Inferno (Play to Live: Book # 4) (28 page)

"Read the first three letters."

"G-R-U? The military intelligence?" I shook my head in dismay. Bug an intelligence agent undercover? I brought my emotions back in check and spoke slowly,

"I was expecting officials to contact me at some point. But why the GRU? Why not the FSB or whoever handles the virtual worlds? Surely the government couldn't have missed their slice of the pie? Or could it?”

He smiled. "This is why. According to your psychological profile, you're not a big fan of our government. You can't stand the police, you don't trust the secret service — but you do have a certain amount of respect for the military and intelligence. All this cloak-and-dagger spying shit."

"You aren't too respectful to your employers, are you?" I asked warily. "Is this how you recruit new agents these days?"

"Cut it out," he waved my question away. "It's not even about their instructions to contact you with 'ultimate sincerity'. I don't need our staff nerds to understand that. It's just our country makes me feel so frustrated sometimes. You were right: they've pissed AlterWorld away by betting on Eve4."

"Never a truer word spoken. I could use a couple of Titans hovering in the sky."

He nodded. "That's what they think, too. Contacting you was my shop's private initiative. Even though I seem to be drifting further away from them with every day. Like all permas, I suppose. I have nothing that keeps me in the real world, only my duty and my word as an officer. The GRU believe the battle for the First Temple to be the turning point that might radically change AlterWorld's power dynamics. My job is to warn you: you seem to underestimate the enemy's numbers a lot. Really a lot."

"Oh. What kind of a lot? And how can you help me?"

He gave me a guilty smile. "Sorry, Max. The only thing your country can give you now is a word of wisdom. Just hang on in there. Enemy at the gates, your country needs you, that sort of thing. You need to understand that it's only recently that AlterWorld has come into my office's sights. You never know with them, if push comes to shove they may stick a whole special-ops cadet school into FIVR capsules, but what good would those noobs be to you? That's why all the practical help you're getting now is information."

I nodded. "Better than nothing, I suppose. So how many bastards should I expect to arrive at our walls? Five thousand? Ten?

"A hundred," he said quietly. "At least. And only because they believe this number to be sufficient enough. Their backstage puppeteers are quite capable of bringing a million if needs be. They have plenty of experience tweaking public opinion and staging flower revolutions."

Chapter Fourteen

M
oscow. A low-scale block of flats in one of the dormitory suburbs.

A disheveled man paced his cluttered lounge. His bachelor pad had seen better days, judging by the windowsills lined with withered potted violets, by hand-knitted lacy doilies and dusty toys piled up on shelves.

"A miracle... what a miracle..." he kept mumbling as he circled the room, mechanically approaching the fridge.

He froze as his willpower fought an already-lost battle, then shrugged and opened the fridge. Its door creaked. He reached for a misted bottle in the empty freezer. It clanked against the glass as he fidgeted, measuring out a double shot. With a practiced hand he threw the thick icy liquid down his throat and chased it by sniffing an old slice of rye bread left on the table.

He heaved a sigh of relief. The nervous tension seemed to be releasing him. He filled another glass, more expertly this time, and checked the fridge. He should have something to eat too, really, lest he got legless. And today he really wanted to stay sober.

A harsh ring at the door cut through his reverie. He shrank, then rearranged his crumpled necktie and hurried to answer it.

"Oleg Yurievich, how are you? I'm the hospice representative. Our coordinator called you earlier today."

"Oh yes, he did, he did! He said my Sasha was alive and well! Isn't that a miracle? What a shame my dear Nonna won't see it... You know, she said to me she didn't want to outlive him... Right from this very window here she stepped out..."

The lanky visitor winced from the heavy odor of liquor. "Mind if I come in?"

"Absolutely not! You'll have to excuse me. I must be going out of my mind, keeping such a guest standing there on the doorstep!"

"Bring it in," the visitor snapped over his shoulder as he nudged the man toward the wall.

Two workers wearing white overalls with a vaguely familiar logo rolled through the door a massive six-foot shipping container.

"But... but what's this for?"

"Aren't you going to see your son today?"

"Y-yes, of course."

"Well, you aren't going to connect to VirtNet using your smartphone, are you? So we've delivered the equipment to you. We'll need half an hour to set it up and off you go! It's free of charge, don't you worry. It's this charity, Virtual Children NGO, who pick up the bill."

The visitor quickly checked the few rooms of the tiny flat, making sure its owner was alone. Seeing the vodka bottle, he cast a disapproving glance at him.

"It's just nerves, you know," the widower made a helpless gesture, hanging his head.

In the meantime, the workers got busy scurrying around the lounge and poking electric sockets with their testers. "Wretched couch! Let's put it here anyway," they spoke softly between themselves. "The voltage surges. Stabilizer installed... The net plug, no signal."

"They must have disconnected me," the man mumbled apologetically. "I have nothing on my utility card. I get food packets from the welfare, that's all I have these days..."

The worker's cheek twitched impatiently. He forced a smile. "We'll sort it out, don't worry."

The container's locks snapped open, revealing their precious contents: a tandem medicapsule Twins9Mod.

The man shook his head in surprise. "Why is it like this? They looked different on television!"

"A twin version, you mean," the visitor corrected. "That's because this is your first full-immersion experience. That's in the regulations. Have you ever jumped with a parachute? You do know, don't you, that the first jumps you're obliged to perform with an instructor? Likewise, we can't just send you off to AlterWorld all alone, can we? Where do you think you'll go there?"

"Oh, well, yes, I suppose you're right," the man answered, insecure.

After half an hour of the workers' combined expert effort, the capsule was connected and tested and was now awaiting its patient. Its two transparent open lids made it look like a May bug spreading its rigid wings, about to take off.

"Oleg Yurievich, don't just stand there in the corner. Please take your place."

The man had already removed his clothing and stood awkwardly covering himself with his hands, embarrassed by his grubby underpants. At the signal, he scrambled onto the capsule's illuminated bed. The comfortably warm nano gel enveloped him, lifting his body and creating a zero gravity effect. The massage rollers stirred, forcing his tense muscles to relax.

"That's it, Sir. Sweet dreams!"

With a touch of a sensor, the transparent safety glass slurped greedily, sealing the lid on the base of the capsule.

There was so much sarcasm and spiteful triumph in the visitor's stare that the man struggled, trying to free himself from the bed's grasp. To no avail: the Patient Security mode turned the soft nanogel sticky, giving the customer even less chance to escape than an upended turtle in quicksand.

Gas hissed, filling the capsule with xenon, putting the man into a deep eternal sleep.

The Twins9 model allowed for a wide range of modifications and was easily adaptable to the job at hand which made it the tool of choice for a wide spectrum of criminals, from hackers and virtual robbers to some of the sleazier secret services.

In theory, the capsule was intended for a doctor to work in tandem with a patient, communicating the patient's sensations to the doctor which allowed him to conduct adequate diagnostic or mental correction in the safe environment of a virtual world. Not everyone is capable of telling the doctor exactly what their problem is. This especially concerned little children, old people and the mentally ill. Also, it was much easier to train someone to use their new prosthetic leg by controlling their body, not even to mention teaching a recovered quadriplegic to walk again after surgery.

Still, certain criminal circles had quickly realized that a few simple modifications could make the capsule suitable for identity spoofing, allowing them to enter the virtual world in someone else's guise. The "patient"'s biometric data was fed into the machine, then the "doctor" would enter VirtNet in his stead, gaining access to particular banking or personal areas.

Suddenly the Twins manufacturers had experienced a spike in their profits. The fact that the numbers of capsules sold were ten times that of those installed in medical facilities didn't seem to alarm anyone. This was the right tool at the right time. No one was going to kill the golden goose.

The visitor quickly removed his clothes, folding them neatly. The modest shirt of a middle manager was followed by prohibitively expensive underpants that must have cost the monthly paycheck of an office worker. Bioactive and antibacterial, they were lined with a fine layer of nanomuscles that gently massaged everything they touched preventing circulation problems. The assassin's health was too important for him, which was why he'd consciously risked acting out of character on this particular job.

Unfazed by his nudity, he turned to his assistants who today played the role of company workers. "Wait here."

They didn't need this command which was rather a nod to tradition and an extra reminder of their pecking order. The two assistants had enough means and training to be able to interfere at any stage of their leader's immersion if necessary. The only thing they couldn't do was openly confront a SpetzNaz group, but even then they had their trump cards neatly stacked up their sleeves, administrative as well.

Four hours later, the special-ops agent would complete the job and exit the capsule. An untraceable money transfer of twenty thousand bitcoins would be made to his bank account while his assistants would commence the final stage of the mission, dissolving the "patient"'s body in a bathtub, removing the equipment and pumping a foam solution of caustic soda into the apartment. Not a single hair or speck of dust that might contain the assassins' DNA should fall into detectives' hands — not even to mention the easily identified smellograms that were these days installed in all of the city's key points: all of its stations, airports and public places.

* * *

Our Parents' Day in the Super Nova Castle didn't at all resemble its past prototypes from the Soviet-type children's summer camps. The only thing they had in common was the solemn festivity of the occasion. The armor on the clan members' dress uniforms sent specks of light everywhere; the First Temple sparkled with gems; the clan and alliance colors fluttered in the wind. The emblem of the Children of Night commanded respect: a black panther and a white bone dragon embroidered within a circle of silk.

The competing magicians painted the sky with their fantasies. Soon, the festive atmosphere overtook everyone. Even the hell hounds had been gentrified with bright silk ribbons around their necks. We also had to ask them not to try to smile so hard: the sight was too spooky for the uninitiated to bear.

We expected quite a crowd: about three hundred relatives plus another twenty Vets complete with their families. The fact that we had children in the castle never ceased to amaze them but they had no idea of the true scope of things. They probably thought that it was the First Priest again who'd laid his hands on a couple of unique skills as usual.

In order to spare the visitors' feelings we'd simplified the transfer procedure as much as we could. The portal opened directly into the guest zone where a special sentry group checked the guest's name against a list, smiled and ushered him or her into the First Temple's festive courtyard. Two ever-vigilant hellhounds next to them constantly pricked up their ears, trying to detect any foul play. But today of all days, my self-appointed canine lie detectors were a little less than useless: they were flat out with the seven-hundred strong surge of emotions around them. And what emotions! Not some idle daily daydreaming but a raging tornado of feelings.

The ancient walls echoed with the children's laughter and happy screaming. I swear to you AlterWorld had never seen anything like it. The parents oohed and aahed looking this way and that, watching their rapidly growing kids do stunts on the galloping hell hounds' backs, watching them scratch the dragons behind the ears and proudly demonstrate their budding magic skills.

We'd decided against orchestrated choir numbers or cheerful stage acts. It was all so stilted. Even if we invited the entire Royal Variety Show, we wouldn't have raised a fraction of the emotions that a mother feels when she sees her son resurrected, cheerful and suntanned, laughing happily and hugging a puppy busy licking his face.

Our clan clerics were working overtime waking the visitors out of their trance, treating shock or even curbing a heart attack. A refreshing touch of a healing spell would reduce the stuttering stupor of an asphyxiating face to a bursting dam of happy tears. Magic worked better than any amount of traditional face-slapping, water-gulping or salt-smelling remedies.

Dan froze next to me, drowsy with shock. His beautiful wife Katia was clenching the hand of her perma husband crying silently, while their two boys were already tearing around with the best of our little kindergarten. Their impressionable little daughter couldn't take her adoring eyes off the young Screwyall.

How I understood Dan's wife. We'd just shown her the other side of AlterWorld — a place where her family had a chance to be together without robbing the kids of their childhood.

Dan — who could see into it much deeper and understood even more — shook his head in amazement. "Some people will bless your name and call you a saint," he said to me. "Others will curse you, hating you wholeheartedly. I can't tell yet which ones will be in the majority."

Dan stared at a five-year-old warrior who was straining to bring a butterfly Familiar to life. He must have been sufficiently impressed. Biting his lip, he latched on to me with his stare. "And
this
— for this alone they'll never leave you in peace. A hundred unique universal soldiers — that's something more lethal than an A-bomb! Some won't be happy about your clan's — or even the whole Russian cluster's — potential power increase. Others might want to get their hands on your kids while yet others would like to lock you all up in a cellar to study your reproduction methods and determine their potential control and resistance actions."

"So were we supposed to leave them all to die?" I countered his question. "Half of them are already stacked up in the hospice morgue and the other half are awaiting a spare freezer shelf."

Katia shuddered and looked up at him pleadingly. He twitched his cheek with annoyance. "Oh no, you had no choice here, I understand that. I'm just trying to put you in the picture."

I nodded. "I know. They'll find a dozen excuses to butcher us if necessary. That's just the way the cookie crumbles. One more excuse won't change anything. But at least we've saved the kids, we opened a school and a kindergarten and now we're working on new training and personal development techniques. Look at your boys — don't you think they're much happier here than in damp and heartless Moscow? They can never fall sick, they can never die in an accident, whether run over by a rich scumbag under the influence or from a serial killer's hand. And as for all those Forest Cats and such, we'll rid this world of them, don't you worry. I remember what you told me: that you wanted to give your kids time to finish school and make their own choice. Unfortunately, we don't have the time. The celestial umbilical cord will snap any day now. Make sure you don't find yourselves on opposite sides of reality."