Quantum Future (continued)

The first part (Chapter 1)

The second part (Chapter 2,3)

Chapter 4. Doors

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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 well and even jumped over the rung of the service ladder immediately to the ninth category optimizer. On the wave of success, he decided to take part in the development of an application for the design of a New Year's corporate evening. In this, of course, there was no achievement: any Telecom employee 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, moreover, it 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 a charming Laura May, and a couple of hours of personal contact 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, almost all the time smiling and smoking expensive synthetic cigarettes right in the workplace, without any fear of fines and other sanctions. She listened without technical signs of boredom to technical details, in which the nerds hanging around her were constantly moving in and even tried to laugh at them with no less nerdy jokes. Even the fact that Laura got away with smoking and working in the workplace and familiarity with the highest Martian bosses did not cause Max a single annoyance. He tried to remind himself more often that it was just a part of her work: to motivate stupid males to take part in any free amateur performances, and in fact he has Masha who is waiting in distant cold Moscow when he will finally figure out her invitation for a visa . And he also thought that in the world of illusions no one attaches any particular importance to feminine beauty and charm, because everyone here looks like they want, and bots look and speak perfectly. But Laura easily violated this rule, so that for ten minutes of meaningless chatter with her, Max was ready to spend half the night hanging over the festive application and then did not even feel particularly used.

So, the time inexorably approached the onset of the New Year's celebration, which was taken seriously in Telecom. Max was sitting on a sofa in one of the rest rooms, thoughtfully stirred the coffee and twisted the settings of his chip, trying to achieve the normal performance of his own application. So far, the tests seem to be going fine, without any special pixels and screenshots. Next to the sofa, Boris plopped down.

- Well, let's go?

- Wait, another five minutes.

- From our sector, the people have fallen down, they will get drunk by the time we come. By the way, a dubious topic was invented for the corporate party.

- Why?

- Yes, can you imagine what the headlines will be in the news, if the competitors read. “Telecom showed its true face” ... and so on.

- Therefore, the party is closed. The application has a ban on the cameras of personal drones, tablets and videos from neurochips.

- Anyway, this demonic topic, in my opinion, is a little overkill.

- What was last year?

- Last year, stupidly booze at the club. There were more types of contests ... for which everyone scored.

- That's it, that's why now they have focused on thematic design, without silly competitions. A theme of the lower plan setting Planescape won by a fair vote.

- Yeah, I always knew that you could not trust such things to clever men. After all, have you chosen this topic for fun?

“I have no idea, I offered it because I like one very old igrulya in this setting.” They offered another ball of Satan in the style of the Master and Margarita, but they decided that it was too vintage and not fashionable.

“Well, yes, you have it suggested ... If only the usual nine circles of hell would have been done, otherwise they would have unearthed an ancient moss-covered ancient setting.”

- Excellent setting, much better than your warcraft. And with Dante's hell, unhealthy associations could arise.

- As if with this they are very healthy ...

Another guy entered the almost empty room: tall, frail, and awkward looking. He had unkempt, slightly curly blond hair shoulder to shoulder and many days of unshaven cheeks. Judging by this, and according to the expression of easy detachment in his gaze, he successfully scored on his appearance both real and digital. Max saw him briefly a couple of times, and Boris happily waved his hand in the entrance.

- Hey, Grieg, great! You also did not fall down with everyone?

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

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

Grieg awkwardly held out his hand, so that Max managed to shake only his fingers. From the sleeves of a worn plaid shirt, some connectors and cables looked out. Grieg, seeing that Max paid attention to them, immediately pulled up his sleeve.

- This is for work. I do not like wireless interfaces, so reliable. - Grieg blushed slightly: for some reason he was ashamed of his cybernetics.

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

- I do not like the topic.

- You see, Max, many do not like.

- Why did they vote then? What do not like something?

“Yes, somehow it is not good to dress up in all 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, the Martians in general are real technofascists or techno-fascists. Nothing holy! - Boris stated categorically. - Max here, it turns out that he was not only driving the development of the application, but also this topic, he also thought up.

- No, the app is cool done. I just do not really have holidays ... and all these incarnations too. Well, I am such a person ..., - Grieg took off, apparently having decided that he inadvertently offended in the person of Max some kind of cool bosses.

- I did not tax, stop recruiting.

- Come on shy. You are now with us, really, superstar. In my memory, no one jumped through the post after the qualifying exams. Among the coders of our sector, of course. You have no such thing?

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

- And also Max here has okhmuril itself, you will not believe, fucking Laura May.

- Boris, tie the rant. A hundred times already said: I have Masha.

“Yeah, and you will live with her happily ever after, when she finally arrives on Mars.” Or, for some reason, she will not receive a visa and will remain in Moscow ... Do not tell me that you have not yet rolled up to Laura? Do not be a little weak, Max, who does not risk he does not drink champagne!

- Yes, maybe I do not want to drive up to it! It feels like, in the face of the concerned half of our sector, I have already undertaken to report on the rolling process. And you yourself, sort of like a family man, what kind of unhealthy interest?

- Well, I do not pretend to anything. None of us was lost for two hours in her office. And you always hang out there, so your duty, as a representative of the glorious masculine: ohmurit and be sure to report to the comrades. Arsen, by the way, has long offered to create a closed group on the MarinBook to help you with advice and quickly find out about progress.

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

“We didn’t hope for the video even in our wildest dreams, but since you yourself promise ... I’m catching a shorter word.” Grieg, you confirm, if what?

- What? - asked Grieg, obviously gone to himself.

“Oh, nothing,” Boris waved his hand.

“Is that what Laura bothers you so much?”

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

- And what version?

- What are the versions? In such matters, we do not rely on unverified rumors and guesses. Need reliable infa, first hand.

- Yeah of course. Here, Boryan, really, create yourself a bot with its appearance and have a lot of fun.

- Did you really forget what causes fun with bots? To guaranteed turning into a shadow.

- I meant only the process of fuming, nothing more.

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

Following the bored white rabbit in a waistcoat, they left the rest room and passed the half-dark halls of the optimization and service sector. There was only a shift on duty, buried in deep chairs and boring databases of the internal network.

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 was a mine with freight and passenger elevators. It rose from the depths of the planet right up to the observation deck at the top of the support of the power dome above the surface, from where one could observe endless red dunes. They said that the one who fell into the mine from the observation deck, would have managed to make and assure a digital testament, while flying to the bottom. In total, there were several hundred huge floors in the main office and it is unlikely that an employee could be found, even among the most honored, who would visit them all in his life. Especially because people with an orange or yellow admission to the entrance to some floors were ordered. For example, on those where the luxurious rooms and apartments of big Martian bosses were located. Such VIP rooms occupied mainly the middle floors of the tower. Autonomous energy and oxygen stations were hiding somewhere in the very depths of the dip. And for the rest, there was no special segregation by height, only they tried not to have anything important in the elevated tower. The network operation service occupied several tiers closer to the ceiling of the cave next to the docking nodes for drones. From the windows of the relaxation block it was always possible to observe swarming herds of large and small office machines.

A lift in advance caused by the rabbit was waiting for them in the spacious hall. Boris first went inside, turned around and said in a terrible voice:

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

And turned into a stunted red demon with small wings and long canines protruding from the lower and upper jaws. On his belt there was a hefty hammer with a beak on the back, which was a sickle blade with creepy notches. Criss-cross Boris was wrapped in a heavy chain with a spiked ball at the end.

- I would look at the fool who decides to sell the soul to the gnome.

“I am a dwarf ... I mean, what the hell, I'm actually a demon.”

- Yeah, you're a red leprechaun with wings. Or maybe a small red orc with wings.

- Yes, and don't care, there are no rules about the costume in your application.

- I don't care, of course, but warcraft does not let you go, even at corporate party.

- Well, okay, I have the type of tight with fantasy, I admit? And who are you?

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?

“I think he's just a burning man,” Grieg said suddenly.

- Tochnyak. In general, I Ignus is a character from that ancient game. I burned the whole city and in retaliation the residents opened for me a personal portal to the plan of fire. And although I am doomed to burn forever alive, 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 is somehow closer to the people.

- In the fire, I see the world real.

- Oh, rushed, again you begin to push your philosophy. After returning from this fucking Dreamland, you became some kind of wrong. Let's do it: about shadows and so on - this is a bike, honestly.

“So you didn't see your own shadow?”

- Well, I definitely saw something, but as if I’m not ready to vouch. And my shadow certainly didn’t compost my brains with a confused philosophy.

The elevator stopped smoothly on the ground floor. Immediately the helpful platform with handrails arrived, ready to deliver straight to the buses.

- Let's go peshochkom through the gate, - suggested Boris. - I threw my backpack there in the storage room.

“You will never break up with him.”

- Today there are too many forbidden liquids in it, it was dumb through a guard to shove.

The virtual rabbit jumped onto the platform and drove off with it. And they stomped through scanners and security robots, deliberately painted in menacing camouflage tones, touched by rust. The imposing turrets on the mono-wheels turned after each visitor, turning the trunks on the manipulators and not tired of repeating in the metal voice “Move along”!

Boris pulled out of the camera tinkling heavy backpack.

- And they will let you into the club, do you think?

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

- Uh, Boris, besiege the horses! In the same place a half-box minimum, - Max was surprised, lifting a backpack to estimate its weight. - I hope this beer, or you captured a couple of oxygen cylinders in reserve?

“You offended me, I grabbed a couple of bottles of Mars-Cola for drinking.” And the cylinders rest today. Given how much I'm going to drink, even a spacesuit will not save me. Grieg, are you with us?

Boris was full of enthusiasm. Max was afraid that he would begin tasting directly at the reception, in front of the guards and secretaries.

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

- In, well, let's start a little bit, and then how it goes ... SchA, Max, let's press it even before the club, that is, sorry, before falling into the lower planes, let's deal with your philosophy.

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

- Something trouble you have in the application with the processing of objects.

- What did you want it to recognize everything on the fly? If your miraculous backpack has an IoT interface, then it will register without any problems. You can, of course, recognize that, but you need to tinker.

- Yeah, now.

Boris's backpack turned into a battered leather bag with bone clasps and embossed skulls and pentagrams.

“All right, I’m completely ready for unbridled fun.” Go ahead, lower plans are waiting for us!

Boris led the procession, and they without delay went to the long-awaited vehicles for the late. They appeared in the form of a pair of rooks from old, rotten boards, covered with balls of vile whitish threads, which began a sleepy stirring, barely feeling the movement nearby. The rooks were laid up at the half-ruined stone pier. Behind it remained quite an ordinary parking lot with cars and a huge wall of support, and the darkness of the boundless Styx was already lamenting ahead, and a mystical fog was smoking above the water.

The entrance to the ramp was guarded by a tall, bony figure in a torn gray robe, floating half a meter above the ground. She blocked the way for Grieg.

“Only the souls of the dead and the evils of evil can sail through the waters of Styx,” the carrier rasped.

“Yes, of course,” Grieg said. - Now turn on.

He turned into a standard dark elf with long silver hair, in leather armor and the finest coat of spider silk.

“Do not try to leave the ship during the trip, the water of Styx is deprived of memory ...” the carrier bot continued to creak, but no one listened to it.

Inside, everything was also quite authentic: bone benches on the sides, lighting with flashes of demonic fire and the souls of sinners embedded in rotten boards, occasionally frightening with grave moans and pulling on knotty limbs. At the stern of the boat, a couple of dragon-like demons hung out, one not an authentic vampire and the spider queen - Lolth in the form of a dark elf, but with a bunch of chelacer protruding from the back. True lady was slightly in the body, so that even the application could not hide it. Textures of the dark goddess, who had grown up on Telekomov’s grubs, were noticeably muted when confronted with real objects, signaling a discrepancy between the physical and digital body. Max did not know anyone who was already present on the boat. But Boris yelled happily, shaking a ringing bag.

- Salute everyone! Katyukha, Sanya, how is life? Che, can roll ?!

- This is the thing! - immediately vampire perked up.

- Boryan - handsome, prepared!

Dragon-like Sanek clapped Boris on the shoulder and pulled paper cups from under the bench.

- Oh, finally, one of ours! - the spider happily squealed and practically hung on the neck of Grieg. “Are you not happy to see your queen ?!”

Grieg, embarrassed by such pressure, sluggishly denied and apparently reproached himself for the unfortunate choice of costume. The dragons were already pouring whiskey and cola into glasses and around themselves. “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 late creations of evil. Heaped in another violet demon with a big toothed maw and long spines all over his body, several insect-like demons and demonits and a female snake with four arms. They poured into the drunken company at the stern so that Boris’s backpack was really quite empty. , . , , , . . , , , . , . .

- Max, what are you missing? I, you know, planned to kick your company today.

- Let's do it later, we'll get drunk at the club.

- Why so?

- Yes, I was hoping to hang out with one of the Martians and maybe to discuss my career prospects. While it is necessary to stay in shape.

- Oh, Max, you forget it! This is another kind of razvodilovo: the type of corporate parties can hang out with anyone, without regard to the ranks and titles. Complete nonsense.

- Why? I heard stories about incredible career highs, or fall after corporate events.

- Tales of pure water, I understand this. Ordinary Martian hypocrisy, it’s necessary to show that the life of simple bydlokoderov somehow worries them. It will be, at best, tryndezh about anything.

- Well, at least, the reputation of a person who quietly tries to talk about anything with the bosses from the board of directors is already worth a lot.

- And how do you plan to have a casual conversation?

- It is an obvious way provided by the program of the evening. Martians love original outfit.

- Do you think your outfit is very cool?

- Well, he's from a vintage computer game.

- This is yes, - a great way to lick it off. Your choice of costume is clear. Although against the background of the surrounding misery, even my red orc was not so bad.

- Yeah, in vain the face control in the application did not start, or at least a ban on standard images. Of all those who swallow only the dinosaur claims to be some kind of originality.

- This is Dimon from the Security Council. He just has nothing to do there. Sit intact in the ceiling spit, supposedly watching security. Hey, Dimon! - Boris called a cheerful plush dinosaur. - You have a cool suit saying!

Dimon saluted with a paper cup and an unsteady gait, clutching at the bone handrails, approached them.

- Himself sewed a whole week.

- Shil? - Max was surprised.

- Yeah, you can touch it.

- Do you want to say you have a real suit, not a digital one?

- A natural product, but what? Nobody has such a suit.

- And the truth is original, although without explanation no one will figure it out, probably. And you mean working in the Security Council?

- The operator, so do not worry, I do not collect any compromising evidence. You can even stand on the ears, even to puke under the table.

- I know one dude from your Security Council, who advised me to score at all on the secret of private life, they call Ruslan.

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

- I do not know, from some strange department, it seems to me. And in general, he is not a particularly pleasant type ...

- And of you, by the way, no one knows how to turn off the bot? And then zadolbal already with a reminder that I have not changed clothes.

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

- Add. And you type admini?

- Max is our main developer of the application, - Boris got up again. - And he also muddied ...

- Boryan, well, enough already to carry this nonsense about Laura.

- And who is this?

- Well, what are you ?! - Boris resented theatrically. “Blonde like that with big boobs from the press office.”

- And this Laura ... fig yourself!

- Here's a fig yourself. Max, by the way, promised to introduce all his friends to her. She will be today?

- No, she said that her anxious bydlokodery zadolbali, so she hangs out with the directors and other VIPs in a separate penthouse.

- What are the details, however. Don't mind, Max is joking.

“Great, then I’m drinking with you,” plush Dimon rejoiced. - Well, I will also try to ring up that snake, we are reptiles, we have a lot in common ..., like. And if that doesn't work, then with Laura.

- What's up with Laura? - Max shook his head. - Understood with your bot.

“I'll offer her to touch my costume,” Dimon sneered. - No wonder that so much strength was threatened by him. Borya, where is your backpack? Hurry me please.

Max realized that there was nowhere to escape from the fun on this ship. So when they pushed off, the Styx no longer looked so gloomy, and a bunch of mischievous evil spirits so banal. He thought that, after all, the team responsible for the trip had not greatly improved: the boat, rushing at breakneck speed through the dark waters, like unnaturally maneuvering crowds of spirits and water demons, too clearly resembled their road prototypes. On the other hand, did it bother someone other than a few picky connoisseurs. “And what is the corporate party going to present some awards for the best development? - Max wondered. - No, none of the big bosses promised that he would bring everyone together and tell you that here he is Max, the designer of the best and most elaborate first plan for Baator.And after a stormy and prolonged applause, he will not offer to urgently transfer into my hands the development of a new supercomputer. Everyone will forget about these pictures the next day. ”

- Max, why are you kuksish again ?! - Boris asked him in a slightly stray language. - It is necessary to turn away for a minute and you immediately squeeze. Let's go relax!

- So, I reflect on one fundamental mystery of the digital world.

- Mystery? - Boris asked, really not having heard anything in the surrounding galley. - You also invented a riddle? You are the champion in participation in gay martian entertainment.

- And I also invented a riddle. I think you have to guess it.

- Let's listen.

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

- Well, I do not know ... Are you the son of Taras Bulba?

- Ha! The course of thought is certainly interesting, but no. What is meant is rather a physical disappearance and formal compliance with the conditions, rather than a literal interpretation. Think again.

- Yes, leave me alone! My brain has already been transferred to the “we hammer on everything and come off” mode, there is nothing to load it with.

“Okay, the correct answer is a shadow.” If I see the sun, it will disappear.

- And, really ... Dimon piss off, we solve mysteries here.

Boris tried to push away the comrade who had come through him behind the last bottle of Mars-Cola.

- what are the riddles? I can guess too.

“There is one more,” Max shrugged. - True, she did not even miss her neural network, I suspect because I myself do not know the answer.

- SchA solve! - with enthusiasm answered Dimon.

- Is there any way to determine that the world around us is not a Martian dream, taking 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 conditions?

- Yyy ..., - Dimon drawled. - I went to snake off from you.

- A black man with multi-colored pills is the only way! - Boris snapped irritably. - No, Max, now I will make you get drunk so that you forget to even think about the damn Dreamland for one night. Hey drunkard, where is my backpack ?!

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

- What is absolutely nothing left? - Boris was upset.

- Here.

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

- Just for three. Let's for the next year, the fucking Dreamland burned to the ground.

“By the way, this is one of the largest customers of Telekom,” said Grieg, accepting a bottle, and drinking leftovers in one gulp. - Of course, they are engaged in a lousy business, I do not like them either.

- will infa?

- Yes, I always go there to change something. There are half our racks. The most dumb work, of course, is in the repositories, especially one. Generally a nightmare, as in some morgue.

- I heard, Max, Che Dreamland does with people.

- Keeps them biovannah, nothing special.

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

- Von Max should be reduced to a tour, so that he really felt.

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

“Tomorrow I'll make it up, well, or the day after tomorrow.”

“Stop it,” Max said. - Well, stumbled once, who does not happen? I do not want to go there on excursions.

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

The boat slowed down pretty sharply. Bot zabubnil something about the need to observe order and caution, when drunken evils of evil rushed to the exit, without dismantling the road. Directly from the coast of Styx, a wide staircase began to descend into the burning hell. Numerous dance floors of the prestigious club "Yama" really went inside a huge natural crack. And so the hellish textures of the lower planes perfectly superimposed on its real architecture. On both sides of the staircase, the beginning of the descent was guarded by statues of eerie anthropomorphic creatures of two meters in height, with a huge maw that opened down one hundred and eighty degrees, with mandibles sticking out of it and a long forked tongue. The creatures' skin seemed to be completely absent, and instead the body was braided with ropes of muscle tissue. Several long whiskers hung from an angular skull,and over the large faceted eyes gaped a few more dips, like empty sockets. Rows of bone spikes protruded from the chest and back, arms were decorated with short powerful claws. And the legs ended with three very long claws, capable of clinging to any surface.

Max curiously stopped in front of the nightmarish sculptures and, having turned off the “demonic” vision for a second, made sure that there were no digital improvements in them. Apparently, they were made using very high quality dark bronze 3D printing, so that each tendon and each artery looked clear and prominent. It seemed that the creatures were about to step from their pedestals directly into the crowd in order to arrange a real bloodbath among the people who pretend to be demons.

- Strange things, even when I was doing the application, I could not find anything about them? Even the staff are silent, as partisans.

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

- Anyway, they are strange.

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

- Yes, I am not in this sense strange. They are somehow eclectic or something. These are clearly hoses or tubes, but clearly there are connectors nearby ...

- Just think, ordinary cyborg demons, we’re going.

The first lower plan met them with symphonic arrangements of rock music and the hubbub of a huge crowd unsteady on a barren, rocky plain lit by the light of red skies. In the sky, sometimes Bengal fires and other pyrotechnics flashed, turning the program into fiery comets. Large obsidian fragments were scattered across the plain, one approximation to which was frightening the possibility of truncating a couple of protruding parts of the body from contact with their razor-sharp edges. However, in reality, such negligence did not threaten anything, because behind the textures of the fragments there were hidden soft ottomans for the rest of tired demons. What the polluted souls of sinners politely told in the fragments. In some places, blood streams ran because of which Max nearly quarreled with the leadership of the club.With a great creak, the club agreed to organize small grooves with real water, and refused to spoil its property with full-fledged rivers of blood flatly. Ugly lemurs, resembling shapeless pieces of protoplasm, hastily hurried along the plain. 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 with robotics, obediently drove in the other direction, not forgetting to make a proper apology in a synthesized voice. - I was hoping that we would be served by cute live succubus, or something like that, and not cheap pieces of iron.

- Well, sorry, all the questions to Telekomu, why he did not forked out for nice succubus.

- Ok, you, as the main developer, tell me: where is the best swill?

- Each plan has its own chips. Here they mostly spill “bloody” cocktails, red wine and all that. You can go to the central bar, if the lemurs are not satisfied.

- These are those bushes in the center? They are generally in my opinion not the topic. Your flaw?

- No, it's all about the setting theme. These are the gardens of oblivion - a strange paradise in the middle of the hellish hell. Tasty juicy fruits grow on the trees there, though if you lean too hard on them, you can forget the magic dream and disappear forever from this world.

- Then let's go down.

- Boris, you would not interfere with everything. At this rate, we will not get to the ninth plan.

- You do not worry for me. I, if necessary, crawled to at least twentieth. Grieg, are you with us or against us?

Following Grieg, Katyukha again became attached, with whom he had already spoken with no visible signs of restraint, and even tried to portray the pleasure of the fun around him. He gallantly helped her get over the bloody streams. They were also joined by the dragon-like Sanek with some kind of left witch.

In the center of the hall, a small grove of animated trees was surrounded by a murmuring fountain. From the trees hung clusters of various fruits. Boris tore a grapefruit and handed it to Max.

- So what to do with this garbage?

- You insert a tubule and you drink. Most likely, this is vodka with grapefruit juice. Type of fruit roughly corresponds to the content. I'll go get a normal cocktail for myself.

Max went to the center of the grove, where around the fountain stood automatic bar disguised as predatory flowers. With their trapping stalks, they grabbed the right glass and mixed the components with perfectly timed movements. Next to one of the automatons was the dark figure of a black gargoyle with burning yellow eyes and large leathery wings.

- Ruslan? - Max asked in surprise.

- Oh, great. How is life, how is career success?

- In the process. Here, I hoped today to get useful acquaintances. Even a riddle invented.

- Well done. Vecherina is nowhere else, and you want to extinguish it even more.

“All the same smart,” Max thought irritably. “They only criticize; there is no way for you to do anything.”

- Then I would offer my topic.

- I suggested: Chicago thirties.

- Ah, the mafia, prohibition and all things. What is the fundamental difference?

- At least not such a kindergarten with disguises in orcs and gnomes.

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

- Yes, leave me alone, Max, I still do not understand this. I understand that tadpoles like this, so they chose this topic.

- This topic won by a fair vote among all employees.

- Yeah, honest-dear.

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

- Forget it, why are you nervous? Let honest, just me these botannyh dvizhuhi not pin.

- Actually, I proposed this topic and the first plan, too, I designed ... Well, eighty percent.

“Cool ... Not seriously, cool,” Ruslan assured, noticing the skeptical expression on Max’s face. - Well you play, such egg heads can remember.

- You want to say, I am a champion in licking to the Martians?

- No, you have a maximum of the third youthful. You know what kind of lizard Martian ass masters there are. Where are you up to them! In short, you do not want to sag, forget about the big career.

- No, let the world better bend under us.

- To climb up, having bent under the others, it is necessary to be other person. Not like you ... Well, again, you say I'm straining you. Let's go find some dvizhuha better.

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

“And your friends too,” Ruslan nodded at Boris and the teddy Dimon, who stopped at the nearest tree in confusion. - You, once the main on this topic, say: where is the normal engine?

- Well, in the third plan something like a foam party should be, at the seventh disco in the style of techno, rave and so on. And I do not know anymore, I'm on the first spec.

- We will understand! - Ruslan leaned toward Max and switched to lower tones. - Bear in mind that you will not make a career with such friends. Okay, come on!

He slapped Max on the shoulder and with a confident jumping gait set off to conquer the dancefloors of the lower planes.

- Do you know him? - With a mixture of surprise and it seems easy envy in his voice asked Dimon.

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

- Do you know your friends! Remember I said that I do not want to intersect with the first section. So, with their “department” I want to intersect even less.

- What do they do?

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“There’s only one way to go,” Max shrugged. - I think it is worth going to the 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, is a dragon with five heads of all the colors of the rainbow. He periodically published 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. On the other side of the descent there was a large column consisting of severed heads of various robots. Heads constantly fought among themselves, some hid in the depths, others climbed to the surface. Textures were strung on a real column and connected to the Telecom’s internal search engine, so theoretically they could answer any question if the questioner had an appropriate tolerance.

- Chur me! - Boris theatrically crossed himself at the sight of the column. - Is that instead of a New Year tree?

“Of course not, this is a column of skulls from the setting,” Max answered. - You know that the Martians do not like religious symbols at all. In the original, there are decaying dead heads, but they decided that it would be too harsh.

- Come on, what could be there! They would hang Christmas toys and an angel from above on 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 everybody into it ...

- And what would you do with it?

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

“Just think, with the same success I can ask a neurogoglu questions,” Boris grumbled.

- This is an internal machine. Like if you agree with the heads, they can give out, for example, personal information about some employee ...

- So, now we will try, - Dimon climbed to the column without ceremony. - Private matter Polina Tsvetkova.

- Who is this? - Max was surprised.

- Apparently that snake, - Boris shrugged.

From a hodgepodge a piece of iron appeared Bender's head from Futurama.

- Kiss my shiny metal ass!

“Hey you, head, you have no ass,” Dimon was offended.

“And you don't even have a heifer, you pathetic piece of meat!”

- Max! What the fuck is your program to me rude? - outraged Dimon.

- This is not my program, but I say, in the end there anyone could shove anything. Someone apparently pinned.

- Well, great, and if your column of some Martian boss will send three letters?

“I don’t have a clue, they will look for someone who has committed Bender’s head.”

- Glory to robots, death to all people! - continued to broadcast head.

- Ah, well, you, nafig! - Dimon waved his hand. - If I am in the background I will wait.

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

The last phrase was uttered by the arrogant tone of an expert on all types of botan and hipster entertainment, which undoubtedly was the lead programmer Gordon Murphy. Gordon was a tall, lean, stiff lover of breeding all sorts of pseudo-intellectual conversations about the latest achievements of Martian science and technology. He replaced part of his reddish hair with bundles of LED strings, and usually drove around the Telecom office on a mono-wheel or a robo armchair. And, as if he was setting himself up to confirm the theses of some of the boorish members of the Security Council, he tried to mimic a real Martian to the point of completely losing his 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 brainwash employees of the optimization sector, even on holidays.In addition to the slimy tentacles sticking out from under the antistatic mantle, a couple of personal drones ionizing the air circled around the illithid in the form of poisonous air-jellyfish.

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

- We learned that everywhere a solid divorce. Catch up, in short.

Disappointed Dimon turned away and podapal towards the failure of fire on the next plan.

“He thought he would be given all the corporate secrets.” Simple that kind of guy! - laughed Gordon.

“Attempt is not torture,” Max shrugged.

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

- There are only those puzzles that have not passed the test. Most of them do not have the right answer.

- You will not spend it! Oh yeah, you are the code for the application.

- So, on trifles, - Max twisted.

- Listen, you are not a stupid guy, let me practice with my riddle on you.

- Come on.

- And you did not invent anything?

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

- Yes, I just asked like that. In short, listen to mine: what can change human nature?

Max buranvil a companion for a few seconds with a very skeptical look, until he was convinced that he was not joking.

- Neurotechnology. - he shrugged.

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This statement was met with a grin not only by Max, but also by a nearby Gitserai: a thin bald humanoid with greenish skin, long, sharp ears and a mustache hanging down below his chin. His image was spoiled only by a disproportionately large head and the same large, slightly bulging eyes.

- Of course, by chance it was so coincident, I understand.

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

- Surely again I wanted to cuddle up with the Martians, they are also the main shamans of neurotechnology.

- You're in vain, Max. In fact, you said he was a horseman and stole the riddle. Well, that at least about the Martians did not say.

- This is true.

- Fuck out of you politician and careerist. Gordon will not forget this, you know what a vengeful bastard he is. And, according to the law, meanness will surely end up on any commission considering your promotion.

- Well, horseradish, yes, - agreed Max, realizing his mistake. - You know, maybe you just do not need to dig up riddles from the Internet.

- You understand it is not necessary tyrit. All right, hammer on this Gordon, god bless you will not intersect with him.

- I hope so.

“Probably, Ruslan is right,” Max thought sadly. - To all my creative attempts the system doesn’t care deeply. And I’m not going to make a political career, because my skills of intrigue and pacing are much lower than the baseboard. Yes, and I have no desire to develop them and constantly steam over what can be said and to whom and what is not. In an amicable way, there is a chance only somewhere far away from monstrous corporations like Telekom, but without Telekom, I will most likely immediately get out of Mars. Oh, go stupidly get drunk with Boryan ... ”

Quietly standing next to the column of Hitzer and smiling turned to Max. And Max recognized him as a personnel service 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, which can decide the fate of a person and link them more reliably than any chains. - Arthur betrayed in a mysterious tone and stared at Max with his bulging eyes with curiosity.

- I spoke the words that bound me?

“Only if you believe it yourself.”

- What is the difference in what I believe?

- In the world of chaos there is nothing more important than faith. And the world of virtual reality is a plan of pure chaos, ”said Arthur with the same smile. “You yourself made an entire city out of it with the power of thought.” - He looked around the surrounding space.

- Is it enough just the power of thought to create cities from chaos?

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

Arthur pulled the blade of chaos from its scabbard and showed it to Max, holding it in his outstretched hands. He was something amorphous and muddy, similar to the gray spring ice, blurring under the sunlight. A second later, suddenly stretched out into a matte, blue-black scimitar with a blade no thicker than a human hair.

“Is the blade created for destruction?”

- Blade - just a metaphor. Creation and destruction are the two poles of the same phenomenon, both cold and hot. Only those who are able to understand the phenomenon itself, and not its state sees the world as infinite.

Max's face stretched out in surprise.

- Why did you say that?

- What exactly did you say?

- About the infinite world?

“It sounds more interesting,” Arthur shrugged. - I'm trying to play my character as it should be, and not like everything.

- Do you depict any particular Hitzer?

“Dac'kona from a 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. I didn’t expect to hear anything like that from anyone else.

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

- The one who opened the doors sees the world as infinite. The one who opened the door, sees the endless worlds.

- Well said! My character would be fine too, but I promise to respect your copyright.

- You, I look, successfully met, damn it! - could not resist bored next to Boris. “Why should the noble don don’t put each other’s brain on the way to the next plan?”

“Boryan, you go, I'll stand still, think over riddles that you don't need to tyrit from the Internet,” Max replied.

:

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

- Even two?

- The first answer is rather a logical discrepancy in the very formulation of the question. In the Martian dream there should not be a Martian dream, such doubts are a distinctive feature of the real world. Why do you need a Martian dream, in which you want to escape to the Martian dream? It can be reformulated as follows: the mere fact of raising such a question proves that you are in the real world.

- Well, suppose I am in the Martian dream, and I am happy with everything, just want to check that the real world is around. And the developers have created the same Dreamland for the greater realism of their mirage.

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

- Should we look for grain defeats in their own victories? I think the vast majority of people in the real world will not ask such questions. And so the clients of the Martian dream, and even more so.

- I agree. But the question sounded like: "Is there a way?" Here, I propose a way. Of course, the one who can use it is unlikely, in principle, will fall into a similar prison.

- And our world is not a prison?

- In the gnostic sense? It is a world in which pain and suffering are inevitable, therefore it cannot be an ideal prison. The real world is cruel, that's why it is the real world.

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

“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 rested on some absolute ceiling, then the world must either go to the next state, or collapse and start the cycle anew. Calling such a prison order does not make sense.

- Well, this is a prison that we have created for ourselves.

- How?

- People are slaves of their vices and passions.

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

- How does payback come to the clients of the Martian dream? They after all live long and die happy.

- I do not know, did not think about it. If I were engaged in a similar business, I would make every effort to hide the side effects. Perhaps at the end of the contract, the virtual reality demons come for the souls of the customers tearing them apart and dragging them into the nether.

Max imagined the picture and shuddered.

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

“Maybe for death, life looks like death.”

“Maybe a boy is a girl, just the other way around.” I’m afraid we don’t know the wisdom of Zertimon’s unbroken circle with this approach.

- Yes, today just do not know. I would catch up with my friends, would you like to join?

- If they are going to run into other plans through the use of neurotoxic fluids, then no. The logic of that reality, I endure with difficulty.

- I'm afraid they are going. I say, we are slaves to our vices.

- Know that I heard your words, burning man. When you want to know the wisdom of Zertimon again, come.

Gitzerai gave a light samurai bow and turned to the column, apparently trying to find other riddles that need not be solved.

Leaving an unusual Martian, Max went into the next plan. He tried to quickly pass the iron plain under the green skies, but near the cluster of virtually hot tables and sofas he was caught by Arsen with an unfamiliar company of colleagues whose names Max could extract only from the directory, but not from his memory. He had to go through another batch of vulgar jokes about his supposedly amorous adventures with Laura and several insistent offers to throw something. In the end, Max conceded and made several puffs of a special baator hookah with nanoparticles. The smoke had a pleasant taste of some fruit and did not irritate the respiratory organs of the intoxicated organism at all. Apparently some useful nanoparticles were really present there.

Boris sent a message that they had already passed the swamp plan with a foam disco and were going to try burning absinthe on the fourth plane in the realm of fire. So Max risks catching friends on a completely different wave if he continues to slow down.

The third plan was met by a deafening disco grooving, a screaming crowd and foam fountains that occasionally boil over in muddy swamp fluid or crumbling from low leaden skies. In some places over the marsh, on the chains leading to the leaden skies, hung several platforms with dancers warming up the crowd. And on the largest platform in the center there is a demonic DJ behind a no less demonic console.

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Dodging and dodging, he climbed to a high place closer to the dryers, which from all sides blew over the dampened demons with elastic knives of warm air. And periodically they called portions of squeals and squeaks of demonic women who forgot to keep their virtually non-hidden and not very chaste holiday outfits. Max stood under the dryers for a long time and could not recover. The head was empty and light, incoherent thoughts sulked in her like huge soap bubbles and burst without leaving a trace.

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- Wait, - with a gesture stopped Boris Max, - I’ll leave a bit now.

- What are you going to move away from? So you had almost no time, normal people during this time have time to sober up and get drunk again.

“A careless traveler has many dangers in the plans, you know.”

- Have you even discussed your career prospects with this manager?

- Oh yes! Career prospects, completely out of my head.

- Maxim, what's the matter! What are you talking about so much time?

- Basically about my riddle about the Martian dream.

- Wow! The careerist of you is absolutely none, - 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 Telecom?

- And what is someone else walking? - snort Boris.

- Well, with these New Year holidays ... then who just did not walk. You have a good tusa, of course, I saw the truth and more abruptly.

- This is where you saw it more abruptly? - sincerely surprised by such arrogance Max.

- Yes, Neyrotek, for example, the guys are walking this way. On a grand scale.

- You apparently hang out with them often?

“They won the entire Golden Mile this year,” the bartender continued, not paying attention to smiles. - There you have to make a career. Well, in principle, you can try in Telekom ...

- Our chief boss is sitting there, - Boris clapped on the shoulder of Dimona, who was pecking his nose. - Discuss your career with him, but do not pour it anymore, otherwise you will be washing the rack on a probationary period.

Surprisingly, the alcohol service worker who was not able to shut up really began to rub Dimona, who was not very responsive to external stimuli, to rub something in.

- Listen, Boryan, and you said that you know some indecent bike about Arthur Smith.

- This is just dirty gossip. Do not tell her all in a row.

- This is me means everything? No, today I will not leave you alone, kolis.

“Okay, let's take a bahn and tell you.”

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

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

Max winced with bitterness with a caramel flavor.

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

- It needs a little background. You probably do not know why most of the Martians are so wooden?

- In what sense?

- In this, damn, that their dad Carlo was cutting out of a log ... They usually have no more emotions than this very log. They smile only a couple of times a year on major holidays.

“For all the time on Mars, I once chatted for five minutes with our boss, a couple of times with Arthur.” And with others like “hello” and “bye”. The boss certainly strained me, but Arthur is completely normal, though a little confused.

- Arthur is even too normal for the average Martian. As far as I understand, he doesn’t count with real Martians for his.

- Is he an important bump in the service staff?

- Yes, hell will sort out their hierarchy. But it seems not the last figure, on the technical side, for sure. There he releases a bunch of updates on directories, all sorts of planners.

- I understand that the Martians of "strangers" are not allowed to do important things.

- Oh, Max, do not carp. Do you agree that he is very strange for a Martian?

- I still have a base for comparison slightly representative. But I agree yes that he is strange. Almost like a normal person, he just doesn’t thump under the Christmas tree ...

- So, by origin he is an absolute 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 an emotion control chip. I don’t know the details, but it’s a fact that all Martians have a built-in option for regulating all sorts of hormones and testosterones.

- Testosterone, as if it rather turns ...

- Yes, do not nudi. In general, any of the most overturned Martian can turn off any negative: a prolonged depression or an unhappy “first love” by simply pressing a virtual button.

- Convenient, nothing to say.

- Convenient, of course. But in our Arthur in childhood something went wrong. Martian aybolites must have gotten into trouble, and he didn’t receive this useful upgrade. Therefore, all the emotions and hormones peck him, as well as ordinary bydlokoderov. It’s not easy for him to live with this vice, the "normal" Martians look at him as an invalid ...

- Boris, you clearly looked into his medical record.

- I did not look, knowledgeable people say so.

- Knowledgeable people ... Yeah.

- So, Max, do not want to not listen! And leave your critical thinking for scientific debates any.

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

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