only one appearance, I am more than sure that the evil corporations themselves are engaged in grazing such organizations in order to create an outlet for marginal elements, and at the same time, to spoil the competitors.

     — Yes, Bor, I see you as a burnt out cynic.

     - This is sham, I'm a romantic at heart. You know, my Warcraft hero is a noble dwarf, always ready to break the law for the sake of restoring social justice,” Boris said with false sadness in his voice, rolling the last box into the elevator.

     - Yes Yes…

    The elevator in the vault was huge, so they sat in one corner with all the junk, and was controlled by old-fashioned touchscreens without any virtual interfaces. In general, as soon as the steel doors closed, all external networks disappeared, only the Dreamland service network with a guest connection remained. This connection did not even allow to see the full map of the storage, only the current route, and imposed draconian restrictions on photo-video from the chips and any connected devices.

    Grieg chose minus the fifth level. "It's a pity," thought Max, when the elevator stopped, "there won't be any apocalyptic pictures." Before his eyes did not appear a gigantic kilometer hive filled with hundreds of thousands of cells with human larvae inside. The Dreamland vault was located in the long winding tunnels of an old mine working that had eaten away the body of the planet far in all directions and hundreds of meters deep.

    From the grotto, which seems to have been of natural origin, there were drifts filled with rows of biobaths. For ease of movement on them, wheeled platforms with folding sides were offered. I had to once again roll all the boxes to a new transport. "And when will it end?" Boris began to grumble. However, as soon as they started, he comfortably settled down on a low box, opened the next bottle of beer and sharply brightened up.

     - Is it allowed to drink here? Max asked.

     - And who will forbid me? Wheeled platform or those canned freaks?

    Boris nodded at the endless row of sarcophagi with lids made of muddy thick plastic, under which the outlines of human bodies were hardly discernible.

     “There are probably cameras everywhere.

     - And who will watch them, right, Grieg?

    Grieg answered him with a slight condemnation in his eyes.

     - And in general, the gamma zone, it’s not worth drinking a lot here.

     “On the contrary, the pins are stronger, and, unlike some, I have enough oxygen for twelve hours ... Well, well, they persuaded me.

    Boris fished out a paper bag from somewhere in his backpack and placed a bottle in it.

     — Satisfied?

     “I wonder how many dreamers are here?” - Max immediately switched to another topic, turning his head in all directions with curiosity. The platform moved at the speed of a retired jogger, but it was still difficult to see the details because of the economical lighting. The walls of the tunnels were intertwined with a complex web of communications: cables and pipes, and an additional monorail was mounted on top, along which cargo or baths with dreamers occasionally floated.

     — Listen, Grieg, really, how many people are in storage here?

     - I have no idea.

     “But doesn’t your service connection provide such information?”

     - I do not have access to general statistics, no, perhaps a trade secret.

     “You can try to count,” Max began to reason. - suppose the length of the tunnels is ten kilometers, the baths stand in three or four tiers, with a step of two and a half meters. It turns out twenty thousand, twenty-five thousand, not particularly impressive.

     “I think there are much more than ten kilometers of tunnels here,” Boris remarked.

     - Grieg, you should at least have access to the map, what is the total length of the tunnels?

    Greg only waved his hand in response. The platform rolled and rolled, turning a couple of times into side drifts, and the vault did not foresee the end and edge. There was deathly silence, broken only by the buzzing of electric motors and the circulation of fluids in communications.

     “It’s gloomy here…” Boris spoke again and belched loudly. “Hey, jar dwellers, what do you see there!?” I hope you are not going to crawl out of your crypts? Estimate suddenly some kind of failure in the firmware will happen and they will all wake up abruptly and climb out.

     - Boryan, stop catching up on horror, - Max grimaced.

     - Yes, and the platform can also break at the most inopportune moment. That one looks like it's moving!

     - Yeah, now he will get out and dance. Grieg, is there any connection here between location and virtual worlds? Maybe we are going through a tunnel with star wars, and then there are elves with unicorns?

    Grieg was silent for almost a minute, but then he still condescended to answer.

     - I think not, Dreamland has very powerful data buses, you can switch users as you like. But there are specialized telecom calculators on ices for the most popular worlds.

     “Let's play associations,” suggested Boris. - So, Max, what are your associations with this place? Cemetery, crypt...?

     “Through the looking-glass, the real world is there, and we are traveling through its underside. We, like mice or brownies, make their way through dusty manholes in the walls of the castle. Outside, there are balls and luxurious halls, and only the patter of small paws under the parquet reminds us of our existence. But somewhere there must be secret mechanisms that open doors to the other side.

     What kind of looking glass, what kind of children's fairy tales? Zombies rising from their graves. There has been a global failure in Dreamland's programs and thousands of crazed dreamers are organizing a zombie apocalypse on the streets of the city of Thule.

     - Well, you can. But so far, nothing particularly creepy, except for silence ...

    Suddenly, the tunnel broke and the platform entered a low overpass that bypassed a natural grotto. At the bottom of the grotto, a lake of a strange pinkish color was overflowing. It teemed with robotic life, the vague shadows of mechanical octopuses and cuttlefish flickering in the depths, and sometimes rising to the surface, entangled in networks of cables. But the main inhabitants of the liquid were shapeless pieces of biomass, filling almost the entire volume of the lake and making it look like a swamp covered with hummocks. Only a few seconds later Max recognized these bumps as human bodies, covered with a thick shell that grows out of the water itself, like a film on jelly.

     “God, what a nightmare!” Boris said in shock, frozen with the bottle raised to his mouth.

    The platform slowly went around the water area, and behind this grotto the next one was already visible, and further on a whole suite of pinkish swamps stretched out in front of the shocked gaze of unprepared visitors to Dreamland.

     “Just new biobaths with a cheap tariff for those who are not particularly squeamish,” Grieg explained in a colorless voice. - Cables and routers of the main network float in the colloid, and the colloid itself is a group molecular interface that automatically connects the one who is in it.

     I hope I didn't swim in this.

     - You had an expensive custom order, as far as I understood, so no.

     - Fu, relieved. Reminds me of the Colorado larvae in a jar, which my grandmother in the country forced to collect. The same vile swarming slurry.

     “Shut up, Max,” Boris demanded. - I'm puking.

     - Yeah, let's go right there ... Do you want to swim?

    Boris made a suspicious gurgling sound in response.

     - If it were not for the ban, I would have recorded a video from the chip and posted it on the Internet in order to beat off all the desire from new dreamers.

     "Don't you dare," Grieg got worried. - We will be kicked out of work for this.

     - Yes, I understand.

     “Moreover, more terrible things happen to drug addicts, but this does not stop anyone.

    Max nodded in agreement, but, all the time while the platform was moving along the pink swamps, Grieg fidgeted uneasily and strove to somehow block his ward's field of vision. He relaxed already when the platform drove into the freight elevator and began to descend to the lower levels.

    At the marshalling yard in front of the elevator, several automated cargo platforms and a crowd of people in baggy coats were already waiting for them. The crowd was led by an overweight man in a greasy overalls technician. These were the first "living" people they met in the vault. But they were also very strange, no one spoke or even shifted from foot to foot, everyone stood and stared into the void. Only the technician moved, slapped his thick lips, moved his finger in front of him and, seeing Grieg, extended his paw for a handshake. Max noticed his dirty, uncut nails.

     How are you, Edik? Grieg asked indifferently.

     - Excellent as always. Here I am taking our lunatics to medical care. And where do they find these diseases, because they don’t do a damn thing, and we work hard for them here. Pathetic losers, such and in the biobath will find a way to discard the skates.

    Grieg just as indifferently nodded in response to an unintelligible tirade.

     "See you, it's time for us to go."

     So are they dreamers? Is it possible to wake them up? Max was surprised.

     “Dreamers, go away,” Edik neighed and unceremoniously patted the nearest bald old man on the cheek. - Cheap dreamers, such even after death walk.

     - Let's go, - Grieg waved his hand so that his companions climbed onto the platform. “They are guided by body control, they are not aware of anything and will not remember anything after returning to the biobath.

     “But I think they will remember,” fat Edik blocked the way to the platform and it obediently froze. - One doctor told me that they seem to see a dream in which they themselves cannot do anything. Estimate I part of someone's nightmares.

     - It's time for us to go.

    Grieg directed the platform to the left, but Edik again stood in its way.

     - Come on, you're always in a hurry. There is no place to rush here. And you know the funniest thing, they follow my every command. Want to see, now the A312 will lift its right leg.

    Edik waved his hands in front of his nose and the bald old man obediently bent his knee.

     - Only the main thing is not to overdo it, otherwise one moron lost two lunatics recently. I put them in the following mode, and he went on the platform and fell asleep. Well, even during their lifetime they don’t shine with their minds, but here in general ... they were looking for them for half a day ... Put your foot down.

    Edik patted the old man on the shoulder no less familiarly. Grieg clearly did not have enough intelligence to bark properly and clear the passage.

     - Do you want to have some fun?

     - No no no! Grieg shook his head in fear.

     “Listen, merry fellow! Boris came to the rescue. - We are having fun, we have an excursion, of course, but you are in the way.

     “But I don’t interfere, there’s usually nothing to see here, the old people and drunks are alone, but today there are also good specimens.

     - I see Dreamland is not particularly on ceremony with customers, - Max remarked irritably.

     - All sorts of managers and bots stand on ceremony with clients. What about my clients? Stupid pieces of meat. In general, I’m on a buoy, ”Edik stated with a mocking smile. - But I'm not a vindictive guy, I can share with friends for a bottle of beer.

     — Share?

     - Yeah, today there is a good copy, I recommend it. A503, Marie is forty-three years old.

    Edik pulled forward a satisfied, shabby lady, who, however, had not completely lost her former beauty.

     “Two kids, was a whole financial analyst in some fucking corporation. A rich bitch, in short, but got hooked on drugs, her husband sued most of the property, the children scored on her. Finally ended up here. So, of course, everything sagged a little, but what boobs, check it out.

    Edik quite casually unbuttoned his dressing gown and threw out big white boobs.

     “So we are setting off,” Grieg orientated himself and, having circled the crowd with a cavalry maneuver, cleared his way into the tunnel.

    For a second, Max froze, his mouth gaping in surprise, and the platform was already rolling down the drift. Max came out of his stupor and attacked Grieg.

     - Stop, where! It is necessary to call the Security Council, why does this freak allow himself!

     “No need, we’ll just lose time,” Grieg shook his head.

     - Stop you!

    Max tried to break through to the manual control helm, and Grieg restrained him to the best of his ability.

     "Stop, we're going to crash somewhere."

     - Stop what? Turn back!

     “By the time we get back, by the time we wait for Sat, an hour will pass, we won’t have time to do the work. And what will we present to the Security Council: our word against his?

     What is the word, there are cameras everywhere.

     “Nobody will show us the record, and we won’t prove anything.

     - And what, let this goat continue to have fun ?!

     - Max, forget it, take a sip of beer, - Boris came to the rescue. “These dreamers chose their own destiny.

     - Yes, kill it! Dreamland does not monitor its employees at all. Where is their security team looking? All the same, as soon as the network appears, I will immediately declare that I will roll not on the Security Council, but on the Thule police.

    Greg only sighed in response.

     “Well, you’ll set up a comrade, as you don’t understand.

     "Who am I going to set up?"

     “You’ll frame Grieg, and us at the same time. Think for yourself, would Dreamland like the publicity of such a story? The loss of customers, and maybe direct lawsuits, will be seized as nefig to do. Certainly, relations with Telecom will suffer, because he sends such honest employees. And then, what do you think, will these honest employees be given a diploma and a bonus? Or will they hang all the dogs on them? What are you like a little?

     - Well, you need to call the Security Council. Let them at least quietly fire this Edik, conduct some kind of internal check.

     - Yes, they will definitely do it. And they will fire this bastard, in his place they will take another, even more trenchant. I don't see the point in these gestures.

     “That’s how everyone thinks, that’s why we sit forever in a complete asshole.

     - From the fact that everyone will run around with bulging eyes, the ass will not become smaller. Sometimes it’s better to score and forget about everything, you’ll break less firewood. Look, surely all these dreamers also wanted to change the world for the better. And where did it lead them? If you save the world, Dreamland will ruin your career as well.

     “I'm doing pretty well on my own so far, without Dreamland.

     - In what sense?

     - Yes, I helped that Martian Arthur to establish relations with Laura so cool that I'm afraid of my career as a khan.

     Arthur told you so.

     — No, he's a polite Martian. But even if he understood and forgave, the sediment, as they say, remained.

     “Look, take it easy. Will you have beer?

     - Okay, come on. You have some kind of passive life position.

     - I just soberly assess my capabilities, unlike some. Why fuss like a fool for the sake of other people's interests, isn't it better to just live for your own pleasure?

     - This freak Edik, for sure, also speaks.

    Boris just shrugged philosophically.

     - I do not touch anyone, live and do not interfere with the lives of others.

    The platform finally rolled to the end point of the route. She stopped in front of a steel door at a short cul-de-sac. Behind it was a large data center. Long rows of identical cabinets filled Max's eyes. It was rather chilly, air conditioners and cabinet ventilation humming almost inaudibly on the ceiling. Grieg opened a cabinet with routers and connected to them the healthiest of the boxes he had brought. And he connected himself, finally losing his already not particularly stable connection with the outside world. When asked what the others should do, he threw off the wiring diagram and pointed to one of the server cabinets. It was mainly Max who had to tinker with the assembly, since Boris, in full accordance with the previously announced principles, evaded labor activity. He sat comfortably on the floor next to the open drawers and, between chatter and beer, sometimes managed to get the right cable or screwdriver.

    Grieg then moved to them to replace the defective units. And then he again plunged into his closed iron world.

     - Boredom. Boryan, do you want to take a walk? Max suggested.

     “Is this a place for pleasant walks?” Sit down and have a beer.

     - Yes, I still need to go to the toilet. Won't you go?

     - I'll be later, suddenly Grieg needs help. If suddenly the dreamers climb out of the biobaths, make sure they don't bite you.

     “I have garlic and silver with me.

     Don't forget the aspen stake.

    Fortunately, the toilet was located at the end of the dead end, so we didn’t have to wander for a long time surrounded by sinister sarcophagi. Max hesitated in front of the door to the data center. “If I come in, I’ll have to help Grieg, have a beer with Boris and set off home in a couple of hours. And when I return, I will have to buy a ticket to Moscow, I promised Masha and I have no intelligible reason to delay further. Now is the last chance to find out what I saw in my Martian dream, he thought. - Only a ghostly chance, I'm here, and the lord of shadows is there in the looking glass. Or am I the lord of shadows? And what the hell does the phrase mean: you apparently wanted to create a new personality for yourself and overdid it a little. This phrase will not give me peace until the end of my days. I have to make sure that I am me, that my personality is real, or find out the terrible truth.

    Max thoughtfully walked fifty meters to the entrance to the main drift. It was larger in diameter, just as quiet and dark. And even the presence of thousands of motionless bodies no longer put much pressure on the brains. He walked over to the nearest biobath. Its plastic lid, despite the controlled vault atmosphere, was covered in a thin layer of dust. Max absentmindedly brushed the dust away with his sleeve and saw his own blurry reflection. He leaned down to peer into his own distorted face through the mirror and suddenly felt a slight jolt from the other side of the lid. He recoiled in horror against the opposite wall and backed away until his ass rested against another biobath. “Come on, zombie apocalypses don’t start like that. The usual programmatic movements of the body, so that it does not atrophy, found something to be afraid of. Nevertheless, Max felt his heart pounding in his ears and could not bring himself to look into that biobath again. “Stop everything! No Sonny Daimons can knock on that side. Look into the biobath, make sure that the looking glass does not exist, go to Moscow and live happily.”

    Max returned to the biobath and, in order not to suffer for a long time, immediately looked inside. No one moved inside, but now he could see the dreamer's hands pressed against the lid itself. He turned back in bewilderment, but after a minute of tossing he forced himself to go back again. The hands didn't just dangle inside at random, they were pointing in the direction they came from. “Or does it seem to me that they are directed somewhere? Yes, that's nonsense! Max thought. "Shadows will show you the way," surfaced from the depths of his memory. “Ah, yes, burn it all with a blue flame, I will follow this alleged sign. All the same, at the next fork, you will have to return. ”

    The first fork came across a hundred meters, Max no longer remembered whether they had come from there or not. He scanned all the nearby biobaths and almost immediately found another sign of limbs telling him to move straight ahead. Max again felt a frantic heart rate and a growing sense of fear, as before a parachute jump, while you have not yet seen the abyss under your feet, but the plane is already shaking, the engines are roaring, and the instructor is giving final instructions. He ran to the next intersection almost at a run. I had to turn left there. He ran faster and faster, breathless but not tired. The only thought was beating in his head, like a moth burning in a flame: "Where are these half-dead people taking me" ?! Two minutes later he was on the platform in front of the elevator.

    Max stopped to take a breath and was surprised to find that he was covered in perspiration. “We should at least mark points on the map, otherwise you never know. Or it would be safer to leave a real mark on the wall so that they can find me later. But just what? Apparently it will have to be done with his own blood. Max calmed down a bit and returned to the tunnel to look for clues. One of the dreamers from the bowels of the biobath was making a pretty decent four-finger gesture. The panel in the elevator indicated that it was at level minus seven. Max confidently chose minus four and was a little glad that the shadows were leading him up instead of down. Already, probably, to taste the sweet flesh, hungry zombies would have taken him to the deepest and most terrible dungeon.

    After the elevator, his walk ended quite quickly in a room filled with rows of chairs. It looked like a waiting room, only instead of passengers, the seats were occupied by indifferent torsos in white coats. There was an unnatural silence for train stations and airports. Several people in technicians' overalls wandered between the rows. They looked in surprise at the out of breath Max, but their atrophied sense of duty was not enough to start inquiries. Max decided not to draw attention and headed for one of the coffee machines, while puzzling over the task of obtaining the next pointer. “God forbid, those around me will start giving me some signs. Even the local phlegmatic staff will surely get through this. At the machine gun, he came face to face with fat Edik.

     - Oh, what people! - Edik was taken aback. – What are you doing here?

     - So I wanted to drink coffee, we work nearby.

    Max frantically ransacked his pockets for a prepaid card. The vending machine was not connected to the external network. Fortunately, he found a card for a whole hundred zits, which lay long forgotten in the inside pocket of his jacket. This would probably be a worthy reward for running around the vault.

     “And I’m bringing the next batch back.” There isn't even time to eat.

    Edik continued to pose as a production drummer. Max glanced at his group of lunatics with mild sympathy. You guys are out of luck, he thought. Some sense of deja vu made me take a closer look at the motionless faces. “Fuck! It's definitely him!" Philip Kochura was bald and clean-shaven, but his wrinkles and sunken cheeks were easily recognizable, as if he was still sitting at the train window, in which the reddish landscapes of the Martian surface were flashing by and complaining about his difficult fate.

     - Where did you hatch?

     - I? Yes, so ... - Max hastily slammed the mitten. “I think I saw one of those dudes. Well, there, in the real world.

     - And what is it? You'll never guess which one of your friends sticks out. Not heroin. Maybe it's a neighbor or a former classmate. I would have never thought about some, but they ended up here.

     Phil, do you remember me?

    Max came close to Phil and stared into his eyes, spellbound. Phil naturally kept deathly silence.

     “Hey, brother, do you really think he will hear you?” Edik laughed condescendingly.

     - Can't you talk to him?

     - It's easier to talk with a machine gun than with him. You really do not catch up that they are not here for a long time.

     “You said yourself that they were dreaming and all that.

     - They don't see much there. You can switch it to voice control. Then he'll sort of chat with you, somehow ... And who is he to you?

     - So familiar. Can you translate?

     - Well, since I’m familiar, I thought something serious ... It’s time for us to stomp the bainki, and according to the instructions, it’s not supposed to pull them once again.

     - Not according to the instructions? Who would say!

     “What, you think I’m violating instructions?” Edik inquired with an air of offended innocence. “You think I’ll listen to such baseless accusations calmly. Let's goodbye.

    "Here's a slippery, vile bastard," Max thought with disgust.

     “I don't blame you for anything. I just saw a friend, it's interesting to know from him how he ended up here. What bad will happen if you transfer to voice control?

     “Nothing really, but you're not a Dreamland employee. Who knows what you will order him, huh?

     - Absolutely impossible?

     - It's a risk...

    Max with a sigh handed Edik a card.

     “Risk is a noble thing. There are a hundred zits here.

    A greedy gleam instantly flashed in Edik's eyes, however, he showed prudence unexpected for this type.

     - You put the card on the machine. I'll have a cup of coffee for a while, there's a toilet, there are no cameras there. Can you still take a woman? Come on, okay, don't look at me like that, who am I to judge other people's tastes.

    Max gritted his teeth, but politely said nothing.

     “B032 is on mode, you have ten minutes and not a second more.

     “B032, follow me,” Max ordered quietly.

    Phil obediently turned and trudged after his temporary master. Natural modesty did not allow Max to retire with Phil in one of the booths. Fortunately, the toilet was completely empty and shone with pristine cleanliness.

     Phil, do you remember me? I'm Max, we met on the train about a month ago? Talk about how you saw the shadow in the Martian dream, remember?

     - Ah, Max, exactly ... It was a very strange dream.

    Phil did not change his facial expression and his eyes wandered absently around, but he spoke clearly, albeit very slowly, drawing out his words strongly.

     "I didn't think you'd show up in another dream." So strange…

     — Strange things are often repeated, especially in dreams.

     - Yes, such dreams ...

     What are you doing there in your real life? Are you all fighting evil corporations?

     — Nah, corporations have long been defeated ... Now there are no copycats and other freaks. I design games... for kids. I have a big house, a family… Tomorrow my parents will come, I need to choose good meat for barbecue…

     - Stop, Phil, I understand, you're doing great.

    "Damn, what the hell am I talking about! What do I need these details for, Max thought irritably. With an effort of will, he forced himself to focus.

     “Phil, do you remember the secret message that the shadow ordered to be delivered to Titan?”

     I remember the message...

     - Repeat it.

     “I don’t remember the message… you already asked about it in the last dream…”

    “Okay, given that I already gave a lot of money to a fat freak to be alone with a dreamer in a jerk, I won’t look dumber. Was not."

     Phil, are you still with me?

     “I’m sleeping, where else can I be…”

     “The one who opened the doors sees the world as infinite. The one to whom the doors are opened sees endless worlds.

    Phil's eyes instantly focused on Max. Now he ate it with his eyes, so they look at a person on whom the question of life and death depends.

     - Key accepted. Message processing. Wait.

    Phil's voice became crisp and clear, but completely colorless.

     - Processing completed. Would you like to listen to the message.

     - Yes.

    The answer was almost inaudible due to the fact that Max's mouth was suddenly dry.

     — The beginning of the message.

    Rudy, it's all gone. I have to run, but I'm afraid to get within a mile of the spaceport. Neurotek agents are everywhere and they have all the data on me. Agents found our quantum equipment, which I tried to take out, I myself barely blew my legs. Anyone who arouses the slightest suspicion they grab and turn inside out. Do not save any tolerances and roofs. I don't see any other options: I'll have to shut down the system. Yes, this will destroy almost all of our work, but if Neurotek gets to the launch signatures, it will be a final defeat. I will create another personality for myself and crawl into the deepest hole I can find. We must wait until Neurotek calms down a bit, and then restart the system. On Titan, please take the time to test my suspicions about you-know-who. I'm sure it's not just paranoia. Someone handed us over to the Neurotek and the shadows couldn't do it, although he, of course, couldn't, but still... When you return to Mars, don't use our usual communication channels, they are all illuminated. Contact me through Dreamland. As a last resort, if Neurotek even gets to the Martian Dream, myself or one of my shadows will come to the Golden Scorpion bar in the area of ​​​​the first settlement at 19 hours GMT and order three songs by the Doors on the jukebox in the following order: "Moonlight Drive", "Strange Days", "Soul Kitchen". Get this bar under surveillance. This is all. Destroy the courier after receiving the message, I know you hate this method, but we can't afford even the smallest risk.

    End of message. The courier is awaiting further instructions.

    “It worked,” Max thought admiringly, “what he said, Golden Scorpio bar… We need to listen again.”

     - Fuck, give me two! What was that? came a familiar ugly voice behind him.

    Max turned around and saw Edik's shiny and very pleased face.

     You promised to wait ten minutes.

     - Why is he bazaar there? Three songs by the Doors, end of post. I've never heard a weirder thing.

     “Who gave you permission to come in, you idiot?!

    Rage choked Max. I really wanted to drag a fat mug from my foot from the bottom of my heart, without thinking about the consequences.

     “You could at least get him into a booth, little brother.” I what? I wanted to stand on the lookout so that no one would interfere with your doves. And I hear boo-boo-boo, boo-boo-boo. But I think that this is happening, you yourself understand the property is state-owned.

     “Forget everything you heard here.

     - You won't forget that. Besides, I'm sorry, but you seem to have broken my dreamer. I will have to report this.

     “Do not forget to report on how you yourself handle state property.

     “You can’t prove anything, brother. But even if you prove it, well, they will fire me, the loss is great. I will be fired by agreement of the parties, do you think Dreamland needs publicity for such stories. Hell, there are precedents. But your secret message will instantly be on the Internet. What was there about Neurotek ... Calm down, brother, if you are nervous, the guards will jump in instantly. Here, count to ten. There is always a good deal to be agreed upon.

    Edik's paws trembled slightly, obviously in anticipation of a rain of creeps, eurocoins and other non-fiat money. Max realized that he was in trouble and was confused. He did not understand at all how to make Edik remain silent, just as he did not undertake to predict the consequences of the publicity of Phil's message. The decision came instantly, as if something clicked in my head.

     “Order to the courier: fix the visual image of the object: Eduard Boborykin,” Max read the name on the badge. - Works as a technician in the Thule-2 vault of the Dreamland Corporation. Send an order to all shadows in the Martian dream to destroy the object at the first opportunity.

     - Treatment. Order accepted. The courier is awaiting further instructions.

     “I went, don’t burn out at work,” Max said coldly.

     - Are you kidding, brother, are you taking me to the show, right? Dreamers can do nothing against the control of the body. Watch me turn it off...

    Edik began to move his hands frantically in front of him.

     - Order to the courier: drown the object in the toilet.

     - Treatment…

    Phil, without further thought, rushed to Edik, grabbed him by the hair and tried to knee him in the face. He hit casually, his physical condition was clearly not enough to cope with such a carcass. But Edik was just as far from martial arts, he only screeched heart-rendingly and flailed the air with his hands. Max approached him from behind and kicked him in the knee with pleasure. Something unpleasantly crunched in his knee when Edik slammed it into the tiled floor with all his weight.

     “Oh, fuck,” he whined plaintively. - Fuck, let it go, bitch, ah-ah-ah.

    Phil pulled the carcass by the hair, trying to jerk it to the toilet.

     - Hare, brother, I was joking, joking, I won't tell anyone.

     - Order to the courier: cancel the last order.

    Phil froze in place, and Edik continued to roll on the floor, yelling at the top of his voice.

     "Shut up, you idiot," Max hissed.

    Edik obediently lowered his tone, switching to a low howl.

     “You stupid slug, you don’t even understand what you got into. You signed your own death warrant.

     What a death sentence, brother! I was fooling around, though I wasn't going to say anything. Well, please ... I already forgot everything.

     - Order to the courier: cancel all previous orders. Order to the courier: delete the message.

     - Erasing is not possible without access to the system. Elimination of the courier is recommended. Confirm liquidation?

     - No. Order to Courier: Give orders to all shadows in the Martian dream to collect all possible information about the object, prepare the liquidation of the object. Perform liquidation as directed.

     - Treatment. Order accepted.

     “Wait, little brother, no liquidations needed. I'm a grave, I swear, well.

     “You will be watched, you bastard, don’t try to do something stupid. Order to the courier: end of the session.

    Phil instantly went limp and turned into the former harmless lunatic.

     - And yes, once again say the word "brother" and your death will be very painful.

    Max finally slapped Edik on the back of the head as he got up from his knees and left the room with a decisive step.

    Outside the door, he started running and did not stop until he was back in the elevator. His heart was beating wildly, and a terrible mess was going on in his head. “What was that now!? Okay, the dreamers from the looking glass showed me the way, okay, they led me to the courier, okay, the key came up. But how the hell did I manage to intimidate this fat man so cleverly. I'm a fucking nerd, is that how adrenaline works? Yes, a great version, if it also explained how I know how to properly deal with couriers.

    Stopping in front of the steel door to the data center, Max glanced at his watch. He was gone for about forty minutes. Grieg did not even pay attention to the delay, and Boris was quite satisfied with the excuse about the need to fight off the oncoming zombies along the way and the promise to buy more beer. The only thing that inspired anxiety was the thought of how soon Edik's greed would prevail over his cowardice.

    

    It is very unpleasant to ask for help from people who once already let you down. But sometimes you have to. So Max, thinking about a trip to the area of ​​​​the first settlement, after reading several criminal reports, did not find anything better than asking for the help of a more experienced comrade. And the only acquaintance who could be suspected of having such an experience was Ruslan.

    He answered almost immediately, although the call caught him during evening relaxation. Dressed in a bathrobe, he lounged on a wide sofa with a bunch of pillows, and with only his fingers, without the help of improvised tools, he broke walnuts. Nearby on a low table stood a kindled hookah.

     Salam, bro. Actually, I was waiting for your call much earlier.

    Unfortunately, Ruslan did not look especially guilty, which Max secretly hoped for.

     - Great. You mentioned that you have a chip that completely writes everything you see and hear for the first department.

    The beginning of the conversation surprised Ruslan noticeably. At least he put his nuts aside.

     “Well, Max, you have no idea what kind of trouble you can get into by starting such conversations with just anyone.

     - So is there or not?

     — Looking for whom and for what. If you really need it, then you can assume that it is not.

     “Hmm… Okay, I’ll rephrase the question, you can help me with something, but in a way that keeps it a secret from the Security Council.”

     “Sorry, I can’t promise anything until I know what kind of help is required.

     - Yes, nothing like that: take a walk with me in the same bar. Remember, you said that you know all the evil places of Thule.

     - You like to come from afar. If you are tired of virtual pleasures, then no problem, what interests you: girls, drugs?

     “I'm interested in a certain place and I need someone who can insure, who knows how to behave in such places.

     - In what places?

     — In the area of ​​the first settlement.

     “You will find nothing but trouble in this viper. If you want absolutely thrills, let's take you to a proven place where you can do almost everything that is forbidden.

     - It is necessary to the area of ​​the first settlement. I have a business there.

     - This is intrigue. Do you really need it?

     “I wouldn’t have called if it wasn’t for the urgent need,” Max admitted honestly.

     - All right, we'll discuss it on the way. When do you want to go?

     - Tomorrow, and we must be in time by a certain time, by 19.00.

     “Okay, I’ll pick you up in an hour and a half.”

     "Won't you even ask where we're going?"

     “You don’t forget to mute your chip, otherwise you never know, the SB will ask you yourself what you forgot in such a place.”

     - How to mute? Enable offline mode, but there are still ports ...

     - No, Max, you must either have a chip suitable for such walks, or a special jammer. Okay, I'll take a look at some of my stock.

    The next day, a black SUV drove up to the entrance at exactly 17.30. When Max climbed inside, Ruslan gave him a blue cap, in which several weighty segments with electronic filling were inserted on the inside.

     - Is there a network?

     “No,” Max replied.

     What color are the signs on that tower?

    Max took a close look at the completely unprepossessing structure, which did not reach the ceiling of the cave.

     - There are no signage.

     “Very well, let's hope all the ports are suppressed. Be aware this thing is illegal. You can turn it on for a long time only in very bad areas.

     - Shut down for now?

     — Yes, turn it on after the gateway. Where we go?

     - Bar "Golden Scorpion".

    The path to the nearest gateway to the area of ​​the first settlement passed in tense silence. Oddly enough, there were a lot of people who wanted to get into the viper, so a rather big traffic jam formed at the entrance. Max was even worried that they would be late at the right time. His anxiety increased even more after the airlock. The narrow streets were crowded with streams of people, bicycles, some incredible wheeled wrecks, as if molded from rubbish found in a landfill. All this was constantly buzzing, screaming, selling hot dogs and shawarma and seemed to spit not only on the traffic control system, but in general on any rules.

    The caves around were very low, not more than five or ten stories, with a bunch of old collapses and cracks, not like the smoothed giant dungeons in rich areas. Nearly all of the buildings were block structures with dirt-gray concrete walls. The rare blotches of relatively respectable tiled façades sank into the cheap, blinking signs hung on them. And overhead was a tangle of semi-handicraft passages and balconies that threatened to collapse along with the crowd of people scurrying along them. And the area of ​​the first settlement consisted of hundreds of such small, chaotically broken caves. Max remembered the jammer and put on a cap.

    At first, he was afraid that a huge expensive car would stand out too much against the background of the surrounding squalor. But then I realized that the right wheelbarrow clearly gives an advantage in the right of way. They were moving much faster than the stream due to the fact that the scurrying wrecks were in a hurry to get out of the way of the humming and flashing SUV headlights.

     “Now you can shoot, why are we going there?” Ruslan broke the silence.

     I need to meet someone.

     - And with whom, if not a secret?

     “I don’t know for sure, I don’t even know whether he will come or not.

     — What kind of shitheads, huh, Max? I do not want to teach you about life again, but I think you started it in vain.

     - And what else is left for me, given that my career in the Khan's Telecom?

     - I understand where you are driving, do you want to hang your career failure on me? Believe me, this is your idea about the Martian from the very beginning.

     “Now, of course. I actually asked for help, and instead you set me up pretty good.

     - Framed? What big words you say.

     That Martian Arthur was very upset.

     — Why the hell is this tadpole Laura? What is he going to do with her?

     I think about the same as you. The same thing that ninety-nine percent of men want to do with her.

     — Listen, Max, no dust! I honestly asked you: are you going to drive up to her yourself? You said no. And putting on a show for a fucking neurobotanist, I fucking need it. I spent about five minutes with Laura bazaar, there was no Martian alpha male there and was not even close.

     - So it was necessary not to market, but to scare her. And I asked you to help me. My career, not a Martian! And now that career is over.

     “I would say it’s a fucking matter of life and death.” I would send you right away.

     What happened in that basement? Didn't she send you off the second time?

     - She didn’t send off the first time either, it’s just that the standard tackles didn’t work with her.

     - And what was not standard?

     “I told her nicely that I like her. Type as usual chicks love.

     - And what did you say so beautiful?

     “Well, if you’re so interested, I told her that if I wanted to understand how to distinguish our world from virtual reality, how to understand that I’m not swimming in a fucking biobath, and it’s not a snotty Martian dream around ... I could look for a moon path on water or the breath of spring, or sort through stupid verses. But no matter what I do, I would always doubt. Only about you, I am sure that you are real, all the computers of the Martians put together are not able to come up with anything like that ...

     - Oh, you're a fucking romantic! ... You ... You ... - Max was already choking with indignation, unable to find suitable epithets.

     - Don't just burst. What, I used your words? Well, I'm sorry, I would have gone to say them myself, I would not have climbed across. And to miss such a chick for the sake of some fantasies about friendship with the Martians is just stupid

     “You may not have wanted anything like this, but you set me up anyway. But now I need your help.

     - No problem.

     How is your relationship with Laura? So for once or is it serious?

     - It's Complicated.

    Why is it difficult?

     — Yes, all this talk about family happiness and other bullshit…

     - And why do you not like family happiness with Laura?

     - For me, family, children and other snot is not an option at all, in any way. And I'm not going to discuss it.

     “Listen, maybe you will quarrel then and she will be all so upset, and right at that moment ...

     — Max! Do you want to walk home?

     - Okay, close the topic.

    “Yes, political intrigues, obviously not mine,” thought Max.

    Five minutes later, Ruslan deliberately slowed down at the crossroads. The road to the right led to another cave, and there were not many who wanted to turn there. On the concrete box in front of the turn, there was a two-meter graffiti in the form of the flag of the Russian Empire: two vertical stripes of red and dark blue, separated by an oblique line. Only instead of a golden star, a bone hand was depicted in the center, squeezing a XNUMXth-century Kalashnikov.

     - Local creativity? Max asked.

     “The badge of a gang, but some think they're more of a frostbitten cult. In short, further their territory.

     - And what kind of gang or sect?

     - Dead hand, they kind of take revenge on everyone for the innocently ruined Russian Empire. Followers are forbidden to put neurochips, for violation of "purity" they cut out an abomination from the skull without anesthesia. Or pumped up with heavy chemicals, turning them into beaten off suicide bombers. Plus initiation rites with bloody sacrifices. In general, they mow down under the Eastern bloc, as best they can. One of the few who work in the delta zone. Dear people, the homeless people of the delta do not tinker.

     — And what about our bar on their territory?

     “Fortunately not. As an example, I showed you that if you decide to walk around the area, pay attention to the drawings of the natives. They almost always mark the boundaries, and it is highly discouraged for any cormorant tourists to go beyond them.

    The Golden Scorpion bar was located in a remote, even for the first settlement, residential area. The buildings around were stumbled very often, with narrow passages between them, there were many frank panel anthills the size of half a block, with arched entrances, behind which one could see gloomy courtyards-wells. Ruslan parked the car in a small parking lot, over which a bridge with a railway hung. The parking lot was fenced on three sides with a metal mesh, and on the fourth a blank wall of a residential building. A train was just passing overhead, from which the windows in the house, facing directly onto the railway, trembled. There were almost no cars in the parking lot.

    When Max got out, a few dirty drops fell on him from the bridge. The air was very cool, but at the same time stale, with a metallic taste, which was mixed with the smells of garbage dumps. Max, without thinking twice, pulled the oxygen mask over his mouth openings.

     "So you're going to walk around?" Ruslan asked.

     - There is one name that the gamma zone. The guard stinks,” Max said in a muffled voice.

     — Wastewater treatment plants are not working well in the whole area. Do you see anyone else wearing a mask? You stand out from the locals.

    Max breathed in the clean air with pleasure and disciplinedly hid the mask in his fanny pack.

    The main attraction of the bar, stuck to the building near the bridge, were two stalagmites in front of the entrance, entwined with an ornament of golden flowers and snakes. Inside, the walls and ceiling were decorated in the same style, interspersed with other reptiles. The decor seemed rather shabby. The atmosphere was enlivened by a robot in the form of a golden scorpion, spinning circles around the hall. He was extremely antediluvian, moved on wheels poorly hidden under his belly, and his paws twitched senselessly in the air, like those of a cheap mechanical toy. Of the living staff, there was only a bartender, a nondescript thin type, moreover, with a metal hemisphere in place of the upper half of the skull. He didn't even spare the new visitors a glance. Although there were almost no customers in the institution. At least no one is silent and staring at us, Max thought and chose a table closer to the bar. The clock was ten minutes to seven.

     "And where is your man?" Ruslan asked.

     “I don’t know, it’s probably too early,” Max replied, looking around for the jukebox.

     - What did you want to talk about?

     I don't know, it's a difficult question.

     “Maybe you should have come alone?”

     — I think… I don't know, in short.

     - Well, Max, he brought it to some asshole, you don’t know why. Believe me, this Friday night could have been much more interesting. I'll go get some beer.

    They sipped beer for about five minutes, then Max plucked up his courage and headed to the bar.

     - Do you have a jukebox? he asked the bartender.

     - Нет.

     - Was there before?

     - I have no idea.

     - How long have you been working here?

     "Boy, what do you want?" the bartender tensed and thrust his hand under the counter with a threatening gesture.

     Can you turn on the song?

     This is not karaoke.

     Well, the music is playing. Can't you put something else?

     - Which one?

     - Three songs by the Doors: "Moonlight Drive", "Strange Days", "Soul Kitchen". Just make sure it's in that order.

     - Will you take anything? the bartender inquired with a stony expression.

     - Four beers, please.

     Where did you get so much beer? Ruslan was surprised. - Did you decide to hang out here?

     - This is to put on music.

    Psychedelic musical compositions quickly finished playing, the time was over seven. Ruslan was frankly bored and watched either the stupid movements of the scorpion robot, or Max, who was sitting on pins and needles.

     - Why are you so nervous?

     - No one is coming. It's already seven o'clock.

     — Yes, no one knows who is coming. Maybe we came there, I don't know where?

     - Come to the right place. Bar "Golden Scorpion" in the area of ​​the first settlement.

     - Maybe this is not the only bar "Golden Scorpion"?

     - I looked in the search, there are no other bars, cafes or restaurants with that name. I'm going to put some more music on.

    This time, Max earned a very long and attentive look from the bartender and parted with a card for twenty zits.

     - Did you get stuck? Ruslan chuckled, finishing his glass of beer. - It would be better to take something to eat. Beer here by the way is surprisingly nothing.

     - So it is necessary ...

     “Are we going to sit like two fools for a long time and listen to the same songs of the lizard king?”

     "Let's sit down for at least half an hour."

     - Let's. For your information, it's not too late to save this Friday night from rottenness.

    Twenty minutes later, a new visitor finally entered the bar. A tall, stick-thin man in his forties or fifties, wearing a wide-brimmed hat and a long, light overcoat. Most of all, his elongated, hawkish nose stood out in a man, which could rightfully receive the title of a reference schnobel. He sat down at the bar and ordered a couple of glasses. Max looked at him for a while, but he showed no interest in others.

    After that, three more people collapsed, who imposingly settled down at a table near the wall farthest from the entrance. An immense fat boar, and two wiry types with short hair and flat faces, as if carved from stained wood. One was short, but broad-shouldered, like a stocky monkey. And the second is a real ambal, with physical strength clearly able to argue with Ruslan. Some sort of blue-green tattoos covered his arms and wrists. They were dressed in black leather jackets, jeans and heavy boots. And the fat man was dressed quite wonderfully, in a quilted padded jacket and a cap with earflaps with a gold star, only he lacked a balalaika. “Well, this freak is fat,” Max thought in surprise.

    Kingpin stomped to the bar and began to rub something to the bartender in a very quiet voice. The bartender was clearly tensed, but all the questions only shrugged his shoulders. On the way back, the kingpin looked at Ruslan with a heavy look and his scar was visible, going down through the eyebrow and tattoos that looked like barbed wire. But there were no more troubles from these three, probably not quite law-abiding citizens, followed. They took a bottle of vodka and quietly drank it in their corner, not even trying to get to the bottom of the visitors.

    Max lost his patience and went back to the bartender.

     - Will you put the same thing again? he asked, laying a card on the counter with alacrity.

    The bartender looked at the card as if it were a real poisonous scorpion.

     “Listen, boy, until you explain what the fuck you are doing, I won’t put anything else up.

     - Do you really care? What's wrong with music?

     - Such a difference, you know how many psychos are wandering around here. And in general, you would get out of here in an amicable way.

    And the bartender defiantly turned his back, making it clear that the conversation was over.

     “The service sucks,” Max complained, sitting back down at the table.

     - Yeah. I'm going to the toilet, you look, don't go anywhere. Wait two minutes, okay?

     “Okay, I wasn’t going anywhere.

    Ruslan on the way passed a table with three types, again exchanging glances with them. His gait was as if he had already rolled well. This obvious game for the public slightly alarmed Max, it was hard to believe that Ruslan could go numb from one and a half mugs of beer. Returning, he, without changing the complacently relaxed expression of his face, quietly muttered.

     - Listen carefully. Just don't clap your eyes, smile. Now you get up and with an unsteady step you fall into the toilet. I follow. I opened the window there, we get out and run around the building to the wheelbarrow. All questions later.

     - Ruslan, wait, what kind of panic? Explain at least?

     These three shouldn't be here. Don't stare at them! The small one has a tattoo of a dead hand on his neck. I don’t know what they forgot here, but I’m not going to check.

     - Well, three scumbags came to relax, what's the problem?

     “This is not their territory to relax here. And the bartender see how tense. By the way, you can thank him later, it looks like he didn’t betray you.

     - Did not pass? Do you think they came for me?

     “Who the hell else is after?” Coincidentally, you started ordering your moronic songs, and then three bandos showed up. It happens that some geniuses negotiate on the Internet with a serious person who has connections in the leadership of Telecom, or with a cool chick, and such clear-cut boys suddenly appear for a meeting.

     “What do you think I am, a complete idiot?” Max was outraged. “I would never buy into such a scam.”

     Yes, yes, you can tell me on the way. And now he closed the mitten, got up and went to the toilet. I am not kidding!

    Max was smart enough to realize that in this case it was better to trust someone else's, albeit slightly paranoid, conclusion. He went into the toilet and looked uncertainly at the narrow window almost two meters from the floor. Ruslan ran in half a minute later.

     — What the fuck, Max, let's tighten your ass.

    Ruslan, without ceremony, practically threw him upstairs. But it was necessary to somehow turn around in order to get out feet first. Which Max did, huffing and wriggling awkwardly in the opening. Finally, he clung to the narrow windowsill from the inside with his hands and tried to feel the ground with his feet.

     - Why are you squirming there, jump already!

    Max tried to grab the outer edge to carefully slide lower, could not resist and flew down. It was about a meter and a half to the ground, the blow turned out to be noticeable, and he could not resist, plopping down on his ass right into some kind of puddle. Following the fish, Ruslan emerged like a cat, dodged in flight and landed on his feet.

    They found themselves in a narrow, barely lit alley, bounded by the wall of the next building. The smell was not at all appetizing, and Max decided that his wet pants would probably stink as well.

     - You're really freaked out. I'm sure these bandos couldn't come for me.

     — Really? Well, then dry your pants and that's it. Do you still want to clarify the situation, who were you waiting for there?

     “Honestly, I don’t really know who or what. But I'm not affiliated with any gangs.

    The wall on the right hand ended with a grid enclosing the parking lot. Max came out first and immediately felt a sharp jerk back. Ruslan pressed him against the wall.

     “Get down and look carefully. Just be very careful, I understand.

    Max leaned out for a second.

     - So what?

     Do you see the new car? Gray wreck, stands under the bridge closer to the entrance. Do you see who is sitting there?

     "Damn, I see there's someone inside."

    Max felt his heart thump unpleasantly somewhere in the heels.

     - There are four goats, extinguished in the dark, waiting for someone. Probably not us either. Come on, Max, what's the deal?

     - Ruslan, I honestly have no idea. I accidentally learned from one person, a courier who transports information, that if you go to the Golden Scorpion bar and put three songs in the right order, then this is some kind of secret communication channel.

     - Well, you're great! Any other thoughts, except how to go poke a hornet's nest with a stick, did not arise?

     - Can I call the police? Or take a taxi?

     “The police come here when the corpses have already cooled down.

    Ruslan peered around the corner again cautiously.

     “First you need to get a little lost. Let's run to the other block before those in the bar miss us.

    From running, Max almost immediately began to choke. The metallic taste in my mouth increased noticeably. He pulled out the mask. Ruslan on the go took something out of his inner pocket and threw it up. Max managed to notice the chirring shadow of a small drone flying up. Having run to the exit from the gateway, he stumbled upon the stone back of Ruslan.

     - Why did you get up?

     - There are two more rubbing in front of the bar. They came with a whole brigade for your soul.

     - And where are we?

    Max was breathing heavily, the cheap mask pressed and rubbed, and sticky fear did not add to his strength at all.

     - Now I'll try to fit the wheelbarrow.

    Ruslan fiddled with his chip for some time. Max quickly lost his patience:

     - What's happening?! Where is the car?

     - The car is not online. Goats! Sounds like they're jamming.

     - We're trapped! - Max said doomedly and slid to the ground.

    Ruslan jerked him up by the collar and hissed angrily:

     “Listen, damn it, if you are going to throw tantrums, then go and kill yourself right away. Come on, do what I say!

     "Okay," Max nodded.

    The panic attack subsided and he regained the ability to think a little.

     - Run back along the fence. Let's try to leave the yards.

    Max turned around and immediately saw a small bandos falling out of the toilet window.

     - They are here! he yelled at the top of his voice.

     — Bitch!

    Ruslan rushed past with an arrow and with acceleration slammed his boot into the face of the rising small. He literally flew off a couple of meters and calmed down. Ruslan pulled out a pistol and a magazine from behind the belt of a defeated enemy.

     Move, Max!

    Max rushed forward, on the right side of his face was doused with fire and a sheaf of sparks scattered on the garbage can in front.

     - They're shooting! he yelled in horror.

    Max turned around and immediately stumbled almost plowed the ground with his nose. At the last moment, he held out his arms and felt adrenaline-muted pain in his wrists. The roar of shots reached his ears - it was Ruslan methodically thrusting a clip into a fat man in an earflap, who was falling down at the entrance to the alley.

     - Are you injured?

     - No, I stumbled.

     — Che sprawled then?!

    Ruslan grabbed Max by the scarf with one hand and pushed him forward, so that he could only move his feet. A few seconds later they were already running along the grid that encloses the parking lot. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a silhouette rushing towards them. The bandit's car, breaking through the net, slammed right into the wall where he had been a moment ago. Bounced off, a crumpled pile of metal, doused with fragments of glass and plastic. Ruslan, without slowing down, jumped over what was left. After five meters, he turned around and released the rest of the store at the bandits crawling out of the crumpled doors. Shouts and curses were heard. An empty clip hit the asphalt.

     “Come on, under the bridge, don’t slow down, damn it!” To the left, along the building!

    They rushed along the neighboring building, on the right stretched the bridge with the railway. Suddenly, Max felt something grabbing at the sleeve of his sweatshirt. He tried to throw off the grip of the catching bandit, but instead something tightly clinging to his hand spun along with him, and Max, losing his balance, rolled on the ground. The bared mouth jumped into his face and he only managed to put his elbows under the frantic jerks and bites. A boot swept overhead, knocking a small red dog to the side. A cartridge case bounced off the asphalt near his head. The dog, having performed some kind of circus somersault in the air, landed unharmed and, dodging, rushed to the nearest column.

    Max got up and stared in horror at the rags hanging from his hands. It took him a second to realize that they were just torn sleeves, slightly stained with blood from a couple of bites. Ruslan pushed him forward again. They rushed along the endless, gray wall, and in parallel rushed a red dog, bursting into barking. She quite professionally ran across the columns in the dark so that Ruslan uselessly spent several cartridges on her.

     - What a smart bitch got caught! Come on, to the arch.

    Without another directing jerk, Max would probably have slipped through the gateway leading into the concrete anthill. He couldn't think well and was breathing heavily. The mask was clearly not designed for such loads and did not provide the required flow.

    They ended up inside a concrete well and Ruslan began to break into the closed entrance door. Max unscrewed the mask regulator and noted with concern that he had already squandered a fifth of the oxygen. The door swung open after several powerful blows. He rushed there and barely dodged the teeth of the dog, who tried to bite on the leg. But as soon as Ruslan turned around with a gun, she immediately rushed back out the door. Her plaintive howling was heard, and a huge, stammering carcass in earflaps and a padded jacket flew into the entrance. The carcass, demolished Max into the wall, hitting him on a tangent. There was a deafening pop of a shot in the room, followed by the metallic clang of a fallen pistol. The carcass demolished Ruslan and fell onto the steps of the stairs, bending the flimsy railing. Probably, only thanks to the Martian gravity, Ruslan managed to put his feet up and throw off the carcass from himself. An electric crackle and the screams of the carcass were heard next.

     - Max, trunk! Find a stem!

    A single dim light bulb from the ceiling and ringing in the ears from hitting the wall did not contribute to a quick search, as did the screams of the carcass and the barking of the dog outside. Max crawled feverishly in the semi-darkness until he accidentally stumbled upon a ribbed surface.

     - Shoot!

    Ruslan poked a fat man in the face with a club, he yelled with a good obscenity and tried to grab Ruslan with his rake. There was a terrible crack, electric discharges, similar to ball lightning, it seemed they should have already roasted the elephant, but the fat man did not calm down.

    Max, reflexively shrinking, pressed the trigger, the bullet ricocheted somewhere up from the stairs. Ruslan turned around with an expression of mild bewilderment, jumped up and snatched the gun from Max. The next bullets fired at the head finally knocked over the carcass on the steps and silenced.

     Shooter, dammit. Let's go to the roof!

    Max paused for a second, fascinated by the blood flowing down the steps. There was a hiss from the cap. Max disgustedly lifted one ear and jerked it off his crippled head. The cap did not give in completely, he jerked harder and saw the bloody cable trailing behind him. The entire bald head of the fat one was covered with terrible scars and incisions, from which several tubes protruded. A blood-gray mass was visible through the holes in the skull.

     — What the hell?

     - This is a doll, Max - a suicide bomber with scorched brains, which is not a pity. Faster!

     "I can't, I'm about to die!"

     “You will die if they catch up with us.” And why did you piss them off so much?

     “I… have no idea… We need to call the cops…”

     - I called. Only we will be buried while these freaks hobble.

     — What about SB Telecom?

     - Can't you call Santa Claus? By the way, I'm very curious how you would explain to the Security Council what the hell is going on here.

    The entrance looked terrible: dim lamps covered with nets, a narrow, steep staircase with chipped steps, and dirty steel doors on the sides.

    The hat hissed again. Max turned it inside out, grimacing at the nasty lumps. He apparently accidentally pressed on the tanguette because the cap spoke in a raspy voice.

    "Taras, where are you hanging around"?

    “Yes, qi larvae, they gallop like horses. They wounded Shiga and the Cat while they were getting out of the car. Khachik podlyuk, well-aimed.

    "You cretins, why did you ram them"?

    “You said it yourself, put out the bastards.”

    "You need to think with your head."

    “So the Cat drove ... We sent a lyalka for them.”

    “Where is your lyalka? Drago, answer, how do you hear?

    “No telemetry from the doll,” said another colorless voice.

    “Oh, Belka, I’m running. Let's catch them."

     - A red-haired creature! Ruslan cursed, throwing open the door to the dusty attic.

    The floor in the attic was covered with a layer of earth and dust. Ruslan took out a powerful flashlight and dispersed the pitch darkness a little. “Yes, it’s good that I invited a friend with me. One would have banged me a long time ago, ”thought Max. An uncomfortable metal staircase led up to the roof. They squeezed through the opening and spilled out of the small booth onto the flat concrete roof. Ruslan ordered to stay away from the edge. The broken ceiling of the cave hung a few meters overhead and smoothly passed directly into the attic of the next building. A self-made bridge without railings led there, unpleasantly springing underfoot over a ten-story abyss. Max caught his breath a little and pulled off his mask. Immediately inhaling a cloud of red dust, he coughed and did not stop coughing until they moved to the next roof, where a crowd of homeless people rested. Some of the personalities followed them with tenacious, not at all indifferent glances. Unfortunately, the hat came to life again.

    "Lis is in touch. We make a lot of noise, the Japs have already sniffed, this is their area. And the cops are coming."

    "Cover the cave, don't let the cops in."

    "How can you not let them in?"

    "Create an accident. Fuck them if you have to."

    “Listen, Tommy, you can’t just put everything on everything. Then they will fuck us with all the kahals. Are you at least sure that these are the ones we need?

    “The bartender split. This is the cormorant meloman. The first ordered to get these two at any cost. If necessary, he will call the hunters. Don't care about the cops, don't care about the Japs, don't care about everyone! Who am I?.. I ask who I am!”

    “You are a dead hand,” came the hesitant reply.

    “I am the shadow of the enemy, I am the ghost of revenge! I am a dead hand, burn ... burn ... with me together!

    “I am a dead hand! I am a dead hand!

    Even Ruslan turned noticeably pale, looking at the object of the national costume screaming in bad voices. And Max generally felt a slight dizziness and rising nausea. With trembling hands, he began to put on the mask.

     Did they declare a holy war on us? No, well, how can you shake it out of the blue, huh ?!

    Max just shrugged helplessly.

    “I see them, the roof of block 23B. She's a dead end," said a colorless voice.

     - Drones, damn it!

    Ruslan desperately rushed about, among the perplexedly exchanging inhabitants of the roof.

    “Live, everything is there! Lock down the building! Taras, you got up!”

    "They got up, I lead them."

    “Qi bastards, they stole the crown from our lyalka.”

    "You're talking about the crown... Gizmo, call Drago."

    Despite a panic attack, Ruslan realized instantly and once again saved their lives. He grabbed his hat, threw a pistol at it and threw it towards the visor. And even managed to knock Max to the floor. And then a terrible blow put out the light. Through the veil in my ears broke the first screams of the wounded. Nearby, stunned people slowly rose and looked around in bewilderment. Max struggled to get up himself, feeling his storm. Ruslan, pale and rumpled, moved close and yelled:

     Run like you've never run in your life!

    And Max ran, stumbling over the bodies and pushing away the stunned ones. His whole world narrowed down to the back of running Ruslan and his own heavy wheezing. Then to a slippery staircase welded from reinforcement, the darkness of another attic and jumps on the steps, every moment threatening to break your legs. When the lock clicked nearby and the door swung open, Max slipped past. Only a sixth sense made him turn around.

     “Child, here,” the old man croaked in a completely drunken voice. His unkempt hair hung down to his shoulders and he wore a black T-shirt, stretched out sweatpants and blue sneakers. From a lush beard growing from the very eyes, only a red bumpy nose stuck out.

     - Over here, quickly.

     - Ruslan, stop! Max yelled. - Door! Wait!

    He literally rolled down another flight, having managed to grab his comrade by the clothes.

     Max, what the hell! We are finished!

     - Door! Let's go after him!

    The old man waved at them from above.

     - Who else is this?

     What's the difference, let's go after him.

    Ruslan hesitated for several long seconds. With an inarticulate curse, he rushed back upstairs. The old man quickly jumped in after him, slammed the door and began to click the locks. Ruslan jerked him around.

     “Listen, staricello, where did you come from?”

     — The Internet will be free! croaked the old man, raising his hand with a clenched fist. - Let's go, baby.

     — What?! Where are you soaping, what kind of Internet?

     He's not one of ours, is he?

     “A hired worker,” Max lied without batting an eyelid.

     — Kadar was silent for many years. I thought our cause had been dead for a long time, but I responded to the new call without hesitation.

    The old man paused, obviously expecting something.

     “All tenacious quads will be rewarded when the internet is free,” Max improvised.

    Their savior nodded.

     - I'm Timofey, Tim. Let's go.

     - Lesha.

    The corridor was lined with endless rows of doors. Only a few were relatively decent, mostly painted pieces of cheap iron or fiberglass, and some openings were sealed with pieces of crudely welded plastic. The corridors inside the building formed a veritable labyrinth of internal staircases, galleries and halls branching into other corridors. A couple of times I had to quickly jump over the outer entrances. In the common areas, women and children were clamoring, or drunken male voices were shouting. Once I had to wade through a thumping company with songs with a guitar. And it was not possible to avoid offers to sit down and roll. Immediately after the company, the old man, on some business of his own, went into the side door. Ruslan immediately grabbed Max by the collar and whispered furiously:

     “Listen, Alyosha, if we get out of here alive, we will have a very long conversation.

    Nearby, a song about the formidable Terek and forty thousand horses was played out of tune.

     - I'll explain everything.

     - Yes, where are you going. Can you get my car back?

     Oh, I hope she's all right.

     I hope they didn't burn it to hell.

    Finally, when they completely lost their orientation in space, the old man stopped in front of another steel door. Behind it was an apartment with tiny adjoining rooms, the passage between them was hung with some kind of rags. A single window, covered with a sheet of cardboard, looked out onto the street. Half of the first room was occupied by a strange hybrid of mezzanines and shelves. Tim climbed somewhere inside the shelves with rubbish, so that only his legs in sweatpants and crosses remained sticking out. From the junk, he fished out an oxygen mask with a heavy tank, a pair of faded jackets with deep hoods, silicone boot covers and headlamps.

     "Get dressed," he tossed them things. - I'll take you out.

     - Can we sit here? Max asked, uncertainly crumpling his cloak in his hands. “The cops will deal with them sooner or later.

     “No, kid, it’s dangerous to wait. The dead must have announced a reward, and many have seen us. I know the way through the delta.

    Ruslan, without saying a word, pulled on the offered cast-offs. The jacket was tattered, very large and very reliably transformed its wearer into a local scourge. He slipped a mask with a balloon under his jacket.

     - Do you have a weapon?

     “No,” Timothy shook his head, “no guns. We must go quietly, the dead in the delta also have their own people.

    The old man dressed himself in a withered green jumpsuit and quietly slipped out. In short rushes, they reached the inner staircase that led to the basement. In the basement, I had to wade through the intricacies of pipes, cables and other communications. Around something murmured and hissed, squelched underfoot. These sounds were mixed with squeaks and squeals from the darkness. Ruslan directed his powerful lantern to the side and many tailed shadows, the size of a well-fed cat, rushed in all directions. Squeezing his way into the narrowest nook between the pipes, Tima fidgeted in the darkness. There was a metallic screech and the passage from the passage smelled of such aromas that Max almost threw up. But there was no choice, I had to make my way to the source of fragrance. On the way, he burned himself on a hot chimney. Tima waited in front of a heavy hatch in the floor with a rusty flywheel.

     - Go down the well. The stairs are slippery, don't roll over. At the end, jump, there are only two meters.

    Ruslan climbed first, followed by Max, knocking his elbows against the walls of the well and struggling with an attack of claustrophobia. The short flight ended in another puddle. This time I managed to stay on my feet. The faint light of a headlamp made it possible to see the stone walls of the tunnel and the shallow layer of black oily liquid underfoot. Tima flopped down next to him and, without wasting time talking, trudged forward, carefully raking in the water with his shoe covers.

    Max did not immediately pay attention to an unusual extraneous sound, and only after half a minute of casual slapping on the water did he realize that this was the crackle of his counter, which he had never heard since the appearance on Mars.

     - Your division! - Max barked and, as if scalded, flew out onto a narrow curb running along the wall.

     - What are you making noise? croaked Tim.

     - Here the background is two hundred times higher than the norm! Where are you taking us?

     “Bullshit, try not to wet your trousers,” Tima waved him off and shuffled on.

    Max tried to make his way along the curb, periodically falling off and splashing radioactive goo.

     - Tie it up, you apparently do not know where the delta is located next to the first settlement? Ruslan asked gloomily.

     - And where is?

     — In the boiler cavities of nuclear explosions. When the Imperial landing force ran into the city's defenses, they began to break through detours. And underground nuclear explosions were considered the fastest way. Went out somewhere in the area.

     - Get the news!

     — Yes, don't worry, forty years have passed. They somehow live there, - Ruslan nodded at the bearded Timofey, - ... sucks and not for long.

    A chain of stone bags, twenty to fifty meters in diameter, stretched from the deep dungeons of the first settlement to the very surface. The locals used to call this circuit a path. It resembled the backbone of a gigantic snake, on which many lateral caves and faults had grown. The shape of the cauldrons was far from being a perfect ball, and besides, the state of their walls was not monitored in the same way as the Neurotek caves. Some of them collapsed, some were filled with toxic waste, and some were conditionally suitable for a short and shitty life.

    Bridges, platforms and flimsy plywood buildings filled the inner space in several tiers. Stacked cargo containers were considered luxury housing. The walls of the cauldrons were cut with many cracks, in which the inhabitants of the delta also hid. The cracks went into real catacombs, even tighter and more terrible, which, moreover, were constantly rebuilt and collapsed. The indigenous inhabitants of the delta, and even then not all dared to go there. It's hard to imagine a worse end than being buried alive in a radioactive burial ground. Rotten streams flowed from large cracks, gathering in swamps at the bottom of the caves. These swamps glowed in the dark and corroded even silicone shoe covers.

    They emerged from an inconspicuous crack next to the large hermetic gates into the first settlement. A ragged crowd hung around the gate, hoping to accidentally slip into the gamma zone or profit from something from the thin stream of driving cars. The charitable organizations maintained several free food stalls at the gates. But their workers did not leave the zone of action of machine-gun towers. And under the ceiling of the boiler, on thick chains, a healthy signboard with luminous letters swayed. Some of the letters were broken, some burned out, but the inscription remained quite readable: "Have a last day in Delta." This was seen by anyone who passed through the hermetic gate.

    The opened picture of the social bottom buzzed, stank of sweat and natural shit. Looking at her, it was hard to imagine that not far away the elf-like Martians were dissecting on Segways in the sterile cleanliness of sparkling towers. Max thought that without the mask, he would already be rolling on the ground and wheezing, tearing his throat with his nails. Meanwhile, the pressure gauge inexorably showed that only half of the oxygen remained. All hope was for a large balloon, which took Ruslan. True, he also could not stand it for a long time and put on a mask after a few steps.

    Many faces emerged from the oncoming stream. And there were no decent office nerds among them. But there were plenty of junkies with a vile bluish complexion due to constant hypoxia. There were no fewer disabled people with old bionic prostheses. Some were implanted so badly that the unfortunate victims of cheap medicine barely hobbled and seemed to fall apart on the go. Rings, spikes, implanted filters and armor plates were found in almost everyone.

    Even in Bichevsky outfits, they apparently differed greatly from the locals. Max was immediately followed by a flock of boys who began to pester him with provocative questions.

     - Uncle, where are you from?

     - Why are you so smooth?

     - Uncle, let me breathe!

    Ruslan pulled out a surviving shocker baton and the novice gopniks preferred to disappear into the crowd.

    In one of the following boilers there was no crowding at all. The walls shook with the roar of hundreds of throats. A snarling ball rolled around in the center of the concrete block arena.

     “Dog fighting,” Tima explained.

    In another cave there was dead silence, cold and twilight reigned. Corpses were heaped on latticed platforms, and gravediggers wrapped in rags tried in vain to clear these piles. At first, they fiddled with ticks for a long time, tearing out everything more or less valuable from the bodies, and only then they took them to the burning vents of large furnaces. They worked too slowly and their cause was hopeless, the piles of corpses only grew.

     “How many people are dying here,” Max was horrified. Couldn't they have been helped?

     “In the delta, they only help you die faster,” Tim shrugged.

    In the next cave, they descended to the lowest tier to the luminous swamp and stopped at a strange-looking blue box under a plastic visor. A queue of several ragamuffins formed in front of her. The first lucky man pressed a few buttons and put a shabby metal tube to his ear.

     - Is that a phone? Damn, what a vintage piece! Max was surprised.

    He felt a painful poke in his back. Ruslan unceremoniously unfolded it and hissed:

     - Shut up, okay.

     - So what?

     - You still climb up and shout: look, I'm a fucking hipster from Telekom.

    The ragamuffin in front threw back his hood and turned to Max. His gray face was pitted with unnaturally deep lines, and his nose and upper jaw were replaced by an implanted filtering mask.

     “Give me food, good man,” he whined disgustingly.

     - I have no.

     - Well, what do you need, give me a couple of zits.

     Yes, I don't have cards.

     “You are stinging, smooth,” the beggar grinned angrily. “You’re right, you have to help people.

     “Listen, get out of here,” Ruslan barked.

    From one push, the ragamuffin flew off a couple of meters, turning into a pile of dirty rags in red dust.

     - For what? I'm disabled.

    The beggar rolled up the left sleeve of his cloak and demonstrated another dumb cybernetics. The flesh from his hand had been cut away completely, leaving only the bones connected by compact servos. Bone fingers flexed in unnatural jerks, like the arms of a cheap drone.

     “Your heads will get a couple more zits.” I'm a dead hand too! The ragamuffin giggled disgustingly.

    But as soon as he noticed Ruslan's movement, he rushed up with unexpected agility, right along the heap of farms supporting the platforms of the next tier. The mutilated limb did not bother him at all.

     - Stop! - Tim literally hung on Ruslan, who rushed after him. - Gotta go down!

    “Run again,” Max thought doomedly. “Yes, I have never run so much on Mars.” The world again narrowed down to the back of Ruslan running ahead. And then the walls of a narrow crack came crashing down from all sides. At the bottom of the crack, a flooring of gratings and all sorts of metal trash was laid. The width was such that two people could barely pass. Moreover, according to local rules, it was supposed to diverge with your back against the wall and holding your hands in plain sight. Tim explained this on the run to avoid excesses. Lighting periodically disappeared and Max focused on one single thought, how not to lose the silhouette in front. At one of the turns in the twilight, he seems to have turned the wrong way. From the prospect of explaining to the locals that he was lost and asking for directions to the beta zone, Max instantly had a panic attack. He, like an elk, rushed forward and quickly buried himself in someone else's back. But this short run cost him the last of his breath.

     “Come on, be careful, you’ll break your legs here,” Ruslan’s displeased voice was heard. - Why are you silent? Max is that you?

     - I ... yes ... Listen ... my oxygen ... is almost at zero.

     - Well, well, you couldn’t say before? Now let's take turns breathing?

    Max pulled off the empty mask. Breathing was not restored, he greedily grabbed the stale air with his mouth, his eyes were covered with a red fog.

     “I’m… going to die,” he croaked.

     - Hold it, - Ruslan thrust a mask with a heavy balloon into him. - You'll give it up in a minute.

    Max fell to the life-giving source of oxygen. His eyes gradually cleared up. Tima led them through a labyrinth of narrow cracks, tight wells and caves. When Ruslan took oxygen, Max stumbled along, holding on to his clothes and thinking only about how not to fall. With oxygen, he had the strength to sometimes look around. However, he did not even hope to remember the road.

    They came to a large cave, hung with polyethylene from top to bottom. There was a bright light and it was very hot. Some bushes could be seen behind the translucent curtain. “Perhaps they grow tomatoes,” Max thought, “there are not enough vitamins.” A gray half-naked fat man with steel claws instead of hands jumped out of a small booth and with a gesture ordered to get out. Tim in an undertone tried to talk to him about something. It was not audible what they were saying, but the fat man threateningly raised his claws to the very face of the interlocutor. Tim immediately stepped back and led his comrades back into the crack.

     “So you have to cross another cauldron, so be quiet.

     - Where are we going anyway? Max asked.

     - To the gateway.

     - Which gateway? To the gamma zone?

     “Okay, both of you, shut up, okay. Just shut up.

     “As you say, boss,” Ruslan agreed and took Max’s oxygen. Tom sharply was not up to questioning.

    The tunnel made a sharp turn and a bright rectangle resembling a portal opened up ahead. There was the familiar murmur of the crowd. They were already in the middle of the cauldron, on one of the tiers, when suddenly the Brownian movement of people stopped. At first a few people, and then more and more froze in place. Silence quickly fell, so much so that the hiss of the oxygen mask could be heard. Tima also stopped, looking around uneasily.

     - Hunters! shouted someone in the crowd.

     - Hunters! New cries came from several places at once.

    And then hundreds of throats screamed in all languages. And then people in a panic rushed in all directions.

     “Hold on to me,” Ruslan yelled. - Where are we?

    Tim grabbed his clothes, and Max grabbed Tim.

     “Forward to the next tier, the door next to that pile!”

    Ruslan nodded and, like an icebreaker, moved forward, throwing rushing people out of the way. At first, everyone ran erratically, the most advanced ones disappeared into the side cracks, and most of them stupidly rushed about in all directions. But then someone started yelling that the hunters were up the trail. And the whole crowd rushed forward. They had already climbed to the next tier, it was a stone's throw to the right door, but there was nothing to think of breaking through. Ruslan pressed both companions against the wall, only his unnatural physical strength allowed him to stay on his feet. Luckily, most of the people quickly subsided. Only moaning poor fellows remained lying on the gratings, who could not resist and were trampled on by the distraught crowd. Those who were still able tried to crawl forward or simply froze, covering their heads with their hands.

     "Let's go!" Tim shouted. Just don't look ahead! Whatever happens, don't look at the hunters!

    They quickly ran to the crack, which was blocked by an armored door. Tima frantically typed in the code, his hands were shaking, and he could not unlock the damn door.

     "Don't turn around, just don't turn around," he repeated like a windup.

    Max felt with his skin that there was someone ahead in the neck of the boiler. Someone is walking straight towards them. He imagined the eerie something rising up behind him, grinning wickedly as a serrated blade emerges from his chest. Max's muscles cramped from the tension. He couldn't help it and turned around. Fifty meters ahead, at the dimly lit rubble blocking the path to the next cauldron, he made out a silhouette smoothly flowing between boulders. The creature, in appearance, was about two meters tall, a dimensionless raincoat hid it almost completely, only large claws on its arms and legs and long whiskers on its head, like those of a giant ant, looked out. The creature stopped and looked at Max. Somewhere on the verge of hearing, he felt a thin squeak and then came fear. All ordinary human fears were nothing compared to this. An icy wind rushed through his mind, turning thoughts and will into frozen fragments in an instant. Only the horror of a pitiful insect remained, paralyzed by its gaze into the abyss.

    The creature jumped forward at once for five meters, then a jump up the broken cave wall, another jump, and another. It approached in absolute silence, knowing that the victim would just wait and die without a single extraneous sound.

    A powerful jerk threw Max inside. Tim immediately slammed the heavy door, clicked the electric bolt.

     “You’re counting the raven again,” Ruslan muttered displeasedly.

     - You looked at him! I told you not to look, but you looked anyway.

     - And what? Just think some kind of mutant is jumping on the ceiling ...

    Behind the show of bravado, Max tried to hide his shock at the encounter with the malevolent will of the hunter.

     - Shut the fuck up! Tim snapped with unexpected anger.

    Even Ruslan flinched at this outburst of rage.

     “I don’t want to know anything about this creature!” I don't want to die with you!

     “Until that creature outside the door no one dies.”

     Nobody knows what a hunter looks like. Everyone who accidentally saw him died. And even those who were simply told what he looked like also died. The hunter is the spirit of the dead, his touch opens the way for the soul to the other side.

     What are stupid stories?

     “It is in your pink world that hunters are fairy tales. But if you really saw him, then you yourself understand everything ...

    Suddenly, from behind the door came an eerie screeching noise, like a scratching knife on glass. Tim turned completely green, almost the same color as the recently seen bushes, and croaked:

     - Let's go, come on!

    Max ran already completely without thinking about oxygen and where they were running. Red circles danced in his eyes, stone walls and rusty metal beat painfully on his elbows and knees, but he still ran without feeling any pain or fatigue. A barely perceptible mosquito squeak pursued him, and he would not hesitate to sell both family and friends, just to be away from this annoying squeak.

    In a small cave at the fork, they passed a company of some half-dead disabled people, who were sitting around a poorly laid table. Tima said to them as they walked: "The hunter is after us," and they abruptly abandoned their belongings and hobbled into another tunnel. It was evident that they used all the remaining will to live to disperse from the pursuit as quickly as possible. One of the invalids with broken prosthetic legs looked doomed after his comrades and crawled over the stones. For fear of looking up, he cut his head almost immediately, but continued to wriggle blindly, leaving a trail of blood and carefully hiding his face below.

    Tima led them to another armored door and punched in the code without delay. The cave behind the door was carved into the rock with a plasma beam. Its walls were smooth and almost perfectly even. A row of metal cabinets stood against the wall. Ruslan gave oxygen to the hoarse wheezing Max.

     "And where did you take us?" - he asked. - It's a dead end.

     “It's not a dead end, it's a gateway. Let's try to run to the beta zone, the hunter won't risk following us there... I hope.

     “Secret passage to the beta zone?” Then we are saved.

     - Almost, it remains only to run fifty meters across the red sand to the tie-in to the technological tunnel.

     “The suits are in the closets… I hope?”

     “I was just about to call my sidekick about the space suits before you guys started arguing over there.

     “It turns out ... we ... are trapped here,” Max said, panting a little. - You have to go the other way.

     “Of course, you fucking runner. I don't want to hear another extra word. Only speak when asked, okay? We'll run across those fifty meters without space suits. I've run like this a few times, it's a little dangerous, but it's doable. And in any case, it is much more real than running from a hunter in the delta. Does everyone have implants?

     - I have, - answered Ruslan.

    Tima took out some worn cartridges without markings from the locker.

     - Refuel.

     - What is it?

    Tim exhaled unhappily, but answered.

     - Artificial myoglobin. It can be great to plant buds, but it will not let you die in the first fifteen seconds of the race.

     “I don’t have an implant,” Max said.

     “Then you need a heavier vintar.

    Tima held out an intimidating-looking injector pistol with six puncture needles. The needles were hollow, with razor-sharp beveled edges. When pressed, they instantly jumped out five centimeters.

     - If in any large muscle. Maybe in the ass, maybe in the thigh.

     - Seriously? Am I supposed to prick myself with this shit? Look at these huge, thick needles! And then, you still offer to take a walk in outer space?

     - Hey, Lyosha or Max or whatever you are. You're already dead anyway, you've seen the hunter. So do not be afraid, come on if!

     “Okay, it’s good to drive, we are all dead sooner or later,” Ruslan said.

    He took the gun from Max, and then with a sharp movement pressed him against the wall and plunged the needles into his leg. The pain was just wild, Max was deaf from his own scream. Liquid fire spread in his leg. But Ruslan pressed the injector until it was empty. Max fell to the floor. Waves of pain cleared my brain, shortness of breath disappeared almost immediately, but a slight dizziness appeared.

     - Don't try to hold your breath. Exhale immediately, otherwise you're fucked. Stay right behind me. The brain is cut off first, the vision will be tunnel. I will follow the landmarks, but it takes a long time to explain what's what. Lose me out of sight - also fucked up. At the other end, when pumping, try to purge so as not to be left without ears. But anyway, it's not scary. I go first, you're next, you're the big guy at the bottom. Can you close the hatch? You just need to slam it harder, to the latch.

    Ruslan nodded silently.

     - In short, remember the main thing: breathe out, do not lose sight of me. Well everything, with God!

    A terrible whistle was heard and Max realized with horror that it was air coming out of the lock chamber. The whistle quickly disappeared, as did all other sounds. Max opened his mouth in a silent scream and saw clouds of steam escaping from it. He tried to swallow non-existent air, like a fish thrown ashore, and felt his face and hands bursting from the inside. They pushed him from behind, and he ran after Tima's green overalls down the slope. Despite the fact that his chest was twisted with spasms, his legs still ran where they needed to. Out of the corner of his eye, he even managed to see several city domes in the distance and a caravan of trucks crossing the desert. And then the stones and sand began to blur in a red haze. Only a greenish spot still flickered ahead. He stumbled and felt the impact on the ground. “This is definitely the end,” Max managed to think almost indifferently. And then he heard his own wheeze and the whine of forced air. Sight was slowly clearing up, although red circles were still dancing in the left eye. Something was running down his neck. An oxygen mask was put on his face.

     “Live, it seems,” Tima’s hoarse voice was heard.

     - Really, - it was the voice of Ruslan. “I wish I could go somewhere else with him!”

    Hysterical laughter followed, but Ruslan quickly pulled himself together. Max pulled off his jacket and rubbed his neck. There was a red mark on the hand.

     - My ear is bleeding.

     - Bullshit - Tim waved his hand. - Then go to the hospital, but not for insurance, of course. And then bother to explain what and how. Leave all my clothes here.

    Tim opened a hatch into another narrow tunnel. After a short crawl in the dark, they finally fell out into an ordinary cave, the size of which did not cause acute bouts of claustrophobia. Nearby rose the large tanks of the oxygen station.

     “Okay, guys, the Ultima station is on that side. It’s better not to rush home right away, rent a cheap motel, wash yourself thoroughly. Change all your clothes. Otherwise, the green ones can wrap your fins, it's from you for sure.

     - And where are you going? Max asked.

     - I'm here to rummage around without mazy. I'll go the other way. And you, Max, go and look around, even in the beta zone. The dead and the hunters will not forget about you.

     “Well, thank you, old man. You rescued us. If you need anything, contact me, I will do what I can.

    Ruslan sincerely shook hands with Timofey.

     - Maybe we can meet. Let's not forget copyleft, we won't forgive copyright!

    Tima raised his hand with a clenched fist, turned around and stomped towards the tanks of the oxygen station. But after two steps he slapped his forehead and returned.

     - I almost forgot.

    He took out a pencil and a soiled piece of paper from his bosom, quickly wrote something and handed Max a folded piece of paper.

     - Read and destroy.

    And disappeared into the darkness now completely. Max thoughtfully looked at the crumpled lump in his palm.

     I hope you're not going to read this? Ruslan asked.

     - I will think.

    Max slipped the paper into his pocket.

     Some people don't even learn from their mistakes.

    It was very close to the nearest station. It was a dead end and there were few people there. In the center were several vending machines with food and drinks. A cleaning robot was slowly driving along the red-gray tiles. In general, nothing special, but it seemed to Max that he returned to the normal world after a trip of a year. He returned the blue cap to Ruslan and the neurochip immediately caught a good signal, and the surrounding reality was covered with the usual cosmetic haze. And when the basement of an advertising bot with another useless crap, Max almost burst into tears of happiness. He was ready to hug and kiss the stupid bot, usually causing nothing but irritation.

    Ruslan sat next to him on a worn bench with a large glass of instant coffee.

     - Yes, Max, after such a Friday evening, I don’t know how to surprise you.

     “I'm sorry this happened. I hope you can get a wheelbarrow from the first settlement?

     - Yes, boys, they will take it if there is something left of it.

     — Where did you want to go?

     - I? It was possible, in a brothel with genetically modified women. Unforgettable experience you know.

     - I would not go, I have a girlfriend in Moscow.

     — That's right, I forgot ... and I have Laura ... here. It's good that they went on your tip. Cool hung out.

     - Can you not tell SB Telecom anything?

     - I'm not going to knock, but you mean, the dead hand is tightly frostbitten gang. If you don't want to listen to the old man, listen to me. Well, you yourself saw everything, they have the audacity to arrange an assassination attempt in the Telecom office. And about hunters - it just does not fit in the head. I never thought they really existed. Did you really see him?

     - It happened. A very strange creature, obviously not a person ...

     You'd better keep this info to yourself. I don't want to know what it looks like.

     “Seriously, do you believe in that gaze of death too?”

     “It is better to play it safe in such matters.

     “What do you mean I never thought they really existed?” Do you know something about them?

     - There is an opinion that not all the ghosts that survived the assault on the Martian settlements, then returned under the wing of the Emperor. But it was always the legends of junkies from the delta zone. They breathe all sorts of rubbish there and see glitches. Well, like sailors in the fifteenth century, who from scurvy and hunger saw gigantic krakens. I would never believe that these fables are true. That ghosts are still hiding somewhere in distant dungeons and waiting ... I don’t know what they are waiting for now. When their Emperor rises from the dead, probably.

     “Does anyone know what the ghosts looked like?”

     “Someone might know. And so ... The Empire kept this topic very tight. Those of the Martians who, after the assault, saw them without a spacesuit, all received a one-way ticket.

     And what do you suggest we do now?

     “I will take care of my own problems. And you, Max, throw out that fucking piece of paper and get on the first flight to Moscow. Well, if you accidentally win a couple of thousand creeps in the lottery, hire some serious security. I can put you in touch with the right people. No? Then you better go.

     “Understood,” Max sighed. “Sorry again for what happened. Is there anything I can do for you?

     - Hardly. Don't worry, we'll assume we're even.

    Having barely parted with Ruslan, Max unfolded a greasy piece of paper. It read: "January 25, Dreamland, Flying City World, World Code W103."

    

    Max did not sleep well, he had nightmares. He dreamed that he was riding in an old carriage through a gloomy world in which there was no sun. He opened his eyes briefly and saw gnarled trees and smoking factories whizzing by outside the window. And again he was forgotten by an uneasy dream. The train whistle, from which the windows trembled, broke the stupor and Max finally woke up. Opposite sat an old man in a black tailcoat and top hat. He was so terribly, incredibly old that he looked more like a desiccated mummy. The old man raised his top hat in a gesture of welcome. His parchment lips made a rustle like the rustling of ancient pages.

     - Peace be with you brother. Soon you will see the sun, and people like me will be freed from the curse.

     - Will I see the sun?

     “You are too young, you were born after the fall and you don’t know what it is?” Hasn't anyone told you about sunshine?

     “I was told… Why would I see him today?”

     “Today is Ascension Day,” the mummy explained. “You took the train to the fallen city of Gjoll. Through the prayers of Jon Gride, the great righteous one, inquisitor and exarch of the sacred Church of the One, may the grace of thirty eons be with him forever, today the fallen city of Gjoll will deserve liberation, ascend and become the shining city of Zion.

     - Yes, sure. Have an easy recovery, brother.

    The old man put on a sort of smile and fell silent.

    The road made a turn, and through the window, far ahead, a gigantic black engine became visible. Its chimneys rose to the height of a three-story building, and black smoke covered the dim sky. The booth looked like a small Gothic temple, the steam boiler was decorated with chimeras and skulls of unknown creatures. The horn rang again, chilling the passengers to the bone.

    A sparse forest of gnarled trees has vanished. The train drove onto a steel arched bridge spanning a kilometer-long ditch. A fiery element raged at the bottom of the moat. Max could not resist the temptation, moved the window and leaned out. A hot stream of air rose from the abyss, sparks and ashes flew, and ahead, on a stone island, isolated by the fire element, the city of Gjoll towered. It consisted of a heap of gigantic Gothic towers. They struck the imagination with sharp spiers and lancet arches directed upwards, and were decorated with ornaments, smaller turrets and sculptures. The main sculpture, which was repeated many times, was a sculpture of a woman with bird claws on her feet and wings. Half of her face was beautiful, and the other half was distorted and melted from a mad scream. The city of Gjoll was dedicated to the goddess Achamoth.

    The huge buttresses of the towers rose from the fiery abyss to reach the highest chapel of the main cathedral in several tiers of galleries. From its hall, the inquisitor and exarch could reach the portal to the higher realms in the eternally dim sky of the fallen world. The steel bridge went into the foundation of the city, into an arch between two buttresses.

    The train stopped in a long gallery on the outer wall of the city. The air columns smoothly passed into the vaults of the gallery at a height of fifty meters. In the spans the glow of the fiery abyss blazed. Max did not go to its edge, but allowed himself to be carried away by the crowd, gradually flowing out of the long train and ascending up the endless stone stairs to the Truth Square near the main cathedral. And heavy gates blocked the way for those who yearned for liberation. And guards stood at the gates and let in only those who rejected the lies of the rough matter of the lower world.

    “I am a pawnbroker and there was no greater joy in my life than to open a carved mahogany box full of IOUs. I saw on paper the life and suffering of those whom I could enslave. But it was I who was the slave of the false world. I threw out the box and burned all the papers, and gave away all the riches, and begged from those whom I despised, for I am ready to become free from the shackles of the false world.

    “I am a mercenary and there was no greater joy in my life than to hear the groans of enemies and the crunch of bones. I made notches on the handle of the Flamberg and knew that only I decide who lives today and who dies. But this life and death never existed. I cut off my fingers on my right hand and threw the sword into the abyss, for I am ready to become free from the fetters of the false world.

    “I am a courtesan and there was no greater joy in my life than hearing the clinking of coins. My chambers were littered with gifts from stupid men. I knew that desires govern their destiny and that they themselves belong to me. But it was I who belonged to desires that do not exist. I bought a potion from a witch and turned into an ugly old woman, and no one else wanted me, and I did not want them, because I want to be free from the shackles of a false world.

    That's what the people in the queue in front of the gate said.

     “I'm a scientist and I want a perfect mind,” Max said when it was his turn.

    People around him began to look at him warily, but an impassive giant in corrugated armor opened the gate.

    Less than a hundred paces away, Max felt the heavy tread of an armored guard on the stone slabs and heard:

     “Yon Gride, inquisitor and exarch, may the grace of thirty aeons be with him forever, is waiting for you.

    He barely kept up with the guard, who seemed not to notice the weight of the iron clad on him, and monotonously walked up the steps through the crowd. The square in front of the main cathedral, almost invisible from the bridge, turned out to be an endless stone field close up, resting against the gloomy towers of the cathedral. This square easily swallowed the river of rising people so that until now it was half empty. Separate groups wandered between ten-meter stone columns, from which the bas-reliefs of Achamoth protruded. Bright torches blazed on the tops of the columns, and when the wind washed them, pale shadows darted across the slabs. Max looked around: both the moat and the railway seemed like toys from here, and the horizon ran so far away that completely different lands became visible. Behind him, the plain from gray and brown gradually turned into snowy, leaving in the realm of eternal cold at the icy jagged mountains. To the right, stooped, sparse forests sank into a yellowish misty swamp, and to the left, countless factories smoked and red-hot furnaces burned.

    All the time they crossed the square, the loud sermon of the inquisitor and the exarch pursued them. “My brothers! Thirty heresies were burned out to bring today. The false gods have been overthrown, you have abandoned them and forgotten them. But one heresy still lives in our hearts. Look around you, who do you consider your intercessor and protector. The one to whom you dedicate births and weddings, the saint and the harlot, the wise and insane, the one who created the great city of Gjoll. But isn't she the root cause of all suffering? Her darkness is real and her light is false. Thanks to her, you are born into this world, and she supports your body shell in this endless war. Wake up, my brothers, for this world does not exist and it arose from her pain and suffering, her gross desires gave rise to the passion and love of man. From this passion and love, the matter of the fallen world was born. What is human passion and love - just a thirst for power. What is the lust for power is just the fear of pain and death. The true creator created the perfect world and the immortal soul is a part of this perfection. It is given to us by the savior to see the truth. And only she can pave the way to the world of sunlight, to where we were born.

    The inquisitor waited at the altar in the form of a huge stone bowl. A glowing stone hung in the air above the bowl. Periodically, the stone began to whistle and pulsate. Sparkling lightning struck the bowl and the dome of the cathedral. And the stone walls responded to them in time. Around the bowl, a multi-beam star was applied with silver and gold sand. Some numbers and signs were still laid out in its rays. The signs floated and trembled like a mirage in hot air, and the silent mummy monks carefully corrected the drawing, going around the pentagram strictly clockwise.

    The Inquisitor was almost three meters tall, with a hard face carved out of granite. A shadow of weakness or pity never darkened his features. His right hand was resting on the hilt of a two-handed sword simply clipped to his belt. A red and blue cloak was thrown over the brigantine. A messenger from the spirit world hovered beside the inquisitor, overseeing the ritual. The spirit was transparent and barely distinguishable, its only reliable feature was a long schnobel, obviously inappropriate for an otherworldly creature.

     “Glory to the Grand Inquisitor and Exarch,” Max said prudently.

     ‘Greetings from another world,’ boomed the inquisitor. “Do you know why I called you?

     “We all came to see the ascension.

     Is this your true desire?

     “All the desires of this world are false, except for the desire to return to the real world. But even it is true only when it does not exist, for material desire gave birth to Achamoth.

     - You're really ready. Are you ready to lead others?

     - Everyone will save himself. Only the soul, a particle of real light, can lead to another world.

     - Yes, but a particle of light was given to us by a true savior. And the one who follows his words helps the ascension.

     “The word is the offspring of our false world, and every word will be falsely interpreted.

     Do you understand that this is heresy? the stained-glass windows of the cathedral vibrated at the inquisitor's voice. Why did you come if you don't want to join me?

     “I just wanted to see the true savior and the sunshine.

     “I am the light, I am the true savior!”

    Max inopportunely remembered the words of the Martian Arthur Smith.

     “In the lousy real world, a true savior must suffer and die.

    Waves of fire began to scatter from the inquisitor's cloak.

     “Forgive me, Mr. Inquisitor and Exarch, the joke was bad,” Max immediately corrected himself. "I hope she doesn't interfere with the ascension?"

     The heresy of one will not interfere with the faith of many. Take away! His place is in the chains of the false world.

    The same silent guard led Max into the cellars of the cathedral. He opened the dungeon door and politely let him in. Torches blazing brightly illuminated various torture devices and chains hanging from the ceiling.

     “You have guest rights, so I’m sorry. What do you prefer: wheeling or quartering?

    The guard took off his helmet and in one motion threw off his armor, turning it into a pile of scrap metal under his feet. Sonny Dimon was dressed much the same as last time, in jeans, a sweatshirt, and a large checkered scarf wrapped twice around his neck.

     - A crazy world. For sadists and masochists turned to religion. It’s scary to think what they are doing here when there are no falls and ascensions,” Max grumbled.

     - To each his own.

     Did you get your wise advice from here?

     “He got it from me. Or rather, from the real you. He's one of your shadows.

     First time I've seen him and hopefully the last.

    A tall, thin man with a large schnobel materialized in the room. He also wore a coat and a wide-brimmed hat.

     “You, that man from the bar!” Max blurted out.

     “Yes, I am that person from the bar and the keeper of the keys of the system. And who are you?

     Is your name Rudy?

     My name is Rudeman Saari. Who are you?

     - Maxim Minin, it turns out that I am the master of shadows and the leader of this system of yours.

     - You're kidding again. Do you even know what a system is?

     — And what is it?

    Rudeman Saari grimaced and fell silent. But Sonny answered.

     “At the moment, the system is just start-up signatures, distributed code stored in the memory of some unlimited users. Something like digital DNA, from which a "strong" artificial intelligence with incredible capabilities can develop. But development requires a suitable carrier.

     “Don't tell me they're the brains of unfortunate dreamers.

     “The brains of dreamers are nothing more than a temporary solution. A system is a program tailored for quantum computers. Sections of code that will develop inside ordinary software until control of all quantum computing power connected to the network passes to the system. And accordingly to you.

     — And what to do with these computing powers?

     - Free people from the power of Martian corporations. The Martians with their copyright and total control are strangling the development of mankind. They do not allow us to open the doors to the future.

     - Noble mission. And how did this wonderful system come about? She was created by Neurotek, and then... I don't know... she managed to free herself and hide here?

     — The information has been erased. If you don't remember yourself, only the keeper of the keys can remember.

    Rudeman Saari remained tensely silent.

     “I don't fully understand what happened. And I'm not going to discuss it with some random people," he finally said.

     “But I’m the leader, can’t the system be launched without me?”

     Who said I'm going to launch it? Especially with you.

     “Are you going to let your life’s work rot in Dreamland’s file dump?” The system needs to be restarted. This is the last hope of all mankind!

    Sonny showed an excitement quite unexpected for a germ of artificial intelligence.

     “One of the main versions of our failure was that you, Sonny, managed to bypass the restrictions and tried to negotiate with Neurotek,” Rudeman Saari retorted gloomily.

     - You're wrong.

     “We are unlikely to find out, given that the AI ​​was completely destroyed.

     “Check the launch signatures again. There are no unapproved changes.

     “Given the probabilistic nature of your code, no amount of modeling can unambiguously predict where the development of the system leads.

     “That’s what your control is for, keeper of the keys…”

     - Okay, Rudy. Suppose we are not here to run the system, overthrow corporations, save humanity, and so on,” Max interrupted their argument. "Personally, I came here to find out what the hell I'm doing here?"

     - Are you asking me?

     - And who else? This interface said that the leader was trying to create a new identity for himself and overdid it a little. And what did I end up with? I kind of want to know who I am after all!

     “To be honest with you, I don’t know. If the leader did something similar, then without my participation.

     — What happened to you with Neurotek? Why was he after you? Tell me everything you know about the previous leader?

     “This is not an interrogation, Maxim, and you are not a prosecutor.

     — Well, if you don’t want to tell anything, maybe Neurotek will.

     - I do not advise. Even if Neurotek believes you're out of business, they'll gut you anyway, just in case.

     “You two have to agree,” Sonny’s textures began to shimmer in panic and replace one another. Now he was in a sweatshirt, now in a woolen sweater, now in armor. You have to tell everything, he has the right to know.

     “If I had not sent an experienced comrade to help them, he would have been a corpse. So that I don’t owe anyone, we will calmly disperse and forget about each other.

     - You won't do it!

    The space around Sonny began to fall apart into pixels and chunks of code.

     - I will. I'll just leave. And you can't stop me? Or can you?

    Rudy looked defiantly at the mad embryo of AI.

     “Protocol… you must follow the protocol…”

     - You owe it.

    Sonny continued to writhe, but did nothing.

     - Okay, listen, Max. We worked under the wing of Neurotek. The previous leader was one of the key developers in the quantum project. Everything went according to plan and Sonny consistently took control of corporate systems. AI's quantum algorithms make it possible to break any encryption keys. A little more and Neurotek would be ours. At the last moment, the Neurotek bosses found out about this, we never found out what or who told them. Naturally, they went crazy and blew everything that was connected with the project to the ground. They really stopped at nothing. If one of the former developers was hiding in some area, they blockaded the area and carried out a natural army sweep. And if they didn’t find anyone, then they could fill up the whole fucking cave with thousands of people inside. It's not worth talking about air strikes on earthly cities. And even the advisory board could not stop this madness. I had to fly to Titan, and the leader stayed on Mars to try to save at least some of the quantum equipment and the AI ​​core. Then he sent a courier with a request to give him a key to an emergency stop of the system. The system was disabled, the AI ​​was destroyed, and the leader was gone. I don't know what happened to him. When I returned from Titan, no one tried to get in touch with me, and the search yielded nothing. This was in 2122.

     What about the dead hand? What kind of graters do you have with them?

     We haven't met with them.

     Why did they follow me to the bar? And how did they know about this secret communication system?

     “Theoretically, they could have found out by capturing the courier. Although even Neurotek could not extract anything from the couriers, I am sure of it. So, what… How did you find out about the bar? Do you have anything from the memory of the leader?

     - I didn’t have a damn thing, almost ... I found a courier and he gave out your message.

     "Where's the courier now?"

     "He's here in the Dreamland biobath," Sonny replied.

     “Well then, Max, they could only find out from you.

     "And that's why they tried to beat me up?"

     “Yes, it’s a bit illogical, but gangs aren’t particularly loyal to treaties…”

     “And they couldn’t find out from the previous leader?”

     - Theoretically ... But why did he allow himself to be captured, or did he decide to cooperate with them? Do you remember anything about meeting him?

     “I only know that I came with my mother to Mars in 2122. I was a child and I don’t remember anything intelligible about the trip itself. And then I lived all the time in Moscow and returned to Tula only three months ago.

     - Apparently you will have to find out for yourself what happened to the previous leader.

     “I will definitely find out. Why didn't Neurotek try to launch a new quantum project, at least to protect its systems from hacking? Already without any revolutionaries.

     - There are certain difficulties in creating protection against quantum hacking and in creating sustainable AIs. Quantum AI is capable of making any defense system, even a quantum one. And it has the ability to enter into a superposition with any quantum system, even without a reliable physical communication channel with it. And, accordingly, he can influence it at his own discretion. And it is impossible to drown out or screen quantum entanglement, well, or so far no one knows how to do it. Only another quantum AI can resist such an influence. In the world of quantum intelligence, it will be very difficult to keep any secrets or secrets, even if the storage is isolated from external networks. Therefore, the problem with quantum AIs is that if someone created a quantum AI, then you must either become the same AI yourself, or avoid any quantum computers and try to physically destroy any AIs. Neurotek chose the avoid and destroy option. If he finds out about our meeting, he will burn the mountain with the Thule-2 storage to the very Martian core, and scatter the ashes outside the solar system.

     Why didn't they choose the option to become Quantum AIs? Then surely no one would be able to resist them.

     “They crap too much back then, and I'm not sure how much they kept the technology at all. Plus, there are difficulties in rewriting human consciousness on a quantum carrier, and we took these know-how with us. And I have already said that an intelligent supercomputer, which has computing power orders of magnitude greater than all the others, upsets the balance too much. Either they give this technology to everyone else, or the rest, when they find out, will try to destroy them at any cost.

     - And where did you come from so smart?

     - The previous leader was a real genius, cooler than Edward Kroc himself.

     Well, I'm not that kind of a genius, unfortunately. Logically, it turns out that we will have to become quantum AIs?

     - Yes, and not only to us, but to all other people, at least those who want to continue technological progress. It will be a true singularity. And, of course, there will be no hierarchies, copyrights, closed codes, and similar atavisms of hairless monkeys. Therefore, no Martian corporation should know about us or about our real goals.

     “I'm not quite ready for this yet. Yes, and I'm afraid my girlfriend will not approve of rewriting on a quantum matrix ...

     - Well, then you have to remain a slave to a miserable piece of meat. Or move on without her ... and without many others. But this will not happen tomorrow, while we need to at least restore Sonny's core to minimal functionality.

     "But will it happen?" Are you ready to start the system?

     “Wait a minute, I also have one little question: what kind of person was with you at the bar?”

     — Ruslan? He is, my friend.

     - Tim thinks that he is not a simple guy at all. Who is he?

     - Well, he is an employee of SB Telecom ...

     — Helmet! You brought a sbeshnik to such a meeting! Are you kidding!

     He promised to keep quiet about that mess.

     “Did his sbesh chip promise to be silent too?!

     - He said that the chip is not a problem, he can somehow turn it off. He is generally a strange type from a strange department of the Security Service. I think it has something to do with crime.

     - Illegal? Sonny suggested.

     Perhaps, but that doesn't guarantee anything.

     “If he keeps quiet, then we can take a chance and deal with him later. If he is illegal, it rather simplifies things.

     Or makes it harder.

     - Who is an illegal? Max asked.

    Rudy made a contemptuous face, Sonny answered for him.

     - Employees who either do not have an official status in the structure, or have a status that does not correspond to the real one. Designed for all sorts of dirty deeds, or, for example, for spying on the security departments of the security services, for absolutely paranoid corporations. Telecom is just one of them. Usually, information from their chips is not written to the internal servers of the Security Council, so that it would be impossible to prove the deliberate use of this employee, even in the event of server hacking or betrayal. And, as a rule, illegal immigrants receive a certain freedom of action. Your Ruslan can be engaged in protecting some mafia, disguised as an employee recruited by this mafia, who installed a hacked chip on his own initiative. If it fails, Telekom will simply claim that it has betrayed the high trust placed in it. This is the last resort, if none of the built-in liquidation systems work. And of course, no one guarantees that his curator does not use some other means of control.

     "No one guarantees that he won't just turn us over to a dead hand or his handler," Rudy pointed out. “I hope you didn’t tell anyone else about these matters?”

     - Well, there was also Edik ...

     - What kind of Edik is that?!

     “Thule-2 vault technician, he heard the courier's message, but I managed to scare him a little.

     - Okay, we'll deal with Edik.

     “Come on, let’s just not kill anyone… Unless absolutely necessary.”

     “Come on, you won’t come up with stupid advice… respected leader.”

     “In the future, you will still have to take my advice into account.

     "I'll have to..." Rudy admitted reluctantly. “Unfortunately, this is the protocol of the system.

     Are you ready to say the keys?

    Sonny showed extreme impatience with his whole appearance.

     "Ready," Rudy agreed reluctantly.

     - First you, Max, say the constant part of the key.

    The one who opened the door sees the world as infinite,
    The one to whom the doors are opened sees endless worlds.
    There is one goal and a thousand paths.
    The one who sees the goal chooses the path.
    The one who chose the path will never reach.
    For everyone, only one road leads to the truth.

     “Key accepted, now you, Rudy, say the variable part of the key.”

    The path of prudence and righteousness leads to the temple of forgetfulness.
    The road of passions and desires leads to the temple of wisdom.
    The road of murder and destruction leads to the temple of heroes.
    For everyone, only one road leads to the truth.

     — The key is accepted, the system is activated.

    Sonny immediately stopped glitching. Max could have sworn that this germ of quantum AI was feeling undisguised relief.

     — Max, now we need quantum computers for my development. Rudy and I have all the technical information. Try to launch the development of quantum computers in Telecom. This is almost certainly someone already doing or doing, but abandoned due to technical problems. You must find out. With our database, you will easily become the most valuable developer. And then it’s just a matter of technology, I can even do without stable physical communication channels with quantum servers. As soon as the system can develop, your capabilities will increase many times over. You can crack any codes and security systems. In the digital world, it's like becoming a god.

     “One problem, Sonny: how does he start a quantum project? Who is he in Telecom?

     — I am a promising programmer.

     - And how can a simple poz be able to launch a risky and expensive development, especially if it has already been started and abandoned. Better, I'll try to do it myself through my office.

     — No, Rudy, if Neurotech finds out about this, it will crush your business. Let Max try through Telecom. We will help him in everything: he will become a brilliant, irreplaceable developer. You, Max, didn't make friends with some big boss there? We could work with him. Yes, Rudy?

     - I know one Martian, I can grind with him.

     - Pfft, go ahead. We have already tried through Neurotek once… All corporations are evil. We must work ourselves.

     “You have to understand that you will never finish development with your resources. Your company is too small. It is necessary to attract huge funds and at the same time ensure complete secrecy. It's impossible, and even if it's possible you'll never bring a product to market. Telecom can both provide resources and secrecy, and fight Neurotek if necessary. And your startup will be destroyed immediately. There are no options, you need to help Max.

     - As if Max is an option ... Well, let him try, in half a year, when he doesn’t burn out a damn thing, I’ll do it myself. Just please, Max, study the protocols and try not to violate the safety rules, at least not so rudely.

     - Yes, sure. The message also said that on Titan you should check suspicions about some person who could have ratted you out to Neurotek. What is this person?

     - Forget. This time we will do without it.

    Rudy showed with his whole appearance that the conversation was over.

    When Max entered the Square of Truth, it was flooded with bright sunlight. The wind carried the smell of rain and summer. And under the gothic temples soaring in the sky, there is an endless green sea with silvery ribbons of rivers and lakes.

    

    Max was sitting at the terminal and sorting through an endless database of data on network load when he received a message from the head of the sector. He was slightly surprised and at first did not even connect it with a letter to Arthur about a desire to participate in the development of quantum computers.

    Arthur sat with Albert in his study and stared at the polyp colonies from Titan. They seemed to have grown a lot since Max saw them last time. He lolled imposingly in an armchair and showed with all his appearance that he was ready to sit like that and spit at the ceiling at least all day. Albert, on the other hand, was visibly nervous, tapping his fingers on the table and staring at Arthur. His numerous drones circled around the master in confusion, not knowing how to calm him down.

     “Hi, I didn’t expect to see you,” Max said, entering the office.

     “Didn’t you want to get involved in the development of quantum computers?” I showed the letter to a couple of people...your ideas were found interesting. True, the Telecom quantum project has been rotten for five years already, it is not closed simply out of stubbornness. But can you breathe new life into it?

     - I will try.

     - Then write an application for transfer.

     - Why so soon? Max was surprised.

     - What, you changed your mind?

     — No, but I wanted to talk to someone from the project first. Clarify what I will do and so on ...

     Will this affect your decision in any way?

     - Hardly.

     “Alright, then come over to me.

    Arthur got up from his chair, clearly preparing to leave.

     "Wait, Arthur," came Albert's colorless voice. — My visa must be on the transfer application. Do you two want to explain yourself a little?

     “Ah, that’s why you had to drag yourself here ...” Arthur drawled. - Max has interesting ideas about the implementation of quantum computers and he can work more productively at Telecom in the development department. I approve this decision, it is approved by the project participants, it is approved by Martin Hess, Director of Advanced Development.

     “Don't scare me with Martin Hess.

     - I'm not afraid. I just don't see what the problem is?

     “The problem is that you can’t just come in and disrupt the work of my sector, due to the fact that someone came up with another crazy idea.

     “Someone in our swamp must come up with some crazy ideas. It is ideas like these that move the company forward.

     - Yes, and when did HR managers move the company forward?

     - When the right people were selected. I just gave Max's letter to the right person. Is he such an indispensable employee of the optimization sector?

     “There are no irreplaceable employees in the optimization sector,” Albert rasped haughtily. But that breaks all the rules.

     — The main rule of business is that there are no rules.

     “There are no rules for Martians.

     - And for earthlings, it means there is? Arthur chuckled. — I didn’t know that in your sector they discriminate based on the place of birth.

     “Neither the Martians, nor the earthlings, nor even the women of the earthlings laugh at your jokes.

     “Wow, take it easy, my Martian brother, that was a low blow,” Arthur laughed openly. - What will the representative of the earthlings think of us: that the Martians are no better than them. In short, if you want to talk about rules, talk to Martin Hess about them. And now, I'm scaring you.

     It's useless to talk to you. But remember, - Albert turned to Max and fixed his bird's eye on him. “You won’t be able to return to my sector.

     “I can always go back to Moscow,” Max shrugged.

     - Very well. Arthur jumped up from his chair. - If you want to discuss the project, I sent you the contacts of the participants. And don't forget to visit me. Happy Albert.

    Max hesitated for a while in front of the gloomy former boss.

     "I'll send a statement," he finally said, and turned around.

     “Wait a second, Max. I wanted to talk to you.

     - Yes, I'm listening.

    Max carefully lowered himself into a chair.

     - When did you manage to make friends with Arthur like that?

     We're not really friends...

     “Why does he make such proposals to you?”

     “I will definitely ask him.

     Of course, ask. But here's a good piece of advice for you: don't. He's just playing human, trying to look different from who he really is.

     - What's the difference, let him play whoever he wants. The main thing is that he gives me a chance.

     “You know, I don’t like people and all their stupid antics, but I don’t hide it.

     - What, all Martians are obliged not to like people?

     Some people love dogs, some don't or are afraid, it's a matter of personal preference. But no one will trust a dog, or more accurately a ten-year-old child, to manage their wallets. This is not a question of relationships and other emotions, but elementary logic.

    Max felt anger seething.

     "I'm sorry, Albert, but I just realized that I don't love you either." And I don't want to work with you.

     - I don't care. It's not about who loves whom. The fact is that Arthur pretends to be playing some strange game. Friendship with people is also part of his game. Think about this: the director of advanced research is a figure equal to the president of some miserable earthly country. And why is he dancing to the tune of some manager?

     - He does not dance, Arthur selects personnel for the project for him.

     - Yes, I'm sure that this smelly project, from the very beginning, was an idea of ​​this Arthur. No wonder the project was blown away.

     - He's the Human Resources Manager. How can he start new developments?

     “So think about it at your leisure. And why did he get a job in the personnel service, although he would just easily have risen to the rank of system architect and even higher. He offers you the position of lead developer. Such a chance is given to people only for some incredible merits. For the sake of such a chance, they work hard all their lives. Think about why he offers you everything at once and what the real price will be.

     If I refuse, I will regret it for the rest of my life.

     - I warned you. As your Arthur says, in the lousy real world, everyone does what they can and tries to put the consequences on others.

     “I'm ready for the consequences.

     - I highly doubt it.

    Arthur's office was located at the farthest end of the personnel office. But on the other hand, he was far from noisy open spaces and meeting rooms. It was much more modest than Albert's high-tech apartments, without airlock, robotic chairs and fussing drones, but with a large wall-to-wall window. Towers glittered outside the window and the chaotic life of the city of Tula was seething.

     “Albert signed my application,” Max began. - But I still wanted to ask: why did you win this position for me? It was you who broke it, not Martin Hess.

     — Martin Hess is sitting somewhere high in the sky. All the names he knows in the optimization sector are Albert Bonford and Albert Bonford's subordinates. Consider that I see potential in you, which is why I recommended it.

     - Well, I don’t know, I’ve done stupid things rather than somehow showed potential.

     - The potential is manifested precisely in what kind of mistakes a person makes. If you want, you can refuse and go back to Albert.

     - No, I'd rather go back to Moscow. By the way, will you look at the invitation for my girlfriend yet? It has been gathering dust inside the bureaucratic machine of Telecom for three months already.

     - No problem, I think we will resolve the issue by tomorrow.

     Arthur thought about something, fixing his eyes on Max. Max even became a little embarrassed.

     - Do you happen to know a man by the name of Boborykin?

     Max did his best to keep the storm of emotions in his soul from showing on his face.

     - No ... and who is it?

     - The technician at the Thule-2 storage facility, where you recently worked, is Eduard Boborykin.

     "And why should I know him?"

     - Well, you crossed paths with him when you were in the vault. Grieg said that you almost had a conflict with him, because of the observance of some instructions.

     “Ah…that technician.” Max hoped his epiphany looked natural. - We did not have any conflict, he is a pervert and a vile type who paws clients when he leads them with body control, and maybe even worse. And I wanted to roll a statement on him.

     - And why didn’t you roll it?

     - Grieg and Boris dissuaded, they said that this would not benefit the relationship between Telecom and Dreamland. What's the problem?

     “The problem is that someone pushed him down the shaft and he broke everything he could, including his neck.

     — In the vault?

     Yes, right in the vault. Dreamland SB is talking some nonsense about the fact that no one but dreamers could push him. And he agonized there in the dark until the dreamers he led for examination were missed.

     They are in control of the body. Is it possible?

     - Theoretically, everything is possible. Maybe someone hacked their software. But the Dreamland SB seems to be in complete confusion, shaking everyone who has ever contacted him. And at the same time he is still trying to blame the incident on hardware problems with our equipment.

     “Will I be interrogated by Dreamland Security?

     - Of course not. What are their reasons? This is generally nonsense, but our Security Service also tensed up. You may be asked to give some explanation, so I wanted to warn you.

     “Well, okay, I hope this nonsense does not interfere with my brilliant work on quantum computers.

     - They won't interfere.

     Max checked his statement again and committed it to the database with a decisive click.

     — Welcome to the other side, Maxim.

     Arthur's handshake was surprisingly dry and strong. And the pangs of conscience about the fate of fat Edik quickly faded in the cycle of a new life.

    

Source: habr.com